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Back The Runaway Heiress Save as PDF
Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. PRAISE FOR MEG TILLY AND HER NOVELS
  3. TITLES BY MEG TILLY
  4. Dedication
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  69. Excerpt from SOLACE ISLAND
  70. 1
  71. 2
  72. 3
  73. 4
  74. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  75. What’s next onyour reading list?

Sarah opened the door to the washing machine and stuffed the armload of linens inside, feeling oddly bereft as she closed the washing machine door on the subtle scent of him lingering on the linens. She added soap to the dispenser, turned the cycle to sheets, and started it up. Then she took the load of darks from the dryer and began to fold his things, her hands sliding along the fabric, folding jeans, T-shirts, socks, briefs.

Mick had reiterated the other night that she could hire a cleaning service, and she would. Eventually. But for now she was enjoying the solace of solitude, the puttering around, putting the place to rights. There was a pride to be had in a job well done. Plumping the pillows, polishing the furniture, cleaning the windows, making things shine. It felt almost as if the home and the contents were living, breathing entities. And in the doing and caring, she was receiving as well. Earning her way and showing her gratitude for the safe haven this place provided in her small day-to-day gestures of goodwill.

Once the laundry was folded, she began ironing his shirts and hanging the completed ones on the back of the laundry room door. Her mind wandered past her musing on Mick to alight on her parents, and the sudden stab of sorrow had her hand pressing hard against her chest, as if trying to cauterize a wound. Grief was like that sometimes. Four years since the accident. Four years since she lost everyone and everything that meant anything to her. For the most part, time had softened the ragged edges of her sorrow, but every once in a while, it would sneak up and grab her from behind, steal her breath, and force her to her knees.

17

“I’m sorry I can’t be more help,” the Art Expressions Gallery owner said to Phillip, her hands neatly folded on the desk before her. The artwork in Zelia Thompson-Conaghan’s gallery was quite impressive. Surprising, considering Solace Island was quite small. Who were her clients? Driving through the small town of Comfort, Phillip doubted any local resident would have the means to acquire the art showcased in her gallery, let alone the taste. How did the woman afford the overhead? The staff? “This Sarah Rainsford looks nothing like my ex-employee Mary Browning. I can say with confidence I’ve never met this woman.”

“I suppose it was too much to hope for.” Phillip sighed. He had squandered two days chasing a ghost. He shook his head. “Lieutenant Hawkins was certain they were the same person.”

“No.” The abrupt way the woman answered had him studying her more closely. He could see tension around her mouth, her eyes.