No.

Like a knot of cold steel inside, Trisha felt a sudden panic tighten and chill. His kingdom. His corner that captured the real soul of the mountain country, where a century before a man might have died if he hadn’t had the character to survive. She hadn’t, she knew. But now she realized it wasn’t really a fear of seeing Kern again that had filled her with dread. It was just the old sensation of feeling on trial-and failing…

Trisha shut off the engine and exhaled deeply. The house was completely different. It had been a skeleton when she left. Now the two rambling levels fit into the mountainside perfectly, as he had promised they would. The glass windows were scaled to perfection so that nothing marred Kern’s view of the mountains beyond. Century-old mountain maples shaded three sides. Azaleas and ferns, which naturally decorated the woods beyond, bordered the stone walk to the front door. The natural peace and privacy of the place spoke of Kern in a thousand ways.

“Perhaps,” Julia said quietly, “we could just start back right now. Right this minute.”

“You’re not serious.” Trisha turned away from the memory-invoking landscape.

“Perhaps I was wrong, Patricia,” her mother-in-law admitted with unaccustomed humility, a gray sheen of weariness painted on her complexion. “You never told me what it was like, and Kern’s always been the one to visit me. I didn’t know. There isn’t a theater or a decent restaurant, no industry, no…darling, this is a wilderness! This is no place for you. If I’d known…”

For a moment Trisha was surprised that Julia felt no appreciation for the lush beautiful countryside, and then she reminded herself swiftly that they were both city women. Her desire for cosmopolitan comforts was just as strong as Julia’s. “You should have seen it five years ago,” Trisha responded lightly. “I did warn you you wouldn’t want to stay, darling. There are no servants, no garden clubs, no formal dinner hour. The idea of your actually coming here to help Kern, when we both know you haven’t been face-to-face with a frying pan in thirty years…”