Pennyroyal Christmas (A Ruthorford Holiday Story Book 1) by Shanon Grey Read Free Book Online Page A

her mother by. Well—and the sculptures she’d sent her mom every year on her birthday.
    She glanced over at the manila envelope on the seat next to her. Inside was a letter from her father’s partner and the key to the house, a house she’d never stepped foot in. When he’d called her, he’d been kind but rather matter-of-fact. Per her father’s will, the house and the company went to his partner. Since the partner had no interest in the house, he was turning it over to a realtor to handle. He wanted Kat to have a chance to take whatever she wanted before he did. She had no clue if the partner knew she’d been estranged from her parents—no, that wasn’t exactly right—her father. Her mother she talked to on the phone occasionally, when her mom could sneak away and make a call. She’d gotten a post office box where Kat sent her presents, cards, or an occasional clipping. Kat reminded herself to make sure her lawyer sent a notice to the post office.
    The last time Kat had seen her parents in person had been at the Atlanta airport thirteen years ago. Her mother’d hugged her tight and tried to hold back the tears, while her father showed no expression whatsoever. Wouldn’t even touch her.
    Why had her falling for Rowe been so offensive to him?
    Well, now she would never know. She’d gone to live with his sister, not the warmest woman in the world, and had left from there for college. It was in college she’d learned to sculpt and mold. They said she had a rare talent and had arranged a showing her first year, which sold out. Kat found her calling and never looked back. As soon as she was supporting herself, she’d taken the checks he’d sent and put them aside for her mother, just in case she ever wanted to leave the son of a bitch. Unfortunately, she hadn’t and now she never could.
    She’d gotten the call from her aunt, dry-eyed and factual. There’d been an accident. They’d gone out on the boat, the first time out that year. Something had happened. The propane stove, they figured from the wreckage. Parts of her mother had been recovered. Kat shivered at the memory. There’d been nothing left of her father. His partner declared him dead six months later to start the probate. Her mother was buried next to her grandmother, in a tiny cemetery in Kentucky. Her father—she hoped the fishes fed well.
    Kat followed the GPS to Route 58 and turned off that onto a small road that led to an old two-story farmhouse sitting on a couple of acres of land. Other than the overgrown grass, the property appeared to be in good shape. She took the key out and opened the antique door with its etched glass oval window. It swung open onto gleaming hardwood floors. A slight smell of dust was the first thing she noticed. Then some mail on a table in the hall. She couldn’t resist and flipped through the envelopes. They were all addressed to her father, Douglas Chance. Figures. She let them fall back into place.
    Kat walked through the downstairs, stopping in each room, using her artist eye to peruse for details. Like a showplace. Very little was out of place. They could have sent Architectural Digest in and not moved a thing. Even the kitchen was spic and span, gleaming with white cabinets and granite countertops. She opened cabinets to find white dishes neatly stacked—all matching, all plain. She opened the refrigerator. Empty. So, someone had come in and cleaned it out. Thank heavens. That could have been rough, not that she was expected to clean anything, but still….
    Upstairs, there were three bedrooms. The master was done in a very masculine theme. Warm colors, warm woods. A small change container rested on the dresser. Two dimes shone like they’d been polished. She turned and walked out of the room. She’d bet her commission on her last statue that her mother had never stepped foot in that room.
    She walked past the open door of a guest room. It shared a bath with the room farthest from the master. She walked