“It all started when I saw them outside my office building,” I began. She listened intently without comment but nodded her head on occasion as I told her how we’d come to have Sam and Sweetheart as travelling companions. When I finished speaking, she shook her head as if amazed.
“Miss Heywood, this is a remarkable.”
I grinned at Henry. “See, Mrs. Pennington thinks it’s remarkable.”
Henry rolled his eyes. “She didn’t say it was a good idea, simply remarkable.”
Mrs. Pennington laughed. “Well, it is unusual, no doubt about that. It’s also extremely kind.”
I smiled, elated. Mrs. Pennington understood. I’d done something good. Something important.
“But what do you plan to do next? You’ll need a strategy to make him independent at some point, isn’t that right?” Mrs. Pennington sipped her tea. “This could prove challenging, I’m afraid.”
“He needs a job and a place to live,” I said. “The problem is, I don’t know anything about his past except that he had a head injury that caused loss of speech.”
“Well, all in good time, I suspect,” said Mrs. Pennington. “I have a feeling you of all people will figure out a way to help him.”
I surged with delight at the compliment. “Mrs. Pennington, would you consider joining us for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow? My sister’s a wonderful cook. Sam and Henry are joining us as well.”
Henry stared at me. “We are?”
“Yes. You didn’t think I’d leave you here alone on the holiday, did you?” I turned to Mrs. Pennington. “My nieces will be there. They’re adorable. Anyway, please say yes.”
She smiled. “How can I refuse? I’m always interested in meeting new people.” She looked over at Henry. “And you will be joining us, right?” She put the emphasis on the word will. Mrs. Pennington might look gentle, but I had a feeling a tiger lurked within.
“Yes, yes, of course,” he stammered.
“You know, Mrs. Pennington.” I stood. “Henry’s going to drop me off in a few minutes at my sister’s, which means he’s free for dinner.”
Henry had turned white by the time I glanced over at him. Mrs. Pennington stood also, smoothing her sweater dress over her slender frame. “Well, that’s a coincidence, because so am I. There’s only one place to eat in town, Henry, and it’s only mediocre, but food’s always better in the right company. Shall we dine together at the Peregrine Bar and Grill? Around seven?”
“Yes. Yes. Splendid.”
The Peregrine Bar and Grill? Kevan and Blythe had first met in that very bar just six months ago. “Blythe says to sit at the bar,” I said, casually. “No kids. Less distractions.”
“Sounds perfectly perfect,” said Mrs. Pennington.
I stifled a self-satisfied smile. My work for the day was done. Perhaps I was getting this friendship thing after all.
Chapter 9
“YOU’RE SITTING IN the back, Miss Heywood.” Henry opened the door to the sedan, pointing to the seat.
“Fine.” I pulled my coat tighter around my middle.
The minute he got into the car, Henry glared at me from the rearview mirror. “What, Miss Heywood, was that?”
“I assume you’re referring to Mrs. Pennington. You’re welcome.”
“I’m not thanking you. On the contrary. I’m quite irritated with you.”
“You like her. I was just helping you out. I’m kind of a modern-day cupid, now that I think about it.” I grinned at him and twirled a bit of the soft fluff of my hat with my index finger.
“There’s a name for you, and it’s not cupid.” He pulled the car out of the parking lot onto the side street and then turned left onto the main street in town, which according to Moonstone would take us to the entrance to Kevan’s long, dirt road.
“Matchmaker?”
“Busybody. Haven’t you ever read Emma?”
“Jane Austen’s Emma?”
“Yes. She gets herself into loads of trouble interfering in other’s business. You should keep that in mind.”
“It’s too late, Henry.” I scooted forward on the seat and poked him on the shoulder. “You’re thanking me on the inside. You would never have had the courage to ask her out if I hadn’t interfered.”
“Nothing will come of it. I’m leaving to go home after the weekend. She’s travelling about, which I haven’t the income to do. The whole thing’s futile.” He turned up the music on the radio, as if to indicate to me the discussion was over.
