Chapter Twelve
He’d made a pot of coffee, and he reached for the bottle of whiskey, which was half empty, and poured in a splash as he took in the mutt softly snoring on the old leather sofa by the window. His cabin was small, one bedroom, but it was private and quiet, and the only thing he heard at night was the waves crashing against the shore to lull him to sleep.
His cell phone was ringing, and as he took in the number and name, he couldn’t keep the smile from touching his lips. He answered and pressed the speaker. “Hi, Mom. Like clockwork, you are. I swear I could set a watch by when you call.”
“Hi, Mark,” said Diana. “You know, you said you would call this week, and I didn’t hear from you, so here I am. Is it too much to ask that you pick up the phone and call your mother, your fa
