conscience?”
She dropped her fork with a clatter. “I don’t have anything to feel guilty about, Pike.”
“You agree with your father, then? You think my family and I set out to commit fraud?”
Rosa bit her lip. “I don’t have to agree with him to defend him. He’s my father.”
“Oh, yeah,” Pike said. “And he’s done such a great job in that role. When was the last time you saw him?”
Rosa clamped her mouth closed.
“Too far, Pike,” Cy said, his customary smile gone. “Back off.”
Rosa felt the tears gather. Her brother was her stalwart defender, the only man she could rely on. She abruptly shot to her feet, determined not to let Pike see her cry. “I’ve got plans to sketch,” she said.
Pike half rose as she bolted past, as if he meant to stop her. To apologize? Not likely. She stomped up the stairs, stomach knotted, knee throbbing from her spill at the estate sale. He had no right. Arrogant, self-important jerk. In the little attic room, she tried to quiet her breathing. Just do what you know, Rosa. Do what you’re good at and don’t let Pike derail you.
She pulled out her stack of well-thumbed magazines, a book full of fabric swatches and her favorite stubby pencil with the paint chewed off in the middle. Closing her eyes, she tried to conjure up the essence of home.
* * *
R OSA WAS STILL wondering what she should do about Captain’s Nest the following morning, after she’d emailed the landlord of their rented home in Danville to collect the papers and mail during their absence. Too bad he wouldn’t allow them to skip the rent check, which she forced herself to write and send out. If money didn’t start coming in soon, she and Cy would be out on their ears.
In her fuzzy pajama pants and T-shirt, Rosa paced the attic’s worn floorboards, ignoring the chill that seeped in through the ill-fitting window casement. Her watch read six thirty. Baggy tracked her movement with his steady eye. Cy was no doubt out for a run on the beach. And Pike? She didn’t have any idea where he was. Nor did she care, she told herself firmly.
Downstairs, someone knocked at the front door, sending Baggy galloping in excited circles until she opened the door and let him out. The knocking continued, but she ignored it. Should she try to talk to Bitsy again? Or let the subject of Captain’s Nest drop?
The knocking resumed.
Bitsy was probably out gardening.
She waited another minute, hoping the visitor would go away.
Another round of knocking destroyed that hope.
Blowing out a breath, Rosa headed downstairs, more to stop the incessant pounding than out of any real interest in whoever was on the porch. Her thoughts flipped through a mental Rolodex of design topics. Striped ticking slip covers to freshen up the sofa in the front room rather than reupholstering would free up some cash for airy curtains. Her mind stubbornly insisted on picturing these imaginary curtains hugging a certain window in a certain Captain’s Nest, despite Bitsy’s odd reticence about the room.
Knock, knock.
Her slippered feet flew down the stairs. “Stop knocking. I’m coming.”
Baggy leapt up and down as much as his stubby legs would allow.
“Hold on to your kibble, Baggy. I’m on it.”
She pulled open the door, letting in a swirl of air sharp with the tang of the sea. The man on the step stood with his callused hand raised to knock again, a shock of thick white hair hanging over a creased forehead. She blinked hard. Did she actually see the scar on his forearm, or was it a memory from long ago when he’d absentmindedly crashed into a sliding glass door?
A door in the place they’d rented in Tumbledown.
A place she’d finally dared to believe was home.
Home with the father who now stood before her on the porch, watching his daughter watching him.
CHAPTER FOUR
I T WAS B AGGY who succeeded in breaking the silent stalemate as Rosa stared open-mouthed at Manny Franco, who smiled steadily back at her. Baggy,