Sunset Surrender

“Very welcome. It’s not too much different than when you were living here. The lodge still has a great reputation for service and accommodations, and we have the same festivities and trail rides in the spring and summer months that we’ve always had. I’m sure you know all of this. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be happy to show you the ropes. And once I’m gone, Logan will be able to answer any questions you have.”

Sophia smiled sweetly. The sainted man would soon get an earful from her. Sophia wasn’t good at playing the victim. She would find a way to get even with Logan Slade for deliberately misleading her. From now on, she would keep her guard up around him. “Yes, Mrs. Polanski, once you’re gone, I’m certain Logan will be answering to me.”

Two

Morning sunlight beamed in through the daisy-print curtains in a cheerful greeting Sophia wasn’t quite ready for. Waking up in her mother’s old room, her hazy disorientation didn’t last long as her eyes focused and she remembered where she was and that today was the start of her new life. The sun’s warmth soaked into her bones and helped soothe away her anger at Logan Slade. Thanks to him, she’d had a hard time falling asleep last night. He’d made sure her homecoming wasn’t a thing of dreams. Wouldn’t he love to know that Sophia had had her own doubts about moving back here. That she feared that her old surroundings would cause her pain. That maybe she couldn’t handle this big a job as well as her mother had. If determination had anything to do with success, then Sophia wouldn’t have a worry, because above all else, she would see this through. But doubts still had a way of creeping in after all the mental pep talks faded away.

Six weeks ago, she wouldn’t have pictured herself back on Slade land, living at the cottage where she’d grown up and being part owner of glorious Sunset Lodge. The elder Slade and her mother had left this earth just a few months apart and somewhere in the back of her mind, she believed that Louisa and Randall were together now, bonded by love and reunited in spirit. That thought comforted Sophia as she lifted her arms through the sleeves of her flowery silk robe and padded from the soft bedside carpeting onto the stone floor that led to the kitchen.

Sophia had always loved the open-air feel to the kitchen, the large picture window, wood-beam ceilings and textured archways that separated the room from the parlor. The countertops were not built of modern stone, but made with small tiles in varying soft shades of tans and creams. The cabinets were buttercup yellow and the appliances were pristine with analog controls that suited Sophia just fine. She knew every drawer, every cabinet. Everything had been preserved as it once was.

It was too easy to slip back into a time when she’d been happy, when her mother was alive, and when she’d felt free of danger.

A shudder tingled along her spine and thoughts popped into her head of her showgirl days in Las Vegas when she had reason not to feel safe. Just then, she glanced out the window and saw a black-and-white Border collie racing by the cottage. The dog clenched a wooden spatula dripping with something she hoped was lemon batter in his mouth. A dark-haired boy chased him, calling out, “Blackie, come back!”

Sophia chuckled at the scene straight out of a Saturday-morning cartoon. She went to the front door and stepped onto her porch. She spotted the back end of Blackie as he raced around the cottage, tail wagging, seeming to enjoy the sport. The little boy, on the other hand, red-faced from exertion and slowing down, looked ready for the game to end.

Sophia went down the steps and hid behind the front wall, listening for the patter of four paws hitting the ground. Just as the dog turned the corner, Sophia crouched down, surprising the animal. But Blackie was too quick for her. As she lunged, he did a last-second side shuffle and maneuvered away, trotting past her. “Blackie, you stop right now!”

The dog immediately froze, the lemon batter dripping from his mouth, his big brown eyes—dark and innocent—watching her with a curious stare. His little game was over.

The boy rounded the corner next and came to a halt several feet away. His chest heaved up and down rapidly. He had an I’m-not-supposed-to-speak-to-strangers look on his face.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’m Sophia Montrose. I live here now. I’ll be working at Sunset Lodge.”

The boy nodded, then shot the dog a quick glance. Blackie had decided to sit his bottom down ten feet away to watch them, with the spatula still clenched between his teeth. Every so often, his tongue would come out to lap up some batter.

“What’s your name?” she asked the boy.

He paused for a split second. When he spoke, Sophia knew from the innocence in his voice, he was younger than he appeared. “Edward.”

“Hi, Edward. How old are you?”

“T-ten,” he said. “H-how—how old are you?”

The boy stuttered, and Sophia hoped it wasn’t because she had frightened him in any way. “I’m almost twenty-eight. Looks as if little Blackie has something of yours that you want back.”

“Y-yes, ma’am. Only, the s-spatula’s not mine. B-Blackie s-stole it from Nana’s kitchen at the lodge. And she’s gonna be m-mad. He’s not s-supposed to go in the k-kitchen.”

“I see. Well, I bet that if we talk for a minute and ignore him, Blackie will wander over here, and then we’ll get it back.”

The boy shifted his gaze to the dog, sunken down to the ground on all fours holding the spatula between his front paws, happily licking away. Edward faced her again with a dubious expression.

“Do you live around here?” she asked.

Shaggy brown hair fell into his eyes when he nodded. “I live with my nana at the l-lodge. She’s the c-cook.”

Sophia was sure now that she wasn’t the cause of the boy’s stutter. He seemed comfortable with the fact that the words weren’t coming out smoothly, as though his manner of speech was something he’d gotten used to. “Well, then I’m sure I’ll be meeting her soon. I’ll be starting work at the lodge today.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Is Blackie your dog?”

The boy shook his head. “He belongs to Mr. S-Slade. I feed him and walk him and stuff. It’s my j-job.”

“I see. Does Blackie belong to Luke or Logan?”

The boy had to think about that a second. “Logan Slade.” His dark eyes blinked several times as if a light just dawned inside his head. “You w-won’t tell h-him, will you?”

“That Blackie got into the kitchen?”

He nodded.

“No, I won’t tell him,” she assured him with a smile. “But maybe you should tell your grandmother what happened.”

“I l-left the back door open and B-Blackie snuck inside to have b-breakfast with me.”

“He did, did he?”

“Nana wasn’t there at f-first, but when she came back, she y-yelled at Blackie and that’s when he grabbed her s-spatula right outta the b-bowl and took off.”

The culprit dog stealing right under Nana’s nose made Sophia smile. “I think Blackie likes lemon batter. I can’t blame him. I used to sneak a lick or two from the bowl when my mama made lemon chiffon cake.”

“Nana lets me l-lick the bowl s-sometimes, too.”

The dog finally left the spatula on the ground and trotted over to Edward. “There, you see,” Sophia said. “He came to you.”

Edward fluffed the top of the collie’s head several times and then lifted his dark-eyed gaze to Sophia. “He’s a good dog, u-usually.”

“Oh, I can see that he is.” Sophia bent down to stroke his rumpled coat and the dog gave her a long grateful look, tongue hanging out. She was no longer the enemy trying to take his treat, but an admirer willing to pet him.

“He’s quite a mess,” she noted. “I’ll get something to wash him down. Wait here.”

She walked inside the cottage and seconds later came out with a cloth soaked with hot water. “Go ahead and remove the evidence.”

She handed Edward the washcloth, and then strode to where the dog had abandoned the spatula. Bending down, she lifted the dirt-smeared utensil gingerly with two fingers dangling it by the wooden end that was the less filthy. “Your nana might want to retire this one.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Edward’s face crumpled. “She w-won’t be h-happy about that.”

“I wouldn’t think so. Maybe you could make it up to her.”

“H-how?”

“There sure are a lot of gorgeous purple wildflowers growing this time of year. Does your nana like flowers?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Most women love flowers. I bet your nana does. A handful of those purple wildflowers and a promise that Blackie won’t steal from the kitchen again might make her happy.”