Protecting the Widow's Heart. Lorraine Beatty

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Chapter Three

      Ginger dug out the box of small metal cars from the satchel containing Elliot’s toys. “Found them.” Her shout brought her son dashing into the bedroom.

      “Thanks. I’m going to take them to the dirt pile. It’ll make good ramps. They’ll shoot way up in the air.” He demonstrated with his hands and made a gershing sound through his teeth.

      “What dirt pile?”

      “The one down by the other deck.”

      “Other deck?” Granted, they’d only been at this cabin less than twenty-four hours, but her son had discovered every nook and cranny. All she’d experienced was the cabin and the deck. Maybe after lunch, she’d explore the grounds. She’d been longing to walk out onto the pier and maybe even sit in one of the inviting Adirondack chairs under the trees. The weather was cool today, but nothing like what she’d left behind in Connecticut in early January.

      “I think you’d better drive your cars on the deck for now. I’m going to fix lunch, then you can show me all the things you’ve discovered.”

      It took only a second in the kitchen to realize Ty had forgotten to bring back the only loaf of bread. A quick search of the rest of the food revealed little else for a meal. While there were various options, each required an ingredient that was missing. Ty had been wise to suggest a trip to the grocery store. Maybe she should have gone along. At least then she could have picked up things her son would eat. Which mainly consisted of cereal, hot dogs and canned spaghetti. And of course, peanut butter and jelly.

      Another thought leaped into her mind, sending her reaching for the notepad on the counter. She had to start a list of the money she owed Ty Durrant. Lodging, food, laundry detergent—she’d tossed in their dirty clothes this morning. Phone. She guessed at the amounts. Once she had some receipts, she could make a more accurate tally.

      But in the meantime, no bread. The boathouse. Maybe she could go and get it. Or was that invading his privacy? She walked out to the deck. “Elliot, how does soup sound for lunch?”

      “Yuck.”

      No surprise there. “Ty forgot to return the loaf of bread. Do you know if he locks the boathouse?” He shrugged, not taking his eyes from the caravan of tiny cars he was creating on the planked deck.

      “Okay. Well, I’m going to go see. You want to come?”

      “Nope.”

      Great. If she was going to break into Ty’s place, she’d be all alone. Her heart pounded as she crossed the yard. What if he came home and found her there? Not good. It was only a loaf of bread. No big deal. Then again, look what stealing a loaf of bread had done to Jean Valjean.

      The closer she came to the boathouse, the larger it appeared. She stepped onto the narrow wooden walkway connecting the covered boat slip with the house. Two large windows on either side of the door were coated with grime. The place was old and rickety, but a good size. Standing here now, she decided that maybe Ty wasn’t as cramped as she’d assumed.

      Swallowing her doubts, she reached out and turned the knob, startled when the door swung open of its own accord. She peeked in, surprised to find the place nothing as she expected. The boathouse was one large room. A twin bed tucked in an alcove against the back wall was unmade. Beside it an open door revealed a small bathroom. A tiny kitchen, consisting of little more than a sink and a counter with a small fridge tucked beneath, took up one wall. The opposite wall held shelves behind a rickety vinyl recliner that was probably one of the first ones ever invented. A small table with an out-of-date television completed the decor.

      She exhaled. Well, she could quit worrying about Ty’s comfort. The place might be small, musty and very old, but he had everything he needed. Her gaze traveled to the duffel bag partially open on the floor. T-shirts and white socks poked out the top. The dark jeans he’d worn last night were in a heap beside it. The sweats he’d worn this morning were tossed across the foot of the bed.

      The intimacy of his personal things sent heated embarrassment into her cheeks. She’d come for the bread, not to snoop. Spinning around, she scanned the small kitchen, finding the loaf of bread on the counter СКАЧАТЬ