Chapter 15 Leah
Leah
The atmosphere lightened again. Progress was much quicker with the boys’ help, though Leah had been quietly amazed Jackson let them stay. Kash rivaled Jackson for competence with a power tool and Sam was just Sam—funny, upbeat, and more helpful than he let on.
Niamh wandered downstairs late morning and carefully skirted the worst of the mess, heading straight for the kitchen and the coffee machine.
She made drinks for everyone, declared her part of the operation complete—after insisting the forgotten mouse corpse was properly disposed of—and took her phone straight back upstairs again.
Jackson unwound a little as the afternoon wore on.
His shoulders became less hunched, his brow less frowny.
The realtors brought out the best in him, Leah thought; it was a shame she didn’t.
That rare, brief smile even broke out a couple of times.
Leah watched for it like a glimpse of the northern lights, but it was never aimed at her.
He handed it out sparingly to Sam or Kash and once—a bigger, softer version—to Handyman Stan, who sauntered in through the open front door to see what was going on.
Too focused on the tender sweep of Jackson’s hand over Stan’s sleek head as he crouched to fuss over the cat, Leah walked into the ladder.
This one-sided physical attraction was mortifying, even more so because she knew it was inappropriate and Jackson was a grade-A dick.
Halfway through the afternoon, he disappeared to the kitchen and returned, ten minutes later, holding a plate piled high with unevenly cut sandwiches. “Lunch break.”
The boys put down tools, removed gloves, and dived in.
Leah grimaced at the state of her hands and went to wash up.
On the breakfast bar, scribbled hurriedly on a scrap of paper, Jackson had noted down the specifications of her car tires and the number for Manning’s Mobile Tire Service.
His writing was appalling. The gesture, she guessed, was an apology of sorts.
In the end, it took until early evening to finish taking down the ceiling, and Leah had blisters on her palms and aching shoulders to show for it.
Jackson found newspapers and matches while Sam went foraging for marshmallows at the 24/7 Pump ’n’ Shop. Kash built a long makeshift bench by resting some of the boards across two cut tree stumps and Leah made a jug of iced apple juice and ginger beer.
When the fire outside was roaring, Niamh joined them to roast marshmallows.
She was wrapped in a coat of Jackson’s and, unaccountably, Leah envied that more than any of the other clothes Niamh seemed to have in her endless closet.
Jackson’s girlfriend picked at a marshmallow and grimaced when the breeze blew the smoke in her direction, but Leah was in heaven.
As the temperature dipped, she pulled her hands inside the sleeves of an old sweater and shuffled closer to the flames, roasting and devouring marshmallows well past the point of feeling sick.
It was an evening straight out of her childhood, when bonfires with her dad had been commonplace; the memories were priceless.
Though she was exhausted and filthy, she didn’t want it to end.
They let the fire burn low once most of the boards were gone and Niamh retreated inside, saying she’d had enough of the cold and the midges. Even Leah was beginning to shiver.
“Time to go, man.” Sam yawned and stretched; Kash climbed to his feet.
They grabbed their belongings, slapped Jackson on the back, and called goodbye to Niamh. On the porch, they trapped Leah in a tight three-way, woodsmoke-scented hug before piling into their car.
“You can have first shower.” Jackson leaned against the living room doorframe.
His eyes were shadowed and he rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin.
Hot as fuck in a suit, sinfully tempting in jeans and a filthy t-shirt.
Leah had no idea which was her favorite Jackson to look at.
Startled by her own train of thought, and before she said something unfiltered, she nodded and started up the staircase.
“Leah.” His gravelly voice halted her feet.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry I snapped earlier. My dad pissed me off and I took it out on you.
I shouldn’t have done that.” The apology was unexpected; surprise coated her exhale.
Jackson remained in the doorway but he’d braced himself as if he was waiting for her to throw his words back in his face. “I won’t do it again.”
Leah nodded. “OK.”
There was relief in the curve of his lips, gratitude in his eyes. “Thanks for your help today.”
Third step up, she was almost at his eye level and she felt her frustration toward him wash away. Leah smiled across the foyer. “Thanks for the bonfire. I had fun.” He didn’t need to know how much it meant to her.
