The Women of Bayberry Cove. Cynthia Thomason

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СКАЧАТЬ groaned. “Oh, no. That place would be perfect for you, Lulu. When is Wesley due to arrive?” she asked Jamie.

      “Ma didn’t say. Probably not for a while. And anyway, he’ll most likely stay at the mansion in town with his father.”

      “So, where is this cottage?” Louise asked. “I’m going to check it out so I know it’s worth grappling with the town’s only attorney over a lease agreement.”

      “That’s the best part,” Vicki said. “It’s right next to us, just a mile farther down Sandy Ridge. You can’t miss it. It’s stained a delightful color, like—”

      “Don’t tell me,” Louise said. “Buttercups.”

      TEN MINUTES LATER, Louise drove onto the pebble driveway of Buttercup Cottage. Besides the identifying color, a wooden placard above the front door confirmed that she was at the right place.

      She stopped in front of the entrance and got out of her car. “This looks fine,” she said, imagining the hypnotic effect of raindrops on the sloping tin roof, lightning bugs twinkling outside the double casement windows. The sound of waves lapping the shoreline behind the house reminded her that she was only steps away from the protected bay.

      Louise walked around the side of the house. “I suppose I could look through the windows. No one’s living here now.”

      She peered into a bedroom. A double bed covered by a bright quilt looked cozy. The ceiling fan, dormant now, would stir up a nice breeze on warm evenings.

      The next window provided a view of a compact bathroom with a porcelain vanity under a small medicine cabinet. “Adequate,” she said, and proceeded to the back of the house.

      Pleased to see that the rear door had a window in the upper half, she walked up to get a look at what was no doubt the kitchen. She was just leaning into the glass when a man appeared in her view, and the door swung open. Louise jumped back a step, but not far enough. Without warning, she was doused from chest to ankles with the grimy contents of a large pan.

      She hollered, swore a little and shook her hands free of water mixed with unidentified substances. Then she watched in horror as rivers of rust permeated her new white capris. She stared at the open door where a man in a cap emblazoned with a gold insignia stood with the now-empty pan dangling from his hands. Plucking her halter away from her chest, she glared into bright aqua eyes and snapped, “Look what you’ve done.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      HE STOOD THERE gawking at her as if she’d descended out of the sky. “Wow, look at you,” he finally said. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t see you out here.”

      She glanced down at her pants again. “That’s comforting. It’s nice to know you weren’t lying in wait….”

      He disappeared into the house. Gone.

      She leaned across the open doorway. “Hey!”

      He came back with a roll of slightly soggy paper towels. “Here. Dry yourself.”

      She unwound about a dozen squares and began patting her clothes. When she swiped along her arms, she jerked her face away. “This stuff stinks. What is it?”

      “I don’t know. It’s been in the pipes for something like five, six years. I can’t remember when somebody last stayed here.” He ran a sympathetic look down her legs. “I’d say it contains a good bit of rust, though.”

      She scowled at him. “Obviously you’re a chemistry wiz.”

      He almost smiled. “Hardly. Unfortunately, I’m not much of a plumber, either. The pipes under the kitchen sink are winning this battle.”

      “Look, while you’re joking about skirmishes with copper pipes, I’m fighting real germ warfare. Do you think I could come in and use the universal antidote to all this grime?”

      “What’s that?”

      “Soap, Mr. Chemist. Plain old bacteria-eating soap. There is soap in this place, right?”

      He moved aside. “Oh, sure. Plenty of soap.”

      She stepped through the door while digging her car keys out of her pocket. Her first look at the interior of the small kitchen confirmed the plumber’s story. Sections of old pipe and numerous tools stood in puddles of murky water on the floor in front of an open cabinet, along with various lengths of shiny new PVC tubes waiting to replace their worn-out predecessors.

      Louise picked her way across the disaster area and turned around. “Can you do me a favor? My car’s out front. Would you bring in the smaller of the two suitcases from the trunk?”

      “Bring in a suitcase?”

      She almost laughed at the expression on his face. “Don’t panic. I won’t disturb your work. I’m not moving in this minute. I haven’t even signed a lease yet. But I do need to change clothes.” She tossed the keys, and he snatched them in midair. “Good reflexes, chemist. I’ll be in the bathroom.”

      WESLEY FLETCHER DIDN’T like chaos in his life. He’d spent years eliminating as much of it as possible from his daily routines. He started every day with the same rituals. He ate his meals at the same times. He hardly ever watched a new show on television, preferring a select number of tried and true ones.

      That’s why he was determined to fix the pipes in Buttercup Cottage before it was time to prepare dinner. He glanced at his watch as he walked around the side of the house. He had only two hours left to accomplish the task, or after eating his thick, juicy T-bone, he’d be cleaning the broiler in the bathroom sink. This day would have gone so much better if the one plumber in Bayberry Cove hadn’t told him it would be forty-eight hours before he could make a house call.

      And now Wesley was carting a suitcase weighing at least twenty pounds back to his home, where a half-crazy lady was occupying his bathroom and making claims about moving in. That was chaos of a sort that could turn his already cockeyed day upside down.

      It wasn’t that he didn’t owe her a favor. He did. Nearly drowning her in liquid muck was a pretty nasty thing to do to a woman. A woman whose clothes and demeanor indicated she was not from around here. And that was the biggest mystery of all. Who was she and where had she come from?

      He entered the house and set the suitcase by the bathroom door. Tapping lightly to get her attention, he realized he didn’t even know her name. “Ma’am?”

      She opened the door about ten inches and, now hatless, presented him a view of a face that could rival any movie star’s. “Call me ma’am one more time, chemist, and I may have to slug you. The name’s Louise.”

      Through the opening he saw her reflection in the small mirror over the bathroom sink. For the last twenty years he’d lived by a code that, had this particular situation actually been in the books, would surely have demanded that he look away. But he didn’t. His gaze was riveted to a smooth ivory spine that curved delicately to what was no doubt a well-proportioned posterior. Unfortunately, verification of that hypothesis was impossible, since that body part was abruptly cut off by the end of the mirror.

      “So what’s yours?” she asked him.

      He СКАЧАТЬ