Chapter 14
Gabriel watched the boats drift in and out of the harbour, the tide pulling them along in its steady rhythm.
He flexed his fingers, working out the ache from a morning spent helping Jamie replace the fuel pump on his battered fishing boat.
The engine had been sluggish for weeks, choking on salt and time, and Jamie, being Jamie, had left it until the last possible moment to do something about it.
Now Gabriel’s hands were stiff – the kind of ache that settled deep in the bones – made worse by the lingering fatigue from the mountain rescue call-out the night before.
When he’d joined the fire brigade, he hadn’t expected to be pulled in quite so many directions: one night scrambling up a hillside to find lost hikers, the next morning elbow-deep in engine grease. But he wouldn’t trade it for anything. The work was good. It mattered.
And, as a bonus, Jamie had thanked him the only way he knew how – with a bottle of whisky now jammed into his coat pocket.
He sauntered along the harbour, past the stacks of creels crusted with barnacles, past the tall, swaying masts of yachts, until he reached the very tip of the pier.
The sea breeze rolled in fresh and sharp, filling his lungs, waking him up in a way coffee never could.
He stood there for a moment, taking in the vast blue above and the endless, shifting water below.
A sharp chorus of squawks broke the quiet, and he turned in time to see a cluster of swans lifting from the inlet, wings catching the light as they soared towards open sea.
Behind him, the narrow channel wound past the fishing boats and the yacht marina, threading its way to town.
A small stone bridge arched over it – the usual gathering spot for locals feeding the ducks and swans that floated below, waiting for crumbs.
He smiled to himself. It never got old – this place, this life.
Some people couldn’t wait to leave Rock Cove.
They bolted the first chance they got, itching for something bigger, something new.
Gabriel had never felt that pull. He’d left for a while, sure.
A few holidays here and there, stolen weeks in the sun.
But leaving for good? He couldn’t imagine it.
Why would he, when everything he could ever want was here?
Mountains. Sea. Space to breathe.
He’d never needed more than that, just a town that felt like home.
He exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the whisky in his pocket, the stiffness in his hands, the sea air cooling his skin.
If he had any sense, he’d go home, catch up on sleep, soak his aches away.
But instead, his gaze drifted to the distant cliff at the edge of town.
The cottage was just out of sight, tucked away beyond the bend, but from here he could make out the trees that skirted the outer edge of the garden, their branches shifting in the wind, shielding the place from the worst of the northern gales.
But Gabriel didn’t have sense. Not recently. Not since a pair of dark eyes had taken up space in his thoughts, uninvited. Even now, he couldn’t quite admit it to himself.
Besides, he was due a visit to the cottage. Just to make sure everything was alright. Maybe, if Erica allowed, he might check on the boiler – last thing she needed was it packing in before winter settled.
That was all it was. Just looking out for a neighbour.
His tenant. That was all.
At least, that’s what he told himself as he turned and made his way to the cliffs on foot.
By the time he knocked on the door, Erica greeted him in a flurry – eyes wide, expression tight with something that might have been relief or panic. She stepped aside without a word, leading him straight to the kitchen.
By the Rayburn, nestled in a shoebox lined with a blanket, was a small black bundle of fur.
“It came to the cottage last night,” Erica said, tugging her hair into a bun – her hair even wilder than last time.
As she adjusted her cardigan it slipped from her shoulder, briefly exposing bare skin.
She was still in what looked like night clothes, and he quickly averted his eyes.
She pulled the cardigan back up, crossing her arms. “He’s so poorly. ”
Gabriel crouched beside the box. The kitten lifted its head weakly, blinking up at him. When he reached out with the back of his finger, it didn’t startle or try to flee – just let out a faint, pitiful mew. He grimaced and picked it up carefully.
The kitten yelped.
Erica’s hands flew to her mouth. “Should I take it to the vet?”
Gabriel studied the tiny creature, frowning. “It’s a bit of a drive. There’s only the farming vet, and I know he’s run off his feet right now – dealing with a bad case of pneumonia in the cattle over at the Macleod farm.”
Erica’s face fell. “But maybe I could go to him? If I catch him on a break—”
He heard the desperation in her voice. She looked paler than usual, dark smudges beneath her eyes.
“Have you been up all night with him?” he asked, though he already knew the answer. His gaze flicked to the armchair by the stove, where a blanket lay tangled.
“I’ve been feeding him with my finger, but I don’t think it’s enough. I can’t leave him, and I’ve had no phone signal.” Her voice wavered, and he noticed the blotchy redness on her forehead – the telltale sign she’d already been crying.
Gabriel softened. “You’ve done great, Erica.
But dragging him out in a car now wouldn’t be wise.
He needs more food in him first.” He scratched his chin, thinking back to the kittens his mother had once saved, nursing them against her chest, letting her heartbeat steady them.
They had survived, despite being nearly drowned by a farmer who hadn’t known any better.
“Do you have an egg?” Gabriel asked, already pushing to his feet. “And some milk?”
Erica shot him a confused look but handed them over without question.
He headed for the hall cupboard beside the boiler, where his old red first-aid box sat wedged at the bottom, stuffed with all manner of odd bits and pieces.
He rummaged through it, muttering at the contents: a torch with dead batteries, a coil of twine, antiseptic wipes, an emergency whistle, a few mismatched bandages.
He was nothing if not prepared for most emergencies.
Finally, he found what he was looking for – a small syringe.
He hurried back into the kitchen, where Erica stood watching him, like he might know what to do.
He got to work, mixing the egg and milk into a thin, nourishing formula. Setting a tea towel across his lap, he placed the kitten gently on top. Erica hovered beside him, close enough that he caught the faint scent of vanilla.
