Read Online Something Has to Give by Maren Smith - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Maren Smith
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enough, maybe they could split it.
In the other room, Quint’s heavy footsteps re-enter ed the house. Lifting her head when the front door closed, she turned to listen. She hoped he wouldn’t come this way, but funny how the sound of those big feet of his brought instantly to mind just how hot and big the rest of him had felt when he’d been pressed up against her that morning. That “spank me” crawling sensation travelled across her bottom and down the backs of her thighs all over again and wetness gathered between her legs. She could feel it, moving like stroking fingers down through the folds of her sex. Her nipples peaked, scraping the suddenly burlap-like roughness of her plain cotton t-shirt.
Please don’t come back her e.
He didn’t. His clumping footsteps carried him back upstairs instead, and staggeringly-unexpected disappointment sunk into her like an impaling rod. She had the most absurd urge to cry again and that made her angry.
She shoved back off the kitchen counter. “Get a hold of yourself!”
She threw herself into her morning routine instead. She took care of her eggs, she made her cheese, and then because the snow made it unlikely that she’d be getting customers today, she took advantage of being alone on the lower floor to catch up on a little housekeeping.
Just before noon, Quint wandered back downstairs with his army duffel bag of dirty laundry slung over his shoulder and they passed one another without a word. He headed for the laundry room. She took her cleaning upstairs. She made up the bed that was their battlefield and then, because there really wasn’t much else to clean, sat down on the foot of the mattress to think. There were two other rooms up here. One looked a little like an office with a couch that folded out. One looked like it might once have harbored hope of becoming a nursery. There were stars, moons and teddy bears all along the border paper that wrapped the walls along the ceiling. The rest of the room was stacked with boxes. She’d looked in some of them. It was mostly crafts, blankets and old clothes. There was probably enough bedding in those boxes to make up the sofa couch, but in the back of her mind she knew the first to leave this bed would be the one to lose the house.
It wasn’t going to be her.
CHAPTER SIX
Elsie’s influences were all over the house. He could see her everywhere, in damn near every room he went. Of Maydeen, he could barely find any hint at all. It was the strangest thing. His ex-wife’s clothes were all over the house, but when he looked at them, he saw Elsie. Elsie was in the goats that came up to the porch for milking and in the warbling crow of that cussed the rooster out back. She was in the wax-dipped rolls of cheese hanging from the rafters in the cellar, along with the dozen or so pint jars of honey and about four shelves stacked with a variety of canned vegetables. He went outside and found the remains of a summer garden, bedded down under a mound of mulch, manure and leaves for the winter. All of that had to be Elsie. As far as he knew, Maydeen had never gardened a day in her life. She’d never canned either. She’d barely cooked.
Speaking of cooking, w hat was that smell wafting out from the kitchen? Elsie must be making dinner. It smelled heavenly. His feet began to move him back through the house, following the smell although he knew this certainly had to be yet another of Elsie’s war-shots. It was a good one, too. Whatever she was making smelled so good that his stomach had no trouble remembering it had not eaten since breakfast. At the same time, he also knew he wasn’t going to get a bite of it. Oh, the cruelties of war.
He got as far as the dining room, but froze when he noticed the table was set for two—albeit at opposite ends—with plates positioned as far apart as possible.
Quint stared at the twin settings. Ooo…Elsie was really good at cruel.
The smell of supper cook ing tantalized his senses with
In the other room, Quint’s heavy footsteps re-enter ed the house. Lifting her head when the front door closed, she turned to listen. She hoped he wouldn’t come this way, but funny how the sound of those big feet of his brought instantly to mind just how hot and big the rest of him had felt when he’d been pressed up against her that morning. That “spank me” crawling sensation travelled across her bottom and down the backs of her thighs all over again and wetness gathered between her legs. She could feel it, moving like stroking fingers down through the folds of her sex. Her nipples peaked, scraping the suddenly burlap-like roughness of her plain cotton t-shirt.
Please don’t come back her e.
He didn’t. His clumping footsteps carried him back upstairs instead, and staggeringly-unexpected disappointment sunk into her like an impaling rod. She had the most absurd urge to cry again and that made her angry.
She shoved back off the kitchen counter. “Get a hold of yourself!”
She threw herself into her morning routine instead. She took care of her eggs, she made her cheese, and then because the snow made it unlikely that she’d be getting customers today, she took advantage of being alone on the lower floor to catch up on a little housekeeping.
Just before noon, Quint wandered back downstairs with his army duffel bag of dirty laundry slung over his shoulder and they passed one another without a word. He headed for the laundry room. She took her cleaning upstairs. She made up the bed that was their battlefield and then, because there really wasn’t much else to clean, sat down on the foot of the mattress to think. There were two other rooms up here. One looked a little like an office with a couch that folded out. One looked like it might once have harbored hope of becoming a nursery. There were stars, moons and teddy bears all along the border paper that wrapped the walls along the ceiling. The rest of the room was stacked with boxes. She’d looked in some of them. It was mostly crafts, blankets and old clothes. There was probably enough bedding in those boxes to make up the sofa couch, but in the back of her mind she knew the first to leave this bed would be the one to lose the house.
It wasn’t going to be her.
CHAPTER SIX
Elsie’s influences were all over the house. He could see her everywhere, in damn near every room he went. Of Maydeen, he could barely find any hint at all. It was the strangest thing. His ex-wife’s clothes were all over the house, but when he looked at them, he saw Elsie. Elsie was in the goats that came up to the porch for milking and in the warbling crow of that cussed the rooster out back. She was in the wax-dipped rolls of cheese hanging from the rafters in the cellar, along with the dozen or so pint jars of honey and about four shelves stacked with a variety of canned vegetables. He went outside and found the remains of a summer garden, bedded down under a mound of mulch, manure and leaves for the winter. All of that had to be Elsie. As far as he knew, Maydeen had never gardened a day in her life. She’d never canned either. She’d barely cooked.
Speaking of cooking, w hat was that smell wafting out from the kitchen? Elsie must be making dinner. It smelled heavenly. His feet began to move him back through the house, following the smell although he knew this certainly had to be yet another of Elsie’s war-shots. It was a good one, too. Whatever she was making smelled so good that his stomach had no trouble remembering it had not eaten since breakfast. At the same time, he also knew he wasn’t going to get a bite of it. Oh, the cruelties of war.
He got as far as the dining room, but froze when he noticed the table was set for two—albeit at opposite ends—with plates positioned as far apart as possible.
Quint stared at the twin settings. Ooo…Elsie was really good at cruel.
The smell of supper cook ing tantalized his senses with
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