5. Thea
5
THEA
The late-afternoon sun blazed down, and I let it soak into my skin as I walked across the back of my property. The view of the never-ending forest never got old. My footsteps slowed as I really took in everything around me.
The hint of pine in the air was just a little different than every other pine tree scent—something unique to Sparrow Falls. Like the crystal-blue sky with its cotton candy clouds drifting by, and the epic vastness of the surrounding wilderness that made me feel so small.
It didn’t matter that I felt a little lonely at times, where I wished someone could truly know me. I was lucky as hell to be here and have this place.
An ache took root in my chest as I wished Nikki could see it. I’d sent a couple of Polaroids with my money one month, but photos didn’t do this place justice.
I tipped my face up to the sky, letting the sun bake my skin for a moment longer. This was enough. I had my garden, my books, Moose. I was safe. Reaching for more was just greedy .
Sighing, I headed for the greenhouse. When I lived in LA, I’d been a frequent shopper at the many farmers markets in and around my neighborhood. I loved inventing recipes from my finds there, but I’d had no idea what actually went into creating all that amazing produce.
I did now.
The corners of my mouth tipped up as the old greenhouse came into view. When I moved in, I was instantly taken with the space. The bottom fourth of each wall was constructed out of rich, aged wood. Above that was pure glass.
A few of the panes had been cracked or smashed, but with a little research and elbow grease, I’d replaced each one. Learning how to keep plants alive had been a harder endeavor. I’d read books and articles at the library and done a series of trial-and-error experiments. But almost two years later, I had it down.
I adjusted the large wicker basket on my arm and opened the door with my other hand. The moment I stepped inside, thicker air hit me, the kind that kept all the plants happy. I set the basket on the bench in the middle of the space.
Something about tending to the fruits and veggies soothed me. Creating something positive, nurturing it, and helping it grow had healed something in me. The same way fostering tiny kittens did. It was as if caring for them knitted something back together in me.
I got to work watering, weeding, and pruning. As I did, I surveyed what I needed to harvest. Leeks, summer squash, the first tiny strawberries. The avocado tree I’d planted was now pushing against the glass at the top of the greenhouse. I’d have to do something about that soon. And I knew the corn I’d planted just outside had a few ears ready to go.
My mind was already whirling with what to make. Summer squash and corn salad with roasted leeks for flavor. Maybe something with the strawberries for dessert. Sutton would have a better idea about that than I would. Even though I’d been working with her for months, I still hadn’t mastered that art.
I moved quickly through the space, picking what I’d need for the evening’s meal. I stopped at a catnip plant in the corner and grinned. Breaking off a sprig, I stuck it into my basket and headed for the door.
Heading across the back of the property, I climbed the steps of the back deck that had clearly been added later in the small cabin’s life. I’d eat out here tonight. I didn’t have a table, but I could easily eat on the chaise lounge. And I’d bring Moose out on his leash so he could get some outside time.
I tugged my keys out of my pocket and unlocked the specialty deadbolt on the back door. As I stepped inside, Moose greeted me with a warbled meow. I grinned and moved to scratch behind his ears. His little nose was already twitching.
“Give me a second, and I’ll bring you your drug of choice.”
He answered with the chattering protest that always made me laugh. I hurried into the kitchen, dumped my basket, and plucked out the catnip. My gaze caught on the clock, and I cursed. Rhodes would be here at any moment.
I quickly crossed to Moose with the catnip sprig. He dropped to his back paws like a meerkat, his front paws hooking around my hand and jerking it to his mouth.
“Jeez, watch it. You’re going to take off my finger if you’re not careful.”
But he was already gnawing on the leaves, clearly in heaven. I grinned as I crossed to the kittens’ pen to double-check everything. At six weeks, they wouldn’t be able to climb the pen’s walls, but it likely wouldn’t be long before that changed. Kittens were more than a little resourceful.
Moose let out a baleful meow.
I straightened and sent him a pointed look. “The kittens won’t steal your catnip, so chill.”
Glancing at the pen again, I frowned. I needed a little more litter in the litter box. I moved toward the small half bath off the living room that also served as my kitten storage area. Opening the cabinet beneath the sink, I tugged the litter free and froze.
Dread settled low in my gut as I took in the water under the sink. I quickly pulled everything out, only to find more water. Not pools of it, but like everything had been doused in it over time. My hand skimmed over the pipe as I studied it. I didn’t see a leak, but that didn’t mean one wasn’t there.
I stood, looked around, and caught a slight shimmer on the linoleum floor next to the sink. I crouched low. That was damp, too.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I needed to turn off the water to the house. I probably needed to call a plumber. Just the thought of someone being in my house—anyone at all, but especially a stranger—had pressure building in my chest. My rib cage tightened around my lungs, making it hard to take a full breath.
“One thing at a time,” I whispered.
Maybe I could figure it out myself. There had to be a library book on finding a leak. I might be able to get there before it closed.
But first, I had to shut off the water to the house so it didn’t get worse. That was the last thing I needed.
Striding out of the bathroom, I rounded the corner to the front door. The guest bath was along an exterior wall, at least, so I hoped the damage was minimal. I scanned my front yard, looking for anything that would denote some sort of shutoff.
I’d never owned a home until this one. My life in LA had consisted of one apartment after another. Even growing up, I’d never had a typical home with a yard. It wasn’t something my parents could afford.
Finally, my eyes locked on a small cover in the ground. I hurried toward it and pulled it up, then reached for the rusted shutoff valve that looked older than the house itself—if that were possible.
I tried to twist it, but the thing didn’t want to move. Pressure built behind my eyes. “Come on,” I muttered, putting more force behind my movements. With a grunted oath, it finally shifted. But not in a good way.
One moment, I was crouched over the opening. The next, water was shooting into my face. It soaked me in seconds, taking out my hair, my tank, and everything else in its path.
I stumbled back, panic searing me. Then I realized the shutoff valve was still in my hand. It had come clean off .
Crouching low, I tried to come at it from an angle so as not to get doused again, but I was still getting soaked as the pipe screamed in protest.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I didn’t have the first clue what to do. How to stop it. How to fix it. Nothing.
A door slammed, making me jerk to my feet and whirl around.
Shep stood there, a look of pure confusion and amusement on his face. “What the hell happened to you?”