Page 11 of Patio Lanterns (The Blue Canoe Cottage #1)

Dove bounced her eyebrows. “Not if we set up an incorporated business entity to report the rental income and generate dividends. I recently picked the brain of an estate lawyer who works with one of my clients. He told me that if one of us was willing to move out here and claim the Blue Canoe as their principal residence…”

Robin threw her hands in the air. “You know what? It doesn’t matter what you two decide. I can’t afford the upkeep or the property taxes, and don’t even get me started on capital gains, whatever the hell that is. I’m sorry, but I’m out.”

“What?” Lark questioned. “Just a few minutes ago, you were standing in the kitchen, crying about how your childhood memories had been erased. Don’t you care what happens?”

“Of course I do, but that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t afford it. You’re a doctor who’s married to a doctor, and Dove is… well, whatever the hell it is that Dove does. Both your credit cards may be platinum, but mine’s not even zinc.”

Dove shrugged at Lark. “Well, I mean, we could always buy her out.”

Robin gulped back her wine. “I’ll take a bank draft, cashier’s cheque, or you can deposit the funds directly into my account by e-transfer. The sooner, the better.”

“Not so fast,” Lark snapped. “Mom and Dad wanted us to have an equal share and equal say in the cottage. It’s all of us or none of us. And that’s why it’s a decision that should not be made lightly.”

“I’m not making it lightly,” Robin said. “You’re the one who suggested we say the first thing that came to mind. And what came to my mind first was to sell.”

“You’re only saying that because you want the money,” Lark said.

“Damn straight,” Robin said.

Lark shook her head. “Well, what about Nova? What about Nova’s kids and their kids’ kids…? What about your future kids, that is, if you ever settle down—”

“I said keep the freaking cottage in the family,” Robin barked. “All I want is my fair share. No reason to lay a guilt trip.”

“Please you guys,” Dove spoke up. “Let’s all just take a deep breath, okay? We don’t need to decide this today.”

Robin ignored her middle sister’s white flag waving. “Look around. Lake Whippoorwill isn’t even the same place anymore. Old neighbours have moved on and new neighbours are moving in. Did you happen to count the number of cottages for sale around here?”

“That may be so, but our great-grandfather built this place. After a hundred years, we can’t be the generation of Pelletiers who throw it all away,” Lark reminded them. “Not to mention that the Blue Canoe Cottage is our lasting connection to Mom and Dad.”

“I know,” Robin said softly, lowering her eyes.

“Like I said, we don’t have to decide anything right now,” Dove said. “But I think we really ought to talk about this again before we leave. Who knows the next time we’ll be together?”

“I agree,” Lark said, clearing her throat. “And while we’re on the subject of finances, there’s something we need to address about Mom’s will.”

Lark wore the title of their mother’s executor like a crown. Just like she did being the first-born unicorn. Not that Robin wanted that job or would’ve even been considered runner-up for the top spot, but if she had, she was certain she would’ve handled it with a tad more humility.

“Mom gave me power of attorney and put me in charge of managing her estate, which, as you know, includes distributing assets to her beneficiaries. Aside from the cottage, she also left each of us a tidy sum of money.”

Robin wiggled upright in her chair. A sum ?

No one called any amount a “sum” unless it was substantial.

Was it four figures? Five? Even if it wasn’t on the higher end, surely it would be enough to tide her over for a lost summer without a steady paycheque from the Dawn Cherries.

She had fallen behind on paying rent at the house she sometimes shared with four others, if they even bothered to assume she was coming back and hadn’t sold her possessions.

Plus, she’d already maxed out her lower-than-zinc credit card. “Exactly how much are we talking here?”

“Let me put it this way,” Lark said. “It would be enough for you to buy a decent vehicle, go back to school to finish your degree so you can finally get a real job, and still have enough left over to find a nice place of your own.”

Robin scoffed at anyone telling her what to do with her money. “But I get to spend it on whatever I want, right?”

Lark sighed to Dove. “See? This is exactly what I was afraid of.”

“Rob,” Dove said gently. “This money could help you achieve your future goals. You could set up a retirement fund or a tax-free savings plan, and with the right investments, you could grow—”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” Robin stopped her. “I don’t want to let it grow. I need that money now. My bank account is running on fumes.”

Lark shook her head. “Mom didn’t want you squandering her money away.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call buying food and paying rent squandering.”

“Rent?” Dove said. “I honestly thought you lived in that van.”

“Well, yes, sometimes I do,” Robin admitted. “But only when I’m on the road or if the band’s been kicked out of a hotel in the middle of the night again.”

“God, you and those hooligans!” Lark howled. “This nonsense has to stop, little sister. It’s time for you to grow up and get a life. I mean a real life.”

There it was. Robin looked around for a shot of vodka to down. No such luck.

“Like it or not, sometimes I sleep in the back of my van, and sometimes I shower at truck stops. Sometimes I don’t eat a single vegetable for a week, and sometimes I like to party until someone calls the cops at three in the morning.

So what? My life is my life, and just because you don’t approve of it doesn’t make me a loser. ”

“Relax, no one is calling you a loser,” Dove said. “But maybe you just need…”

“What? To grow up and get my shit together?” Robin finished for her. “Well, maybe I do have my shit together, but you two are too busy living your perfectly-manicured lives to notice.”

