Chapter 7
Seven
Finn wasn’t exactly sure what was going on between Cretia and Roberta, but he watched their stare down closely for a few minutes after turning on the burner to warm the pot of water. Roberta had ignored his mom and dad, the vet, little Jessie, and pretty much everyone else who had deigned to visit the barn since her arrival the year before.
Not so for Cretia Martin.
Mar-teen. He replayed her introduction a few times in his mind. The gentle roll of the r . The subtle Spanish accent that made her name exotic and intriguing. And made him want to ask if she spoke the language. If she’d grown up in a bilingual household. If she still called San Luis home.
Technically, that was none of his business. But it didn’t stop the questions from racing through his mind. Roberta wasn’t the only one curious about North Rustico’s newest—if short-term—resident.
Reaching for one of the big green bottles of milk, he brushed his thumb against the outside of the metal lobster pot sitting on the hot plate. With a hiss, he shoved his thumb into his mouth to ease the immediate sting.
He knew better than to get distracted. He’d nearly dumped the whole pot on himself a week before when he made the mistake of letting Sonny and Cher follow him into the tack room. While a lot less prone to butting against his legs, Cretia was a whole lot more interesting than the kids. And he couldn’t seem to look away from her as she shuffled toward Roberta then back, her brown eyes almost as large as the cow’s.
Cretia looked up just then, catching his gaze through the window. She nodded toward the cow in question, as though asking if Roberta was safe or if he’d left her with a maniac. Finn dropped his thumb from his mouth and offered a half smile by way of answer.
Cretia didn’t seem convinced, keeping one eye on the cow even as she shuffled closer to the tack room.
At the first bubble in the pot, Finn dropped two bottles into the water. He forced his gaze to stay on the task at hand, careful to avoid the splash. He didn’t need a serious burn because he couldn’t pay attention to his job. Because he couldn’t take his eyes off of his visitor.
Setting the little egg timer on the table, he crossed his arms and waited, surveying his workspace. His goat setup wasn’t sophisticated—nothing like Justin’s dairy across the street. But it got the job done. And considering he’d put most of it together in about twenty-four hours, he was pretty proud of it.
His animals were healthy, cared for, and well fed.
That knowledge didn’t stop his gut from twisting when he wondered what his dad would think of it. Or Cretia. Which was absolutely ridiculous. He shouldn’t care about her opinion.
He’d made his mom proud, and he hoped he’d earned his dad’s respect. He’d saved the animals he could, all while maintaining the business. So what if it wasn’t the big, technological production he’d like it to be? No one cared that he was using his mom’s hand-me-down kitchen gadgets to make sure the kids got all the nutrients they needed.
Finn was probably the only one who cared that the business wasn’t growing. That it functioned much as it had when his grandfather started selling his Princess’s puppies to families, farmers, and search and rescue operations across Atlantic Canada.
The dogs were in the same barn, and Finn worked out of the same house—at the same desk—his grandfather had. It all looked pretty much the same except for some new paint, expanded fences, and a few four-legged strays.
But if his setup didn’t grow, he’d never be able to put his own stamp on the family legacy. He’d leave exactly the same thing to his own kids. The same moderate success. Just enough to keep going. Just enough to worry about the next month. Not nearly enough to hire help or take a vacation.
Finn scrubbed his hand down his face, combing his fingers through his too shaggy beard.
Something had to change. Even if the banks didn’t think he was a worthy investment, he could do something new with this legacy. He just had to figure out what.
Cretia jogged into the tack room, still warily looking over her shoulder. “I don’t think your cow likes me.”
“On the contrary. Hate isn’t the opposite of love.”
“Apathy is,” she finished for him, a smile tugging at her mouth. “So, you’re saying her attentions are an indication of her affection for me.”
He grabbed the tongs from the tabletop, poked at the two-liter green bottles that danced in the water, and shrugged. “I mean, she basically ignores everyone else. Clearly, she’s fascinated by you.”
“By wanting to eat me, you mean.”
Finn dropped the bottle he’d pulled halfway up, jumping back to avoid the splash. Laugher rolled out unbidden, and he had to gasp to catch his breath before he could respond. “I don’t think she suddenly turned into a carnivore.”
“Hmm.” Cretia’s lips pursed to the side, and she shot another glance at the bovine in question. “Maybe she knows how much I like carne asada and thinks I ate one of her cousins.”
