Blind Love, one of my favorite books, with three love stories, is almost 300 pages of suspense, tension, passion, and love across three age groups. My first older man/older woman romance!
A bit about he book:
Peter Caldwell, Art History professor and pianist meets Lara
Stewart, ballerina and it’s instant hate. Bickering, window slamming, and other
hostile acts are more likely to summon the police than Cupid.
Lara, now blind had been beaten and left for dead. Can she dance
if she can’t see? The obnoxious piano player next door, so full of himself, is
driving her crazy. Prince Charming? More like Prince Annoying. Lara shuts him
out of her life.
Obsessed with the one woman he can’t have, is Peter doomed to face
failure for the first time in his life? Can a gorgeous, charming, womanizing
professor win the heart of a stubborn, blind ballerina who has locked the door
to her heart and tossed away the key?
Get a "sneak peek" of Blind Love -- chapters 1 & 2 -- 33 pages --with no obligation.
Chapter One
When half a dozen people get off the train from New York City
in tiny Willow Falls, New York on a Wednesday afternoon, it’s a big crowd. The
group arriving this day was an unusual collection of men and women.
Callie Caldwell, a beautiful woman with chestnut hair and big
blue eyes, paced on the train platform. By her side was Jason, her energetic
seven-year-old, jumping and skipping, unable to contain his excitement at
meeting his only grandfather and uncle for the first time. Kitty, Jason’s
younger sister, a pretty child with her father’s black hair and her mother’s
soulful blue eyes, followed her big brother, imitating his every move. The
train wheezed then crawled into the station.
Waiting impatiently for the father-in-law and brother-in-law
she’d never met to step off the train kept Callie in motion. With no family of
her own, she hoped they’d accept her and maybe even love her.
“Do you think Peter will like teaching here?” she asked her
husband.
“Like it or not, he’s here for a year. Signed a contract.”
“What about your dad?” Callie straightened the bow in Kitty’s
hair.
“He might miss teaching but he’ll love the kids.”
“We’ll keep him busy.” Callie’s gaze searched the passengers
as they stepped off the train. “Do you see them yet?”
“Relax, they’ll love you,” Mac whispered, bending his six
foot two inch frame down to her five foot three.
She smiled at him and gripped the hands of her two children
tighter. Her husband leaned over and brushed her lips with his. Then Callie
spied two men separating themselves from the crowd. Mac waved then joined them.
The man with stone-gray hair was tall and handsome. A drop-dead gorgeous, much
younger man stood by his side.
When they turned to face Callie, she noticed they all had the
same intense blue eyes. After an eight-year separation due to teaching jobs in
different parts of the world, the men were not embarrassed to hug each other.
When they approached, excitement propelled Jason into his grandfather’s arms.
“Grandpa, Grandpa!”
“You must be Jason,” the older man said, laughing and hugging
his grandson while trying to keep his balance. Peter came over and extended his
hand to Jason, who ignored it and threw his arms around him.
“Uncle Peter!”
Peter, blond like his late mother, laughed, his devastatingly
handsome face breaking into a charming grin. The three men, all well over six
feet, looked like human trees clustered around the small children and Mac’s
short wife.
“You must be Callie,” Sam said, giving her a big hug, “I’m so
happy to finally meet you.”
“Sam,” she muttered, closing her eyes briefly while accepting
his embrace. She liked him right away. Kitty, shy like her mom, hid behind
Callie’s skirt, peeking out at the men.
“And you, young lady, must be Kitty,” Sam said. He crouched
down to be eye-level with the pretty child.
She nodded, her face serious. Sam put out his big hand, but
Kitty shrank back. Callie picked up the little girl and inched closer to Sam.
When she got close enough, Kitty moved from the safety of her mother’s arms and
gave Sam a quick peck on the cheek. He laughed with delight as the child hid
her smiling face in Callie’s shoulder.
Peter came over, introduced himself and gave Callie a kiss on
the cheek. He ran his eyes up and down her lovely face and curvy body. He
raised his eyebrows and turned to Mac with a slight nod.
“How did you ever get such a beautiful woman to marry you?”
“Beats me. I ask myself every day,” Mac said, making Callie
blush. He put his arm around her shoulders, picked up a big suitcase and headed
toward the car.
On the drive to Peter and Sam’s rented house, Jason and Kitty could
hardly sit still. Excitement bubbled up inside Callie too as the car whisked
past familiar sights. She opened a place in her heart for her new family members.
Mac pulled into the driveway of the small three-bedroom house
he’d rented for Sam and Peter. The wood-frame building was on quiet James
Street, an avenue filled with neat row houses, close together on small,
well-tended properties.
The modest house was painted a warm, medium blue with white
shutters and trim. Flowering shrubs softened the angles of the front windows.
The lawn was tiny but perfectly mowed and the brick path was symmetrical.
Flower boxes graced the upstairs windows and hedges lined the small driveway to
the right.
Now on leave from Vaal University in South Africa, Peter was
in Willow Falls to teach the Survey of Western Art course Marcia Wilton had
taught before going on a year’s sabbatical.
Sam had retired from teaching at Vaal. He’d come to meet
Mac’s new family. Callie hoped he’d stay in Willow Falls and live nearby. Since
losing her parents at sixteen, Callie had attempted to build a happy family.
She hoped Sam and Peter would be new additions.
While the men carted luggage into the house, Callie took a
long look at Peter. He was even more breathtakingly handsome than Mac. Peter’s
nose was perfect, his naturally blond hair was straight, thick and slightly
long, his lips had the right shape and fullness. She smiled. Kissable but masculine.
Just like Mac. His shoulders were broad, his arms muscular and his hands square
with long, slender fingers. Callie preferred Mac but she was surprised by
Peter’s looks. He’s thirty-four years old
and never married? Surely it must be
his choice.
When they walked into the house, Peter went straight to the
piano in the living room.
“A Woodruff upright! Thanks, Mac.”
“It wasn’t easy to find a house with a piano. We expect music
in this place.”
Peter sat right down at the instrument situated against the
wall by the window and did a few arpeggios to see if it was still in tune.
“How is it?” Sam asked.
“It’ll do just fine,” Peter said.
Jason and Kitty entered the room when they heard the music.
Peter began singing. Jason ran to the piano and slid onto the bench next to
Peter and clapped along. Kitty, hesitated at the door, looking for her mother.
Callie nodded to the shy child and the little girl slowly wandered closer to
the sound, stopping half-hidden behind a potted plant to listen to the song. Callie
wandered in with Mac, who put his arm around her shoulders. She slipped her arm
around his waist as he bent down and kissed her when no one was looking.
