Beach House Reunion (Beach House #5)(33)

Cara laughed and shook her head. “No, Moutarde is quite territorial. He’d get jealous.”

“Let us know if you change your mind—please.”

Cara laughed again, enjoying his acceptance of Heather’s passion for birds. She thought again what an intrinsically kind man he was. They reached an outdoor porch, and David opened the door. Cara sucked in her breath when she saw the long wooden walkway that extended from the porch to a small turret house nestled in the trees.

“Bo was so proud of this,” she said, appreciating the tree house’s design. “I still think it looks like something fairies might live in.”

“Most people say that it stirs the imagination.”

“What couldn’t the imagination create in a room like that? You know,” she said, remembering, “this is a telltale moment.”

“How so?”

“Bo built the turret house for the previous owners. But when we toured, we all shared what we’d use the room for if we lived here. Each answer was different.”

“What’d you want to do with the room?”

She thought back, seeing in her mind a gorgeous desk in the center of the room. “I wanted a desk. What an office it would make.”

He laughed. “Of course.”

“I wouldn’t mind going to work in there!” she said a bit defensively. “Bo wanted a bed.”

She caught his eye, and they exchanged a long, amused look.

“And Heather,” Cara continued, “wanted to put an easel in the room.”

“Shall we see?”

“I’ll bet you put a desk in it,” Cara said with a teasing glance.

“Come on, then.”

The turret house was the size of a garden cottage and built like a fortress. David turned at the door, and his gaze met hers.

“Want to take a guess?”

“No. Open it!”

He swung open the door with a swoosh. Inside the wood-walled room she saw that Heather’s wish had come true. Her easel was set up in the center of the room. Everywhere else—stacked against the walls, hanging on walls, piled in corners, and covering the floor—were canvases. Trees, water scenes, portraits of Rory, but most of them birds—shorebirds, wading birds, songbirds. Cara went to the easel and inhaled with amazement. Heather was in the process of painting a trio of roseate spoonbills. They clustered together in the water, their reflections shining back at them. The light in the feathers was ethereal. Cara stared at the painting for several minutes, taking in the beauty. But Hope’s wiggling to get down broke her concentration.

“She’s so talented,” Cara breathed.

“I think so. Then again, I’m her father.”

Cara studied the canvas on the easel. “The quality of light in her paintings . . .” She paused. “She’s growing. Getting better.”

“Yes,” he said with a father’s pride.

She looked up at David. “You say she’s having a show?”

“At the end of the summer. She’s working hard.”

“I’d better get in early with my bid.” She indicated the painting on the easel. “Will this one be for sale? I’m quite taken with it.”

“You’ll have to ask her.”

“I will. But I don’t want her to give it to me. She’s too generous. I already have one of her pieces from the first stamp collection over my mantel. But if I can afford it, this one has my name on it. You know, my mama liked to collect the art of people she knew. She used to say that when she looked around the house at her paintings, she felt surrounded by friends.” Cara smiled. “I’ve always liked that. And as a result I’ve inherited some paintings that have gone way up in value over the years.”

Hope whined in her arms. “Oh no. She’s beginning that limp body thing that makes her dead weight. We’ve kept these two locked up for too long. Where can we let them run?”

David shifted Rory to his other side. “Follow me. I’ve planned adventures.”

The morning flew by with fun activities for the children. They spent a luxurious hour, just the four of them, on the deserted beach. The sun dazzled in a clear sky. Hope and Rory kicked their legs in glee while Cara and David dipped them in the ocean. They sat under the shade of an umbrella while the two toddlers endlessly poured sand from one container to another. After a bath and lunch back at the house, the babies fell asleep without a fuss.

“I’d offer you a glass of wine, but—”

“—we’re on baby duty,” she finished for him. She suddenly felt very tired. A glass of wine would have put her to sleep.

“I’ve got iced tea. Sweet or unsweetened?”

“Sweet. Thanks.”

She curled her long legs up onto the cushions of the long, ice-blue sofa in the great room, leaned back, and closed her eyes. She heard David’s footfalls, the opening of the fridge, the clinking of ice. A few minutes later she heard his voice beside her. Her eyes flew open.

“Oh, thank you.” She sat up and reached for the glass. It felt cool in her hand, and she took a bracing sip of the tea. “I needed that. I can’t remember the last time I played so hard,” she said with a light laugh.

“It’s times like these when I understand why people have kids young.”