~ Chapter Two ~
R egan checked the vehicle’s navigational system as he glanced at the house sitting at the end of the gravel driveway surrounded by tall pine trees.
The deep green cabin appeared to match the photo he had in the file, but double-checking the address didn’t hurt.
He had no intentions of knocking on the wrong door.
There was nothing special about the structure or the property, and he let out a heavy sigh.
The building appeared to fit into the surroundings. That was all.
It’s not a bad cabin.
A thud hit the hood of the Jeep as a black cat with a white moon-shaped marking on its side landed.
“Holy…” Regan took a quick breath, shaking off the start.
The cat sat facing him a moment, its head tilted to the side, and with a swish of its tail, the feline jumped off the hood of his car.
“Well, that was…” He grabbed his keys from the passenger’s side seat, then closed his eyes a moment before opening the door and stepping out.
He scanned the area to see where the feline vanished too, hoping they wouldn’t hide under his car to keep warm.
He’d have to pay attention, he didn’t want to harm the cat.
The damp air pulled his attention as moist mountain air tempted his nose, encouraging him to inhale deeper.
The chilly haze and scattered rain in San Jose had been replaced by coastal fog that always seemed to block the sun this time of year.
He zipped up his coat and made his way to the front door.
“Here we go.” He exhaled, unsure what lay inside.
He slipped the key into the lock of the door.
“Who the hell are you?” a crackly older voice barked out from behind him. “What you doing here, boy?”
Regan’s shoulders stiffened. There was no way the voice was addressing him, but there weren’t any other homes around. Footsteps moved toward Regan and he caught a whiff of body odor. His lips pinched together as his hands clenched.
“Didn’t ya hear me? Who the hell are you? And what you doing here?” the older man’s voice called out.
Regan bit back his anger and turned. “I’m Regan Cruz and I own this place, who’re you?” His gaze bore into the man briefly, before dropping to the gravel path. He wasn’t very good at confrontation despite his stature and appearance.
Before Regan stood the exact image of the old man he dreaded seeing. The guy had to be in his 80s or 90s. He had no hair, no teeth, and a scent announcing his presence long before his words ever could.
“Ah. Nice try, Sparky.” His lack of teeth made his words come out mushy and airy.
His breath was a match for his strong body scent.
“This house belongs to Maxum Jones, and Valentine Jones before him and you aren’t either of them.
” He raised a marked-up old cane with peeled stickers and worn foam handle. “Don’t make me use this.”
Regan tried not to laugh at the sight of this old guy standing in front of him waving a cane in his face. He took a beat. This must be Lutin.
“Be nice.” Max’s words echoed in his brain.
“You must be Lutin.” Regan held up his hand, showing the keys to the house.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Max, Maxum died two years ago…
” The words fell from Regan’s mouth. He hated saying that and worse he hated hearing those words, but here he was having to break the news of the love of his life’s death to a stranger.
As if on cue, drops of rain echoed off the roof and the ground. “I’m sorry.”
The older man lowered his cane and stepped back, nodding his head. “I know he’s dead. Damn shame, shouldn’t have happened.” His frown grew as he shook off some of the drops of rain hitting him as he spoke. “You said you’re Regan?”
Regan nodded, fussing with his hands. “Regan Cruz, I… I got all the paperwork and the keys today…” He held up the keys again.
The old man glanced around. “S’plains the weather. Not so much a Sparky but a Storm. Damnedest thing I’ve seen.” He scowled. “All these currents. What a mess you are, boy. A lot going on…” He waved the cane in the direction of Regan’s head.
“What?” Regan’s brows rose.
“Damn mess.” The older guy started walking off, pulling his jacket tighter around him. “Damn mess, all of it.”
“Where’re you going?”
The old guy waved his cane and kept hobbling off toward the woods, muttering and ranting as he went.
“What the hell?” Regan watched as the old man turned down a path.
“There must be a caretaker’s cabin.” He huffed as he pulled out his car keys and clicked to ensure his Jeep was locked.
He wasn’t going to take any chances, especially with that old nutter wandering about, caretaker or not.
He turned toward the door, clicking the handle.
