Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 103552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
“Is she local? The designer?”
“Local enough. Out by Wolf Mountain. I can’t find a phone number—not one that gets answered—so we’ll go out there, see what we see. If it gets us any information we can use, I’ll owe your sisters one.”
A deep, resonant bong echoed through the house. When we’d been kids, Miss Martha, Savannah’s mother and the housekeeper of Heartstone Manor for most of my life, had used the gong to call the family to dinner—a tradition that went all the way back to William Sawyer. These days, I can’t remember the last time I’d heard it. Everyone showed up to dinner on time, or Finn would refuse to feed you. Nobody wanted to risk missing one of Finn’s meals.
“You guys back to using that thing?” I asked as we walked down the hall to the dining room.
“Only when Edgar or Harvey are here,” Griffen answered in a low voice. “Tradition, you know?”
“They do like their tradition,” I said. “Speaking of, you heard from my father lately?”
Griffen’s eyes were amused, his tone light as he said, “Yep, we had a meeting yesterday.”
“He still being an asshole?” I asked.
“You know your dad. He doesn’t like change, but I think he’ll come around.”
“I told him to stop wasting his time, that you weren’t going to play his game,” I said.
“Yeah, I know, and thanks. But we’re going to have to work it out between the two of us.” Griffen let out a breath, gripping my shoulder in a tight squeeze as we walked into the dining room. “Your dad’s not a bad man, West. Frustrating. Stubborn. Buried in the past, but he’s not a bad guy, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I said. While my father could be short-sighted, selfish, old-fashioned, and kind of a blowhard, Griffen was right. He wasn’t a bad man. He’d been a decent enough father, particularly considering the standards he’d grown up with. He loved my mom, and in his own way, he tried to do right by the town. As far as I was concerned, his way was outdated, but my dad was a whole different ball of wax than Griffen’s had been. Prentice Sawyer had been a lot of things, and a shit human being was at the top of the list.
My eyes caught Avery’s across the room. I couldn’t stop the goofy smile I felt spread across my face. Griffen stepped closer. In a low voice, he said, “Avery seems happy.”
“I hope so,” I said.
“Good.” Griffen gave my shoulder another pat and turned for the head of the table and his customary seat by Hope. Paige, the nanny, popped in to take baby Stella. She had a quick word with Hope and disappeared. The gong sounded again, almost deafening this close. I turned to see it vibrating on the stand, no one within ten feet. I might have wondered, but a youthful giggle sounded to my left, and when I glanced over, I caught sight of the kids—Scarlett and Tenn’s boys, August and Thatcher, and Savannah’s Nicky. Thatcher, a teenager, had his arms crossed and was rolling his eyes. I’d bet he had not been the one to ring the gong but knew who had. It was hard to guess between August and Nicky. They were both biting their lips, their cheeks pink, eyes guilty. I winked, and they dissolved into another round of giggles.
Savannah turned up beside me. “No shrieking in the dining room,” she said, her eyes on the boys. She raised one red eyebrow, and the giggles dissolved into guilty silence. “Go wash your hands.”
The boys darted from the room. Sometimes the kids ate dinner with the adults. Sometimes they ate in the kitchen with Finn and Savannah. It looked like tonight would be a grown-up dinner. Thatcher exchanged a look with Tenn, who tilted his head to the doorway with a grin. Thatcher turned and followed his brother and Nicky to the kitchens.
Interesting. I’d had plenty of dinners in Heartstone Manor over the years. Back in the day, children ate in the kitchen or at the breakfast table on the side of the dining room. Since Griffen and Hope had taken over the house, most dinners were informal, despite the grandeur of the dining room. Looked like when Edgar and Harvey stopped by, the house reverted to the formality of Prentice’s time.
Avery gestured me over to the seat beside her.
“Thanks. You talked to Edgar and Harvey?” I asked.
Avery shook her head. “They came in with Hope a second ago.” I glanced over, watching the two older men getting comfortable on the opposite side of the table. They were talking in low voices. I couldn’t catch what they were saying. Harvey had his eyes on the tablecloth in front of him, but Edgar was scanning the room, his eyes pausing as they met mine before moving on.