Page 4 of Will Bark for Pizza
I walked through the rooms, counting seven with the bathroom. Eight, if you added in the covered outdoor space with picnic tables, just off the kitchen. I wasn’t surprised to find a green toilet and wall-mounted sink that matched the living room carpet in the tight bathroom. Hell, the gas range in the kitchen matched it, too.
“Lots of green,” I remarked.
“Grandma Pebble,” Luke said. I pieced together that she was the grandma on his dad’s side, as I’d been living with his other grandparents for the couple of months I’d been in town. “She refused to let Karl and Wendy change a thing when they bought it from her. No one had the balls to touch a thing after she passed. If there was ever a woman who’d haunt your ass, it’s Grandma Pebble.”
“I’m not enacting some kind of curse if I rip out the carpet, am I?” I asked on a laugh.
Luke clapped me on the shoulder. “I’m afraid that’s a risk you’ll have to take.”
I didn’t believe in ghosts, so I wasn’t worried about some woman I’d never met haunting me.
“The family won’t mind?”
“Hell, I think they’d throw a party.”
My gaze snagged on a framed family photograph hanging just above the hideous couch; it was taken in front of the cabin. I instantly recognized my friends, among the gaggle of kids piled in front of nearly a dozen adults. A short, stout woman with gray hair tied up in a red bandanaand a lopsided smile that promised trouble stood in the middle of the chaos—Grandma Pebble, I presumed.
What would it be like to have a family that size? To have family gatherings out at the lake with siblings and cousins? To spend holidays with laughter and banter instead of hyperawareness and disappointment? Hell, I’d even take the bickering.
“That was the summer I turned fourteen,” Luke said, nodding at the photo. “Same summer Dad refused to teach me how to drive, so I taught myself and drove his truck right into a stream.”
“Bet he was pissed.”
“Only reason he let me come on that camping trip was because no one wanted to stay behind and babysit my ass. But I was grounded until Christmas.”
I’d heard a few stories about their family camping adventures at Ghost Lake. How Luke pranked his little sister by putting a snake in her tent one summer. How she got even by putting it in his sleeping bag. Connor, ever the peacekeeping middle brother, got caught in the crossfire when the two started throwing the snake at each other. Their cousin Thoren sat back and watched the whole thing he’d instigated unfold, laughing himself stupid.
“Thoren doesn’t want this place?” I asked, staring at the picture and wondering if the girl with blonde pigtails was Luke’s sister. I’d never actually met her, despite following Luke to Bluebell Springs on a couple of our joint leaves. Bad timing I guess, because I always wondered what kind of woman a snake-throwing girl grew into.
“I’m not sure you could convince him to move back here unless you hogtied him and tossed him in the back ofyour truck. He and his dad don’t exactly see eye-to-eye. He’d sooner bear crawl buck-ass naked on broken glass than ask Karl for shit. Including this cabin.”
“Guess he’s a lifer, then?” Thoren was the only one of us four still active duty.
“Lookin’ that way.” Luke checked his phone, then dropped it back into his uniform pocket. “Uncle Karl said he’s open on rent-to-own options if you’re not ready to buy something.”
“That could work.” I had money tied up in several investment properties, including my first commercial building. It was a big step for Campbell Enterprises. Renting sounded more my speed while I focused on establishing this new side of my business.
“I have to warn you, though. Karl might change his mind. He’s done that before.”
“He’s not sure about getting rid of it, then?”
“If it were up to my aunt, the place would’ve been sold ten years ago. But Karl . . .” Luke let his sentence trail off with a shrug. “And look, if he does change his mind, my grandparents are happy to have you as long as you need a place to stay. Hell, you’re the favorite grandkid at this point. If you wait it out long enough, they might just leave their house to you in the will.”
He meant it as a joke, but my laughter was forced. I didn’t want to overstay my welcome with the Westons.
I parted the dusty curtains on the opposite wall of the couch, wondering whether they’d always been ivory, or if they just needed a good wash.
Dirty curtains or not, the view sold me.
“That’s Ghost Lake,” Luke said.
The private lake hadn’t been visible on the mile-and-a-half drive up and down a rough dirt road. But through the picture window, it was framed in perfection. Deep blue water with hardly a boat floating on it and a backdrop of mountains. Thick woods all around, like walls. A few houses nestled in them. Luke wasn’t kidding when he said it was quiet. Compared to the larger, touristy Glimmerstone Lake on the other side of Bluebell Springs that was already littered with boats, jet skis, and pontoons, this place was deserted.
“Only locals live out here?”
“For the most part, yeah. There won’t be any asshole kids out here throwing parties. Just families camping on occasion.”
That explained the orange tent off to the far left.
