The Summer Cottage: Includes a bonus story

by Annie Rains

  “Bella, bark!” she ordered again.

  Instead, Bella lowered her head, closed her eyes, and huffed softly. Once upon a time, Bella had been trained to be a watch dog. Now she could barely hear or see. She could still catch a scent though. That wasn’t helpful at this moment.

  Lucy stepped out of her bedroom. It was the only one downstairs. She did everything on the first floor because Bella couldn’t climb the stairs anymore. For the most part, Lucy just pretended that the second level of the house didn’t exist. This house was big enough for two large families to live comfortably. It felt a bit wasteful to have so much unused space.

  She shuffled quietly down the hall in socked feet, her heart pumping as she clutched her cell phone in her hand.

  What did she really think she was going to do if she ran into a burglar? Invite him in for coffee?

  The noise happened again. Lucy gasped. Then she simultaneously pressed the POWER button and the volume button on her iPhone four times in quick succession—the shortcut to dial nine-one-one. The phone immediately began to sound an alarm that punctured the darkness. This time, Bella scurried out of the bedroom with a few loud barks.

  Lucy held the phone to her ear, her hand shaking so hard she could barely keep from dropping it.

  “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” a familiar woman’s voice asked.

  “Moira?” Lucy whispered. Moira was one of Lucy’s best friends, and she worked as an emergency services dispatcher in town.

  “Lucy?” Moira asked. “Why are you calling me here? This line is for emergencies only.”

  Lucy leaned against the wall in the hallway, one hand pressed to her chest. Her heartbeat forcefully thumped the pads of her fingers. “This is an emergency. I think someone is breaking into my home. There are noises on the back porch. Can you send a deputy? Or the whole Sheriff’s department?”

  Moira asked a few more questions and kept Lucy on the line. She was so professional that Lucy almost forgot that the woman helping was her sarcastic best friend. Minutes felt like hours and then someone rang her front doorbell.

  Bella ran ahead of Lucy, stopping behind the front door and barking in a deep, misleading baritone.

  Lucy followed and went up on her tiptoes to look out the peephole. A Somerset Lake Sheriff’s deputy was standing on her porch. She wobbled on her toes until she could also see the man’s face. Black hair, dark eyes.

  “Is that a deputy?” Moira asked, her tone continuing to exude calm professionalism.

  “Yes.” Lucy returned to flat feet. Her heart was racing for a whole other reason now.

  “So you’re safe to disconnect this call?” Moira asked.

  “Yes. Thank you. We’ll have coffee later?” Lucy asked.

  Moira audibly sighed. “These calls are recorded, Luce. Just text my cell.”

  “Right.” Lucy tapped END on her phone’s screen, reached for the door knob, but hesitated. Of all the deputies at the Somerset Lake Sheriff’s Department, why was Miles Bruno the one who responded to the call?

  The doorbell chimed again.

  This time, Lucy sucked in a breath and turned the knob. She opened the door and peered back at Miles, almost forgetting that she was terrified of whatever was making the noises on her back porch. This man still had a hold over her, even twelve years after he’d broken off their brief engagement.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, his tone just as professional as Moira’s had been.

  Lucy pointed in the opposite direction. “The back porch. There’s a noise.” She hugged her arms around her chest, realizing that she was wearing a too-thin cotton pajama top and pants. It was late November, and the chilly air zipped right past Miles, through her door, and penetrated her clothing.

  Another noise had Lucy whirling in the direction of her kitchen which led to the back door. “Did you hear that?” she asked breathlessly.

  Without answering, he stepped over the threshold and walked past her.

  What kind of egotistical burglar continued to break in once a sheriff’s car had pulled into the driveway?

  Lucy locked the front door behind Miles, just in case the burglar decided to run around to the other side of the house. She heard Miles open the back door and braced herself for a fight. Good guy versus the bad one. What if the bad guy won? What if he had a weapon?

  I should hide.