Where had this woman come from? Equal parts ridiculous and adorable, and he had no idea what to do with her. So he shoved a red oven mitt and a black rubber stopper into her hands.
She raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question.
“For the bottle. Hang on.” After sliding on a blue oven mitt—the tip singed black from an incident with a flaming cake when he was nine or ten—he retrieved the bottles and set one in front of her. Then he demonstrated how to put the stopper in.
Cretia mimicked his actions, hesitant at first with the warm bottle, but finally cradled it with the mitt on one hand and shoved the rubber into place.
When the bottles had cooled enough to touch, he said, “Grab your milk.” Nodding back toward the pens, he led the way back to the goat enclosure and let himself through the gate. “Wait out here just a second.”
Jenna tipped her brown-and-white face up at him before quickly herding her little ones into the corner. Sonny, mostly white save a tan stripe around his middle, peeked around her. The little guy remained silent but watchful, his eerie amber eyes never blinking.
“Come here, mama,” Finn said. Holding out a bit of feed in his hand, he coaxed her toward the gate that led into the eastern pasture. Then, with a practiced movement, he nudged her with his hip until she was outside, only then giving her the treat in his hand. Her tongue was rough and damp, and he wiped his palm down her face and across her long, narrow nose. “Don’t worry. We’re not going to hurt them.”
Jenna bleated her uncertainty, pressing against the gate’s metal bars just as Sonny and Cher began their own chorus.
“Is she going to be okay?” Cretia asked.
“She acts like this is the first time, every time. She’ll settle down as soon as the kids do.” Finn leaned over and scooped up Sonny. The kid kicked for a moment despite the firm grip around his middle. “Come on, big guy. You’re just hungry, aren’t you?”
Finn doubted the goat had learned the words, but it still responded to his voice, settling into his chest with a sigh even as it reached for the bottle in his other hand. When he swung toward Cretia to let her into the pen, her eyes were wide with something like wonder, but she said nothing as he pointed toward the bright green Adirondack chair in the corner.
“It might be easier to sit down. Cher is pretty gentle, but she gets excited about her milk.”
Cretia nodded, perching on the edge of the chair.
She wouldn’t stay there long.
Biting back a grin, he tapped the Adirondack’s arm, waving his own bottle. Cher leapt onto the chair, and Cretia pressed a hand to her mouth and muffled a scream as she flew against the back of the seat. The response didn’t bother Cher, who hopped onto Cretia’s lap, her little mouth already chomping toward the rubber top of the bottle, her little brown rear wiggling with glee.
Cretia’s wild eyes darted between him and Cher, uncertainty and a bit of fear evident in the lines of her face. Finn waved his bottle again before holding it in the general vicinity of Sonny’s mouth. The kid latched on like the pro he was.
“You don’t even have to have good aim. She’ll find it.”
Face turning serious and eyebrows intent, Cretia tucked one arm around Cher’s middle while waving the milk bottle in her other hand. Not to be outdone by her brother, Cher snatched the tip between her lips and immediately began working it.
“If you hold it at an angle—”
As soon as Cretia tilted the bottle, Cher began guzzling, the milk disappearing with each sloppy slurp. Cher swayed a little and then snuggled against Cretia’s chest. “Oh.”
“All right there?”
The hesitancy in her eyes had been replaced by wonder as she looked up again. “Are they always so...?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t even let me ask my question.”
He adjusted the little four-legged heater under his arm, scratching the soft fur of Sonny’s belly. “However you were going to end that question, the answer is the same. Sweet? Uh-huh. Cuddly? Undoubtedly. Warm? Yes. Adorable? Absolutely.”
Cretia’s smile morphed into a sardonic grin as Cher sucked down the last drops. “I was going to say hungry .”
“That too.” Finn matched her smile as he bent over to set Sonny down. The kid stumbled like he’d had something stronger than milk to drink, and Finn put a steadying hand on his rear to keep Sonny upright while he gained his footing. “Their mom feeds them throughout the day, but I give them an extra bottle every morning to make sure they’re getting enough. And they haven’t turned it down once in almost a month.”
Cher let go of the bottle with a pop that echoed throughout the barn. The dogs barked in reply, but Cher couldn’t be bothered to respond, her eyelids drooping in a milk-induced haze as her body suddenly jerked.
