Chapter 2 - The Shadows in the Ledger
Gabriel did not step inside the cottage immediately. The warmth from the small wood stove drifted out into the freezing night air, carrying the scent of dry pine and something simpler—soap that didn't smell like the imported lavender used in the mansion’s guest wings.
“He doesn't follow anyone,” Gabriel said, his voice flat. He wore a heavy wool sweater now, his collar open, revealing the sharp line of his throat. The hard angles of his face seemed deeper in the porch light.
“Maybe no one walked slowly enough for him,” Evelyn replied, keeping one hand on the edge of the door. “His hip is worse than Calvin lets on. That old metal snap on the leash isn't just loud; it pinches the skin right over his left ilium. If Calvin has been using that same lead for three years, the dog has associated the click with a bone ache for just as long.”
Gabriel looked down at Titan, who hadn’t moved from his spot on the rug. The massive dog gave a low thump with his tail against the floorboards, acknowledging his master’s presence without offering any intention of rising.
“Calvin is the best handler in the tri-state area,” Gabriel said, though there was a curious lack of conviction in his tone. “He worked security for the consulate in Chicago before I brought him here.”
“He’s good with machinery,” Evelyn corrected quietly. “Dogs aren't locks you oil until they click. They remember where they were hurt.”
Gabriel stepped past her, the sheer size of him making the small room feel instantly cramped. The cottage had two rooms—a narrow kitchen alcove and a sitting area dominated by the stone hearth. It was meant for a single caretaker who spent most of their time outdoors, but Evelyn had already managed to make it look lived-in with a stack of library books and a plaid throw blanket draped over the sagging armchair.
Gabriel picked up one of the books—a worn paperback copy of local Wisconsin history from 1924. His thumb brushed the spine. “You read this?”
“It explains why the cellars in the main house smell like damp lime,” she said. “The original foundation was built on an old lumber mill site that flooded every spring. People forgot that when they poured concrete over the lower level in the nineties.”
Gabriel set the book down. His dark eyes flicked to her face. “Rosa tells me you worked at the university library in Madison before your contract ended.”
“Rosa checks references thoroughly.”
“Rosa is protective. She thinks everyone who arrives here is either running from a debt or carrying a badge.” Gabriel walked toward the window, looking out toward the dark expanse of the frozen lake. The moon was a sliver of ice behind heavy clouds. “Which one are you, Evelyn?”
“I’m the one who forgot to check whether the service courtyard had a drain before I threw four gallons of water around,” she said without missing a beat.
A faint sound—almost a huff of amusement—escaped him. “A fair point. But people don't usually look at a one-hundred-and-fifty-pound Cane Corso and immediately diagnose an ilium injury unless they’ve spent a great deal of time around working dogs or bad veterinarians.”
“My grandfather ran a shelter in Racine,” Evelyn said, her voice dropping slightly. “He didn't believe in putting down an animal just because it had a bad knee and a short temper. He said most animals only bite when they’re tired of being misunderstood by creatures twice their size.”
Gabriel turned back to face her. The shadows from the stove danced across his cheekbones. “And people?”
“People are usually worse,” she said honestly. “They have more ways to hide what they’re afraid of.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Titan shifted on the rug, his heavy tail thumping twice more before he laid his chin back down on his paws. Gabriel watched the dog, his expression unreadable. There was a secret weight to him, a tension that seemed built into his bones—the kind of stillness that came from decades of knowing that a single wrong word could alter the lives of everyone in the room.
“Come back to the house,” Gabriel said abruptly.
“I live here now.”
“You are a domestic staff member housed on the grounds. That doesn't mean you have to freeze because the cottage heater has a cracked flue.”
“The flue is fine if you don't overpack the pine,” she said, tilting her chin up. “And I prefer the cold to the way Mrs. Sterling looks at me every time I pass the silver closet.”
Gabriel’s mouth tightened. “Vanessa has her own concerns.”
“I’m sure she does. Most of them involve how many charity boards she can conquer before the spring gala.” Evelyn took a step closer, her voice dropping. “She thinks I’m a servant who doesn't know how to keep her place. But Mr. Romano, I didn't come here to steal your silver or listen to Miss Sterling talk about her decorators. I came here because my car broke down five miles outside of town during a blizzard, your estate manager offered fifty dollars an hour plus room and board, and my savings account currently holds exactly twelve dollars and forty cents.”
The brutal honesty hung between them like a dropped blade. Gabriel didn't flinch. If anything, the rigidity in his shoulders seemed to ease by a fraction.
“Honesty is an expensive habit, Evelyn,” he murmured.
“Only if you’re trying to sell something.”
Gabriel looked at her for a long, searching beat. Then he reached down, resting his hand briefly on Titan’s broad, black head. The dog didn't tense.
“Keep the door bolted,” Gabriel said quietly as he turned toward the exit. “And if Calvin comes near this cottage with that leash again, let me know.”
He stepped out into the night, pulling the heavy wooden door shut behind him. The click of the latch was soft, nothing like the metal snap of the leash, but it echoed loudly in the small room.
May you like
Evelyn let out a long breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She turned to the dog. “Well, big guy. Looks like we’re both charity cases.”
Titan closed his eyes, but his ears remained pricked toward the door, listening to the crunch of snow as Gabriel’s car engine finally turned over and faded into the distance.
