Her Very Own Family. Trish Milburn

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      Brady glanced to his left to see Bernie Stoltz, his parents’ longtime neighbor, in his garden.

      “Yeah, I’ve been trying to reach him all day.”

      “He’s probably still out at the old Grayson Mill. He’s been spending a lot of time out there with the lady who bought it.”

      Shock squeezed the air from Brady’s lungs. His mother had been gone barely a month. Who was this woman attracting his dad’s attention? What did she want from him?

      He tried to keep the suspicion out of his voice when he spoke, though. “Someone bought the old mill?”

      Bernie leaned on his hoe. “Yep. I hear she’s planning to turn it into a restaurant.”

      Brady had a million more questions, but he’d save them for his father. Bernie was a nice guy, but he tended to be a bit gossipy. And despite Willow Glen’s laid-back atmosphere, one thing that had supersonic speed was the gossip chain. Not much else to do in a one-stoplight town.

      “Interesting. Well, I guess I’ll run out there and see if I can catch him.”

      He waved to Bernie as he headed for his truck, not inviting further conversation. On his way to the mill, he tried not to jump to conclusions, but he knew how quickly some women leaped on newly widowed men, especially ones with money. His surging suspicions brought an image of Ginny Carter to the surface, but he flung it away with a growl.

      At the very least something was odd. Only a few days ago, his dad had been walking around in a daze, weighed down by grief. Now he was spending his free time with some unnamed woman at a run-down gristmill.

      When he drove within view of the old building, sure enough, there was his dad’s truck under the shade of a big sycamore tree. He rolled to a stop and caught sight of his dad poking his head out the front door of the mill. By the time he stepped out of the truck, his dad stood on the small porch.

      “Didn’t expect to see you,” his dad said.

      “I’ve been calling you all day.”

      Nelson Witt’s gray eyebrows raised. “So you drove all the way up here to check on me?”

      “Partly. Decided to take a couple weeks of vacation.”

      He saw his dad frown. “I suppose Bernie told you where I was,” Nelson said, almost his old self again.

      “Yeah. He said you’ve been spending a lot of time out here.”

      “It passes the days.”

      There might be hints of his dad’s normal self resurfacing, but it was going to be a long time, if ever, before the soul-deep sorrow went away.

      “So, you’re helping the lady with a little work?” Brady nodded at the wood chips and dust coating his dad’s shirt and jeans.

      “Yeah, doing some odds and ends now, but she’s going to have me make the tables and chairs for the restaurant eventually.”

      Brady eyed the exterior of the old mill. “She really thinks people will come out here to eat?”

      “They’ll come. Audrey’s smart, got a business plan, lots of great ideas.”

      Brady didn’t know what he thought of his father’s glowing report. On the one hand, it was great that he had a project, something to keep him occupied. On the other, well, he just needed to meet this Audrey for himself to make sure nothing was fishy, that she wasn’t a gold digger looking for someone to bankroll her pet project.

      “She around?”

      His dad nodded toward the gravel lane leading back to the main road. “She’s gone into town to get some paint. Should be back soon.”

      “Well, let’s see what you’re working on,” Brady said as he walked toward the porch.

      His dad showed him the benches extending along one wall that he’d reinforced. The railing he’d built around the mill’s large gears to keep anyone from stepping too close and getting hurt. And how he was cutting out a section of wall next to the waterwheel so that a large window could be installed, affording a view of the wheel and the creek beyond.

      “Sounds like Audrey’s kept you busy. I hope she’s paying you well.”

      His dad made a dismissive wave. “We’ll get to that. It’s just good to have something to do, get away from the house.”

      So this Audrey was enjoying the fruits of his dad’s labors without paying him. That wasn’t exactly a point in her favor.

      He only half listened as his dad kept talking about Audrey’s plans for the place, all of which seemed expensive and quite possibly ill-conceived. Yes, Willow Glen got a bit of tourist traffic because of the surrounding mountains, but an out-of-the-way café seemed a risky proposition. He just hoped that a bit of carpentry help was all she’d talked his dad into. He’d hate to be put in the position of questioning his dad’s financial decisions. That would go over like firecrackers during a church sermon.

      The sound of a car coming up the lane drew their attention at the same time.

      “That sounds like Audrey now,” his dad said. “Come on. I think you’re going to like her.”

      That remained to be seen.

      When they stepped outside, the mysterious Audrey was hidden by the open trunk lid on her car. He followed his dad as he headed toward the vehicle, a nice blue Jetta not more than a couple of years old. It wasn’t what he’d expected.

      “We’ve got some more company we can put to work,” his dad called to her.

      “That right?” came the muffled voice from the back just before she closed the trunk.

      The world seemed to slip into slow motion as each detail in front of him came into supersharp focus, none of them what he’d expected. Brady stared, at a loss for words and vaguely aware that his mouth might be hanging open. Instead of a woman more his father’s age, a tall, leggy blonde stared back at him, surprise written across her lovely face.

      Looked like today was going to be full of surprises.

      Chapter Two

      The buckets of paint nearly slipped from Audrey’s hands, but her brain reengaged in time for her to adjust her grip.

      “Audrey York, this is my son, Brady.”

      Good heavens, if Brady Witt did indeed look like his father had at the same age, the recently departed Betty had been a very lucky woman. Tall, nicely toned, natural tan, angular features. His sandy-brown hair was a touch long and a bit messy, like he didn’t have the time for a haircut or just didn’t care.

      “Nice to meet you,” she said.

      “Let me take those,” Brady said as he reached for the paint cans.

      “I’ve got them, thanks. But there are a couple of bags in the backseat with dinner in them.” Thankfully, she СКАЧАТЬ