needed for making perfume. Gram had taught Bree the craft as a child, and as she grew older Bree started to create her own scents—better than those of the professionals, according to Gram. That, of course, was silly, just as silly as her frivolous childhood dream of making perfumes as a career. But for these few weeks, she was free to be just as silly and impractical as she pleased, to do only the things she really loved doing. She might even have time to get one brew of scent going before she started baking.
If she weren’t so hot. Thank heaven Claire had managed to come up with a bathing suit from the far back of the store. The style of the suit had almost made Bree laugh, but at least until her luggage arrived she could get clean in the pond without risking exposure to any loudly vocal exhibitionists.
When she had put away all her purchases, Bree squeezed some fresh lemons for lemonade, downed two glasses of the refreshing drink and tapped a bare toe in the silent room. Hot sunlight poured through the windowpanes, peaceful and cheery, yet she couldn’t seem to settle into doing anything.
The heat must be causing this nagging restlessness. The night would cool up fine, but right now her jeans were sticking to her legs and her hair was curling damply around her temples. Popping up to the loft, she peeled off the stiff denims and camisole and dug out the bathing suit she’d just put away.
She put it on and grimaced at herself in the cracked old mirror in the corner. The suit was a one-piece black number with a little skirt, high necked with thick straps, the kind that had gone out of style several decades ago. The general store didn’t exactly stock the height of fashion. Furthermore, the built-in bra seemed to be made of whalebone. It was cool, Bree reminded herself, and that was all she’d wanted at the time, something that was cool and concealing. No one was around to care or see…Her eyes flickered abruptly to the telescope still lying by the window.
Gram had spent hours with that telescope, looking for white-crowned sparrows and ruby-throated hummingbirds. Bree adjusted the lens, quickly scanned the trees for Gram’s old favorites and zoomed in…accidentally on the house at the top of the hill.
He’d taken the boards off the windows, she noticed. The yard had been mowed, not an easy task on that steep rise. A chaise longue now stood on the patio that jutted out over the ravine. And there was someone in the upstairs window, rubbing a cloth on the dusty panes…
Bree abruptly lowered the telescope, readjusted the lens and held it to her eye again. Not someone. A woman. In a shocking pink confection that a brazen hussy might have the nerve to call a bathing suit.
It certainly hadn’t taken him long to get established in the neighborhood.
Actually, that model of housekeeper looked imported.
She blinked again, squinting harder into the lens. Good Lord, there were two of them. The second came with tiger stripes. And that child didn’t know enough to buy a suit that fit her.
Bree lowered the telescope, and grabbed a towel.
Downstairs, she picked up a bottle of shampoo and headed for the door. Her suit, she thought wryly, was hardly necessary. She was going to get her skinny-dipping bath in freedom after all. He’d found someone else to play with. More than enough to keep him busy.
A little bath, a couple hours of sunbathing, then her projects… Safe echoed through Bree in one huge, disgruntled yawn.
At the pond, she abandoned the bathing suit and flung it toward the nearest bush. The sun caressed her bare skin as she walked with head thrown back to the shoreline. She waded knee-deep into the icy water, then thigh-deep, then arched into a shallow racing dive.
Water rushed around her limbs like icy silk. She flipped over and began a lazy backstroke, swimming the length of the pond once, and then again. Her senses seemed to burst into life, senses that had been dormant for weeks now. She was conscious
If she weren’t so hot. Thank heaven Claire had managed to come up with a bathing suit from the far back of the store. The style of the suit had almost made Bree laugh, but at least until her luggage arrived she could get clean in the pond without risking exposure to any loudly vocal exhibitionists.
When she had put away all her purchases, Bree squeezed some fresh lemons for lemonade, downed two glasses of the refreshing drink and tapped a bare toe in the silent room. Hot sunlight poured through the windowpanes, peaceful and cheery, yet she couldn’t seem to settle into doing anything.
The heat must be causing this nagging restlessness. The night would cool up fine, but right now her jeans were sticking to her legs and her hair was curling damply around her temples. Popping up to the loft, she peeled off the stiff denims and camisole and dug out the bathing suit she’d just put away.
She put it on and grimaced at herself in the cracked old mirror in the corner. The suit was a one-piece black number with a little skirt, high necked with thick straps, the kind that had gone out of style several decades ago. The general store didn’t exactly stock the height of fashion. Furthermore, the built-in bra seemed to be made of whalebone. It was cool, Bree reminded herself, and that was all she’d wanted at the time, something that was cool and concealing. No one was around to care or see…Her eyes flickered abruptly to the telescope still lying by the window.
Gram had spent hours with that telescope, looking for white-crowned sparrows and ruby-throated hummingbirds. Bree adjusted the lens, quickly scanned the trees for Gram’s old favorites and zoomed in…accidentally on the house at the top of the hill.
He’d taken the boards off the windows, she noticed. The yard had been mowed, not an easy task on that steep rise. A chaise longue now stood on the patio that jutted out over the ravine. And there was someone in the upstairs window, rubbing a cloth on the dusty panes…
Bree abruptly lowered the telescope, readjusted the lens and held it to her eye again. Not someone. A woman. In a shocking pink confection that a brazen hussy might have the nerve to call a bathing suit.
It certainly hadn’t taken him long to get established in the neighborhood.
Actually, that model of housekeeper looked imported.
She blinked again, squinting harder into the lens. Good Lord, there were two of them. The second came with tiger stripes. And that child didn’t know enough to buy a suit that fit her.
Bree lowered the telescope, and grabbed a towel.
Downstairs, she picked up a bottle of shampoo and headed for the door. Her suit, she thought wryly, was hardly necessary. She was going to get her skinny-dipping bath in freedom after all. He’d found someone else to play with. More than enough to keep him busy.
A little bath, a couple hours of sunbathing, then her projects… Safe echoed through Bree in one huge, disgruntled yawn.
At the pond, she abandoned the bathing suit and flung it toward the nearest bush. The sun caressed her bare skin as she walked with head thrown back to the shoreline. She waded knee-deep into the icy water, then thigh-deep, then arched into a shallow racing dive.
Water rushed around her limbs like icy silk. She flipped over and began a lazy backstroke, swimming the length of the pond once, and then again. Her senses seemed to burst into life, senses that had been dormant for weeks now. She was conscious
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