by Jen Gilroy
“Do you ever think this house and everything in it holds you back?” Didn’t his mom realize he wanted to protect her? That it had been his job since he was eleven?
Mia looked up and something sizzled between them. Then she flashed him a smile that made her look younger and a lot more available. “Leave the psychology to the professionals. You need to relax.”
“I am relaxed,” he lied. Lately, just when he’d gotten his life stable again, being around her had him wound up tight and wanting something, someone, he couldn’t let himself have.
“No, you’re not. You should try yoga. I got Charlie into yoga and she’s a new person.”
Nick’s laugh spilled out, rusty. “Your sister’s a new person because she’s blissed out with Sean.” And his friend was blissed out, too, and settled into married life like he’d never known anything else. A cozy domesticity as strange as it was unsettling. “Next thing you’ll tell me I need a cat.”
Mia shrugged, and a dimple dented her right cheek. “Even though I’ve never had one, I like cats. They’re low-maintenance and independent.”
Cool and aloof, too, a lot like her. Yet another reason the two of them weren’t suited. If he had time, he’d have a dog. Open and uncomplicated, dogs wagged their tails when they were happy to see you, unlike cats who strolled along with their noses in the air and a twitch in their tails.
“Like I told you, I want what’s best for my mom.”
“I do too.” Mia’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“I’m glad we agree.” Nick jammed his hands into his pants pockets.
Pixie clambered onto the love seat and gave him a fixed stare.
“See, Nick, you got what you wanted. You go back to work and Mia and I’ll get started.” His mom waved a hand to dismiss him. “I’m sure you have lots of important things to do.”
He did, but as he looked at Mia and his mom, with Pixie sandwiched between them, maybe what was most important of all, what he really wanted, was right here.
Chapter Two
Four days later, Gabrielle shut her sketchbook and abandoned the half-finished outline of a rose, budded tight. She tugged at her wide-brimmed straw hat and stared at the lake.
She’d told Nick and Mia she’d miss her flowers, these terraced gardens her French Canadian mother had carved out of the rocky northern soil when she’d come here as a bride, but she’d miss this view of Firefly Lake even more.
The lake, her lake, was still and ice-locked in winter, snug in a blanket of silver-blue snow. It came alive in spring as the sun-warmed ice cracked and the boom echoed off the cliffs below Harbor House, where dark water foamed onto the beach. In summer, it was a gentle blue, dotted with green islands and white sails. And come fall, it was framed by a panorama of red and yellow leaves with splashes of orange, a paint box of colors she looked forward to all year.
Yet as the seasons rushed past, day by day and year by year, so did her life. And it had slipped through her fingers.
“I’m a foolish, sentimental woman, Pixie.”
At the foot of the sun lounger, Pixie opened one sleepy eye, her expression quizzical.
“And you’re a very wise dog.” Gabrielle drained her glass of ice water. “Nick’s right. I can’t stay in this house. Neither he nor the girls want it. But that bungalow? Promise me you won’t tell him how much I hate the idea.”
Pixie whimpered and moved to lick Gabrielle’s face.
“I know you promise.” Gabrielle sighed, long and heavy. “Maybe you can tell me where I went so wrong with my children. Cat and Georgia only come home when they have to. As for Nick, even though he’d never say so, he can’t wait to leave.”
“You ever think your kids might share some of the blame?”
Gabrielle jumped and her sketchbook hit the terrace with a thud. She swung her legs off the chair, grabbed Pixie’s collar with one hand, and smoothed her light sweater with the other. “Who’s there?” she called as Pixie barked.
“I’m sorry.” A man near her age stood at the top of the stone steps from the lake. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He wore jeans and a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. A backpack was slung over one shoulder, and a camera dangled from a strap around his neck.
Pixie barked louder. Gabrielle scooped the dog into her arms and got to her feet. Although Firefly Lake wasn’t a hotbed of crime and the man didn’t look threatening, a woman on her own couldn’t be too careful. “This is private property.”
“I realized that as soon as I spotted you.” When he smiled, deep grooves between his nose and mouth creased his face. A shock of gray hair stuck out beneath a battered red ball cap. “By then, though, it was too late to go back the way I came.” His warm blue eyes searched hers. “Your dog had already seen me.”
“What are you doing here?” Gabrielle stroked Pixie’s ears. “Hush.”
He whistled, soft and musical. Pixie stopped barking and cocked one ear.
“I was taking pictures by the lake. When I saw steps through the trees, I had to see where they went.” He moved closer and stuck out a hand. “Ward Aldrich.”
“Gabrielle Brassard.” She slipped her hand into his, the handshake cool, firm, and decisive. Pulling her hand away, she patted Pixie, her fingers still tingling from Ward’s brief touch.
“You’ve got a beautiful place here.” His eyes were deep blue, almost violet, the color of the irises she’d planted in the border by the house the year Nick was born.
“Thank you.”
Pixie squirmed and she set her on the flagstones. The dog scampered over to Ward and sniffed his shoes.
“Pixie, no.” Gabrielle stepped forward, but Ward laughed.
“She’s okay.”
She was more than okay. What was he? Some kind of dog whisperer? Pixie was wary of strangers, and apart from Nick she didn’t like men. “Are you here on vacation?”
“A working one.” Ward touched the camera. “I’m a filmmaker, nature documentaries for the most part, but also the people who live in those places.” He grinned, all of a sudden boyish. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be an explorer. It’s pretty much what I grew up to be.”
