Lighthouse Way (Huckleberry Bay 1)

* * *

April 1, 1873

The storms have raged for more than a week, and it feels like a mirror to the storm in my soul.

* * *

That’s it. That’s where it ends.

I turn the page over. In small writing at the bottom of the page, I read, New barn. Loft.

“Loft.”

I frown, and then my heart races.

“The attic!”

I race through the house, out the front door, and to the barn.

“June!” My heart’s in my throat as I hurry inside and see my friend prying some boards off the inside of the far wall. “It’s in the attic.”

“What is?” she demands. “What’s going on?”

“I have to go up there,” I reply and cross to the ladder that leads to the platform above.

“Be careful on that ladder,” June advises. “I think it’s original to the building.”

“Great,” I mutter and start up, carefully stepping on each rung. When I can see the floor, I cringe. “There’s lots of mouse poop up here.”

“Hope and pray that only mice have made a home up there,” she says from below.

“You’re not helping,” I reply and step all the way up onto the platform. “You know, I’m not excited about heights.”

“Too late now. What are you looking for?”

“Another diary. Hey, June?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s no door up here.” We’re both quiet for a second. “So, every time we’ve heard a slamming door—”

“Don’t say it,” June says, her voice strained. “Just don’t.”

“Okay, Rose,” I whisper as I gingerly feel my way across the platform, careful not to step through any rotten boards. “What do you want me to find? What did you hide up here?”

I see some old shelving units standing against the walls. Obviously, they used to store stuff up here.

There are also some old cylinders that look as if they were used to store things and keep them out of the elements.

I’ll have Apollo and Wolfe come and get those down later.

But in the far corner, under the window that surprisingly still has its glass, is a trunk.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say aloud.

“What did you find? I’d come up, but I don’t think it’s safe.”

“There’s a bunch of stuff up here,” I call down. “Including an old trunk. And I’ll bet you anything it’s Rose’s.”

It’s padlocked shut and rusted, so I can’t open it, which might be the worst kind of torture there is.

“I need the guys,” I say as I take one last look around before walking back to the ladder. “Hopefully, this holds long enough for them to haul this stuff out of here.”

I carefully climb down the ladder and sigh in relief when I make it to the floor.

“There’s quite a lot up there,” I say, shaking my head. “How, I’m not sure.”

“Your dad probably just assumed, like you did, that it was empty.”

“I suppose so,” I agree. “I’ll text the guys to come and help, and then I have to get ready for tonight. But this means I have a really fun project for tomorrow.”

“Wear gloves when you dig around in there,” June advises. “There could be spiders and stuff.”

“Oh my God, now I don’t want to.”

“You can do it,” she says and smiles cheerfully. “You’re a badass.”

“I still can’t believe you fixed my car so fast,” I say as Wolfe and I leave the little seafood restaurant on the waterfront. He brought me north of Huckleberry Bay to Pacific City for dinner.

It was nice to get out of town with him for a couple of hours. Away from where everyone knows us both so well, and to a place where no one knows us at all, and we could chat without any interruptions.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” he says and opens the car door for me. “Mind if I take you somewhere…fun?”

“I don’t mind at all.”

He grins and closes the door. When he’s settled in the driver’s seat, he sets off on Highway 101 south, back toward home.

About a mile before the turnoff for Lighthouse Way, Wolfe pulls onto a little dirt road that leads to the cliffs.

I can see the lighthouse down the coast, and the view of the water is gorgeous from up here.

“It’s private here,” he says as he turns off the ignition and faces me.

“Did you bring girls up here when you were a teenager?”

His lips twitch into an amused smile. “I’m going to plead the fifth on that one. It’s a good spot to watch the sunset.”

We’re not in the Porsche tonight. Wolfe surprised me by pulling up in a little red Ferrari convertible.

It still smells new.

He pushes a button, and the top of the car folds back, leaving us sitting in the open air, watching the sun set on the Pacific Ocean.

“I don’t think it gets much better than this,” I breathe. “Did you miss it? Home?”

“I didn’t think so,” he admits and glances over at me. “I was too caught up in my job, in living in Europe, and the life I’d built there. A few months ago, I would have scoffed at the idea of being homesick. But now—”