was mere yards from the shoreline. It was made of logs, with a generous front porch facing southeast. A great place for coffee and sunrises. A rocky outcropping forged out from the shore some sixty feet to form a natural breakwater. Twisted pines and red arbutus bunched randomly across its surface in competition for its sparse, moss-covered soil. Before Evan turned back to the house, Cal was halfway down the beach.
Gary was inside piling up their small store of possessions. She stepped in, looked around, then up, her eyes following a beam of sunlight to its source in the ceiling, a hole the size of a tennis ball.
The place was a wreck.
There was dust an inch thick across the scarred plank floor, and the two broken windows, a scatter of broken furniture, and the pervasive odor brought tears to Evan's eyes.
"Needs a little TLC, I'd guess," Gary said, looking at her as though to gauge her reaction.
"I'd say you guessed right. What do you think that gruesome smell is?" She sniffed the air, wrinkled her nose, and set out to follow it. Gary followed her.
"I think we found it," she gasped, clamping her fingers on her nose. "Yuck!" A recently deceased squirrel.
Gary picked it up with a piece of yellowed newspaper and disposed of it. Most, but not all, of the smell went with it. Evan opened the double doors leading to the porch and stepped outside to take in some refreshing, clean air.
Gary finished unloading the truck and was waving good-bye when Cal returned from the beach. He did a sixty-second tour of the cabin and joined her on the porch.
"Pretty gross. What do you think?"
She smiled for the first time since seeing the house. " 'Gross' about covers it, I'd say." She ruffled his dark, curly hair. "Feel like making a miracle?"
"How?" Cal said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
"That broom over there might help. You can start with your room."
He cringed and made a sour face, but picked up the broom and headed down the hall.
Evan smoothed back the damp hair from her forehead and looked around the dingy space.
Next payday, some paint; and the one after that, curtains, she decided. She'd spend enough to make the place bearable and not a penny more. Cal's college money came first.
"This place is a dump."
Evan spun to face the door. She was in time to see Linc Stewart step in. He looked around in disgust. "There's no way you're going to live here." He tested his weight on the plank floor. His expression was thunderous when the old boards groaned and creaked under the pressure. "The damn place is dangerous."
Evan's surprise at his sudden arrival was instantly replaced with fear. He was going to send them away. He couldn't. She wouldn't let him.
"Pack up your things and—"
"It's fine. Really it is. There's nothing a healthy shot of elbow grease won't fix." Her words came in a rush. "Cal and I will fix everything. There's no need—"
"You heard me. Pack. I can't take the risk."
"No." She lifted her chin. "We made a bargain. This cabin—free—for no less than one year. If I have to, I'll, uh, take legal action, if you try to send us away." Evan was bluffing, but she had to convince him.
His angry look turned to a frown. "I said—"
"Mom, is this any good?" Cal came into the room, holding up a mangled wicker table. He stopped when he saw Linc glaring at his mother and instinctively glared back.
"Cal, this is Mr. Stewart. He's the owner of the cabin," she said.
Cal drew himself up to his full five feet ten inches and eyed Linc warily.
"This is your son ?" Linc's amazement was obvious.
Evan steeled herself for the next question, and nodded. She hated this, more for Cal than for herself. Of course, there was the remote chance her landlord troll might err on the side of courtesy.
He didn't. "How old is he?" He gave Cal a quick once-over, taking in the dark, curly hair, the full, strong, young body, the boyishly handsome face that was a harbinger of adult masculine beauty.
"Sixteen."
His gaze swung back to her,
Gary was inside piling up their small store of possessions. She stepped in, looked around, then up, her eyes following a beam of sunlight to its source in the ceiling, a hole the size of a tennis ball.
The place was a wreck.
There was dust an inch thick across the scarred plank floor, and the two broken windows, a scatter of broken furniture, and the pervasive odor brought tears to Evan's eyes.
"Needs a little TLC, I'd guess," Gary said, looking at her as though to gauge her reaction.
"I'd say you guessed right. What do you think that gruesome smell is?" She sniffed the air, wrinkled her nose, and set out to follow it. Gary followed her.
"I think we found it," she gasped, clamping her fingers on her nose. "Yuck!" A recently deceased squirrel.
Gary picked it up with a piece of yellowed newspaper and disposed of it. Most, but not all, of the smell went with it. Evan opened the double doors leading to the porch and stepped outside to take in some refreshing, clean air.
Gary finished unloading the truck and was waving good-bye when Cal returned from the beach. He did a sixty-second tour of the cabin and joined her on the porch.
"Pretty gross. What do you think?"
She smiled for the first time since seeing the house. " 'Gross' about covers it, I'd say." She ruffled his dark, curly hair. "Feel like making a miracle?"
"How?" Cal said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
"That broom over there might help. You can start with your room."
He cringed and made a sour face, but picked up the broom and headed down the hall.
Evan smoothed back the damp hair from her forehead and looked around the dingy space.
Next payday, some paint; and the one after that, curtains, she decided. She'd spend enough to make the place bearable and not a penny more. Cal's college money came first.
"This place is a dump."
Evan spun to face the door. She was in time to see Linc Stewart step in. He looked around in disgust. "There's no way you're going to live here." He tested his weight on the plank floor. His expression was thunderous when the old boards groaned and creaked under the pressure. "The damn place is dangerous."
Evan's surprise at his sudden arrival was instantly replaced with fear. He was going to send them away. He couldn't. She wouldn't let him.
"Pack up your things and—"
"It's fine. Really it is. There's nothing a healthy shot of elbow grease won't fix." Her words came in a rush. "Cal and I will fix everything. There's no need—"
"You heard me. Pack. I can't take the risk."
"No." She lifted her chin. "We made a bargain. This cabin—free—for no less than one year. If I have to, I'll, uh, take legal action, if you try to send us away." Evan was bluffing, but she had to convince him.
His angry look turned to a frown. "I said—"
"Mom, is this any good?" Cal came into the room, holding up a mangled wicker table. He stopped when he saw Linc glaring at his mother and instinctively glared back.
"Cal, this is Mr. Stewart. He's the owner of the cabin," she said.
Cal drew himself up to his full five feet ten inches and eyed Linc warily.
"This is your son ?" Linc's amazement was obvious.
Evan steeled herself for the next question, and nodded. She hated this, more for Cal than for herself. Of course, there was the remote chance her landlord troll might err on the side of courtesy.
He didn't. "How old is he?" He gave Cal a quick once-over, taking in the dark, curly hair, the full, strong, young body, the boyishly handsome face that was a harbinger of adult masculine beauty.
"Sixteen."
His gaze swung back to her,
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