Read Online Kathleen Valentine by My Last Romance, other passions - Free Book Online Page B

beneath made his knees weak. Girls like that, he thought, girls like that should be locked up—but thank God that they weren’t.

He was dying to say something witty. He was damn clever when no one important was around—down at the Legion hall he had a reputation for his quick comebacks. Right now his tongue was being a traitorous bastard.

"Is this your shop?" she asked turning toward him.

"Yeah." He swallowed and tossed the tea-soaked tissues toward the waste basket. Naturally he missed. "I quit fishing when my wife got sick a few years back. After she passed away I opened this place—never felt much like fishing again." Well, that sounded pathetic—now she’d think he was a love-lorn old fool.

"That’s too bad," she said.

"Oh, it’s been a good enough living—lots of tourists these days."

She smiled softly. "No, I meant it was too bad about your wife."

"Oh." Christ. "Well, that was awhile ago. Are you on vacation?"

"Sort of—yes." She picked up a curtain of mussel shells and held it up to the light. "I live in Arlington. Woke up with Spring fever this morning and just called in sick and got in the car." She turned toward him. Her eyes were teasing. "Sometimes you just have to do something crazy, y’know?"

Up close he realized she wasn’t as young as he had thought—late thirties maybe. Possibly forty. And the Spring fever was contagious. The fever was rushing through him and pounding in his head. Pounding in a lot of places.

"Like that?" he asked as she toyed with the shells hanging from a long, slim piece of driftwood strung with fishing line. "The Wampanoags make those. They’re good in windows—give you a little privacy, make a nice sound when the wind blows, and turn the sunlight blue."

"Wampanoags?" She tilted an eyebrow—she was damn good at that.

"Local Native tribe," he said relieved they were finally talking about something that didn’t make him sound like a moron. "‘Course these days they make more money with their casinos than crafts. Interesting people. I like hearing their dune lore stories."

She smiled as she put the screen on the counter and opened her handbag. "Dune lore? What’s dune lore?"

"Sorry," he said finally managing to smile back at her, "I don’t tell dune lore stories on company time. You have to be out in the dunes after dark for them to get the effect, y’know?" What the hell, he thought, there’s no fool like an old fool and he’d been down this road before.

She lifted an eyebrow—she could kill a man with that eyebrow. "That so?" The rest of the conversation was hazy after that eyebrow trick but the point was he had wound up offering to take her for beer and cuyhoags and a walk in the dunes that evening. Her name was Lindy which had a lovely lilting sound on his tongue.

He knew she was just looking for adventure. Well, he thought, if she was looking for adventure he wasn’t above letting her use him for that purpose. He’d misused himself for worse purposes.

The Tides attracted a local crowd. He usually knew everyone there—he and Bonnie had attended the Sunday night ham and beans dinners for years. He and Hugh often stopped for a sandwich and a beer and the chance to catch up on the local goings-on. But the crowd went silent when he walked in that night with Lindy. At least for a moment or two. But she fit right in. She had a hearty appetite and could keep up with him when it came to drinking. She was fun and friendly and not afraid to laugh out loud. He decided he liked her. She was a knockout but she was also nice. He was happy just being with her.

Later deep in the moon-washed sands and sensuous shadows of the dunes he recounted some of the stories told by the old-timers when he was a boy. By the time they reached the red and white striped lighthouse they were leaning against each other laughing. Just drunk enough. When he finally did what was expected of him—took her solid waist in his big hands and kissed her uplifted mouth—she didn’t