Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Find my baby! Please find my baby!
But they never had.
Zach logged out, shrugged on his coat, and headed back out into the clear night, puddles shimmering on the ground of the parking lot. Josie Stratton’s eyes flashed in his mind one final time before he shook off the memory, fired up his truck, and headed home.
Chapter Two
The old farmhouse that had been converted into the Persimmon Woods Bed & Breakfast had been built in 1822. And from what Josie could tell, it was feeling every bit of its age. “Damn,” she muttered, as another drip splashed to the aged hardwood floor. She quickly grabbed an additional pot from the kitchen and placed it next to the other two already catching rainwater leaking through the roof. Excellent, she thought, her shoulders drooping. A new roof. Add it to the list. The never-ending list of things that would need to be fixed sooner rather than later if she was going to get the old place up and running and in a state acceptable for guests.
And she needed guests. She needed income to afford the property taxes on the old place her aunt had left Josie in her will. She needed income to continue to eat. At the thought of going hungry, a stab of emotion pierced her. Emotion too big and complicated to break apart into more descriptive terms. She let the weight of it roll through her and then breathed, letting it go.
A leaky roof. Repairs. That’s what she had to deal with. That’s what was in front of her. And though it was daunting, it could be fixed. Somehow, someway. She just had to figure out the details.
She’d spent the last six months cleaning the house to within an inch of its life, painting every room, and adding what she hoped were charming touches to the décor. Some of the furnishings were beautiful antique pieces that added to the historic feel of the home, but other pieces were simply outdated, ugly, and falling apart. But she’d gotten creative and found ways to use what was available to her for free rather than spending money she didn’t have. She’d discovered beautiful old scrolled, wrought iron fencing behind the house, scrubbed it free of rust, spray-painted it, and used it to mount on the walls over a few of the beds to create rustic headboards. In that sense, it was a boon that her aunt Mavis had been somewhat of a hoarder. Her aunt had kept the old fencing, aged whiskey barrels—which Josie had cleaned and resealed to use as side tables on the porch surrounding the house—and an attic and basement full of items Josie was still cataloging. She’d found a gorgeous set of cornflower-blue-and-white china that she’d brought down that morning and began washing. She’d stood at the sink, one of the lovely, delicate plates in her hands, staring out the wavy glass pane, mesmerized at how the sun caught the raindrops on the rosebuds outside. She’d opened the window, and the spicy scent of the roses mixed with the clean smell of a rain-washed morning had wafted in, filling her spirit. It’d felt like a gift meant just for her. She’d closed her eyes, feeling thankful, living right in that moment. Yes, it had started out as a good day, but then the roof and the leaks…
She froze as a car door slammed outside. Peeking through the curtains, she let out a groan.
And now…Archie.
She hadn’t realized her day was going to take an even steeper downturn.
She considered ignoring the knock that came at the door, but her car was parked right outside, the windows were open, and if she was going to assert herself with her obnoxious, mean-spirited cousin, she couldn’t run and hide under one of the beds like she was tempted to do. She walked slowly to the door and pulled it open. Archie, who’d been looking behind him at the large expanse of yard where Josie had treated the grass for weeds, mowed, and planted spring flowers, turned suddenly, spearing her with his cold eyes. Eyes as blue as his mother’s and yet with none of the warmth.
“Josie.”
“Hi, Archie.”
He looked past her, into the house. “Can I come in?”
She hesitated. Boundaries, Josie. Boundaries are very important. You must know your own and respect your own. If you don’t, no one else will. The words of the social worker who’d been assigned her case came back to her. It was funny how they’d barely penetrated her trauma-saturated mind eight years ago, but they must have lodged somewhere in her brain, because they whispered back all the time recently. “Why don’t we sit on the porch? It’s a nice morning.”
He thinned his lips and hesitated but finally walked to one of the wicker chairs and sat down.
Josie took a seat across from him. “What brings you out this way, Archie?”