Read Online Mr. Write (Sweetwater) by Lisa Clark O'Neill - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa Clark O'Neill
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so.”
God, how humiliating. Some professional reputation she was establishing. “You don’t have to look quite so entertained.”
“Why not? This is Sweetwater. It’s not like there’s a whole lot else goin’ on.”
Sarah considered that she’d shared his opinion. Right up until the night she’d come home. “That’s what you think.” She handed Bran her empty coffee cup, and went to get dressed.
TUCKER scowled as he checked the street signs, turning right onto River Road. As if this morning wasn’t bad enough, he now had a raging and wholly unexpected case of sexual frustration.
Not that he hadn’t noticed the redhead before – at just a few inches shy of six feet, she was kind of hard to miss. But he’d been distracted and annoyed the first time he’d seen her. He’d been distracted and annoyed the second time, too, not to mention embarrassed. But even though it had been dark, he hadn’t been distracted enough not to notice the yard of leg sticking out from beneath that skimpy robe.
This morning he’d been distracted and annoyed – there seemed to be a pattern developing – but he’d gotten a whiff of her coffee, which had nearly brought him to his knees . And he’d finally woken up enough to notice her breasts.
His mouthy neighbor had very nice breasts.
The Stratton kid had certainly noticed, Tucker thought with disgust. He’d been tempted to smack the boy upside his head and tell him to roll his tongue back in. Which was ridiculous. What did he care who looked at Sarah’s… attributes?
And besides, the mouthy factor cancelled out said attributes. It may have been a while since he’d been with a woman, but he wasn’t so desperate as to get involved with a ball-buster. He preferred his women sweet. Like Allison Hawbaker.
Although he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have quite the same reaction if it had been Allison Hawbaker in that see-through top.
Thinking of the Hawbakers made Tucker wonder exactly what Carlton had done. No doubt something completely underhanded. Manipulating people toward his own ends was his grandfather’s specialty. Rage simmered, but Tucker brought it under control. He wouldn’t let the old man push his buttons.
Nearly missing th e turn-off, Tucker slowed his truck, checked the rearview mirror, and then threw the gearshift into reverse.
And started down the oak-lined lane to River’s End.
Situated where the Sweetwater River spilled lazily into the sound, his grandfather’s house rose like some kind of church gone awry.
A n arcade of Gothic arches made the porch appear more sacrosanct than welcoming, while its many gabled dormers formed a row of perpetually judgmental eyes. Morning had burned through the worst of the river’s fog with its rosy fingers, brushing the metal roof with an ethereal glow. Even the majestic oaks had been pruned into submission, and orderly rows of pure white flowers sat motionless in their earthen pews.
And the river ran behind it all, a snake of green in this perfect garden.
It was somehow awful in its cold beauty, like an avalanche or a calving glacier – the kind of thing you wanted to admire from far, far away.
His father had grown up in this house.
The photo of the laughing, warm-eyed man his mother had kept beside her bed bore little resemblance to anyone who should spring from this environment. This was the stuff of dark romance, where nature is sinister beneath its beauty, and humans, inside their pious shells, full of evil deeds and destruction.
Or at the very least, prone to a brooding sort of solitude.
Someone, actually, like him.
And because that realization further disgusted him, Tucker yanked his keys from his vehicle’s ignition. Thinking he belonged here was just exactly what the old man wanted.
And Tucker had already had enough of that shit.
Squelching the urge to cross himself as he stomped up onto the pristine porch, Tucker leaned heavily
God, how humiliating. Some professional reputation she was establishing. “You don’t have to look quite so entertained.”
“Why not? This is Sweetwater. It’s not like there’s a whole lot else goin’ on.”
Sarah considered that she’d shared his opinion. Right up until the night she’d come home. “That’s what you think.” She handed Bran her empty coffee cup, and went to get dressed.
TUCKER scowled as he checked the street signs, turning right onto River Road. As if this morning wasn’t bad enough, he now had a raging and wholly unexpected case of sexual frustration.
Not that he hadn’t noticed the redhead before – at just a few inches shy of six feet, she was kind of hard to miss. But he’d been distracted and annoyed the first time he’d seen her. He’d been distracted and annoyed the second time, too, not to mention embarrassed. But even though it had been dark, he hadn’t been distracted enough not to notice the yard of leg sticking out from beneath that skimpy robe.
This morning he’d been distracted and annoyed – there seemed to be a pattern developing – but he’d gotten a whiff of her coffee, which had nearly brought him to his knees . And he’d finally woken up enough to notice her breasts.
His mouthy neighbor had very nice breasts.
The Stratton kid had certainly noticed, Tucker thought with disgust. He’d been tempted to smack the boy upside his head and tell him to roll his tongue back in. Which was ridiculous. What did he care who looked at Sarah’s… attributes?
And besides, the mouthy factor cancelled out said attributes. It may have been a while since he’d been with a woman, but he wasn’t so desperate as to get involved with a ball-buster. He preferred his women sweet. Like Allison Hawbaker.
Although he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have quite the same reaction if it had been Allison Hawbaker in that see-through top.
Thinking of the Hawbakers made Tucker wonder exactly what Carlton had done. No doubt something completely underhanded. Manipulating people toward his own ends was his grandfather’s specialty. Rage simmered, but Tucker brought it under control. He wouldn’t let the old man push his buttons.
Nearly missing th e turn-off, Tucker slowed his truck, checked the rearview mirror, and then threw the gearshift into reverse.
And started down the oak-lined lane to River’s End.
Situated where the Sweetwater River spilled lazily into the sound, his grandfather’s house rose like some kind of church gone awry.
A n arcade of Gothic arches made the porch appear more sacrosanct than welcoming, while its many gabled dormers formed a row of perpetually judgmental eyes. Morning had burned through the worst of the river’s fog with its rosy fingers, brushing the metal roof with an ethereal glow. Even the majestic oaks had been pruned into submission, and orderly rows of pure white flowers sat motionless in their earthen pews.
And the river ran behind it all, a snake of green in this perfect garden.
It was somehow awful in its cold beauty, like an avalanche or a calving glacier – the kind of thing you wanted to admire from far, far away.
His father had grown up in this house.
The photo of the laughing, warm-eyed man his mother had kept beside her bed bore little resemblance to anyone who should spring from this environment. This was the stuff of dark romance, where nature is sinister beneath its beauty, and humans, inside their pious shells, full of evil deeds and destruction.
Or at the very least, prone to a brooding sort of solitude.
Someone, actually, like him.
And because that realization further disgusted him, Tucker yanked his keys from his vehicle’s ignition. Thinking he belonged here was just exactly what the old man wanted.
And Tucker had already had enough of that shit.
Squelching the urge to cross himself as he stomped up onto the pristine porch, Tucker leaned heavily
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