Jackson dipped his chin and disappeared into the depths of the living room.
In the shower, she turned the water up as hot as she could stand, closed her eyes, and bent her head against the steamy cascade, rinsing the smell of smoke out of her hair.
Behind her eyelids danced images of Jackson’s biceps, rock-hard and ripped, muscles tensing as he hefted multiple boards onto one of his broad shoulders with casual ease.
His sheer size made him impossible to ignore.
His complex moods, just impossible. He was difficult to read, prickly, and borderline rude.
In fact, plain rude. There was no borderline.
And yet, for all his bite, after tonight she couldn’t deny it anymore: there was something about him that reached out to her. She wished she understood what and why.
Leah gave a guilty start and cut off the water, reminding herself of his girlfriend’s presence downstairs.
She’d been surprised that Jackson had made up one of the bedrooms on the second floor for Niamh, rather than sharing his own.
Last night, she’d read until she couldn’t keep her eyes open, doing her best to block out the thought of him visiting Niamh’s room, his hands on Niamh’s body, his tongue stroking Niamh’s lips.
She didn’t sleep well. Leah refused to go down that road again tonight.
Today had been a complete break from the usual. And tomorrow, Jackson and Niamh would leave again—together.
Willow or copper beech, Leah knew who and what she was. And what she most definitely was not was a stylish blonde with legs for miles and a haircut that probably cost more than her laptop. She pulled on a pair of pajamas, wrapped her hair in a towel, and tried to ignore the tightness in her chest.
Jackson jiggled his car keys in the palm of one hand and pulled his cell from his pocket with the other. “You ought to have my phone number.”
“OK.” Leah closed her fingers around her “Abibliophobia” mug (noun—the fear of running out of books) and blew on her coffee.
“And I need yours.”
“Good idea.”
He unlocked his phone, handing it over as Niamh walked into the kitchen.
“Isn’t it a weird coincidence,” said Leah, tapping in her contact details, “that my name is an anagram of your surname?”
Jackson frowned. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Niamh poured a glass of water for herself. “Hardly surprising. Spelling’s not your strong point, is it, babe?” She turned off the faucet, caramel-painted nails gleaming, and looked over her shoulder at Leah. “He’s dyslexic.”
A tic tugged at the lower lid of Jackson’s left eye.
“That can’t be easy.” Leah felt his discomfort on a visceral level. Given too little time to think through a reaction, she blurted, “Brave of you to pick a girlfriend with a name no one can spell.”
Jackson’s gruff laugh startled Niamh but freed a grin on Leah’s lips. She held out his phone. “Text or call me and then I’ll have your number.”
He nodded. “I’ll be back at the weekend.”
Hey. Some communication of his plans. That’s progress.
Jackson picked up their bags and followed Niamh outside. He turned on the porch to give Leah an enigmatic smile before jogging down the steps onto the driveway.
She pushed the door shut with a quiet sigh.
Putting her mug in the sink, Leah bent to unload the dishwasher, sore muscles protesting with every movement.
Another weekend gone and she still hadn’t brought up the topic of Esther’s diary.
She vowed to read more. Maybe by next weekend she’d have unraveled some further threads and there’d be a clearer story to tell him.
Hazel and Marjorie crashed her reverie with a jaunty knock at the window. Leah waved them in, letting out a moan at the vanilla-and-spice-scented waft coming from the covered dish in Hazel’s hands.
“Morning, sweetie. I’ve made tea cakes for breakfast. They’re still warm.” Hazel’s tea cakes were the stuff of legend.
“We missed your boy.” Marjorie’s greeting was deflated. “He passed the coach house just as we came out.”
Leah choked a little. “Yeah, well, my boy has a job to get back to. And his girlfriend does, too.”
“We were hoping he’d introduce us.” Hazel was already gathering cutlery and dishes.
They settled at the breakfast bar and dug into the tea cakes.
“You’ll have to make do with me, I’m afraid.” A knob of butter slid off Leah’s knife in slow motion and dropped onto the leg of her jeans. “Oh, crap.”
