“Wait,” I said, walking to his side. I looked up into those azure eyes, but strangely, I didn’t feel an urge to kiss him again.
He turned toward me fully, running his palms up my forearms. “Belinda, you’re like no other woman I’ve ever met. Certainly not like Margo. Sure, she was easygoing like you, but she was using my dad. Maybe she even got pregnant on purpose, hoping he’d leave Mom and shower her with money. It was all a game to her.”
I leaned into his chest. “We don’t know that. Maybe she was just taken advantage of by an older, married man. Happens all the time.”
“Dad’s no angel; I know that. He has a fiery temper when he’s drunk. But hopefully that won’t happen again. He’s agreed to join AA.”
I drew back, looking up into his serious face. “That’s wonderful! Things are working out.”
Stone leaned down, but instead of kissing me, he simply took my face in his hands. “I love your enthusiasm for life,” he said. “But sometimes there isn’t a happy ending. My mom’ll probably be in prison for years.”
“I’m so sorry,” I rushed to cover my insensitivity.
“She deserves it,” he said. His tone was brutal and unyielding. Stone had closed the door on his mother, I realized. She was on the outside now, and he might never let her back in.
A tear slid down my cheek. Stone wiped it off and pulled his jacket tighter. “I need to get home,” he said. “Get your locks changed, Belinda, and don’t give the key to a single soul. You take care of yourself.”
When he opened the door, a cold draft of air rushed in, carrying with it an unshakeable surety that Stone the fifth wouldn’t be calling me again anytime soon.
Chapter 36
I actually landed three pet-sitting jobs before Christmas, which helped me keep my mind off Stone. Just as I’d feared, it seemed that our billiards party was some kind of last hurrah. Occasionally, I saw Stone’s Lamborghini driving by, which was comforting to some degree. If the car was running, the installed Breathalyzer device had verified he wasn’t drinking.
Stone the fourth surprised me by dropping off a Christmas gift before I left for my parents’. I was even more surprised by the thoughtfulness of the gift—a collection of expensive coffee syrups. I wondered if his son had told him what I liked. When I flipped the card over, both their names were on it. But Stone the fifth never showed up.
I visited Reginald and dropped off a few frozen rats for Rasputin. The snake looked like he was in perfect health as he slithered around on a new, fake tree. Catching a glimpse of his golden eyes, I leaned toward the cage. “Thanks, buddy. I owe you.”
The ball python flicked his tongue, and that was enough for me.
* * * *
On the day I was supposed to drive home, Bluebell wouldn’t start. I gave her a serious pep talk, then gave the key one final turn. She jumped to life.
Katrina must’ve relayed my car troubles to Tyler, who descended on the Volvo the moment I pulled into my parents’ driveway. It took him all of five minutes to announce that I needed a new car battery.
Katrina looked thoughtful as she greeted me. Her baby bump was showing a tiny bit more, highlighted by her fitted red sweater.
“You look smashing in red,” I said.
“As do you,” she said, nodding at my own red coat.
I slipped it off, heading to the kitchen for some coffee. Dad stood to hug me, then stepped aside so Mom could have her turn.
“How’s Stone?” Katrina asked, her eyes eager. There was only one Stone Carrington she was interested in—the one I’d kissed.
“He’s good. They sent us some coffee syrups.” I dug around in my luggage for the bottles I’d packed, handing them over to Mom.
Mom fingered a bottle of Creme de Menthe. “You need to call Jonas,” she said abruptly. “He called again, about that book club thing. I didn’t have my notepad nearby to write down the details. I think it’s happening tomorrow morning?”
“I’ll call him,” I said, realizing I’d neglected to do that when I was in Greenwich. “How’s his mom?”
“About the same, which is actually good,” Mom said. “She’s holding steady.”
Katrina whisked me off to the living room, where she demanded I walk her through what happened in Greenwich. When I got to the part about Jacques trying to strangle me, I thought she was going to blow a gasket.
