The dog turned to look at Gillian as if to ask permission, and Gillian said, “Go on Hank…go on.” He raced off towards the beach.
“He certainly is tuned into you,” Reggie commented.
Gillian smiled, watching Hank play tag with the seagulls. “He’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I don’t know how I’d manage without him.”
“I have one of my own. She’s at the spa today or you would have met her.” At Gillian’s raised eyebrows, she amended, “Well, it’s not really a spa, it’s more like the vet, but we never mention the ‘v’ word around Prudence. She needed her shots and a bit of a buff and shine so I’ve left her there for the afternoon. She’ll be petulant when she gets back, but she’ll smell a lot better.”
“You’ll have to give me the name.” Gillian smiled as her own dog turned once again to check on her.
“Hank’ll love the spa,” Reggie enthused. “Marcie Maitland owns that part of the business, and she looks after Pru. She’s wonderful with animals and, since there are so many pets around here, business is booming. I know Marcie really well. She has a soft but sure touch with all animals.”
“She sounds good to me.” With her own sandals dangling off a finger, Gillian sunk her pink toenails in the sand. She threw her arms wide and spun around and around. “Oh Reggie, this is heaven, I swear! I love this place.”
Hank, spotting a new game, came running over and jumped up on her. His considerable size and weight sent her sprawling in the sand. She laughed, grabbed him around the shoulders and rolled him over. Not to be outdone, Reggie joined in the game and ran toward the surf calling to Hank. He quickly got up and chased her, Gillian fast on his heels.
High on a cliff to the east, a tall man stood watching them. The sight was an amusing one. Two carefree women playing with the big, white dog, but it brought the man no joy. He clenched his hands tightly in his pockets, turned, and walked away.
Chapter 4
“Who is she Reggie?” She didn’t even get the key in the lock of her office door before Travis was upon her.
“Well hello there, Sheriff, nice day isn’t it? I’m fine. Thanks.” She pushed the large man aside and entered the Real Estate office.
He was fast on her heels. “I’ll ask you again, who is she Reggie? What’s she doing in town and where were the two of you going?
“My, my so many questions Sheriff, I do declare, a lady gets flustered when men folk are so aggressive.” She pantomimed fanning herself and performed an elaborate curtsey. She dropped the thick southern drawl and said, “What’s up Travis? Other than the obvious.” She looked down at his pants pointedly.
“Just skip it Reg and answer my questions.” As she sat behind her desk, he sprawled unceremoniously in the chair opposite her, all at once making the spacious office feel far less roomy.
“Her name is Gillian Watson. The dog’s name is Hank and he’s a dear.” She leaned back, crossed her long legs and smoothed a leisurely hand down her lap to her knee. She was enjoying this. “In fact, your dog Maggie would be just as hot for Hank as her master obviously is for Gillian.”
Travis, wise to her, didn’t take the bait. He simply raised his eyebrows and waited.
“Okay, okay. I don’t have much information except I like her. I like her a lot and if she’s going to stay here long, I hope to see a lot more of her. She’s here to recuperate after some sort of accident and she’s staying at Marcus’.”
That made him sit up. “Marcus? What’s their connection?”
“He’s her neighbor. She says they’re just friends, but I’ve a feeling she might have added “so far” if we were confidants. I showed her Ernestine’s place.” She ignored his dark look and continued, “It seems the house is a bit of a dream for her. I’m waiting to hear back from Ernestine if she’ll let her take a look.” She glanced at her phone and saw she had messages. Sure enough, Ernestine had called back. In her typical direct manner, the old lady indicated she resented talking to a machine and had promptly hung up.
Reggie dialed the number. “You gonna hang about, Sheriff?” He didn’t have to speak; she knew the answer.
“Hi Miss Ernestine…it’s Reggie. Sorry about the machine.” She paused, then raised her eyebrows in surprise. “What? Yeah sure…when? I’ll call you back to confirm. Bye.” Regina was dumbfounded.