“I could sit here and play all day, but we better get
unpacked.”
Peter got up with Jason to move the suitcases into the
bedrooms, then they returned to open boxes, delivered a week ago, stacked in
the living room. Shy four-year-old Kitty stuck close to her mother, but she was
caught flirting with Peter once or twice, which made everyone smile.
“Cradle robber!” Mac laughed at his brother.
“Now the mother…” Peter said, raising his eyebrows and
looking at Callie.
Mac stopped, brows knitted, a frown on his face as he shot
Peter a hostile look.
“Don’t go there. My wife is off-limits.”
“Possessive aren’t you?”
“And jealous too, and I like him that way,” Callie said,
giving Mac a kiss.
“Dad and I are going to take the kids for ice cream. Do you
want to come, Callie?” Mac asked, shepherding Kitty and Jason toward the door.
“I’ll stay here and help Peter get set up,” she said, opening
a box.
* * * *
Mac walked around to the driver’s side of the car and patted
his pockets, no keys. He remembered last seeing them on the front hall table.
He tip-toed quietly into the foyer so Callie wouldn’t know he’d forgotten them.
He stopped when he heard the soft purr of Peter’s voice. Mac inched his way to
the arch leading to the living room and peered into the room, moving back to
remain unseen.
“You’ve been married awhile, Callie. Isn’t it time you took a
lover?” Peter asked, sidling up to her.
Mac held his breath but couldn’t stop listening.
“Oh, but I have a lover, Peter,” she said, holding his gaze.
Mac froze. His stomach knotted.
“You do?” The surprise caused his voice to rise an octave.
“He absolutely sizzles.” Beads of sweat formed on Mac’s
forehead.
“Does Mac know?” Peter raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t think so.” She turned away from Peter and Mac could
no longer see her face.
“I don’t suppose you’d tell me who it is,” he asked, leaning
toward her.
Callie whirled around to face him, a broad grin on her face.
“It’s Mac. He’s hot, Peter. So hot…I couldn’t possibly,
wouldn’t ever need anyone else. Your brother is an absolute pistol in the
bedroom.”
Mac’s cheeks puffed up. He quietly emitted a silent sigh of
relief and smiled.
Peter laughed loudly.
“You passed the Peter Caldwell Loyalty Test with flying
colors.” Peter walked over to an open box needing unpacking.
“You know what I could use?” Callie put her hand on his arm.
“What?” He reached into a box then stopped.
“A brother. I don’t have one of those,” she said, blinking
back tears.
Peter hugged her.
“You’ve got one now,” he whispered.
Mac slipped out the front door and returned to the car to
find Jason and Kitty pelting Sam with questions.
“Grandpa, do you eat hot dogs in South Africa?” Jason asked
him.
“Grampa, do you eat…ice cream?” Kitty asked, imitating her
brother.
“Grandpa, do they have lakes in South Africa?”
“Grampa, look, I have a boo boo,” Kitty said, sticking her
hand out.
Sam was laughing as the children fought for his attention.
“Okay, enough,” Mac said, “Five minutes of quiet time.”
The children quieted down and sat back. Sam shot his son a
look of admiration.
“They listen…impressive.”
“I’m as surprised as you.”
Mac put the car in gear and backed out of the driveway.
* * * *
Rex Vesson, a burly man in a sleeveless T-shirt that showed
off his muscles and tight jeans carried his small suitcase the four blocks from
the train station to a small, neat house with a well-kept yard. He was sweating
from walking in the warm May sun when he finally reached his cousin Alan’s
small house. He took a deep breath of the fresh country air and let it out.
Relief washed over him to be out of New York City and safe in Willow Falls.
Alan answered Rex’s knock with a cool glass of iced tea.
“Hey, Alan. Long time, no see.”
“Come on in. You only have one suitcase?” Alan stepped aside.
“I…uh…left too quickly to pack much. Spur of the moment, you
know? Besides, clothes and crap I can buy here, right?” He entered the house.
“Don’t lie, Rex. You’re running away.” Alan closed the door
behind Rex.
“What?”
“Come on. I don’t give a damn, but at least be honest about
it.” Alan shrugged.
“There were reasons why I left when I did.” Rex licked his
dry lips and stared at Alan’s iced tea.
“I’ll bet. Whose wife were you screwing?”
Rex laughed.
“Nothing like that. I’ve got a new business.”
“Lucrative?” Alan raised his eyebrows.
“I do all right. I worked in security at The Hideaway. It’s a
nightclub in Harlem. Pretty exclusive.”
“Exclusive and they employed you?” Alan sat on the sofa and
crossed his legs.
“Very funny. Yeah, they employed me.”
“You were a bouncer?”
“Yeah, so?” Rex sank into a comfortable chair.
“Doesn’t pay much, does it?”
“It does when you watch famous people coming in with women
who aren’t their wives. It pays even more when it’s famous guys, ball players,
politicians, coming in with other guys.” Rex smirked.
“Isn’t the club public?”
“Not every room. Even the so-called public rooms, you need
pull to get in.”
“So you’re a blackmailer too?” Alan sipped his iced tea.
“Hey, Alan, I’m thirsty. Got any more iced tea?” Rex asked.
“Sure, sure. A long thirsty train ride, one step ahead of a
lot of important, pissed off people. I guess you did need to get out of town.”
“It pays good, though.”
“I’ll bet it does.” Alan returned from the kitchen with a
tall glass of iced tea and handed it to Rex. Rex took a big gulp before
continuing.
“Meaning I can pay you rent, Alan.”
“How long do you plan to stay?” Alan settled into a
comfortable chair and sipped his drirnk.
“It depends on how good business goes here. This is a pretty
small town. Can’t be too much going on here, if you know what I mean.”
“You might be wrong. For a blackmailer there are secrets
everywhere.”
“True. This might work. Its never-ending money no matter
where you live,” Rex said and laughed.
“Don’t get any ideas about blackmailing me, okay?” Alan said,
nervously.
“You doing something I should know about?” Rex asked, his
interest piqued.
“I lead a quiet, academic life.” Alan shook his head.
Rex looked at Alan’s face with new interest. Alan was
definitely hiding something.
“Where’s Beth?” Rex asked, his eyes searching the room.
“She took off with a grad student about three years ago.”
“Too bad. Or are you a busy bachelor?”
“I don’t date much. Not many women here I’d be interested
in.”
