Read Online Wishmakers by Dorothy Garlock - Free Book Online
Authors: Dorothy Garlock
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The girl's bluntness stunned her. She got off the stool, looked around for something to do, then remembered the clothes in the washing machine.
“Excuse me. I've got to take some clothes out of the washer.” Somehow she liked the sound of the words. It was crazy, but they made her feel a little important.
“I can help. I'm used to doin' 'round here. I told Chip I'd come and clean while Dolly's gone, but he didn't want me to. Guess he thought folks'd talk.”
“No. Sit still. I'll just put them in the dryer.”
Margaret went down the basement steps and lifted the lid on the washer. The wet clothes clung to the sides of the tub. She lifted them out to put them into the dryer, and her heart leapt into her throat. Big white splotches everywhere—all over the jeans! With trembling hands she looked at each pair, holding them at the waist and letting the long, slim legs hang down. The splotches were on the legs of some, on the front and back of others. What in the world had happened? What had she done wrong? More important than that, what was she going to do now?
“Maggie?” Beth called from the doorway at the top of the stairs. “Chip's back. He's tying up the boat.”
Margaret opened the dryer and shoved the jeans inside. She turned the dial as Chip had told her to do, and the drum began to turn, the zippers from the blasted jeans making small clicking sounds as they whirled. She'd have to decide later what to do about the jeans. She only knew that she didn't want that child upstairs to see the mess she'd made.
Margaret took big gulps of air into her lungs to calm herself, then straightened her glasses, smoothed her hair, and calmly mounted the steps.
Chip came in the back door as she reached the kitchen. Their eyes met and held. He smiled, a half-smile at first, beginning with his mouth, lifting it wide, then crinkling his eyes.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
“Morning.” It was the oddest feeling. She felt as if she were coming alive. She knew the endearment was for Beth's benefit, but it caused a warm feeling of belonging to course through her.
“Hi, Chip.”
“Hi, Beth.” He strode across the room and wrapped an arm around Margaret. A finger approached the tip of her nose and slid upward until it reached the crosspiece of her glasses and firmly pushed them into place. “Hi,” he said, just to her, his voice low, with a caress in its tone. The smiling blue eyes moved from her eyes to her lips, which were curved in a nervous smile.
She felt the soft brush of his mustache on her cheek, then his lips, firm and warm, against her mouth. It was a slow, unhurried kiss, and when he raised his head his eyes glinted into hers with devilish amusement. She was trembling, shaken to her roots, and she stared at him almost angrily.
“How're you doing, Beth?” he said to the girl who stood beside the door with a stricken look on her face.
“Fine. You?”
“Fine. What are you doing out and around so early? I thought schoolgirls liked to sleep in on Saturday mornings.”
“Well…I had to go to town. Thought I'd stop by and see…when Dolly's comin' home.”
Margaret noticed how Beth kept her gaze on the floor, and she could see herself when she first met Chip years ago in her father's study. Inner conflict was tearing the girl apart. Margaret rushed to say something to fill the silence.
“Beth and I had a nice visit. I'm glad she stopped by. Another time I'd like to go to town with you, Beth.”
“That'll be okay, I guess. I've only got that old pickup, but it gets me there.” Now she was looking from one to the other of them, her gaze watchful. “Guess I'd better get goin'.” She moved toward the kitchen door to go back out through the front of the house. Then turned, her eyes anxious. “Are you really goin' to
marry
her?”
“If I can talk her into it, I am. Don't you think I've made a good choice?” Chip's tone was even, his face serious. He tightened his arm to keep Margaret beside him.
“But
“Excuse me. I've got to take some clothes out of the washer.” Somehow she liked the sound of the words. It was crazy, but they made her feel a little important.
“I can help. I'm used to doin' 'round here. I told Chip I'd come and clean while Dolly's gone, but he didn't want me to. Guess he thought folks'd talk.”
“No. Sit still. I'll just put them in the dryer.”
Margaret went down the basement steps and lifted the lid on the washer. The wet clothes clung to the sides of the tub. She lifted them out to put them into the dryer, and her heart leapt into her throat. Big white splotches everywhere—all over the jeans! With trembling hands she looked at each pair, holding them at the waist and letting the long, slim legs hang down. The splotches were on the legs of some, on the front and back of others. What in the world had happened? What had she done wrong? More important than that, what was she going to do now?
“Maggie?” Beth called from the doorway at the top of the stairs. “Chip's back. He's tying up the boat.”
Margaret opened the dryer and shoved the jeans inside. She turned the dial as Chip had told her to do, and the drum began to turn, the zippers from the blasted jeans making small clicking sounds as they whirled. She'd have to decide later what to do about the jeans. She only knew that she didn't want that child upstairs to see the mess she'd made.
Margaret took big gulps of air into her lungs to calm herself, then straightened her glasses, smoothed her hair, and calmly mounted the steps.
Chip came in the back door as she reached the kitchen. Their eyes met and held. He smiled, a half-smile at first, beginning with his mouth, lifting it wide, then crinkling his eyes.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
“Morning.” It was the oddest feeling. She felt as if she were coming alive. She knew the endearment was for Beth's benefit, but it caused a warm feeling of belonging to course through her.
“Hi, Chip.”
“Hi, Beth.” He strode across the room and wrapped an arm around Margaret. A finger approached the tip of her nose and slid upward until it reached the crosspiece of her glasses and firmly pushed them into place. “Hi,” he said, just to her, his voice low, with a caress in its tone. The smiling blue eyes moved from her eyes to her lips, which were curved in a nervous smile.
She felt the soft brush of his mustache on her cheek, then his lips, firm and warm, against her mouth. It was a slow, unhurried kiss, and when he raised his head his eyes glinted into hers with devilish amusement. She was trembling, shaken to her roots, and she stared at him almost angrily.
“How're you doing, Beth?” he said to the girl who stood beside the door with a stricken look on her face.
“Fine. You?”
“Fine. What are you doing out and around so early? I thought schoolgirls liked to sleep in on Saturday mornings.”
“Well…I had to go to town. Thought I'd stop by and see…when Dolly's comin' home.”
Margaret noticed how Beth kept her gaze on the floor, and she could see herself when she first met Chip years ago in her father's study. Inner conflict was tearing the girl apart. Margaret rushed to say something to fill the silence.
“Beth and I had a nice visit. I'm glad she stopped by. Another time I'd like to go to town with you, Beth.”
“That'll be okay, I guess. I've only got that old pickup, but it gets me there.” Now she was looking from one to the other of them, her gaze watchful. “Guess I'd better get goin'.” She moved toward the kitchen door to go back out through the front of the house. Then turned, her eyes anxious. “Are you really goin' to
marry
her?”
“If I can talk her into it, I am. Don't you think I've made a good choice?” Chip's tone was even, his face serious. He tightened his arm to keep Margaret beside him.
“But
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