Read Online Here Comes Trouble by Kathy Carmichael - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kathy Carmichael
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author's biography which mentioned the man
in the author's life, Doc Danger. Above the bio
was a grainy black and white photograph. Like so
many book cover photographs, the image wasn't
clear and he had to do a double-take to get their
meaning. Stella?
The woman pictured could certainly be mistaken for Stella, but they couldn't possibly be one
and the same. Stella was sweet and the author was
anything but. There was no way they could be the
same person.
"This is Constance Howard," he said and
couldn't help the tone of denial that crept into his
words nor the question that followed. "This is
Constance Howard?"
Prissy began fidgeting. His mother's bracelets
started their jangling. Cait sat down with a Chesh ire smile on her face while Miss Tipplemouse murmured something sounding like romantic. Janice
tittered and said, "We're discussing the final scene.
I contend that no one could write such a lurid
scene without having actually experienced it. Your
mother says it's purely drawn from the author's
febrile imagination. As a writer yourself, what do
you think?"
Just when Stella thought things might have
calmed down, she returned to her kitchen to continue straightening up. As she tossed the book
Miss Tipplemouse had brought her into a shopping
bag, she heard another knock at her door. She
shoved it on the kitchen counter amid the pile of
food ready to go in the freezer, then headed to the
door.
Stella threw the door open. "You."
"Hi." Quin stood there, looking every bit as
slug-like as the night before, irresistible grin and
all.
"It's all your fault."
"What is?" he asked.
"The fact my house has turned into Grand Central Station."
"How's that my fault?"
Like she'd tell him about all the books? If he
looked like a smug slug now, there was no telling
how he'd look once his too-large male ego was
complimented by a basement full of books on how
to snare him. Then, once it dawned on him that
the entire town had their sights on him, he'd flee
faster than he'd ever fled before. "I don't want to
talk about it."
He kept grinning. Why did that grin make her
suspicious? Then she noticed his companion, the
injured mongrel he'd been consorting with in the
dumpster.
"Looks like Doc Stephens patched him up, but he
appears to be hungry." Actually, now that she saw
him on all fours, he looked more like the kind of animal children had nightmares about. Too bad she
didn't keep dog biscuits on hand. Making sure he
was well fed might be an act of self-preservation.
"Do you suppose he likes coffee cake?"
"Can we come in?"
"Does he bite?"
"I don't think so." His tone didn't reassure her.
"Is he housebroken?"
Quin wiggled his brow. "There's only one way
to find out."
Stella didn't step back to let them in. She couldn't even if she'd been inclined to. The dog
looked evil and her body seemed to have perked
as soon as she'd caught sight of Quin. She had to
fight to keep from automatically tossing her hair.
Why did he have to make her react this way? She
felt like she was seventeen again and it was all his
fault.
"He's a great dog. This morning I took him to
the pet store and he stuck right with me."
"That's a good sign, I guess. But don't you
think such a great dog has a worried owner?" She
knew Quin's mother would never have such an
animal as a pet. "Does his owner know he's hanging out with you?"
"Doc Stephens said Tramp's a stray."
"I guess we'll have to take his word for it." It
wasn't too surprising. The animal would be the
perfect companion for the phantom of the opera.
With a mask to cover some of those scars, he
might actually be presentable.
"That's why I came to see you."
"What?"
Taking advantage of her momentary distraction,
Quin slipped past her and brought Tramp into the
house. Darn.
She directed him to the kitchen where she put
a couple of donuts and some coffee cake onto a
saucer and gave it to the dog.
Quin stared intently at her. "Speaking of Docs,
in the author's life, Doc Danger. Above the bio
was a grainy black and white photograph. Like so
many book cover photographs, the image wasn't
clear and he had to do a double-take to get their
meaning. Stella?
The woman pictured could certainly be mistaken for Stella, but they couldn't possibly be one
and the same. Stella was sweet and the author was
anything but. There was no way they could be the
same person.
"This is Constance Howard," he said and
couldn't help the tone of denial that crept into his
words nor the question that followed. "This is
Constance Howard?"
Prissy began fidgeting. His mother's bracelets
started their jangling. Cait sat down with a Chesh ire smile on her face while Miss Tipplemouse murmured something sounding like romantic. Janice
tittered and said, "We're discussing the final scene.
I contend that no one could write such a lurid
scene without having actually experienced it. Your
mother says it's purely drawn from the author's
febrile imagination. As a writer yourself, what do
you think?"
Just when Stella thought things might have
calmed down, she returned to her kitchen to continue straightening up. As she tossed the book
Miss Tipplemouse had brought her into a shopping
bag, she heard another knock at her door. She
shoved it on the kitchen counter amid the pile of
food ready to go in the freezer, then headed to the
door.
Stella threw the door open. "You."
"Hi." Quin stood there, looking every bit as
slug-like as the night before, irresistible grin and
all.
"It's all your fault."
"What is?" he asked.
"The fact my house has turned into Grand Central Station."
"How's that my fault?"
Like she'd tell him about all the books? If he
looked like a smug slug now, there was no telling
how he'd look once his too-large male ego was
complimented by a basement full of books on how
to snare him. Then, once it dawned on him that
the entire town had their sights on him, he'd flee
faster than he'd ever fled before. "I don't want to
talk about it."
He kept grinning. Why did that grin make her
suspicious? Then she noticed his companion, the
injured mongrel he'd been consorting with in the
dumpster.
"Looks like Doc Stephens patched him up, but he
appears to be hungry." Actually, now that she saw
him on all fours, he looked more like the kind of animal children had nightmares about. Too bad she
didn't keep dog biscuits on hand. Making sure he
was well fed might be an act of self-preservation.
"Do you suppose he likes coffee cake?"
"Can we come in?"
"Does he bite?"
"I don't think so." His tone didn't reassure her.
"Is he housebroken?"
Quin wiggled his brow. "There's only one way
to find out."
Stella didn't step back to let them in. She couldn't even if she'd been inclined to. The dog
looked evil and her body seemed to have perked
as soon as she'd caught sight of Quin. She had to
fight to keep from automatically tossing her hair.
Why did he have to make her react this way? She
felt like she was seventeen again and it was all his
fault.
"He's a great dog. This morning I took him to
the pet store and he stuck right with me."
"That's a good sign, I guess. But don't you
think such a great dog has a worried owner?" She
knew Quin's mother would never have such an
animal as a pet. "Does his owner know he's hanging out with you?"
"Doc Stephens said Tramp's a stray."
"I guess we'll have to take his word for it." It
wasn't too surprising. The animal would be the
perfect companion for the phantom of the opera.
With a mask to cover some of those scars, he
might actually be presentable.
"That's why I came to see you."
"What?"
Taking advantage of her momentary distraction,
Quin slipped past her and brought Tramp into the
house. Darn.
She directed him to the kitchen where she put
a couple of donuts and some coffee cake onto a
saucer and gave it to the dog.
Quin stared intently at her. "Speaking of Docs,
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