Read Online House of Strangers (Harlequin Super Romance) by Carolyn McSparren - Free Book Online
Authors: Carolyn McSparren
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anyway.”
“It’ll be midnight if I don’t get started.”
Upstairs he unloaded his mattress. It took barely ten minutes to turn the lump of plastic into what looked like a comfortable double bed. He’d already hung the few clothes he’d brought with him in the small closet, but he would have to start looking for suitable furniture for this room soon. He had a few decent pieces of furniture from his old apartment, but they were sleek and modern, nothing that would be suitable for this house.
Maybe he could enlist Ann’s help. He planned to sell the place furnished. He didn’t want any souvenirs of this little venture.
Or did he? He wandered out onto the sleeping porchthat ran across the back of the second floor. With nightfall the air had grown chilly again after the afternoon warmth, but there was no breeze. He felt as though he were in a tree house. Except for the glow from the parking lot next door, he might as well have been in the wilderness.
Someone had left an old folding chair leaning against the wall. He opened it, turned it to face the backyard, sat down and propped his feet on the railing in front of him.
He let the darkness envelop him. Somewhere close by a bird called, and frogs were already making noises. His father should have loved growing up in this house. Why had he run away to Paris?
CHAPTER FIVE
“S ORRY . I DIDN’T MEAN to wake you.” Ann stood in the doorway to the little porch.
Paul sat up quickly. “I wasn’t asleep.” He stretched and smiled at Ann. He felt more relaxed than he had in days.
“Sure you weren’t. If you’d rather skip that dinner, I’ve got plenty of stuff at my place. I could at least come up with a decent omelet.”
“I couldn’t ask you—”
“You’re not asking. I am. Actually, I’m being selfish. I’d much rather cook than have to fix myself up and drive into town and back.”
“You don’t need fixing up.”
“Oh, yes, I do.” Ann laughed. “So are you game?”
“Yes, and thank you.” He pulled himself out of the chair and followed Ann and Dante. His mattress sat in the middle of the bedroom floor. Ann sidestepped it neatly and went ahead down the stairs.
They walked the short distance across the square and around the three row houses to the short alley in back. The alleyway was pitch-dark. The anemic illumination of the wrought-iron streetlights around the square didn’t reach over the tops of the buildings, but Ann took a small flashlight from her back pocket and switched it on. Something moved in the bushes on the far side of the alley.
Dante gave a low woof.
“Hush. It’s just a cat,” she said.
Something, probably the cat, banged against one of the large garbage cans at the far end, then disappeared in a streak of fur. Dante looked up at Ann beseechingly, but she grasped his collar. “No. No chasing cats.”
They came to an old wooden staircase at the back of the second building. It looked as though it was ready to collapse into the small parking lot across the alley.
Paul followed Ann up to the little landing at the top and waited while she unlocked and opened her door. She turned on the lights.
Paul was no stranger to lofts. Several of his friends had invested in and restored lofts in lower Manhattan. They usually wound up modern, austere, cold and expensive.
This loft across two of the buildings was still very much a loft. Their footsteps and the click of Dante’s toenails echoed on the bare hardwood floors. The doorway opened into the half that Ann used as an apartment.
Beyond it, a broad archway led into the workshop half. Since the lights came on in both at the same time, Paul could see a large worktable in the center and cabinets along the back wall.
There was also a table saw, router table, a lathe, industrial shelving with molds, brushes and all sorts of equipment Paul couldn’t identify.
To the left of the door they’d come in was a galley kitchen, separated from the rest of the room by a high breakfast
“It’ll be midnight if I don’t get started.”
Upstairs he unloaded his mattress. It took barely ten minutes to turn the lump of plastic into what looked like a comfortable double bed. He’d already hung the few clothes he’d brought with him in the small closet, but he would have to start looking for suitable furniture for this room soon. He had a few decent pieces of furniture from his old apartment, but they were sleek and modern, nothing that would be suitable for this house.
Maybe he could enlist Ann’s help. He planned to sell the place furnished. He didn’t want any souvenirs of this little venture.
Or did he? He wandered out onto the sleeping porchthat ran across the back of the second floor. With nightfall the air had grown chilly again after the afternoon warmth, but there was no breeze. He felt as though he were in a tree house. Except for the glow from the parking lot next door, he might as well have been in the wilderness.
Someone had left an old folding chair leaning against the wall. He opened it, turned it to face the backyard, sat down and propped his feet on the railing in front of him.
He let the darkness envelop him. Somewhere close by a bird called, and frogs were already making noises. His father should have loved growing up in this house. Why had he run away to Paris?
CHAPTER FIVE
“S ORRY . I DIDN’T MEAN to wake you.” Ann stood in the doorway to the little porch.
Paul sat up quickly. “I wasn’t asleep.” He stretched and smiled at Ann. He felt more relaxed than he had in days.
“Sure you weren’t. If you’d rather skip that dinner, I’ve got plenty of stuff at my place. I could at least come up with a decent omelet.”
“I couldn’t ask you—”
“You’re not asking. I am. Actually, I’m being selfish. I’d much rather cook than have to fix myself up and drive into town and back.”
“You don’t need fixing up.”
“Oh, yes, I do.” Ann laughed. “So are you game?”
“Yes, and thank you.” He pulled himself out of the chair and followed Ann and Dante. His mattress sat in the middle of the bedroom floor. Ann sidestepped it neatly and went ahead down the stairs.
They walked the short distance across the square and around the three row houses to the short alley in back. The alleyway was pitch-dark. The anemic illumination of the wrought-iron streetlights around the square didn’t reach over the tops of the buildings, but Ann took a small flashlight from her back pocket and switched it on. Something moved in the bushes on the far side of the alley.
Dante gave a low woof.
“Hush. It’s just a cat,” she said.
Something, probably the cat, banged against one of the large garbage cans at the far end, then disappeared in a streak of fur. Dante looked up at Ann beseechingly, but she grasped his collar. “No. No chasing cats.”
They came to an old wooden staircase at the back of the second building. It looked as though it was ready to collapse into the small parking lot across the alley.
Paul followed Ann up to the little landing at the top and waited while she unlocked and opened her door. She turned on the lights.
Paul was no stranger to lofts. Several of his friends had invested in and restored lofts in lower Manhattan. They usually wound up modern, austere, cold and expensive.
This loft across two of the buildings was still very much a loft. Their footsteps and the click of Dante’s toenails echoed on the bare hardwood floors. The doorway opened into the half that Ann used as an apartment.
Beyond it, a broad archway led into the workshop half. Since the lights came on in both at the same time, Paul could see a large worktable in the center and cabinets along the back wall.
There was also a table saw, router table, a lathe, industrial shelving with molds, brushes and all sorts of equipment Paul couldn’t identify.
To the left of the door they’d come in was a galley kitchen, separated from the rest of the room by a high breakfast
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