Tall, Dark And Difficult. Patricia Coughlin

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СКАЧАТЬ actually,” she corrected. “Which means we’re already running late, so move your butt, Griffin.”

      “Late for what?”

      She threw her arms in the air. “Life, Griffin, life. Look at this beautiful morning, the sky, smell the ocean, hear the buzz of the bees. Aren’t you just revving to get out and be part of it?”

      He yawned. “No.”

      “I thought you military types were supposed to be early risers.”

      “Think again,” he suggested, turning away.

      “I have coffee.”

      Griff hesitated and turned back to see her reach into the truck for a steel thermos.

      As he looked on, she removed the cap and sniffed. “Mmm.”

      “Black?”

      “And strong as sin. There’re homemade blueberry muffins, too.”

      “You made muffins for me?” he asked, surprised.

      “Not specifically for you. I made them for a brunch I had a couple of weeks ago and there were some left in the freezer.”

      “I see.”

      “I thawed a couple just for you,” she added.

      “Thanks,” he said, feeling considerably less obliged to be polite than he had a few seconds ago. “Leave ’em with the coffee on the porch. I’ll be down in a few hours.”

      “That’s quite an imagination you have there. You can’t actually believe I rose at the crack of dawn to fetch you breakfast.”

      “It sure looks that way.”

      “Get real, Griffin. This is Saturday. In a few hours we’ll have thirty miles and a morning’s work under our belts.”

      “What are you talking about?”

      “Yard sales, dozens of them,” she added, waving the classified section of the newspaper at him.

      “Thanks, I already have more yard than I know what to do with.” He yawned again, wondering if he crawled back into bed right then, the dream Rose would pick up where the real Rose had so rudely interrupted.

      “Very funny.”

      He frowned. “I wasn’t trying to be.”

      “Don’t tell me you don’t know what a yard sale is?’

      “I have a vague idea,” he admitted, “and no interest in learning more.”

      “But you do still have an interest in acquiring the pieces to complete Devora’s porcelain collection.”

      “True,” he countered, his smile amused, “but I hardly expect to find them amidst piles of used baby clothes and old exercise equipment.”

      She grinned broadly. “That’s the beauty of this business, Griffin—you can always expect the unexpected. You know what the seasoned veterans say…”

      “I’ll bite. What do seasoned veterans say?”

      “They say when it comes to junk, you just never know.”

      “And on that less than inspiring note…”

      “Who do you think coined the phrase ‘One man’s trash is another man’s treasure’?”

      “A woman.”

      “Wrong. A yard sale enthusiast. In case you’ve forgotten, Griffin, you’re the one who asked me for help. You’re a desperate man, remember? And desperate men can’t afford to overlook a single possibility, no matter how insignificant it may appear to the eye of a raw, still wet-behind-the-ears novice.”

      The raw, still wet-behind-the-ears novice resisted the urge to toss something out the window at her.

      “So now that you’re up to speed on the day’s agenda, let’s get cracking,” she ordered, tossing the thermos and newspaper back into the truck. “Our first stop is an early-bird special in Middletown.”

      “I don’t even want to think about birds for another five or so hours.”

      “I’ll give you five minutes.”

      “For what?”

      “To shower and dress and get down here.”

      “That’s out of the question.”

      “Would it help, from a motivational standpoint, if I pointed out that you are paying me by the hour…and that the meter’s been running since I turned into your drive?”

      He glared at her, but didn’t bother to protest. She didn’t seem to be in a capitulating state of mind this morning…if she ever was. Beneath Rose Davenport’s soft, pretty facade beat the heart of a cutthroat venture capitalist. Pride alone demanded he not allow her to bamboozle him out of any more money than absolutely necessary.

      “I’ll be right down.”

      “Did you really make these muffins?” Griff asked, polishing off his second and washing it down with a swig of very fine coffee.

      “Sure did,” replied Rose. “With frozen blueberries, because that’s all I could get. You ought to taste my muffins in August.”

      Was that an invitation?

      Griff glanced across the small cab at her. Her words held an erotic appeal that he was pretty sure she did not intend, and as tempting as it was to explore the matter further, he was smart enough not to risk it. His belly was pleasantly full, the coffee was just as hot and strong as she’d promised, and a taste of Rose Davenport would top the morning off nicely. Which was just one reason he put the notion firmly from his mind.

      He was in a better mood than he’d been in a while, a better mood than he’d have thought possible considering the morning’s inauspicious start. It was as close to content as he hoped to get, and he was in no hurry for it to end.

      There was also the matter of the damn birds. Because of them, he was more or less at her mercy…as his reluctant presence this morning demonstrated. A smart man knows when to keep his mouth shut and his hands to himself.

      For several moments they drove in silence, across the bridge from the mainland to the tiny island of Jamestown. On the other side, another bridge connected Jamestown to Aquidneck Island—home to several towns, of which Newport was the most famous—and yet another, the Mount Hope Bridge, completed the circle. Rhode Islanders were geographically indisposed to driving long distances, and the trio of bridges helped to bring the entire state within their thirty-minute limit.

      The water was calm and blue, the fresh air and the hum of tires on pavement was lulling. The view of Rose’s long, suntanned legs was a bonus. He couldn’t recall when he’d seen someone work a clutch so captivatingly. He also realized that he had a real weakness СКАЧАТЬ