“Where does a bachelor go here to get some action?” Rex
asked.
“The local strip club, The Wet Tee Shirt might be a place to
start.”
“Ever been there?”
“A couple of times.” Alan coughed.
“Can you get laid there? Chicks got good bodies there?”
“They’re okay.”
“Only okay? What…you into guys now?” Rex asked, raising his
eyebrows.
* * * *
“No, no, after a while, they all look the same.” Alan crossed
his legs.
Alan did fine getting laid. Pressuring failing female
students to sleep with him for a good grade worked. Maybe he was into a type of
blackmail. He provided a service for payment. Tit for tat, he laughed to himself. He was a merchant of grades,
with no income tax to pay on his gross receipts.
“Hey, Alan, they are
all the same. Topless joint might be a good place for me to work.”
“It’s the closest thing we have to a nightclub here.”
“Come on. Let’s grab dinner, on me. Maybe afterward, we can
swing by this joint and check out the babes,” Rex said, clapping him on the
back.
“Sure, Rex.” Alan looked at Rex’s pumped up body and a wave
of envy swept over him, the first time he ever felt jealousy instead of pity
toward his cousin.
Rex had been a scrawny, awkward kid, not good in school and
couldn’t fight, which got him beat up regularly after school. His father took
off when his mother gave birth to him, leaving his two older sisters holding
him responsible for their father’s departure and hating him for it. His mother
was too tired to have much time or affection left for him.
Alan remembered his cousin as a bit of a crybaby. Not anymore
--Rex sure had come a long way from those days. Seemed like a man who could
take care of himself. Alan made a mental note not to annoy his cousin. He
feared Rex’s retribution would be a lot worse than getting a time-out when he
was a kid.
As they got in Alan’s car to head to a restaurant, he made
plans to either help his cousin to settle down in Willow Falls and have his own
life and leave Alan’s alone. Or to help Rex get out of town.
With Rex nosing around, Alan would have to play it straight
arrow for the next semester. He frowned to think his juicy little student sex
slaves would have to wait. He might be reduced to buying some tail from a girl
who danced at The Wet T-Shirt. The idea repulsed him. But not nearly as much as
Rex finding out what he was up to and blowing the whistle on him.
Why couldn’t his nosy cousin simply return to his blackmail
business in the City and leave Alan’s little fun and games alone? He ground his
teeth. Damn it, why did Rex have to get off the train here? Why didn’t he ride
all the way to Buffalo? Or Canada? Anywhere but here.
Then it hit him. Blackmailers have their own secrets, beside
the fact they are robbing a ton of people with threats. Alan would simply have
to dig and dig until he found out Rex’s secrets. Then he’d be able to make deal
with his cousin and ship him back to the Big Apple.
The idea relieved his mind. He sighed as he pulled into a parking
space. Cousin or no cousin, Rex’s stay in Willow Falls was going to be short
–if Alan had anything to say about it.
* * * *
Across town on North Main Street
Marcia Wilton approached the steps of Willow Falls Medical
Center. Her tired eyes noticed the cheerful colors of the spring flowers in
window boxes. She walked up the steps of the large brick building slowly. Her
husband, Jay, was back in the hospital. He had been fighting cancer for five
years and now was losing the battle. Marcia went every day. The pain of seeing
her handsome, athletic husband wasting away was intense.
The doctor told her he thought Jay would last six months, so
Marcia had taken a sabbatical from her position teaching art history at
Kensington State to be with him.
“It’s spring outside,” Marcia said, walking into his room to
find him standing at the window.
Jay trained his gaze on her and offered a wan smile.
“Any flowers up yet?”
“Tulips. Don’t know what’s coming up at the new house.”
Marcia and Jay had been married for nine years. They’d waited
to have children, but by the time Marcia was thirty-three and ready, Jay had
been stricken with stomach cancer and neither he nor Marcia could think about
anything else. They pooled their strength and fought the disease with
everything possible. Two remissions, then the cancer returned and spread. Jay
was brave, stoic at times, but now he was resigned.
“You didn’t eat?”
“Nothing tastes good.” Jay shifted his weight from one hip to
the other.
“I brought corned beef today. Try some.” Marcia held half a
sandwich out to him.
He took three bites and stopped. Fifteen minutes later, Jay
dozed off.
Marcia took a bite of the sandwich but could barely swallow
it. She took out a crochet project and began work. She often crocheted or read
when he slept.
Occasionally she brought a special treat from the Jewish
Bakery to tempt him to eat. They would share it and reminisce about the last
time they ate chocolate babka. Often there’d be procedures, baths and other events
cutting her time short. It didn’t matter if she left early because there was
nothing waiting for her at home.
Their families rallied around them at first, but year after
year of hope then despair, hope then despair wore them out. Now at thirty-eight,
Marcia had no children to provide comfort, and her family, who lived far away,
had gotten on with their lives.
Jay’s mother found it devastating to visit him, but she made
the two-hour bus trip once every week anyway. His brother and sister lived on
the west coast, too far away to visit. Death
frightens people, Marcia reminded herself when she felt angry and deserted.
After an hour, Marcia packed up her project, kissed Jay’s
forehead and left him sleeping fitfully. The tap-tap-tapping of her heels on
the hospital corridor echoed her feeling of loneliness as she made her way to
the front door.
The bright sunshine mocked her heavy heart. She got in her
car and drove, almost by rote, to the small house on First Street she and Jay
had rented for the past three years. They had owned a lovely big house on
Fillmore in the posh Linden Lake section, when Jay was well and working as the
head accountant for Valley Country Club and Resort. But Jay hadn’t worked in
the past three years. He was on disability, which didn’t bring in enough money,
even with Marcia’s teaching, to keep the big house. Marcia made only enough at
the university to pay the rent on the small house.
Johnny Novacek, a young man born in America from immigrant
Czech parents, was their landlord. Johnny had bought several small rundown houses,
fixed them up with the help of his father, Jakub, and rented them out to
support his wife and two young children.
When she got home, Marcia put “Let It Be” by The Beatles on
the CD player and made herself a strong vodka and tonic. Some days, she pulled
out their wedding pictures or pictures of wonderful, sexy vacations on the island
of St. John where she and Jay made love on deserted beaches and swam in the
clear aqua waters of the Caribbean. When Jay first got sick, Marcia started
scrapbooks to help her hold on to their life together.
The longing for her old life with Jay ached in her chest. He
was so full of joy in the old pictures, always smiling. They used to laugh all
the time, because everything is funny when you’re young, healthy and madly in
love. She couldn’t laugh anymore so she put away the pictures and scrapbooks
and poured herself another drink.
