Read Online True Lies by Ingrid Weaver - Free Book Online
Authors: Ingrid Weaver
Tags: Suspense
Ads: Link
of the beholder?
Frustrated, Emma dropped the binoculars, letting them dangle from the strap around her neck while she rubbed her eyes. Her thoughts were chasing around pointlessly, as they had last night. Bruce was an enigma, a mystery. Yet whatever he was, beneath his puzzling exterior there was a man who was on the verge of reaching past all her defensive barriers. She liked him, she found him attractive, and the lightest brush of his skin against hers made her tremble. Bruce. The klutz.
Only, he wasn’t, was he? Not all the time.
What would have happened if Sheriff Haskin hadn’t interrupted them? But he had. And he had asked about Simon. What was her brother into now?
“I don’t need this,” she muttered. “I really don’t need this.”
The white speck appeared on the northwestern horizon long before any noise from the engine could reach her. Emma checked her watch. Almost 10:30. Simon usually arrived by 9:00. He was always in a frenzy to unload his crates and get them to the assayer’s. She lifted the binoculars back to her eyes and adjusted the focus, following the progress of the aircraft. It roared overhead as it made a circuit of the lake, dipping a wing in a sliding turn before it lined up for its descent. The pontoons bounced from the water twice before the airspeed reduced enough to eliminate the lift. Emma grimaced at the sloppy technique. Simon didn’t share her natural love of flying. To him, a plane was simply a convenient mode of transportation.
The Cessna taxied toward the dock. Simon cut the engine and stepped out of the cockpit to toss her a line as the pontoon collided with the row of tires. Emma winced at the jolt that shuddered through her plane.
Simon leapt to the dock and gave her a grin. He had the easy charm of their father, with his clean-cut features and sparkling green eyes. His brown hair was brushed back stylishly, the auburn streaks lifting in the strong breeze. He was barely an inch taller than her own five foot six, so he was able to duck under the wing of the plane easily as he came toward her. “I'm glad you're here, Emma. I ran into a bad head wind. Be a sweetheart and help me unload my crates, would you?”
She fastened the last of the lines to the heavy rings in the dock boards. “Did you fill up the fuel tanks?”
“No time, I'm running late,” he said, brushing past her at a jog. “I have to be at the assayer’s in less than an hour.”
“Simon!” She straightened up and called after him. “Simon, you promised.”
He gunned the engine of the Wagoneer that he’d parked in her shed and backed it over the rocky hillside to the dock. He jerked it to a stop and jumped down to open the tailgate. “I'll do it next time, honest. But I was running late today, and I really have to get rid of this stuff.”
Well, what had she expected? Did she think he would actually keep a promise to her? She set her jaw as she stepped onto a pontoon and began an inspection of the plane. Her palm glided along the smooth aluminum of the fuselage as she looked for signs of stress.
“Aw, quit worrying about that thing. It’s only a lump of machinery.” Simon ducked through the open door and pulled out a wooden crate. “I thought you were going to help me unload.”
Only a lump of machinery? Hardly. This plane was like an extension of herself. She always cared for it with the attention a horse trainer gave a thoroughbred, or a biker gave his Harley. This was her freedom, her way of escaping from the world from the time she had realized that the world wasn’t always a great place to be. “Simon, I'm not going to let you use this again.”
Another bulky crate hit the dock with a thud. Simon pushed it aside and swung down another. “Look, I'm sorry, Emma, but I'm really trying hard to do well at this prospecting. I thought you wanted me to succeed.”
He was trying to manipulate her again. God, why was it so difficult to take a stand against him? “Of course, I want you to
Frustrated, Emma dropped the binoculars, letting them dangle from the strap around her neck while she rubbed her eyes. Her thoughts were chasing around pointlessly, as they had last night. Bruce was an enigma, a mystery. Yet whatever he was, beneath his puzzling exterior there was a man who was on the verge of reaching past all her defensive barriers. She liked him, she found him attractive, and the lightest brush of his skin against hers made her tremble. Bruce. The klutz.
Only, he wasn’t, was he? Not all the time.
What would have happened if Sheriff Haskin hadn’t interrupted them? But he had. And he had asked about Simon. What was her brother into now?
“I don’t need this,” she muttered. “I really don’t need this.”
The white speck appeared on the northwestern horizon long before any noise from the engine could reach her. Emma checked her watch. Almost 10:30. Simon usually arrived by 9:00. He was always in a frenzy to unload his crates and get them to the assayer’s. She lifted the binoculars back to her eyes and adjusted the focus, following the progress of the aircraft. It roared overhead as it made a circuit of the lake, dipping a wing in a sliding turn before it lined up for its descent. The pontoons bounced from the water twice before the airspeed reduced enough to eliminate the lift. Emma grimaced at the sloppy technique. Simon didn’t share her natural love of flying. To him, a plane was simply a convenient mode of transportation.
The Cessna taxied toward the dock. Simon cut the engine and stepped out of the cockpit to toss her a line as the pontoon collided with the row of tires. Emma winced at the jolt that shuddered through her plane.
Simon leapt to the dock and gave her a grin. He had the easy charm of their father, with his clean-cut features and sparkling green eyes. His brown hair was brushed back stylishly, the auburn streaks lifting in the strong breeze. He was barely an inch taller than her own five foot six, so he was able to duck under the wing of the plane easily as he came toward her. “I'm glad you're here, Emma. I ran into a bad head wind. Be a sweetheart and help me unload my crates, would you?”
She fastened the last of the lines to the heavy rings in the dock boards. “Did you fill up the fuel tanks?”
“No time, I'm running late,” he said, brushing past her at a jog. “I have to be at the assayer’s in less than an hour.”
“Simon!” She straightened up and called after him. “Simon, you promised.”
He gunned the engine of the Wagoneer that he’d parked in her shed and backed it over the rocky hillside to the dock. He jerked it to a stop and jumped down to open the tailgate. “I'll do it next time, honest. But I was running late today, and I really have to get rid of this stuff.”
Well, what had she expected? Did she think he would actually keep a promise to her? She set her jaw as she stepped onto a pontoon and began an inspection of the plane. Her palm glided along the smooth aluminum of the fuselage as she looked for signs of stress.
“Aw, quit worrying about that thing. It’s only a lump of machinery.” Simon ducked through the open door and pulled out a wooden crate. “I thought you were going to help me unload.”
Only a lump of machinery? Hardly. This plane was like an extension of herself. She always cared for it with the attention a horse trainer gave a thoroughbred, or a biker gave his Harley. This was her freedom, her way of escaping from the world from the time she had realized that the world wasn’t always a great place to be. “Simon, I'm not going to let you use this again.”
Another bulky crate hit the dock with a thud. Simon pushed it aside and swung down another. “Look, I'm sorry, Emma, but I'm really trying hard to do well at this prospecting. I thought you wanted me to succeed.”
He was trying to manipulate her again. God, why was it so difficult to take a stand against him? “Of course, I want you to
Similar Books
