Whiskey Beach by Nora Roberts Read Free Book Online Page B

lunch meat and Swiss cheese between two slices of bread and called it dinner.
    He washed it down with a beer, simply because it was there, eating and drinking while he stood over the sink and looked out the window.
    He’d done something, he told himself. He’d gotten out of bed, always the first hurdle. He’d written. He’d humiliated himself on the cross trainer. And he’d tended to Bluff House.
    All in all, a pretty decent day.
    He popped four Motrin, then dragged his aching body upstairs. He stripped, crawled into bed, and slept until dawn. Dreamlessly.

    It surprised and pleased Abra to find the driveway cleared at Bluff House. She’d fully expected to slog through two feet of untrampled snow.
    Normally, she’d have walked from her cottage, but opted against navigating deep snow or thin ice on foot. She pulled her Chevy Volt behind Eli’s BMW, grabbed her bag.
    She unlocked the front door, cocked her head to listen. When silence greeted her, she decided Eli was either still in bed or closed up somewhere in the house.
    She hung her coat in the closet, changed her boots for work shoes.
    She started a fire in the living room first, to cheer the room, then headed to the kitchen to make coffee.
    No dishes in the sink, she noted, and opened the dishwasher.
    She could track his meals since he’d arrived. The breakfast she’d made him, a couple of soup bowls, two small plates, two glasses, two coffee mugs.
    She shook her head.
    This wouldn’t do.
    To corroborate, she checked cupboards, the refrigerator.
    No, this wouldn’t do at all.
    She turned the kitchen iPod on low, then gathered ingredients. Once she’d made up a bowl of pancake batter, she went upstairs to find him.
    If he was still in bed, it was time he got up.
    But she heard the clicking of a keyboard from Hester’s home office, smiled. That was something anyway. Moving quietly, she peeked through the open doorway to see him sitting at the wonderful old desk, an open bottle of Mountain Dew (mental note to pick up more for him) beside the keyboard.
    She’d give him a little more time there, she decided, and went straight into his bedroom. She made the bed, pulled the laundry bag out of the hamper, added bath towels.
    She checked other baths on the way back in case he’d used hand towels or washcloths, checked the gym.
    Back downstairs, she carted the bag into the laundry room, sorted, separated and started a load. And shook out, hung up his outdoor gear.
    Not a lot to tidy, she realized, and she’d given the house a thorough cleaning the day before he’d arrived. While she could always find something to do, she calculated the time. She’d make him a kind of brunch before she rolled up her sleeves and really got to work.
    The next time she went upstairs, she deliberately made noise. When she reached the office, he was up and moving to the door. Probably with the intention of closing it, she thought, so she stepped in before he could.
    “Good morning. It’s a gorgeous day.”
    “Ah—”
    “Fabulous blue skies.” With her trash bag in hand, she walked over to empty the basket under the desk. “Blue sea, sun sparkling off the snow. The gulls are fishing. I saw a whale this morning.”
    “A whale.”
    “Just luck. I happened to be looking out the window just as it sounded. Way out, and still spectacular. So.” She turned. “Your brunch is ready.”
    “My what?”
    “Brunch. It’s too late for breakfast, which you didn’t eat.”
    “I had . . . coffee.”
    “Now you can have food.”
    “Actually, I’m . . .” He gestured to his laptop.
    “And it’s annoying to be interrupted, to be hauled off to eat. But you’ll probably work better after some food. How long have you been writing today?”
    “I don’t know.” It
was
annoying, he thought. The interruption, the questions, the food he didn’t want to take time for. “Since about six, I guess.”
    “Well, God! It’s eleven, so definitely time for a break. I set you up in the