“Is she okay? Did I do—”
“She just has the hiccups.”
Cretia smiled at her little lap goat, her hands working their way up and down Cher’s back, her fingers slender and clearly calming as the kid folded her legs and settled in more deeply, her body jerking every few seconds.
“I think you’ve made a friend for life,” Finn whispered.
Cretia didn’t look up from where she smoothed the kid’s back, down the pronounced spine and then back up to the rounded side. “I think I changed my mind. Forget having a puppy. I’d like a pet goat.”
Hands on his hips, Finn shook his head. “Until they literally eat everything you own.”
“She would never. She’s such a good girl.”
“Well, tell that to my shoelace she tried to eat last week. And don’t let Joe Jr. hear you talking like that. He’ll take it as a personal affront.”
She giggled, just as he’d hoped she would, the sound flowing out of her like honey.
“If Cher had her way, you’d sit and pet her all day. But I promised you a computer and the internet.” Squatting in front of Cretia, Finn carefully extracted the drowsy animal and deposited her on a fluffy mound of hay. When he stood, he held out his hand, but Cretia was already pushing herself up from the chair, dusting off a fresh layer of brown hair.
After opening the gate for Jenna and rinsing the bottles in the tack room, he slid the barn door back and motioned Cretia through. As she stepped into the sunlight, her hair glowed beneath her own personal halo. He had a sudden urge to run his fingers through the long ebony waves that swung from her ponytail down her back. Just to see if they were softer than Sonny’s coat. It was science, really.
And potentially ridiculously embarrassing. If she caught him. Which she absolutely would, because he had zero suave.
He’d apparently been absent the day the hockey players learned it at school. Or maybe it was part of their skills training. Coaches taught stick handling, protecting the puck, and how to talk to pretty girls without being a dope.
Too bad he’d never been any good on the ice. He could have used a lesson or two.
A few steps from the door, she began to slow, her feet looking heavy, her steps uncertain.
Figuring she wanted him to take the lead, he scooted around her. “The computer’s just inside.”
She nodded but didn’t move any closer to the house, her arms sliding around her middle and her eyes narrowing on the door. Shifting from foot to foot, she glanced at him, the corner of her lip disappearing beneath her front teeth.
“Cretia?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Yeah. Good.” But her gaze had lost its focus, and she sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than him.
Reaching for the handle of the screen door, he waved her in with his other hand. “Would you rather...?” He wasn’t sure what he was asking—or what he was supposed to be asking. He just wanted to find the words to take the wariness from her eyes and ease the lines around her mouth.
She shook her head slowly. “It’s fine. Thank you. Thank you for letting me borrow...”
“Sure thing. Come on in.”
But Cretia didn’t step through.
Four years, three months, and—Cretia did a bit of quick math in her mind—fifteen days.
It was a strange statistic to have handy, but the running tally in the back of her mind never stopped. It wasn’t like she woke up every morning thinking about the last time she’d been in her mother’s house. Anyone’s house, actually.
But the number was always accessible, the internal clock forever ticking.
Her streak would end when she stepped into Finn’s home. Not a hotel or an inn or a B and B. Just a house. A place filled with a lifetime of memories. A space that would either remind her why she’d chosen her nomadic life or make her second-guess it.
She risked a glance at Finn, who stood at the threshold, his concerned gaze washing over her. But her feet refused to move toward the dim interior beyond the open door.
A wet nose nuzzled into her waist, and she dropped her hand to pet the big furry head. Joe Jr. barked up at her and then nudged her hip, forcing her to take the first step. And then another.
Finn’s grin grew until it was evident even behind his shaggy beard.
Then she was inside, the warmth of the sun giving way to the relative darkness. Like in the barn, she paused until she could get her bearings, but Joe had no such hesitancy. He charged around her, bounding and chattering like a child eager to show off a new toy.
“Joe,” Finn said. A bite in his tone made the dog still immediately. “Go lie down.” He pointed toward a cast-iron stove in the corner of the living room and a large blue pillow on the floor.
Joe looked up at her with sad black eyes, then hung his head and trotted toward his bed. He circled a few times before settling down, his gaze never leaving her.
Cretia swallowed against her dry throat. “It’s okay. You didn’t need to—”
Finn chuckled. “Trust me. You won’t get anything done with Joe by your side. He just wants to play.”
