The House On The Creek Read Online Free

a swim, then. Maybe he’d escape after dark, sail the Creek by moonlight, as the Confederates had done during the Civil War. He’d found an ancient bullet down on the loamy shore one fall afternoon and was sure it belonged to a Bluecoat. He’d take the skiff out, patrol the currents, keep the enemy at bay...
     
    “Everett, dammit! Get your ass up here!”
     
    The rain was slowing up, anyway. But the thunder overhead grew closer.
     
    “Have you got a joint down there?” Cowboy boots creaked to a stop at the top of the basement steps.
     
    “No, Dad! Coming!” Everett jerked from his position by the window. Edward rarely descended into the depths of the house but it wouldn’t do to give him reason.
     
    “What’re you doing down there?” The old man’s voice was slurred and pitiful. “Lookin’ at girlie magazines?”
     
    Everett felt rage and shame heat his cheeks.
     
    “No, Dad.” He set his hand against one concrete wall, and started up the steps.
     
    “You know your mother wouldn’t approve.” Edward’s whine deepened dangerously. “You lookin’ to chase her away again? You with your drugs and magazines. You think I don’t know? You think she don’t know? Come up and apologize to your mother, boy.”
     
    Everett stood very still on warped wood and gazed up into the square of kitchen light, regarding his father’s shadow uneasily. If there was a woman up there in Edward’s territory, she wasn’t his mother. One of the town whores, or a College girl who hadn’t learned any better.
     
    His stomach turned, and he swallowed hard to keep the sour taste down.
     
    “Everett!” His father stuck his head into the stairwell, and Everett could see yellowed eyes rolling in rage. “Move!”
     

     

Chapter Three
     
    “MOVE!”
     
    The shout echoed in the empty house. Everett woke and sat upright. His mouth was dry, his palms dampened by the nightmare. The sound and scent of Edward vanished with waking, but the better part of rain and wind remained, solid and real against fading memories.
     
    He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He’d fallen asleep without meaning to. Sat down, for just a moment, in a spot of sunlight on the living room floor. And then, apparently, fallen asleep.
     
    Not surprising, really. The drive from DC had been arduous, and the shock of seeing Abby again after more than a decade had set him reeling. The sun warmed floorboards and the view through the newly re-paned windows had been irresistible.
     
    But he hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Not here, not yet, not until he’d regrouped and gathered his defenses.
     
    He hadn’t dreamed of the old man, or even of the his house, for at least five years. He’d chosen Seattle because it was worlds away from Virginia, and he’d purposefully kept life busy. He’d made a point of forgetting his past, his roots. And he’d done a good job of making a new life.
     
    Until Windsor, ever vigilant, had handed Everett a press clipping. Windsor knew which details were important and which were not. The small real estate add had been very important. If the Anderson homestead was on the market at last then Everett wanted it.
     
    So he sent his agent to make sure the sale happened.
     
    But Windsor hadn’t mentioned Abby Ross. Everett had made an effort not to wonder where the old man’s legacy had gone. He’d schooled himself not to care.
     
    Windsor had made the check out to Chesapeake Renovations. A start up company, Everett supposed, as he sat on the smooth maple floors, listening to the rain. He wondered if Chesapeake Renovations was doing for Abby a fraction of what Westex Investments had done for him.
     
    He wondered if she were happy.
     
    She’d looked it, he thought. She’d looked healthy and at ease and full of energy. The memory of her tilted grin made him frown.
     
    “Damn.” Everett climbed carefully to his feet and crossed the living room. On the east wall huge bay windows looked out across an expanse of