Read Online Bookends by Liz Curtis Higgs - Free Book Online Page A

behind him and grinned. “Rise and shine, Dr. Getz.”
    Her copper-bottomed teakettle whistled a cheery tune into the morning darkness as Emilie prepared to break her fast in the usual manner: crisptoast covered with a scant layer of imported orange marmalade, piping hot English Breakfast tea with lemon, and fresh sliced fruit. This morning, a luscious pear waited on her plate, carefully arranged in a creamy white circle.
    Almost too pretty to eat.
She sighed, slipping a juicy slice of pear into her mouth, and regarded the kitchen clock.
Five after four.
He would be late, of course. Men always were. Since he seemed to be the outdoor type, at least he’d be dressed properly. Black clothes again, no doubt, and a hat of some sort or his pointy ears would freeze with that ridiculous haircut.
    Pouring the steaming water into a chubby porcelain pot, she dipped two slim tea bags inside, then dropped the lid in place, followed by a quilted cozy. She’d finish dressing while it steeped, since her clothes were already waiting for her, neatly draped across the foot of her single bed. After darting up the narrow, enclosed curved staircase to the second floor, Emilie donned her lined wool slacks and sturdy boots in no time, then topped them with a high-necked blouse and a heavy brown sweater.
    There.
She might not know a catbird from a crow, but she intended to look the part of a seasoned birder. The brand-new field guide waiting in her coat pocket would give her away, though she’d bent the cover back and forth several times to make it appear well used.
Face it, Em. Birds aren’t impressed with a Ph.D.
Neither was Jonas Fielding, if she’d read him correctly. His two brothers, on the other hand, seemed duly interested in her credentials. They had their older brother’s looks, she concluded, without all the arrogance.
    What had possessed her to agree to this outing—to spend another day away from her research, sitting in a nature preserve counting birds with a virtual stranger—was beyond Emilie’s comprehension. She didn’t even know what the man did for a living! Serving on church committees and tallying up sparrows hardly constituted gainful employment.
    Obviously Jonas had caught her in a weak moment.
    It would not happen again.
    Minutes later, sipping her tea in comfy silence, she heard a sudden screech of tires out front, then the bleat of a car horn—not once but three times—shattering the predawn stillness with its rude, insistent blare.
    Well, of all the …!
    She tossed her cloth napkin on the table in disgust and reached for her blue hooded jacket. “If that’s his idea of a bird call, we’re in for a very longday.” She swallowed her last sip of tea with a jolt when the horn sounded again, catching her off guard. The hot liquid burned a path down her throat, even as she sensed a head of steam building between her ears.
    Throwing open the front door with uncharacteristic energy, Emilie lunged over the threshold just as Jonas reached the top step, inches away from a head-on collision. Regaining her balance, she stretched up to her full height, using the threshold to her advantage.
    “Mister Fielding!” Steaming hot or not, her breath filled the frosty air between them with an angry cloud of vapor. “Was it your plan to invite all of Main Street to join us?”
    He glanced at the vehicle parked at a crooked angle by the curb. “Nah. No room.” He offered her a cagey grin. “Just you, me, and Trix.”
    Trix?
So. Another woman was joining them.
Trix. Sounds like a nightclub dancer.
Emilie sniffed. “Very well. I’m ready, of course.”
    “Of course.” He angled one thumb toward the car and pulled the door shut behind her.
    She swept past, then paused to give him an appraising glance, eyebrows arched. “Is black the only color in your wardrobe?”
    “Yup.” His infuriating grin grew more so. “I order two dozen Ts and jeans at a whack from L.L. Bean. No mix, no match, no hassle.”
    No taste,