The dog’s head lifted at the sound of his name.
With a roll of his eyes, Finn walked toward the kitchen. “Don’t worry. I’ll get him a t-r-e-a-t later.”
She checked to see if Joe had learned how to spell while the rest of his litter had been trained for rescue service, but the dog had rested his head back on his paws.
“You’re a good boy,” she said.
Finn had wandered across the living room, past a brown couch and a single blue recliner, the seat flattened and the fabric worn from years of use. “Trying to make a friend?”
“No, I—”
He held up his hand. “I’m just kidding. Joe already loves you. Clearly.” Shooting his dog a faux glare, he said, “I can’t get him to look at me like that. I’m just the one who fills his bowl, plays fetch with him, and takes him on a walk every day.”
Cretia couldn’t hold back a giggle, only then realizing her shoulders had relaxed and her breathing had gone back to normal. After a slow inhale filled with lemon-scented cleaning products, she did a little spin, taking in the room. It wasn’t overly large but boasted an open floor plan from long before the DIY television shows had made them popular. The overstuffed couch and recliner faced the fireplace and its round metal pipe, framing the living space. A colorful area rug beneath the coffee table looked like it could have been made from someone’s sewing scraps, though Finn didn’t seem the type.
A square table made of a dark brown wood and four matching chairs sat between the living room and the kitchen, whose row of hanging cabinets above the peninsular counter were sure to be demolished if any of those reno shows got their hands on this home. Even the appliances were olive green, like something she’d seen on an antiques show.
The house could use an update, for sure.
But it was homey. And clean. No piles of papers or overflowing trash bags or dishes in the sink. Even the hardwood floors beneath her shoes were spotless. Not a sign of Joe’s fur or crumbs around the table. Then again, she only used tables at restaurants. Maybe a bachelor living on his own was the same way. Or maybe Joe made sure the crumbs didn’t go to waste.
She smiled toward the big guy, who had closed his eyes and let out heavy breaths that sent his lips and a string of drool flapping.
“The computer is right over here.” Finn pointed toward a desk in the corner, tucked beside an unadorned staircase.
Ah. This was familiar. This desk was clearly where every wayward scrap of paper went to be lost, stacks upon stacks of envelopes and invoices, bills and Post-its. Whatever sense of organization there might have been had long ago been lost.
The desktop itself wasn’t more than four feet wide and mostly dominated by an enormous square monitor like the donated ones in her junior high computer lab. Her class had been the last to use them before the school upgraded.
Leaning over, Finn pressed a button on the black tower sitting on the floor, and the machine whirred to life, chugging and clicking as the screen blinked and shivered.
He clearly hadn’t gotten the memo that computers had become portable. And should be.
“It’ll just take a minute to wake up.”
“To wake up?” She couldn’t keep from parroting him. He couldn’t be serious. No one worked this way. No one lived this way.
Even her mother had had a laptop the last time Cretia was at her house. Nothing fancy. Nothing overly high-tech. Then again, her mom hadn’t had an empty surface large enough to house a computer.
But this was...
“This is your computer?”
Finn crossed his arms and nodded.
“Your only computer?”
He nodded again. “Why?”
“It’s just ... large.”
Giving the setup a quick once-over, Finn shrugged. “It works. Gets me on the internet when I need it. And”—he shot her a glance out of the side of his eye—“at least I don’t have to worry about it ending up in the harbor.”
“It would probably work just as well after a dip in the water.”
Running his fingers over his mouth, he seemed to muffle a snort as he fought to keep a straight face. After a moment, his eyes turned serious, his brows dipping to meet above the bridge of his nose. “Listen, I’d be happy to pay for your new—”
“No.” The word came out a bit harsher than she had intended, so she tried to slap a smile into place. “Thank you. But I’m all right. I’ve got it covered. Insurance and all.”
He chewed on his lip for a long moment—clearly trying to decide if it was worth arguing the point—before finally swinging the wheeled office chair out and motioning for her to sit down. “Have at it.”
“I don’t know.” She plopped down in front of him, his breath stirring the hair on top of her head. His body was warm this close, but goose bumps broke out along her arms, and her whole body was racked by a single shiver. Refusing to think about why she insisted on reacting to him so strongly, she forced a teasing smile into place. “I’m not sure I know how to connect with dial-up.”
