Page 20 of Blackwood

He glanced to the bookcase and smiled. Actually smiled. He was handsome as a shaggy hermit, but when he smiled, he became irresistible. My heart cartwheeled, and I had the sensation of dropping down the first steep slope of a rollercoaster.

“Mom always had a thing forAlice in Wonderland. Dad found a beat up first edition. It took months, but he tightened the binding, freshened the ink, and then gave it to her on their thirtieth wedding anniversary.” His smile faltered. “That was the last time we were all together.”

“Your family?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back, his mood darkening by the second.

“How many brothers and sisters do you have?” I kept trying even though the moment was lost.

“I need to get back to this.” He pulled the magnifying glass closer. “The collector expects it done within the month.”

I angled for more. “If you have a graduate degree in history, why don’t you teach?”

“I did.”

“Why’d you stop?”

He sighed. “How much longer do you think you’ll be here?”

All the warmth from only a moment before was gone. I swept away the stab of hurt. He’d been clear from day one that he didn’t want me here. Our brief conversation didn’t change that fact. Though a part of me wished it would, wished he would open up to me enough so that I could figure out if he could be trusted.

“A few more days, tops.” I needed more time to search the house, and my leg, though improved, wasn’t in hiking shape.

His cool smirk returned. “Now that you’ve shown me how very independent you are, tell me how you intend to get back up the stairs.”

I effected a nonchalant air. “I was going to look around down here for a minute. You know, start getting my pack ready for when I’m able to get back out there.”

“You want to snoop.” His hint of amusement encouraged me.

“Just look around. Exercise my leg.”

“Knock yourself out.” He bent forward and peered through the glass.

“Really?”

He didn’t respond, just plucked a fountain pen from the cup and began tracing the outline of antiquated lettering.

“Okay, I’ll just see you later then.” I pushed off the desk, and it shifted slightly.

He groaned and yanked his hand away from the book.

“Sorry.”

“Just go.” He tucked his hair behind his ear and leaned closer to the page. “And if you fall down the cellar stairs, don’t expect a rescue anytime soon.”

“Got it.” I walked out of the library, my limp abating the more I stretched my leg. Heading across the foyer, I entered a small sitting room.

The furniture seemed dainty, and the fine layer of dust covering everything told me this room hadn’t seen much use. A fireplace presided over one wall, the hearth a wide expanse of dark brick. I walked to it and studied the images set along the mantle.

The family matriarch and patriarch took the middle spot in a large photo. Mrs. Blackwood, her hair long and dark, smiled down at me as Mr. Blackwood looked over at her. His jaw cut the same sharp line as Garrett’s, and his love for Mrs. Blackwood still shone as brightly as it did when the picture was taken.

Another photo to the left showed the three children. Lillian wore a floral summer dress and dazzled with a bright smile. Garrett quirked one side of lips up, as if he were in on a private joke. His dark hair was a stark contrast against the white of the house. Hart wasn’t looking at the camera, his eyes focused behind the photographer, maybe on something in the woods. The three of them were a mix of their parents’ beauty, though Garrett looked the most like his father.

I reached up and ran my fingers along his face. Only a dark hint of a shadow hid his cheeks, which seemed fuller, his eyes brighter. How long ago had it been taken? Hart looked to be about fifteen at most, so it had to be five years old at minimum. When the photographer clicked his button, my father was still alive.

Moving down the row, there were more photos, some of them graduation pictures, others candid shots of the siblings. I’d hoped to catch a glimpse of my dad, his eyes twinkling and his face scruffy. He wasn’t there.

I limped around the rest of the room and walked into the foyer. Garrett had closed the doors to the library, but I could sense him in there, bent over his work. I moved to the next set of open doors and found a living room with a flat-screen TV and some comfortable leather furniture. Books littered the side tables, and a laptop sat in a chair. I plopped down on the couch and pulled the computer into my lap. Garrett said for me to knock myself out. I grinned.

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