Chapter 2
“That was a blast!” Tristan raced up the hill, leaving Morgan out of breath and trailing him to the top. “Can we go again?”
“You can go again,” she gasped. “I think I’ll sit this one out.”
Tristan hopped on. Beaming from ear to ear, he barreled down the hill, whooping loudly when he hit the bumps and became airborne. At one point, he was going so fast Morgan had to look away.
Mere inches from the frozen lakeshore, he skidded to a stop, snow flying in the air. Tristan jumped to his feet, waving his arms to let her know he was okay.
“Hey.” Morgan turned to find Greg walking toward her.
She waited until he got close. “Hey, Greg.”
“Good morning, Morgan. You decided to go sledding again.”
“Tristan has never been. I’m working on my awesome aunt of the year award and figured it would be good to get him out of the house. I hope you don’t mind that we borrowed your sleds.”
“Not at all. You can borrow them anytime you want.”
Tristan dragged the sled back up the hill.
“Hey, Mr. Greg…er…Greg.”
“Hello, Tristan. Looks like we have some pretty good powder for sledding.”
“Aunt Morgan taught me how.”
“Did she race you?”
“We haven’t raced, although I’m sure he would beat me by a long shot. He’s super fast.”
Tristan stomped his feet, knocking the snow off his boots. “Do you want to race me?”
“Sure.”
Morgan handed Greg the rope handle. “I’ll be the starter.”
The pair steered their sleds to the edge. With her back to the hill, Morgan lifted both hands, palms facing forward, and counted to three.
“One…two…three!” Her arms snapped to her side. Off they went, man and boy, flying down the steep hill, racing at breakneck speed toward the lake.
The sleds stayed neck and neck until almost reaching the straightaway at the bottom. Greg, with his head low, pulled ahead. At the last minute, he jerked the rope and veered right.
Tristan pulled to the left. His sled abruptly swerved and slammed into a snowbank.
Morgan watched in horror as his small frame flew off the seat. With arms flailing, he landed on the side of the snowbank and rolled to the bottom.
She took off at a dead run, calling his name. The faster she tried running, the slower she went, as if she was moving in slow motion.
Greg, realizing what had happened, scrambled to his feet and ran to the boy’s side. “Are you okay?”
Tristan lay perfectly still, not moving.
“Oh my gosh.” Morgan dropped to her knees. “Tristan! Can you hear me?”
His eyes flew open, and he giggled. “I was thinking about making a snow angel.”
“You’re not hurt?”
“Uh-uh.” He bolted upright. “Did I scare you?”
“Yes.” She shook her finger at him. “You took years off my life.”
“I’m sorry. I figured you knew I was okay.”
“You scared both of us, the way you fell, or should I say flew, off the sled,” Greg said.
“I won’t do it again.” Tristan laid back down and began moving his arms and legs, creating a snow angel. “Can we build a snowman now?”
Morgan grabbed a handful, gauging its “packability.”
“This is perfect snowman-making snow,” Greg said.
“I can be pretty creative when I put my mind to it.” Morgan scooped up a generous amount and began packing it. “First, we have to roll the base.”
Working together, the trio rolled the largest of the three snowballs. With Tristan’s input, they found the perfect spot for their snowman and began working on the middle ball.
After finishing, they lifted the ball and placed it on top of the bigger base.
“I’m putting you in charge of rolling his head,” Morgan said.
“I see some new snow over there.” Tristan waded through the drift. Dropping to his knees, he began rolling the ball toward them. He stopped a few feet away. “How is this?”
“Perfect.” Morgan gave him a mitten’d single thumb up. “Put it right on top.”
Carefully lifting the head, the boy carried it to the snowman and slid it in place. “What about his face?”
“A carrot and a few black buttons are all we need.” Greg offered to track down the items.
While they waited, Morgan and Tristan assembled a second snow person, a friend to keep Slick, the name Tristan had picked out, company.
They were adding twigs for arms when Greg reappeared.
“Should Slick be happy, frightened or sad?” Morgan asked.
“Happy. He loves the snow.” Tristan worked diligently on creating Slick’s smiling face while Morgan and Greg worked on his snow friend.
After finishing, they stood back to admire their handiwork.
Morgan patted her pockets. “Crud. I wish I had my phone so we could take a picture.”
“I have mine.” Greg removed his cell phone and snapped a picture of the snow couple. Tristan posed next to Slick while Morgan stood next to Sally, the name they picked out for his companion.
Switching places, she took a picture of Tristan and Greg, and then snapped a selfie, proudly posing alongside their snow friends.
Tristan set Chester on the sled and began pulling him toward the top of the hill. “Can we go again?”
“I need to get back to work, bud,” Greg reluctantly replied. “We’ll have plenty of days to go sledding. Snow will be on the ground for weeks, maybe even months.”
“It’s awesome. I love snow.” Tristan chattered excitedly, rattling off all the winter activities on his list. “I’m hungry,” he announced.
“The exercise and fresh air worked up an appetite. I’m sure Tina has some snacks in the kitchen.”
“I’ll hang the sleds back up.”
Morgan watched as Tristan ran ahead. Dragging both sleds behind him, he disappeared into the carriage house. “I wish I had half his energy. Shoot, even a quarter would do.”
“How is he settling in?” Greg asked.
As soon as the test results confirmed Tristan was Brett’s son, Morgan, Elizabeth and Brett had called a staff meeting to let the rest of the Easton Estate employees along with Greg, Tina and Ronni know what was going on, to let those who were close to the family hear the news directly from them.