Ernestine wanted to meet with Gillian the next day. It seemed Gillian had affected more than just the male side of the Sinclair family. What was the sly old girl up to? Reggie turned back to Travis.
He looked so handsome, lost in thought, sitting opposite her. For such a big man, he was surprisingly graceful and gentle. Most men his size would look ridiculous in her feminine surroundings, but he always looked like he belonged wherever he decided to go. He looked as devastating in jeans and a t-shirt as he did in a tuxedo designed for the Oscars, and she’d seen him in both, many times. At the moment, he didn’t seem aware of her presence.
She dangled her keys in front of his face, like a mother trying to gain her infant’s attention. “Travis, are you still with me?” He looked at the keys with a rueful smile and she continued, “That was your aunt. She wants to meet Gillian.” She put the keys down.
“Yeah, I got that. I wonder what she’s up to,” he mused.
“Me too, but I don’t intend to waste time wondering.” She shrugged. “I’m simply not in her league when it comes to premonitions.”
“Who is? I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. Have you heard from Marcus lately? Did he tell you he had someone coming into town?”
She looked away from him and turned on her computer. “Marcus doesn’t tell me anything, Travis. You, of all people should know that.”
Getting the message, Travis stood up to go. He leaned over the desk, placed his hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll see you later. I’ve got work to do.”
She looked up, alerted by his soft tone. “Hey, J. Edgar Hoover, you’re not going to do some sort of FBI dossier, search thing on Gillian are you?”
He was all innocent outrage. “Why Reggie, what would ever make you think a thing like that?” And with a few long strides he was out the door.
“That would be extreme, Travis, and you know it!”
* * * *
Before walking into the local supermarket, Gillian put Hank’s guide dog vest on him so no one would question his presence. She needn’t have worried. Other people walked the aisles alongside their pets without comment.
She’d never seen anything like it and smiling down at Hank, she said, “We like New Crescent. We like it very much.” The store was rather busy but among her fellow shoppers she felt comfortable walking with her hand on Hank’s shoulder; his presence filling her with the serenity she’d come to depend on.
The store was well stocked and the people were incredibly friendly to both her and to Hank. The pretty check out girl was particularly charming.
“I love your dog. What’s his name?”
“Hank,” Gillian smiled down at him with pride.
“Oh, that’s a cool name for such a big guy…hi there, Hank.” She leaned over the counter and scratched him on the head. He rewarded her with one of his uncanny grins. “My name is Sandy, by the way. You’re new in town aren’t you?”
Gillian smiled ruefully. “Yes, is it that obvious?”
“A little, you’re kinda hard to miss.”
Gillian smiled at her. “My name is Gillian. I’m pleased to meet you. I guess you’ll be seeing a lot of me. Oh and Hank too, of course.” She added.
Sandy very efficiently bagged their groceries and handed them over. Grabbing the bag, Gillian was momentarily struck by a fleeting vision of Sandy playing volleyball with a group of friends. She was a strong, young woman with a deadly serve. Gillian smiled and bid her a good day as she and Hank left the grocery store.
Back in her car, Gillian’s pulse raced with excitement. She took a deep breath filling her lungs with fragrant sea air. Coming to this town was the best de
cision she could have made. There was a place for her here. Her spirits higher than they had been in months, she started the beetle and pulled away.
With the scary sheriff’s directions branded into her brain, this time she had no trouble finding Marcus’s place. He’d made few changes so everything was pretty much as his mother had left it. Since her death, her son had left the maintenance of the house to a hired caretaker.
Pulling into the crescent-shaped drive, Gillian took a bead on the house. It looked very much as Marcus had described it, a Cape Cod on a quarter-acre of land. The lawn and garden were well tended, and the house looked freshly painted and perfectly maintained. It appeared to be exactly what it had been during the years Marcus’s family had lived in it, a typical, small town doctor’s home.
Marcus once confided in Gillian he had been expected to take over his father’s practice when he finished medical school. He’d been very close to his mother and still mourned her passing. He didn’t speak of her often, but Gillian suspected he harbored guilt over the disappointment he’d caused her by not coming back home to fill his father’s shoes.