I settled back into the seat to watch the scenery. Evening now, it had begun to snow. Big, soft flakes. Moonstone had told us the first snowfall had come just that morning and that more was expected over the weekend. “Isn’t the snow lovely?” I asked.
“Let’s just hope we can get home on Sunday.”
Henry was nothing but a pessimist, I thought, watching the flakes fall outside the window. It wasn’t like either of them had anything to hold them down or keep them apart, should they fall in love. Anyway, it only takes a moment for your whole life to change, for better or worse. They could be one another’s future. One never knew when a miracle might happen. I kept all this to myself, knowing that Henry was hopeful beyond what his words might convey. The way he tapped his finger on the steering wheel in time to the music betrayed him.
Chapter 10
HENRY INSISTED HE WOULD not stay to meet my family, reminding me that they didn’t yet know that I’d brought a gaggle of misfit toys, one of which was homeless and the other a mangy dog, all said in his British accent, making it that much more humorous.
“Henry, just have fun tonight. I’ll ask Kevan to fetch the bags in a moment.”
“Tonight will be an utter disaster, I’m sure. I haven’t had a date in forty years.”
“It’s about time you did, then.”
“Get out.”
Laughing as I stepped out of the car and into the falling snow, I lifted my face to the sky, letting the flakes settle on my cheeks. How wonderful it felt, as if they might wash clean all the sins of the past. And then my nieces were shrieking and running toward me. I held open my arms and hugged them as tightly as possible. They’d grown since I’d last seen them, and I felt that same pang I often had when first seeing them after a time away. I should be with them more. It all goes too fast. They let go of me just as my sister arrived. She wore only jeans and a sweater and had her arms crossed over her chest against the cold. Flakes of snow stuck to her hair as she grabbed me into a hug.
“Surprise,” I whispered in her ear.
“How did this happen?”
“Blame your boyfriend. He’s very persuasive.” I withdrew, and looked into her eyes. “Suffice to say, I didn’t want to miss this weekend. Enough so that I quit my job.”
“What?” she said, peering at me.
“The IPO was very lucrative. So I’m taking some time off. Maybe I’ll move to Idaho.”
I’d meant to tell her I’d “left” my job, figuring I would explain the details to her later, after the excitement of the engagement passed, but instead the word “quit” came out of my mouth. I know it’s a fine distinction, but the minute I said it I felt guilty, knowing the truth was neither left nor quit, but fired. Obviously I wasn’t yet ready to admit that I’d failed at something. It was important to me that she saw me as she always had—the successful professional.
We linked arms and walked toward the house with Blythe chattering away about this and that: plans for the weekend, what was for dinner, how happy she was to see me, how much I was going to love Rori and Cole, who were out now but to return soon, how perfect that the snow had come in time for my visit. We went around the front of the house to the side door, instead of going inside through the sliding glass door that opened to a snow-covered patio. Blythe explained that the main entrance to the house was really here at the side, as it was the location of the nec
essary Idaho mudroom where shoes and coats were left. We entered through two massive cherry wood doors to a room with a tile floor, shelves and hangers for coats, and bins that I assumed held various outdoor necessities like gloves and hats.
Blythe assured me that it was only children who had to take their shoes off before entering, so I merely slipped out of my hat and coat, hanging them on the hook nearest the door. They were not labeled with names. This was not Blythe’s house yet, I thought. As soon as they’re married, she’ll insist on labeling everything. Just one of the ways Blythe tried to control chaos, which, again, could be blamed on our mother. Rather than hooks for jackets, my mother employed the strategy of piling it all in the damp corner near the door. I shuddered just thinking of the spiders that so often had hid underneath.
“Do you have spiders in Idaho?” I asked.
“I’ve seen one,” said Clementine. “But it was outside. Don’t worry, Aunt Bliss. Kevan has a housekeeper and she keeps everything really nice.”
I made a funny face to make her laugh. “Oh good. I hate spiders.”
“Who doesn’t?” said Clementine.
