Chapter 3
Chapter three
Katie
Between the two large stone pillars, a sign hangs precariously by one nail: Eden House.
The driveway is long and rutted, and my Honda bounces along, rattling across every bump.
It’s a sure bet I will bust a tire. Wooden fencing lines each side of the road, but no two parts seem connected.
There is no sign of life in the fields; it’s just an expanse of rolling green grass.
As I reach the peak of the hill, a house comes into view, and it looks nothing like the cozy cottage I was promised. Confused, I stop my car and recheck the Google location. Nope, I’m in the right place.
A man appears on the doorstep of the old gray building.
He waves, beckoning me forward. He’s tall, lean, and dressed somberly in a black suit.
Vacant eyes run over my dilapidated appearance, the mud on my boots and hole in my jeans the result of the curbside rock I tripped over due to a loud bang from my car that made me pull over.
I’d expected my bumper to be missing, but no, the only casualty was me.
“Good evening, Miss Clark.” His voice is as boring as he looks.
“My wife and I will be leaving in twenty minutes. Here’s a letter detailing all the requirements for the land and animals.
Your accommodation is at the back of the property.
The main house will be locked, and you’ll not require access unless there’s an emergency.
A spare key is in the key box in the cottage.
You’ll need to call our security team for the code if you need it. ”
I nod, stunned.
“Okay, and how can I contact you, sir? If there’s a problem?” I blurt, instantly regretting calling a thirty-year-old ‘sir’.
Blank eyes meet mine. “You can’t. We’ll call you every Sunday at 6 p.m. on the cottage phone. If you don’t answer, I’ll call security to come check on you.”
My jaw drops.
A woman, I assume his wife, totters out the front door and down the steps.
“Jeffery,” she snaps. “We need to go. We have a plane to catch.”
Without so much as a look in my direction, she stalks past me and climbs into an old Rolls Royce, faded with age but still as stylish as hell. He follows, and they bounce off down the bumpy drive, out of sight.
Turning to face the depressing mansion, a chill crawls up my spine. I rush to jump back in my trusty Honda in search of my cottage.
The little house, painted green, is tucked at the back of the property between the trees. I sigh in relief. There’s a white picket fence and a charming thatched roof.
This is more like it.
Holding my instructions, I wander up the short stone path and push open the red front door. Relief fills me as I look around the quaint space. It’s like I’ve been transported back in time to an era of flowery fabric and heavy wooden furniture.
“Meeeeooooww.” A screech behind startles me, and I turn to see a ginger demon sitting in the doorway.
It looks me up and down, then hisses violently.
I jump back and hold my fingers up in a cross, like I’m warding off a vampire.
Grabbing a cushion from the sofa, I hurl it at the creature, and it runs off.
Then I tear open the envelope, remove my instructions and begin to read.
Dear Miss Clark,
Thank you for agreeing to house-sit at Eden House now in remission, this is my fresh start.
And as much as I want to support everyone else, right now, I need to put myself first. So, here I am.
Sunshine pours through the windows and across my face. I blink, disorientated for a second, then I remember I’m in Scotland.
Pulling on my boots and jacket, I head out into the cool sunny morning to face the zoo.
Finding the hay barn, I’m greeted by two yapping rats that must be the dogs in the letter. They circle my feet, forcing me to dance around them, not wanting to stand on them but trying to avoid their muddy paws. The feeding schedule is pinned where I was told.
Finding the rats’ bowls, I shut them up with a pile of dog food. The ringing in my ears from the barking could summon bats.
Continuing my investigation, I find the necessary nourishment for the rest of the menagerie.
Luckily, the large animals don’t need to be fed; apparently, they survive on grass.
So, it’s just a case of checking they’re still there and haven’t lost a leg.
With all my dependents counted and checked, I head off to find the town called Aviemore.
The Cooray Inn is warm and welcoming, located in a basement beneath the local bookmakers. Behind the scratched wooden bar, a small woman with black hair is wiping glasses.