“How dare he!” she shouted.
Tyler moseyed into the living room and dropped into a nearby chair. Although his demeanor was relaxed, I knew he was ready to talk Kat down if she got too wound up. My sister could go from zero to Scales of Justice vengeance machine in about three seconds flat.
“I hope he’s in prison, because I want to kill him,” she bellowed.
“It’s under control,” I said. “He’s in prison and he’s going to be found guilty of murder. I’m fairly certain there’s nothing you could do to make his life worse. But thanks, sis.”
Tyler unobtrusively turned on the TV and flipped to an episode of Psych, one of Katrina’s favorites.
The storm blew over fairly quickly, and I was thankful. I had never been so ready for Christmas.
* * * *
The next morning, I pulled on my favorite jeans, an old Ms. Pac-Man T-shirt, and my red coat. I was sure my mismatched attire would raise eyebrows in Greenwich, but I’d seen just about how far having the perfect outfit could get you, and I wasn’t impressed.
I pulled up to the little coffee shop in town, cleverly titled “The Coffee Shoppe.” I believe they thought adding the “e” at the end would give it a certain French flair.
I could see Jonas sitting on a barstool in front of the window. He jumped up and came out to greet me. We shared an awkward hug.
“Thanks for coming,” he said. “Figured you might want to get a taste of our kaffeeklatsch. I thought I’d show you I don’t just herd cattle all day or something like that.”
“Hmm.” I glanced at the small group of five that sipped at coffee in silence, books on their laps. “Herding cattle might actually be more exciting.”
“Let me introduce you,” Jonas said, leading me to a chair. I slipped my own copy of Tess of the d’Urbervilles from my oversized tote. I didn’t have to let on that I’d read the Wikipedia summary, then skipped to the ending of the book. I planned to spend more time on the next read, because some ornery part of me wanted to keep up with Jonas.
After introductions were made, a woman swept into the shop, setting the bell ringing. Jonas’s gaze shot her way. She was a bit taller than I was. She had an oval face and dark eyes that hinted at mystery and sadness. She reminded me of an Italian painting.
Jonas stood. “Delia, this is Belinda. Belinda, Delia.”
So this was the elusive bakery owner. As she sat, Jonas asked, “You want the usual?”
She nodded, and a something broke loose inside me and rattled around. Jonas knew her usual.
He turned to me. “What would you like, Belinda?”
“Just a small caramel latte, please,” I said. I didn’t even have a “usual.” In fact, I rarely ordered the same coffee twice.
When Jonas returned to his chair, bearing two cups of coffee, he handed Delia hers first. I was left with no doubt.
He liked her.
* * * *
The discussion turned out to be more rousing than I expected. One older woman argued that Angel Clare was the real villain in the book, sending Tess to her doom.
I thought about Melly and Jacques. About Stone the fourth’s alcoholism, which he’d very nearly passed on to his son. About Margo, who might have been a moneygrubber just like Melly Carrington.
“Maybe they’re all hopelessly flawed,” I said.
Jonas’s eyebrows raised, and I knew he wanted to talk. Right then. Instead, we had to sit through the rest of the discussion, which Delia somehow dominated with
her occasional but utterly brilliant remarks.
After bidding the friendly crew goodbye, Delia, Jonas, and I remained. The lunch crowd was descending on The Coffee Shoppe.
Delia dropped her paper cup in the trash and walked to Jonas’s side. “So nice to meet you, Belinda. Thanks for joining our discussion. I hope to see you again.”
I found myself wishing she didn’t seem so earnest, so I could dislike her more.
Delia adjusted her purse and gave Jonas a fleeting smile. “See you next week,” she said.
The moment the door closed behind her, Jonas gave me a look. “Sit down.”
As usual, I did what he asked without even questioning it. Why did I do that? I jumped back to my feet, giving him a challenging glare. “I feel like standing,” I said.
He didn’t buy it. If anything, he looked more concerned. “Something’s wrong, Belinda. What happened?”
