His Daddy's Eyes. Debra Salonen

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СКАЧАТЬ shrugged. “I’ll think about it.”

      Ren would have pressed the point, but Bo didn’t give him the opportunity. The heavy door swished closed, leaving Ren in silence.

      He picked up the photographs and headed for his study, intending to go through his mail and pay bills. But once there, he laid out the photographs on his desk. Maybe his calling Sara plain had come from his need to see something of Jewel in her. According to the background information Bo had faxed him, the two women had different fathers. Julia’s had split shortly after her birth. Her mother had married Lewis Carsten a year later and he’d adopted Julia. He’d died when Sara was a toddler. Their mother—an alcoholic—died when Sara was 17.

      Ordering himself to put aside any memory of Jewel, he studied Sara’s image. Her jawline was strong but not harsh, her nose perky and small. He liked the shape of her eyes, her thick lashes a shade darker than her hair. In the black-and-white picture, her heart-shaped lips reminded him of an old-time movie heroine—innocent yet sensual.

      He could tell, even in the blurry image, that she wore no makeup—a practice that set her apart from other women of his acquaintance. Perhaps he’d done her an injustice. She was pretty, and if she changed hairstyles—hers was straight and plain—she could probably turn a man’s head. However, that didn’t alter the fact that she projected not one iota of the sexual chemistry her sister had exuded.

      A sudden knife-like pain sliced through his gut, making him bend over. Tears rushed to his eyes, and he choked back a cry that had been lurking in his subconscious for days. He lowered his head to his desk and wept—for the loss of someone he barely knew, but who’d touched his life with a kind of unfettered passion he’d never experienced before. He hadn’t loved her, this enigmatic Jewel, but on that one night she’d given him…freedom.

      THE RAUCOUS SQUABBLING of two blue jays in her neighbor’s sycamore tree reminded Sara of Claudie and Bo, the most recent recruit to Sara’s gentleman’s reading group. It had taken Sara until this Sunday morning, when the mindlessness of scraping paint freed up her random access memory, to place him—the customer who had asked about first editions for his friend. At the time, she’d brushed him off with a flip answer.

      “Sara, is it okay if I give Brady a peanut butter sandwich?” Amy Peters asked. The thirteen-year-old wasn’t a terribly experienced baby-sitter, so Sara only used her when she was home and needed some relatively uninterrupted time.

      “Sure. You know where everything is, right?”

      “Yeah, but it looks like this will be the last of your bread.”

      “Darn. I forgot to buy some last night. Oh, well, Brady and I will walk to the market before his nap.”

      Amy dashed back inside. Brady was a pretty good toddler, but he had a mischievous streak in him—he loved to be chased. And just lately he’d discovered he could send Amy over the edge by hiding.

      With a sigh, Sara tackled her task. A good mile of gutters encircled Hulger’s house. Unfortunately, the original painter had failed to prime them adequately; the brown paint flaked like dandruff in some spots, yet resisted her most vigorous scraping in others. Another reason she hated her brother-in-law’s house.

      After the accident, Sara had given up her apartment, which was within walking distance of the bookstore, and had moved into Julia and Hulger’s twenty-eight hundred square-foot house because she hadn’t wanted to uproot Brady. Although it meant a difficult commute twice a day, she’d welcomed the security the gated community offered. But now she was regretting her decision.

      “Hello, Miss Hovant,” a grave voice said.

      Only one person called her that—Mary Gaines, her neighbor to the left. “Sara, Mrs. Gaines. Please, call me Sara,” she said, striving for patience. Sara didn’t even bother trying to correct the woman on her last name.

      “I see you’re finally getting that gutter painted,” the white-haired woman said. Her emphasis was clear.

      “Just scraping. I’m still waiting for a bid on the painting. The painter was supposed to meet me yesterday but didn’t bother showing up.” After the scathing message she left on the painter’s machine, Sara doubted she’d ever hear from him again.

      “I can give you the name of a man, but he’s not cheap,” her neighbor said, turning to leave. “I just hope you get something done before the next association meeting.”

      Sara waited until the woman was gone, then sighed heavily. The homeowners’ association took its job seriously—too seriously for Sara’s taste. But she didn’t think it was right that she had to pay for Hulger’s mistakes. And in her opinion, the entire house was a mistake.

      Hulger had had the house built as a wedding present for Julia. Then he’d devoted the five years before his death to imposing his taste on every decorating detail, inside and out. Sara still could never understand how a woman as strong-willed and self-sufficient as Julia had tolerated such an autocratic husband. Another mystery of life, she figured.

      In many ways, Julia was an enigma. Sara blamed their mother for that. When Audra was incapacitated by drink and couldn’t run a can opener let alone a household, Julia had become a surrogate mother to Sara, making sisterly confidences impossible.

      Julia’s stormy relationship with her husband had never been open for discussion. Danish-born Hulger once told Sara his role in life was to make money and visit his parents once a year; Julia’s duties, according to Hulger, included looking beautiful for his friends, entertaining in lavish style and accompanying him to Denmark.

      Julia had tried to do justice to her role, working out at the gym to stay fit and taking exotic cooking courses, but she’d missed her nursing career. Sara had been privy to enough arguments between the couple to know this was a huge issue in their marriage.

      Sara had hoped things would turn around once Julia found out she was pregnant, but Brady’s birth seemed to add a new kind of tension to the marriage.

      Sara sighed. She missed her sister every single day. Living in Julia’s house was a mixed blessing—reminders of Julia abounded, but so much of her taste was overwhelmed by Hulger’s bizarre, unwieldy legacy.

      An hour or so later, Sara strapped Brady into his stroller and started down the street. Although she’d invited Amy to join them, the teen said she intended to use her baby-sitting money to take her mother to the movie as a Mother’s Day treat. Sara had completely forgotten about the holiday.

      “Well, Brady, love, what should we do to celebrate?” she asked, giving the stroller a jiggle. “Shall we buy an ice-cream cone?”

      “Iceee,” he cried enthusiastically.

      She pushed fast to avoid looking at Hulger’s unfinished landscaping. In her opinion, the empty concrete fishpond resembled a giant diaphragm, which complemented the stunted marble shaft that was supposed to support an ornate fountain. Sara had petitioned the estate lawyer—a close, personal friend of Hulger’s who treated Sara like some greedy interloper—for the funds to complete the work, but he’d spouted something about long-term capital investments overriding short-term needs. Feeling utterly intimidated, she hadn’t even bothered asking for help with the gutters.

      Sara pressed down on the handlebar of the stroller, leaning Brady far enough back to look up at her. “Whee,” she said, pushing him over the speed bump. His high-pitched chortle made her heart swell. She loved the sound of his laugh. СКАЧАТЬ