Inside, the house was surgically immaculate. While it wasn’t decorated to Gillian’s taste at all, she could see the furniture was well-made and expensive.
The air smelled a little sour and Gillian shuddered with a slight chill. Thrusting open a set of sliding doors, she stepped out onto the patio and surveyed the sunny backyard. She wrinkled her nose at the faint smell of the pesticides used to maintain its perfection.
“It looks like something out of a magazine,” she said, as Hank tentatively sniffed a blooming rose. Oddly enough, Gillian had never been interested in gardening before now, but for some reason, here in this town, she felt connected to nature and longed to sink her hands into the verdant earth, nurture life and grow things.
When choosing a bedroom, she deliberately avoided the master suite, which obviously had been Marcus’s mother’s room. She also skirted his room. Choosing it would have suggested an intimacy she wasn’t prepared to contemplate.
She’d felt such a connection to the house on the cliff it was hard for her to drum up much enthusiasm for Marcus’ family home and she found herself feeling vaguely disappointed. Determined to shake off the feeling, she reminded herself the town was wonderfully welcoming and she felt safe and in control for the first time in months.
Spirits restored somewhat, she curled up on the couch in the family room. She used the remote to switch on the television and Hank squeezed beside her, his head in her lap. As Gillian stroked Hank’s fluffy head, peace settled over her and she drifted off to sleep.
All was dark. She felt its blackness as it weighed her down and restricted her movement. Suffocating, she felt hands on her shoulders, grabbing her, pushing her. She fought hard to get away. Her struggles only seemed to drive her further into the darkness. A cruel voice close to her ear whispered something over and over again.
Hank barked loudly and roused her from the nightmare. She woke up, sweating in the cool room. A sitcom was on television. It all seemed perfectly normal, but for the first time since arriving in New Crescent, Gillian felt a familiar sense of unease. Lately, she’d grown accustomed to that feeling, but it was liberating to have it lift when she’d arrived in town. Now it was back, like an unwelcome house guest and Gillian prayed she could shake it before it settled in for good.
With a hand on Hank’s shoulder, she walked out to the garden. She needed the fresh air. Funny, in her dream, the darkness brought fear, yet here, in the real world, she preferred it to the artificial brightness of the house. She could hear the ocean in the distance and felt comforted by it. A feeling of guilt washed over her when she thought of her friend Marcus. She was here in New Crescent on his suggestion. He had so generously provided the perfect haven for her and on the first day she’d found another home. Talk about ungrateful.
She took a deep breath, grabbed a handful of Hank’s hair and resolutely walked back into the house. She had to call Marcus to thank him for his hospitality and to tell him how much she loved his hometown. She hoped he’d understand her interest in the house on the cliff as soon as she explained it to him.
She called his home number knowing he wouldn’t be in his office at the hospital at this hour. The answering machine picked up. When she heard Marcus’ smooth tones she smiled.
“Hi there Marcus, it’s Gillian. Um, I guess you’re out...I just called to thank you again for lending me your house…it’s lovely, and so…clean.” Hesitating, she continued awkwardly, “Umm…so, anyway, have a good night… Bye.”
She wondered if anyone was good at leaving phone messages. She certainly wasn’t. What a fool. Of course he wasn’t home; he had a life. A handsome, single, doctor like him wouldn’t have trouble finding company. What did she expect, he’d be home waiting for her call?
As she fixed dinner, she thought about Regina Stanton and wondered why she’d looked so strange when Marcus’ name was mentioned. Maybe Reggie and Marcus had a past. Gillian was surprised the thought of the two of them together didn’t make her feel a little jealous. In all honesty though, she had to admit she wasn’t fit to become romantically involved with any man, at present. Marcus deserved better. Gillian needed time to recuperate and get back on a firm footing. A romantic entanglement at this point would be unwise.