  Lucy looked around the living room, which still housed her parents’ furniture. Everything she owned had belonged to her mom. Her father had passed away when she was in college. One morning, he’d had a heart attack in his sleep and never woke up. Lucy had been devastated at the time, but losing her mom last year hurt even more.

  Lucy hurried over to the couch and squatted down, sandwiching herself between it and the end table. She’d always been horrible at Hide and Seek as a child. Anyone with two good eyes would find her, especially since her breathing was so shallow that her lungs were making a scraping sound. She momentarily tried to stop breathing, but that only resulted in an audible gasp a minute later and more shallow breaths.

  She listened for what felt like an eternity. Then she heard heavy footsteps approaching.

  Please be Miles. Please be Miles.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and then jumped as Miles called her name.

  “Lucy? I’ve dealt with your burglar. It’s safe to come out now.”

  The breath whooshed out of her lungs. The good guy had won. Miles had always been one of the good guys, even when her broken heart had told her he was one of the bad.

  * * *

  As soon as Miles heard the address, he’d known whose house he was in route to. Lucy Hannigan had lived in the pink house on Christmas Lane since she was a kid. And since they were teenagers all tangled up in the thrill of first love.

  Lucy peered up at him from her hiding place behind the couch.

  “There was never a burglar,” he said. “But if there was, that would be an awful hiding spot.”

  Lucy frowned up at him. “Well, I didn’t have a lot of time to find a better one.”

  He chuckled and offered his hand to help her stand.

  She hesitated, and he knew she was just stubborn enough not to take it. Lucy was independent—that’s something he’d always admired about her. All the women in his life had that in common. His mom, his sister Ava. His Aunt Ruth. Not that Lucy was a woman in Miles’s life anymore. She was more of a friend who kept him at an arm’s length. He couldn’t say he blamed her.

  Lucy surprised him by extending her arm and slipping her hand in his, palm to palm. He tugged gently, and she came up fast and close, her green eyes narrowing in. Her soft pink lips puckered and made a small “o” of surprise. “Thank you,” she said a little breathlessly—probably because she was still calming down from the scare.

  “You’re welcome.” He didn’t release her hand immediately. She didn’t let go either. Instead they looked at each other for a long moment. Once upon a time, Miles could swear he saw forever in those eyes of hers, reaching across time to old age. He’d been able to imagine Lucy’s red-toned hair turning a soft white and her sitting on a front porch swing still holding his hand somewhere.

  Lucy pulled her hand away and dropped it down by her side. Her gaze flitted past him, a look of uncertainty crossing her expression. “If it wasn’t a burglar,” she said, “what was making all that noise?”

  “An opossum. The little guy had his head stuck in a mason jar on your back porch. Want to see?”

  Lucy looked horrified. She shook her head quickly. “No, that’s okay. The mason jar is to harvest rain water,” she explained. “My mom used it to—”

  “Wash her face and hair.” He nodded. “I know.”

  It was a Hannigan family beauty secret. That beauty secret had been common knowledge since Reva Dawson had put it up on her town blog a couple years ago, boasting something about pH levels and minerals and referencing the Hannigan beauty. Miles had seen a lot of rainwater jars out on folks’ back porches since then. Then the Ha
nnigan name had always been able to sell anything in this town. Even an old wives’ tale.

  “The creature is still in my jar?” Lucy folded her arms in front of her. Either because she was cold—the house was a little drafty—or because she was protecting herself and not from a burglar this time.

  “Yes. You had a plastic bin on your porch. I contained it inside to make sure it didn’t run off while I talked to you.” Miles grimaced. “I’ll try not to break the jar, but I wanted to make sure you won’t be upset if I do.”

  Her arms loosened and dropped by her side. Lucy looked from him to the back door and the critter beyond. “Those jars cost less than a dollar. The thing needs to breathe.”

  “He’s getting enough to stay alive right now.”

  “No. You should free him.” She shook her head. “It’s just a jar. I can get another at the store—really.”

