Summertime Dream (8 page)

An old sinking sensation, old memories he blocked from acknowledging, let alone voicing. He carefully returned her grin. “Client receipt boxes.”

Her laughter rang out.

They talked easily through the delicious meal, their conversation wandering through favorite movies, television shows, places they wanted to visit someday, college, funny events in their lives, and favorite childhood memories.

Margie stopped midsentence, the sparkle snuffed in her eyes and dismay fleeting over her face. Christopher looked over his shoulder to find a blond, preppy couple approaching their table.

“Uh, hi, Margie, didn’t expect to see you here.” The man was flushed and his girlfriend was distinctly uncomfortable. Then Christopher caught the rings. Wife.

Margie smiled sweetly, but for the first time since he’d met her, that smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Hi, Eddie. Jennifer. No, it’s been awhile.”

Eddie nodded, stroking a hand over his head. “You’re looking good, I mean, we’re glad to see you. We’re here for a few days with the folks, you know. Just finished dinner and wanted to say hello.” His gaze kept sliding away from Margie, in a shifty darting way that raised Christopher’s hackles.

“How’s life in Dallas?”

Eddie puffed up, oblivious to Margie’s cool tone and his wife’s discomfort. “Doing very good! I’m up for a promotion and Jennifer’s just got into the public defender’s office.”

For all the politeness, Christopher had never had a greater urge to tell someone to get lost.

“Nice to hear you’re both doing well there. I’d like you to meet Christopher Gordon. He’s Reba Falk’s great-grandson.”

Eddie stuck out a hand like a politician. “Welcome to town. Vince Moore mentioned to Dad that he and Tim Olhouser met you at the picnic. Good luck with the old wreck. Well, we won’t keep you. Promised to help Dad fix his old projector this evening.”

As the couple hurried off, Margie blew a stressed breath up at her bangs. “Sorry about that. Another hazard of small towns. Ex-high school boyfriends.” She spoke lightly, but the encounter cast a shadow over the remainder of their meal.

How to fix the situation?

He set aside his napkin. “I’m not much in the mood for dessert or coffee. Would you like to go for a drive?”

The pained relief in her lovely eyes confirmed he’d made the right suggestion. He signaled for the check.

Out in his car, she settled into the seat with a deep sigh. “Silly that some things become so awkward. And the worst of it? From everything I hear Jennifer’s actually an awfully nice person. She’s lovely, too, isn’t she?”

“I didn’t notice.” He’d been too focused on Margie’s distress to pick out more than the woman was blonde and uncomfortable.

She giggled and the light returned into her smile.

He shrugged and grinned. “Which way should we go?”

“Turn right and then right again at the stop, that’ll take us east. It’s a nice quiet route on a summer evening.

And nice it was: warm evening air, his favorite mix of light jazz playing in the background of their rambling conversation, and lazy winding drive through the countryside until the evening was deep and dark. Being with Margie was so easy. He hadn’t had such a good evening out in a long time, maybe ever.

Maybe because tonight wasn’t a real date and they were simply being themselves.

Most of his dates he’d met through business, and the nights out with those bright, career-focused women were less than romantic encounters and more like mini conferences, all career talk and info gathering and one-night-stand expectations. Wanting to take them up on more than one date was rare. He wanted…something more.

Maybe because this is about to be something more.

No. He wasn’t looking to find someone. And definitely not here. Well, he wasn’t
against
finding someone. And since his dad had passed, seeing his mom deal with her life alone had lately made him consider the lack of a special someone in his own life. Only, making more out of this with Margie, however tempting, was impossible, no matter how pleasant a time he was having, because he was out of here on Sunday and he wouldn’t be coming back. This town was in the middle of nowhere. She was too young...

But those kisses...

No, no more kisses.

The evening grew late and, as much as he’d like to drive and talk with her all night, he should be getting her home. “So, plans for tomorrow?”

“Dad and Joe will load the ladders on the truck for me and we’ll have tools. I’ll meet you at the house.”

“Tell them thanks for me. I really appreciate the help. What time?”

“I recommend early, maybe seven, so we get a cool start. You okay with that?”

