Bitter Harvest by Sheila Connolly Read Free Book Online Page B

one last time. Is there any of that wine left?”
    “I think so. I’ve probably got another bottle.” Was that an agreement to talk, or an evasion?
    “Good,” he said. He stood up abruptly and Max followed, and Meg could hear him putting his boots back on and slamming the door. She followed more slowly. If Lolly was going to stay in the parlor with them, she needed to bring the litter box along. The cat’s dish was empty, so she wasn’t hungry. Meg decided they might need all the warmth they could get, so she carried the box into the front room. It was definitely warmest in front of the fire, so Meg arranged the quilts and blankets in what looked like a large, messy nest on the floor, then went back to the kitchen. She found another bottle of wine and collected a corkscrew and two glasses and made another trip to the front of the house, setting them on a low table. Then back again to the kitchen. Seth and Max came in, and Meg shivered at the cold wind they brought with them.
    “Still coming down hard,” Seth said, pulling off his boots. Max shook himself, scattering snow and water in all directions. “Did you check the news?”
    “No, I forgot.” She turned on the television again, and they stood silently, watching. Every time Meg had tuned in today, the snowfall estimates had increased, and now they were saying at least thirty-six inches were expected, with a lot of drifting. And it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. She turned to Seth. “Seen enough?”
    “I think so. Come on, Max.” He went to the door to the dining room and opened it, holding it while Meg scooped up a protesting Lolly and turned off lights, then he opened the door to the front parlor and let them all pass before him.
    “Do we have enough wood?” Meg asked.
    “It’ll do. We may need to conserve it for tomorrow.”
    “What, you’re not going to go out and chop a tree down?” When Meg put Lolly down, she prowled briefly around the room, locating her litter box, then returned and curled up on a blanket near the fire. Max settled himself on the other side of the fireplace, keeping a watchful eye on Lolly.
    Meg looked at Seth and quailed inwardly. She was the one who had suggested “talking,” but now that they were here, alone, she felt nervous. Was she unhappy with the status quo? Did she want to change anything? Not really. But as she’d said to Seth, she felt that while they were very close in some ways, they were still near strangers in others. And time was a rare luxury in both their lives. Meg grabbed a blanket, wrapped it around herself, and pulled one of the battered armchairs closer to the fire.
    Seth watched her for a moment, then followed suit. “What is it you want to know?”
    “I don’t have an agenda. This isn’t an inquisition. It’s just that I know bits and pieces about you, but there are some large gaps. Can’t I be curious?”
    “Is this one of those ‘where are we going’ talks?” he asked, neutrally.
    “No, that’s not what I want. Or maybe it is, indirectly. I mean, if you’re hiding something important, I’d rather know sooner than later, before we get too involved.”
    “What makes you think there’s anything to know?” His gaze returned to the fire.
    Meg considered how to answer that question. “Look, I know Rachel, and I’ve met your mother, and I think they’re both great people.”
    “And Stephen?” he asked, his voice tight. Meg knew he avoided mentioning his black-sheep younger brother.
    “I know about Stephen, and a little about what made him the way he is. And now you’ve met both my parents and seen them, us, together. I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t always judged them fairly, but I’m working on it. But, I guess—Seth, you hardly ever say anything about your father. Why is that?”
    Seth got up to poke at the fire, threw on another log. “He’s dead. You know that. What’s to say?”
    From his tone it was clear that Seth was trying to shut down the