In Every Cloud Read online

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  By the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  About the Author

  Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

  Synopsis

  Two years after being left behind in Boston, Bree Whitely still cannot deal with the shattered pieces of the life she once had with her partner. With encouragement from her uncle, she returns home to Asheville to rebuild her life. But it’s going to take more than a change of scenery to mend her heart.

  Carson Harper has spent her life pursuing her career and her women. But lately, she feels that something is always missing and physical fulfillment may no longer be enough. When life wraps what she seeks within the wounded heart of another, what will she do for love knowing she could lose it all in the end?

  Bree and Carson have the chance to find love if they can give up the lives they had planned for the one they were meant to live.

  In Every Cloud

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  In Every Cloud

  © 2015 By Tina Michele. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-422-3

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: August 2015

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Cindy Cresap

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

  By the Author

  Venus in Love

  In Every Cloud

  Acknowledgments

  My love for North Carolina runs deep, as does my love for the wonderful family that showed me just how beautiful it all is. There isn’t any part of that world I don’t hold close to my heart. Forever and for always.

  Thank you to my readers—Sarah, Angela, Kena, Holli, and Teresa. Thank you to my family for being just as weird and wonderful as ever. Words cannot describe how lucky I am to call you my own. Thank you to Cindy for teaching me more in the last year than I ever learned in school. And thank you to BSB for another amazing opportunity and for letting me be a part of this family.

  II.XXIX.MM

  Chapter One

  Bree Whitley wandered through the empty rooms of the house. She looked behind doors and on windowsills while she waited for her uncle to answer his phone. Bree switched hers from one ear to the other and pushed back the shower curtain to take another look. After all, she might have missed something the first eighteen times she’d inspected the bathroom. “Hello?” Bree asked just in case she’d missed his hello in that split second. Instead of a voice, there was another ring. “Or not.”

  As she exited the bathroom, she heard a man’s voice on the line. “Hey, Breezy. How are you, kiddo?”

  Bree smiled at the term of endearment. It was a welcome comfort in her current mixed state of anxiety and sorrow. While her uncle had never treated her like a child, the childlike feeling of security she felt when he called her Breezy was always welcome. “Hi, Uncle Jim. I’m okay. I keep pacing around looking in the cracks and crevices for something that I may have forgotten.” After a long pause, Bree whimpered, “Oh God, I don’t know if I can do this.” Bree felt the stinging burn of the tears that filled her eyes. She covered her mouth just in time to muffle a sob.

  “I know it’s hard, kiddo. But you said this was what you needed. If you want to stay that’s your choice, but do it because it’s the best thing for you.”

  Bree backed up against the nearest wall and slid to the floor with a heavy thump. She stared at the ceiling and fought back the tears with all her might. “I know, but I just never thought my life wouldn’t have her in it. She was the reason for everything I did. Without her, what’s the point of anything?”

  “Bree, sweetheart, you’re a strong and beautiful woman. I know it feels like your world is falling in around you, but I promise it will get better, my love. Come home. Before you know it, you’ll be happy again.”

  Home. Bree thought she was home—a beautiful home with a beautiful partner, Marion. “I don’t think that I’ll ever be happy again, not without her. But I know I can’t stay here. The memories make it all so hard.” Bree looked around the room at the stacks of brown boxes that held the broken pieces of her once cheerful life. She slumped over to the side and onto the floor like a motionless blob on the carpet.

  “What time are the movers coming?” Her uncle attempted a change of subject.

  “Between eight and nine.” Bree twirled the fibers of carpet between her fingers. “I wish they were already here. I don’t know how much longer I can sit here like this.” Her voice was muffled by the way her face was pressed into the floor.

  “It’s seven thirty. They should be there soon, kiddo. What are you doing? You sound like you have a mask on.”

  Bree rolled to her back and stared out the window at the blue sky full of peaceful billowing clouds. “Nothing. Why couldn’t this be the crew that liked to arrive early?” Bree wasn’t an impatient person. If anything, she annoyed even herself with her punctuality, but she needed to get on the road before she changed her mind again. Her depression turned back into anxiety, and she pushed herself up off the floor. “I should’ve just rented a truck and moved myself. It’s not like I have a lot of stuff.” Not anymore.

  “Bree, relax. They’ll be there soon, and it will take ’em thirty minutes to load the truck and you’ll be on your way.” He tried in vain to ease her stress.

