The Truth about Family. Kimberly Meter Van
She removed a pair of stylish glasses, and quickly folded them into a case while she waited. Erin McNulty. There was no doubt in his mind. For someone who grew up in Granite Hills, she couldn’t look more foreign to her surroundings. She had big city written all over her, from the black cashmere scarf wound around her neck to the leather gloves she was pulling from her fingertips as she glanced around in an impatient gesture. He shook his head at the realization that she was nothing like he’d expected, though, to be honest, he hadn’t thought he’d be so off the mark. In this case, it seemed the apple had catapulted from the proverbial tree and landed somewhere on another continent.
Pushing open the door, he found himself staring into a pair of blue eyes that were almost unreal in their brilliance. He nearly said something stupid but, fortunately, he caught himself in time. The woman’s family was in shambles. The last thing she needed was some yahoo babbling about the color of her eyes.
“You must be Erin McNulty,” he said, extending his hand with professional courtesy, which she accepted with a nod. “I’m sorry to meet under such circumstances,” he said, watching as she made a concentrated effort to hold back tears. “I knew Caroline from her volunteer work at the Winter Festival. She could make a mean cup of cocoa.”
Her head jerked in a nod. “She said the secret was using fresh cream instead of milk.” Her voice was husky with emotion. “Makes it smooth as silk and twice as fattening.”
“Twice as good in my book,” he countered, wondering when she’d last eaten a good meal. She was so skinny he could almost count her ribs through the turtleneck sweater she wore.
“Yes, that’s what people said,” she added, offering a brief smile that was clearly for his benefit before drawing a deep, halting breath. “But then again, there wasn’t much that Caroline couldn’t make taste good,” she murmured, dropping her gaze in an attempt to hide the sudden glistening in her eyes. A rueful smile touched her lips. “She was always trying to get me in the kitchen, one way or another. I tried telling her I didn’t inherit her talents but she wouldn’t listen and invariably, every Christmas I’d get the newest Betty Crocker cookbook in the mail. I have everything from Crock-pot Creations to Delicious Desserts and I’ve never cracked open a one. But she never quit trying.…” She frowned as if embarrassed at her personal comments to a total stranger.
“It’s okay—”
“I’m sorry—” she cut in tightly, shaking her head before clearing her throat. “My aunt’s dog…were you able to go get her last night?”
“Yes,” he answered, feeling oddly guilty for catching a glimpse of her personal pain when she had no desire to share such intimate details about herself. There was a brittle quality to her rigidly held composure, like someone whose hold on the fabric of life as she’d known it was slipping as it tore in two.
“Have you gone to see your father yet?” he asked, the question springing from his lips without conscious thought.
An iron curtain slammed behind her eyes and he had his answer. Disappointment welled in his chest but he couldn’t explain why. If the woman had no interest in seeing her father before he died, it was none of his business. Sure, it seemed heartless, but why should he care? His utmost concern was relieving his home of the dog that had seemed quite comfortable this morning laying beside his hearth. “Your dog is at my house. If you want to follow me I’ll take you to her.”
“She’s not my dog,” she corrected him.
“She is now.”
She conceded that small point, adding, “Well, only until I can find a suitable home for her. My life isn’t conducive to pets.”
He knew she worked for a magazine but he wasn’t sure in what capacity. Before he could ask, she answered what must’ve been the question in his eyes.
“I’m a photographer. I travel. A lot.”
“That’s right, American Photographic,” he said, recalling how difficult it had been tracking her down. “Real nice magazine.”
She accepted his compliment with a reluctant smile and he was struck by how she looked every inch the part of a sophisticated traveler. She could probably navigate a crowded airport terminal with ease and sleep just as comfortably in a hotel bed as her own. In her world, the word home was probably a relative term. He couldn’t imagine a life like that. “So, how long are you staying?”
She seemed startled by his question and she fumbled a little, causing a momentary break in her carefully held composure. “N-not long,” she answered, quickly regaining her equilibrium. “Um…the dog?”
In other words: Butt out of my business.
“I’ll get my coat,” he answered, prickling just a little at her subtle hint to back off, yet at the same time reluctantly intrigued by the questions that came to mind when he considered her attitude toward her father. He was smart enough to know that it was foolish to draw parallels between his problems with Danni and the damaged relationship Erin had with her father. The situations were likely not the same but he couldn’t help but wonder if there would ever come a time when Danni would refuse to see him at his darkest hour. The pain that went straight to his heart almost made him make a plea for Charlie’s case, but a quick reminder that it was none of his business kept him from making a fool out of himself.
Five minutes later Colin was pulling into his driveway while Erin’s sleek, black rented Tahoe came to a stop directly behind him. The storm had kicked up again, sending flurries of snow drifting to the ground, making him wonder whether or not Danni had remembered to take her woolen hat when she stomped off to school this morning. Probably not, which was why he decided at that moment, despite the glares he’d no doubt receive, to pick her up after school.
“Dog’s pretty easygoing,” he called over his shoulder as he trudged his way through the freshly fallen snow to his front door. “She might be a little hungry, though. I gave her some hamburger to tide her over.” He unlocked the door and waited for Erin to catch up. “She also seems to have some sort of hip dysplasia. You might want to have a vet check that out.”
“Hip dysplasia? Wonderful,” she said with a touch of frustration. She rubbed her arms for warmth despite her thick woolen peacoat. “Old and crippled. What are the chances of finding her a home within a few days?”
Not good, he communicated with a look.
“That’s what I thought,” she said, following him into the house. At the sound of the door opening, the dog raised her head and peered expectantly into the hallway. As if believing it was her job to greet guests, she struggled to her feet and walked over to them. Erin’s forehead furrowed and her gaze softened ever so slightly. She cast a worried glance his way. “She does seem a bit stiff… is there a vet in town who could look at her?”
Ridiculously relieved, he nodded. “Doc Archer can probably take a look at her first thing in the morning.” At her glance, he explained. “Doc closes shop at noon, and he’s the only vet in town.”
She accepted his answer, but from her expression he could tell she wasn’t pleased. It was clear she wanted her stay in Granite Hills to be as brief as possible and a crippled dog only hindered that plan.
“I figure you’ll be staying out at Caroline’s place?” he said, leaning down to gently click the leash into place and handing it to her.
“No,” she answered, the tone of her voice suggesting the thought was too much to bear. She added hastily, “There’s bound to be a hotel that has a room available. It’ll be easier if I stay in town.”
He frowned and she queried sharply, “What?”
“I don’t know how long you’ve been gone but around this time of year the hotels are all full. Winter Festival. It’s one of our biggest tourist attractions,” he said.
She swore under her breath. Obviously, she hadn’t taken that into consideration. Her voice took on an incredulous tone. “All the hotels?