Naughty Or Nice. Sherri Browning Erwin

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Web sites. Colin Firth as Fitzwilliam Darcy wasn’t about to trot his white horse down my path. Maybe a job would be good for me, more than just a way to fund my shopping habit. Maybe I would actually find something I liked, something to fill the void. But what on earth would I possibly be good at?

      Before I got out of the bath, I heard my sister’s car pull into the drive, followed by the sounds of Ellie’s cries getting louder all the way up the walk. Good thing I’d anticipated their arrival before Kate had even called. My freezer was fully stocked with washcloths.

      Chapter Two

      The next morning, Kate came down to breakfast wearing a relaxed smile. I’d stayed up with Ellie so that she could get some sleep. It wasn’t much of a hardship. I was wide awake worried about my Lexus, my son in lipstick, and my employment possibilities.

      According to Kate, her daughter always rose with the first rays of the sun, a fact she attributed to her being named Eliana, Greek for “daughter of the sun.” Considering that Ellie was also up for hours after sunset, I wasn’t convinced that the name had relevance, but it hardly mattered. I was a morning person, too.

      I had coffee brewing, my pugs, Bert and Ernie, out in the fenced yard for their morning business, and Ellie fed by the time Kate found her way downstairs. She was in a good mood, or so it looked, and all the better for me. I needed her help, not her scorn.

      “I paid your car bill last night while you were rocking Ellie. Three months behind. I set your account to pay it automatically. After I made a deposit, of course. You were overdrawn.” She said it with a smile, as if this bit of news had no impact on her good mood.

      “Hmm. I wonder how that happened.” I shook a toy in front of Ellie in her baby Exersaucer. Ellie’s brown eyes shone like little suns. Maybe there was something to her name, after all.

      “Probably the three-hundred-dollar blouse from Neiman Marcus,” she said, a trace of sarcasm sucking the cheery out of her tone.

      “Was it that much? I guess I didn’t look at the price tag.” I stifled a sigh of relief that last night’s boot purchase hadn’t shown up yet. “I’ll have to be more careful.”

      “You think?”

      “Christmas shopping.” I sighed and worked up a good pout. “I bought it for you, but I guess the surprise is ruined.”

      I peeked from beneath my lashes to see if she believed me, but I wasn’t so sure. I wouldn’t believe me. I had no idea my shopping habit had gotten so out of hand. It was time to stop using the excuse of retail therapy as a form of grief counseling.

      “No problem.” She poured coffee. Casual. Avoiding eye contact. She didn’t believe me. “Take it back. You know I don’t need fancy presents.”

      I nodded, but I’d already brought it to the dry cleaner to remove a small stain on the cuff. Kate set down her coffee and leaned over to say hello to her daughter, lifting her from the seat to cuddle.

      “She’s had her bottle,” I said, glad for the change of subject.

      I refused to use the opportunity to criticize Kate for switching to formula so early in Ellie’s life. Everyone knew breast milk was best, but pumping took time, something busy Kate could hardly spare. The same woman who would agonize for hours over fabric swatches to find the right shade between eggshell and ecru couldn’t take an extra twenty minutes to pump. To her credit, it probably wasn’t easy running a business and being a mom. I’d never had to juggle motherhood and a career, but maybe I would learn.

      “Who’s a happy girl? Wook at da big smile.” Kate lapsed into baby talk.

      My smile was bigger than Ellie’s at catching Kate’s slip. Aha! Perfect? I think not. “She’s had a good morning.”

      “I have to hand it to you, Bennie, you always know just what she needs. You’re a whiz with her.” She looked wistful, almost sad, as she settled Ellie into the crook of her arm.

      “I’ve got years of experience. You’ll catch on. After you’ve done it awhile, it’s a piece of cake.”

      “I guess. You make it look so easy.”

      I could practically feel the swagger in my step as I crossed the floor to refill my coffee. Then I turned around in time for my ego to make a crashing fall back to earth. Spencer stood in the kitchen door, head to toe in black. His beautiful blond hair was dyed jet-black, which matched his kohl-rimmed eyes. His skin looked extraordinarily pale in contrast to the black and his slash-red mouth. Lipstick. I guessed he must have raided my makeup drawer again, and settled on my L’Oreal Cherry Red, something I picked up on sale and had worn only once because it looked cheaper than the sale price.

      “Yeah,” I repeated, gesturing to the doorway. “Piece of cake.”

      Kate nearly jumped out of her chair. “Are you auditioning for The Cure?”

      “The who?” Spence asked.

      “No, The Cure,” I said, desperate to keep my cool. “The Who still tours with the original lineup. Except for the bassist. He died. The Cure’s the band with the wild singer in trademark red lipstick. I thought we agreed black was more your color.”

      “Seemed a bit much with the outfit.” Spence, charming as ever, winked on his way to the fridge. “I needed to break up the black with a hint of color.”

      “Smudged liner really brings out the blue in your eyes,” I said, looking for the bright side.

      “You think?” Spence asked before reaching for the juice.

      “Definitely. She’ll notice.”

      “She?” Kate looked stunned, looking from Spencer, to me, and back again.

      “He’s going Goth for a girl,” I said, trying to match Spencer’s casual mood. Freaking out would be the surest way to drive him more solidly into the look. Humor was the only response I could rely on. If I couldn’t make me laugh, I was going to cry. Spencer’s beautiful blond hair! Hair grows, I reminded myself. “Bold move, don’t you think?”

      “More like insane. You’re not letting him go to school like that, are you?”

      “If he’s willing, I’m willing. As long as he conforms to the school decency standards, why not? Don’t you remember your Madonna phase?”

      Kate wasn’t far enough along in the parenting game to understand. “That was different. It was the eighties.”

      “So was The Cure.” I shrugged. “Everything old is new again. Spencer’s going Goth to win a little witch’s heart.”

      “Mom’s not insulting her,” Spencer explained, taking a seat. “Shelley Miles wants to be a witch. She found an old spell book and everything.”

      “Where, exactly, does one find a spell book?” Kate asked, raising a brow. Or tried to, anyway. She never quite got the gesture down, but she had been trying for years.

      “EBay,” Spencer said, sparing his aunt the extra “duh” that he usually added to punctuate.

      “Be careful,” Kate warned. “You never know what СКАЧАТЬ