Take Me Home by Nancy Herkness

made him want to follow her tongue with his own. He’d seen the flicker of hesitation in her eyes and tamped down his reaction. He had learned that his physical size sometimes made his mental sharpness overwhelming to people. He’d have to be more careful, or Claire would run right away.
    “That’s a real pretty dress,” he said to defuse the tension. He didn’t know much about clothes, but he knew this outfit was different from her usual sleek, sophisticated gallery attire. It reminded him of glamorous old movie stars. He liked the softness and grace of it.
    Anais had been a chameleon, changing her persona daily even when she wasn’t onstage. She would transform everything: her gestures, her posture, her speech patterns. He was never sure who he would wake up with every morning.
    He was reassured that Claire still moved and sounded like herself.
    “Thank you. My nieces helped me pick it out,” she said, fiddling with one large black button. “That reminds me—Holly was curious about how you got reservations at the Aerie on such short notice. You said you called in a favor?”
    “The chef has a German shepherd who tangled with a bear last year. I sewed up a few gashes, and he told me to call anytime I wanted to eat there.”
    The dog was nearly dead when chef Adam Bosch had carried him into Tim’s office with tears streaming down his face. Tim had worked on the bloodied creature for three hours before he was sure the dog would pull through. Bosch had sent him a case of Opus One wine and an open invitation to dine at the Aerie anytime he wanted to.
    This was the first time Tim had taken him up on the offer.
    “I guess being the local vet has its advantages,” she said. “It’s sort of like the town doctor. People are grateful to you for taking care of their loved ones.”
    “It’s better than being the town doctor because people don’t have to be embarrassed that I’ve seen them without their clothes on,” he said.
    “Oh yes, as a teenager, I always blushed when Dr. Wiley said hello to me anywhere outside of his office.”
    “My patients, on the other hand, greet me with big, sloppy kisses.”
    Her laugh was silvery, a contrast to the slight throatiness of her speaking voice. He was emboldened to shift to a more significant topic. “Since I can’t have the Castillo, you’re going to have to find me something just as good for my new house. When I chose a building site with a great view, I set up a problem for myself.”
    “Competition?”
    “In a nutshell.”
    “That happens a lot in Manhattan apartments. The spectacular views of the cityscape make mediocre art hanging near them look even worse. Here most people find Len Boggs’s work a complement to the scenery.”
    “Don’t get me wrong, I think the fellow’s got plenty of talent, but I’m a scientist, and his style is a little too impressionistic for me.”
    “Hmm, I can think of a couple of possibilities that I can pull out the next time you’re in the gallery. So where is your great view?”
    “Near the summit of Flat Top Mountain. The house is still under construction, but there’s enough finished so I can live there.”
    “Doesn’t the noise and mess drive you crazy?”
    “I’m not there during the day, and at night, it’s quiet. I like coming home to my own place and seeing the mountain ridges stretching out to the horizon. It makes my troubles feel smaller.”
    He hadn’t meant to say that
.
    “Sharon says that’s why they call it Sanctuary,” Claire said. “People come here to take refuge from their troubles.”
    “And the folks who already live here, what do they do?”
    “I guess they tell their troubles to one of Sharon’s whisper horses,” she said, her skirt rustling as she shifted in the seat.
    A faint scent of citrus and rose tantalized his nostrils. Tim took a deep breath, savoring the clean floral fragrance.
    “It felt good to come back here,” he said. “Like wading into a cool mountain stream after