The House on Blackberry Hill (Jewell Cove 1)

Tom had the power shut off as he worked on installing the chandelier. It really should have been a two-man job, considering how heavy the damned thing was. If Abby were here, she could at least help him hold it up while he connected the wiring and then put it in place. But when he’d arrived the house had been eerily silent. And that damned FOR SALE sign had taunted him from the front lawn.

She couldn’t be far. Her car was still in the yard and her purse was sitting next to the phone on the hall table. But she was nowhere in the house or garden.

He frowned, cursed as he adjusted the fixture on the makeshift scaffolding he’d concocted from a spare stepladder and a piece of plywood in his truck. She was avoiding him. There was no need. They’d called a truce and he’d meant it.

But she hadn’t wasted any time getting that FOR SALE sign up, had she? It had annoyed him from the moment he’d caught sight of it when he’d turned up the lane. For a woman who claimed to care so much about family, who appeared to have a tender heart behind her sharp tongue, she sure found it easy to just pick up and leave.

Tom had his faults, but at least he’d never run away from his problems. Hell, she’d accused him of still being hung up on Erin. Funny thing was, he was pretty sure that he hadn’t been in love with her for some time. Guilt was a far more prevalent emotion than grief or love. Guilt for how he’d handled their last meeting. And also a little guilt about moving on. Because he had moved on. He was pretty sure he cared a great deal for the aggravating Miss Foster.

Well, little did she know. She might be determined to bail, might not care for the house, but he did. With the money she was paying him for the renovations, he had enough for a down payment. And if he could talk the asking price down a bit, his savings would cover the mortgage for a while.

And he could always sell his cottage. It was small but it was prime waterfront property. It would make someone a good summer home when all was said and done.

He just didn’t want her to know it was him buying it until the deal was done.

The light through the windows dimmed and he squinted, focusing on twisting a marrett around the wires. Whether she was avoiding him or not, there was a storm blowing in. He’d felt it earlier, in the uneasy heat of midday, saw it in the way the leaves were flipped over in the restless breeze. It was already clouding over and the wind was coming up, gusting at the windows. As he screwed the mounting plate into place, he scowled. The first rolls of thunder were rumbling along through the valley. If Abby were out there, she’d better be hoofing it home by now, or else she was going to get caught right in the middle of it.

He didn’t realize how much the weather had changed until he took down the sheet of plywood and went to put it back in his truck. The sky was ominously black and the cold bite of the wind told him there was a good chance they’d get hammered with hail. Worried now and a bit angry that she was out wandering around, he cupped his hands to his mouth. “Abby!” he called, his voice swallowed up by the wind. “Abby!”

No answer.

Something was wrong. He couldn’t explain it, had no proof but the heavy, frightened feeling that was centered in the pit of his stomach. He remembered the sensation far too well to ignore it a second time.

The thunder and lightning grew louder and he scanned the hill behind the house, willing her to appear at any moment. Instead the skies opened up, pouring down sheets of rain. He raced inside, flicked the light switch and remembered that he’d turned off the breaker. There was a brilliant flash followed by a crash of thunder that made the glasswork rattle above his head. When he flicked the breaker and hit the switch, nothing happened.

The rain seemed to ease for a second, but the storm had merely taken a breath. It only paused for a moment before the hail started.

He had to find her. He hadn’t passed her on the way up the hill, so she couldn’t have gone toward town. That only left one direction. Up. He ran out to the truck and started it, turning on the wipers as he made his way down the lane toward the road. Maybe she was still at the top. The old barn was there. She could have taken shelter. Maybe she was snug as a bug after all. He could always hope. If not, she’d be soaked to the skin by now. The dark feeling persisted. Or worse, the little voice inside him said. He wouldn’t let himself go there. It was just a storm. She would be wet but all right.

A half-mile up the road he was stopped by the gate. It was secured with a heavy chain and lock—nothing his tools could cut through. He slammed the door and began to jog up the hill. “Abby?” He called her name now and again, holding the hood of his jacket up over his head against the sting of pelting hail.

He could see the barn at the crest of the hill. God, he hoped she was in there. If not, he’d have to take shelter until the storm passed before making his way back down again.

He was only a hundred yards away when the lightning struck. He’d never seen anything like it. The sharp repor

t was like a cannon going off and wood shrapnel flew everywhere as one side of the barn literally exploded in front of his eyes. The heavy weight of the rotted roof was too much for the wounded wall of the barn. It began to tilt, leaning to one side as the support started to crumble.

Then he saw her. Her bright blue hoodie stood out against the gray of the barn and the storm as she crawled toward the doorway. He ran forward, his heart pounding, terrified he wouldn’t reach her in time.

The barn came down in a dramatic puff of dust and wood, and he couldn’t see the blue hoodie anymore.

* * *

Abby coughed as dust rose all around her. Her ears rang and she blinked slowly. For the space of a heartbeat she thought she saw him again. Kristian. Blond hair, blue eyes, sharp cheekbones. And a gentleness and understanding that made her soul ache.

The barn had come down. She understood that much. The rubble was strewn all around her and she seemed to be lying in a pocket of space, surrounded by wood and old curled shingles. She wrapped her hands around herself as goose bumps rose on her arms. It was cold, so cold. She should head back to the house. Something about the thought didn’t seem quite right, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

She couldn’t seem to make herself move. Maybe if she just closed her eyes and rested for a minute or two. She pictured the FOR SALE sign at the end of the lane. She’d felt an odd sense of loss looking at it today. But what else could she do? She’d done what she’d come to do, hadn’t she? She’d found the answers she’d come for. But then it had been more. She’d gotten invested. Dead or not, it wasn’t about names on paper. Those names had stopped being relatives and had become her family.

She looked around her. Kristian had been here that long-ago night. How had he felt when Edith and the children hadn’t shown up? What had he done? Slipped away quietly or gone looking for them? As the hours had gone by, had he worried? Given up hope? Wondered if she’d changed her mind?

Abby tried to move her legs and winced. Her knees hurt and there was a long scratch down her thigh that was bleeding.

“Help!” she called, then slumped against some broken timbers. No one would hear her up here. No one knew where she was.

No one cared.

And she had no one to blame for that but herself. It was her own fault she kept everyone at arm’s length, never letting them close enough to truly be a part of her life. Too scared to let them in only to have them leave again. Except being alone all the time pretty much sucked.