Read Online Borrowing a Bachelor by Karen Kendall - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karen Kendall
Tags: All The Groom's Men
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back oxygen to the atmosphere in return. Nikki envied it. She might not be the most ambitious person on the planet, but she did want to find a way to give back to others.
Right now, though, she had to focus on paying back, not giving back. She hated being in debt.
Slowly she got out of the car, her feet feeling like lead in her old Crocs as she moved up the driveway toward the varnished front door of the tiny home. Cement-and-resin garden frogs in all shapes and sizes dotted the little porch. Why her mother had a thing for frogs, she didn’t know. Maybe she hoped that they would all turn into princes one day?
Nikki averted her eyes from the roof, which had once been an expanse of lovely terra cotta barrel tiles that had now faded and cracked and succumbed to blackish green mildew. The roof was an ongoing nightmare that her mother couldn’t afford to fix.
Tara Fine, her mom, had dark red hair that owed its richness to Clairol. She had abundant curves and owed those to her own baking. And she had the same large, seawater-green eyes as Nikki. She wore no wedding ring since she’d never been married—Nikki’s dad, the drummer in a band, hadn’t offered that option.
She’d raised Nikki by herself with a lot of love, very little money and some occasional babysitting from her sister, Dee, and her parents, Nikki’s Gran and Poppy.
Tara opened the door at Nikki’s knock and immediately enfolded her in a big, squishy, wonderful hug. Like the palm tree, it made Nikki feel guilty. She wasn’t here out of daughterly affection, she was here to ask for money. Money that her mother probably didn’t have to spare.
But Aunt Dee had her own issues, so was out as a source of cash, and none of Nikki’s friends could loan her five hundred dollars right now.
“Hi, sweetie,” Tara exclaimed, smelling of vanilla extract, butter and flour. “What a nice surprise. Good timing, too. I just pulled a tray of raspberry scones out of the oven.”
The house smelled wonderful as Nikki stepped inside, like a smaller version of Sweetheart’s, her mother’s bakery. The living-room walls were painted in a soft cinnamon color, airy olive curtains that Tara had made herself hung in the windows, and the love seat and matching chair were draped in striped-gold-and-olive slipcovers. Instead of throw pillows, there were cats on the furniture. Cats that blinked sleepily, yawned and stretched. Cats in every color: tabby, calico, orange, white and black.
Nikki wrinkled her nose as she caught the familiar ammonia stench that underlay the aroma of the fresh scones. With so many cats inside, it was simply impossible to disguise the presence of their by-products—especially since the dear kitties were partial to the dozens of potted plants and delicate fruit trees that filled the house.
The sunroom, in particular, was in constant disarray, since the cats chewed on the wicker furniture, used the cushions for sharpening their claws and gleefully dug the soil out of the plants, sending it flying, in order to make their deposits. Tara scolded them but it did no good.
Nikki followed her mother through the vanilla-painted dining room, where books and papers constantly covered the table since Tara had started taking classes part-time. Nikki’s childhood paintings of lopsided cakes and pies and cookies still hung framed on the walls in this room, though they embarrassed her and she’d begged her mother to take them down.
Tara had painted the kitchen a chocolate-brown with bright white trim. A tiny bistro table and two chairs occupied the nook by the window. Shiny copper bakeware hung in artistic arrangements here, along with framed magazine pictures of fantastic chocolate creations and elaborate gingerbread houses. A solid wall of colorful dessert cookbooks stood opposite the stove. This room, more than any other, defined her mother’s life.
“Would you like whipped cream on your scone?” Tara asked.
Nikki chuckled ruefully. “Sure, why not add
Right now, though, she had to focus on paying back, not giving back. She hated being in debt.
Slowly she got out of the car, her feet feeling like lead in her old Crocs as she moved up the driveway toward the varnished front door of the tiny home. Cement-and-resin garden frogs in all shapes and sizes dotted the little porch. Why her mother had a thing for frogs, she didn’t know. Maybe she hoped that they would all turn into princes one day?
Nikki averted her eyes from the roof, which had once been an expanse of lovely terra cotta barrel tiles that had now faded and cracked and succumbed to blackish green mildew. The roof was an ongoing nightmare that her mother couldn’t afford to fix.
Tara Fine, her mom, had dark red hair that owed its richness to Clairol. She had abundant curves and owed those to her own baking. And she had the same large, seawater-green eyes as Nikki. She wore no wedding ring since she’d never been married—Nikki’s dad, the drummer in a band, hadn’t offered that option.
She’d raised Nikki by herself with a lot of love, very little money and some occasional babysitting from her sister, Dee, and her parents, Nikki’s Gran and Poppy.
Tara opened the door at Nikki’s knock and immediately enfolded her in a big, squishy, wonderful hug. Like the palm tree, it made Nikki feel guilty. She wasn’t here out of daughterly affection, she was here to ask for money. Money that her mother probably didn’t have to spare.
But Aunt Dee had her own issues, so was out as a source of cash, and none of Nikki’s friends could loan her five hundred dollars right now.
“Hi, sweetie,” Tara exclaimed, smelling of vanilla extract, butter and flour. “What a nice surprise. Good timing, too. I just pulled a tray of raspberry scones out of the oven.”
The house smelled wonderful as Nikki stepped inside, like a smaller version of Sweetheart’s, her mother’s bakery. The living-room walls were painted in a soft cinnamon color, airy olive curtains that Tara had made herself hung in the windows, and the love seat and matching chair were draped in striped-gold-and-olive slipcovers. Instead of throw pillows, there were cats on the furniture. Cats that blinked sleepily, yawned and stretched. Cats in every color: tabby, calico, orange, white and black.
Nikki wrinkled her nose as she caught the familiar ammonia stench that underlay the aroma of the fresh scones. With so many cats inside, it was simply impossible to disguise the presence of their by-products—especially since the dear kitties were partial to the dozens of potted plants and delicate fruit trees that filled the house.
The sunroom, in particular, was in constant disarray, since the cats chewed on the wicker furniture, used the cushions for sharpening their claws and gleefully dug the soil out of the plants, sending it flying, in order to make their deposits. Tara scolded them but it did no good.
Nikki followed her mother through the vanilla-painted dining room, where books and papers constantly covered the table since Tara had started taking classes part-time. Nikki’s childhood paintings of lopsided cakes and pies and cookies still hung framed on the walls in this room, though they embarrassed her and she’d begged her mother to take them down.
Tara had painted the kitchen a chocolate-brown with bright white trim. A tiny bistro table and two chairs occupied the nook by the window. Shiny copper bakeware hung in artistic arrangements here, along with framed magazine pictures of fantastic chocolate creations and elaborate gingerbread houses. A solid wall of colorful dessert cookbooks stood opposite the stove. This room, more than any other, defined her mother’s life.
“Would you like whipped cream on your scone?” Tara asked.
Nikki chuckled ruefully. “Sure, why not add
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