Far Harbor by Joann Ross

to kill.”
    “And you couldn’t think of anything better to do than scrape paint?”
    “Nope. I also couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather spend my time with.”
    His smile was friendly and unthreatening. It also created that now familiar stir. Not knowing how to safely respond to his statement, Savannah returned to her sanding.

6
    S avannah watched Henry Hyatt study the bedroom, which, although small, was as tidy as a nun’s cell. Framed prints of old sailing ships hung on the wall, and lace curtains dappled the afternoon sunshine, creating dancing dots of light on the antique quilt.
    “The girl didn’t say anything about me havin’ to share the facilities,” he grumbled.
    “I happen to have a name, Mr. Hyatt,” Savannah responded mildly. She’d learned early on in her discussions with Henry that if you gave the man an inch, he’d take it and run for a mile. “It’s Savannah.”
    “Damn fool name if you ask me.”
    “Nobody asked you,” Ida, who’d readied the room for him, snapped. “Not that it’s any of your beeswax, but Lilith named Savannah for the town where she was born.”
    “Good thing Lilith wasn’t livin’ in Poughkeepsie.”
    “You get up on the wrong side of the barn door this morning, Henry?” Ida lifted her eyes to the high ceiling. “I knew this was going to be a mistake.”
    “I didn’t ask to come here.”
    “That’s just as well, since I would’ve probably turned you away. I’m only doing this for Savannah,” she told him what Savannah herself already had figured out. “You’re damn fortunate my younger granddaughter’s such a fool optimist she actually thinks she can turn that wreck of a place you foisted off onto her into something livable.”
    “The Far Harbor lighthouse has been standing in that same place since before you were born,” he reminded her gruffly.
    “Which is undoubtedly why it’s falling down. Old’s old. Whether you’re talking people or buildings.”
    “It’s sound enough to have withstood plenty of gales. Including the storm of ought six,” he countered gruffly. “Besides, I didn’t twist the girl’s—”
    “Savannah’s,” she reminded him sharply.
    “Hell’s bells.” He raked arthritic fingers through what was left of his hair. “I’d forgotten what a hardheaded woman you can be.”
    “Nothing hardheaded about wanting my granddaughter referred to by name—the very same granddaughter who’s invited you into her home,” she reminded him pointedly.
    “Where I have to share the head.”
    Ida crossed her arms over a scarlet T-shirt that announced So It’s Not Home Sweet Home…Adjust.
    “You want a private bathroom? Fine. Since you’re so set on pissin’ your life away, I’ll drive you back to Evergreen.” Her sneakers squeaked on the waxed floor as she turned and strode to the door, pausing to shoot him a dare over her shoulder. “Well? You coming or not?”
    They could have been on the main street of nineteenth-century Dodge City at high noon. Both individuals were incredibly strong-willed. Savannah suspected that until he’d broken his hip and landed in Evergreen, Henry had been every bit as accustomed to getting his way as her grandmother. Ida’s edge, Savannah decided, was that she held the keys to the closest thing he’d known to a home in a very long while.
    “Guess it won’t be so bad.” He shrugged, as if he didn’t give a damn one way or the other. “So long as that girl—Savannah,” he amended when Ida hit him with another sharp warning glare, “doesn’t spend all day soaking in the tub or leave makeup all over the counter.”
    “Don’t worry, Mr. Hyatt,” Savannah assured him. “I’m going to be far too busy for long luxurious bubble baths.” Every muscle in her aching body practically wept with yearning at that idea.
    “Thanks to that mess you left her,” Ida tacked on. “You also won’t have to worry about makeup, since Savannah’s a natural beauty. Never has needed the