Read Online The Marriage Wish by Dee Henderson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dee Henderson
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the offer. She took the list, retrieved the three-ring binder and quickly pulled out the specific pages. “Find where I describe the island and make sure I got the basic geography right. Mount Montgomery has now been both north and south of the capital city. Here,” she handed him her red pen, “you are going to need this.”
Scott nodded. He watched her pace back to the chair, retrieve her glass. “I’ll be right back.”
She was annoyed with herself. Scott nearly chuckled as he watched her leave the room, but caught himself in time. It would seem all artists had that temperamental streak; his hardware designers acted the same way.
Jennifer returned in a few minutes to plop back in the easy chair. She picked up the binder, but thinking better of it, dropped it back on the floor. She was getting thoroughly fed up with this book. Too keyed up to sit, Jennifer got up, picked up the books beside her chair and started placing them back on the shelves with the rest of the reference books she had used during the day.
“Only three places need changing,” Scott said several minutes later.
“That’s all?” She turned to look at him, clearly relieved.
He smiled. “The top three pages.”
Jennifer took the pile. She slipped paper clips on the pages, then opened the binder to file them.
“I like what I read, Jennifer.” Scott didn’t know what kind of comment would be acceptable. Jennifer and her writing was a difficult combination to figure out.
She dropped the binder in his lap. “A book doesn’t mean much unless you start on page one.”
Scott looked at the binder, back at Jennifer. Was she serious? He knew instinctively that not many people had this privilege.
She shrugged. “I’m beat. That means I’m through for the night. But if you read it, it’s on the condition that no comments are allowed,” she warned.
He smiled. “Even if I like it?”
“Not even if you like it. I might cut your favorite scene tomorrow because I don’t like it,” she replied with a smile.
“Okay.” Scott settled back on the couch and opened the binder. Jennifer disappeared into the living room to returnwith her sewing basket. She was making a rose square quilt for Rachel’s Christmas present.
Jennifer watched Scott slowly turn the pages of the book, trying to read from his expression what he was thinking. It was impossible. She concentrated on her embroidery.
Half an hour passed. Jennifer tied off the rose-colored embroidery thread. She stuck the fine needle into the pin cushion attached to the top of the sewing basket and sorted through the basket for the light forest green embroidery thread. The end of the thread was frayed. Jennifer licked it, then rolled it between her thumb and first finger to ensure the fibers were tightly coupled together. Retrieving the needle, Jennifer turned the needle carefully until she found the small thread hole. With a very steady hand, she threaded the needle on the first try.
She could hear pages turning.
She began making the stitches that would define the leaves.
Jennifer finished the current quilt square, carefully releasing it from the wooden hoop. She watched Scott for several minutes. She had never seen him look so serious before. His expression made her nervous. She reached down into the basket, retrieved a new square to work on and carefully framed the white square so that the rose pattern was centered in the hoop. She forced herself to concentrate on her work, not Scott.
The ten o’clock news came on the radio. Scott put his finger on the page to mark his place, then looked up briefly. “Am I keeping you up?”
“I’m a night owl, Scott, 1:00 a.m. is a normal night.”
He nodded. He went back to reading.
As the evening wore on and Scott continued to read, Jennifer began to feel very guilty. She should not have givenhim the book so late in the evening. He was already tired. He would be very late getting home. He was reading it all because it was the polite thing to
Scott nodded. He watched her pace back to the chair, retrieve her glass. “I’ll be right back.”
She was annoyed with herself. Scott nearly chuckled as he watched her leave the room, but caught himself in time. It would seem all artists had that temperamental streak; his hardware designers acted the same way.
Jennifer returned in a few minutes to plop back in the easy chair. She picked up the binder, but thinking better of it, dropped it back on the floor. She was getting thoroughly fed up with this book. Too keyed up to sit, Jennifer got up, picked up the books beside her chair and started placing them back on the shelves with the rest of the reference books she had used during the day.
“Only three places need changing,” Scott said several minutes later.
“That’s all?” She turned to look at him, clearly relieved.
He smiled. “The top three pages.”
Jennifer took the pile. She slipped paper clips on the pages, then opened the binder to file them.
“I like what I read, Jennifer.” Scott didn’t know what kind of comment would be acceptable. Jennifer and her writing was a difficult combination to figure out.
She dropped the binder in his lap. “A book doesn’t mean much unless you start on page one.”
Scott looked at the binder, back at Jennifer. Was she serious? He knew instinctively that not many people had this privilege.
She shrugged. “I’m beat. That means I’m through for the night. But if you read it, it’s on the condition that no comments are allowed,” she warned.
He smiled. “Even if I like it?”
“Not even if you like it. I might cut your favorite scene tomorrow because I don’t like it,” she replied with a smile.
“Okay.” Scott settled back on the couch and opened the binder. Jennifer disappeared into the living room to returnwith her sewing basket. She was making a rose square quilt for Rachel’s Christmas present.
Jennifer watched Scott slowly turn the pages of the book, trying to read from his expression what he was thinking. It was impossible. She concentrated on her embroidery.
Half an hour passed. Jennifer tied off the rose-colored embroidery thread. She stuck the fine needle into the pin cushion attached to the top of the sewing basket and sorted through the basket for the light forest green embroidery thread. The end of the thread was frayed. Jennifer licked it, then rolled it between her thumb and first finger to ensure the fibers were tightly coupled together. Retrieving the needle, Jennifer turned the needle carefully until she found the small thread hole. With a very steady hand, she threaded the needle on the first try.
She could hear pages turning.
She began making the stitches that would define the leaves.
Jennifer finished the current quilt square, carefully releasing it from the wooden hoop. She watched Scott for several minutes. She had never seen him look so serious before. His expression made her nervous. She reached down into the basket, retrieved a new square to work on and carefully framed the white square so that the rose pattern was centered in the hoop. She forced herself to concentrate on her work, not Scott.
The ten o’clock news came on the radio. Scott put his finger on the page to mark his place, then looked up briefly. “Am I keeping you up?”
“I’m a night owl, Scott, 1:00 a.m. is a normal night.”
He nodded. He went back to reading.
As the evening wore on and Scott continued to read, Jennifer began to feel very guilty. She should not have givenhim the book so late in the evening. He was already tired. He would be very late getting home. He was reading it all because it was the polite thing to
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