Page 6 of To Hold and Protect

The outside of the Victorian-style house was beautiful, and she took a moment to imagine how her Victorian would look when the remodel was finished. This house was bigger than hers—three stories instead of her two—and was painted pale gray, the trim and front door a deep burgundy, and the windowsills white. She stepped onto a wide porch that stretched across the front. Green ferns hung in baskets between each post, and on the left side was a swing with a blue seat cushion and blue and burgundy pillows. She eyed the swing with envy, wishing she had one. What a perfect place to sit with her laptop and write on a beautiful day. Maybe they’d let her borrow it occasionally.

According to Everly, she and her dad, one uncle and his girlfriend lived here with the third brother and his girlfriend spending some nights here. It was an interesting family, for sure. She pushed the doorbell, and a few moments later a young man opened the door.

“You must be Andrew,” she said. Her little font of information had told her all about their housekeeper slash cook slash manny. It had cracked Willow up hearing the wordmannyout of Everly’s mouth.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I don’t know you.”

She smiled, charmed by his directness. “I’m Willow Landry, the new next-door neighbor. Um, someone mowed my yard this morning, and I’m pretty sure it was one of the brothers.”

“Parker.”

“Oh, okay.”Well, there you go surprising me, Mr. Grouchy.“So, that was a really nice thing to do, and I just wanted to drop off this cake and cookies as a thank-you.”

“He’s not here.”

“No problem. How about I just leave them with you?” She held the cake box with the bag of cookies sitting on top out to him. “He can share the goodies with you and the family.”

Andrew eyed the box. “I like cake.”

“Well, you tell him he better give you some.” As he took the box and bag from her, she got a glimpse of the inside and gasped. “Wow, that chandelier is gorgeous. And those stairs! Wow.” The foyer floor was black-and-white marble squares, and a massive crystal chandelier hung from the third-story ceiling between two curving staircases, one on each wall.

Andrew lifted his gaze to the chandelier. “Parker designed it because he’s an artist.”

Mmm, maybe her arts-and-crafts artist theory was a little skewed. “It’s really beautiful. Is the whole house as amazing?” She badly wanted a tour.

“It didn’t used to be, but now it is.”

Well, that didn’t tell her much. “I’d love to see the rest.” Maybe she could get ideas for what to do with her money pit.

“I’m not allowed to let strangers in, and I don’t know you.”

“No, you don’t, and you’re absolutely right not to let a stranger in.” She smiled as she stepped back. “You have a nice day, Andrew.”

Uncle Bob’s house—she was having trouble thinking of it as hers—was similar, as were the other Victorian style houses on the street, all built about sixty years ago. Most that she’d driven by had been updated, but a few like hers showed their age. What she wouldn’t give to see what had been done to Parker’s house. She could use some inspiration and ideas on what to do with hers.

Besides the difference in sizes, hers had a small yard, whereas the Church house, from what she could see from her bedroom window, sat on at least an acre. Beyond the four-car garage and the separate building with all the windows and skylights, she could see the corner of what she thought was a barn and in the far back a pond. She was glad she didn’t have that much land to deal with.

She returned home and parked Sunshine in the driveway, wishing the garage wasn’t crammed full of junk so she could get the car in. Maybe she should start on getting the garage cleared out first. But she needed a working kitchen. So, that first, then the garage. As she jogged up the steps to the porch, she changed her mind. A porch swing first, then the kitchen.

For the rest of the afternoon, she wrote. She was a middle-grade children’s book author and had sixteen books in print worldwide. The book she was working on was the first of three in a new fantasy series, and she was having a blast with it.

Her phone chimed, and she blinked, wondering why the room was dark except for the light from her monitor. Okay, it was nighttime. Huh. That tended to happen when she lost herself in a story. She read the last few lines she’d written as she answered her phone.

“Hey,” she said, expecting it to be her agent, who’d texted that she would call tonight.

“Willow, how are you?”

“Great.” She disconnected. Should have checked the screen before answering. Why was Brady calling? Her phone chimed again. She let it go to voice mail. A minute later, he called again. “Jeez, Brady,” she sighed as she answered.

“Don’t hang up, Willow.”

“Will if I want to. Why are you calling?”

“You had some clothes in the dryer that you forgot. Tell me where you are, and I’ll bring them to you.”

“Throw them away.”

“I miss you.”

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