Chapter 8
Tuesday morning
Mason was not graced with the pleasure of sleeping until the afternoon sun. He was, however, granted the second best sleep he’d had in ages. No tossing, no turning, no grumbling, or fumbling. Not even one internal rant at his propped watch for daring to display the time. So though he rose with the birds, he happily saluted Jack’s shut bedroom door and tripped down the stairs like a spring fawn. He made coffee; he lit a fire. He watched the news and he flipped through a magazine. He pulled out eggs and ham, grilling the meat and setting water in a pan to simmer so he could poach eggs when he heard life from the upper level. He was dredging seeds out of a cantaloupe when he heard the first floorboard squeak. He was smiling to himself, cutting the fruit into thin c