She tipped her hand back and forth. “Tristan loves it here, although he’s a little nervous about starting school.”
Greg nodded knowingly. “Being the new kid in town…not only the new kid, but an Easton, might be a little rough. Is he changing his last name?”
“Brett has decided to take it slow. If or when Tristan brings it up, he’ll go from there. I’m sure my brother would be thrilled if his son wanted to take the family name.”
“He’s a good kid.”
“I agree. I won the nephew lottery.”
The conversation ended when Tristan, with Chester hot on his heels, returned. “Thanks again for letting me ‘n Aunt Morgan borrow your sleds.”
“You’re welcome, Tristan. Anytime.” Greg excused himself, reminding her he had to leave soon to pick up the B&B’s arriving guests from the airport.
Taking the cleared path to the back door, a shortcut to save them from having to walk all the way around, Morgan led him into the back porch screen room, also known as the mudroom, a term new to her when she moved to Easton Island.
More than a mudroom, it was a catch-all for all seasons: winter gear, summer supplies, fishing equipment, bike accessories including helmets and kneepads, tools for the firepit—campfire roasters, toaster forks, and fire pokers.
Similar to the carriage house, Greg kept everything organized by activity and season.
Tristan picked up a ski pole. “You got all kinds of stuff in here.”
“We call it the catch-all room.” Morgan showed him the binocular cases. “There’s even a telescope for stargazing.”
“You have almost as much as Easton Estate.”
“Not quite. Grandmother’s boathouse and storage shed are bigger than mine, but then she’s been collecting gear and equipment for a lot longer than I have.”
Tina appeared in the doorway. “I thought I heard voices. Greg came by to get some carrots and buttons for the snowman. How was sledding?”
“A blast,” Tristan said. “We went so fast. Greg and I raced down the hill.”
“I’m glad you had fun.”
“We worked up an appetite and were wondering if we could grab a quick snack.”
“I have some grilled bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches left over from breakfast.”
“Sounds perfect.” Reaching the kitchen, Morgan removed the leftovers from the fridge and assembled two plates…a half a sandwich for her and a sandwich and a half for Tristan. After warming the food, she added a scoop of yogurt and some sliced fruit.
While they ate, Tristan talked nonstop, giving her a play-by-play of his sledding experience and telling Morgan he wanted to learn how to catch big fish.
Gobbling up his food, he began tapping his foot, a sign she had learned meant he was growing restless.
“Are you ready to head back to Easton Estate?”
“Okay.” He hopped off the barstool and placed his empty plate in the dishwasher. “Thank you for the sandwich, Tina.”
“You’re welcome. We’ll see you again soon.”
“Yep. Greg said I can use his sled whenever I want.”
Morgan caught Tina’s eye over the top of his head and winked. “Aunt Morgan might need to visit a chiropractor after a few more trips down the hill.”
“Dead Man Drop Junior,” she said. “Similar to the hill near Easton Estate but on a smaller scale.”
“You’re right. I think it’s a fitting name.” Morgan jangled her keys. “I need to stop by the front desk before we leave.”
Tristan tracked down Chester, who was sniffing around, searching for crumbs.
Morgan fed him a handful of treats. “We can’t forget about Chester. He worked up an appetite too.”
Jingle…ting.
“Those must be our guests.” Picking up the pace, Morgan, with Tristan by her side, darted to the front desk. While Greg left to grab their luggage, she made quick work of checking the guests in.
She had just finished giving them a tour of their rooms when Ronni, her friend who was also Locke Pointe’s manager, arrived. “Oh good. I was running late and afraid I would keep the guests waiting.”
“I have them all checked in,” Morgan said. “Tristan and I are heading back to Easton Estate.”
“Before you go.” Ronni reached under the desk and handed her a copy of Entertainment in the Thumb, a travel magazine for visitors and locals. “Our new ad is in this month’s copy.”
Morgan flipped through the glossy pages until she found the photo of Harlow and David Wynn smiling back at her. Beneath the photo was Locke Pointe’s name and address, touting it as “the” place to stay on Easton Island.
Along with the glossy photo was a list of activities Locke Pointe offered. In the corner was a snapshot of Ronni posing in winter wear, ski poles in hand and standing on the edge of a wintry white forest covered in a fresh dusting of snow. “Lookin’ good, Ronni.”
“Thanks.”
“When did this come out?” Morgan flipped back to the cover.
“Two days ago, and the only reason I knew it had finally published is because our phone has been ringing off the hook. This ad is working like a charm.”
“I’m so glad you thought to ask Harlow if she would pose for a photo when she and her father, David, were here.”
Tristan tugged on her arm. “Is this picture real?”
“It is.”
“You know Harlow Wynn, the famous actress?”
“I do.”
“Can I meet her?”
Morgan grinned. “Maybe someday. Your dad…Brett…knows her too. We’re working on a special project with Harlow’s father, David Wynn.”
“She’s pretty, just like you.”
“I…” Morgan’s throat clogged. “Thank you, Tristan.”
“You’re welcome. I bet she’s nice, but not as nice as you.”
“The kid is scoring some brownie points,” Ronni said.
“It’s true. Aunt Morgan is the best.” Tristan hummed under his breath and slid his jacket on, unaware he had paid his new aunt one of the greatest compliments she’d ever received.
Regardless of who Addison Blakely had been, she’d done an excellent job of raising a good kid…not only a good kid but a sweet, thoughtful and loving boy. If the woman had been standing there right now, Morgan would have told her what a great job she’d done.
Somehow, she knew Addison was smiling down on them, thrilled that her son had found a loving home.