Page 4 of Driven Daddy

Old oaks were jumbled with maple trees and a dozen other varieties that I’d have to look up. Details were important if I was going to use this town for some inspiration.

Ash, maybe?

As I made it around the curve, there was a rocky beach with reeds and tall swaying grass, making a picture-perfect snapshot. If I wasn’t driving, I would have taken a photo. Especially when the ducks swam out onto the lake with a half dozen juveniles following suit. I was a little disappointed that they weren’t cute little ducklings. Probably too late for that with winter a few short months away.

Regardless, Crescent Lake was a damn postcard.

Instantly, my mood lifted as I focused back on the road. There had only been a handful of cars on the road with me, and I took the opportunity to meander my way along Lakeview.

Worriedly, I glanced down at my dash to see I’d definitely hit the two-mile mark.

“Where was that damn tree…” I trailed off as what had to be the orange tree came into view.

It was a stately old oak tree with a staggering trunk that had to be at least six of me wide. I mean, I was pretty petite, but holy cow. The branches reached high into the sky and stood well above most of the others, save a few pine trees.

“Magnificent,” I whispered and turned down the volume as the sign for Vista Way came into view right after the tree just as the officer—Christian—had stated.

I let out a small sigh. Whoever had the matching ring to his was a lucky woman.

I took the turn slowly as blacktop became gravel. The stones tinked and popped under my SUV. I winced, glad I’d gotten the extra protection for the undercarriage. Between that and salt, Betty needed the extra help.

New York’s winters were no joke, especially since Crescent Cove sat directly in the center of a snow belt, according to my research. Apparently, I’d learn just what lake effect snow meant.

I wasn’t entirely sure what I was going to do with the vehicle when I went back to Manhattan. Parking was murder in the city. But that was a problem for future Rita.

Future Rita was going to give me a stern talking to, I was pretty sure.

An explosion of hearty Black Eyed Susans with their dark centers and happy butter yellow blooms waved me in closer. Tall lavender flowers seemed to be a little worse for the wear since fall was in full effect, but the blooms were still hanging in. They framed the white picket fence.

An actual white picket fence.

I wasn’t sure Crescent Cove would be believable, even in fiction. The town was insanely bucolic. But then the cottage came into view and my mind went blessedly blank.

A feat since it was a wild and noisy place at the best of times. And it hadnotbeen the best of times for a good long while.

The blond shingles were a little worn due to the water and wind that came off the lake, but they were delightfully perfect. The shape of the house reminded me of a barn, but instead of the typical rustic doors, it had a pair of white French doors that modernized the cottage. Two cobalt blue Adirondack chairs were arranged on the stone porch in front of the cottage with a fire pit between them.

Charming lantern sconces were on either side of the doors. Cheerful burgundy and yellow mums burst from barrels, framing the walkway up to the house. A small sign on the fence declared it was Vista Cottage parking only.

Looked like this was the right place. There was a larger house farther up the lane, but it was hidden by overgrown bushes and another huge tree, this one with deep reddish-purple leaves.

I spotted a rust-red truck along the side of what would be my cottage for the next few months on what looked like a smaller access road.

I turned off my SUV and slipped out. The fresh scent of water hit me right in the face, followed by a bracing wind that set my shoulder-length hair dancing.

I turned into the breeze, brushing my hair out of my face and got my first look at the lake view from the cottage. I followed the stone path to another set of Adirondack chairs, this time, in lemon yellow. No fire pit this time, just the pair of chairs settled in front of the awesome view. I didn’t realize I’d climbed up so far on the drive. The lake was far below with a winding stairway that led to a dock that widened into a small deck, perfect for a boat launch minus the boat.

Seemed a little chilly for sailing this time of year, so it was probably put away for the season.

Or there were people who came with a boat. I couldn’t imagine that. How did anyone store such a thing?

I’d had trouble justifying my new car, for God’s sake.

A deep, soulful bark knocked me out of my musings. I turned to find a chocolate-colored bear tearing around the side of the house and coming straight at me.

“Bruce!” A woman’s voice rose from near the truck.

The dog, Bruce, I presumed, didn’t give a damn about the sharp order. I glanced around, looking for somewhere to hide.

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