Enright Family Collection by Mariah Stewart Read Free Book Online Page A

rebuilt.”
    “What?”
    “The cabin. His mother sent some builders down to ‘fix it up a little,’ she told Ry. I can tell you that there’s none of the old crabbers who’d recognize it now.” August chuckled, not for the first time, at the thought of the cabin’s former tenants’ reactions to the new bath and kitchen, the fireplace, the deck, the Berber carpet on the newly installed hardwood floors.
    “His mother did that?” Somehow, Nick Enright had not quite struck India as a “momma’s boy.”
    “Oh, didn’t you know that his mother is Delia Enright?”
    “The writer?” India’s eyes widened. Delia Enright, internationally acclaimed for her series of mysteries, was the only writer whose books India always bought on the day they were released onto the book shelves. “Delia Enright is his mother?”
    “Indeed she is. And I can tell you that she is just so lovely.”
    “You’ve met her?”
    “Oh, yes. She has visited several times.” August refilled both coffee cups while India scraped a little butter onto two English muffins. “She just sort of swept right down on that little cabin and took over. But if the truth were to be told, Nick seemed amused by it all. Oh, yes, Delia definitely has a way about her.”
    “I am a huge fan of hers,” India told her.
    “Really?” August asked, as if she did not know. As if she did not have autographed copies of Delia’s last two books tucked away under her bed as Christmas presents for Indy.
    “She’s a wonderful storyteller.” India was oblivious to August’s sly smile of pleasure at having obtained a gift she knew would delight her niece.
    “Yes, that she is.” August sat a crock of Liddy’s homemade sour cherry preserves on the table.
    India sat down and began to nibble on her muffin, trying to envision what a new kitchen might look like in the old crabbers cabin.
    “Don’t act as if you’re not interested, India.”
    “Interested in what?”
    “In Nick.” August folded her arms across her chest. “Don’t even try to pretend you haven’t noticed him.”
    “Why, I …” Suddenly feeling like a fourteen-year-old again, India stammered, then blushed, then laughed out loud.
    “Of course I noticed. How could I not notice?” She laughed. “How could anyone not notice a man who looks like that?”
    “That’s a relief.” August sighed and spread some jam onher muffin. “I was beginning to think you’d been working so hard for so long that you’d forgotten what a man looked like.”
    “There are times when I have done exactly that,” India conceded.
    “Well, Nick Enright’s not a man to be soon forgotten.” August met India’s eyes across the table. “I don’t mind saying that I don’t know what I would have done without him that first day. And you know, Indy, Nick—”
    “Damn, look at the time.” Sparing herself her aunt’s recitation of Nick’s virtues, which she was certain was about to follow, India stood up and gulped down the last few remaining mouthfuls of coffee in her cup. “It normally takes me three hours to drive back, and the rain will slow me down. Do you think it will last?”
    “The weather report is for thunderstorms,” August replied, pleased to have confirmed that Nick had in fact caught Indy’s attention.
    India disappeared through the doorway, on her way to the second floor to grab her things and prepare to leave. August heard the squeaking of the third step from the bottom as India’s foot fell upon it as she raced up the steps, heard the door to the third bedroom—Corri’s room—open and close again softly. Corri had been permitted to stay up late the night before to help Indy pack, so it was unlikely she’d wake before Indy left. India’s soft footfall was almost imperceptible, but August knew that her niece was tracing the steps to the back bedroom. Ry’s room. The same room he had slept in as a child had been the room he had returned to after Maris’s accident and he and August had