Beach House Beginnings Read Online Free PDF Page B

roll in the sack with him? Yes, scratching an itch could provide temporary pleasure, but good sense warned her that being with Caleb would come with a price.
    And she’d already paid once, hadn’t she? Ten years ago she’d lost her head and then effectively lost her family home.
    In the corner of the office was the shabby leather recliner that had been her father’s favorite. Approaching it, she had to smile, imagining her mother insisting to Dad as they prepared to move to Provence that the recliner belonged at the cove. Mom had detested that chair the moment her father had brought it home from an estate sale, but since he’d been so delighted with the find, she’d never said a word against it.
    Her parents had been married for thirty-plus years. Any mature person knew it couldn’t have been a happy-fest 24/7 for all that time, but they were still together. He brought her flowers every Friday. She never grimaced when he practiced the saxophone each afternoon. Starr—the girl she’d been—had considered both proof of connubial bliss and lasting love.
    Meg didn’t have an opinion of or an explanation for their continued devotion. Her brain couldn’t conjure one. There was an empty place in her chest where her heart—which might have weighed in—had once resided. If forced to guess why her parents’ togetherness worked, she’d say blind faith. But the scales had fallen from Meg’s eyes long ago.
    Just something else to dodge mulling over. Settling into Dad’s old chair, she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.
    The cracked leather creaked as she wiggled against it. Breathing deep, she listened to the surf, hoping its ceaseless ebb and flow would sweep her consciousness away.
    It didn’t work.
    Long minutes passed.
    Then she heard a strange scratching against the front door. Nothing human. Something…canine. She popped out of her chair, certainty making another smile break across her face. No surprise, it was Bitzer on the other side of the entrance. That summer ten years ago he’d shown up at her door just like this, signaling his arrival in the very same way.
    She went to her knees, her arms wrapping around his neck. “Bitz! Do you remember me, you adorable dog?” Burying her face in his ruff, she reveled in his furry warmth. He accepted her embrace, body writhing in delight.
    His doggy grin was wide as he trotted into the office. Then he wandered about the room, nose peeking into the attached bathroom, then nudging the items on the bookshelf opposite the desk.
    Meg watched him, a little buzz of joy rolling through her. Something had survived of that summer. Bitzer was his outgoing, all-accepting self. Sliding onto the leather seat, she rested her head against its back and closed her eyes again, hearing the clack-clack-clack of his nails against the floor. With the dog as company, sleep seemed possible now.
    Then something sharp prodded her arm. Meg’s eyes popped open. “Bitzer?”
    He had a plastic DVD case in his mouth, which he then dropped in her lap.
    “Where did you find this, boy?”
    While he didn’t answer, she figured he’d discovered it during his explorations. On the bookshelves, perhaps, or in the oversize reed basket beside it that held a collection of magazines and DVDs that guests were welcome to borrow.
    Turning it over in her hands, she determined it wasn’t labeled. Her father was an avid amateur “filmmaker”—translation, he loved his video cam almost as much as his sax—so it could be a Crescent Cove sunset or perhaps several minutes of cavorting seals.
    On a whim, she popped out of the chair and crossed to the computer on the desk. A moment later, an image bloomed on the screen. “Bitzer,” she breathed, casting a glance toward him. It was the dog, racing along the sand and then plunging into the surf after a Frisbee. Not a gray hair in sight.
    Then the image changed. Meg tensed, her hand jerking away from the keyboard as if it burned. The monitor showed a girl