She left Hazel and Marjorie alone for five minutes while she changed into a clean pair of leggings. Coming back downstairs, she found them interrogating a man she’d never seen before over a freshly brewed pot of tea. Leah halted in the kitchen doorway.
“Landon Peake,” said the visitor, rising to his feet and extending a hand for her to shake. “I do hope I’m not intruding.”
Mr. Peake, it turned out, was a friend of Jackson’s father. He removed a pair of metal-framed glasses and tucked them into the top pocket of a tan checked suit. His swept-back hair, graying beard, and mustache gave him the air of Santa’s suave and slimmer younger brother.
“I was passing through Pine Springs and stopped to take in the sights. When I saw the signs for Weller’s Lake, I remembered Alistair’s mother used to live here. I’ve always wanted to see the house.” He gazed around with a benign smile. “It’s a beautiful place. And up for sale, I hear?”
“Mr. Peake knows the Hales through their country club,” Marjorie interjected.
“Have you had many viewings so far?” the visitor asked.
“I believe there are some scheduled,” Leah lied unapologetically. She rescued her mug and leaned against the kitchen counter. Peake’s blunt curiosity made her uncomfortable.
“What is included in the sale?” His eyes traveled to the living room doorway and he subtly craned his neck, as if cataloguing his surroundings.
“I don’t involve myself with the Hales’ personal business. I just live here.” Leah schooled her lips into a polite tilt.
“It’s a big house to stay in by yourself.”
Hazel offered the visitor a second tea cake. “Oh, Leah is rarely alone. We are like one big, happy family around here. There’s always a steady stream of people to keep her company.”
“I’d love to have a look around.” His brown eyes twinkled beneath bushy gray brows.
Leah crossed to the sink to wash out her mug. “I’m sure Jackson would be happy to show you the house if you call in another time. You just missed him today.”
“I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Alistair’s son yet.” If anything, Landon Peake twinkled even harder. “But maybe you could tell him I stopped by?”
“I’ll do that.”
“What line of business are you in, Mr. Peake?” Hazel asked innocently.
“Oh, a little of this, a little of that. I’m fortunate enough to be able to dabble.”
“And what are you dabbling in at the moment?” Marjorie’s eyelashes fluttered in a most beguiling way.
Landon Peake twisted the cufflink in one pristine sleeve and leaned toward her. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” He threw back his head and laughed when Marjorie slapped his arm.
“More tea, Mr. Peake?” Hazel lifted the pot.
“Sadly, I ought to head off. I’ve a busy day ahead and this was only a fleeting visit.”
Leah walked him to the front door. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Peake. Drive carefully.”
The older man took the glasses from his suit pocket and sat them on his nose, his genial smile at odds with the sudden flinty edge to his voice.
“Thank you for your concern, Miss Raven. I hope you will take care, too. Accidents can happen all too often in old houses. Such a shame when they could easily be prevented.”
“Is there something you’re trying to tell me?” Leah drew herself up and wished she were taller.
“Not at all, Miss Raven. I have no doubt the Hales will be more than considerate of your safety when you let them know of my concerns.”
Landon Peake skirted the rotting porch steps and climbed into a carnelian red Mercedes. Raising a hand in farewell, he sped down the drive. Leah watched until he was out of sight.
In the kitchen, she shook her head at Hazel and Marjorie. “You can’t go throwing open the door to strangers. Jackson wouldn’t like it.”
Hazel began to gather up the china. “I was curious. I wanted to know what Mr. Peake was doing here.”
“And what if he turned out to be up to no good?”
“Oh, I don’t think there’s any doubt he’s up to no good.” Hazel sounded quite pleased about the fact. “I believe we all came to that conclusion. There was far too much eye contact and toothy smiling for my liking.”
“He’s also very short.” Marjorie agreed. “My father told me not to trust short men. He said they always have something to prove.” She seemed to have temporarily forgotten Gerry was barely five foot eight.
“Plus, Pine Springs doesn’t have any sights to take in.” Hazel stared thoughtfully out of the window. “Unless you count the Elite Lodge Hotel. And no one with any sense would do that.”
“So, why did you let him in?” Leah smiled with reluctant amusement.
“Well, a stranger at breakfast is all rather thrilling, isn’t it? Especially on a Monday.”