That was all it took.
He had tapped the dam, and it broke.
I raced outside, hoping to hide the tears that had already started falling. I unlocked Bluebell and climbed in, but Jonas caught the door before I could slam it.
“Let me in,” he said.
And I couldn’t stop myself. I did.
Jonas settled into my passenger seat as if he’d been in this car a thousand times before. My eyes traveled over his rugged jacket, his rough, strong hands, and finally I let them travel to his face.
He watched my every move, as if judging what to do next.
Because Jonas always knew what to do next.
“Tell me what happened to you,” he said.
So I did. I told him everything.
And he didn’t turn his back on me, like Stone had. Instead, as Jonas carefully traced the still-faint bruises on my neck, he gave me an intensely tender gaze.
“Don’t let it change you,” he said.
And I could feel my soul start to heal.
* * * *
When I got home, Katrina was waiting for the lowdown on the book club, so we cloistered ourselves once again in our old room.
But I didn’t want to talk about the club. “Jonas Hawthorne,” I said, and my voice was filled with wonder.
Katrina stared, then smiled. “I wondered when you were going to wake up,” she said.
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
Heather Day Gilbert’s next
Belinda Blake, Exotic Pet Sitter mystery
BELINDA BLAKE AND THE WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING
coming soon wherever e-books are sold!
Chapter 1
Rainy weather was an introvert’s best friend.
At least that’s the way I’d felt for years, but after four days of nonstop drizzle alternating with heavy deluges in Greenwich, Connecticut, I was about to change my mind. I needed to get out of my stone carriage house, needed to take in the rich smells of spring, needed to touch the velvety red tulip petals that had finally started to unfurl in my flowerbed out back.
I cozied up on my blue couch, setting my warm mug of Arabica coffee on the low table in front of me. Snagging one of my favorite Agatha Christie mysteries, By the Pricking of My Thumbs, off my shelf, I tried to pick up where I’d left off.
Instead, my gaze wandered to my wide front window, where I could see the shamrock-green lawn stretching up to the Carringtons’ manor house. I tried not to think of my last encounter with Stone Carrington the fifth, but I couldn’t help myself.
When Stone had broken a couple months’ silence and shown up on my doorstep in early March, it was obvious something had changed. I could see it in his face—the way those turquoise eyes shone with expectation. I figured he’d tell me he’d found someone who’d made him forget all the stresses of his complicated family life.
Instead, he’d said something far worse.
He was heading to Bhutan.
Dietrich, our artist friend, had told Stone about a yoga retreat in the mountains of Bhutan that had revolutionized his perspective on just about everything. After researching the retreat, Stone had decided it might be just the thing to clear his head.
“I have to get strong enough to fight my own demons,” he’d said.
“I think you already are,” I’d responded.
He had smiled wistfully, then pulled me into a hug. His luxuriant leathery scent utterly wrecked my ability to concentrate, so I relaxed into his long arms.
“I’m glad you believe in me, Belinda.” His lips had brushed my curls as he murmured into my hair. “And Dad’s partner assures me that it’s all systems go for me to take over the family hedge fund business. But I don’t feel right stepping into that position until I’m sure that’s what I want to do. I don’t want to be locked into a life that sucks my soul out.” He drew back and I met his serious gaze. “You understand what I mean. Look at you—you started a pet-sitting business in Manhattan, then you moved to Greenwich and grew your clientele even more. I love that you’re so unafraid. That’s how I want to live.”
Several responses had run through my mind, but I was only able to articulate one.
“I do understand,” I’d said.
And with that, I’d inadvertently given my blessing on Stone’s big adventure, but I knew that was the way it should be. I would never hold someone back from finding their purpose in life.
Besides, my feelings for Stone were seriously conflicted. Since my visit home at Christmas, my parents’ neighbor, dairy farmer Jonas Hawthorne, had given me weekly calls to discuss the classics I was reading along with his book club. Every time I hung up the phone with him, I found myself smiling like I’d won the sweepstakes. I hadn’t analyzed our relationship yet, but I was pretty sure my psychologist sister, Katrina, would be more than happy to help me figure things out.