Even picking up a lamb chop, Jay’s favorite meat, at the
grocery store reduced her to tears, or hearing his favorite songs on the radio.
She cried when she awoke in the middle of the night, reaching for Jay in the
empty bed. She cried when she opened the closet and saw his clothes there.
Marcia had cried for months. She couldn’t cry anymore.
She watched only sports on television because she didn’t need
to concentrate. It took a supreme effort simply to get the bills paid each month.
Sometimes when an attractive man with brown hair and warm eyes came on the television,
she remembered how much she adored making love with Jay and touching his strong
swimmer’s body. He was a good lover, frisky and mad for her. But they hadn’t
made love in almost three years. She didn’t remember the last time and at the
time hadn’t realized it would be their last.
* * * *
Back at the house, Peter took a piece of paper with a phone
number on it out of his pocket. He picked up his cell phone and hesitated.
“Who do you still know here?” Callie asked.
“Bianca Trieste. An old girlfriend.”
“How old?” Callie unpacked a box of books, lining them up in
an empty bookcase.
“From eight years ago.” Peter put the phone down and instead
pulled shirts out of a suitcase and put them in a pile on the sofa.
“Serious?”
“We were almost engaged.”
Callie stopped what she was doing and listened.
“She was the first woman I ever loved. I asked her to marry
me and she turned me down to go to Europe on a modeling trip.”
He opened another box and took out a fistful of notebooks.
“And you still want to talk to her?” Callie asked, moving
several books onto a new shelf.
“I think so,” Peter said, stacking the notebooks on the
credenza behind the sofa.
“Haven’t put it to rest?” Callie said, unloading another box
of books.
“Guess not.” Peter collapsed a box and placed it on the
floor, then took another.
“Is that why you’re not married?”
“Maybe. Maybe I haven’t met the right woman yet.” Peter sat
on the floor, sorting a third box of books into two piles.
“Have you been in love since Bianca?” Callie handed two empty
boxes to Peter.
“Love? No.” Peter laughed but his smile didn’t reach his
eyes.
“Call her. Eight years is a long time to carry a torch.”
“There have been plenty of women to replace her…can’t seem to
move on,” Peter said, standing up and knocking down boxes.
“You’re a chick magnet, if ever there was one.” Callie
blushed at the frankness of her statement.
“It has its downside too. For once I’d like to start off
differently with a woman.”
“What do you mean?” Callie put another empty carton aside and
stopped to look at him.
“I’d like to meet someone who didn’t…who wouldn’t…” Peter
waved his hand in the air, unable to produce the words.
“Someone who wasn’t attracted to you by your looks first?”
Callie finished for him.
“I’m not God’s gift to women or anything, but I’d like to be
me first.”
“Good luck, Peter.”
“When do we get to see the Caldwell Mansion?”
“Right after we pick up a rental car for you and Sam.” Callie
stacked a handful of books on the coffee table.
“Call him Dad, or you’ll make him feel like a stranger.
Rental car? Crap. You drive on the right here.”
“Don’t you?” Callie raised her eyebrows.
“The left. Crap, means I’ve got to drive. Dad’ll get us
killed.”
Sam and Mac followed the children in the house.
“I’m driving, Dad.”
“Good, ’cause I haven’t driven on the right in years.
Wouldn’t want to kill everyone on my first day,” he said with a chuckle.
Peter shot Callie a knowing glance as they herded the
children back to the car.
After picking up the rental, Peter and Sam followed Callie,
Mac and their kids to their house for dinner. It was nine-thirty p.m. before
Callie and Mac got the kids settled in and gave directions to Sam and Peter as
they ventured back to their house on their own. Callie stood at the living room
window, holding the curtain open a little to watch them drive away.
“It’s wonderful to have Sam and Peter here. I already feel
like they’re my father and brother.”
“I’m glad.” He came up behind her and put his arms around
her.
“You must be happy.”
Mac kissed her neck, then brushed his lips lightly up to her
earlobe.
“I’m glad to see Dad and Pete. But now, I’m happy to see you.
In fact, I’d like to see more of you,” he said, easing her shirt up.
Callie turned around and fell into his arms for a passionate
kiss.
“I’d like to show you what an absolute pistol I am in the
bedroom,” he whispered in her ear, cracking a big smile.
“Mac Caldwell! A pistol? You were listening in today?” Callie
smacked his shoulder lightly.
“I came back for the car keys.” He shrugged innocently.
“You heard our whole conversation?” Color flooded her cheeks.
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Callie.”
“But you overheard me talking about you.”
“The things you were saying…” Mac said, reaching under her
shirt unfastening her bra, “…were soooo nice,” he said, sliding his hands
around to cradle her breasts.
“Mac…” she said, closing her eyes and leaning her forehead
against him, her breath coming faster.
“What, baby?” he said, his eyes closed.
“It’s all true. You are my lover,” she said, unbuckling his
belt.
They undressed and left their clothes in a heap on the living
room floor. Callie ran her hands up his hard chest, through the soft black hair
and around his neck. His hands slipped down her back to rest on her firm behind
and pull her closer to him. She kissed him, opening her lips to his tongue. Mac
picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, pushing the door closed gently
with his foot so as not to wake the children.
Chapter Two
Mac stuffed the family, including Sam and Peter, into their
SUV and drove to their small place on Lake Onondaga in Pennsylvania for the
weekend. The house had one wall of glass overlooking the water and connected,
through sliding glass doors, to a deck which jutted out far enough to double as
a dock. With a big sectional sofa surrounding a large fireplace in the living
room, their home was comfortable for a crowd both in summer and winter.
Sam had given the house to Callie and Mac for a wedding
present. He and his late wife, Ellen, spent several happy summers there before
she died. When they arrived, Sam was the first one out of the car. He stood
looking at the small building as tears pricked his eyes.
“This was Ellen’s dream house,” he said to Callie. “She’d be
so happy to see us all here together…and with grandchildren. A wish come true…”
She gave his hand a squeeze, then stuck the key in the front
door lock and turned it.
“It’s our dream house too…Dad,” she said.
He smiled at her as he reached for his handkerchief. After
wiping his eyes, he took Callie’s hand and held it as she opened the door and
they walked in together.
“Dad’s become a bit mushy in his old age, Pete,” Mac
observed, hiding his mouth with his hand.
“He’s always been mushy, Mac,” Peter replied.
