Free All of Me by Lori Wilde Page B

they’d walked to the water.
    “Oh, oh, here it is. Enchantment Lane.” She made a right. “Is that a corny name or what?”
    Mutt yawned.
    “Are you bored already? But we’re only three weeks into this relationship, buster.” She carefully navigated the twisty one-lane
     road. “Hey, be on the lookout for number 1414.”
    Most of the summerhouses appeared shuttered and locked for the winter season. She expected number 1414 to be boarded up as
     well.
    It wasn’t.
    However, the hedges were long past the point of needing a trim, and the cottage begged for a fresh coat of paint. Several
     pickets in the wooden fence had rotted out, and the rainbow-hued wind sock on top of the house was tattered. Dead tree branches
     littered the yard, and the mailbox was dented and rusting.
    Home sweet home.
    Jillian let out her breath. When had Blake last visited here? She’d known him for eight years and had never heard him once
     talk about his summer house or even taking a vacation. And why hadn’t he hired someone to see after the place?
    “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us, Mutt. You up for it?”
    Disappointment anchored her to the seat, car keys in her hand. She didn’t know what she’d been hoping for. Hamilton Green
     had warned her the property wasn’t in the best of shape.
    “But, hey, let’s look at the bright side. We’ve got a killer view.”
    Mutt whined.
    “I know, I know, you gotta pee.” Jillian sighed and shrugged off her disenchantment with the house on Enchantment Lane. “Let’s
     go.”
    She got out and walked Mutt around the side of the house so he could take care of business. From this angle, Jillian could
     see the redwood dock leading down to the water. The sight of the lake cheered her up a bit. This was her place. She owned
     it. Or at least she would as soon as Blake’s will was probated.
    Home.
    “Home,” she said out loud. She’d never had a real home.
    Yeah, okay, the place needed work, but she wasn’t afraid of manual labor. On that score, her stepmother had trained her well.
     Who knew a childhood spent as an indentured servant had an upside? A coat of paint, trimmed hedges, new boards in the fence
     and the place would be good as new.
    “In nice weather, we can have breakfast on the dock and watch the sun come up,” she told Mutt. “Would you like that?”
    The dog paid her no mind; he was too busy sniffing the ground, exploring his new surroundings.
    “Gird your loins. It’s time to see the inside.” She tugged on Mutt’s leash and led him up the cobblestone walkway to the front
     porch. There she found a porch swing with a busted chain, the back corner resting on the ground. “Add that to the list.”
    She took the key from her pocket and slipped it into the lock, but before she ever turned the key, the door eased opened.
    “It wasn’t locked,” she murmured. “Why wasn’t it locked?”
    She hesitated, not sure if she should go in or not. Everything was unnervingly quiet, but Mutt didn’t seem alarmed. Jillian
     wasn’t a coward, but neither was she a fool. Should she call the sheriff? She didn’t want to look like an idiot on her first
     day in town. Maybe some teens had broken into the place and were using it as a make-out spot.
    That thought sunk her spirits. She had to investigate. If someone was inside, she had Mutt to raise the alarm. Tentatively,
     she pushed the door all the way open and stepped over the threshold.
    Hamilton Green had told her the summerhouse was furnished, but she hadn’t expected it to look as if someone was living here.
     A pair of men’s muddy work boots sat on a newspaper in the tiled foyer. Mutt sniffed them. A brown all-weather men’s coat
     hung on a hook above the boots. The small foyer table held a blue glass bowl filled with pocket change, car keys, and breath
     mints. Not to mention an inch of dust.
    A sudden thought occurred to her. What if she had the wrong place?
    Nervously, Jillian stepped back out on the