Sara's Surprise by Deborah Smith Read Free Book Online

threw the hook over one of the oak's thick, outflung limbs.
    Still wearing the backpack, he climbed fifty feet of rope hand over hand, using muscles that burned with protest because he hadn't indulged in such a feat since his days at the Naval Academy, fifteen years earlier. Kyle sat on the tree limb for a few minutes, catching his breath.
    He was high above the keep's wall, and in the distance the castle's dark, ghostly visage shone clearly. It was a small but very authentic-looking medieval fortress, he discovered. He wouldn't have been shocked to see knights riding up in a procession as a princess waved from an upper window.
    Goose bumps rose on Kyle's arms as he coiled his rope and fixed the grappling hook for another toss. He threw it at a sturdy-looking walnut tree not far inside the grounds. After he'd secured a taut line of rope from one tree to the other, Kyle wrapped his arms and legs around it and edged over the wall, many feet below.
    When he was safely ensconced in the walnut tree he pulled a nightvision scope from his pack and gazed through it, studying the neatly kept gardens for any sign of dogs, geeseor dragons. None, he thought in grim victory. He'd bet a year's supply of Coco-Moos that there were no dogs, the geese were harmless, and as for the dragons, well, he'd take his chances.
    From the walnut tree he tossed a rope to the roof of the castle. The roof was flat and had battlements, much to his amusement. The grappling hook clattered into one of their narrow gaps and wedged snugly. Kyle crossed his last rope bridge. By morning he would find a way inside the keep. Victory.
* * *
    Daisy was not a nervous dog. In fact, Sara suspected that her nerve endings were coated with marshmallow.
    That was why her behavior in front of the fireplace puzzled Sara so much. As Sara sipped her morning coffee she watched the dog stand with head cocked, growling softly, chocolate-brown eyes trained on the giant opening. The fireplace was the focal point of the castle's main room, a two-story chamber braced by thick wood beams and decorated with an assortment of plush leather furniture, tapestries, bookcases, and luxurious rugs.
    The hearth could have served as a small dance floor; the firebox itself was taller than Sara's head and so deep that all five feet two inches of her could lie down in it. Sara had to stand on a kitchen stool to reach the stone mantel, and dusting the Scarborough family crest that hung over the mantel required a stepladder.
    She lounged in the kitchen doorway, where she could keep one eye on Daisy and one on Noelle, who was gurgling happily in her high chair as she flung baby food on the kitchen floor. At ten months, eating was one of Noelle's supreme entertainments.
    "What is it?" Sara asked the dog.
    Daisy fluffed her golden jowls in a soft woof. She walked to the logs stacked on lion's-head andirons and tried to peer up the chimney. She growled again. Sara listened intently and finally heard small scuffing and scratching sounds. She sighed with relief.
    "It's just another owl," she told Daisy. "Just some little bitty owl who got in under the chimney cap. It'll find its way out eventually."
    She went back to Noelle, who had gleefully turned her plastic cup upside down so that remnants of orange juice trickled out of the spout onto her lap, the high chair, and the floor. "Mop!" she said clearly, smiling up at her mother.
    "Mom," Sara corrected her, gently wiping her hands with a cloth.
    In Noelle's lingo mop was not something with which one cleaned up baby food several times a day. It was the person who did the cleaning. Noelle made smacking sounds and pursed her mouth. Sara laughed at that signal, while her chest filled with a warm feeling of contentment. Bending over, she took Noelle's face between her hands and kissed her lightly, tasting orange juice, formula, and scrambled eggs. "I love you too. Time for our bath, breakfast-lips."
    She carried Noelle through the main room, where Daisy still