“I’ll give you a tour of the house later,” said Blythe. “But for now let’s say hi to Kevan and get you settled in the guesthouse.” She indicated for me to follow. As we walked down a hallway into the front room, I snuck a peek behind me. There were several doors, presumably to bedrooms and perhaps a bathroom. When I entered the front room, Kevan was kneeling by the wood-burning fireplace, a stack of magazines near his feet. Shakespeare, his yellow lab, was asleep in a dog bed to the right of the fire. Kevan grabbed the top magazine and threw it into the fire.
Clementine grabbed my hand. Lola mouthed something to me I couldn’t understand.
“Kevan, what did you do, buy every copy in Idaho?” asked Blythe.
Kevan stood but did not turn around, his head bent toward the fire. “Yes, and I plan to burn them all.”
Blythe gave me a look that I couldn’t interpret. I had no idea what was in the magazines, but apparently it was something Kevan didn’t want anyone to see.
“Honey, Bliss is here,” said Blythe.
Kevan stood and turned toward us, arranging his face into a smile, leaning on the poker like a cane. “Bliss, I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Me too. Thanks for inviting me.” I gave him a quick but enthusiastic hug, which he returned with his free hand. I kneeled to pet Shakespeare, greeting him with a soft murmur. He looked up at me with his dog smile on a wizened face replete with gray whiskers, wagged his tail twice, then put his head down and closed his eyes.
“Shakespeare’s slowing down. Sleeps most of the day away.” Kevan turned away, but not before I saw the shine of tears in his blue eyes.
Just then, Kevan’s daughter, Rori, and a young man, presumably her boyfriend, Cole, came into the room from the kitchen. They were both wearing their Oregon Ducks sweatshirts and were holding hands. Blythe introduced them to me, explaining that they’d arrived the day before from Eugene, where they both attended the University of Oregon. They looked like a photo in a college recruitment catalogue, although a study in contrasts. Rori was a petite blonde with striking blue eyes and fair skin, like her Irish descendants, whereas Cole was dark-haired, at least six feet, and muscular. I knew from Blythe that they’d loved each other since they were kids.
We made the usual pleasantries. I complimented Kevan’s home. Lola commented on my boots and with a not-so-subtle glance at her mother said she couldn’t wait to be old enough to wear high heels. Blythe ignored Lola’s comment, asking instead if we’d had any trouble with the weather on the drive. Clementine bounced next to me, tugging on my hand as I replied that, no, the weather had been fine.
“Obviously we’re all happy you’re here safe. A few of us have been counting down the hours.” Blythe gave her youngest an indulgent smile.
“That was me, Aunt Bliss.” Clementine hugged my leg with her cheek pressed against my thigh.
I put my hands on the sides of her face. “Guess what? I was counting down the hours until I could see you.”
“I missed you. A lot.” Her eyes, so like my sister’s at that age, hazel with unusually thick eyelashes for a blonde and the same sweetness, smiled at me.
Releasing her face, I pulled her into a hug. “I missed you too, sweet girl. More than you know.”
Behind us, Kevan threw another magazine into the fire and dusted his hands by wiping them against one another. I looked around the room, trying to be polite when all I really wanted to do was to see why he felt compelled to burn this particular magazine. The room’s decor, a study in contrast—warm furniture, a free-form wood coffee table, cozy black leather lounge chairs, a rosewood and leather sofa, and a Navajo-inspired rug—was in juxtaposition to the concrete walls and steel fireplace. Blythe had described it as a true reflection of Kevan, and I understood now what she meant. Like him, it was understated, with a mixture of modern and rustic in a way that made it feel comfortable. Yet, although cozy, one still had the feeling of being outdoors, gloriously celebrated through the oversized windows that looked upon Blue Mountain.
Blythe put a hand on Kevan’s shoulder just as he threw another magazine onto the fire. “Sweetheart, will you go out and get Bliss’s bags and put them in the guesthouse? Her driver’s outside waiting.”
Clementine dropped my hand and ran to window, pressing her nose against the glass. “Wow, a driver.”