“Perfect. I’m a morning person. Up with the birds. Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee or I can’t start my day. I’ll bring us some.”

He winked. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

On arriving back at Margie’s home, he parked at the curb and turned off the engine. Nocturnal creaks and shrills of insects filled the dark. A dog barked somewhere in the neighborhood. The tranquil, deep night, empty of city sounds, reminded him again of nights at Mohave and the restful peace he found there.

Now, to say goodnight. He walked around and opened her door. This wasn’t a date. He was going to keep his hands to himself and he wouldn’t kiss her.

Best laid plans...

She caught his hand in hers and kissed his cheek. “I had a wonderful day. Thanks!”

From that innocent touch, his resolve shattered, and sliding his hand over her silky, wind-tangled curls and touching his mouth down onto those soft smiling lips of hers was as simple as his next breath. And as necessary.

She slipped her arms around him, her body pliant against his, and her welcoming sigh erased his last glimmer of restraint. Savoring her lips, tracing the seam of her mouth, brushing and tasting, relaxed and curious, coaxing her to open to him, taking it slow, long, and easy.

So much for remembering he was leaving on Sunday.

He released her slowly, his body unwilling to face facts and accept the end of their evening. “Thanks for the great night. I’ll walk you to the door.”

Chapter Four

Christopher walked into the motel office at 6:30 a.m., just as the coffee pot stopped gurgling.

Mrs. Dobbs waved from the reception desk. “Good morning, sunshine! You’re up early. Coffee’s ready for you.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Dobbs. I’m heading over to work on the house today.” He poured his coffee and added the milk, pleased she offered real milk instead of the ubiquitous packets of non-dairy creamer.

“Good idea to start early while the day’s cool. Have a nice meal at Tootsie’s last night with Margie Olsson?”

How did she know? “Uh, yes. Very nice.”

“Tootsie’s my cousin. You just missed her stopping by for donuts.”

Ah, right. Small town grapevine. On the other hand, this was his third morning here and he already knew more people in this town than he did in his apartment building after a year.

She filled a plastic bag with four large donuts and zipped the bag shut. “Sour cream today. You should really begin with a good breakfast at Olsson’s, but these will get you started. Make sure you drink plenty of water. Supposed to be a scorcher today.” She eyed his clothes.

Yeah, however casual, his polo shirt, jeans, and shoes weren’t meant for grubby work, but he’d sacrifice them for the cause. “The electric might be on today. I don’t know about the water situation yet. Sorenson mentioned a well.”

“Ah, with a well, you should call Wes here to see about the pump.” She handed him a business card and then ducked into the supply closet. She emerged with six water bottles. “Take these as a start on your housewarming present.” She giggled. “We’re tickled to pieces you’re taking over that poor old eyesore. Make sure you stop to eat lunch and don’t get overheated. The heat can sneak up on you even when you’re in the shade, you know.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He bit back the urge to answer
yes, Mom
.

A shitload of dirty tedious work awaited him, yet he felt outrageously cheerful.

Because you’re going to see Margie again. Glutton for punishment, aren’t you?

Margie was at the house, sitting on the front steps working on her tablet. She waved and tucked the tablet away in her bag.

He pulled into the driveway and parked behind the blue pickup truck. Two ladders stuck out of the pile of boxes filling the truck bed.

“Hi there.” She’d pulled her hair up in a perky ponytail that bounced with every step as she met him at the car. She wore an old FBFD football jersey smudged with green paint, tan shorts that showed off shapely legs, and real work boots.

“Good morning. Mrs. Dobbs donated water and donuts.” He raised the bag of donuts.

“Oh, she makes delicious donuts. Good thing I brought us coffee. As you can see, I have the ladders, tools, and a load of empty boxes. I also brought some extra supplies we might need, including some bug spray and mousetraps—if we catch one, you have to deal with it, though.”

He laughed. “I’ll manage.”

“Let’s see, lunch in that cooler and a jug of water. Bucket to bring up water from the pond to fill the toilet tank. I hope you don’t mind, but I called Wes Green, he’s a family friend, and left a message for him to stop by when he had a chance to take a look at the well pump so you could have water. He’s good and won’t charge you out the wazoo for the work.”

