moving gracefully, a fall of long hair spilling off to one side.
If that was a cat, he would eat his typewriter.
He let the screen door shut with a squeak and a bang and went across the living room to the desk, where he opened his file box. With a thoughtful frown he lifted out an eight-by-ten glossy of Devon Stafford. A shiny black dress clung to her slim body like wet silk, emphasizing her delicate slenderness. The world-famous mane of platinum hair tumbled all around her like a frozen waterfall. She pouted at the camera, her lips like ripe berries, slick and plump, an erotic contrast to the taut angular planes of her face.
She was what he had come looking for.
She was gorgeous.
She was perfect.
Jake let the photograph fall back into the box as he wondered if Devon Stafford would have taken in a dog with three legs.
Dixie lay on her bed listening to the nonsensical mumbling of the television on the next floor. David Letterman was going through his nightly top ten list. She could tell by the cadence of the voice and the timing of her cousin's bursts of raucous laughter. She scowled up at the ceiling and the noise. Sometimes she really wished she weren't such a kindhearted soul. Tonight she would have liked to have had the house to herself so she could listen to its creaking and moaning. She would have liked to have been completely alone so she could have wallowed in the sense of loneliness that was assaulting her.
She wasn't one given to fits of self-pity. She firmly believed that life was what a person made of it. For a while, what she had made of hers was a mess, but she had turned that all around. She had been so happy, so content recently. Now all that seemed to have come unraveled like a cheap sweater. The appearance of Jake Gannon in her life had disrupted her sense of calm and had resurrected needs she had conveniently forgotten.
Wild hoots of laughter sounded above her, followed by stamping. Something had evidently struck her cousin's funny bone in a big way. Unamused herself, Dixie got up off the bed. She grabbed the golf club she kept propped in the corner, climbed up on the bed and hit the ceiling a few times. Almost immediately the noise subsided.
Dixie lay back down on her belly and stared out the window. The light in Jake's cottage was on. He was like the handsome stranger in old westerns, she thought. Riding into town unannounced, unknown, upsetting the quiet surface of the people's placid lives like a stone thrown in a pond. That was undoubtedly part of his attraction, beyond the obvious fact that he was gorgeous and radiated sex appeal like a furnace blasts heat. He was a reminder from her past, from a previous life. A reminder of the seductive allure of pretty, polished things. A reminder she didn't want.
He wouldn't be here long. He would stay a few days, until Eldon had his Porsche repaired, and then the handsome stranger would be gone and Dixie's life would settle back into the quiet routine she loved. Well, almost. She would have to have her cousin vacate the attic before things truly returned to normal, but that would happen, eventually, once Dee had settled a few things for herself.
The point was, Jake Gannon was just passing through. She had to keep her wits about her and make sure he wasn't toting her heart with him when he left. FIVE
"I SHOULD LIVE so long to see a man that good looking!" Sylvie Lieberman exclaimed, smacking Dixie on the shoulder.
They sat side by side on the wide stairs of the porch, sharing morning coffee and a view of the ocean. Jake had just jogged past, with Dixie's dogs cavorting at his heels.
In her sixties, Sylvie was trim and fashion-conscious. This morning she was decked out in a royal purple lounging outfit with a paisley silk scarf fluttering at her throat. Her small thin hands bore a load of jewelry and the spots and wrinkles of age, but her face was remarkably free of lines, thanks to her brother-in-law, a plastic surgeon from
If that was a cat, he would eat his typewriter.
He let the screen door shut with a squeak and a bang and went across the living room to the desk, where he opened his file box. With a thoughtful frown he lifted out an eight-by-ten glossy of Devon Stafford. A shiny black dress clung to her slim body like wet silk, emphasizing her delicate slenderness. The world-famous mane of platinum hair tumbled all around her like a frozen waterfall. She pouted at the camera, her lips like ripe berries, slick and plump, an erotic contrast to the taut angular planes of her face.
She was what he had come looking for.
She was gorgeous.
She was perfect.
Jake let the photograph fall back into the box as he wondered if Devon Stafford would have taken in a dog with three legs.
Dixie lay on her bed listening to the nonsensical mumbling of the television on the next floor. David Letterman was going through his nightly top ten list. She could tell by the cadence of the voice and the timing of her cousin's bursts of raucous laughter. She scowled up at the ceiling and the noise. Sometimes she really wished she weren't such a kindhearted soul. Tonight she would have liked to have had the house to herself so she could listen to its creaking and moaning. She would have liked to have been completely alone so she could have wallowed in the sense of loneliness that was assaulting her.
She wasn't one given to fits of self-pity. She firmly believed that life was what a person made of it. For a while, what she had made of hers was a mess, but she had turned that all around. She had been so happy, so content recently. Now all that seemed to have come unraveled like a cheap sweater. The appearance of Jake Gannon in her life had disrupted her sense of calm and had resurrected needs she had conveniently forgotten.
Wild hoots of laughter sounded above her, followed by stamping. Something had evidently struck her cousin's funny bone in a big way. Unamused herself, Dixie got up off the bed. She grabbed the golf club she kept propped in the corner, climbed up on the bed and hit the ceiling a few times. Almost immediately the noise subsided.
Dixie lay back down on her belly and stared out the window. The light in Jake's cottage was on. He was like the handsome stranger in old westerns, she thought. Riding into town unannounced, unknown, upsetting the quiet surface of the people's placid lives like a stone thrown in a pond. That was undoubtedly part of his attraction, beyond the obvious fact that he was gorgeous and radiated sex appeal like a furnace blasts heat. He was a reminder from her past, from a previous life. A reminder of the seductive allure of pretty, polished things. A reminder she didn't want.
He wouldn't be here long. He would stay a few days, until Eldon had his Porsche repaired, and then the handsome stranger would be gone and Dixie's life would settle back into the quiet routine she loved. Well, almost. She would have to have her cousin vacate the attic before things truly returned to normal, but that would happen, eventually, once Dee had settled a few things for herself.
The point was, Jake Gannon was just passing through. She had to keep her wits about her and make sure he wasn't toting her heart with him when he left. FIVE
"I SHOULD LIVE so long to see a man that good looking!" Sylvie Lieberman exclaimed, smacking Dixie on the shoulder.
They sat side by side on the wide stairs of the porch, sharing morning coffee and a view of the ocean. Jake had just jogged past, with Dixie's dogs cavorting at his heels.
In her sixties, Sylvie was trim and fashion-conscious. This morning she was decked out in a royal purple lounging outfit with a paisley silk scarf fluttering at her throat. Her small thin hands bore a load of jewelry and the spots and wrinkles of age, but her face was remarkably free of lines, thanks to her brother-in-law, a plastic surgeon from
Similar Books
