The Road To Love: Love by Degree / The Rain Sparrow. Debbie MacomberЧитать онлайн книгу.
exactly over the hill.”
This was ridiculous! With a sigh of annoyance, Ellen sat down again, swinging her feet onto the opposite chair. She picked up her book and forced her eyes—if not her attention—back to the page in front of her. “I’m glad to hear that.” If she could get a grip on herself for the next few days everything would be fine. Reed would leave and her life with the boys would settle back into its routine.
She heard the refrigerator opening and watched Reed pour himself a glass of milk, then reach for a handful of chocolate-chip cookies. When he pulled out the chair across from her, Ellen reluctantly lowered her legs.
“What are you reading?”
Feeling irritable and angry for allowing him to affect her, she deliberately waited until she’d finished the page before answering. “A book,” she muttered.
“My, my, you’re a regular Mary Sunshine. What’s wrong—did your boyfriend stand you up tonight?”
With exaggerated patience she slowly lowered the paperback to the table and marked her place. “Listen. I’m twenty-five years old and well beyond the age of boyfriends.”
Reed shrugged. “All right. Your lover.”
She hadn’t meant to imply that at all! And Reed knew it. He’d wanted to fluster her and he’d succeeded.
“Women these days have this habit of letting their mouths hang open,” he said pointedly. “I suppose they think it looks sexy, but actually, they resemble beached trout.” With that, he deposited his empty glass in the sink and marched briskly up the back stairs.
Ellen closed her eyes and groaned in embarrassment. He must think she was an idiot, and with good reason. She’d done a remarkable job of imitating one. She groaned again, infuriated by the fact that she found Reed Morgan so attractive.
Ellen didn’t climb the stairs to her new bedroom on the third floor for another hour. And then it was only after Derek had paid her a quick visit in the kitchen and given her a thumbs-up. At least his night had gone well.
Twenty minutes after she’d turned off her reading light, Ellen lay staring into the silent, shadow-filled room. She wasn’t sleepy, and the mystery novel no longer held her interest. Her thoughts were troubled by that brief incident in the kitchen with Reed. Burying her head in her pillow, Ellen yawned and closed her eyes. But sleep still wouldn’t come. A half-hour later, she threw back the covers and grabbed her housecoat from the end of the bed. Perhaps another glass of milk would help.
Not bothering to turn on any lights, she took a clean glass from the dishwasher and pulled the carton of milk from the refrigerator. Drink in hand, she stood at the kitchen window, looking out at the huge oak tree in the backyard. Its bare limbs stretched upward like skeletal hands, silhouetted against the full moon.
“I’ve heard that a woman’s work is never done, but this is ridiculous.”
She nearly spilled her milk at the sudden sound of Reed’s voice behind her. She whirled around and glared at him. “I see there’s a full moon tonight. I wonder if it’s safe to be alone with you. And wouldn’t you know it, I left my silver bullet upstairs.”
“No woman’s ever accused me of being a werewolf. A number of other things,” he murmured, “but never that.”
“Maybe that’s because you hadn’t frightened them half out of their wits.”
“I couldn’t resist. Sorry,” he said, reaching for the milk carton.
“You know, if we’d stop snapping at each other, it might make life a lot easier around here.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “I will admit it’s a whole lot easier to talk to you when you’re dressed.”
Ellen slammed down her empty glass. “I’m getting a little tired of hearing about that.”
But Reed went on, clearly unperturbed. “Unfortunately, ever since that first time when I found you in your bra, you’ve insisted on overdressing. From one extreme to another—too few clothes to too many.” He paused. “Do you always wear socks to bed?”
“Usually.”
“I pity the man you sleep with.”
“Well, you needn’t worry—” She expelled a lungful of oxygen. “We’re doing it again.”
“So, you’re suggesting we stop trading insults for the sake of the children.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she said with an involuntary smile, “but you’re right. No one’s going to be comfortable if the two of us are constantly sniping at each other. I’m willing to try if you are. Okay?”
“Okay.” A smile softened Reed’s features, angular and shadowed in the moonlight.
“And I’m not a threat to your relationship with Danielle, am I? In fact, if you’d rather, she need never even know I’m here,” Ellen said casually.
“Maybe that would’ve been best,” he conceded, setting aside his empty glass. “But I doubt it. Besides, she already knows. I told her tonight.” He muttered something else she didn’t catch.
“And?”
“And,” he went on, “she says she doesn’t mind, but she’d like to meet you.”
This was one encounter Ellen wasn’t going to enjoy.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Ellen brought down her laundry and was using the washing machine and the dryer before Reed and the others were even awake.
She sighed as she tested the iron with the wet tip of her index finger and found that it still wasn’t hot, although she’d turned it on at least five minutes earlier. This house was owned by a wealthy engineer, so why were there only two electrical outlets in the kitchen? It meant that she couldn’t use the washer, the dryer and the iron at the same time without causing a blow-out.
“Darn it,” she groaned, setting the iron upright on the padded board.
“What’s the matter?” Reed asked from the doorway leading into the kitchen. He got himself a cup of coffee.
“This iron.”
“Hey, Ellen, if you’re doing some ironing, would you press a few things for me?” Monte asked, walking barefoot into the kitchen. He peered into the refrigerator and took out a slice of cold pizza.
“I was afraid this would happen,” she grumbled, still upset by the house’s electrical problems.
“Ellen’s not your personal maid,” Reed said sharply. “If you’ve got something you want pressed, do it yourself.”
A hand on her hip, Ellen turned to Reed, defiantly meeting his glare. “If you don’t mind, I can answer for myself.”
“Fine,” he snorted and took a sip of his coffee.
She directed her next words to Monte, who stood looking at her expectantly. “I am not your personal maid. If you want something pressed, do it yourself.”
Monte glanced from Reed to Ellen and back to Reed again. “Sorry I asked,” he mumbled on his way out of the kitchen. The door was left swinging in his wake.
“You said that well,” Reed commented with a soft chuckle.
“Believe me, I was conned into enough schemes by my sister and brother to know how to handle Monte and the others.”
Reed’s gaze was admiring. “If your brother’s anything like mine, I don’t doubt it.”
“All brothers are alike,” she said. Unable to hold back a grin, Ellen tested the iron a second time and noticed that it was only slightly warmer. “Have you ever thought about putting another outlet in this kitchen?”
Reed looked at her in surprise.