“Of course. I turned the heat on this morning, Bliss, so it should be warm by now. Also, I need to feed the horses.” Kevan nodded at us and left the room.
“Did you know Kevan has three horses?” Clementine turned from the window to look over at me. “Boo, Peep and Buttercup. They’re old and no one wanted them.”
“Headed straight to the old glue factory,” said Lola. She sounded so old and almost sassy. How had this happened since I last saw her?
“Lola! Where did you hear such a thing?” asked Blythe.
“Isn’t that where they go?” asked Lola. She widened her eyes. “I read it in a book.”
“Not anymore,” said Blythe. “At least I don’t think so.” She turned to me. “Kevan couldn’t bear to see them destroyed and rescued them from their previous owners.”
“They were going to get killed,” said Clementine. Her eyes filled with tears. “Can you believe anyone would do that?” This question was directed at me. I knew enough to answer quickly.
“No. It’s awful. Isn’t it wonderful that Kevan rescued them?” I asked.
“He told me once that he prefers animals to people. Except for me and Lola and Rori and Mom.” Clementine smiled. “We’re his family now. He told me so when he tucked me in last night.”
I glanced at Blythe. There were tears in her eyes too. Kevan needn’t have worried about asking my sister to marry him. They were all devoted to one another, marriage certificate or not.
“Well, Kevan and I have that in common,” I said to Clementine. “Animals are better than people, present company excluded.”
Clementine’s forehead wrinkled as she turned back to the window. “Why do you have a driver, Aunt Bliss?”
“She’s afraid to drive in the snow,” said my sister.
“She hates driving,” Lola joined Clementine by the window. “She was really old when she got her license.”
Blythe chuckled and shot me an apologetic gaze. “I wasn’t there to teach her how, Lola.”
Outside, Kevan took my suitcases from Henry and they stood chatting, breath like clouds in the cold air. I held out my arms to both girls. “Come, give me another hug, both of you.” I squeezed Lola and kissed the top of her head. She smelled differently than the last time I saw her. It was an almost infinitesimal difference than the little-girl smell of Clementine, but there it was just the same—the smell of a preteen, slightly musky, a hint of oil in her hair. Again, the pang of time
tapped my heart as I let them both go and moved over to warm my legs by the fireplace. “I do hate driving, but actually I had a little accident on the ice earlier in the week. I fell coming out of my office and had to go the hospital. So Henry drove me.”
“What? Are you all right?” Immediately Blythe rushed to me and placed her hands on my upper arms, scrutinizing my face, as if to determine whether or not I had a concussion.
“I’m fine, Sister Sue.” I slipped into our childhood nickname for one another. “It’s no big deal, really.” Facing the fireplace once again, I held my hands up under the guise of warming them but really wanting to avoid Blythe’s scrutiny. She could read anything on my face within a second. I glanced down, remembering the magazines. It was a celebrity gossip type of magazine, like People, only less reputable. The actress, Hope Manning, dressed in an extremely scant bikini, sat on the lap of a shirtless man. The photo was grainy, obviously taken from a distance, so his face wasn’t entirely clear. I made out brown hair and that he was tall and muscular—the waif Hope Manning looked about the size of Clementine on his lap. They appeared to be on a boat of some kind. The title said, “Hope Manning’s New Man.”
“Why is Kevan burning these?” I asked.
“Because Uncle Ciaran’s picture is on the cover,” said Clementine. “Kevan doesn’t want anyone to see.”
I looked at Blythe for confirmation but she was gesturing toward the outside. “You girls should help Kevan feed the horses. I want to talk to Aunt Bliss alone.”
They left, mumbling to one another about how unfair it was to be a kid, how you always miss the good stuff, and why did Mom always hog Aunt Bliss to herself.
Blythe moved to the fireplace and picked up one of the magazines. She handed it to me, smiling. “This is Kevan’s brother, Ciaran, with Hope Manning. I don’t know why Kevan thinks burning them will do any good. The photos are everywhere, not just this magazine. He must have bought every copy in the entire town of Peregrine.”
Blue Moon (Blue Mountain Book 2) Page 8