“God, I hope we don’t get mushy at his age,” Mac whispered.
The kids ran into the house. Jason took possession of
Grandpa’s left arm while Kitty hung on his right.
“What about Uncle Peter? Who wants to show him the lake?”
Callie asked.
Kitty, who’d flirted with Peter most of the way in the car as
she’d claimed the seat next to him, piped up, “Me!”
“It figures,” Mac muttered.
“Mac!” Callie said, punching him lightly in the arm.
Jason took Sam’s hand and Kitty took Peter’s when they all
went down to the lake. Sam pointed out the landmarks he remembered on the way,
like the tree where he and Ellen watched a hawk nesting and a field where deer
grazed.
“We go fishing here all the time but never catch anything. Do
you know why, Grandpa?”
“No idea, Jason.”
“Uncle Peter, Uncle Peter,” Kitty called, motioning with her
hand for him to join her wading into the lake.
Peter took off his socks and shoes and rolled up his pants. Kitty
kicked off her sandals and took his hand.
After dinner, when both kids were tucked in bed, the
exhausted adults sat down on their deck and opened a bottle of wine and lit
candles.
“I’d like to make a toast,” Sam said. “To Callie and the
kids. Mac, your wife and children exceed my expectations by a mile. Long life
and love to all.”
They all raised their glasses. Callie started to cry.
Sam, Mac and Peter all reached into their pockets and pulled
out handkerchiefs for her at the same time, which made her laugh.
“It’s a Caldwell tradition, Callie. Ellen insisted we all
carry handkerchiefs,” Sam said, smiling.
“Callie cries when she’s happy, so I’m always ready,” Mac
said.
“Especially in the bedroom, right, Mac?” Peter teased.
“Don’t go there, Pete,” Mac warned.
“Boys!” Sam threw a stern look their way. “They’re always
teasing each other. I hoped they’d have outgrown it by now,” Sam said to
Callie, looking pointedly at Peter.
“What? I’ve got to show him I missed him, don’t I?” Peter
asked with an innocent shrug.
“I’m so happy you’re all here. Peter, what was Mac like as a
boy?”
“Well, Callie…”
“Don’t believe a word he says. He was jealous of me,” Mac
said.
“Jealous? Of what? A nerdy guy who couldn’t talk to girls?”
“I didn’t waste my time talking
to girls.” Mac sat back, taking a sip of wine.
“Like you were some big make-out artist or something?” Peter
made a face at his brother.
“I did all right.”
“You did? At what age did you do all right with girls?”
Callie asked.
Mac blushed and clammed up. Peter laughed.
“His first girlfriend was Jenny Simmons. He was fifteen,”
Peter volunteered.
“What happened between you and Jenny?” Callie raised an
eyebrow.
“Pete, keep quiet. You don’t know Callie, she’s like a
private detective and prosecuting attorney rolled into one. You give her a
little bit of information and she’ll dig out your entire sexual history.”
“She can’t with me. It’d take a hundred years,” Peter said,
laughing.
Mac laughed too. “If Callie wants to know something about
you, she won’t stop until she has it…and then some.”
“You make me sound like a bloodhound,” Callie said.
“Well, babe, sometimes the resemblance is uncanny,” Mac said,
laughing.
“Looks like you’re not going to need any handkerchiefs in the
bedroom tonight, Mac,” Peter snickered.
Mac got up and punched Peter playfully in the arm. Peter
grabbed him in a headlock and the men started to wrestle.
“Mac! Peter! Cut it out!” Sam yelled.
Callie got busy pulling lamps and tables out of their way as
the two tall men rolled around on the floor.
“Boys! Stop!” Sam yelled and got up. He pulled at Mac, then
Peter. Finally, they separated, breathing heavily and looking at each other.
Mac was rubbing an elbow and Peter was stroking his temple. In a minute they
both burst out laughing.
“After all these years, it’s still a draw,” Sam said, shaking
his head.
Peter went over to Mac and gave him a bear hug.
Mac smiled at him and ruffled his hair. “Welcome home, shrimp.”
“Shrimp? He’s taller than you are, Mac,” Callie said.
“Now he is, but he wasn’t always. It took him years to catch
up,” Mac said.
“These two were a handful, Callie.” Sam laughed. “I guess
they still are.”
“I can handle them,” she said, smiling.
Saturday became a busy day at the lake with fishing and not
catching anything, looking for bear tracks, coloring, reading and swimming with
Jason and Kitty. Peter fit right in, playing with the children and helping cart
food in and out of the kitchen. The children charmed him and kept him laughing,
much to Callie’s delight.
Callie worried the physical affection she shared with Mac
might make Peter feel left out or jealous, but he smiled when he caught them
exchanging a quick kiss or loving embrace.
* * * *
“Can’t get enough, huh? Don’t you ever pass her without
touching?” Peter asked his brother.
“If you had a woman like her, would you?” Mac piled plates
together.
“Guess not. You’re lucky.” Peter picked up the salad bowl.
“Damn right.” Mac carted the plates into the kitchen.
“Didn’t know you were such a touchy-feely kind of guy, Mac.
Always thought of you as…stoic, I guess,” Peter said, popping open two beers in
the kitchen and handing one to Mac.
“It’s Callie. Just can’t keep my hands off her.”
“I can see why,” Peter replied with a chuckle.
“Watch it, Pete,” Mac warned, raising his palm to his brother.
Peter put up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Joking
here. Your first marriage wasn’t like that?”
“Got that right. Callie is different. Never met a woman like
her.” Mac turned to look at his brother as he took a healthy swig of his beer.
“Wish I could have her cloned,” Peter said.
“I hope you find someone like her, too, shrimp and settle
down. It’d be good for you.” Mac put his hand on Peter’s shoulder and looked
him right in the eye.
“Maybe I will. I’d like to have what you have here.” Peter
nodded once at Mac then turned to leave the kitchen.
* * * *
When Mac and Callie retired at nine thirty, he took a bottle
of wine and two glasses up to bed. Sam took a book into the living room. Peter
was restless. The darkness of the lake was broken by the light of a full moon.
A cool breeze with a hint of fresh lilacs enticed him outside, so he went for a
stroll. He walked down the deck to the lake and thought how romantic to be on
the lake in the moonlight with a special woman.
He turned away and went to the left of the house. Curiosity
about what was behind it sent him down a narrow path leading from the house to
the water meter on the side and beyond. Past the building he stopped to look up
at the moon and spied the small deck attached to the master bedroom on the
second floor. He saw a tiny table, burning candles and a wine bottle. And Mac
and Callie.
