The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [133]
“I pride myself on honoring that fact, Mrs. Kerr.”
She smiled. “I hope, after you’ve had a chance to study Ravenswood, you’ll come up with some acceptable sketches for me to consider.”
“ As a matter of fact, I’m already familiar with Ravenswood. My grandmother was a Kerr, distantly related, and I spent many happy holidays here when I was a lad.” He indicated the portfolio in his hand.
As he did, Bree caught sight of the birthmark between his thumb and index finger. It was a bloodred image of a half-moon.
She caught her breath as he added, “I’ve brought you some preliminary sketches to look at.” He paused. “Since it’s nearing dusk, why don’t I walk with you to the cottage, and you can study the sketches after you’ve had time to settle in?”
Mrs. Logan indicated a basket of food. “I’ve made a hearty vegetable soup and a chicken potpie. There’s more than enough for two, if you’ve a mind to stay awhile,” she added to the man.
Moments ago Bree’s head had been spinning, her thoughts in turmoil. Whether she’d been dreaming or had actually lived the events that were now vividly etched in her mind, it was of no consequence. Now a strange sense of calm, of perfect peace, stole over her, and she knew, without question, that being here in this place was all part of some grand plan.
With a warm smile she accepted the basket from the old woman’s hands. “Thank you, Gwynn. Would you care to join me, Mr. Keith?”
He gave a nod toward the housekeeper. “I believe I can already taste your excellent soup and potpie, Mrs. Logan.”
When he opened the front door, Bree stepped out into the fading light and moved along beside him.
Up ahead, a dark plume rose from the cottage chimney, filling the air with the wonderful scent of wood smoke.
“Will you be staying here at Ravenswood, Mrs. Kerr?”
The voice beside her was deep and rich with Scottish burr.
She absorbed a delicious shiver of warmth.
“I don’t think I could bear to leave it. I’ve decided that Ravenswood will be my home, Mr. Keith.”
“I’m glad. And please, my friends call me Jamie.”
She wondered that her heart didn’t burst clear through her chest. “Jamie, my name is Bree. Short for Brianna.”
“I believe I prefer Brianna. The elegant name suits you.” He steadied a hand beneath her elbow as she made her way along the rough path. Glancing skyward, he added, “It’s begun to rain.”
Bree turned to him with a radiant smile. “I’ve always loved the sound of rain on the roof.”
“So have I.” He gave her a smile that was reminiscent of another’s as he reached around her and opened the door to the cottage. “Welcome to your forever home, Brianna Kerr.”
For the space of a heartbeat she was thunderstruck. And then she knew, without a doubt, that her own dear Jamie was letting her know, in his own way, that he had kept his word to her. His choice of words gave her a sense of utter peace and contentment.
Here was, she realized, all that she’d waited a lifetime to share.
HIS BROTHER’S KEEPER
MARY KAY MCCOMAS
For my brothers:
Bill Perry, Greg Perry, and Jim Perry.
I love you guys!
ONE
“Are you feeling any better, honey?”
“I am. Yes. A little, I think.” A tiny fib to prevent another worry wrinkle in her mother’s face was never a bad thing to Ivy. She and her brother had given her plenty to worry about in the past. She deserved her peace. “The quiet here is nice, but if I listen to the sound of the waves for very long, I get sleepy.”
And jerk alert again, afraid to dream. The same dreams that had been plaguing her for months. Dreams that made her restless . . . even after she woke up. Restless in a way that affected her work—the writing and illustrating of the Patty Ann Pettigrew series of children’s books that were, to her wondrous astonishment, quickly becoming very popular. And rather lucrative.
Getting away from it all had been her mother’s idea. A good one,