Read Online Beckett's Convenient Bride by Dixie Browning - Free Book Online
Authors: Dixie Browning
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is to marry Margaret as quickly as possible, have hundreds of photographs taken and give your mother the task of arranging them all in one of her albums.
It might be the last thing he could do for her that would give her real pleasure. And he couldnât put it off much longer.
Sighing, Carson switched off the bathroom light and headed for the kitchen. The first thing he spotted was the note on the table, weighted down by a chunk of clam-shaped marl. Following his hostessâs instructions, he located a pot and set about reheating the chicken soup he found in the refrigerator. Ten minutes later he was back on the couch, his feet on a newspaper on the scarred coffee table, a bowl of the best chicken soup heâd ever tasted on a tray in his lap. Heâd match it against his Aunt Beckyâs cooking any day, and Rebecca Beckett, Lanceâs mother, had been winning awards for her cooking ever since sheâd mixed up her first batch of oyster fritters.
Relaxing in the shabby, surprisingly comfortable living room, Carson wondered what Margaret would make of Kitâs decorating skills. The blue Mason jar of Carolina jasmine was a nice touch, although half the blossoms had fallen off. He even liked the basket of dried weeds in the corner. The unframed pictures on the wall lent a whimsical touch, although he doubted if Martha Stewart, let alone Margaretâs fancy decorator friend from New York,would approve of kid art thumbtacked to unpainted walls, minus so much as a mat.
Still, he kind of liked the placeâmaybe because he was feeling considerably better. Bare wooden walls, bare wooden floors. At least there were no clothes piled on top of beer-can tables like the Nags Head duplex.
His gaze moved back to the plank-and-cinderblock bookshelf. Evidently the lady was a reader. Suspense, nature guides, murder mysteries, art books andâ¦
Childrenâs books?
Hmm. Matlock at the seafood place hadnât mentioned any kids. But then, heâd been more interested in her car. Maybe she had a kid, and said kid was staying with Daddy, as Mommy obviously had a few problems to work out.
In his line of work he saw too many such cases. In most of them, there was no good answer. Usually, though, if a family functioned at all, it was better to leave a kid in the home than to remove him and turn him over to an overworked, understaffed system. Some kids didnât take to fostering. Heâd seen bad results from either decision, including a few that just plain ripped his heart right out of his chest.
When it came to family relations, heâd been spoiled, and was smart enough to know it. There werenât many Becketts left, but the few that remained were close, getting together for holidays, birthdays and anniversaries. Lance and Liza would be adding to the roster most any time now.
It was those close family ties that kept him sane on his worst days as a cop. They also kept him humble, because he knew too well that not everyone was so fortunate.
At any rate, whether or not Ms. Chandler had any off-spring, it shouldnât affect the reparations. His generationwas repaying hers. Once it was done, if she wanted to pass it on, that was her decision. Ten grand wasnât much in todayâs world, but judging from the way she was living, it might provide a small cushion to fall back on. He might even suggest ways of investing it. PawPaw would have approved. Heâd been a big-time investment banker in his day.
On the other hand, he thought, grimly amused, better not. This whole bizarre situation had started when a Chandler had handed over some money and asked a Beckett to invest it for him.
Carson finished the soup, considered seconds and decided there was no point in asking for trouble. Whatever bug Mac had handed off apparently affected different people in different ways. Headache, fever, congestion and muscular aches he could handle. Nausea was another thing altogether. As much as he loved fishing,
It might be the last thing he could do for her that would give her real pleasure. And he couldnât put it off much longer.
Sighing, Carson switched off the bathroom light and headed for the kitchen. The first thing he spotted was the note on the table, weighted down by a chunk of clam-shaped marl. Following his hostessâs instructions, he located a pot and set about reheating the chicken soup he found in the refrigerator. Ten minutes later he was back on the couch, his feet on a newspaper on the scarred coffee table, a bowl of the best chicken soup heâd ever tasted on a tray in his lap. Heâd match it against his Aunt Beckyâs cooking any day, and Rebecca Beckett, Lanceâs mother, had been winning awards for her cooking ever since sheâd mixed up her first batch of oyster fritters.
Relaxing in the shabby, surprisingly comfortable living room, Carson wondered what Margaret would make of Kitâs decorating skills. The blue Mason jar of Carolina jasmine was a nice touch, although half the blossoms had fallen off. He even liked the basket of dried weeds in the corner. The unframed pictures on the wall lent a whimsical touch, although he doubted if Martha Stewart, let alone Margaretâs fancy decorator friend from New York,would approve of kid art thumbtacked to unpainted walls, minus so much as a mat.
Still, he kind of liked the placeâmaybe because he was feeling considerably better. Bare wooden walls, bare wooden floors. At least there were no clothes piled on top of beer-can tables like the Nags Head duplex.
His gaze moved back to the plank-and-cinderblock bookshelf. Evidently the lady was a reader. Suspense, nature guides, murder mysteries, art books andâ¦
Childrenâs books?
Hmm. Matlock at the seafood place hadnât mentioned any kids. But then, heâd been more interested in her car. Maybe she had a kid, and said kid was staying with Daddy, as Mommy obviously had a few problems to work out.
In his line of work he saw too many such cases. In most of them, there was no good answer. Usually, though, if a family functioned at all, it was better to leave a kid in the home than to remove him and turn him over to an overworked, understaffed system. Some kids didnât take to fostering. Heâd seen bad results from either decision, including a few that just plain ripped his heart right out of his chest.
When it came to family relations, heâd been spoiled, and was smart enough to know it. There werenât many Becketts left, but the few that remained were close, getting together for holidays, birthdays and anniversaries. Lance and Liza would be adding to the roster most any time now.
It was those close family ties that kept him sane on his worst days as a cop. They also kept him humble, because he knew too well that not everyone was so fortunate.
At any rate, whether or not Ms. Chandler had any off-spring, it shouldnât affect the reparations. His generationwas repaying hers. Once it was done, if she wanted to pass it on, that was her decision. Ten grand wasnât much in todayâs world, but judging from the way she was living, it might provide a small cushion to fall back on. He might even suggest ways of investing it. PawPaw would have approved. Heâd been a big-time investment banker in his day.
On the other hand, he thought, grimly amused, better not. This whole bizarre situation had started when a Chandler had handed over some money and asked a Beckett to invest it for him.
Carson finished the soup, considered seconds and decided there was no point in asking for trouble. Whatever bug Mac had handed off apparently affected different people in different ways. Headache, fever, congestion and muscular aches he could handle. Nausea was another thing altogether. As much as he loved fishing,
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