Brambleberry House: His Second-Chance Family. RaeAnne Thayne
Um, I’m looking for Abigail Dandridge.”
There was an awkward pause and she thought she saw something flicker in his blue eyes.
“Are you a friend of hers?” he asked, his voice not quite as abrupt as it had been before.
“I used to be, a long time ago. Can you tell me when she’ll be back? I don’t mind waiting.”
The dog barked, only with none of the exuberance he had shown a few moments ago, almost more of a whine than a bark. He plopped onto the grass and dipped his chin to his front paws, his eyes suddenly morose.
The man gazed at the dog’s curious behavior for a moment. A muscle tightened in his jaw then he looked back at Julia. “Abigail died in April. Heart attack in her sleep. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.”
Julia couldn’t help her instinctive cry of distress. Even through her sudden surge of grief, she sensed when Maddie stepped closer and slipped a small, frail hand in hers.
Julia drew a breath, then another. “I...see,” she mumbled.
Just one more loss in a long, unrelenting string, she thought. But this one seemed to pierce her heart like jagged driftwood.
It was silly, really, when she thought about it. Abigail hadn’t been a presence in her life for sixteen years, but suddenly the loss of her seemed overwhelming.
She swallowed hard, struggling for composure. Her friend was gone, but her house was still here, solid and reassuring, weathering this storm as it had others for generations.
Somehow it seemed more important than ever that she bring her children here.
“I see,” she repeated, more briskly now, though she thought she saw a surprising understanding in the deep blue of the man’s eyes, so disconcertingly familiar. She knew him. She knew she did.
“I suppose I should talk to you, then. The sign out front says there’s an apartment for rent. How many bedrooms does it have?”
He gave her a long look before turning away to pick up another board and carry it to the saw. “Three bedrooms, two of them on the small side. Kitchen’s been redone in the last few months and the electricity’s been upgraded but the bathroom plumbing’s still in pretty rough shape.”
“I don’t care about that, as long as everything works okay. Three bedrooms is exactly the size my children and I need. Is it still available?”
“Can’t say.”
She pursed her lips. “Why not?”
He shrugged. “I don’t own the place. I live a few houses down the beach. I’m just doing some repairs for the owners.”
Something about what he said jarred loose a flood of memories and she stared at him more closely. Suddenly everything clicked in and she gasped, stunned she hadn’t realized his identity the instant she had clapped eyes on him.
“Will? Will Garrett?”
He peered at her. “Do I know you?”
She managed a smile. “Probably not. It’s been years.”
She held out a hand, her pulse suddenly wild and erratic, as it had always been around him.
“Julia Blair. You knew me when I was Julia Hudson. My parents rented a cottage between your house and Brambleberry House every summer of my childhood until I was fifteen. I used to follow you and my older brother, Charlie, around everywhere.”
Will Garrett. She’d forgotten so much about those summers, but never him. She had wondered whether she would see him, had wondered about his life and where he might end up. She never expected to find him standing in front of her on her first full day in town.
“It’s been years!” she repeated. “I can’t believe you’re still here.”
* * *
AT HER WORDS, it took Will all of about two seconds to remember her. When he did, he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t seen it before. He had yearned for Julia Hudson that summer as only a relatively innocent sixteen-year-old boy can ache. He had dreamed of her green eyes and her dimples and her soft, burgeoning curves.
She had been his first real love and had haunted his dreams.
She had promised to keep in touch but she hadn’t called or answered any of his letters and he remembered how his teenage heart had been shattered. But by the time school started a month later, he’d been so busy with football practice and school and working for his dad’s carpentry business on Saturdays that he hadn’t really had much time to wallow in his heartbreak.
Julia looked the same—the same smile, the same auburn hair, the same appealing dimples—while he felt as if he had aged a hundred years.
He could barely remember those innocent, carefree days when he had been certain the world was his for the taking, that he could achieve anything if only he worked hard enough for it.
She was waiting for a response, he realized, still holding her hand outstretched in pleased welcome. He held up his hands in their leather work gloves as an excuse not to touch her. After an awkward moment, she dropped her arms to her side, though the smile remained fixed on her lovely features.
“I can’t believe you’re still here in Cannon Beach,” she repeated. “How wonderful that you’ve stayed all these years! I remember how you loved it here.”
He wouldn’t call it wonderful. There were days he felt like some kind of prehistoric iceman, frozen forever in place. He had wondered for some time if he ought to pick up and leave, go anywhere, just as long as it wasn’t here.
Someone with his carpentry skills and experience could find work just about any place. He had thought about it long and hard, especially at night when the memories overwhelmed him and the emptiness seemed to ring through his house but he couldn’t seem to work past the inertia to make himself leave.
“So how have you been?” Julia asked. “What about family? Are you married? Any kids?”
Okay, he wasn’t a prehistoric iceman. He was pretty certain they couldn’t bleed and bleed and bleed.
He set his jaw and picked up the oak board he was shaping for a new window frame in one of the third-floor bedrooms of Brambleberry House.
“You’ll have to talk to Sage Benedetto or Anna Galvez about the apartment,” he said tersely. “They’re the new owners. They should be back this evening.”
He didn’t quite go so far as to fire up the circular saw but it was a clear dismissal, rude as hell. He had to hope she got the message that he wasn’t interested in any merry little trips down memory lane.
She gave him a long, measuring look while the girl beside her edged closer.
After a moment, she offered a smile that was cool and polite but still managed to scorch his conscience. “I’ll do that. Thank you. It’s good to see you again, Will.”
He nodded tersely. This time, he did turn on the circular saw, though he was aware of every move she and her children made in the next few moments. He knew just when they walked around the house with Abigail’s clever Irish Setter mix Conan following on their heels.
He gave up any pretense of working when he saw them head across the lane out front, then head down the beach. She still walked with grace and poise, her chin up as if ready to take on the world, just as she had when she was fifteen years old.
And her kids. That curious boy and the fragile-looking girl with the huge, luminescent blue eyes. Remembering those eyes, he had to set down the board and press a hand to the dull ache in his chest, though he knew from two years’ experience nothing would ease it.
Booze could dull it for a moment but not nearly long enough. When the alcohol wore off, everything rushed back, worse than before.
He was still watching their slow, playful