  Bree knew he wanted to be there with her to facilitate the move, but she needed to do it on her own. She’d made enormous strides to rebuild herself after Marion walked out on her, and she promised herself she would never again rely on anyone for anything. Even more so for things that she knew she could do on her own. While the changes she’d made were reactionary and defensive, they had allowed a glimmer of the old independent and capable Bree to shine through.

  “Trust me. It’s a better option than towing your car behind a giant U-Haul.”

  “You’re probably ri—Wait. They’re here!” Bree jumped up from the floor and ran to the front door when she heard the rumble of the moving van. “Okay. I’m going to watch them load m
y stuff, and then I’m leaving. It shouldn’t take them more than thirty minutes, you said. I’m hoping to be on the turnpike by nine o’clock.” Bree’s calculation was optimistic.

  “Okay, sweetheart. You drive careful, punkin’. Okay?” Jim always got so nervous when Bree drove long distances, especially on the major highways.

  “I will. I love you, and I’ll see you in fourteen hours, give or take.” Before Bree said good-bye she promised him that she would be safe and at least attempt to limit her speed. She made no promises on the latter, of course.

  Bree had spent four years in Boston working at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. It was where she’d completed her internship in art conservation at Buffalo State and where she’d accepted her first paid staff position. At the time, she’d been ecstatic and eager to begin her career and her future. Before that, Bree always expected to return home after college. She had a plan—simple and straightforward. She would attend Buffalo State for both her bachelor’s and master’s degrees, complete her mandatory twelve-month internship, and then return home to a job at the infamous Biltmore Estate. Yet when the time came for Bree to follow through with the final stage of her plan, life offered her a different option—the job she’d dreamed of with a woman she loved, Marion.

  Boston was a far cry from Asheville. North Carolina didn’t burst at the seams with opportunities for art conservationists, yet it was where Bree’s fire for art and history was ignited. Her decision to return home was a bittersweet one and a choice made more out of necessity than want. In spite of it all, she looked forward to once again feeling the sweet and unconditional love from the one person she could count on, her uncle Jim.

  As a child, she often accompanied him to work and hid in the vastness and splendor that was Biltmore. He’d worked there most his life. Jim started as a stock clerk for the variety of gift and specialty shops on the property until he became the Senior Director of Engineering Services. Before Bree graduated and left for college, there was never a day she hadn’t begged her uncle to take her with him to work. His boss couldn’t have cared less, as Bree was “a helpful, courteous, and intelligent young lady.” When she was twelve, Mr. Cordis even gifted Bree with her very own pair of white gloves for when she was “on the job.”

  For a curious preteen, work consisted of sitting in silence watching the conservators and technicians perform their jobs. Bree didn’t mind at all. She remembered in vivid detail how she sat and studied the surgical precision of the techs as they toiled away on the objects in front of them. She admired their meticulousness, and the focus and devotion they each put into the precious items in their care. All of it was painstakingly done to ensure that future generations would someday enjoy its beauty. It was an admiration that fueled her success in the field.

  When Bree had resigned her position at the Stewart Gardner, she had done so without a plan. It was a rare moment when she did anything without a strategy, but she knew that a change had to be made. After she discussed it with her uncle, she decided she would return to North Carolina in a blind attempt to pick up where her original life plan had left off. It was a decision that almost obliterated her body and soul.

  Bree hadn’t even left Massachusetts, and she already sensed that things weren’t going to go smoothly. She experienced her first setback before she had even begun to pack. As with most museum positions, conservation openings at the Biltmore were as rare as they were competitive. It wasn’t an issue she had experienced before. After all, she was a well-behaved child assistant with unlimited access to private, staff-only areas, and her own white gloves. Nevertheless, her adult self found that getting back in, even with her uncle’s recommendation and influence, was more difficult than she’d anticipated.

  There was no job waiting for her in North Carolina, but there was family and security. Bree had already resigned her position and sold her house, so she had no other choice but to press on. It guaranteed her momentum, because no matter how much she wanted to, there could be no turning back. When she came to terms with the idea of moving forward with her life, it made her uncertain, but it was the doing it by the seat of her pants part that petrified her.

  A tragic childhood took so much from her, but it brought her Jim and more than enough money to never have to work again. And for the first time in her life, she was thankful to have a soft cushion to land on. But even with a healthy financial situation, she’d never second-guessed her desire to have a career. It was what she had always wanted since the day Jim had opened her eyes to his world. She’d had a plan from that very moment, but she strayed, and now everything in her life heaped in piles of chaos around her. She kept reminding herself that she wasn’t giving up. She was just getting back onto her original path, the safe and trusted route.