  But Miles suspected the jar held sentimental value. It was her mother’s, just like the house and her dog. He’d been worried about Lucy since her mother passed. He saw something sad when he looked into her eyes. He’d wanted to reach out to her many times over the last twelve months, but he’d always hesitated. She had close friends, and he doubted she wanted to hear from him.

  “Go. I don’t want that thing to die on my watch.” Lucy gave his shoulder a little shove, the unexpected touch shooting unexpected warmth through him.

  Miles started walking toward the back door, sending up a little prayer that he could save the opossum, the jar, and Lucy’s heart. He stepped outside with Bella at his heels. She hurried over and sniffed the thing with its head in the jar. When it swung wildly toward her, she took off, running back inside.

  Miles chuckled to himself. “Don’t worry, little guy. I got you. You’re creating quite the commotion this morning, you know,” he told the opossum. It was gray with a white face and bright pink nose. Kind of cute, maybe, but this wasn’t the first opossum Miles had come in contact with. He knew they had teeth like razor blades, and he didn’t really want those teeth to come anywhere near him. The last thing he needed this holiday season was rabies.

  “Okay, you grab the jar. I’ll grab the opossum,” he told Lucy, whose eyes grew wide. “Unless you’d rather touch the critter,” he said, knowing full well she wouldn’t.

  She shook her head quickly, making him chuckle.

  He grabbed the opossum’s backside first. Then Lucy bent and secured the jar. They both straightened and looked at one another. Of all the ways Miles imagined he might get close to Lucy Hannigan again, having an opossum in a rainwater jar between them wasn’t one of them. “On my count,” he said.

  She nodded, her green eyes still locked on his. She stepped away from the jar now, holding it far away from her body as if the creature might escape and launch itself at her.

  They both lowered back to the ground and prepared to pull in opposite directions.

  Miles’s fingers tightened just enough around the creature to keep it still. As soon as its head was free, he was going to let go and let it scurry off this porch. “One. Two. Three.” He pulled the critter. Lucy pulled the jar. The opossum was free with a quick pop of its head. Miles’s fingers flung open, almost tossing the creature in the direction of the steps so that Lucy didn’t freak out. From his peripheral vision, he could see that she was dancing on her feet, freaking out anyway as she watched the scene unfold.

  Miles smiled to himself. It took all of five seconds for the opossum to disappear into the night.

  Miles looked over at Lucy. “You okay?”

  She looked a bit shell-shocked. “Yes. That was certainly an adventure for one night.”

  “Well, it’s kind of already morning.” He tipped his head at the scattering of light rising behind the mountain skyline. The mountains of North Carolina were softer than those on the west coast. These rolled like a lazy river along the clouds. Any which way you turned in Somerset Lake, the view was the same—all sky and Blue Ridge peaks.

  “I guess it is,” Lucy said. She hugged the mason jar to her body. “And I will be wide awake for the rest of the morning. I was hoping to sleep in.”

  “Late night?” he asked.

  “Nine hours of labor and delivery,” Lucy confirmed. “But at the end of it, there was a healthy baby and two very exhausted and happy parents.”

  “A tired midwife too,” Miles added.

  “Yes.” Lucy broke into a yawn. “But after all this excitement, there’s no hope of going back to bed now.”

  Miles couldn’t take eyes off her as she fidgeted with the strings of her pajama pants and patted down her long auburn hair. “The bright side is you can enjoy your coffee while watching the sunrise.”

  Lucy noticeably stiffened. No, he hadn’t been referring to the time they’d done that when they were eighteen—hers had been decaf because of the baby. Judging by her face, however, that’s exactly what she was thinking about.

  Time to leave.

  Miles walked past Lucy, back inside, and toward the front of the house. “I’m still on duty,” he said as if to explain his rush. Not that she’d invited him to stay and catch up or enjoy a cup of coffee with her. “Do you think I can wash my hands at your sink?”

  “Of course. After rescuing me from my burglar, that’s the least I can do,” she said, following him inside the kitchen.

