Page 10 of The Fence Between Us

He nearly sighed in relief when he came upon one of his old familiar haunts and took in the well-maintained grounds, the way the flowers bloomed welcomingly. The Sunny Morning Trellis was Shiloh Hills’s only bed and breakfast—and the only place for an out-of-towner to stay, as no local motels or hotels existed nearby. Originally known as The Greer House, the house had once been one of the largest, most grandiose homes, belonging to a long-ago wealthy businessman who built the home for his wife and their children. Painted a fresh white color, wood board-and-batten siding reflected the sunlight. Intricate lavender detailing added elements of charm to the exterior and complemented the various types of blooming plants around the grounds. The smell of freshly cut grass in the air soaked into Rabble’s soul and made him smile; pulling up to the house felt like coming home.

The Sunny Morning Trellis bed and breakfast belonged to Mrs. Sylvie Basket, an older woman who had lived in Shiloh Hills her entire life. Widowed at a young age with no family to speak of, Mrs. Basket hadn’t known Rabble when she’d saved his life, hadn’t thought anything of the protection and care she provided to the poor teenager she found pawing through the leftovers thrown out by the local grocery.

As if she saw something in him, something good that no one else ever had, she’d approached him as she might a wild animal, carefully and with a soothing tone. Instead of charity, which she’d somehow known he’d never accept, Mrs. Basket hired him to do all manner of manual labor around the bed and breakfast after school. In exchange, he had a safe place to hang out and, at minimum, one nutritious meal per day. Rabble owed a lot to certain members of the Shiloh Hills community, and Mrs. Basket was at the top of the list.

As Rabble parked his truck on the one-car gravel pad outside of the bed and breakfast, he noted where the paint was fading and peeling on the façade. Although in relatively good shape, the building showed its age more now than he had ever seen before.

Grabbing his bag, he started toward the large house. Rabble’s long gait ate up the short, paver-stone walkway, but he took the four stairs onto the wrap-around porch one slow step at a time, savoring each step, each breath of sweet-scented wind. He pushed open the familiar door, its decorative glass casting prismatic slashes of light across the porch, and stepped into the front room.

“Be right there!” a young voice called from further inside.

Rabble dropped the experienced duffle bag at his feet and waited, taking in the cream and navy floral wallpaper and the dark-stained wooden chair-rail that dressed the lower third of each wall. Though the windows remained shut to keep out the summer heat, someone had drawn back the sheer curtains, allowing the natural light to illuminate the space. The bed and breakfast boasted four bedrooms, three on the second level and one on the first, two shared bathrooms and two common gathering spaces, the living area and dining rooms respectively. Even though their stay included breakfast and lunch, Mrs. Basket always made enough dinner to share with any of her guests.

After a minute or two passed, a teenage girl hurried from the direction of the kitchen, her ginger red hair falling free of her braid and tangling in her face. She brushed it away with an impatient hand and rushed to the rolltop desk that sat against the wall.

“Checking in?” she asked, carefully rolling back the top of the desk and grabbing a pen.

Rabble snorted. Based on the number of pens inside the antique desk, Mrs. Basket still preferred paper to any form of electronic management system.

“Yeah, three rooms if you have them. We’ll pay by the night, but let’s start with four,” he said, pulling out his wallet.

Rabble grabbed his driver license and the company credit card, then stood still and silent while the girl tallied the cost per night. When she gave him the number, he handed over his cards.

“Where’s Sylvie?” he wondered aloud.

“Who? Oh, Mrs. Basket? She’s around here somewhere.” The girl worked while she spoke, keeping her eyes focused on the papers before her. “She still wants to be involved in everything, but I try to make her take it easy when I can. Last I saw, she was hanging a load of sheets out to dry.”

The girl smiled as she spoke about the older woman. That someone cared for Mrs. Basket as much as he had warmed Rabble’s heart.

“I’m Olivia.” The girl held out her hand for him to shake. “I’m around every day after 3:00 p.m. and in the morning on the weekends. If you need help with anything housekeeping-related, I’m happy to help when I get out of school.”

Rabble shook her hand and returned her smile. “I’m Rabble. The other two rooms are for Declan and Dash MacAlister; they’ll be here later.”

Olivia handed Rabble a key to the Green Room and said she’d be cleaning the first floor for another hour or so if he needed anything. After thanking her, Rabble took the steps up to his assigned room. She would never know his thanks were less about the room and more for the care she showed Mrs. Basket while he had run off to the ends of the Earth.

The Green Room was aptly named, and Rabble couldn’t help but chuckle at the décor. When Mrs. Basket had been redecorating, she’d asked his opinion on colors and furnishings.Being a teenage boy lost in his own angst, he honestly hadn’t been able to muster enough energy to care about wall coverings or paint colors. Later, he wished he’d had the heart to tell her that there was such thing as too much green.

The emerald rug centered under the four-poster dark-wood bedframe marked just the beginning. She’d chosen bed sheets and pillows in differing shades of forest and army, while the walls were a printed pattern of dark leaves on a sage background. The heavy wood furniture and the burlap wall prints barely made a difference in the overwhelming sea of green. Rabble hoped he could catch the look on his brother’s faces when they arrived. Declan and Dash would be equally confounded by their rooms, each similarly decorated in shades of blue and orange.

Throwing his duffle on the bed, Rabble set his laptop on the desk, pulled up the file on Bekah’s relocation, and reviewed the details, recommitting them to memory. Declan and Dash had set up alarms and other sensors at the rental. But despite Bekah’s desire for safety in her relocation, she had drawn lines at too many security measures, albeit politely, but they would continue to monitor her situation and make updates as necessary until a predetermined amount of time had passed without contact from her ex-husband.

As Rabble reviewed the rest of her plan, trying to root out any flaws or loopholes that might have slipped past him, he rubbed his eyes and shut the computer down. The words blurred together, and his eyes strained against the harsh blue light of his laptop.

Despite his fond memories of the bed and breakfast, he felt antsy and trapped, but outside—well, that might be worse.

Seeing Skye had been an unwelcome shock, one he hadn’t prepared for, assuming she’d left Shiloh Hills in the dust as surely as he had. Instead, he found her, a woman in her ownright now. Her long hair a bit darker than it had been, her eyes a bit more wary. He’d taken her in, like a man starving at a feast he couldn’t touch or taste. She’d been beautiful before, all heart-shaped face and forgiving grace. Now though, she moved beyond beauty, embracing the years with a radiance that shone around her.

Thinking about Skye grew his agitation and Rabble changed into gym shorts to run through a grueling regime, stretching and working his muscles to release some of the tension he’d built since arriving in town. He was still counting push-ups when heavy boots sounded outside his room, nearby doors opened, and matching muffled expletives sounded through his closed door. The twins had arrived and were now experiencing the wonder of the Sunny Morning Trellis bed and breakfast.

Chapter 6

Skye

Skye gripped her sloth-themed thermos firmly in her hand as she tested the doorknob on the heavy white metal door. It twisted easily, and she let herself into the warehouse. As the unofficial meeting place for citizens of Shiloh Hills, the warehouse hosted odd get-togethers and gatherings, including the fall festival and winter markets when the weather turned bad.

In the summertime, the warehouse became a hotbed of activity for Independence Day parade float committees. The cavernous space stored the trailers in the weeks leading up to the holiday, providing complete coverage for decorating committees to work in all weather and all hours.

Shutting the door behind her, Skye scanned the trailers of varying sizes and designs that sat scattered throughout the space. Sheets of white paper hung on each one, labeling the trailer’s owner or business.

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