Don't Look (Pike, Wisconsin #1) - Alexandra Ivy Page 0,1
knees and a pair of heavy snow boots.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Kir.”
There was a gentle sympathy in her voice that threatened to bring the tears to his eyes that had been lacking during the preacher’s sermon.
His father had always admired Lynne. He called her a traditional small-town girl with a big heart. It was true she had a big heart, but there was nothing traditional about her. From a young age she’d been blunt and opinionated, and ruthless when it came to protecting the vulnerable. Especially if they happened to be furry.
It hadn’t always made her a favorite with the other kids, including himself. Now that he was older, it was a trait he truly admired. You always knew where you stood with Lynne Gale.
He cleared his throat, forcing himself to release his grip on her fingers. “Thank you for coming, Lynne.”
She shrugged. “My father and Rudolf were friends their entire lives.”
A bittersweet sensation tugged at Kir’s heart. Her father had been the local vet, and like Rudolf, his wife had walked out on him, leaving behind a young daughter to raise.
“Gavin was one of the few people in this town who stood by my father,” he murmured. “I’ll never be able to repay his loyalty.”
“He sends his sympathies.”
“I assume he’s still in Florida?”
“Yeah.” Lynne wrinkled her nose, which was pink from the cold. “He hated to miss the funeral, but it’s been hard for him to travel since he fell and broke his hip.”
“I’m relieved he didn’t risk the trip,” Kir assured her, glancing toward the thick layer of snow that coated the landscape in white. It was beautiful, but deadly. “This weather isn’t fit for retired veterinarians.”
“It’s true that he prefers the warm beaches these days.”
“Who wouldn’t?” He glanced back at her. “I can’t believe you stayed here when you could be living in the sunshine.”
“It’s home,” she said without hesitation.
Kir flinched as her words struck a raw nerve. Pike had once been home. Until the night his father had been shot. And Boston . . . Well, it was where he lived. He wasn’t sure that qualified as being his home. “For some.”
“I suppose you’ll be returning to Boston?” she asked, as if sensing she’d unwittingly intensified Kir’s feelings of grief.
“In a few days. I want to clean out the house and talk to a Realtor about putting it on the market. I hate to have it sitting empty.”
“If you need anything, just give me a call,” she told him.
They were the customary words offered at funerals. Pleasant platitudes. But suddenly Kir was hit by an overwhelming desire to see this woman again.
He wasn’t sure why, he just knew that he had an urge to connect with someone in Pike before he walked away forever. And there was always the possibility that she might have talked to his father or seen the older man. Kir needed . . . what? Closure, perhaps. He felt as if his anchor had been cut and he was floating in a sea of regret, guilt, and something perilously close to relief that he would never see his father suffering again.
“How about lunch tomorrow?”
She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “I usually eat something in my office at the clinic.”
“Good.” His tone left no room for her to politely wiggle out of his invitation. “I’ll bring my famous deconstructed sushi on pain de seigle.”
She blinked again. This time in confusion. “Excuse me?”
“Tuna fish sandwich on rye bread,” he translated.
Her lips quirked in a genuine smile. “Okay. I usually take a break around noon.”
“See you then,” he said.
She turned to scurry toward the red truck parked near the road. Kir watched her pull away before he turned to face the man who was stoically waiting near the open grave.
“Thank you, Pastor,” he said, forcing himself to move forward, holding out his hand.
“I was pleased to be able to help in your father’s time of need.”
“I appreciate you stepping in on short notice.”
The clergyman lifted his brows at Kir’s words. “It wasn’t.”
Kir dropped his hand and stepped back. He didn’t want to stand where he could see the glossy casket that was waiting to be covered by the piles of frozen dirt. It somehow made his father’s death irrevocable.
Stupid, but there it was.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked, confused by Bradshaw’s response.
“It wasn’t short notice,” Bradshaw said.
“I don’t understand.”
“Your father asked me if I would officiate his funeral service.”
Kir stiffened. When he’d received the call from the sheriff that his father had been