Was Erin watching over them now? Bree liked to think so.
Peace settled over her. Sometimes, the sheer wholesomeness of her new normal astounded Bree. Her entire former life had revolved around her job. She’d lived in an apartment with a cranky tomcat as her only company. She’d rarely dated and had seen no reason to include other people in her personal life. She’d seen her siblings once a year and talked to them on the phone occasionally. Thoughts of reconnecting with her family had always been considered under the heading of someday.
Then Erin had died, leaving Bree no time to renew her relationship with her sister. That opportunity was gone, like Erin’s ashes in the wind. Bree could not let the same happen with the kids or Adam. She had rearranged her priorities—and her entire life—to put her family first.
She allowed herself a few minutes to watch the sunrise. Then she gathered her reins and touched Cowboy’s side with her heels. Calm now, he walked on a loose rein and was cool by the time they reached the barn. She untacked him and brushed the sweat from his back before returning him to his stall. She would have fed the horses, but Luke insisted that was his job. On her way out of the barn, she scratched Kayla’s short and sturdy horse, Pumpkin, under his blond forelock. Luke’s bay gelding, Riot, snorted and bobbed his head until she patted his nose as well.
She crossed the back lawn, jogged up the back-porch steps, and entered the house. The kitchen was cool and smelled of coffee. Bree’s best friend and former homicide detective partner, Dana Romano, was pouring coffee into a mug. After her retirement from the Philly PD back in January, Dana had moved to Grey’s Hollow to help raise Bree’s niece and nephew.
Bree bent down and removed one of her still-snug new riding boots. Ladybug came sliding across the floor. Her big, wet nose hit Bree in the face, and the dog’s shoulder took her out at the knees. Bree crashed sideways, her hip hitting the floor with a burst of pain.
The dog stood over her, then lowered her shoulders to the floor and wagged her tailless butt, as if she wanted to play. Someone had docked the rescue dog’s tail long before Bree had adopted her.
Laughing, Bree sat up and tugged off her remaining boot. “Ladybug, you are a silly girl.”
Bree rubbed her hip, then scratched under the dog’s collar. Ladybug cocked her head and leaned in.
It still amazed Bree that she wasn’t terrified of the pudgy rescue. She’d been annoyed when Matt had tricked her into adopting the dog, but he’d been right. Ladybug was the least intimidating canine she’d ever encountered. Bree had formed a relationship with the mutt she never would have thought possible.
With a final pat for the dog, Bree stood. At six thirty, sunlight flooded the kitchen. Bree’s black cat, Vader, sat on the sideboard staring at the scene as if he wanted to roll his eyes.
“Ladybug, breakfast!” Dana called.
The dog bolted. Her loyalty went only so far. Dana filled a stainless-steel bowl and set it on the floor. The dog ate her food in less than a minute. The cat looked away, clearly disgusted.
Dana sipped her coffee. It was barely dawn, and she was fully put together, right down to bright raspberry lipstick that matched her toenail polish. Her short, gray-and-blonde hair was artfully tousled. Bree had scraped her own hair into a ponytail.
“Good ride?” Dana asked.
“Yes. Feels good to get outside before work. Besides, riding is the best for clearing my head. If I’m not one hundred percent focused, I could fall on my face.” Bree wiped the sweat from her forehead. She’d been riding a few mornings a week, alternating with running and yoga.
“Grab a shower. I’ll make you a cappuccino.” Dana turned toward her fancy coffee maker.
Bree showered and dressed in her uniform. She blasted her hair with the dryer for a few minutes and pinned it up still damp. As she went downstairs, an incredible aroma hit her nostrils. She entered the kitchen just as Dana pulled a baking pan from the oven.
Bree sniffed the air. “Are those scones?”
“Blueberry.” Dana gestured toward a cooling rack on the counter that already held a dozen pastries. “Your cappuccino is ready.”
Bree reached for a scone. It was still warm in her hand. She set it on a napkin and broke off a chunk. It melted in her mouth. She sipped the cappuccino.
“You should sit while you eat.”
“Yes, Mom,” Bree teased as she slid onto a stool at the counter. As much as she’d like to be at the scene first thing, she would take the time to have breakfast with the kids. She had no idea what the rest of the day would entail. Being home for a family dinner was always her goal, but never guaranteed.
Dana rolled her eyes. “Someone has to teach you self-care. Prepare for my evening lecture about not swimming for an hour after you eat.”
They often joked about their relationship, but the fact was, Bree had never experienced any mothering. Her mother had died when Bree was eight. The cousin who had raised her had been lacking in maternal instincts. Ironically, it turned out that twice-divorced-no-kids Dana had mad mom skills, which she’d turned loose on Bree and the kids over the past six months.
Footsteps thundered on the stairs.
Dana smiled. “Luke’s up.”
Bree’s sixteen-year-old nephew hurtled through the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a black polo shirt with a supermarket logo on the chest. “Morning.”
“Morning,” Bree and Dana said in unison.
“I have an early shift. I’ll muck stalls after work, OK?” He grabbed a scone on his way to the back door.
“Sure,” Bree said.
He ate his pastry as he shoved his feet into rubber boots at the back door. He wiped his mouth with his bare forearm and went out the back door to feed the horses.
Bree looked at the calendar on the kitchen wall, where the kids’ activities were posted. Luke started work this morning at eight. An unexpected burst of pride surged in Bree. Luke woke early to feed the horses, even on his summer break. And he was balancing a part-time job at the local grocery store with playing on a travel baseball team. He’d taken his mother’s death hard. Spring had been rough on all of them, but he seemed to be happier since school let out for the summer.
Like it or not, they were settling into their new normal.
Eight-year-old Kayla skipped into the kitchen. Not a morning person, she usually liked to have breakfast in her pajamas, but she was dressed in jeans and a pink T-shirt with a pony bedazzled on the front.
“You’re up early,” Bree said.
Kayla climbed onto a stool, her face serious. “I have a lot of work to do.”
Bree put a scone on a napkin and set it on her niece’s placemat. “Excited for Sunday?” Kayla had entered Pumpkin in the local 4-H horse show at the county fair.
Kayla nodded. Dana went to the fridge and poured a glass of milk. She set it in front of the child.
“I’m lucky.” Kayla broke off a huge chunk of scone. “Maya Steiner’s pony is so bad. Last year, he bucked her off in the middle of the ring. No one could catch him. Pumpkin would never do that.”
Pumpkin the Haflinger was an angel. He was also too lazy. Bree sent a prayer of thanks to her sister for passing on a fancy mount and picking a safe and sensible horse for Kayla.
Kayla shoved the pastry into her mouth and mumbled around it. “But he’s really dirty. Will you help me give him a bath tomorrow?”