Resting Witch Face (Widow's Bay Book 1) by Rebecca Regnier

Author:Rebecca Regnier [Regnier, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2018-07-18T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 11

By the time I got home, the sun was down.

I pulled in and opened the hatch of my Jeep Wrangler to retrieve the food for my housemates. There was a certain freedom in not having to rush home in accordance with other people’s work or school schedule. I’d discovered I liked it.

When the boys were little guilt hovered around me, not so much when I was at work -- I never felt guilty about work. But guilt crept in when I went shopping or commuted or did anything other than work or mom stuff. Shaking off the pressure that I was taking away from someone else by doing something for me was slow, and surprisingly worth it.

And my animals were happiest when I was benignly ignoring them, so I didn’t have to rush home from anywhere.

Unfortunately, a thirty-pound bag was a bit heavier than I thought and I needed to haul that sucker myself.

I balanced it on one shoulder and struggled to walk to my door.

This was the annoying part about singlehood. There was no one to but me to bring stuff in from the car. That was a thing you took for granted with sons and a husband, there were schlep helpers.

Where’s the Pinterest Board for that? Till Schlep Do Us Part, written on a chalkboard in lovely calligraphy when you got married. That would be more accurate than the actual vows. I promise to love, honor, and carry your crap into the car or out to the curb.

I got the bag lifted, barely, and headed to the back door. I tried to hang on to the awkward weight of the bag and unlock the back door, but I couldn’t quite manage the task. I lost the battle against the dog food and I lost my grip on it. It dropped to my feet and took me out!

I hurled backward off my porch step. In that split second, I braced for my tailbone to hit the concrete.

Instead, something broke my fall and I landed softly without the expected crunch.

In fact, I didn’t hit the ground at all. Mercifully.

A firm hand had bolstered me from behind.

“Whoa? Thank you.” I said to whoever had been at the right place at the right time to prevent me from breaking a hip like poor departed Jane Parris.

I scrambled to find my footing and turn around.

I had to blink to be sure I was seeing who I was seeing.

It was the white-haired, fur wearing, blue-eyed, Viking-style, dream dude from hallucination land. And he was real.

And he was named Stephen Brule. I couldn’t deny that I had seen him at the ski lodge, the Frog Toe, and in my weird dream. He was everywhere. This time he was no figment. I’d biffed it and he’d saved me from breaking my backside.

“You’re welcome.”

I found myself staring. Brule was tall, broad at the shoulders, and really did have the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. His hair was white, he had very fine lines around the temples and a few deeper ones around his mouth.

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