They were drinking from wine glasses and undressing each
other. Although he knew he should leave, Peter was transfixed. Mac pulled his T-shirt
over his head. Then he took Callie’s shirt over her head and off. He reached
around and unhooked her bra, freeing her breasts. Peter couldn’t see much of
Callie except for a little in silhouette because the moon was behind her and
Mac was in front of her. The shadows hiding her body from his eyes relieved him
of guilt from spying.
Callie unzipped Mac’s pants and pulled them down. He slid her
shorts off and then her panties. She pulled his boxers down. They stood there
facing each other naked in the moonlight. Callie reached up to touch his face.
Mac stepped back a little to look at Callie, then he took her in his arms and
kissed her and kissed her. Peter could see Callie’s hands disappear in Mac’s
hair. Then Mac’s face moved down to Callie’s neck.
They broke to finish their wine. After the wine was gone,
Callie stepped toward Mac, running her hands up his chest. He couldn’t see
Mac’s hands, but suddenly Callie was pulled in closer to Mac and they kissed
again, Mac losing one hand in Callie’s flowing hair. Then Mac dropped down to
his knees and put his arms around Callie, burying his face in the shadows where
her breasts were. Callie threw her head back, her hair blowing slightly in the
soft, warm breeze. She ran her hands over Mac’s shoulders and bent her head
down to kiss the top of his head.
Mac stood up, blew out the candles and picked up Callie. He
carried her through the narrow door into the bedroom. Unease about spying on
the lovers ate at Peter, but the scene was so loving, gentle, and sweet he couldn’t
pull himself away.
When they went in, Pete returned to the house.
“Tea, Pete?” Sam asked, pouring from the kettle.
“Sure.”
Father and son sat down outside on the deck.
“Callie is perfect for Mac, don’t you think?” Sam asked.
“He was lucky to find her,” Peter said.
“And those kids…they’re fantastic!” Sam said. “Give you any
ideas, Pete?”
“I’d like to have what Mac has,” Peter confided.
“Sure you don’t want to continue tomcatting around?”
“I’d settle down quickly if I found a girl like Callie.”
“Not because you want to do what your older brother’s doing,
but because you want a family?”
“He has a good life. They’re not tired of each other, they
don’t fight or bicker…they love each other.”
“Their kind of devotion is a rare thing. Your mother and I
were close too. I hope you find it, Pete, I’d like to see you happily settled.”
“What are the chances of finding another Callie in a hick
town like Willow Falls?”
* * * *
Back in Willow Falls, the nightlife was beginning to heat up
as Alan drove Rex to The Wet Tee Shirt. It was six o’clock and the place was
filling up. It was dark but Rex saw an empty table close to the stage.
“Let’s get a drink here and then have dinner somewhere else.
The food here probably sucks,” Rex suggested.
Alan agreed. After they ordered drinks, the music started up
again and the girls, who had been on break, came out and began to dance
topless.
Rex watched as a brunette and a redhead gyrated. He couldn’t
decide which to approach, so he made eye contact with both. The redhead looked
bored and spying Rex staring at her didn’t do much to change her attitude. But the
brunette smiled back at him. He looked her over carefully and liked what he
saw. She would be perfect, if she were cooperative. He’d come back after
dinner, when he could ditch that stiff, Alan. Then he could move in on her.
* * * *
Across town in the hospital, Jay was restless.
“We should’ve had children. Now you’re going to be completely
alone.”
“Hush. It’s fine, Jay.”
Marcia tried to listen and be sympathetic to his feelings,
but her emotional reserve was stretched to the breaking point. Her nerves were
raw; she hung on to sanity by a thread sometimes, waiting for her beloved Jay
to die.
On this beautiful day in May, she got home to the frame house
with brown shutters and cream shingles at about six in the evening. The front
door was unlocked. She entered cautiously, ready to dial 911 on her cell when
she saw him. A tall, strange man was in the kitchen, fixing the sink. She
jumped, fear in her eyes.
“No, no, so sorry, sorry,” he said in broken English, raising
his hands, smiling and shaking his head. “I fix sink. Johnny’s father, Jakub.”
Marcia exhaled a big sigh of relief. The sink had needed
fixing for a week at least. Jakub looked to be about fifty years old. He was
about six feet and broad-chested, wearing a blue work shirt and jeans. His
shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal large, firm forearms. His short hair was
a warm brown, going to gray. His face, weathered by time and the elements, had even,
handsome features including warm brown eyes. Marcia determined he was no
threat.
She poured herself a strong vodka and tonic, looked through
the mail and switched the television on to the ballgame with barely a nod to
Jakub.
Jakub worked for another fifteen minutes, then put everything
back together. On his way out, he looked at the television and asked, “Yankees?”
“Mets,” she replied and managed a small smile.
“Finish tomorrow. Goodnight.”
Marcia made another strong drink, ate some cheese and
crackers then climbed up the steep stairs to the bedroom, took her clothes off,
fell into bed and passed out.
* * * *
At midnight The Wet Tee Shirt was still rocking. Rex walked
in after dropping his cousin at home. The place was dark. There was canned
music and two busty women were pole dancing topless. Men were drinking,
talking, and ogling the dancers.
Rex sat down near the stage and ordered a beer. Being in the
mood for sex, he watched the women with interest. At The Hideaway in Harlem,
where he worked for eight years as a bouncer, he only dated waitresses and
kitchen help. He rarely had time to connect with other women because he worked
six nights a week. He managed to score enough sex to stay reasonably satisfied,
but Rex had never been in love. He was thirty-five years old, lucky in
blackmail, unlucky in love.
“Wadda ya have?”
Rex looked up to see a topless waitress there to take his
order. His gaze slid down her body like a snake, openly evaluating her breasts
and hips. She stifled a yawn.
“Scotch neat. You dance too?”
“Sometimes. Not my night tonight. Be right back.”
Rex had a lonely childhood. He’d missed having a father and
had gotten angry at being pushed around by his sisters. He put a stop to it
when he was fifteen by knocking his oldest sister, Hazel, onto the kitchen
floor once. They left him alone after that.
The waitress returned and put his drink on top of a small,
square paper napkin.
“What’s your name?”
“Mary. I’m not available. Sorry.” She hustled away, her dark
hair swinging, her breasts bouncing.