With a deep breath, he walked over the threshold of the house.
He inhaled, and for a brief moment, he smelled Max. The warm earthy spicy scent enveloped him like a warm hug. The embrace brought him a much-needed peace and calm. It was magical.
Oh Max, I wish you were here with me.
After a moment, a smile tugged at his lips and cheeks.
Greeting him a large open space set up as a living room and dining room with grand picture windows overlooking the front yard and his car.
In the corner was a black potbelly fireplace with a rack of firewood ready to be used, should the weather take a turn.
Regan wondered if the house had heating and air-conditioning.
He moved through the cabin, finding a hall bathroom, galley kitchen with connected breakfast nook, and through double glass French doors, a small family room that led him back to the hallway.
Regan found another bathroom with shower bath combo and two more bedrooms. Up to this point, the space seemed pretty much like any other kind of vacation rental one would find listed on all the various apps.
The colors were generic, the furniture similar to what you’d find in a medium to high end hotel, but nothing showing Max ever spent any time here.
At the end of the hall, Regan noted a closed door.
He approached the door with an extended hand, and with a breath, he opened the door.
Inside he found the primary bedroom with another bathroom and den.
All the personality lacking in the rest of the house was made up for in this space.
The bright warm blue walls were a duplicate of what Regan and Max painted their bedroom back home.
As he moved in, the warm earthy scents of Max filled his nostrils again.
“Oh Max, I miss you.” He stood for a moment, noting another potbelly stove in the corner.
There was a well-appointed bathroom, and the den, a mix of custom walnut bookcases filled with books and a large walnut desk.
A half chuckle escaped Regan’s mouth as he walked around the space.
This could be our fourth bedroom back home.
Every part of this space reflected who Max and Regan were.
He instantly felt comfortable here. Rubbing his scruffy chin—he definitely needed to shave—he moved over to the desk, looking for the purple book with gold writing.
Expecting to have to dig around for his query, he was surprised the book sat where Max said it would be.
He picked up the book, flipping the novel over and over in his hands before sitting the book back down on the desk.
Crossing back into the bedroom, he flipped on the light.
There was a flash of bright light, then the lights dimmed and blinked out.
“Seriously… not here too.” He tried the switch again and this time the lights blinked on.
“I’m gonna have to check the electrical and pipes, I’m sure.” He shook his head as he pulled off his jacket, tossing the coat onto the bed and allowing the chill in the air to hit his skin. A shudder ran up his spine.
“Clearly no heating,” he commented and made his way over to the fireplace.
Finding the kindling and matches, he started a fire.
Once satisfied with the blaze growing in the stove, he made his way through the rest of the house, turning on lights and checking the doors and windows.
Regan moved into the kitchen to see there was nothing there but a few shelf staples.
Lastly, he tested the faucet and ensured there was water in the sinks and that the toilets worked.
Once back in the den he found himself staring at the purple book.
What am I afraid of?
He tapped the desk, pounding out a quick beat. Finally, he opened the desk drawer, not finding anything of interest. “This is silly.”
He pulled the book toward him and opened the cover.
A knock at the front door caused him to jump from the desk and the book. He put the book down and rushed to the front door. “Who the hell’s knocking?” he grumbled.
Probably that old coot again.
He reached the front door, taking a moment to inhale as deeply as his lungs would allow, hoping to get hints of Max again before meeting the old guy.
“Hello,” a man in his late thirties with shoulder-length wispy blonde hair greeted him. His soft delicate features gave him a weak and fragile appearance. However, his bright green eyes, snarky grin on his lips, and two bags of groceries told a different story.
“Can I help you?” Regan studied the guy. There was something attractive, even sexy, about him, but he couldn’t quite figure out what.
“I’m Lutin, you met my grandfather earlier.” A devilish smile traveled from his lips to his eyes before he continued. “You know, the crazy old coot.”
Regan blinked several times. Did he say that out loud? He cleared his throat, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets as his shoulders slouched. “That was your grandfather?”
Lutin shrugged. “Can I come in? These are heavy.”
“What’s all this?” Regan stepped aside, allowing the guy entrance into his home.