Read The Guest House for Free Online Page B

ran his palm over the edge of the mantel, a flawless piece of oak that had been wedged into the stones.
    Lexi joined him at the other end of the fireplace, her hands lured to the mantel as his had been. Was Hudson as determined as their mother to see it sold? Lexi couldn’t help wondering whether he was, not to mention why Cooper still hadn’t mentioned his older brother. She hoped his silence on the subject meant Hudson had no part in this plan and, more important, no intention of visiting.
    “Just so you know, I charge by the hour,” she said. “It’s a big house. I would probably need a week to photograph it properly.”
    “Of course. Whatever it takes. I don’t lock it up. You can come and go as you please.”
    She nodded, wondering for a moment how it would feel to enjoy unlimited access in a place she’d once seen as a fortress. “I brought my laptop so you could see some of my work,” she said.
    “That’s not necessary. You came highly recommended. Besides . . . I’ve seen your work before.” Cooper lifted his eyes to hers, a deep brown, pooling with warmth. “Hud used to hang your photographs in his room at college.”
    Lexi smiled, unexpectedly pleased at the information. She’d only ever visited Hudson a handful of times at Duke, and always hoped to find evidence of herself in his college world, a universe she feared she was exempt from.
    “Hudson was the reason I took up photography in the first place,” she admitted. “He gave me my very first real camera.”
    Cooper smiled. “I know. I remember.”
    Lexi reached for her earring, twisting the silver teardrop between her fingers.
    They smiled at each other, the past crackling briefly between them, until a thick burst of salt-scented air came through the screens and carried it away.

    I t had been a photograph that caused her path to cross with Hudson’s in the first place. She’d been waiting for Kim to find a reference book in the library and was killing time by wandering through a photography exhibit one of the local artists had donated for the summer. It was a series of black-and-white portraits, the subjects all ages, the settings always sparse. In the two months it had been up, Lexi had viewed it over a dozen times, hoping to glean clues to how the photographer had worked his magic with lighting and composition. She was studying one of her favorites, a portrait of an old woman on a porch swing, when Hudson had approached her; she’d been so entranced that she hadn’t even realized he was there until he’d said, “Are any of these yours?”
    She’d been so startled, first by the sound of his voice, then by the suggestion that she might have actually taken one of these brilliant works of art, that she’d needed a long moment before she could answer. “No,” she said at last. “I wish, but
no
.”
    “I bet you could have taken any one of these,” he said, his drawl more noticeable to her as he gestured to the rows on either side of them.
    Lexi shook her head, turning her gaze back to the portrait.
    “It’s not as easy as it looks,” she said, pointing to the woman’s jawline. “I bet the photographer spent hours getting the light on this side of her face to look that beautiful.”
    “It’s beautiful, all right.”
    She’d turned to find he was staring at her, not the picture. A surge of heat rushed down her limbs.
    She had recognized him immediately. Every girl in Harrisport knew about Hudson Moss, knew how handsome he was, how charming. High season always brought lots of attractive guys from away. “Boys of summer,” she and Kim had called them. Just like the Don Henley song that still lived in Dock’s jukebox. They were fun to look at and fantasize about, but Lexi knew better than to think she might have a chance with one—her brother, Owen, had made sure of that.
    “Is this what you want to do?” Hudson asked her. “Take pictures like these?”
    “I’d love to,” she admitted. “But you need a real camera