The Stolen Canvas by Marlene Chase

just fifty when she passed away. Tara’s pretty curious about her mother’s life. I think there’s a bit of guilt there too, for whatever reason. When someone dies, you always think of the things you didn’t do—and the things you did but wished you hadn’t.” She paused, frowning. “Did you know a Claire Andrews, Ian?”
    Ian turned the name over in his mind but came up empty. “Claire Andrews,” he repeated thoughtfully. “No. Doesn’t ring any bells.” He searched her face, as though the information might be written there. “How long does your guest plan to stick around?”
    “Not sure,” Annie said. “She lost her job. She worked for some sign company in Portland that was downsizing. She said something about staying through the summer.”
    “At Grey Gables?” Ian asked, surprised.
    “Well, she’s quick to say she won’t impose. She’s looking for a place in town, but she doesn’t have any money, and I have the room.”
    He wanted to say she was asking for trouble taking in a stranger, and that he didn’t want her getting hurt. But he knew Annie would balk at that. She’d put herself out on a limb before and nearly fell off. The truth was he’d cut off his own arm before he’d let her get hurt, but he couldn’t tell her that either. “So you think she wants to stick around just to dredge up memories of her mom?” It sounded harsh, he realized. He gave an apologetic shrug. “Doesn’t she have a family or ties somewhere to get back to?”
    “She has no family, and as I mentioned, no job. But she’s eager to get work, even part time, here in Stony Point for the summer. She wants to pay her way, Ian. Don’t be so suspicious!” A twinkle in her eye gentled the criticism.
    “Just looking out for our fair city, Annie … and for you.” He touched her arm lightly, and then drew his hand back. She said nothing to this, but a little pink spot appeared in her cheek. Ian could feel the heat rising in his own. Clearly, she was becoming more important than was comfortable—perhaps for either of them.
    “I saw an ad in The Point for help at Carla’s,” she said. “Tara likes animals. I was thinking that might be something she could do.” Annie gave Ian an inquiring look.
    He let his breath out slowly. The flinty woman had earned the nickname by which she’d come to be known. “I’m afraid Carla Callous might be a harder taskmaster than your guest bargains for. This Tara sounds … what’s the word? Fragile?”
    “It’s true that she’s not the picture of health, but she may have more stamina than we know. It’s worth a try.” She took a sip of tea and asked, “What do you know about Carla, Ian?”
    “Not much, I’m afraid. She came here four years ago and bought the old Bergner place. Paid cash on the barrelhead. She fixed up a couple of the outbuildings, built a raft of pens and fences, and began taking in stray animals. Came with one or two of her own too, I think. Good thing the area is zoned for farming with all that barking and screeching going on. Still, on a quiet day, I’ll bet you can hear the ruckus from your place.”
    Ian paused, distracted by the sound of Peggy’s laughter. From the corner of his eye he saw her chatting with a dark-haired man at the coffee bar. He turned back to Annie. “I do know she can’t keep good help. She has a mouth on her that could make a porcupine blush.”
    “Hmm,” Annie said, her brows knitting together. “People who act like they hate the world usually have some deep hurt in their lives.”
    It was the kind of comment he’d come to expect from her and he recalled his earlier thought about Annie’s tendency to embrace the world. “Everyone deserves a second chance,” she’d said when Harry Stevens had gotten into trouble over his grandfather’s medals. Ian leaned back against the booth. “She’s poured a lot of money into those strays of hers. Someone dumps Fido or Calico on her doorstep in the night, and she takes it in.