Inheritance (The Lost Bride Trilogy, #1)(107)

Bree nodded, considered. “I still like you. Rock Hard’s back in Ogunquit next week,” she told Trey. “I’m going next Monday. You should come. Bring her. I gotta get back.”

She hopped up, took off.

“So.” Sonya picked up her wine. “She and Manny have solidified their thing.”

“Looks that way. Do you want to go hear some music next week?”

“I would. Rock Hard and Manny live bold in my imagination. But Cleo’s coming in a few days. I don’t want to ditch her for an evening so soon.”

“Does she like music?”

“She does.”

“Owen will definitely be up for going. We could make it a group thing.”

“It sounds like fun. I’ll ask her. But then there’s Yoda.”

“My parents take on Mookie if I’m going to be gone more than a couple hours. They’ll take Yoda.

“Think about it. Ask Cleo.”

She would, and did some of that thinking on the drive home.

“I should get Yoda a doghouse. The weather’s breaking, and he’d have somewhere to chill when he’s outside.”

“You should ask Owen to build him one.”

“Owen builds doghouses?”

“Not for everybody, but Owen can build anything. You should see the one we built for Jones. It’s a dog palace. It’s got Wi-Fi.”

“Get out of here.”

“It’s heated, with a circulating fan to cool it in the summer, two bunks, in case he has a pal over like Mookie last weekend. It’s got a frigging porch, windows—with screens.”

“You said ‘we built.’”

“I’m just the free labor. He’s the genius.”

Which explained his workingman hands, Sonya thought.

“Does Mookie have one?”

“Mookie’s is more of a playhouse. He’s still a kid, really, and he lacks Jones’s taste for the finer things.”

“Does it have Wi-Fi?”

“It does not.” He pulled up at the manor. “Mookie also lacks Jones’s spookily superior intellect. I’m not sorry about that. But it has its amenities.”

“Yoda wants one.”

“Discuss it with Owen,” Trey said as they walked to the door. “He believes in the barter system.”

After the dogs greeted them, and everyone had a walk around, Trey took her hand at the door.

“I’d like to stay.”

Her answer was to pull him inside with her. “Did you think you were going somewhere?”



* * *



He woke when the clock struck three, and beside him she stirred. Pulling her close, he pressed his lips to her hair.

“Not tonight. Just sleep.”

If she dreamed, she didn’t remember, and fell smoothly back into routine.

By midday she had a selection of photos to consider for the Doyle project. Asking Corrine, she decided, had been the perfect move. Not only good photos, but the woman knew all the subjects, and it showed.

She didn’t think twice about which to use of Trey.

His mother caught him leaning back against his desk, his phone at his ear. Untucked shirt, dark jeans, scarred boots crossed at the ankles.

It captured his calm energy. A contradiction in terms, she thought, but that was Trey Doyle.

Just as she’d captured her father-in-law, in his three-piece suit, glasses at the tip of his nose as he pulled a law book from the shelf.

“These are good, they’re damn good. Let’s make them work.”

She spent the rest of the day on it, and most of the next.

And in her opinion, it did work, and well.

In anticipation of Cleo’s arrival the next day, she took Yoda into the village for some supplies and flowers.

On her way out again, her phone rang. She tapped the button on the steering wheel to answer.

“This is Sonya.”

“Hey, Sonya, Anna. I’m right behind you.”

Sonya glanced in the rearview. “Oh, well, hi.”

“I don’t suppose I could talk you into turning around. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. I was going to text you. I’d like to talk to you about a couple of things.”

“I’d turn around, but I’ve got the dog with me. Why don’t you come up? I’ll buy you the decaffeinated beverage of your choice.”

“Love it, thanks. I’ll see you in a few.”



* * *



While Sonya chose happy daffodils for Cleo’s room, Cleo pulled up in front of the manor.

As she didn’t see Sonya’s car, she considered the wisdom of her one-day-early surprise. With a shrug, she decided she’d just haul some of her things to the front door, then send Sonya a text.

She muscled out a suitcase, pleased that spring teased the air instead of winter biting it. If Sonya planned to come back soon, she’d wait. If she planned not, well, she’d just drive down to the village and do some exploring until.

After dragging the suitcase to the door, it opened.

“Hey. I didn’t think you were home, I…”

Sonya didn’t stand there. No one did.

She hesitated, then squared her shoulders. She’d live here, so she’d better get used to it. When she walked in, the music pumped. Neil Young and Crazy Horse’s “Welcome Back.”