that little extra order so she knew I meant only stay and not protect. Teeth came out otherwise. But this was her choice, and if she showed any hesitation, she couldn’t stay—she’d have to leave with me. It was the very reason we were retiring together.
Her head swiveled to look at Colt, indicating she understood not only the command but who he was.
“I’ll be back in a few days. Stay. With. Colt. Be. Nice.”
I let her head go, and she immediately trotted over to the boy.
“Good girl.” Equal parts of relief and worry hit me right in the gut.
“It wouldn’t be a good idea to separate them,” I warned Ada.
“Will she bite?” she whispered.
“No. Not unless someone messes with him. If that happens, God help the person, because she’ll only release a bite at my command. You still sure you want to keep her?”
“Absolutely.” She wiped her hands across her crisp, spotless apron.
“Let’s go, Havoc!” Colt said, racing out the side door of the house, her Kong in his little hands. She trotted with him, tail wagging.
Ada tilted her head. “It’s funny…”
“What?”
“She looks like such a docile little thing. You’d never guess she’d be capable of ripping someone apart.”
“She’s like any other woman in that regard, ma’am.”
Five minutes later I was driving toward Ella and Maisie, finally able to do the one thing I’d been sent here to do: help.
Chapter Ten
Beckett
Letter #2
Chaos,
I’m so glad you wrote back! First off, happy birthday, even though I know you’re getting this weeks later. Looking at the dates on your envelopes, it’s taking about four or five days for mail to reach me, which is crazy fast. I remember when it used to take six weeks.
Second, how about this? Let’s always write in pen. Never erase, just say whatever’s honest and comes to mind. It’s not like we have a lot on the line, or need to put up a front.
It’s okay that you’re not good with people. In my experience, there are very few people worth making the effort for. I try to give everything I have to those closest to me, and keep that circle small. I’d rather be great for a few people than be mediocre for a bunch.
So let me ask you a question that won’t get censored out—by the way, it’s creepy to think that people read our letters, but I get it.
What’s the scariest choice you’ve ever made? Why did you make it? Any regrets?
Most people would think that I would say it’s having the twins, or raising them, but I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life as I am about my kids. It’s not even Jeff—my ex-husband. I was too starry-eyed to be scared when he proposed, and I can’t regret everything that happened, because of my kids. Besides, regret doesn’t really get us anywhere, does it? There’s no point rehashing things that have happened when we need to move forward.
My scariest choice was actually made just last year. I mortgaged Solitude, which isn’t just a B&B, but a sprawling two-hundred-acre property. My grandma had kept it free and clear, and I wanted more than anything to keep that legacy, except we were run-down on every level. I couldn’t bring myself to sell off any more land, so I made the terrifying choice to mortgage the property and throw everything into improvements, hoping to launch us as a luxury retreat of sorts. I’ve got my fingers crossed that it will work. Between the capital I took out for improvements to the cabins and properties and the construction loans on the new cabins to start in the summer, I’m this crazy mix of hopeful and scared. Not going to lie, it’s kind of exhilarating. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
Off to take on my next scary choice…volunteering with the judgy ladies on the PTA.
~ Ella
…
Wedging Maisie’s binder under my arm, I checked my phone for the room number just as the elevator dinged on the pediatric oncology floor.
It was almost eleven p.m.; those moments with Colt had cost me some time, but I’d had a pretty smooth drive.
“May I help you?” a nurse wearing a kind smile and Donald Duck scrubs asked at the desk. She looked to be about midforties and really alert for how late it was.
“I’m headed to room seven fourteen for Maisie MacKenzie,” I told her. One thing I’d learned in my decade serving in our unit was that if you acted like you belonged somewhere, most people believed you did.