Sweet On Peggy. Stella MacLean

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      “The Big Mug on Market Street?” She glanced at her watch. “Meet me around four?”

      His blue eyes seemed bluer. The quick frown creasing his brow turned into a grin. “Today?”

      “Yes.”

      “I know the place. I did a reno there a couple of weeks ago. See you at four. Your name tag says Peggy. What’s your last name?” he asked, his voice eager, his eyes on her.

      She wanted to laugh at the way he seemed almost inept around her. Most men were busy trying to put the moves on her, but Rory was...sweet. She touched her name tag. “Anderson. Peggy Anderson.”

      “Great! Good name!”

      * * *

      RORY DROVE TO his worksite, a deck he was putting on the back of a house outside town, where he had his accident. He hoped that having to protect his hand wouldn’t slow him down. He had a list of clients waiting for his services. Thankfully, it was his left arm that was injured and not his right, but even so, it might make working difficult.

      He reached Ned Tompkins’s yard and got back to work. As he hammered the nails into the deck, his thoughts were solely on Peggy and what an idiot he’d made of himself. He’d practically bolted from the room. It wasn’t really a date, he reminded himself, but still it was as close as he’d come to one since he moved to Eden Harbor two months ago. He’d gone to the local pub downtown a couple of times, but the only women there were either with men or clustered in groups, whispering and giggling among themselves.

      Blame it on Haiti, but what he was looking for in a woman had changed after living there. He wasn’t interested in frivolous women, in dates consisting of expensive dinners and empty conversation or worse—online dating. He wanted to really connect with a woman who loved her work and who believed she made a difference in people’s lives. Because of Haiti, he wanted to make a difference no matter where he ended up living. Maybe he wouldn’t stay in Eden Harbor. Maybe he’d go back to Haiti for another two years. Whatever lay ahead for him, he wanted to be open to it. Life was about living in the here and now.

      He had no idea what Peggy wanted out of life, but he sure would like to get to know her better. He checked to make sure he had his cell phone on him. He’d have to keep track of the time so as not to be late for his coffee break with her.

      In Haiti he’d grown accustomed to working until the labor and the heat exhausted him and then eating with his friends and falling into bed.

      He continued to work on the deck, skipping lunch in order to get the first parts completed. Ned Tompkins had had the concrete posts poured to support the deck, and all that was left was to build the wooden structure over the posts. Ned wasn’t home, so there weren’t any interruptions, allowing Rory to settle into an enjoyable rhythm. The feel of wood in his hands, the smell of it, the sun’s heat on his shoulders reminded him of Haiti.

      But he was done with Haiti, at least for now. He had to be. He’d been completely stressed-out by his life there; the memories were painful. It was a life he’d once loved, and might love again once he had time to gain perspective on his experience in that country. He never walked past a child on the sidewalk in Eden Harbor that didn’t remind him of the two children whose lives he’d seen destroyed by the collapse of their home in Haiti.

      He adjusted his tool belt and laid another board over the base structure of the deck. It wasn’t until he realized that the sun wasn’t on his shoulders that he checked the time...

      * * *

      PEGGY SAT IN The Big Mug, glancing at her watch, answering questions from people she knew about what she was doing sitting there alone, did she want company and why wasn’t she going home after her long day. She didn’t know that a woman sitting by herself in a coffee shop could be such a point of interest.

      She’d moved to Eden Harbor two years ago after inheriting money from her father, money that guaranteed her escape from her mother and her life in Seattle, only to find herself in a community that took a great deal of pleasure in knowing each other’s business. As a new, unattached woman, she had been the subject of many conversations, judging by the way people quizzed her while she was taking their blood. Still, she loved Eden Harbor, the friends she made, her job and the time she spent with the local children. She glanced around the coffee shop again. Maybe if she had her laptop with her, or a newspaper, she would feel less exposed. As it was, a rapidly cooling cup of coffee and rising sense of embarrassment at the way she’d fallen for yet another man’s tall tale was all she had to keep her company.

      Yet Rory MacPherson seemed so sincere. He’d behaved as if he really wanted to have coffee with her. But had she read more into his behavior than was really there? Was her dateless life getting the better of her? Had it left her to create her own fantasy around a man she’d met only because he needed his blood taken? She’d even chosen a tiny booth at the back of the coffee shop just so they could talk. He’d said he wanted to talk. She shook her head at her gullibility. She’d fallen for his charm and sexiness, his smooth talk—clearly the only talk he planned to offer her.

      She glanced at her watch for the hundredth time—4:29 p.m.

      With a sigh she finished her coffee, gathered her coat, her bag and got out of the booth. Waving her thanks to the clerk, she headed for the side door leading to the parking lot. She pushed hard, only to have the door pop open, nearly landing her on her backside. Great! Another embarrassing moment, the crowning achievement of her afternoon.

      “I’m sorry!” Rory said, grabbing for her with his uninjured hand, pulling her against his broad chest, ending her rapid trip toward the concrete walkway outside the door.

      He steadied her as she recovered. “Are you all right?”

      She heard the sincerity in his voice and steeled herself against it. Action, not words, was what she needed. “I’m fine.” She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and stepped away from him. “And you’re late,” she said, instantly regretting the words that made her sound like a demanding, possessive woman. She was neither.

      “I’m really sorry. I lost track of time.”

      He looked so crestfallen she couldn’t resist offering him a conciliatory smile. “Never mind. I have to get home. I have horses to feed, dinner to prepare.”

      He let the door slide closed, leaving them standing outside in the parking lot. “Can I make it up to you?”

      His words made her realize how much she’d been looking forward to having coffee with him. All her brave thoughts about not minding being alone, of having accepted her single lifestyle, felt like a lie in the presence of this man.

      She had tomorrow off, and she wasn’t doing very much other than cleaning her tack room, grooming her two horses and hanging out around the house doing chores. If Rory MacPherson wanted to make it up to her, he could take her to dinner, and she’d be sure to meet him downtown. It was her policy on a first date that she always met the man somewhere away from her home, just in case he was a raving lunatic looking to avenge his angst against his mother on some unsuspecting female.

      She hadn’t yet managed to cure herself of being suspicious. “Okay. Why don’t we meet at O’Toole’s in the Wayfarer Inn, say around seven tomorrow evening?”

      “That sounds great. Does O’Toole’s have a dress code?”

      “Clean СКАЧАТЬ