The Sheriff's Mail-Order Bride (The Watson Brothers #2)(4)
The trip over here had been a sham. There was no home to go to; nobody waiting to meet her. What had possessed her to take the timbre of a man’s voice as proof he would be someone she could trust? Desperate times had seemed like she needed to take desperate measures. She was no longer sure of anything. Now there was the question of what she was going to do. With a small child, and enough food to last them three or four days tops. Don’t forget that she had no money, no gas in her car, and nowhere to go; she was well and truly stuck.
How dare he lie and have me driving half way across the country to arrive at…at this bloody run-down heap of a place that deserved no more than a match and a can of gasoline. I’d made a promise for this? Gina stamped her foot in fury, making Fisher start.
“Sorry baby, but seriously, how low can you get? The damn mongrel, lying…” She bit her tongue, lest she swear in front of her child. He would pick up a new word in a second and as much as Rory might deserve to be railed at, it wouldn’t come from her boy.
Right, get yourself out of this one then, Gina.
She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. It was no better than what they’d left behind but in all truth it probably wasn’t any worse either. Funny how the impression she’d gotten of Rory didn’t lead her to believe they would live in anything like what she stood in front of now. “Welcome to our new home, Fisher.” Rory’s photo showed a different house, she knew it did but that might have been because he thought she wouldn’t come to this dump. Let’s see what you can salvage from this stuff up.
There wasn’t a car in the driveway which probably meant he wasn’t home or they had the wrong house. She pulled her notebook from the handbag and checked the number on the letterbox against it. Yes, this—as much as she wanted to think otherwise—was the right house. With any luck Rory would be at work and she would have a chance to investigate before he arrived.
Used to seeing the best in everything, she paused and looked around knowing she’d need all the enthusiasm she could rally for this blunder. The garden was a mess, overgrown plants that should have been pruned had pulled down the front fence, their winding tendrils holding it fast. That would hardly keep Fisher in the yard but still it was a big improvement on what she’d left behind. That garden was only a concrete slab. “Let’s go and have a look inside, my little man.”
She held onto him and walked down the garden path, burrs clinging to her skirt as she passed. The first step on the veranda groaned when Gina placed a foot on it and she tested it out by pressing on it firmly before placing her trust in the old timber. “They could use replacing. And a decent lick of paint wouldn’t go astray.”
A worn armchair sat outside, faded from the sun and covered in dust, the armrests frayed and tufted. She glanced at it, wishing it was clean enough for her to sink into. A cup of tea, a comfy chair, and a book sounded like the perfect way to watch the sun go down after that mammoth drive. Sadly, that wasn’t about to happen. Not without a major spruce up first.
Gina knocked on the door. “Hello.” She reached for the handle, turned it and waited for someone to reef it out of her hands but nobody did. She pushed the door open and looked down the gloomy hallway. “Anyone home? Hello.”
The only noise she could hear was the drip of a tap coming from a room at the other end of the house. The room to the right of the front door appeared to be a lounge. An old settee sat in front of a fireplace, old newspapers and magazines piled high leaving virtually no room for anyone to sit. Tattered curtains hung at the windows, shading out the afternoon sun. The cobwebs laced across the dirty glass and she shuddered.
The stillness of the house made her feel braver, knowing she wasn’t going to suddenly come face to face with the man who’d brought her all this way. At least for now she would have time to investigate her new surroundings. If he was on day shift, Gina calculated she’d have about three hours before Rory arrived home. Plenty of time for her to settle in and formulate a plan.
She turned to the other room that faced the road. The bedroom. Prickles ran up her skin but she pushed the sudden wave of panic down. An old wrought-iron bed sat in the middle of the room, its checkered blanket covered in dust. A yellowed pillow lay on the floor.
“Just as well we brought our own bedding, Fisher. This is disgusting. I think I like ours better.” She chucked him under the chin and watched him chortle with laughter.
A box sat on the end of the bed. When she peered inside, it was to find a pile of clothes folded and remarkably neat. Coat hangers where thrown in a heap on the bed. A wardrobe stood open, its shelves now bare apart from a dusty pair of boots lying in the bottom. Had he decided to clear out his clothing to give her space? How incredibly Christian of him.
“Let’s go and see the rest of the house, shall we? Then we can start unloading the car.” That’s going to be fun, hiking everything up the hill on my own. Why oh why did I agree to this?
Because you had no choice, that’s why. Stop moaning and get over it, Gina. Make the best of a filthy situation.
“Oh my goodness.” She stood in front of the stove. Caked in baked-on grime, the ancient enamel monstrosity glared at her from its position in the avocado-green kitchen. She turned and took in the whole space. An old wooden table took up the middle of the room, its three mismatched chairs tucked under to give the owner room to move in the kitchen. Gina reached for the folded newspaper, her hand brushing against the empty soda can and a screwed-up lunch wrapper. Seems as though someone doesn’t know how to clean up after himself.