Love In Plain Sight. Jeanie London

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СКАЧАТЬ in the shelter of trees. Had thought it was another detached garage at first. But on closer inspection, he realized it was too small to be a kitchen or the old slave quarters. Only one floor and no stairs.

      “A guesthouse?” he asked.

      “A cottage.” Courtney preceded him to the door. “It’s small. And no one has used it since a friend needed a place to stay through a divorce. We’ll need to air it out.”

      “Your place or the admiral’s?”

      “Mine.” She fitted the key into the lock while he clambered onto the porch. Thrusting the door wide, she grimaced. “I need to remember to open this place up occasionally.”

      She stepped inside, then held the door for him.

      “A house and a cottage? A lot of room around here for one person.”

      “Wasn’t meant for just one.” She gave a shrug that was probably meant to be casual but didn’t manage the job.

      Unless he missed his guess, there was a lot more to that statement. A relationship gone south? There was enough room around here for a few families. Did a woman who made a career of micromanaging other people’s kids even want a family? He didn’t have a clue about Courtney’s personal life, but Marc knew one thing—she had a story. His family probably knew every detail.

      Courtney obviously didn’t want to discuss her personal life and sailed into the living room, saying, “Fortunately, the place never gets too hot because of all the shade.”

      She took off again, heading straight to the windows that cornered two walls, and thrust aside long white sheers to reveal paned glass that overlooked the well-tended foliage and the back wall of the property.

      Marc followed her only far enough to survey the place. Leaning against the wall, he appreciated this unexpected good fortune. No stairs. Not one.

      She was right about the size. There was a living room, eat-in kitchen and two doors that most likely led to a bedroom and a bathroom. Under a thousand square feet by his estimation, but the open floor plan and floor-to-ceiling windows gave it a bigger feel. The living room was large enough to accommodate a furniture grouping around a television and an area with a corner desk that served as an office.

      “Wi-Fi?” he asked.

      “Mmm-hmm.” She struggled with a stubborn window.

      He didn’t offer to help. Once he might have saved a damsel in distress. Now all he could do was observe, appreciating the sight she presented, her efforts to budge a stubborn window drawing the blouse tight across her back. And he did enjoy the sight she made with her arms outstretched, the curve of her waist visible beneath the cascade of dark hair.

      The drug hangover must have finally worn off because to Marc’s utter amazement, he felt a familiar throb as if his body wanted to prove that the rest of him wasn’t as damaged as his leg.

      This particular urge hadn’t made an appearance since before the accident. He’d be an idiot to put too much stock in anything right now, but the simple fact that his reactions were still there reassured him.

      “Jeez,” Courtney said as the window shot open, throwing her off balance in the process. The sheers fluttered and she righted herself with a steadying hand on the frame. “Needs oil or something. I’ll add it to my to-do list.”

      Then she vanished into the bedroom.

      Marc didn’t follow, didn’t want to risk connecting the sight of Courtney with a bed, so he hobbled over to the desk instead.

      Modem. Laser printer. Fax-copier-scanner combo.

      None of the equipment appeared to have seen much wear, but that didn’t surprise him. Why wouldn’t she outfit the office in a place she didn’t even open up for air? There was no computer, but that wasn’t a problem. If he’d been thinking when he’d left his mother’s, he would have brought his laptop.

      He hadn’t been thinking about anything but getting the hell out before he killed someone. Starting with his mother.

      Courtney reappeared. “How will this place work for you? I mean, after it airs out, of course.”

      She’d only brought him here because he had made such a pathetic sight getting out of her car. But Marc wasn’t going to dwell on that. Nor would he look a gift horse in the mouth. “This place is good. I work better without distractions.”

      “No distractions here. The admiral works around the yard, but he doesn’t usually come back here. I think he got out of the habit after selling the cottage to Harley.”

      Just then a few pieces of a puzzle clicked into place. “This was Harley’s old house?”

      “I didn’t realize you didn’t know.”

      “I knew about her house, just not that you’d bought it.”

      Harley was the connection between his family and Courtney’s. His mother would have adopted Harley long ago if the State of Louisiana would have allowed it. They hadn’t, so Harley had contented herself with being an honorary family member, solidifying her place during years as Anthony’s girlfriend.

      Until Mac Gerard had come on the scene with all his money. Now Harley brought her husband’s family home for Sunday dinner, too. Anthony didn’t seem to mind. Marc couldn’t begin to explain the situation, didn’t care enough to try.

      But anyone who had known Harley had known when she purchased this place—her first home. And from that moment on, Marc’s visits had been punctuated with stories about whatever work she’d been doing. Any time he had asked, “How have you been, Harley?” he never heard about college achievements or career successes, but her accomplishments around this house.

      “I sanded the floors to the grain before refinishing them,” she had told him proudly. “They gleam like new.

      “I tackled plaster last month. Repaired the damage from some old broken pipe, and now I’m texturing the walls. By the time I’m through, no one will know there’d ever been a leak.”

      Marc glanced around the room, at the bright white, finely textured walls, at the planked floor with the rich pine finish beneath the gleam of polyurethane. Both jobs done with care and attention to detail.

      If anyone had deserved a home, that anyone had been Harley. She had grown up on the wrong side of Courtney’s business—foster care. But if Harley had owned this place, then Marc knew Courtney must have purchased her portion of the property from her brother after Harley had married him.

      He supposed that shouldn’t surprise him, either.

      “Oh, I forgot,” Courtney said. “Let me run up to my house. Be right back.”

      She didn’t give him a chance to reply, just spun around and took off again, leaving the door open behind her. The sound of her footsteps on the flagstones faded, and Marc took the opportunity to scope out the rest of the place.

      The kitchen chewed up a lot of square footage, but as he ran a hand long the smooth finish of the wooden cabinets with their scrolled pewter handles, he could remember Harley talking about the months of work it had taken her to dismantle the cabinetry and refinish the СКАЧАТЬ