Life in the carriage house had seemed dreadfully boring since Stone hopped his plane for Bhutan. Doubtless, he’d had a full month of epiphanies while I’d stayed mostly housebound, playing video games and taking every pet-sitting job I could to pay the bills.
I turned back to By the Pricking of My Thumbs. I was reading the same sentence for the fourth time when my cell phone rang. I grabbed it from the coffee table and barked, “Hello,” without even bothering to check who was calling first.
A woman’s soft voice filled the line. “Is this Belinda Blake, the pet-sitter?”
“It is.” I was ready to jump on any sitting job she offered, because it’d been two weeks since my last one.
“I’m Dahlia White. I have several large-breed animals I was wondering if you’d be available to help care for. You’d need to start in a couple of days and I’d need you for an eight-day stint. I’m sorry it’s such late notice, but the other person I asked wasn’t able to do it.”
Dogs—my favorite. I responded enthusiastically. “Sure thing. I grew up with German Shepherds, so I’m no stranger to the larger breeds.”
After a miniscule pause, Dahlia responded. “Well, that’s the thing. They’re not dogs—they’re wolves.”
I caught my breath as she rushed on.
“But my fluffy darlings are no trouble to care for, I promise. They’re like my babies. You wouldn’t have to do much, just help my primary feeder with his chores so he wouldn’t have to stay overtime to get things done. Since you’d advertised that you specialize in exotic pets, I assumed you would be quite comfortable with unusual jobs like this.”
I hesitated. I’d never been to a wolf preserve—much less seen a wolf up-close—but the way Dahlia was talking, you’d think they were just like dogs.
“Umm.” I floundered about for something to say, but nothing coherent sprang to mind.
“I’ll tell you what, why don’t you look up the preserve website online and check us out? It’s the White Pine Wolf Preserve site. Many of our guests have left reviews of their tour experience, and they’re all ex
tremely positive about their interactions with the wolves.”
“Okay. I’ll do that and get back to you.” I wanted to buy myself time.
“That sounds great. Actually, if it’s not too much trouble, could you call me back in a couple of hours so I’ll know if I need to find someone else?” She gave a brief pause. “Oh, and I forgot to mention that I’ll pay top dollar for your services—I know you come highly qualified.”
She must have read my endorsements from the Greenwich and Manhattan elite. I always tried to snag a quote when one of my wealthy clients praised my pet-sitting skills.
I had to admit, the top dollar payment Dahlia promised was more than a little tempting because it was sorely needed. I agreed to check out the preserve and touch base in an hour. As I hung up the phone, a book slid from my overstuffed bookshelf and hit the floor.
I walked over to pick it up and glanced at the title.
White Fang.
Was it a good sign, a bad sign, or just a coincidence?
At this point, it was impossible to guess.
* * * *
The White Pine Wolf Preserve website yielded minimal information. As I should have guessed, the featured reviews were completely positive. One guest bragged about how her autistic son had made an instant connection with a white wolf and had enjoyed his time petting it. A teen posted that during the tour, a timber wolf had begged for his piece of watermelon—and when he’d offered it through the fence, the wolf had gobbled it up and begged for more.
I clicked on Dahlia White’s “About the Owner” section, and it certainly tugged at the heartstrings. Dahlia had rescued her animals from lives of fighting or even from imminent euthanization.
“Once I knew of the plight of these animals, it would have been heartless to walk away,” Dahlia was quoted as saying in the local paper. “My animals have found healing here, and it’s a joy to share their story with our visitors.”
Everything sounded very professional, and the pictures showed people and wolves frolicking like it was the most normal thing in the world. The grounds looked spotless, and the wolves had clean teeth and coats, so it seemed they were well looked after.
Belinda Blake and the Snake in the Grass Page 20
