The Promise of Home. Kathryn SpringerЧитать онлайн книгу.
disappeared through a doorway off the living room, giving Jenna a few moments to explore the rest of the cabin alone.
Her heart sank as she surveyed the bleak interior.
From what Jenna could see, Shelly had made no attempt to turn the place into a home. There were no pictures on the walls. No personal touches that told her anything about her sister’s life.
Growing up, Shelly had been the outgoing one, unafraid of taking risks when it came to life—and love.
And look where it got her, Jenna thought.
The children’s last name was still Gardner, which led her to believe that Vance and her sister had never married. Where was he? Had he eventually grown tired of the responsibility of a family and walked out, the same way Jenna’s father had when she and Shelly were children?
She and Shelly had both felt the sting of his rejection. But while her younger sister had dreamed of finding someone to take care of her, Jenna had learned to take care of herself.
She’d never imagined those lessons would launch a popular magazine column, but that’s exactly what had happened. Jenna didn’t love the attention as much as she loved encouraging other women to become successful and independent.
Something she hadn’t been able to do for her own sister.
Jenna picked a towel off the floor and walked into the tiny kitchen. Unopened letters littered the table and the sink was filled with dirty dishes.
She turned on the faucet and the pipes rattled before spitting out a stream of rusty water.
Jenna closed her eyes.
What had she been thinking?
They were leaving. Now. Familiar surroundings or not. There had to be something to rent in Mirror Lake while they waited for Shelly to return.
This place…the aura of neglect and poverty. It reminded her of things she had spent years trying to forget.
Jenna followed the sound of voices to a bedroom only slightly larger than the walk-in closet in her apartment. The knotty pine walls appeared to be in fairly good condition, but a network of tiny cracks branched out from a central fault line in the plaster ceiling. Swags of cobwebs hung from the light fixture above her head.
Tori sat cross-legged on the frayed carpet, rummaging through a cache of toys stashed in a plastic bin at the foot of one of the bunk beds, while Logan was already unpacking the contents of his backpack.
Both the children looked up and smiled as Jenna entered the room.
Tori cuddled a stuffed dog in her lap. “This is Princess, but I think she looks like Violet, don’t you?”
Jenna didn’t want to think about Violet. Thinking about Violet made her think of Violet’s owner.
Her cheeks grew warm as she remembered the glint of amusement in Devlin McGuire’s eyes when he’d suggested that she take refuge inside of her car if she ever crossed paths with a real wolf.
Once they found another place to live, the chances of seeing her neighbor again would be slim. As humiliating as their first meeting had been, Jenna was no hurry for there to be another.
She moved to sit on the edge of the bed and her ankle connected with a solid object underneath the frame.
“Ouch.” Wincing, Jenna reached down and pulled out an unopened can of paint.
“That’s ours.” Tori flashed a shy smile. “Mom promised she would paint our room.”
“When she felt better,” Logan added.
Jenna glanced at the receipt from the hardware store taped to the lid. The paint had been purchased over a month ago. Shelly hadn’t been able to find the time—or the energy—to tackle a project that, given the size of the bedroom, wouldn’t have taken more than a few hours to complete.
How many other promises had her sister broken along the way? And at what age would Logan and Tori stop believing them?
“We can paint it and surprise Mommy, can’t we, Aunt Jenna?” Tori’s voice tugged her back to the present. “It’s pink. Me an’ Logan’s favorite color.”
“It’s your favorite color,” her brother muttered.
“You said you liked it!” Tori thrust out her chin, daring him to disagree.
“No, I didn’t.” The tips of Logan’s ears turned red. “I said it was okay if you liked it.”
Jenna recognized the small sacrifice her nephew had made to keep Tori happy, and something stirred in her heart.
It looked like she was going to have to make one, too.
Because like it or not, for now, the children had told Dev McGuire the truth.
This was home.
* * *
With a flick of his wrist, Dev released the line on his fishing pole. Sunlight sparked off the lure right before it sliced through the gleaming surface of the water and disappeared. He turned the handle on the reel and immediately felt a tug of resistance.
“I think we’ve got one,” he told Violet.
The dog barked her encouragement, tail waving like a victory banner as Dev set the hook and brought in a bluegill the size of his hand. Not bad for the first cast of the day.
As he removed the hook from the fish’s mouth, a furtive movement in the reeds caught his eye. Violet noticed it, too, and immediately set off to investigate.
“If it’s black with a white stripe, leave it alone,” Dev called after her. “Remember what happened last summer. You lost in the first round.”
And Dev hadn’t been able to so much as look at a glass of tomato juice since.
Violet ignored him and plunged headfirst into the cattails.
“Hey!”
Her quarry—a barefoot, towheaded boy—scrambled out the other side.
Logan J. Gardner.
So. Just Jenna had actually stuck it out for a night. If Dev were a gambling man, he would have bet she’d packed her Gucci bag and headed to a five-star hotel before a person could say complimentary facial.
Violet barked at the pint-sized trespasser, who stood rooted in place, shoulders hunched, his cheeks red with embarrassment at having been caught spying on the neighbors.
“Don’t pay any attention to Violet.” Dev cast out his line again, acting as if there were nothing at all unusual about discovering a boy lurking in the reeds at seven o’clock in the morning. “Hide-and-seek happens to be number two on her list of favorite games.”
The tension in Logan’s shoulders eased a little. He reached out and gave the dog’s nose a tentative pat. It was all the encouragement Violet needed. She retrieved a piece of birch wood floating in the shallow water and dropped it at the boy’s feet.
Dev shook his head. “Fetching sticks is number one.”
With a sideways look at Dev, Logan dutifully picked up the stick and threw it. Violet sprang forward, massive paws churning ruts in the sand as she chased it down the shoreline.
Logan shuffled closer, pushing his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts. “Did you catch anything yet?”
“Just getting started.” Dev tried another spot further from the lily pads. “Do you like to fish?”
The thin shoulders rolled in a shrug. “My friend Jeremy does. He said he’d teach me this summer, but I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.”
But he wanted to try. Dev could see it in Logan’s eyes.
“There’s one way to find out.” He held out the fishing pole.