Rex had gone into the army after high school and learned
discipline. The army taught him how to take care of himself and build up his
body. He’d matured and acquired some self-confidence. When he got out, he was a
new man on the outside, cunning, muscular, able to defend himself and take what
he wanted, but on the inside he was still the frustrated, neglected child whose
heart grew callous.
One of the dancers recognized him from earlier in the evening.
She flashed him a smile and he returned it. He evaluated her body and hair,
liking what he saw.
Rex looked good. He’d had his nose fixed, paid for a good
haircut and bought the most popular clothing styles. He wanted to create an
image, become a babe magnet. Although he was only five foot nine, he was
powerful. His light brown hair and washed-out eyes were nondescript, but he
made a decent first impression, especially with women. Though he wasn’t the
smartest guy in school, he became wise in the ways of the world working at The
Hideaway. Rex learned how to pick up girls. Underneath his impressive pecs was
a stone-cold heart hardening a little more with every disappointment, every
year of crushing loneliness.
He looked around, hoping to see a “help wanted” sign at The
Wet Tee Shirt but there was none. He didn’t notice any bouncer on the premises
and wondered why. He figured to use one of the dancers to get the information
he needed. He could probably get a job at the topless bar through her too. The
redhead danced with more confidence than the brunette. He picked the
dark-haired dancer, figuring she’d be easier to manipulate as she had already
smiled at him.
At break time Rex caught her eye.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he offered, smiling as he pulled out
a chair for her.
He looked good enough, clean and trim, but it was pulling out
the chair for her that seemed to catch her eye.
“I’ll be back,” she said, then reappeared in a top so skimpy
as to be almost non-existent.
She sat down at Rex’s table.
“What are you drinking?” he asked, trying not to stare at her
chest like other men.
“Raj knows,” she said, nodding to the bartender.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Deena. What’s yours?”
“I’m Rex. Nice to meet you, Deena.”
Deena smiled at him and picked up her drink. Rex wore a
sleeveless shirt to show off his impressive arm muscles. He knew he looked
good. After a glance around the room, he knew he looked better than the other
patrons and he wasn’t a fat slob, rude or staring at her chest.
Rex covered her hand with his and kept it there. He wanted to
show her he was different. He wasn’t interested in gawking at her breasts or
trying to get her into bed, he was interested in a business partnership. If
they happened to fall into the sack together…well, that was an added benefit.
“When do you get off?” Rex asked, putting his empty glass
down on the table.
“Why?” Deena asked, downing the last of her drink.
“I’d like to take you to dinner. Is there a nice place here
open late?”
“You new here?”
“I rolled into town a few days ago.” Rex rested his elbows on
the small round table.
“How long you planning to stay?” Deena narrowed her eyes at
him.
“Depends upon how my business goes. If it goes as I planned,
indefinitely,” he said, sitting back in his chair.
“What business are you in?” Deena lit a cigarette.
“Why don’t we discuss it over dinner tonight? Do you have
plans?”
“The only plans I have are to go home and fall into
bed…alone.”
“Good. Then tonight you can do something different.”
“You mean fall into bed with you?”
“Maybe just dinner?” Rex asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Okay. Dinner it is. Where are you from?”
“New York City. What time should I pick you up?”
“This joint closes at one a.m. Go home, take a nap.”
“Naw. I’m fine. I’ll be here at one.”
“No nap?”
“Not unless it’s with you, Deena.”
“Yeah, Mr. Smooth. Okay. Pick me up at one,” she said,
stubbing out her cigarette and standing up.
She noticed that Rex stood when she got up. It was
eleven-thirty, that meant he had an hour and a half to kill. He ordered another
drink and watched Deena dance. He liked looking at her body while he plotted
his strategy. It’d work better if she got him hired here. Rex sat back and
smiled to himself. Perhaps this podunk little town wasn’t so bad after all.
* * * *
In the neat house on James Street, Peter worked on his
lecture then took a break to work on a Beethoven sonata, a new piece he’d been
practicing. He began and after a minute, stopped. Then he started again. Then
stopped.
He was having trouble with the beginning, when he heard a
female voice scream, “Keep playing! Why are you stopping?”
Peter ignored it, figuring the woman wasn’t talking to him.
He started again. Again he heard the voice coming through the window.
“Hey, you with the piano! I’m talking to you. Keep playing!”
Peter stopped and started again. Again the voice.
“You’re driving me crazy playing the same thing over and
over! Finish it!”
Peter got up and went to the window. About twelve feet away
was the window of the house next door. The shade was drawn, but Peter knew the
screaming woman was on the other side.
“I’m practicing! This isn’t a concert, lady,” Peter hollered
back.
He sat down again and purposely played the beginning over and
over until he heard the window next door shut with a bang. That will shut her up. He went back to practicing until Sam came in
and told him lunch was ready.
* * * *
Sharing a house with Peter and
listening to his music, reminded Sam of Ellen. He still missed her and when he
heard Peter playing her favorite tunes, his heart lifted for a moment as if she
were there with him. Their friends had envied them their strong, loving
relationship. Sam and Ellen had been married over thirty years; she was
his best friend and his lover. They had a peaceful, warm, sexy relationship.
When she died, his world collapsed.
He had not been at Vaal University long when he lost Ellen to
a virulent strain of pneumonia that swept through her body quickly. Ellen was a
talented pianist and the inspiration for Peter. When his son played Ellen’s
favorites, if Sam closed his eyes, he could imagine she was still there.
Sam had become a pretty good cook after Ellen died. He
cooked, and Peter taught. They each had their own bedroom. The set-up seemed
fine, but Sam wondered what would happen when Peter revved up his social life.
He didn’t look forward to strange women at breakfast every Sunday morning, maybe
every Saturday morning too. Sam hoped Peter would fall in love and get married.
The more women Peter had, the more restless he became, and
hence more women. Sam didn’t approve of Peter’s womanizing but he didn’t say
anything. His son had to find his own way.
After lunch, Peter went back to the piano and noticed the
window across the way was open again. Maybe the woman had gone out. He started
in again on his sonata. This time he got halfway through, stopped and started
again. He played halfway through and stopped. Then he concentrated on one
section, playing it over and over.
“You’re driving me bonkers! If Beethoven is too hard for you,
try Brahms!”
“Shut up!” Peter yelled and continued to play the one section
over and over again until he heard the window slam shut. Good.
He played for another hour. Then he got up to get a glass of
water.
Peter came back to the piano, barely glancing out the window.
