Little Girl Lost. Marisa Carroll

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Carson. From him. If they discovered where she was.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “CAITLIN SEEMS TAKEN with your renter,” Peg said, peering out the window above the kitchen sink. Hugh Damon had been staying in the cottage for several days now, over the long Memorial Day weekend, and the third anniversary of Mark’s death.

      “She’s taken with anyone who spends time swinging her.” Faith was standing in front of the open refrigerator, enjoying the blast of cool air as much as searching for juice for Caitlin’s afternoon snack. It was 85 degrees, and the still air was heavy with humidity and the threat of approaching storms.

      Faith snared the plastic bottle of apple juice from behind the milk where it had been hidden and shut the refrigerator door, coming to stand beside her sister. She had made up her mind to ignore her first disquieting reaction to Hugh Damon, but it didn’t mean she was comfortable talking about him.

      Faith watched him push Caitlin in her tire swing, as Addy lolled in the shade beneath the picnic table. The muscles in his back and shoulders moved smoothly beneath the light fabric of his shirt. His thick, dark-gold hair lay heavy and straight against his forehead. He wore no jewelry except a serviceable-looking wristwatch. That was another direction she didn’t want her thoughts to take. He was a good-looking man, who didn’t wear a wedding ring.

      “She’s usually a little shy around strangers,” Peg observed, running cold water into a glass she’d taken from the cupboard. Peg had started a wallpapering and painting business when she’d moved to Bartonsville and it was doing well. She was on her way home from a job and was wearing paint-splattered jeans and an old, long-sleeved white shirt of her husband’s. Her hair was tucked up under a ball cap and the smell of solvent and paint scented the air around her.

      “She likes him,” Faith admitted. She rubbed the back of her neck with her hand. A storm coming always affected her that way, a tightness in her muscles, pressure behind her eyes.

      “She’s female. Even a two-year-old woman can spot a stud like that one.”

      Faith laughed. “Hey, you’ve only been married five months. You aren’t supposed to be ogling other men already.”

      “I’m married, not blind. Steve’s a dear but not fantasy material. Put a leather kilt on that guy, give him a sword and he’d give Russell Crowe a run for his money any day.”

      “Does this mean you’re taking back your warning about renting the cabins to single men?”

      Peg drained her glass and shook her head as she set it in the sink. “Nope.” She tilted her head in Hugh’s direction. “Men as good-looking as that one are trouble. I ought to know—I married one the first time around, remember.”

      “Men like that one are engineers,” Faith said, putting two Oreos on a paper plate for Caitlin.

      “Engineer? I admit that sounds respectable enough.” If Peg had been a grasshopper her antennae would be quivering. “What kind of engineer?”

      “The kind who build shopping malls, I guess. He’s working on that fancy new complex they did a feature on in the Cincinnati Enquirer a couple of months ago. You know, the one with all the high-end stores.” He’d told her that much the afternoon he’d inquired about continuing to rent the cottage for the month of June, since his work on the project would last several weeks.

      “Has he asked you out yet?”

      “No. Of course not.”

      Her sister didn’t look convinced but she didn’t say any more. Faith had perfected the talent of sounding very sincere when she lied. And this was just a little white lie, not a universe-size one, like taking another woman’s child to raise as your own. Hugh Damon hadn’t asked her out on a date. Not officially, so her conscience was clear.

      But he had offered to take her and Caitlin out to eat. It was while he was helping to rehang the baskets the day after he’d arrived. They had talked as he worked and she tallied the day’s receipts. She was alone in the greenhouse and it would have seemed churlish to refuse his offer of help. Or so she told herself.

      He’d been wearing an old University of Texas T-shirt that stretched tight across his chest and shoulders, she remembered, and faded jeans that hugged his long legs. “Where do you find a good meal in Bartonsville?” he had asked. She brought out muffins and bagels, orange and grapefruit juice, and made coffee in the greenhouse every morning for herself and Steve and Peg, or whoever was around. Guests at the cabins were welcome to them, as well. Painted Lady Farm was as close to a bed-and-breakfast as you got in Bartonsville.

      She had replied without hesitation. “The Golden Sheaf. It’s run by a family of old order Mennonites who make everything from scratch. The mashed potatoes are my daughter’s favorite. I’m surprised you haven’t found it already. All you have to do is follow your nose down Main Street.”

      Caitlin had been sitting at the small table Faith kept for her behind the counter coloring in a SpongeBob SquarePants book. “Eat,” she’d said at the mention of food.

      “Maybe the two of you could join me for dinner there this evening?” Hugh had said as he tested the strength of the chain extension before rehanging the planters. The invitation was offhand, but it caught Faith by surprise and she immediately said no. The refusal hung harsh and unfriendly in the air between them and she hurried to soften its uncompromising sound. “I mean, thanks, but I already have dinner started.”

      “Some other time then. Do you recommend the meat loaf?”

      “It’s the specialty of the house.”

      He’d looked pleased. “Homemade meat loaf. Nothing better.”

      “Don’t forget to try the pies. The coconut cream is to die for.”

      “I’m a banana cream man myself,” he’d answered with a smile.

      Faith had managed a smile in return. Her eyes had been drawn to the hard muscles of his thighs as he worked, and suddenly, from out of nowhere, she remembered the feel of legs and bodies tangled together in lovemaking, and she nearly dropped the stack of receipts she held in her hand. The flash of eroticism had come and gone in a heartbeat, but the aftereffect left her shaken. In her vision the arms holding her hadn’t been Mark’s. They’d belonged to this man.

      She’d mumbled something about liking banana cream, too, and made some excuse to leave the greenhouse. Her legs were wobbly as she picked Caitlin up to carry her to the house, her breath coming in quick little gasps that couldn’t be blamed on the heat or the slight weight of the child in her arms. It was lust. Something that for three years had been completely absent from her thoughts.

      That incident wasn’t the last erotic thought she’d had about Hugh Damon, but it was the last one she had let get the best of her. Perhaps because she also couldn’t quite forget the disquieting certainty that he was here, not just to avoid spending several weeks at an interstate off-ramp motel, but for some secret reason of his own.

      A rumble of thunder announced the arrival of the storms that had been predicted all day. Peg angled her head to check the sky visible between the branches of the big maple outside the kitchen window. “Nasty-looking clouds,” she said, forgetting, at least for the moment, her fixation with Hugh Damon. “I have a feeling we’re going to get a real bad storm out of this cold front.”

      “I СКАЧАТЬ