  “You didn’t need rescuing,” he called behind him. “Although, I guess you would still be crouched between the wall and the couch right now if not for me,” he teased. He turned on the faucet and pumped some soap from the dispenser into his palm.

  After getting cleaned up, he headed toward the front of the house. He opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. “See you later, Lucy,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Goodbye. And Miles?”

  He stopped walking and turned back. “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Just doing my job. And I’m glad I was the one who got the call. It’s good to see you, Luce. Have a good day.” He headed down the steps and made quick strides to his cruiser.

  Once he was inside, he blew out a breath and flicked his gaze to Lucy who was still standing in her open doorway. After a second, she turned back and closed the door behind her. Miles reversed out of her driveway to finish his shift. After that, he’d be going straight to the youth center, where he volunteered regularly.

  With Thanksgiving coming next Thursday, the kids at the center were finishing up charity meal baskets. Once upon a time, Miles’s family had been the one in need. These days, the Bruno family was doing all right, even if they’d never lived in a fancy mansion-sized house like Lucy’s in The Village. Miles had a good job with a stable income. Next on his list was to purchase a house of his own. Maybe after that, he’d finally be ready to settle down.

  The problem was that he’d ruined any chances with the only person he’d ever been interested in spending his life with. It was kind of hard to take back telling your ex-fiancé that the reason you’d proposed was because you’d felt obligated.

  Ouch.

  But telling Lucy the truth would sting a whole lot more—which was why he never would.

  Chapter Two

  Lucy stepped into Sweetie’s Bake Shop later that morning, dragging her feet and in desperate need of a double expresso. She’d just left a client’s home and really wanted something stiffer than her usual French roast brew.

  The mother-to-be that Lucy had just visited didn’t respect Lucy’s time. The TV in her living room had been blaring, and the future mom was doing laundry in between Lucy’s midwifery services, making what should have been a thirty-minute house call last well over an hour. This was one of those times, rare as they were, that Lucy missed being an obstetric nurse in a hospital setting.

  “Hey, sweetie.” The café’s owner, Darla, waved from behind the counter. Never one to mince words, she said, “You look rough. Are you meeting my daughter here this morning?”

  “Yes. Moira said she’d stop by after her shift.” The shift where
Moira had answered Lucy’s nine-one-one call. How embarrassing. Lucy was never going to live this down with her best friend. “Can I get a double expresso please?”

  “Of course, you can. And I’ll go ahead and make Moira’s coffee too.”

  Lucy had no doubt that Darla knew exactly how her daughter drank her brew. Moira had always been an old soul, drinking black coffee since she was seven and reading the newspaper before she’d ever reached double-digits.

  “And what’ll you have to eat?” Darla wanted to know. “How about a Sweetie Pastry?” Instead of naming the bakery after herself, Darla had titled it in honor of the Sweetheart Tree on the edge of Somerset Lake where lovers sometimes carved their initials.

  Lucy looked at the food in the display longingly. Everything looked as good as it tasted. Lucy knew this firsthand because she’d sampled every cookie, pastry, and muffin on the menu. “A pastry sounds delicious, but I think today I’ll have a French baguette.”

  “You got it.” Darla took Lucy’s debit card, ran it through the scanner, and handed it back. Then she prepared Lucy’s expresso and slid it across the counter along with the baguette wrapped in a square of parchment paper. “I’ll bring Moira’s breakfast over in just a sec.”

  Lucy thanked her and then found a seat along the wall of the bakery, which was decorated in soft pastel colors. Lucy settled at her table and took a sip of her expresso, looking up when someone called her name.

  “Morning, Lucy,” Mayor Gil Ryan said as he walked toward the counter.

  “Hey, Gil.” Lucy didn’t harass the poor guy by calling him Gilbert the way that the guys in town did, knowing how much he hated that. Lucy thought it was a nice name though. It brought back memories of her teenage years reading Anne of Green Gables and falling hopelessly and helplessly for the character Gilbert Blythe.