Page 10 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
It made Tyghan wonder, made him remember things he preferred to forget.
“The counselor’s back,” Ivy said as warning.
Tyghan had told Eris he would stay out of it. He would, to a point.
He nodded to Ivy and stepped out of sight. But Quin’s suggestion to haul her back by her toenails was beginning to appeal to him more. It could certainly be arranged.
CHAPTER 9
It was only noon—hours too early. Bristol’s pulse raced as she headed out of town. Normally, she loved riding the open highway, but this time her destination robbed her of all pleasure. This was desperate business—and possibly dangerous. She only had a vague recollection of where Skycrest Lane was, but there weren’t many roads that intersected the highway outside Bowskeep.
Her frustration grew as she pedaled. First her worthless phone, then Sal’s fried power. She was tired. Tired of struggling for every damn thing in her life. Maybe this art would change that. Getting there early was a good thing. High noon. Lunch hour. Witnesses. Coming early, she would catch them off guard.
Them.
Who were they? Somehow, they knew about the art her father had acquired, and they had promised her more of it. She would call them on that promise or expose them for the frauds they were. The sheriff was only a phone call away. If her phone worked.
The wind hissed past her ears, and seconds later, a faded street sign humbly offered up Skycrest Lane. Bristol paused at the leaf-littered street. A mouse skittered across the disused road, frightened by her sudden presence. She pressed down on her pedal before she could change her mind, and headed down the narrow, winding lane.
Around a bend in the road, a two-story inn appeared, large and very blue, as if it had just received a fresh coat of paint. The window trim was white, and cheery red geraniums filled window boxes. Only a few cars were parked outside—fewer than Bristol would have liked. The chandeliers inside the inn burned brightly through lace-draped windows.
She balanced her bike against an oak tree near the entrance, then combed stray wisps of hair back into her ponytail.This is it.She squared her shoulders, but as she headed for the steps, all she could think of was how infuriated Cat would be by what she was doing, how her pale cheeks would glow with fire and her eyes would glisten with tears as she yelled how careless Bristol was being—as reckless as their mother was the night she drove across a rain-swollen creek and was swept away in the current.
Bristol hesitated halfway up the stairs. Their mother’s battered body was found a week later for her father to identify. He was never the same after that. What was so important to her mother on the other side of that creek? What was more important to her than her family? Was Bristol being reckless now, just like her?
She glanced at the front door and the welcome mat laid at the entrance. This was not the same as crossing a rain-swollen creek in the middle of a stormy night far from home. Bristol was doing this for her sisters. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to make things better for them. She smelled something sweet and glorious baking—and then the earthy whiff of lavender. Her nerves settled, and she walked through the front door.
Bristol was greeted in the entrance hall by a highly polished table that held an enormous vase overflowing with fresh flowers. She was also greeted by deep silence, as if she had entered a museum that was closed for the day. As if she had walked into an empty inn. No voices, no vacuums, so dishes clattering.
She took a few hesitant steps. “Hello?”
There was a crash, then hushed mumbling. A door at the back of the parlor swung open, and a young woman stumbled through it carrying a tray of tiny colorful cakes. She was dressed in a crisp blue blouse and skirt that matched the fresh paint on the outside of the inn.Willoughby Innwas embroidered over the pocket. She stopped a few feet away, wide-eyed, like no one had come through that door in decades.
“I’m here to meet with a guest of yours?”
“Oh, yes! The Lu—I mean, Miss Jasmine! Of course! They told me you were coming! My name’s—” She hesitated, like she had forgotten her name. “Ivy! But that’s not important.” Her features were angelic, but then they pinched with worry, and she searched for somewhere to set the tray, missing the table that was right beside her.
Bristol took the tray from her and set it down. “First day on the job?”
She nodded, her blond hair shimmering in soft waves over her shoulders. “Yes, that’s it. My first day. Please sit down. I’ll let her know you’re here.”
Ivy’s feet didn’t make a sound as she dashed up the stairs. The inn was strangely mute again, not even a creak or groan. Apparently, every floorboard was sworn to silence.
Bristol sat on the burgundy settee in the parlor, running her fingers over the luxurious nap, surveying the outdated wallpaper and ornate chandeliers that had an odd yellow glow about them. She listened for any noise at all—a sense that someone was coming. The upstairs remained quiet, but then—
A prickle.
Heat. All the way down her spine.
Her fingertips burned.
No, don’t turn around. Don’t.But the feeling she was being watched bore down on her.
She jumped up and spun, her gaze shooting from corner to corner.
Nothing.
But the oppressive feeling was still there, like someone stood within inches, their heat radiating onto her. She swallowed, taking a step backward.
