“So go, then,” Sophie encouraged. “We’ll hold the fort down here and explain everything to Rachel, if she ever gets loose from the twin devils over there. I swear I don’t know how such a sweet woman gave birth to Satan’s spawn. It has to be Ethan who is to blame.”
That got a laugh from them all, and then came Rachel’s dry rejoinder from across the room.
“I heard that.”
Eve quietly thanked them and then headed for the door, glancing quickly back to ensure that Travis and Cammie didn’t notice her departure. Sophie waved her on, nodding toward Travis and Cammie to assure Eve that they would be looked after.
Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, she took off across the sprawling acreage nestled behind the walls of the compound. The sun was warm on her skin, and she inhaled the sweet honeysuckle-scented air. The Kellys had carved out their own little piece of heaven. Never mind that it was a high-security compound. They’d made it home. It looked homey.
If she looked past the training fields, the gun range, the landing strip, the helicopter pad and the austere stone building that was called the war room, the rest looked like a quiet neighborhood of newly constructed homes. Each unique in its own way with each occupant’s unique fingerprint on it.
Two of the homes were log cabins, but Nathan and Shea’s house was a quaint, small cottage-looking home. More distant from the others and surrounded by thick trees and flowering bushes. It was as if they’d separated themselves from the others while still being firmly immersed in the protective barriers to the outside world.
Ironically, Donovan’s home was something she would have chosen herself had she had the ability to build the house of her dreams. It wasn’t as rustic looking as the cabins occupied by two of his brothers. It was very Southern looking, with shutters on the windows and a front porch that encompassed the entire front and wrapped around on both sides. There was a swing suspended from the ceiling on the right side and there were flowerpots and hanging baskets, bursting with vibrant colors.
It looked homey and inviting. It wasn’t just a house. It was a home. The inside was still stark and bereft of things that usually dotted a home. Knickknacks. Picture frames. Mementos. Comfortable-looking furniture. But then he’d mentioned that it had only recently been completed. Perhaps he just hadn’t had time to see to the more intimate details of making his house a home. Or maybe he was simply waiting for the right woman to put her own stamp on his house.
She mentally kicked herself again over the direction of her thoughts. When would she learn not to get ahead of herself? She’d known the man for a very short time and she was already planning how to decorate their—his—house.
With a shake of her head, she traipsed around to the kitchen door. Donovan and his brothers were likely in the living room and she didn’t want to just barge into the middle of it all. And they were all present and accounted for, judging by the number of vehicles parked in front.
No, she’d go in through the kitchen and ease her way into the living room. And insert herself into whatever plan it was that Donovan was hatching.
Quietly she opened the kitchen door and let herself in, being careful not to make any noise when she shut it behind her. In the distance she heard the murmur of conversation and she paused a moment, mustering her courage to brazenly walk in on the planning session.
“Ninny,” she muttered.
She’d certainly not had any issues marching into the police station, not once but twice, and demanding action on her mother’s behalf. She’d stood up to Walt time and time again, even though the result had been swift punishment. But she hadn’t allowed that to deter her. Why was she being such a wuss now?
Because she was in love with him and she didn’t want to do anything to make him angry with her.