Sacred Waters Read Online Free

house. She couldn’t remember ever hearing her own mother say tits. Her mother could barely say breasts and that included discussing a cut of chicken for dinner.
    Sam kept up with the two, keeping an ear open for comments pertaining to her, as she eyed her surroundings with covert curiosity. A grin flourished across her face when she realized the log home was authentic inside and out. The perfectly stacked logs matched the wooden tongue and groove planks covering the floor and ceiling.
    Following the others into a kitchen, she was impressed by the wooden cabinetry. Sam could tell immediately, even with no architectural background, that the woodwork was all custom made. The designer, whoever he was, clearly took a lot of care in carving out every detail down to the mortise and tenon joints that interlocked the sturdy framework.
    She took a seat next to Braydon at the large farm table filling the enormous kitchen while Maureen informed her son of the family’s current events, speaking with agreeable frankness.
    “Kate’s here, but she couldn’t wait up. Her sciatica’s been bothering her something fierce this time around. Not that I minded her making her excuses early. I’ll warn you now, Bray. Your sister’s been leaving air biscuits in every room. You know, with Frankie it was her ankles, with Skylar it was the heartburn, with Hannah it was her sciatica, with this one it seems it’s her arse. She’s all those ails and now farts too! She’s makin’ my house smell like a pile of cabbage shite, that’s what she’s doing.”
    “Mum!”
    “Well, she is. But don’t tell her I told you so. She’s weepier than a willow tree this pregnancy. There’s no wonder why Anthony decided to wait until tomorrow to get here.”
    Sam had no idea what to make of Braydon’s mother. Maureen continued to speak with hybrid comments filled with loving and crass observations about the McCulloughs while she bustled about the kitchen heating leftovers.
    Sam noticed a microwave tucked between two raised cabinets, but Maureen continued to pull out pots and pans as she heated up food. Sam was willing to make the assumption that a women like Maureen never used a microwave. In just the brief few minutes she’d been in her presence, she could already tell Maureen McCullough was a woman who took great pride in working hard for her family and would scoff at shortcuts.
    When the food was heated she placed a hefty bowl of stew in front of Braydon and Sam. There was also a bowl of roasted potatoes seasoned in rosemary and a basket of homemade biscuits wrapped in a dishcloth with red ticking that looked hand sewn.
    The food was different than anything she ever tried in the city or anything she ever saw her own mother make, but it was still quite good. As Maureen prattled on about Frank, Braydon’s father, Sam watched Braydon shut his eyes in pleasure as his mother’s cooking settled into his belly.
    Sam smiled. Most comfort food was embellished because it came from a mother’s love. Braydon obviously tasted more than just stew with each bite. He tasted recipes shaped by traditions and was likely remembering memories of being in this familiar place. She was happy to witness this settling side of him. She liked watching Braydon at home.
    Once she finished her supper, Sam pushed her bowl away. Without pausing for even a syllable, Maureen chattered on as she stood and carried the dishes to the sink and began washing them. The kitchen was clearly her domain. She navigated through the motions of tidying up without ever taking her eyes off Sam or her son.
    It occurred to Sam that her anxiety about being here had disappeared the moment she met Maureen McCullough. She analyzed the women and wondered what magical gift she held that made her able to put guests at such ease. Maurine was a natural when it came to hospitable courtesy, even if she didn’t necessarily follow propriety.
    As they all laughed at an anecdote Maureen shared about a woman at the