Bitterroot Lake by Alicia Beckman (i read a book .TXT) 📕

couple of clean brown tarps in the back of my truck. Would you bring those in? Just drop them inside the front door. And my tool belt. Then set up the big ladder at the corner. I’ll work from inside, you outside, and we’ll get this balcony covered and keep the house dry.”

“You got it, boss.” The young man padded out.

Sarah watched as her brother scrutinized the door.

“This framing is shot,” he said. “The jamb is splintered. You couldn’t close the door because the hinges are bent. There’s a guy in town, blacksmith, who can fix the gnarliest old hardware.”

“We’re going to have to talk about the lodge,” she said. “The four of us. Make a plan.”

He looked chagrined. “Brooke and I thought we had a plan, and Mom approved, but I just don’t have time for anything extra right now. Hey, the kids have soccer games on Saturday. Whitefish against Deer Park, here. Mom’s coming. You and Holly should come, too.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” She missed cheering on kids—Noah on the soccer field, Abby coming into view on the home stretch of a race. “So what’s this expansion Mom mentioned? Is that what’s taking up all your time? And why you needed more space at the mill?”

They heard the front door open and broke off to haul the tarps upstairs. She waited while Connor and Matt worked, quickly and efficiently, and within minutes, the northeast corner of the lodge was protected by shiny brown tarps, tacked and tied so the wind couldn’t whip them up like sails.

“Good job,” Connor called. “Why don’t you take a break? Leave the ladder out so we can check the carriage house. I’ll be out in a bit.”

They headed for the kitchen. “Employees don’t get to take inside breaks?” Sarah asked.

“I know the kid. He’d rather sit in the truck with his earbuds in. I’ll call his dad, but it might be a few days before he can get out here.”

“Good. Thanks. Oh, by the way, when I was in town yesterday, I stopped by Lucas Erickson’s office and his secretary assumed I was there for the company files.”

No point saying she wished he hadn’t done business with Lucas. Whatever the business was, he’d be finding a new lawyer. She was about to ask if he knew what had their mother worried when the mudroom door opened.

“One cabin clean,” Holly called. “I may have a future as a housekeeper. Lord knows there’s plenty of work here. Connor!”

He had to know about the job loss, Sarah thought as her brother and sister hugged. And Holly had to know Janine had spilled the beans. They were all talking about her. They just weren’t talking to her.

Coffee was poured and cake cut. Though Connor was the youngest—Holly had five years on him, Sarah six—next to the rest of them, he looked like a grownup sitting at the kiddie table for a pretend tea party.

“The edge of the roof is damaged on the middle cabin, and a couple of trees are leaning pretty badly,” Holly said. “There’s a tree down on the fence, though. Is that our responsibility or theirs? And why is there a fence, anyway? It looks new.”

Connor put his fork down and gestured with the big hands that reminded Sarah of their dad’s. “You know the rule. If the fence is on the property line, you find the halfway point. Everything on your right is your responsibility. Everything on their right is theirs.”

“Even if they built the fence and you thought it was a dumb idea?”

“Even if,” he agreed.

“I saw that fence earlier,” Sarah said, “and I meant to ask George about it.”

“When did you see George?” Connor sounded wary.

“Yesterday. He came down to check on the place while I was out picking up shingles. Helped me drag a few branches off the road, then drove me around to check out the damage.”

“I don’t know what George is up to.” Connor stood. “I need to finish up here, then get back to the mill.”

Meaning they’d have that talk later. But one more thing, before he left.

“While you’re here,” Sarah said, “would you take a look at the phone box? The cell signal down here is totally iffy, so Mom called the phone company to turn the landline back on. I think she did, anyway. She’s kinda spacy right now. But we’re still not getting a signal.”

“Yeah, sure. Though I don’t know that I can help.”

A few minutes later, standing outside the lodge near the mudroom door, she peered over her brother’s shoulder as he crouched in front of the green phone box. Handed her a tiny bird’s nest that sat on top. Slipped a screwdriver blade underneath the door and pried it open.

Inside, in the bottom of the box, lay a bright, shiny copper penny.

They decided a mouse must have chewed through the wires. No other animal could have worked its way in. Why, what the pea-brain expected it could find to eat inside a plastic box filled with plastic-coated wires and metal switches, they could not imagine. The critter must have been sharp-toothed—the break was awfully neat—and he’d left nothing behind. But no other explanation made sense. Their search, in the carriage house and in the cellar, for wire to make a splice had come up empty. So Connor had gone to check on his young employee one more time, and she’d made the trek up to the highway in search of a phone signal, one more time.

She was getting tired of this.

It was time to go home. Time to get on with life, whatever that meant. She had board meetings and volunteer commitments and a house and friends. And the kids would be home soon. It wouldn’t be the same, of course, but it would be good. She pictured kayaking with them on Lake Washington and wandering the farmers’ market. Morning coffee in the bright kitchen, drinking in the wide-angle views, sleepy teenagers wrapping their arms around her neck, then sliding into the