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I still have some good memories in here from before everything went bad.
It feels important to hold on to them.
But right now, all I’m holding is an armful of yappy dog. The moment I open my door, I get smacked by a furry mess of brown-point cream-colored Pekingese fluff.
Shrub is my alarm system. As long as he’s okay when I get home, I know no one’s been here.
With a tired smile, I bury my face in his ruff, breathing in the warm scent of clean, happy dog while he wriggles all over me.
Everything’s okay.
Still, I do a thorough check of the house, making sure none of the windows and locks were tampered with. I don’t even get to take my shoes off before my phone rings in my back pocket.
I don’t hesitate to answer when I see it’s my mother.
Sinking down on the battered plush sofa, I let myself drown in the oversized cushions and swipe the call.
“Mom? You okay?”
“Oh my, sweetheart, have you been running? You sound out of breath.”
No, I’m just trying not to hyperventilate, hoping you’re okay.
The moment I saw her name on the caller ID, my blood pressure skyrocketed. I’d half expected to answer to Paisley with my mother’s stolen phone, or worse—the sound of my mother’s screams.
The fact that she sounds so pleasant feels almost surreal.
It goes a long way to calm me down.
Settling my hand over my racing heart, I try to make my voice sound neutral and even.
“Just playing with Shrub, Mom,” I say. “You know how he likes to launch himself at me first thing.”
“Oh, that dog. He’s adorable, but I do wish you’d get something larger. Something that can protect you.”
My mind instantly flashes to something larger, all right, and not from the canine species.
A certain someone who could rival a polar bear.
Mocha-eyed and black-haired and shaggy like a gorgeously built Norwegian Elkhound.
My heart gives a rebellious thump.
Stop. That.
“It wouldn’t be fair for me to get something larger,” I say. Isn’t that the understatement of the year? Nothing about me would be fair to Alaska. But I force my mind back to the subject at hand, continuing, “With me at The Nest all day, a dog that big would be miserable cooped up in the house alone. And I don’t have time to put up a proper fence to keep him roaming the yard.”
“Well, now, if you’d just find a decent boyfriend—”
Oh, no.
Not helping, Mom.
Here we go again.
“So!” I say brightly. “How are things with you, Mom-zilla? Did you manage to get into the local Red Hat Society?”
“Oh, I did.” My mother’s voice brightens while somehow managing to drip with caustic sarcasm. “Despite Cora’s best efforts to keep me out. Why, that woman and her ridiculous grudge! All because the judge chose my tulips over hers at the county fair last year. If she’d just cultivate them properly, maybe she could take home a blue ribbon, too. But no, she’s got to blame others for her problems, so...”
There she goes.
I sit back and let my mother go on.
I’ve heard about Cora before. Mom’s mortal enemy when it comes to every horticulture competition in north Idaho. Ever since she retired, my mom’s dedicated herself to building a prize-winning flower garden with blooms that can turn heads.
But once she displaced the reigning queen, it was war.
On the plus side, if this is all she has to worry about?
I’m happy.
No, more than happy.
She doesn’t sound the slightest bit frightened or worried, and I need to keep it that way.
After her rant about Cora ends, she catches me off guard with, “Oh, but you never answered me. I wasn’t asking how you were doing this evening, dear. What’s new with you? That town never seems to settle down.”
“It’s actually been pretty tame lately,” I lie. It’s not wholly a lie. Heart’s Edge has been quiet for everyone but me. “I’m mostly just busy with the café. You know how it is. Things are actually going pretty well, especially with all the tourists coming through here now that we’ve been big news nationally.”
“I suppose it’s true—there’s no such thing as bad publicity.” She sounds skeptical. “I know you love that coffee shop, sweetheart, but don’t work yourself to the bone. I realize your father and I didn’t leave you much to work with—”
“Stop.” I cut her off firmly. It’s probably the only thing I’ll ever talk back to my mom about. “You did the best you could to manage. You kept The Nest going. It’s not your fault he was skimming off profits for his...” I pause. His habit. I can’t say it, and swallow the words like a knot in my throat. “...his side business. I don’t have that problem now. I’m doing a decent job keeping things in the black.”
Another lie.
But I can’t tell her how Paisley’s crew visits me like vampires, coming after every spare penny when it suits her. It’s a sad irony that The Nest’s money is somehow still going to Dad’s habit even after he’s long dead.
