The House on Blackberry Hill (Jewell Cove 1)

“A big project might be just what you need,” Mary said, putting a casserole dish in a low cupboard. Her smile flickered for a second as she gripped the edge of the counter for support.

“Okay?” Bryce asked. Tom had gone cold seeing how Mary had swayed on her feet, but Bryce was cool as a cucumber. He hadn’t even shifted in his chair. What was wrong with the man?

“It’s gone now. Just a head rush.” She looked at Tom and grinned. “Happened the last time, too. All the time.”

“The last time…” His gaze dropped to her belly and back up to her wide smile. “Alice isn’t even a year old!”

She shrugged. “We always said we wanted them close together.”

An emptiness opened up inside him and he refused to fill it with jealousy. He was happy for them, of course he was. He got up from the table and gave his sister-in-law a gentle hug. “Well, congrats again,” he said, then backed up, giving Bryce a thump on the shoulder. “Another one past the goalie, huh?”

He didn’t waste time over long good-byes, but alone in his truck on the way back into town, he let the feelings in. Maybe they were right. Maybe a big project was what he needed, because having too much time on his hands gave him too much time to think. And the truth was, seeing his brother so happy made him realize how empty his life had become.

* * *

The washer and dryer at the house hadn’t been used in so long that everything had calcified or rusted, and Abby had the persistent, icky thought that mice might have built

nests in the dryer ducts. There were no clean linens on any of the beds; the gorgeous four-posters had mattresses but nothing else. A search of a linen closet revealed two sets of sheets coated with the ever-present layer of dust, but no blankets or comforters.

Realizing there was no way she could stay here in the house’s present condition, she bundled up the sheets, got in her car, and started back into town to check into a motel for the night. Tomorrow she’d wash the sheets at a Laundromat and stop by the grocery store to stock up on cleaning supplies.

Abby slowed as she got closer to the town limits. There was more than enough dirt at the house to keep her busy for at least the next few weeks. For a few moments she fantasized about using some of Aunt Marian’s money to hire cleaners to come in and do the work for her. And yet, despite her dislike for dusting and scrubbing, she knew she didn’t want anyone else going through the contents of the house. If nothing else, she owed it to her grandmother to find out what she could about this side of the family. Who knew what she might discover beneath the grit and grime?

And once that was done she’d decide what needed to be fixed and contact a Realtor. She hadn’t planned on staying in Jewell Cove very long but plans changed. It wasn’t like there was a pressing need to be on any schedule. Or anyone waiting for her to return. She could afford a few weeks to take care of personal business. That’s all this was. Business.

She didn’t want the intimacy of a bed-and-breakfast—too many curious questions—so she turned into a small roadside motel just past the waterfront and the commercial area surrounding it. The room came with a porch that boasted a stunning view of the main drag. Since she had no desire to sit in the camp chair and watch traffic, she checked out the view from the back window. The harbor spread out below her, boats tied to the docks and bobbing on the smooth water in the mellow late-afternoon light. She watched as a fishing vessel chugged its way into the far end of the dock, its grayish-white prow breaking the gentle waves.

A long, low growl sounded in the silence and Abby pressed a hand to her stomach. When had she last eaten? Not for hours. There was no on-site restaurant at the motel, only vending machines in the office, so she had a quick shower to wash off the dust before looking for some dinner. Revived, dressed in clean navy trousers and a soft pink top with ruffles along the hem, she set out to explore Main Street and see what might tempt her. Since she hadn’t eaten since before crossing the border, she didn’t expect it would prove too difficult to find something appealing.

She passed Memorial Square with its well-kept gardens, a gazebo, and upon close examination, a statue of Edward Jewell, the town’s founder. Right next to the dock there was a fish-and-chips place—more like a canteen, really—with the smell of fresh fish and hot oil clinging to the air. Farther along she saw Breezes Café, a promising-looking diner, right next door to an Italian place called Gino’s that filled the air with the pungent smell of garlic, tomatoes, and fresh bread. Deciding to keep looking, Abby walked down the sidewalk next to the water admiring the view of the boats coming to dock, when a door opened farther down the street and country music erupted through the breach like a siren’s call.

It had been a long day, and Tom Arseneault’s sudden appearance was the icing on her already overwhelming cake. The reassuring twang of a recent country hit mingled with the delicious scent of grilled beef toppled her over the edge. What she needed was some red meat and a stiff drink. She kept going until she reached the brick-red building at the end of the block that looked more like a barn than a restaurant, a faded wooden sign outside announcing THE RUSTY FERN. She pulled open the door and stepped inside.

Was there anything more universal than a local watering hole? Abby let out a breath as the familiarity of it soaked into her tired mind. Neon signs boasting beer slogans hung above the solid wood bar. Thick tables and chairs filled the open space, with one end of the room spared for two pool tables and a dart board, where one lone man was throwing darts with varying accuracy, pausing to take a drink from his glass after each shot. Easy chatter blended with the country music, the long Maine accent thick in the air after a few drinks. But best of all was the smell coming from the kitchen—garlic and beef and grease. Abby’s mouth watered just thinking about it, and she found a small table for two close to a window overlooking the wharf. It was perfect.

A waitress approached. “Something to drink, darlin’?”

The r was soft, reminding Abby of the childhood trips she’d made to Lunenburg and Bridgewater with her parents. She smiled. “Spiced rum and ginger, please.”

“You got it. Do you want a menu?”

Abby looked up at the woman’s face and smiled. “If somewhere on it says a steak sandwich, that’ll do.”

The woman nodded in approval. “Sure does. How do you want your steak?”

“Medium, and a salad instead of fries, please.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be right back.”

Her drink was brought straightaway and Abby savored the spicy, fizzy taste of ginger ale and Captain Morgan on her tongue. The window provided a view of the wharf and a smattering of small shops on its edge, each one with a different colored siding. Reds, blues, yellows—there was even one green with pink trim around the windows. It should have been garish but somehow it worked.

Despite the bad start to the day, she had to admit Jewell Cove was a pretty little town with lots of character. Main Street was vibrant with shops and businesses ranging from the quaint to the cute, the foot traffic steady even in the off-season. From what she could tell, there wasn’t even a Starbucks or McDonald’s in Jewell Cove. The place was delightfully free of chain stores and fast-food outlets.

All in all she could have landed in worse places.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Her head snapped back to see Tom standing by her table looking down at her. She felt smaller than ever, seated as he towered above her. The fact that his deep voice sent something shimmering along her nerve endings was a nonissue. He was aggravating on a lot of levels.