He saw a young woman from the back. So
that’s the bitch. He noticed she wore a leotard and footless tights. The
grace of her shoulders, the curve of her hips and the roundness of her small
bottom piqued his curiosity. He started to play the same sonata noting the
sound of the shade coming down rapidly, then all was quiet. He played it all
the way through. When he finished, he heard applause.
“Not bad for an amateur,” she called out.
Peter was furious and slammed his window shut. Sam chuckled
but left the room quickly when Peter glared at him.
* * * *
The next day Sam received a call from Mac.
“Dad, I need your help.”
“What can I do?”
“Jim Caterson, the head of our English department, is taking
care of his niece. She was attacked in New York City a couple of weeks ago and
beaten up pretty badly and has come to stay with him. She’s suffering from
temporary blindness and can’t live on her own. She can’t be alone all day and
Jim can be only be home part-time. I need someone to read to her or keep her
company for a few hours every day so he can work. Could you help us out, until
she can fend for herself?”
“Sure, Mac.”
“The best part is…she lives right next door to you.”
Sam ran his hand through his hair. “Which side?”
“To the left of your house.”
Sam thought a minute. Was she the girl Peter had a running
feud with? Uh-oh.
“I’m glad to help. What’s her name?”
“Her name is Lara Stewart. She’s twenty-six and nice looking
from what I’ve been told, so please keep Pete away from her, okay?”
“If she can’t see him, that’s half the battle. When do I meet
her?”
* * * *
The window next door was closed when Peter started to
practice. As he stumbled on an arpeggio and paused, he heard it slide open. He shifted
his focus to the part giving him trouble, playing it over and over again. He
waited for the nasty comments from next door, but they never came, so he
continued to play the same part over and over again.
“You’re doing it again! Play it through!” she yelled.
“Too bad!” he shouted.
“Maybe you should try Chopsticks!”
Peter played Chopsticks three times to annoy her.
“Enough! Enough! I give up,” she yelled.
Peter smiled at her defeat. He took a deep breath and went
back to practicing the Beethoven piece.
Next door, the window and shade were up. Peter heard crying
and stopped playing for a moment. He switched to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata,
a sad piece, calculated to annoy her. She went to the window.
“Very funny! Very funny!” the young woman screamed, her voice
shaking. She banged down the window so hard the glass rattled. The window
bounced up, leaving it open about four inches. Peter could hear everything.
“What’s going on here?” an unfamiliar female voice asked.
Peter heard soft crying in the background. He stopped playing.
“Look, you can’t fall apart, Lara. Don’t be a baby. Stop
crying. Pull yourself together and get your life back on track. Return to New
York where you belong. I can’t baby you all the time. Grow up.”
Peter heard the clomping of heavy footsteps and the slamming
of a door. Turning on the seat, he peeked through the opening of the window,
and saw the back of the girl in the leotard as she lay curled up on the floor,
crying softly. A pang of guilt stung his heart as he neared the window. Watching
her struggle to get up, reaching for a wall or chair, her hand flailing blindly
only to find nothing but air and crash to the floor again, intensified his
feeling. She sat up on the floor, swearing, then crawled on all fours over to a
chair and pulled herself up and in.
“Where’s the music?” she called out the window in an unsteady
voice.
Peter sat down and played the Beethoven sonata all the way
through.
* * * *
Sam knocked on the door of the well-kept gray and white house
next door. A woman about thirty-five years old, with short brown hair and an
annoyed look on her face answered.
“Yes?”
“I’m Sam Caldwell. I’m here to see to Lara Stewart.”
“Come in, Dr. Caldwell. I’m Fran, Jim’s fiancée.”
When Fran barged into her room, with Sam following close
behind, the young lady he assumed to be Lara was slumped in a chair.
“Lara, you have company. This is Dr. Sam Caldwell,” Fran
said.
“Doctor, like in medical doctor?” The young woman asked,
sitting up straight in her chair.
“I’m an ornithologist…a PhD, Lara, not a medical doctor.”
Lara stood up to greet him. Sam reached out to take her hand.
When their fingers met, she screamed and shrank back.
“Sorry. I forgot to tell you…Lara can’t be touched.”
Sam peeked out the window and saw Peter there, listening. He
hadn’t told his son where he was going.
“I’m sorry, Lara. I didn’t know. It won’t happen again,” he
said in his deep, soothing voice. He looked at her battered face, neck and legs
and his heart melted. She was an attractive young woman, about five foot six,
with a ballet dancer’s slim body. Her glossy, fluffy, brown hair had red
highlights that glinted in the light from a bedside lamp.
Sam was impressed with her beauty. She had slightly full
lips, a perfect nose, and a delicate jaw line. He guessed her skin must have
been flawless before the attack. Her breasts were full, her bottom small and
well-toned. Her legs were trim and strong. She was stunning but fearful.
“I’ll leave you two,” Fran said as she made a quick exit.
“I’m here to read to you. Or would you prefer to talk?”
“What would you read?”
“How about the newspaper? Then we can talk about the news and
what’s going on in town.” he suggested, pulling a folded paper out from under
his arm.
“You have a nice voice, Dr. Caldwell, like my father,” she
said, smiling.
“Please call me Sam,” he said. “Where is your father?”
“Both my mother and father were killed in the World Trade
Center on 9/11.”
Silence filled the room as Sam looked down at his hands.
“Did you bring a newspaper?” she asked, positioning her face
in the direction of his voice.
“Shall we start with the front page? Do you want to get
comfortable?”
Lara nodded and stood up from the chair.
“Please tell me where the bed is.”
Sam directed her. Lara felt her way around the wall and sat
cross-legged on the bed, hugging a pillow. He walked over and pulled the
coverlet up to her hand. Lara arranged it around her shoulders.
Sam read the first words from a story then glanced at the
window. He saw Peter move to the side and heard the beginning of his Beethoven
piece.
TO BE CONTINUED...
If you want to keep reading, buy the ebook here:
Jess ate up love stories from the library by the
dozen. Romance books kept her believing that things could work out, that life
could get better—and happiness did exist. When the bus pulled up to the Pine Grove
stop, she scooted past the annoying man, down the steps, and ran for her car.
After studying cooking in high school, Jess had
become a pretty fair baker. She eked out a meager living baking and selling her
pies to restaurants, shops, and hotels. She conjured up a dream of buying the
fixer-upper from Minnie for a song, repairing it, and running a bed and
breakfast.
She found a patch of grass and lay down, staring
at the pitched roof and the top floor that, in its day, had cooks, butlers, and
maids filling its rooms. As she picked at a weed, she made a mental list of the
seeds and plants she’d buy when the place was hers.