“Afternoon, what can I get you?” She smiles with bright white teeth. “You here for a holiday?”
Taken aback by her forwardness, I stutter, “White wine, please. No, I’m house-sitting just out of town for a few months. Eden House. Mr. Eden said I was to contact Ainsley if I have any issues?”
Handing me my drink as I pass her a few coins, she shrugs.
“I’m Ainsley. Yes, he popped in last week.
Said they were leaving for a while. I don’t know them well, just to say hello.
I did buy a drawing from them once. Mrs. Eden is an artist of some sort.
Nice to meet you. Well, if you need anything, just ask. ”
“Thanks.” I smile. “Yes, I’m Katie, and no doubt I’ll be seeing you regularly.”
She giggles. “Sure will. This is the best place in town. Not that there’s much choice. Aviemore isn’t big.”
Her eyes go wide, pinned over my shoulder. I turn, and the most beautiful man is walking down the stairs.
My blood heats on instinct.
For fuck’s sake, Katie. He’s young enough to be your son.
He fills the doorframe. Military, without a doubt. Tattoos snake up his arms. His white T-shirt stretches across his chest. His expression is fierce, like he hasn’t smiled in years. Stunning, but deadly.
A small girl walks beside him, holding his hand. She’s probably around eleven, with long red hair and dimples. The way he scans the room for threats, she’s definitely his.
“Mum!” she squeals, running behind the bar to hug Ainsley. “Are you coming to the new house? Dad’s home.”
Her youthful face beams. Her father looks like he’s swallowed a bee.
Ainsley’s expression softens, but she shakes her head. “No, darling, I’ll be staying at our home. Dad’s got his own house now with Dog. We won’t all be living together. Sometimes things change.”
The little girl wilts. “But, Mum, Dad’s home. We can be a family again. Please.” Tears spill down her reddening cheeks. The man—her father—goes rigid.
“You stay with your dad tonight,” she says gently. “I’ll be at home tomorrow.” She glances at him. “Did you not explain the situation to your daughter?”
He grunts but says nothing.
I’m caught somewhere between despair and fury, but not knowing who’s at fault, I don’t know who to hate, if any of them. My heart breaks for the little girl with bamboozled eyes darting from one parent to the other. That only makes me madder. She shouldn’t be witnessing this.
“Why are you even here?” Ainsley bristles, losing the softness of motherhood.
“Hannah wanted to see you,” he mutters, not quite meeting her eye. “She’s confused.”
They lock eyes then, neither saying anything or giving an inch. Hannah tugs at her father’s elbow. He immediately breaks eye contact with Ainsley and turns his attention to her. She becomes his sole focus, the sign of an incredible father. Always at his child’s disposal, no matter what he faces.
“Can we go now?” his daughter whispers. He nods, takes her hand, and leaves.
Ainsley turns to me with a strained smile.
“Ex-husband. Army. Came home yesterday. It’s… been a mess.” Her false smile wobbles. “Just… complicated.”
A scrawny-looking red-headed man sidles over, wraps his arms around her waist, and licks at her neck like he’s lapping milk. My skin crawls. The vulgar affection is a power play by a man who looks as if he could be broken by a twig. Nothing more than a demonized stickman, taking what he wants.
“You finished your shift?”
Ainsley gives me an apologetic look, then disappears with him through the back.
I grab my drink and head to the nearest booth. Distance is required after whatever that was. It certainly wasn’t my idea of romance.
People come and go, picking up and leaving conversations as they do. After finishing my drink, I leave a tip on the counter and escape into the fresh air. Vile Romeo and Juliet are nowhere to be seen.
Scanning the street, I spot the army guy and his daughter in the park. He’s pushing her on the swing, chatting. She’s laughing through tears.
Bittersweet, I think to myself.
Another broken family.
And for a reason I can’t explain… I can’t look away.