Brambleberry House: His Second-Chance Family. RaeAnne ThayneЧитать онлайн книгу.
is her familiar,” Sage added. “You probably ought to know that up front, too. I think the two of them are a team. If Abigail is the brains of the outfit, he’s the muscle.”
“Okay, now you’re obviously putting me on.”
Sage shook her head.
“Conan. The dog.”
Sage grinned. “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy. Just watch and see. The dog is spooky.”
“On that, at least, we can agree,” Anna said, setting the last majolica teacup in the cupboard. “He’s far smarter than your average dog.”
“I’ve seen that much already,” Julia admitted. “I’m sorry, but it’s a bit of a stretch for me to go from thinking he’s an uncommonly smart dog to buying the theory that he’s some kind of conduit from the netherworld.”
Sage laughed. “Put like that, it does sound rather ridiculous, doesn’t it? Just keep your eyes open. You can judge for yourself after you’ve been here awhile. I wanted to put a disclosure in the rental agreement about Abigail but Anna wouldn’t let me.”
Anna made a face. “It’s a little tough to find an attorney who will add a clause that we might have a ghost in the house.”
“There’s no might about it. You wait and see, Julia.”
A ghost and a dog/medium. She supposed there were worst things she could be dealing with in an apartment. “I hope she is still here. I can’t imagine Abigail would be anything but a benevolent spirit.”
Sage grinned at her. Anna shook her head, but she was smiling as well. “I see I’m outnumbered in the sanity department.”
“You’re just better at being a grown-up,” Sage answered. Her teasing slid away quickly, though, replaced with concern. “And on that note, is there anything special we need to worry about with Maddie? Environmental things she shouldn’t be exposed to or anything?”
Julia sighed. She would much rather ponder lighthearted theories of the supernatural than bump up against the harsh reality of her daughter’s illness and recovery.
“It’s a tough line I walk between wrapping her up in cotton wool to protect her and encouraging as normal a life as possible. Most of the time she’s fine, if a little more subdued than she once was. You probably wouldn’t know it but she used to be the spitfire of the twins. When they were toddlers, she was always the one leading Simon into trouble.”
She gave a wobbly smile and was warmed when Anna reached out and squeezed her hand.
A moment passed before she could trust her voice to continue. “Right now we need to work on trying to regain the strength she lost through the month she spent in the hospital with the bone marrow transplant. I hope by Christmas things will be better.”
Sage smiled. “Well, now you’ve got two more of us—four, counting Abigail and Conan—on your side.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, immeasurably touched at their effortless acceptance of her and her children.
* * *
AFTER SIMON WAS finally settled in bed, Julia stood in her darkened bedroom gazing out at the ripples of the sea gleaming in the moonlight. Though she had a million things to do—finding bowls they could use for cereal in the morning hovered near the top of her list—she decided she needed this moment to herself to think, without rushing to take care of detail after detail.
Offshore some distance, she could see the moving lights of a sea vessel cutting through the night. She watched it for a moment, then her gaze inexorably shifted to the houses along the shore.
There was the cottage where her family had always stayed, sitting silent and dark. Beyond that was Will Garrett’s house. A light burned inside a square cedar building set away from the house. His father’s workshop, she remembered. Now it would be Will’s.
She glanced at her watch and saw it was nearly midnight. What was he working on so late? And did he spend his time out in his workshop to avoid the emptiness inside his house?
She pressed a hand to her chest at the ache there. How did he bear the pain of losing his wife and his child? She remembered the vast sorrow in his gaze when he had looked at Maddie and she wanted so much to be able to offer some kind of comfort to him.
She sensed he wouldn’t want her to try. Despite his friendship with Sage and Anna, Will seemed to hold himself apart, as if he had used his carpentry skills to carefully hammer out a wall between himself and the rest of the world.
She ached for him, but she knew there was likely very little she could do to breach those walls.
She could try.
The thought whispered through her head with soft subtlety. She shook her head at her own subconscious. No. She had enough on her plate right now, moving to a new place, taking on a new job, dealing with twins on her own, one of whom still struggled with illness.
She didn’t have the emotional reserves to take on anyone else’s pain. She knew it, but as the peace of the house settled around her, she had the quiet conviction that she could at least offer him her friendship.
As if in confirmation, the sweet, summery scent of freesia drifted through the room. She smiled.
“Abigail, if you are still here,” she whispered, “thank you. For this place, for Anna and Sage. For everything.”
For just an instant, she thought she felt again the gentle brush of fingers against her cheek.
* * *
WILL MANAGED TO avoid his new neighbors for several days, mostly because he was swamped with work. He was contracted to do the carpentry work on a rehab project in Manzanita. The job was behind schedule because of other subcontractors’ delays and the developer wanted the carpentry work done yesterday.
Will was pouring every waking moment into it, leaving his house before the sun was up and returning close to midnight every night.
He didn’t mind working hard. Having too much work to do was a damn sight better than having too little. Building something with his hands helped fill the yawning chasm of his life.
But his luck where his neighbors were concerned ran out a week after he had helped carry boxes up to the second-floor apartment of Brambleberry House.
By Friday, most of the basic work on the construction job was done and the only thing left was for him to install the custom floor and ceiling moldings the developer had ordered from a mill in Washington State. They hadn’t been delivered yet and until they arrived, he had nothing to do.
Finally he returned to Cannon Beach, to his empty house and his empty life.
After showering off the sawdust and sweat from a hard day’s work, he was grilling a steak on the deck—his nightly beer in hand—watching tourists fly kites and play in the sand in the pleasant early evening breeze when he suddenly heard excited barking.
A moment later, a big red mutt bounded into view, trailing the handle of his retractable leash.
As soon as he spied Will, he switched directions and bounded up the deck steps, his tongue lolling as he panted heavily.
“You look like a dog on the lam.”
Conan did that weird grin thing of his and Will glanced down the beach to see who might have been on the other end of the leash. He couldn’t see anyone—not really surprising. Though he seemed pondeorus most of the time, Conan could pour on the juice when he wanted to escape his dreaded leash and be several hundred yards down the beach before you could blink.
When he turned back to the dog, he found him sniffing with enthusiasm around the barbecue.
“No way,” Will muttered. “Get your own steak. I’m not sharing.”
Conan whined and plopped down at his feet with such an obviously feigned morose expression that Will had to smile.