Stef Ann Holm by Lucy Back (books to read in your 30s TXT) 📗

Inhaling the clear air, she forced herself to rise out of her sorrow.

At the edge of the road, a man in a classic black suit waited by her car. He had clipped-short dark hair, and smoky sunglasses covered his eyes. She’d seen him at the chapel. He’d remained in the last row and, if she hadn’t been mistaken, he’d stared at her throughout the service. At least he’d been looking whenever she glanced behind her. But God only knew. Her man transmitter was screwed up. It had been so long since she’d even tossed her hair over her shoulder to get a man’s attention. For all she knew, he was looking to buy a house and wanted her card.

As she made her way to him, she realized his shoulders were quite broad and impressive. He was very tall. Handsome in an elegant way. Yet he didn’t come across as brash or arrogant. She liked that about him.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her work voice coming into play. If he were a prospective client, she was going to tell him this was a wholly inappropriate place to discuss real estate.

“You’re Jacquie.”

“Yes, I am.” She gazed at him through the tinted lenses of her sunglasses, knowing he could see her roving eyes taking in the angle of his jaw, the dark slashes of brows just above the frame of his own sunglasses. When he removed them, she was fascinated by a pair of unique gray-blue eyes.

“I’m Spin’s great-nephew.” He extended his hand. “Morris Leonard.”

“Oh.” The word squeaked out between Jacquie’s lips. “She’s spoken about you.”

“She told me all about you, too.”

Jacquie wasn’t sure she liked the tone of that. Speaking about someone in a casual reference and telling them all about a person were two different things.

“She did?” Jacquie blurted, unsure what to say next.

This man was delicious, and if she didn’t watch herself, she’d be sticking herself to him like chewing gum. It had been far too long since she’d gone without. But she’d made Spin a promise and she’d kept it.

Morris smiled, his lips made for kissing, his perfect white teeth disarming her resolve and tearing it down a notch. Or two. Or three. And four. “My great-aunt was a hoot. She called me up weekly and told me about the two of you.”

“She did?” Rarely did something baffle Jacquie, but this had her confused. “What did she say?”

Morris simply grinned. “A lot.”

Jacquie’s breath solidified in her throat, caught, held, and she fought to remember to inhale, then exhale. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I’m not sure what this is all about.”

“I’m not exactly sure, either. Other than she spoke very highly of you and she told me not to talk to you until after the graveside service. She said she didn’t want you distracted from crying over her.”

“Distracted? Did she really say that?” A flash of indignance lit into Jacquie. She’d been overwrought, damaged, upset. That Spin would ever suggest she’d come to a funeral and be distracted—

But she had.

Shit on a stick. Spin had been right. The very irony…

Jacquie raised a gloved hand to her cheek and the words in Spin’s letter came back to her. Then, unbidden, she began to smile. Wider, bigger, broader, until she was laughing. And laughing so hard she almost peed her pants.

“Oh, you old bird,” she said with complete humor. “I get it now.”

Then, gazing at Morris, for the first time in months she let the old Jacquie come out and play. “Morris, how often do you get up to Red Duck?”

“Apparently not often enough.”

“My thoughts exactly. There’s somewhere I need to take you. Spin wanted me to show you her and Wally’s favorite fishing spot. And after that, I know of a fabulous place for dinner and drinks. We’ll give a toast to Spin. She’d like that. I know it for fact.”

The warmth that spread through Jacquie was a welcome tide, and long overdue. Her gaze settled on Morris Leonard like that of a cat who’d been denied a bowl of cream forever.

It felt good to feel sexy again. To allow herself to purr and be a female who appreciated a handsome man. On that thought, she let herself smile.

Jacquie Santini was back in business.

Lucy had been sewing new curtains for the living room. It had taken her the better part of yesterday to measure and cut everything into the right dimensions.

She’d worked out a deal with Bud Tremore that was too good to be true—but it was true. For whatever reason, Bud agreed to let her stay in the teardown. She’d proposed she pay for the land on a lease-to-own basis, since that was the only value the property had. It was an incredible arrangement. He was in no hurry to move his RVs and she’d gotten used to them, anyway. But the house needed major improvements and she’d been determined to make this a home for her and the boys. So she’d been painting and fixing things up on her days off.

The master bedroom was complete. With Drew’s help, she’d installed new floor molding, applied a coat of beige paint to the walls and refinished the hardwood floors—a process that had taken her far longer than she’d anticipated. The smell of varnish still lingered in the house. She bought rose-print fabric for her vanity skirt, hung some oval mirrors and had herself a nice place to put on her makeup.

Leaving the kitchen table, where her sewing machine was set up, she went into the kitchen to pour another cup of coffee. There was a coolness to the room and she was glad she’d had Jason chop a bunch of firewood into kindling.

She took her cup into the living room, threw some slivers of wood into the iron stove and sighed with contentment as the flames licked and sparked over the dry timber.

She caught a glance of her reflection in the window glass. She wore her favorite peach sweater, black jeans