Daisy—though she would sit down if you pushed on her rump. Afterward, there’d been a lot of splashing in the tub, then some horseplay to indulge in with his freshly scrubbed daughter. There was a story to be told, that last glass of water to be fetched.
Once Jessie was asleep and the house was quiet, Boone indulged himself with a brandy out on the deck. There were piles of forms on his desk—a parent’s homework—that had to be filled out for Jessie’s school files.
He’d do them before he turned in, he decided. But this hour, this dark, quiet hour when the nearly full moon was rising, was his.
He could enjoy the clouds that were drifting overhead promising rain, the hypnotic sound of the water lapping against rock, the chatter of insects in the grass that he would have to mow very soon and the scent of night-blooming flowers.
No wonder he had snapped this house up at the very first glimpse. No place he’d ever been had relaxed him more, or given him more of a sense of rightness and peace. And it appealed to his imagination. The mystically shaped cypress, the magical ice plants that covered the banks, those empty and often eerie stretches of night beach.
The ethereally beautiful woman next door.
He smiled to himself. For someone who hadn’t felt much more than an occasional twinge for a woman in too long to remember, he was certainly feeling a barrage of them now.
It had taken him a long time to get over Alice. Though he still didn’t consider himself part of the dating pool, he hadn’t been a monk over the past couple of years. His life wasn’t empty, and he’d been able, after a great deal of pain, to accept the fact that he had to live it.
He was sipping his brandy, enjoying it and the simple pleasure of the night, when he heard Ana’s car. Not that he’d been waiting for it, Boone assured himself even as he checked his watch. He couldn’t quite smother the satisfaction at her being home early, too early to have gone out on a date.
Not that her social life was any of his business.
He couldn’t see her driveway, but because the night was calm he heard her shut her car door. Then, a few moments later, he heard her open and close the door to her house.
Propping his bare feet on the rail of the deck, he tried to imagine her progress through the house. Into the kitchen. Yes, the light snapped on, and he could see her move past the window. Brewing tea, perhaps, or pouring herself a glass of wine.
Shortly, the light switched off again, and he let his mind follow her through the house. Up the stairs. More lights, but it looked to Boone like the glow of a candle against the dark glass, rather than a lamp. Moments later, he heard the faint drift of music. Harp strings. Haunting, romantic and somehow sad.
Briefly, very briefly, she was silhouetted against a window. He could see quite clearly that slim feminine shadow as she stripped out of her shirt.
Hastily he swallowed brandy and looked away. However tempting it might be, he wouldn’t lower himself to the level of a Peeping Tom. He did, however, find himself craving a cigarette, and with apologies to his disapproving daughter, he pulled one out of his pocket.
Smoke stung the air, soothed his nerves. Boone contented himself with the sound of harpsong.
It was a very long time before he went back into the house and slept, with the sound of a gentle rain falling on the roof and the memory of harpsong drifting across the night breeze.
Chapter 4
Cannery Row was alive with sounds, the chattering of people as they strolled or rushed, the bright ringing of a bell from one of the tourist bikes, the ubiquitous calling of gulls searching for a handout. Ana enjoyed the crowds and the noise as much as she enjoyed the peace and solitude of her own backyard.
Patiently she chugged along with the stream of weekend traffic. On her first pass by Morgana’s shop, Ana resigned herself to the fact that the perfect day had brought tourists and locals out in droves.
Once Jessie was asleep and the house was quiet, Boone indulged himself with a brandy out on the deck. There were piles of forms on his desk—a parent’s homework—that had to be filled out for Jessie’s school files.
He’d do them before he turned in, he decided. But this hour, this dark, quiet hour when the nearly full moon was rising, was his.
He could enjoy the clouds that were drifting overhead promising rain, the hypnotic sound of the water lapping against rock, the chatter of insects in the grass that he would have to mow very soon and the scent of night-blooming flowers.
No wonder he had snapped this house up at the very first glimpse. No place he’d ever been had relaxed him more, or given him more of a sense of rightness and peace. And it appealed to his imagination. The mystically shaped cypress, the magical ice plants that covered the banks, those empty and often eerie stretches of night beach.
The ethereally beautiful woman next door.
He smiled to himself. For someone who hadn’t felt much more than an occasional twinge for a woman in too long to remember, he was certainly feeling a barrage of them now.
It had taken him a long time to get over Alice. Though he still didn’t consider himself part of the dating pool, he hadn’t been a monk over the past couple of years. His life wasn’t empty, and he’d been able, after a great deal of pain, to accept the fact that he had to live it.
He was sipping his brandy, enjoying it and the simple pleasure of the night, when he heard Ana’s car. Not that he’d been waiting for it, Boone assured himself even as he checked his watch. He couldn’t quite smother the satisfaction at her being home early, too early to have gone out on a date.
Not that her social life was any of his business.
He couldn’t see her driveway, but because the night was calm he heard her shut her car door. Then, a few moments later, he heard her open and close the door to her house.
Propping his bare feet on the rail of the deck, he tried to imagine her progress through the house. Into the kitchen. Yes, the light snapped on, and he could see her move past the window. Brewing tea, perhaps, or pouring herself a glass of wine.
Shortly, the light switched off again, and he let his mind follow her through the house. Up the stairs. More lights, but it looked to Boone like the glow of a candle against the dark glass, rather than a lamp. Moments later, he heard the faint drift of music. Harp strings. Haunting, romantic and somehow sad.
Briefly, very briefly, she was silhouetted against a window. He could see quite clearly that slim feminine shadow as she stripped out of her shirt.
Hastily he swallowed brandy and looked away. However tempting it might be, he wouldn’t lower himself to the level of a Peeping Tom. He did, however, find himself craving a cigarette, and with apologies to his disapproving daughter, he pulled one out of his pocket.
Smoke stung the air, soothed his nerves. Boone contented himself with the sound of harpsong.
It was a very long time before he went back into the house and slept, with the sound of a gentle rain falling on the roof and the memory of harpsong drifting across the night breeze.
Chapter 4
Cannery Row was alive with sounds, the chattering of people as they strolled or rushed, the bright ringing of a bell from one of the tourist bikes, the ubiquitous calling of gulls searching for a handout. Ana enjoyed the crowds and the noise as much as she enjoyed the peace and solitude of her own backyard.
Patiently she chugged along with the stream of weekend traffic. On her first pass by Morgana’s shop, Ana resigned herself to the fact that the perfect day had brought tourists and locals out in droves.
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