“Yet, you can’t make ends meet,” Lark said. “If only you’d finished school and gotten a decent job instead of running around with a tattooed travelling circus.”

Robin ho-hummed. “You really need to change your tune. That one’s really worn out.”

Lark’s eyes narrowed. “How about this one? Until you can prove that you won’t blow your inheritance on partying, you’re not going to see a penny of it until your thirty-second birthday.”

“What?!” wailed Robin. “You can’t do that.”

“I absolutely can and I will,” Lark sniffed. “It will be put into a trust that you won’t be able to touch for four more years. That’ll give you time to come to your senses. With maturity comes responsibility, and maybe by then, you’ll have curbed your tendencies to blow your cash on candy.”

“B-but I have matured,” Robin stammered. “I can be as responsible as anyone.”

Lark folded her arms. “Then prove it.”

“Fine.” Robin propelled herself up and out of her chair. “If you need me, I’ll be out back, responsibly shampooing my dog.”

She stomped around, mad as hell and muttering to herself as Mutt watched her throw together a makeshift grooming station.

Who the hell did Lark think she was anyway?

How dare she threaten to withhold the inheritance that rightfully belonged to her?

Robin could sue. Maybe. But only if she could find a lawyer willing to take her case pro bono.

Even then, they’d have to be a real shark.

With the biting wit of Harvey Specter. Or be as smoking hot as Julianna Margulies in The Good Wife .

Now there was a smart and sexy combo—and who wouldn’t want to be the jelly spread in the middle of that smexy legal sandwich?

She laughed at how preposterous the situation had become.

Of course, there was no way she’d actually lawyer up to sue her own flesh and blood.

The ghosts of Marc and Micki Pelletier would surely haunt her for the rest of her life if she dared to take legal action against one of their own.

Still, there had to be another way to get her money.

If Lark wanted Robin to prove that she was responsible, then goddamn it, she would.

With a sigh, Robin dropped her proverbial sword and let her shoulders relax. “Come here, boy,” she called to Mutt, lying nearby in the shade.

After letting him have a long, cool drink from the garden hose, she took the time to brush out his tangled, matted fur as best she could before wetting his underbelly and legs.

Slowly, she massaged the shampoo into his fur, working up a lather near his hind quarters and moving towards his head.

The foamy suds had a pleasantly sweet scent, the shampoo living up to its claim as formulated with nutrient-rich banana extract.

This shit really is bananas, she laughed to herself. B-A-N-A…

A sudden banging from inside the cottage stole Robin’s attention. “Bubbles! Bubbles!” Nova howled, her tiny toddler fists hammering against the sliding patio door. “Doggy! Bubbles!”

With an irritated glare, Lark scooped up the baby in her arms and pushed the door open. “I am trying to start dinner in here,” she railed. “Did you really have to wash your smelly dog right where Nova could see you?”

“Where else was I supposed to do it? The hose has to reach the tap,” Robin snapped back.

“Bubbles!” Nova demanded, kicking her feet as she tried to wiggle free and make a break for it. “Bubbles pweeze!”

Robin laughed. “Come on, what’s the big deal? Can’t she come out to play for a while?”

“No, she’ll get wet!” Lark snapped.

“Oh nooo! She’ll get wet!” Robin picked up the hose, took aim, and squeezed the nozzle trigger, spraying in Lark’s direction.

She jumped back with an exasperated squeal. “Robin!”

Nova threw her head back laughing. “Bobbin!”

“Fine, you win!” Lark stormed across the patio and plopped Nova’s feet on the grass. “You want to be fun auntie? Be my guest. But keep an eye on her.”

Lark walked away, and panic gripped Robin. “Wait a minute, don’t freaking leave her out here with me. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Doggy!” Nova cooed, her lips slowly mouthing “bubble” as she scooped up a handful of suds and rubbed it into Mutt’s hind quarters.

Then she fell—plop—into a cold puddle. Nova looked up into Robin’s eyes. Her tiny chin quivered. And then came the blood-curdling wail.

“Now look at what you’ve done! She’s soaked!” Lark boiled, rushing over to pick up red-faced Nova, now soggy-bottomed and sobbing. “I told you this would happen.”

“Jesus, take a pill already, fuck,” Robin muttered under her breath.

“Mark my word, wait until you have a kid someday. Then you’ll see how impossibly hard it is,” Lark snarled. Then she stamped back inside, doing her darndest to get an angry slam out of a smoothly sliding door.

God. Motherhood had really cranked Lark’s bitchy knob up to eleven.

If that’s what having a kid is like, no thank you , Robin thought.

Not that she was even considering it. In fact, she’d be perfectly happy being the fun auntie the rest of her life and never having to deal with tantrums and diapers and, well, whatever bug had crawled up Lark’s ass now. No siree Bob.

She hosed Mutt off and leaned in to give him a sniff test. There was some improvement, although he now smelled like stanky wet hound dipped in banana milkshake. Picking up the shampoo bottle, she searched the directions she’d been too distracted to read through before.

For best result, leave on for ten to fifteen minutes before rinsing.

Aw, shit.