Chapter 5
Reggie picked up Hank and Gillian the next day. From all accounts, Ernestine was not an easy woman and Gillian was already more than half in love with the house so she faced the upcoming meeting with a little trepidation. She wasn’t sure how she’d handle the disappointment should things go badly. Hank seemed to sense the tension and wedged the upper half of his body between the seats. Reggie smiled at his efforts and watched as Gillian stroked his head gently.
“He senses your every mood, doesn’t he?” She inquired as she drove into the parking lot of the senior’s residence.
“Yes, he’s a wonder. He’s a registered, assistance animal.” Gillian took the brightly colored vest out of her bag and put it on Hank. “This way, he can come with me everywhere I go, so I feel safe.” Gillian continued to stroke him, a look of deep love and gratitude on her face.
Reggie looked at her with curiosity, but said nothing as she escorted them into the senior’s home.
Gillian’s first sight of Ernestine was one she’d never forget. The old lady sat on a beautifully handcrafted, wooden bench, surrounded by birds of every size and color. She was a petite woman with shiny, white hair piled in a bun at the nape of her neck. Her face, which was at the moment, suffused with pleasure, was well lined from years of laughing and crying over the joys and tragedies endured while living life to its fullest. She was lovely, compelling in fact.
The garden was alive with wonder, well worth an artist’s efforts. The tiny old woman cooed gibberish as she tossed seeds to her feathered friends. A low warning “woof” from Hank sent the birds fluttering off and Ernestine Sinclair turned her snowy white head in their direction. Her brow furrowed momentarily, as she studied Hank. In response, Hank stopped walking and raised his proud head as if standing at attention, awaiting inspection. The old woman smiled and Hank put both paws on either side of her hips, lowered his huge head and looked her straight in the eye. With a hand under his muzzle she gazed intently into his face. What she found there must have met with her approval because she laughed heartily.
“You’ve a noble soul, my pet and you’ve bonded to her, that’s good. Bravery, I see plenty of that, and strength too. It’s a pleasure, and a bit of a surprise to finally meet you. I had no idea you’d be this large.” She gave him a rigorous pat and turned to greet her human guests.
Gillian, who had hopes of a more dignified introduction, apologized. “I’m so sorry. He’s usually very well behaved. He’s scared all the birds away. Get down Hank. ”
As she moved to pry Hank away from Ernestine, the old woman put up her hand. “He’s fine. He knows better than we do how to behave. The birds will be
back. Come, let’s take a walk.” She took hold of the cane leaning against the bench and slowly rose to lead the way.
Reggie, virtually ignored during the entire exchange, finally remembered her manners. “Miss Ernestine Sinclair, may I present, Miss Gillian Watson and her canine companion, Master Hank, of the Great Pyrenees family.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sinclair.” Gillian said respectfully. Somehow she resisted the urge to curtsey but was astonished when Hank sat and raised a paw, thus saving his mistress from having to extend her hand.
The old woman shook Hank’s paw and smiled up at Gillian regally. “Please, call me Aunt Ernestine. Everyone does.”
Reggie made a face and looked comically skeptical as she mouthed the words, “No they don’t,” to Gillian behind the old lady’s back.
“Regina, my sweet girl, do you think I don’t know what you’re doing?” Ernestine never took her eyes off Gillian. “Now, Miss Watson, may I call you Gillian?”
“Oh, please do.”
Ernestine continued “I’m glad you’ve finally come. Yes…yes…Gillian, Regina tells me you like my house. What are your intentions?”
Deciding to plunge in and make her case right off the bat, Gillian answered in a rush of words
“I fell in love with it from the moment I saw the picture. When I was a little girl, my parents gave me a dollhouse just like it. I played with it for years, probably longer than most young girls played with dollhouses. Secretly, I’ve always hoped one day I’d find it, and yesterday I did. My parents are gone now, but I’ve held on to this desire to find my house…to find a connection.” She smiled warmly and continued, “So you see, Aunt Ernestine, your house is my dream come true.”
At the old woman’s nod of understanding Gillian went on.
“I can’t explain it really. I feel like it’s meant for me.” She smiled at the shrewd old woman, her face shinning with sincerity and hope.
Trouble [New Crescent 1] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 3
