Read Online The Other Side of Us (Harlequin Superromance) by Sarah Mayberry - Free Book Online
Authors: Sarah Mayberry
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she wouldn’t be cooking dinner for anyone in the near future. Last night
had tapped whatever reserves she’d built in recent months, and unless she was
hugely mistaken, her next few days would involve lots of lying around in bed and
on the couch, being bored out of her skull.
She let her head drop forward, frustration and disappointment
at her own weakness momentarily getting the better of her. She’d thought she was
stronger than this. Further along in her recovery. Apparently she was still a
slave to her injuries and her broken body.
For long seconds she felt immeasurably heavy, defeated by the
sheer breadth of the challenge that still lay ahead of her. She had no choice
but to fight on, but right now it would be nice to be able to call a time-out
and curl up in the corner with her thumb in her mouth for a while.
Life didn’t offer time-outs, though. She needed to keep plowing
on with her rehab program, and she needed to keep getting better. Otherwise,
losing her job wouldn’t only be a possibility; it would be a certainty.
She spent the day in bed and woke feeling marginally better the
following day. She swapped the bed for the couch, and the evening found her
ensconced on the window seat, Mr. Smith warming her toes as she ate a bowl of
soup. The sun had set long ago and the world outside was dark except for the
glow of Oliver’s window next door.
She could see him moving behind the thin net curtain. By the
way he kept moving in and out of sight, she deduced he was in the kitchen. She
watched him idly, her thoughts slow and lazy. She wondered what he was having
for dinner, and how he was feeling after their shared ordeal, and if he ever
glanced out his window and wondered what she was doing.
Why on earth would he do that?
It was a good question, since she’d already established that
she’d given him precious little reason to be interested in anything she might do
or say. Plus, he was a married man—she was almost sure of it—so he had no
business wondering about her. At all.
She set down her bowl and picked up the book she’d been
reading, getting lost in a world of murder and mystery and romance. When she
tuned into the real world again she heard music emanating from next door.
Acoustic guitar, low and mellow. She wondered idly who it was. She wasn’t a huge
fan of instrumentals, but this song was like a warm breeze on a summer’s day,
easy and undemanding and thoroughly pleasant. One song melded into another, then
another. Then the music stopped and the only sound was Mr. Smith snoring from
the other end of the window seat and the creak of the wind in the trees
outside.
When she saw Oliver again, she would have to ask him who the
artist was. In the meantime, it was time for bed again.
Tomorrow I will start back with my
exercises, she promised herself. She would also leave the house, and
she would go grocery shopping and, depending on how she felt, she’d invite
Oliver over for dinner. Maybe not for tomorrow night, but perhaps the next,
which was a Tuesday if her calculations were correct.
If he wanted to come, of course.
Potentially a big if.
CHAPTER FOUR
O LIVER DUMPED THE LAST wheelbarrow load
of gravel at the top of the driveway and paused to wipe his forehead with the
bottom of his sweatshirt. Most of the gravel had washed down the slope and
collected in front of his house thanks to the storm, and he’d spent the past
three days alternating between cleaning up outside and trying to set the inside
of his aunt’s house to rights.
He wasn’t sure which was the least fun task—sweeping up dirt
and shoveling gravel, or cleaning out cupboards filled with the flotsam and
jetsam of a lifetime. So far, he’d made half-a-dozen trips to the local charity
shop, offloading books and china and knickknacks. He figured there would be many
more trips in his future, too, since he’d cleared out only one of the bedrooms
and part of the living room.
He grabbed the rake and started spreading the gravel
had tapped whatever reserves she’d built in recent months, and unless she was
hugely mistaken, her next few days would involve lots of lying around in bed and
on the couch, being bored out of her skull.
She let her head drop forward, frustration and disappointment
at her own weakness momentarily getting the better of her. She’d thought she was
stronger than this. Further along in her recovery. Apparently she was still a
slave to her injuries and her broken body.
For long seconds she felt immeasurably heavy, defeated by the
sheer breadth of the challenge that still lay ahead of her. She had no choice
but to fight on, but right now it would be nice to be able to call a time-out
and curl up in the corner with her thumb in her mouth for a while.
Life didn’t offer time-outs, though. She needed to keep plowing
on with her rehab program, and she needed to keep getting better. Otherwise,
losing her job wouldn’t only be a possibility; it would be a certainty.
She spent the day in bed and woke feeling marginally better the
following day. She swapped the bed for the couch, and the evening found her
ensconced on the window seat, Mr. Smith warming her toes as she ate a bowl of
soup. The sun had set long ago and the world outside was dark except for the
glow of Oliver’s window next door.
She could see him moving behind the thin net curtain. By the
way he kept moving in and out of sight, she deduced he was in the kitchen. She
watched him idly, her thoughts slow and lazy. She wondered what he was having
for dinner, and how he was feeling after their shared ordeal, and if he ever
glanced out his window and wondered what she was doing.
Why on earth would he do that?
It was a good question, since she’d already established that
she’d given him precious little reason to be interested in anything she might do
or say. Plus, he was a married man—she was almost sure of it—so he had no
business wondering about her. At all.
She set down her bowl and picked up the book she’d been
reading, getting lost in a world of murder and mystery and romance. When she
tuned into the real world again she heard music emanating from next door.
Acoustic guitar, low and mellow. She wondered idly who it was. She wasn’t a huge
fan of instrumentals, but this song was like a warm breeze on a summer’s day,
easy and undemanding and thoroughly pleasant. One song melded into another, then
another. Then the music stopped and the only sound was Mr. Smith snoring from
the other end of the window seat and the creak of the wind in the trees
outside.
When she saw Oliver again, she would have to ask him who the
artist was. In the meantime, it was time for bed again.
Tomorrow I will start back with my
exercises, she promised herself. She would also leave the house, and
she would go grocery shopping and, depending on how she felt, she’d invite
Oliver over for dinner. Maybe not for tomorrow night, but perhaps the next,
which was a Tuesday if her calculations were correct.
If he wanted to come, of course.
Potentially a big if.
CHAPTER FOUR
O LIVER DUMPED THE LAST wheelbarrow load
of gravel at the top of the driveway and paused to wipe his forehead with the
bottom of his sweatshirt. Most of the gravel had washed down the slope and
collected in front of his house thanks to the storm, and he’d spent the past
three days alternating between cleaning up outside and trying to set the inside
of his aunt’s house to rights.
He wasn’t sure which was the least fun task—sweeping up dirt
and shoveling gravel, or cleaning out cupboards filled with the flotsam and
jetsam of a lifetime. So far, he’d made half-a-dozen trips to the local charity
shop, offloading books and china and knickknacks. He figured there would be many
more trips in his future, too, since he’d cleared out only one of the bedrooms
and part of the living room.
He grabbed the rake and started spreading the gravel
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