Angel's Rest(11)
“Works for me,” Sarah said.
“Me too,” Sage agreed. “That’s why I’m headed home to work. See you two … well … probably in a week or so.”
Nic left the school auditorium with a lighter heart and a more positive outlook than she’d had in months. Maybe she was fooling herself. Maybe this was no more than relief over dodging the prison-comes-to-town bullet. Maybe Celeste had some strange hope-creating disease, and by sitting next to her, Nic had caught it.
Whatever it was, she liked the feeling and she refused to second-guess it. Today, for the first time in a very long time, Nicole Sullivan was looking forward to winter.
Gabe held a steaming cup of coffee in his hand as he stepped out onto the deck bathed in morning sunshine and took a moment to appreciate the exquisite view from the northern exposure of Eagle’s Way. Above a sea of evergreens, a trio of snowy peaks kissed a robin’s-egg sky. Patches of snow clung to the ground in shady spots and decorated the hills like icing. At the base of the mountain, waterfowl floated on the surface of a sapphire lake. The scene was beautiful, peaceful, and serene.
He inhaled a deep breath of crisp, pine-scented air and took stock of his situation.
Today might be a decent day.
Though he took care to keep his emotions locked away, he couldn’t deny that something inside him had changed since the day the stray dog knocked his Glock into the snow. He didn’t sleep half the day away anymore; he had energy again. For the past week he’d spent much of his time involved in heavy labor.
His breath fogged on the air and he checked the outdoor thermometer. Twenty-two degrees now, but he’d bet that would double by noon. It’d be a beautiful day to sweat.
He’d noted that a section of retaining wall beside the garage needed repair, and once he’d analyzed the situation and double-checked the house plans in Davenport’s study, he’d realized that the builder had screwed up. They’d built the retaining wall five feet off the line, and as a result, vehicles entering and exiting the garage had to make a sharp left turn. Judging by the scrapes of paint on the support posts, the error needed to be corrected.
With no more snow in the immediate forecast and plagued by an unusual restless energy, Gabe had called his host and pitched his idea to tear down the wall and rebuild it according to the original design. Davenport had given him the go-ahead without hesitation. Not because he worried about a few paint scrapes, he’d allowed—he himself never messed up that turn, thank you very much—but because he knew from experience that strenuous physical work helped ward off the demons of depression.
Gabe didn’t disagree. An hour of hard, physical outdoor labor beat an hour on a shrink’s couch any day of the week.
On this particular day, he finished the north stretch of the new wall by late afternoon and decided he’d worked enough for the day. His muscles were sore, his body weary. Best of all, he’d rebuilt mental defenses right along with the retaining wall, and for the past six nights he’d slept nightmare-free. With any luck, tonight would make it seven.
As he tugged off his work gloves, he realized he was hungry. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he craved a real meal. Maybe he’d clean up, go into town, and try out that restaurant Jack had bragged about—the Bristlecone Café. Wouldn’t hurt to pick up a few supplies, either.
Twenty minutes later, showered and dressed in clean jeans and a blue flannel shirt, he opened the pantry door to check the cereal supply and heard a scratching sound at the kitchen door. He glanced back over his shoulder and froze. “What the …?”
Having a raccoon show up at the back door wouldn’t have surprised him. Or a deer. An elk. A mountain lion. Actually, having a bear come pawing at the door wouldn’t have shocked him. But a boxer? The boxer?
He wore one of those white plastic cone collars that prevented dogs from chewing at their stitches, and he looked ridiculous. Healthy, but ridiculous. Crooked tail wagging, ears perked, pink tongue extended, panting.
“It’s been two weeks,” Gabe muttered, thinking aloud. Was that long enough for the dog to be released from quarantine? Maybe. Had the vet brought the dog back to him to keep? Why? He’d told her the dog wasn’t his.
Gabe frowned at the dog, then stepped outside, careful to block the boxer from scooting past him until the door was safely shut. “What’s the deal, dog? Did you slip your leash and run away?”
He didn’t see the vet or anyone else. Ordinarily Eagle’s Way’s serious security safeguards would prevent drop-in visitors, but for the past eight years Gabe preferred to leave gates and locks open whenever possible, no matter where he was. Memories of the six months he’d spent as a … guest … in an Eastern European prison were hard to shake, so he initiated Eagle’s Way’s security system at night but left the place accessible during the day. The vet could have driven right up to the house if she’d wanted, but the drive was empty. She must have parked in the circular drive in front. She’d probably ring the bell any moment now.