Gabrielle’s breath hitched. He was an attractive man, but she was a woman with a whole lot of life behind her, not the impressionable teenager who’d papered her bedroom walls with peace signs and David Cassidy posters. Not the girl who’d fallen into lust and mistaken it for love. “I should let you get back to work.”
“No rush.” He gestured to her sketchbook. “Are you an artist?”
“An amateur one. I taught art at the high school in town.” Before she got sick and her body betrayed her. When life was still rich with possibilities.
“May I take a look?”
She picked up the book and handed it to him. Gabrielle’s little hobby, Brian called it, her ex-husband’s smile patronizing like she was one of the children. “They’re nothing special.”
“I disagree. The detail and the way you’ve captured the light are extraordinary.” He squinted as he flipped through pages. “You have a keen eye.”
Warmth stole through her at his words of praise. “I always liked drawing, but—”
Pixie barked and shot back to Gabrielle’s side.
“I didn’t realize you had company.” Mia moved onto the terrace, her ballet flats soundless on the flagstones. She held out a tray. “I brought you a snack, but there’s more than enough for two. I’ll get an extra cup and—”
“No, wait.” Gabrielle inhaled the heavy scent of the roses. The buzz of a bee half drunk on nectar punctuated the sudden stillness. “Ward, this is my friend Mia.”
Ward exchanged a greeting with Mia, then took the tray from her and set it on a low table with the sketchbook before he looked back at Gabrielle. “I don’t mean to intrude, but if it’s not an inconvenience, would you show me your garden sometime?”
Her gaze locked with his and shut out Mia, shut out everything. “Of course.” She gave garden tours all the time.
Or at least she had. There was no reason for the little quiver in her chest.
“What about tomorrow morning? Around ten?”
“Fine.” His eyes were so blue she could swim in them. Gabrielle tried to work moisture into her dry mouth.
“Nice to meet you, Mia. You too, Gabrielle.” He paused, his gaze still intent, like he could see into her soul. Then, with another smile, he moved to the steps and disappeared into the trees, like a mirage she’d imagined.
Mia knelt by the table and poured a cup of tea from Gabrielle’s favorite chintz-patterned pot. “That’s what my daughter Naomi would call one hot guy.”
“He’s a filmmaker. He’s interested in plants.” Gabrielle’s face heated as she sat back on the sun lounger.
“He’s interested in more than plants.” Mia gave her a pointed look before she straightened and her expression sobered, the lovely face hiding a hurt Gabrielle could imagine too well. “About Nick, I don’t want you to think I’m—”
“Forcing me to move?” Gabrielle reached for the teacup Mia held out.
“He cares about you, but if leaving Harbor House isn’t what you want, you have to tell him.” Mia shook a linen napkin over Gabrielle’s lap.
Gabrielle sipped some tea, and the hot liquid eased the tightness in her throat. “Nick’s my son, but he can be…”—judgmental and controlling but passionate, too. And so wounded Gabrielle’s heart ached. “He thinks I need looking after. He has ever since his dad left us. But maybe he’s right about this house. For once in my life, I have to be practical.” Gabrielle set her cup aside and covered Mia’s hand.
The younger woman gave her a too-bright smile. “I don’t want to come between you and Nick, but I’m on your side, whatever you want.”
Gabrielle bit back a sigh. Mia was another wounded soul. “Thank you, honey. This past little while, you’ve been more of a daughter to me than my girls.” Although Cat and Georgia cared about her as much as Nick did, they darted in and out of her life like dragonflies, never still, always looking ahead and never back.
Mia squeezed Gabrielle’s hand before she untangled her fingers. “Your daughters are busy and Firefly Lake’s a small town. You know the sign out on Lake Road that says population twenty-five hundred? Nick jokes that since the girls and I moved here, the town should change it to twenty-five oh three because of how slow the population grows.” She gave Gabrielle a wry smile. “See, I made you melon balls with the fresh strawberries I got at the farm stand.”
Gabrielle took the bowl of fruit Mia had prepared and picked up the silver fork. Its monogram was worn with age but shone with fresh polish. Maybe Ward was right and what had gone wrong between her and her kids wasn’t all her fault. Maybe she had a chance to fix it, starting with Nick.
And even to help Mia.
Gabrielle eyed Mia from beneath the brim of her hat. Mia needed a good man in her life, one who’d treat her and those beautiful daughters with the care and respect they deserved. Her son was a good man who needed a good woman. And Harbor House needed a family. Her family.
Gabrielle bounced and the sun lounger wobbled. It was so simple. And so perfect she should have thought of it before.
“Can I get you anything else?” Mia bent beside Gabrielle’s chair.
“Not a thing. Just keep me company for a bit. You’re already doing a lot more than Nick hired you to.”
“It’s a pleasure.” Mia patted Gabrielle’s knee. “I don’t want you to overdo things.”
Gabrielle popped a strawberry into her mouth and savored the sweetness of the fruit, like sunshine. She gave Mia her most innocent expression. “I won’t.”
At least not overdo in the way Mia meant. But was it wrong for her to look out for two people she loved? She glanced at Pixie, who spun in circles after a butterfly. No, it wasn’t. Her dear mother always said the Lord helped those who helped themselves.
Gabrielle spooned a perfect melon ball as Mia sat on the chair across from her. All she’d do was give Mia and Nick a nudge in the right direction, so subtle they’d never even notice.
And she’d help Pixie, too. The little dog nosed Mia’s slender ankles. Pixie would hate being cooped up in a bungalow even more than Gabrielle.
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