“What does that mean, exactly?” Bran asked.
“Yard work, gardening, maintaining the pool—did I mention there’s a pool? There’s also a dog—so feed and water—and chickens.”
“Chickens?” Sasha repeated.
“Feed and water again, and help ourselves to the eggs. We take care, we stay for free until he gets back in about four weeks. Sounds like a hell of a deal to me.”
“We should certainly have a look.” Bran put his cards back in their case. “Ready for it?”
Nodding, Sasha got to her feet. “I think I could live with staying at a villa on the Ionian Sea. It’s just when things sound too good to be true . . .”
“There’s usually a catch.” Bran stood, took her hand. “Why don’t we go find the catch, see if we can live with whatever it might be.”
The road west was nearly straight, until it wasn’t. Then it was a quick series of curves and loops Riley drove with the same careless speed.
Sasha saw clearly why Sidari was billed as the top resort area in the north. Its situation right on the bay, its spectacular views. Too many people was her first thought, far too many filling the streets, the beaches, the shops.
The noise of them made her head ache, stretched her nerves wire thin. But the jittery feeling didn’t pass, even when they’d left the town behind, turned onto a narrow road. She shifted her gaze to the sea again, trying to recapture that sensation of being in the moment.
She saw it, knew it, understood the feeling now. The promontory rose up from the sea, high and proud. She’d stood there with him, in the night wind of an oncoming storm. He had lightning in his hand, and she a terrible burning in her heart.
Her painting.
She hadn’t shown them, either of them, and yet the road had brought them here.
Dimly she heard Riley’s voice talking about coves and inlets, caves, both above and under water.
“It’s going to get bumpy,” Riley added. “House is up, on the cliff. Views ought to be killer.”
She didn’t look, not yet. She already knew what she’d see. Instead she concentrated on the wildflowers, blooming heroically along the side of what was now no more than a track, even blooming in the track itself.
The jeep banged and bumped, forced Riley to at last slow down, then stop when they came to a set of iron gates.
“I’ve got the passcode.” She leaned out, punched the code into a keypad. “He said he had a neighbor come by this morning to feed the dog, do the chicken deal, check on things. And claims the dog’s friendly.”
The road smoothed out a bit, then made a sweeping turn.
“Just let me say score!” With a little war whoop, Riley arrowed toward the villa. “Not the kind of digs I usually bunk in.”
In rich cream against blue sky, the villa rose on its high perch. It angled toward the sea, offering that sweep of view from front and back. The impressive front boasted enough room for a swath of flowering bushes, a few fruit trees, and a verdant lawn before the stone wall. And there the land dropped off as if cleaved by axes. Even the rough steps leading down to the beach made Sasha think of muscular gnomes or trolls with primitive tools hacking at the stone. It owned a majestic set of doors, jutting terraces, wide expanses of glass.
More flowers, more trees graced the side of the house where a stone pathway wandered. Even as Riley turned off the car, a big white dog, a fuzzy polar bear with a long, feathered tail, came strolling out of the shady trees toward the car.
“He’s huge.” Sasha forgot her nerves long enough for new ones to shove in. “You said friendly.”
“He’s just a big boy. Hey, Apollo—his name’s Apollo.” Fearlessly, Riley got out of the car, crouched, held out a hand.
The dog stopped, stared into her eyes. The moment stretched so long Sasha considered jumping out, pulling Riley back in. Though she wondered if a dog that big could simply eat the jeep, with them in it.
Then he walked over to Riley, tail wagging, and nuzzled her outstretched hand.
“You’re a good boy.” She straightened, set a hand on Apollo’s head when he sat. “What are you guys waiting for?”
“Just waiting to see how big a chunk he might take out of you.” Bran launched himself out of the jeep and, just as casually as Riley, stroked a hand down the dog’s back.
“Come on, Sasha, read him if you’re worried. You should be able to read a dog,” Riley pointed out. “They have feelings. What’s he feeling?”
“Happy.” Sasha sighed and got out of the jeep. “He’s feeling really happy.”
“Pack animals.” Riley bent down, kissed the dog’s head. “Need a pack, and that’s going to be us for a bit. I’ve got the alarm code, too, and it seems the caretakers left the keys in the potted palm by the cliff wall, so . . .”