He didn’t bother biting back his snort this time. “That was a low blow.”
“But honest.”
“We’re not in the sticks out here. I got a high-speed line a while ago.”
“Uh-huh. A while?”
“Two years.” He shrugged. “It’s high-ish speed.”
She chuckled as she moved the mouse to click on the internet icon. It opened—not exactly quickly, but at least it opened. The screen wasn’t sharp like her laptop—her ruined laptop—but at least she could make her way to the online Apple store.
Finn gave the back of her chair a couple pats. “I’m going to get Joe some water and his treat.” The dog barked on cue, his nails clacking against the hardwood as he raced across the room. “You want anything?”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
Finn and Joe disappeared around the end of the stairs and into the kitchen. The faucet had turned on and off before the store page fully loaded. Then, finally, there they were. Sleek silver laptops. The latest tablets. A brand-new phone—the model she hadn’t even upgraded to yet—in a gorgeous rose gold.
She hadn’t needed upgrades before. But now that she had to start over, she might as well go with the top-of-the-line. Maybe this newer model would even be rated for a dunking in North Rustico Harbour. Though it probably wouldn’t survive being smashed against the edge of the dock like her last one.
She picked her pieces and clicked her preferences, topping out on memory and storage space. All of her stuff was automatically backed up to the cloud, but she’d discovered more than a few corners of the world where she couldn’t get Wi-Fi or bars on her phone.
She couldn’t afford to miss capturing the truly magnificent just because her phone ran out of space. And thanks to 3.2 million followers across all of her platforms, she could afford to get the best equipment.
She quickly filled her cart with not only the electronics but also an extra battery pack. And a waterproof case. Even though she could afford it all, the total that popped up on the screen still packed a punch. But she didn’t need a repeat of the day before. Besides, she’d need a new backpack and carry-on too. And the clothes to go in said suitcase.
Looking down at the jeans and fitted blue sweater she wore—the only clothes she owned—she frowned. Her credit cards and cash had been in the bag that ended up in the harbor, had immediately disappeared beneath the surface, and—if Finn was to be believed—were probably washed well into the Atlantic by now. She could shop online in accounts where she’d stored her card numbers or through PayPal. But who knew how long it would take for things to arrive in North Rustico?
Probably not as long as it would take to get her new electronics.
Selecting the express delivery of her items, she held her breath.
Seven to ten days.
She let out a hard sigh between tight lips.
Any way she looked at it, she was stuck on this island. Waiting. Which was not her strong suit. Or even her weak suit. Waiting was not in her skill set. Not anymore anyway.
She’d spent too many years waiting for something better to come along. For something to happen. For her mom to change.
An image of the brown stucco house just north of the Mexican border flashed across her mind’s eye. She could order the items to ship there and meet them.
The idea landed on her chest like a brick. Her mother’s house was not a possibility. No matter how many times she begged Cretia to come back. Which was pretty much every time she called home—every few months.
Even though Cretia sometimes said she would try to visit, she never had. And she probably never would.
Cretia could be stuck there. Stuck in that little house filled with too many things. Too many memories.
Or she could be stuck here, forced to stay on an island at a cute B and B in the middle of tourist country, down the road from a couple of precious baby goats and squishy puppies. It was a far cry from staying on a dead-end road in a house that barely had room for her. Even for a short time. But the reality didn’t stop her insides from wrenching.
Staying in North Rustico wasn’t the same as living with her mom all those years ago. It wasn’t.
It only felt like that.
Sliding a piece of paper with a bank letterhead out of her way, she rested her elbows on the edge of the desk and pressed her hands to her face. A bead of sweat trickled down the middle of her forehead, and she swiped at it with the back of her hand.
This whole situation wasn’t ideal. She could accept that.
But given the choice, she’d pick the Sahara over San Luis. And this tiny village was a far cry from either of those deserts.
She’d wanted to feature the island anyway. With at least a week in the area, she’d have time to find the hidden gems and explore things she would have missed in her planned two-day trip.
Sitting up a little straighter, she clicked on the cart on the screen. This wasn’t wasted time. She wouldn’t let it be.
“How’s it going?” Finn’s question came from right behind her, followed almost immediately by Joe’s chin plopping on her knee.
She looked up, forcing a smile into place. “Do you know the mailing address of the Red Door Inn?”