On Ice
the time and now turned onto an unpaved road, barely wide enough for two cars to pass. Soon the town came into view. The buildings were mostly one-story and looked as though they had been there a long time. A few empty structures were intermingled, but most businesses appeared to be thriving. Brett drove through town and pulled off of the rocky, rutted road onto a path that looked relatively unused. Pine trees formed a canopy overhead and the dense shade was restful rather than threatening. The needles they dropped formed a blanket for the noisy tires, crunching softly underneath. The road curved around to the right and in the middle of a clearing, Rene got her first look at their new home. A log cabin with a steeply pitched roof nestled among the pines. It had a covered porch along the front and some sort of outbuildings in the back.
    “ How quaint!” Rene clasped her hands in delight. “It looks like a doll house.”
    “ I'm delighted you think it's quaint,” Brett said in a flat voice. She looked to see if he was rolling his eyes up in his head.
    “ I. . . I just mean that it's really—” She faltered.
    “ I know,” Brett said. “Quaint.”
    Rene wondered if she would ever be able to say something to this man that didn't make her feel like a brainless female totally out of her element.
    ~*~
     
    Maddy and the girls deplaned in Edinburgh, Scotland amidst a steady drizzle.
    “ Look, there’s Daddy!” Genna said.
    “ Daddy!” Miranda shrieked, running to his outstretched arms.
    Ted scooped her up, enveloping Maddy and Genna in his other arm. “What a long couple of days this has been! I hope you’ve all missed me as much as I’ve missed you.”
    “ Oh, Ted!” Maddy kissed and hugged him fiercely. “I tossed and turned all night. Your arms are the best pillow in the world.”
    “ I didn’t sleep either,” he confessed. He peered at her through his glasses that had slipped to the end of his nose. “You are indeed habit-forming, my dearest bride.”
    Maddy blinked back tears as she smoothed his thinning, wind-ruffled hair. “I’m such a lucky woman!” She thought of Rene and gave him another kiss.
    “ Please, Mom,” Genna protested. “People are looking.”
    “ True,” she said, glancing at the onlookers. “We don’t want to shock these proper folks. Let’s get the luggage and begin our vacation.”
     
    ~*~
     
     
    CHAPTER FOUR
     
    Stepping out of the vehicle, Rene heard the sound of rushing water. The air smelled clean and crisp, scented with pine and wood smoke. A thin curl of white wisped from the cabin’s chimney to etch a line of contrast against the blue of the sky. Inhaling deeply, Rene looked around the clearing. She hadn’t realized there were so many shades of green, some almost blue.
    “Mrs. Jolly thought a fire in the grate would be a welcome for you.” Brett started hoisting bags from the back. “She made me lay it before I left, but she must have decided to light it for you.”
    “Please thank her for me,” she said. Smiling widely, she tried to arouse the sleeping children. She carried Sara, but Seth was eager to explore his new home.
    “Hey! This is great!” He scrambled out and seemed to have regained his usual good humor.
    Brett pushed the door open and dumped the first load of bags inside.
    Rene climbed onto the porch, turning to admire the view. Tall trees ringed the clearing with snow-capped peaks showing beyond. The air was cool and aromatic, perfumed with the mingled scent of pine and cedar.
    It was almost cold in the shade. She entered the cabin to get Sara into the warmth. The sofa looked as though it had been made by hand, its large cushions covered in brightly woven wool topping a rugged wooden base. The end tables appeared to be made by the same hand.
    Rene put Sara on the sofa and turned around several times to take it all in. The interior of the cabin walls had some sort of plaster generously applied between the logs. The ceiling rose sharply and a

Similar Books

The Year Without Summer

William K. Klingaman, Nicholas P. Klingaman

Darkmoor

Victoria Barry

Wolves

D. J. Molles

You Cannot Be Serious

John McEnroe;James Kaplan

Running Home

T.A. Hardenbrook

Dead Americans

Ben Peek