Carefully, he syringed a few drops into the kitten’s mouth. It spat the first bit out, and Erica gasped, her hands tightening into fists.
“Easy,” Gabriel murmured. He let the kitten breathe, watched the rise and fall of its tiny chest. “That’s it … steady now.”
He tried again.
This time the kitten swallowed. Then again. And again.
Gabriel let out a slow breath. “Good lad.” He paused, then stopped. “We need to go slowly. He’s had a shock. Too much all at once and it’ll be too much for him.”
The kitten made a soft, broken sound.
Then, barely more than a vibration, came a purr.
Erica’s face lit up. “Did you hear that? That’s good, right? Purring means he’s okay?”
“It’s a good sign,” Gabriel said, smiling. “Means he feels safe.”
He passed the syringe to her and watched as she took over, cradling the tiny body with surprising steadiness, murmuring softly.
“I’ll check the boiler,” he said quietly.
She barely looked up, focused entirely on the fragile life in her hands.
By the time he returned, the kitchen was quiet, the fire crackling softly in the Rayburn. Erica had curled into the armchair, fast asleep, the kitten tucked against her chest.
Gabriel stood for a moment, watching them. The rise and fall of the kitten’s belly. The way Erica’s fingers still curled protectively around it.
The next morning, he called by the cottage to check on them both, expecting to find her inside. Instead, she was in the garden.
Crouched by the low stone wall, sleeves pushed up, hands buried in damp earth.
Digging.
He stopped short.
“Trying your hand at gardening in autumn?” he said lightly, opening the back of the van to let Chep out. The dog leapt down and immediately disappeared into the bushes.
Erica jumped slightly, then straightened, brushing dirt from her palms. She wasn’t dressed for this. Pale jumper, white jeans, cream scarf already smudged at the edges.
“How’s the kitten?” he asked. “Still with us?”
She beamed. “He’s sleeping. Oh, Gabriel, thank you so much. He’s much better now.” Clapping her hands free of dirt, she crossed to him. Then, almost sheepish, “You caught me snooping.”
“Snooping?” His gaze slid back to the disturbed soil.
“Well …” She grimaced. “Margery told me this place has folklore attached to it. A woman who lived here. A witch, apparently. She said there was something left behind in the garden, carvings or something else?”
He didn’t look at the ground again. If he did, he was sure he’d see them – the faint marks beneath the moss and years and soil. Two small letters. Carved by a woman no one remembered properly.
His father had found them once.
After that … things hadn’t gone right.
“Just a story,” he said too quickly. “Old houses collect them.”
“You know something,” Erica said. Not accusing. Just observant.
He hesitated. “There are … initials. That’s all. Nothing worth digging up.”
Her eyes flicked back to the earth. “Initials?”
“Forget it.” The words came out clipped. He rubbed his jaw. “My dad restored this place. Found all sorts of things. Most of them better left where they were.”
“Better left?” she echoed.
He looked away, out to the cliffs. “Some things are better left alone.”
For a moment, the wind filled the space between them.
“I didn’t mean to pry,” Erica said softly. “I just … felt drawn to it, I suppose.”
He believed her. That somehow made it worse.
“I only came to check on you both,” he said, deliberately gentler. “See if you needed anything.”
“No, we’re fine, thanks. I’ll head into town later, maybe see my sister.” She hesitated. “I think he’ll be okay now. He’s out of danger. But I was wondering … do you know of a cat home nearby? Or anyone who might want a kitten?”
Gabriel smiled. His sister would take in a stray in a heartbeat, but she wouldn’t thank him for adding to her never-ending list of chores.
Erica disappeared inside and came back with the tiny black bundle tucked against her chest.
“He’s rather lovely,” she said.
Gabriel watched the way the kitten melted against her. The way she held him like she wasn’t aware she was doing it.
“I think he’s perfectly happy here, don’t you?” Gabriel glanced over at Chep, who was thankfully too engrossed in a bush on the far side of the garden to take notice.
Erica’s expression flickered with something like alarm. “Oh, I don’t do pets. Never have.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t start now.” Gabriel smiled. “I don’t mind if you keep him here. Suits the place.”
His gaze drifted to the cottage, to the thought of the woman who had lived here long before. Isobel. The whispers of the past wove through his mind – a name spoken in half-remembered stories, tied to loss and fire and things no one in Rock Cove liked to look at too closely.
A black cat.
He watched it a moment longer than he meant to, just in case.
A faint prickle slid along his arms. His father had a respect for superstition, although he didn’t quite see it in the cottage. Even when the scaffolding collapsed. Right up until the pipes burst. Right up until one thing after another had gone wrong in this place.
And now this.
A fragile black kitten, appearing out of a storm on the first night Erica stayed here.
Coincidence, he told himself. It had to be. Rock Cove was full of strays. Cats wandered where they pleased.
Still … he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something had shifted.
Erica dipped her head, letting the kitten nuzzle against her chin. It purred, louder now, warm and insistent.
“Would you be happy here, little one?” she murmured.
There was no fear in her voice. Only tenderness. Only choice.
Gabriel called for Chep. The dog bounded over, skidding slightly on the damp grass. He patted him, keeping him close. “What will you call him?”
Erica giggled softly, pressing her cheek to the kitten’s head.
“Isn’t it obvious?” She looked up at him, her eyes shining. “Lucky.”
Lucky. Gabriel nodded to himself.
Because the kitten had survived the storm, or because Erica had found him? Or maybe because, sometimes, people needed to believe that what arrived was a gift.
Gabriel watched them both. The woman and the tiny black cat. Framed by the weathered cottage behind them, and hoped that this time belief might be enough.