Read Online Windstar by Charlotte Boyett-Compo - Free Book Online Page A

room.
    Bobby stared after him then looked to Angela. “Did I interrupt something between you two when I called?” he inquired.
    “He was asleep,” she said. “I think he was having a nightmare and it’s stayed with him.”
    Bobby walked into the kitchen area as she began taking pots and pans out to begin supper. “He has a lot of nightmares, actually. It’s good he’ll have someone here with him at night. I sometimes think he spends too much time alone.”
    “Goodbye, Bob!” Rory called from the bedroom.
    Angela shook her head. “Celtic temperament,” she pronounced.
    Bobby lowered his voice. “Just keep him from the booze.”
    “I read he had a problem,” she said softly.
    “He’s an alcoholic, Angie,” Bobby stressed. “One drink and he falls off the wagon for days on end. If you find a bottle, get rid of it and he’ll be right as rain.” He headed for the door. “Call me if you need me,” he yelled to Rory.
    When Rory’s assistant was gone, Rory came out of the bedroom and plunked himself down on a bar stool, his arms folding defensively over his chest as though he expected Angela to scold him for his behavior.
    “I was a prick, huh?” he finally said after about fifteen minutes of silence in which she went about her work without speaking to him.
    “A royal one,” she agreed as she breaded pork chops then dropped them into sizzling oil.
    “He fucked up my dream,” he defended himself. “And it was just getting good.” He took a paper napkin from the holder on the counter and began rolling it into a tube. “I was about to get some stuff.”
    She glanced at him as she added a tablespoon of cornstarch to a cup of cold water and whisked it. “By stuff, I am beginning to think you mean nookie.”
    “Prime nookie,” he agreed. “Harper was about to nail Dalton’s daughter.”
    Her brow furrowed. “Who is Harper?”
    “The gunslinger from Wayward Wind,” he replied.
    “Oh, him. That’s gonna be a good movie. If you don’t contract for it, it would be great for Conor Farrell.”
    Rory’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “That fucking Mick couldn’t act his way out of a wet paper bag with a long tear in it!” he declared. He began unfolding the napkin and tearing it into long strips. “I’ll do it.” He sniffed. “I want to do it.”
    “You know who would be great as Clarinda?” she asked as she poured the water from a pot of boiled potatoes.
    He looked up. “Who?”
    “Clarinda, Dalton’s daughter,” she replied. “Kathy Bates would be perfect for that role.”
    He shrugged. “I suppose.” He ran his gaze over her as she added a stick of oleo to the pot of potatoes.
    Hers was a full figure with lush breasts that pushed at the fabric of the cotton blouse she wore over her black twill pants. It was what she had told him was her preferred uniform unless he wanted the black dress with white apron of most professional housekeepers. Although her hips were a bit wide, her belly rounded and her arms thick, he didn’t find that unattractive. His gaze roamed over her double chin and he thought it adorable. He wanted to tug at it playfully.
    “What are you staring at?” she asked as she stirred milk into the melted oleo atop the potatoes.
    “How much do you weigh?” he questioned.
    Her eyes opened very wide. “I’m not going to tell you that and you’ve no business even asking me!”
    “You were a bit heavy when I lifted you up on the horse,” he said. “We’ll need to work on that. I don’t need a hernia.”
    Her eyebrows arched up into her bangs. “What?”
    “I was just about to rock your world when Thompson called,” he said, scooting off the stool. “Piss poor timing on his part, lemme tell you.”
    She stood there with her mouth hanging open as he strolled into the living area and flipped on the plasma TV, stretching out on the sofa and propping his bare feet on the cocktail table. The milk almost boiled over before she remembered it and quickly removed it from