Lightning Strikes. Colleen Collins

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СКАЧАТЬ That sounded better than to admit she coveted it. But on second thought, she realized it would be perfect for Sonja and her husband-to-be.

      “Is Sonja’s betrothed going to buy it?”

      Blaine pursed her lips. Hardly. Sonja’s fiancé, Rudy, was on a squeaky-tight budget.

      “No,” she answered, tilting her head to see the price on that red tag. She blinked at the string of numbers, and comma. Two-thousand-plus dollars. Hoo-boy. Even though, after cashing in her cruise ticket, she’d have double that much, she didn’t need to splurge half of it on a bed.

      The slam of a car door distracted Blaine.

      A pleased expression crossed Jerome’s face as he peered out the plate glass window. “Ah, there they are now.”

      Blaine glanced out the window. A couple who looked to be in their forties were getting out of one of those ritzy sports cars. They looked supercoiffed, as though they never wrinkled or sweated. As they headed across the street toward the antique shop, Blaine wondered if they always sauntered as though they didn’t have a care in the world. And more, what it felt like to not have any worries or cares.

      The couple entered the shop, eyed Jerome, and waved a greeting. “We wanted to look at it one more time,” the woman called out in a singsong voice.

      Blaine tightened her grip.

      The couple approached the bed, then walked slowly around it, inspecting it.

      “It’s a bit high,” the woman murmured.

      Thanks to the rose scent from the woman’s perfume, Jerome’s exotic-orchid scent and the world of pollen, it took all of Blaine’s willpower to not explode a sneeze that could move this bed to the next county. She had to be alert, pay attention. The bed was at stake.

      “The height has an advantage,” commented Jerome, folding his hands neatly on top of each other. “You can store things underneath, saving room in the bedroom.”

      The woman arched one unnaturally blond eyebrow. “And the brass…the color isn’t uniform.”

      “It’s an antique,” Jerome explained. “It’s aged with time, like a fine wine.”

      The woman sighed and placed her hand on her husband’s arm, her thin, tan wrist adorned with a sparkling tennis bracelet. “I’m not sure, darling. I want an antique, yes, but this looks so…so old…”

      Jerome glanced at his wristwatch. “Well, I promised I’d hold it for you until noon, which is in two minutes…”

      In the following silence, Blaine looked at the piece of magic before her. It was to die for. Ornate curves of brass that begged to be stroked and explored. A plump mattress that cried out for more than sleeping. Yes, this would be the ultimate wedding gift for Sonja, who had zilch furniture for her new life. And this way, Blaine could visit the bed, enjoy it vicariously as she’d always vicariously enjoyed other things in her sister’s life.

      But it was more than just a bed. Or living vicariously through her sister. Suddenly, with a surge of desperation and defiance, Blaine realized how tired she was of losing things. Losing a sorta-boyfriend, losing her condo, on the verge of losing her business. It was time for Blaine Saunders to win something, damn it! Something glorious, exotic, indulgent.

      She had to win this bed!

      Blaine cocked her head and scrutinized it. She cleared her throat. “This bed is much too high,” she said in a low, blasé voice as though she often analyzed things like expensive brass luxuries. She slid a conspiratorial look at the couple. “Did you read about that incident at The Broadmoor recently?” She paused, letting the name of the nearby superexclusive hotel sink in. “Seems some old, high brass bed collapsed in the middle of the night. The wife survived…but…” Blaine made a tsking sound under her breath.

      The woman glanced nervously at her husband. “Darling, can we talk for a moment?”

      As the couple sauntered off, whispering, Jerome jerked his head toward Blaine. “What in God’s name are you doing?”

      “Trying to not implode in front of those nice people.” When Jerome stared at her, she explained. “Allergies.”

      “I didn’t know allergies turned people into storytellers.” He gave his head a shake. “Collapsing beds. The Broadmoor.”

      She smiled sweetly. “Jerome, when are you paying Ralph?”

      He shifted her a look. “I said you were second on my list—”

      “I never put myself first, Jerome, but right now I have the urge. Make me first.” She batted her eyes with great exaggeration, which coaxed a smile from the older gentleman.

      He lowered his voice. “Blaine, honey, you got your mama’s eyes. And when you put your mind to it, her wicked charm, too.”

      Blaine grinned, remembering her mom’s sassy, stubborn ways. Maybe Blaine didn’t get Sonja’s curly blond hair and ultrafeminine style, but she’d happily call it even if she got her mom’s personality.

      Jerome’s smile faded. “But, unfortunately, I don’t have the cash.”

      Blaine glanced up at the ceiling, contemplating the situation. “Did you know that many small communities in Alaska still use the bartering system?”

      There was a long pause. Finally, Jerome said, “The one thousand dollars I owe you doesn’t pay in full for this bed.”

      “No, but it’ll pay for half. I’ll make up the rest.” She gave herself a mental shake. Make up the rest? Have I lost my mind?

      On second thought, maybe this wasn’t such a crazy idea. It was only a quarter of her cruise refund. Besides, a thousand dollars wouldn’t save her agency—she needed a substantial loan to do that.

      Jerome glanced over his shoulder. The man and woman were smiling, sort of, but inching toward the door. Turning back to Blaine, Jerome sighed. “Appears there’s no sale.”

      Blaine glanced at her wristwatch. “Well, it’s noon so you’re not obligated to hold it any longer.” She grinned broadly. “Jerome, wrap it up with a big bow because this baby’s sold.”

      BLAINE BLEW A LOCK OF hair out of her eyes as she stared at the apartment door, upon which was crookedly nailed a number 4. “Jerome,” Blaine muttered under her breath, “maybe you should’ve paid Ralph first.”

      Ralph swore he misheard the address where he was to deliver the brass bed, but Blaine couldn’t help but wonder if Ralph was nursing a grudge that his account with Jerome was still unpaid. A really big grudge considering that when she discovered Ralph had misdelivered the bed, and asked him to redeliver it, he claimed it would cost her and Jerome double.

      No way Blaine was paying double.

      So, she’d decided to pick it up and deliver it herself.

      She knocked. No answer. Great. Nobody’s home. Or are they?

      Frowning, she pressed her ear to the door, trying to detect any telltale squeaking brass bed sounds. Her beautiful brass bed better not be СКАЧАТЬ