Page 11 of Guarded by My Gargoyle

“I understand. Sometimes cutting away the dead wood is the only way to move forward.”

Another approving look before she turned back to her computer.

“Time frame?”

He shrugged. “As long as it takes. I’m not being flippant,” he added when she frowned. “You already said you have other commitments. The weather is still mild, but we both know how quickly it could turn. I’d rather you take your time than rush to get everything completed before the first snowfall.”

“In fact, I’d like to make it an ongoing engagement,” he added, warming to the subject. “Not only to restore the gardens, but to maintain them going forward.”

“I’m not sure I can commit to that.” The stiffness was back. “How about we make the contract run to the end of October and then re-evaluate?”

He wanted to argue, but he was afraid that arguing would only make matters worse.

“Very well,” he agreed. “But I’d like the right of first refusal if you have an opening for an ongoing client.”

She bit her lip again, then nodded and made a quick addition to the document.

She printed out the contract, and Garrick Stonehaven, who had never in his entire professional career signed a contract without reading every word twice, immediately picked up his pen and signed.

“There,” he said with immense satisfaction. “Now, when can you start? Based on your other commitments,” he added quickly.

“I’d like to come by and take some measurements this afternoon. After three, if that’s okay.”

“Yes, of course. Anytime. If the gate isn’t open, the key code is 0115. I imagine you’ll be coming and going frequently. There’s no reason for you to request access every time.”

It was a practical reason, and he could see her accepting the practicality despite a momentary hesitation. The fact that it gave him enormous satisfaction to know that she could come and go freely whenever she wanted, he kept entirely to himself.

“I should be around if you need anything,” he said casually, as if he didn’t have every intention of being around that afternoon.

Garrick found several reasons to be within sight of the front gates by three, and all of them were lies.

The scaffolding wanted checking. He had checked the scaffolding that morning. The gravel by the turning circle had been chewed up by a delivery truck back in June, so he fetched a rake and leveled it. Then he leveled a stretch that didn’t need it. Then he stood there holding the rake, looking at the gates like a male waiting on a bus.

The truck came through a little before four, an old flatbed pickup with faded blue paint and Hardy Stock scrawled on the side.

Both doors opened. Maris stepped down with a clipboard in her hand. On the far side a small boy climbed down backwards, then turned around and looked solemnly at the house.

He’d known she had a son. Eric had mentioned it that morning. But she hadn’t mentioned him once all morning. Was that habit, or was it armor? This close, the resemblance to Maris was striking—the same serious hazel eyes, the same wavy blonde hair. He was wearing shorts that had clearly seen better days and a green dinosaur shirt.

“You can stay in the truck,” Maris told him.

“Okay,” the boy said, and didn’t move.

Garrick put the rake against the balustrade and walked over, deliberately taking his time. The boy’s gaze went up and up, and his small hands curled into fists at his sides.

“Hello,” the boy said, to Garrick’s knees. “You’re very big.”

“It’s the gargoyle thing,” he said, crouching down. He’d done this with Eric’s daughter, but that was different. Birdie was a werewolf pup who would probably try to bite him if he stayed down there too long. This boy just watched him with a calm, unnerving focus. “I’m Garrick.”

“I know. Your house is big too.” Toby craned his neck, and Garrick got a sudden, dizzying view of the world from three and a half feet.

“This is Toby,” Maris said, her voice somewhere between cautious and defiant. “I pick him up at three. I don’t have anybody to leave him with, so if you’d rather I came back another⁠—”

“It’s fine. Hello, Toby.”

Toby looked from him to the row of carved creatures squatting along the eaves with their wings half open.

“Are they gargoyles too?”