Faith stared at the empty room for a long time, then, with a determined step, got to her feet and padded over to the stove. The goulash smelled heavenly, and if she wanted to be able to work the next day, she needed to eat.
She grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and filled it to the brim. Her legs were shaking again, but she figured it wasn’t because she was sick but because she needed sustenance. She made it to the sofa and spied the blanket Gus had brought her when he’d helped her back to the apartment. Carefully, she placed the bowl of goulash on the table beside the sofa and then grabbed the blanket.
It smelled like him. She’d like to say the scent made her cringe, but there was something about it. Some earthy maleness she kind of liked. In spite of the fact that he was so disagreeable.
She pulled it over her legs, grabbed the bowl, and began to eat food sent to her by Hal, a man she barely knew. She’d been taken care of by another man she barely knew. And her dog had been looked after by a woman she’d only just met.
Fire Lake wasn’t like any place she’d ever been before. Maybe it was kismet that she was here. Maybe her car was meant to break down outside this small town. Maybe she would be okay. After everything.
It was a lot of maybes. And as she dug into the hot stew, Faith decided not to think of them. She would get through one day at a time. And maybe,eventually,she would be okay.
Chapter Four
At one time, a section of the Boone estate had been open to the public with several cottages for rent. Built in the forties by Gus’s great-great-great grandfather, they were initially available to employees of the family’s investment firm in the city — those men with families who deserved a bonus or reward for helping to increase the Boone’s coffers. A few decades later, they were allowed to be rented to the public by another generation of the family who wanted to take advantage of the booming tourist business in the area — the Catskills had become a popular vacation destination for city folk. The locals blamed it on the new Boone bride; she wasn’t from old money, after all.
But, by the early eighties Gus’s grandfather had stopped the practice — he didn’t like sharing this bit of heaven with folks he didn’t know — and the cottages had eventually fallen into disrepair.
There were seven in total. Gus eyed cottage number one as he walked the path through the trees and entered a clearing. From what he remembered, all were the same with two bedrooms, one bathroom, and an open space that served as a kitchen and living room. He eyed the small porch that no longer had a railing, though surprisingly, the flower boxes still stood like soldiers on either side of the front door. The blue paint was brighter than he’d thought it would be, but he figured it was due to the shade afforded it by the stand of pines the cottage sat in. The nameDry Runengraved above the door brought a smile to his face. As a child, he remembered running through the empty cottages, playing with his friends, or — he frowned — escaping the darkness that permeated the main house.
Gus set down his work bag and grabbed his tablet. He’d been asked to make a report on the cost of restoring the buildings, and Ronald had been adamant that he needed it by end-of-day. Sofar, the estate manager hadn’t impressed Gus all that much and he figured the man had forgotten about this project altogether, which was why he’d been riding Gus’s ass.
He tucked away his aviators and walked up the two steps that led to the porch. Boards were loose, and a couple were missing. The entire thing would have to be redone. There was no doorknob, and he pushed open the door and then walked inside.
Light fell through a small hole in the roof, casting beams of sunlight that danced among the shadows, and a squirrel blazed past him, disappearing through the doorway. There was a ratty sofa and nothing else. He kicked at it as he walked by, half expecting a rodent to fall out of the thing, but nothing stirred except more dust.
The only appliance left in the kitchen was the oven, and while there was no door, there was evidence that it had been recently occupied by some animal. The cupboards were good quality oak and could likely be saved, but the vinyl flooring would need to be ripped up. He knew there was hardwood underneath and knelt so that he could pull up a piece.
It looked good. A glance back toward the living area told another story. There would be rain damage from the hole in the roof. Gus checked out the bedrooms and the small bathroom and then headed back outside. He scooped up his bag and continued along the path. He spent the next four hours going over all seven cottages and making extensive notes on repairs. It was a lot. All of them needed new roofs, windows, and porches, but the bones of the structures were solid.
“They don’t make them like this anymore,” he murmured to himself as he stopped by one of the docks. Carefully, he made his way to the edge of it. Fire Lake glistened like glass, a beautiful jewel plopped in the middle of a forest so thick, sound seemed to disappear. Melancholy swept over Gus, and he closed his eyes as a host of memories washed over him.
His younger brothers, Oliver and Harrison playing with their trucks by the water’s edge.
The twins, Ford and Sunday, skipping rocks off the dock. Ford’s aim was true, while Sunday laughed along and tried to keep up.
His youngest sister, Iris, sprawled out, asleep on the dock, a doll tucked into her embrace.
His father watching silently, his blue eyes shrouded, his mouth tight.
His mother . . .
Gus frowned.Weird. For some reason, he couldn’t picture her here.
“Who are you?”
The voice startled him, and he swore, turning around to find a young boy watching him from the edge of the dock. The kid looked about six or so, with skinny legs and arms poking out from a simple blue T-shirt and jean shorts that were barely hanging on. His blond hair was thick, with curls that hung down over his eyes and ears. The boy pushed at one impatiently and took a step onto the dock.
“Don’t,” Gus warned, moving toward him. “Some of those boards are rotting. I don’t want you to fall through.”
The boy stepped back and waited while Gus made his way to him. Once he was close enough, he realized who the kid was. Who the kid belonged to.
“I’m Gus,” he said slowly, offering his hand.
The boy stared at his hand and then, with a small shrug, accepted it. “I’m Benjamin.” The little guy’s eyes were blue and familiar. “Why are you in the special forest?”
“Is that what they call this place?”
Benjamin nodded, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “It’s haunted.”