  She struggled to dispel the wave of nausea that swelled within her. Bree watched as the movers taped up the last of her boxes and carried them out to the truck. She would miss Boston. She would miss the friends she had made, but she could no longer tolerate the barrage of memories she experienced no matter where she went. There were very few places she could go that didn’t remind her of Marion, or the life they had built and shared together. When Bree realized she avoided places she had once loved and burrowed herself in the house, she knew what she had to do.

  She and the movers made one last pass through the desolate house and declared the all clear. Her stomach twisted into a coil of agony as she grabbed her bag from the counter and followed the men out the door. Bree locked up the house for the last time and gasped at the pain that threatened to squeeze her heart into dust.

  Bree watched as the moving van pulled away. She got into her car but refused to look back at her house. Numb and wistful, she pulled out of the driveway and followed along behind the van that carried the shattered remnants of her life. As Bree passed familiar haunts along the route through town, she bid them a sad and silent farewell. She twisted the titanium band on her finger a few times before she removed it and dropped it down into the darkness of the center console. It was the last physical reminder of her marriage to Marion, with the exception of the yellow envelope tucked into the seat beside her. Her lawyer had drawn up the divorce papers eleven months earlier, and she had looked at them only once in all that time. They were a constant and painful memory that she couldn’t yet bring herself to end. As the tears once again threatened, Bree accelerated onto the Mass Turnpike and inhaled deeply. She held the breath for several beats before she exhaled and set her sights on the road ahead. It was the road to her new beginning.

  *

  Jim Whitley meandered along the path that led to the staff entrance of the sprawling, 250-room mansion known as the Biltmore Estate. Since 1895, it was America’s oldest and largest privately owned home. The 179,000-square-foot house sat upon eight thousand acres of manicured and managed land with vineyards, protected forests, countless gardens, a working farm, and a five-star hotel. For over fifty years, Biltmore had prospered as a self-sufficient property with the ultimate goal of preservation for future generations. Jim had worked at Biltmore for thirty years. He started as a stock boy and ascended the ranks as a cashier, a valet, and a tour guide before working his way into property maintenance. It was in that department where he found his calling. Jim loved the responsibility and importance that came from something as simple as changing a light bulb. Preservation and conservation were of the utmost importance at Biltmore, and each job required a complete understanding of and devotion to those tenets. Jim had attended numerous workshops and classes during his employment, including a variety of accredited training courses offered by Biltmore that helped him earn a management position. He loved his job and wouldn’t have traded it for the world.

  Jim made his way into the mansion and passed a polished sign that hung below a velvet rope: “Restricted Area—Employees Only.” Just as every good member of the Biltmore staff would, Jim reminded himself not to step on the rugs or touch any of the furnishings as he walked by. There were very few things on the property tha
t could be touched without protective gloves. The biggest exception being one of the hundreds of brass doorknobs he reached for. He often wondered how many knobs there were on the property and why he didn’t know offhand. He knew the Biltmore kept impeccable records, and if he had ever needed to know he could have found out from the one woman who ensured that each and every piece of brass in the building was kept pristine and sparkling. “I need to remember to ask her,” he said to himself as he closed the door behind him.

  “Ask who what?” a woman’s voice questioned from across the room. She glanced up from her magnifying lamp. Before Jim answered, she’d already looked away and back down through the lens at a brilliant gilt object. Carson Harper was a conservator at the Biltmore and Jim’s best friend. She analyzed an early eighteenth-century gilt wood frame. “Who?” Carson asked again as she swabbed the golden surface with what resembled an extra-large Q-Tip. When he failed to answer after several seconds, she looked up again and singsonged, “Hellooo?”

  Jim enjoyed watching her work. It reminded him of when Bree had come with him and sat for hours watching the technicians work. He more than understood her lifetime fascination with it. “Huh? Oh, nothing. I was just wondering how many brass doorknobs we have and whether Julia would know,” he answered.

  Carson put down her tools and turned in her seat to face him. “Everybody knows that. It’s six hundred and fourteen.”

  “What? Really? How do you kn—” Jim stopped when he saw the sarcastic look on Carson’s face. “Nice. Funny.”

  “I know,” Carson said as she turned back to her work. “Now stop bothering me. I have a lot of work to do.” She shooed him away with a flick of her white-gloved hand.