“Wow, you are organized. I don’t mind at all. Mrs. Dobbs gave me his business card and I was planning to call. I’m impressed. I’m...grateful.”

“You’re welcome. If I couldn’t have the chef gene, at least I’m useful at something. Now, how about the coffee and those donuts and we plan our attack?”

They settled on the front steps, coffee and a donut in hand.

She nibbled at her donut. “Yum. Sour cream. One of my favorites. Okay, what do you want to tackle first?”

First? What he wanted right then and there didn’t have much to do with the house. But… He took a swallow of coffee. “I want to start by unboarding the first floor. Get some light and air in the house. See if we can make the place less bat-friendly.”

She shuddered lightly, but laughed. “Sounds good to me. I truly appreciate that bats are good for eating bugs, but they belong outdoors. Also, maybe we should look at each window from the inside first, in case any are broken like that French door and should be kept boarded for now.”

“Smart idea. As for tackling that disaster inside, I honestly don’t know where to start. We haven’t even checked the carriage house or barn yet. If she kept a broken bike in the house, who knows what might be stashed in there.”

“The key to clearing and cleaning is don’t try to do everything all at once. It’s tempting, but doomed to failure.” She patted his shoulder. “Pick one room and one task. For instance, I might start with the downstairs bathroom, because that’s a room you’ll want to use first, and only empty out the trash. Don’t clean or fix anything at this point. Closet and drawer contents, while fascinating, are a major time-consuming distraction. Just unclutter surfaces and move on to the next room. Maybe the kitchen? That way you feel in control and you’re conquering every task instead of seeing nothing finished. Once the obvious trash is out, the job will feel less overwhelming and you can begin the next pass of organization and cleaning. Lists are good too. I have big sticky notes we can stick to every door to jot down notes. From those I can set up a spreadsheet on my tablet and email it to you.”

“Sounds good.”

Margie sipped at her coffee and gave a happy sigh. “This is nice.”

“Yeah.” A strange comfort settled over him as he looked out over the unkempt, wild yard to the quiet street…a sense of belonging.

No. He couldn’t go getting attached to this place. He had no need of a rundown monster money pit in the middle of nowhere when his life and business were in California. He needed to focus on sorting the contents and getting the old wreck into saleable condition as soon as possible and return to Los Angeles and normal life.

But sitting with Margie by his side in the cool humid morning, with the birds and the scent of roses, stirred a longing for something...different than what he had in the hustle and heat of Los Angeles.

Donuts and coffee finished, they headed into the parlor to start checking windows, armed with dust masks, work gloves, and two flashlights. After shifting a pile of junk and squeezing through, he pulled open the heavy drapes and fragile lace curtains, sending clouds of dust filtering through the flashlight beams. Dead insects littered the dusty sill. The glass panes in the first tall window were intact. The window even opened easily and stayed open.

In the end, they had success with three of the parlor’s four sets of windows. Most of the panes in the fourth set were shattered. Damned vandalism.

They made their way through each first floor room, Chris shifting junk and furniture aside to reach the windows and opening the drapes, curtains, and shades—and dealing with the unfortunately prolific spiders and webs—while Margie did a good job standing her ground and drew a map of the house on her tablet, marking notes about the windows and doors and taking photos.

They made a full circuit and reached the front door. On the whole, so far, so good.

Margie brushed back an escaped curl, flushed and dusty, but eyes sparkling above her mask. “Whew. Warming up. Time for a water and fresh air break, I think.”

“We should also see if a bucketful of water solves the bathroom problem.” He suspected she hadn’t had much experience just stepping behind a tree when nature called.

The hand pump in the back yard didn’t work, but three heavy bucketfuls of pond water and two rescued tadpoles later, the toilet was flushing smoothly and Margie happily broke her no-cleaning-yet mandate for a quick toilet sanitization.

They sat on the front steps with water bottles and studied Margie’s house map. Out of twenty-one ground floor windows, eight needed to stay covered for now, as did the two pairs of French doors, but they could open the two side-porch doors and the two back doors.

“Right. Ready to tackle the first board?”