One Bossy Offer (4)

Oh, I loved watching my babies grow up in that house, and then watching you play there every summer in your little red bathing suit with the strawberries. Remember that?

Bee Harbor gave us a life, but it gave us so many more sweet memories. How could I ever leave it to someone who doesn’t cherish them?

You, my Queen, are so much like me—

I look away with burning tears.

Then I laugh harshly because I’m nowhere near as gutsy as my grandmother.

I couldn’t have kept up this castle of rooms alone in my twilight years. And in high school, I never would’ve had the guts to sneak out of my window and elope.

I wish we were more alike.

But I shake my head and keep reading.

You can find your dream in Pinnacle Pointe the same way I did. Just keep an open heart.

An open heart? Did she mean an open mind?

I frown, reading it over again.

Gram was slipping toward the end, especially with words and phrases. Someone should have been here with her.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper out loud. She’s not around to hear my excuses, but I know we let her down. I finish the letter, wiping another tear off my cheek.

Take care of my home and my babies. Most of all, take care of yourself.

Love,

Gram



How can Dad want me to walk away?

After reading that, I’d rather walk on knives.

Gram bought this place when she was twenty and invested so much more than money. She put her entire life into her dream.

I don’t care what my parents think.

The letter leaves me feeling heavy all afternoon. I’m not hungry anymore, but I could use a glass of wine.

Coffee looks up from the antler chew he’s gnawing and trots over. His head swings back and forth between me and the remaining bits of food on the coffee table.

“Don’t even think about it. Too much cheese and garlic for you.” I scrape the remnants into the trash before one of the dogs gets an early dinner and pour myself a large glass of wine from the bottle of red blend I opened yesterday.

At least the house came with a nicely stocked wine cellar.

I start up the stairs with the dogs close behind me. Coffee’s big black bulk squeezes between me and the railing. He must push against the spindles too hard because one pops out, lands on the living room floor, and spins like an empty bottle.

Awesome.

One more thing to fix.

One more problem.

But as a hand flutters to my chest, I realize no repair on the massive maintenance list compares to the yawning chasm in my heart.

I miss her too much for words.

All I have left is to make Gram proud.





Bang!

Woof!

So many woofs.

Then more banging.

I blink my bleary eyes open as a black mass launches at me. My heart jumps up my throat.

What now?

Coffee cannonballs down next to me on the bed and puts his paws on my chest.

What was that banging, though? The weather or just a dream?

Maybe just thunder. Cream’s alert yip turns into a proper howl at her brother’s side.

“Okay, okay. Get off and let’s go investigate. Um, I can’t take you out if I can’t get up,” I say, pushing at Coffee’s weight.

Bang! Bang!

There it is again.

I wonder what time it is. I’m missing my phone somewhere under the heap of Doberman.

“Coffee, you want a treat?”

He leaps off the bed with a grunt and sits like a total gentleman.

I smile and crawl out of bed. Even if it hasn’t completely robbed them of their wily ways, Gram made some headway with training over the years.

They actually listen. Sometimes.

But another round of loud knocking pulls me from my thoughts.

I grab my robe and throw it over my Taylor Swift tank top. The dull light streaming in through the window hints that it’s early morning.

Who brings a casserole around this early? It must be another mourner, dragging in late to pay their respects. They’ve been my only visitors over the three weeks I’ve been here.

Not that I can blame any would-be patrons from out of town, either. I’m not remotely ready to deal with hosting random strangers here, but the Temporarily Closed sign out front is an easy miss.

“I’ve got to put up a better sign,” I mutter as the dogs trail after me down the stairs.

That banging blares through the house again, this time more insistent.

This is ridiculous.

Did anyone stop to think that I’m mourning, too? And it’s a little past eight in the flipping morning.

When I get to the door and tear it open, I’m ready to confront the early bird on the other side with my coldest glare.

But it’s not another smiling old lady or solemn-faced couple from church clutching food trays.

Instead, a tall, broad man stuffed into a three-piece suit and black sunglasses stands on my step.

Holy dark knight.

Before I can breathe a word, he dips his shades, revealing the most startling grey-blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

He’s older, maybe in his mid thirties.

A single glance cuts through me. I actually rock back a step, straining to find my footing again. Even the dogs seem tense behind me, frozen in place with their ears perked.

“Miss Landers? Good morning.” He reaches inside his jacket.