Chapter 14 - A Visitor in the Snow
The midday sun did little to take the chill off the wind as a beat-up sedan turned up the private gravel drive leading to the ranch house on the ridge.
Paulette looked out the wide kitchen window, her hand pausing over the bowl of dough she was kneading on the butcher-block counter. She watched as Nolan’s car ground to a halt near the woodpile, the engine sputtering before dying completely.
Caitlyn stepped out of the passenger side, pulling her winter hood low over her forehead, while Nolan stayed behind the steering wheel, staring straight ahead through the windshield.
Brett walked out from the side workshop, wiping his hands on a rag as Caitlyn trudged up the wooden ramp toward the porch. Her cheeks were bright red from the cold, and her eyes held a desperate, defensive glint that Brett hadn't seen since they were kids.
"Brett," Caitlyn said, stopping a few feet away from the front door. "We need to talk."
Brett didn't invite her in. He stood squarely in the center of the doorway, blocking the view of the warm, sunlit living room behind him where Vernon sat reading by the wood stove.
"You’re a long way from Rutland, Cait," Brett said, his voice completely neutral. "And longer still from Proctor."
Caitlyn crossed her arms, shivering as a gust of wind swept across the ridge. "The buyers backed out of the duplex. And the bank is calling us every single day about the mortgage. We tried to list the farmhouse, but the local inspector says the entire plumbing system is shot, and the water damage in the foundation is going to cost twenty thousand dollars just to stabilize before spring."
"That sounds like a lot of work," Brett replied. "Good thing you’ve got twelve acres to help pay for it."
"We don't have twelve acres, Brett! We have a swamp with a rotting shack on it!" Caitlyn’s voice cracked, tears of frustration spilling over her eyelashes. "Dad gave it to us! He knew it was falling apart! He dumped it on us so he could move up here into this brand-new, custom-built paradise!"
"Dad didn't dump anything on you," a deep voice interrupted from behind the screen door.
Vernon stepped out onto the porch, standing beside his son. He didn't look angry; he looked profoundly, heavily tired, like a man who had finally put down a heavy pack after a thirty-mile march.
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"I offered you that house, Caitlyn, because you were always the one who visited, always the one who sat at the kitchen table and told your mother how much you loved the old place," Vernon said softly. "I thought you wanted the home. Turns out you just wanted what you thought was yours without ever having to lift a finger to keep the pipes from freezing."
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