Blossom Street. Debbie MacomberЧитать онлайн книгу.
to finish the task and returned the clipboard. Brad smiled and headed out the door.
“Brad,” I called out.
He looked back.
I came out from behind the counter and walked toward him. My mind whirled with everything Margaret had suggested I say and in my eagerness, the words rushed out, stumbling all over themselves. “I’ve had a change of heart, that is, if you’re still interested. If you aren’t, I understand perfectly, and I’m making a complete idiot of myself, and … and let’s have a beer one night. Oh, and I’ll buy. Margaret said I should buy and—”
His eyes widened as he held up one hand. “Whoa.”
I clamped my mouth shut.
“Now start over at the beginning, only slower this time.”
I was convinced my face was brighter than any fire truck in Seattle. “I’ve reconsidered your invitation to meet for a drink after work.”
A smile appeared on his face and I could tell he was pleased. “I’d enjoy that.”
A warm feeling replaced the chill that had left my teeth chattering. “Good.”
“How about Friday night after you close the shop?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
He reached for the cart, whistling on his way back to the truck. A few minutes after he left, I realized I was humming. I had a date!
Hot damn. I had a date. Just wait until Margaret heard about this.
23
CHAPTER
JACQUELINE DONOVAN
Jacqueline had her day all planned. She had a nail appointment at nine, followed by lunch with her friends, then major shopping, a few necessary errands and finally home. Tuesday was her busiest day of the week; she arranged it that way on purpose. Preoccupation was the key to forgetting that her husband would be spending part of the night with another woman.
While she was at the mall, she’d make sure she was justly rewarded for turning the other way, although she still had to grit her teeth every time she thought about it.
Just minutes before she planned to leave for the nail salon, the phone rang. For half a moment, she was tempted to ignore it, but then she saw that it was Reese’s cell. Reluctantly she picked up the receiver.
“I need a favor,” her husband said urgently. “I’m in a meeting and I forgot my briefcase at the house.”
“Do you want me to drop it off?” It would mean she’d be late for her nail appointment, but Reese wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary. She intended to spend a good deal of his money that afternoon, so the least she could do was accommodate him.
“Would you, Jacquie? I’d come back for it, but I need it ASAP.”
“I’m on my way.”
He told her where to find it near his desk in the den. Jacqueline went in there and found the briefcase just where he’d said it would be. The den was in Reese’s section of the house and she rarely ventured inside. For a moment, she lingered, trailing her fingers over the perfectly aligned books on the mahogany shelves. On rare occasions Reese smoked a cigar and the scent of rich tobacco and leather was more prominent in this room than anywhere else in the house.
A sense of nostalgia filled her and a longing she could hardly explain. She felt a dull ache as she remembered the love they’d somehow let slip away. The love of their early years … She never allowed herself to acknowledge the isolation they’d forced upon each other. She did now, and the sadness settled over her like a heavy rain-drenched coat.
It was hard to figure out precisely when it’d happened to them or why. His Tuesday-night mistress was a symptom of their alienation, not a cause. They were already drifting apart when she’d entered the scene. Slowly, through the years, Jacqueline and Reese had lost that closeness. They were both at fault; Reese was stubborn—but so was she.
Their marriage had eroded to the point that they were roommates more than partners, friends more than lovers. It happened to many couples—she’d heard enough veiled hints and outright confessions from other women to be aware of that. Still, it didn’t lessen her feelings of acute loss. Putting aside her thoughts, she reached for the briefcase and hurried to the garage.
Jacqueline phoned the nail salon from her car as she headed directly to Blossom Street. The renovations were going well, although parking was still impossible. Jacqueline suddenly realized Reese hadn’t told her where she should leave her car.
She tried calling him, but apparently he’d turned off his cell. Twice around the block turned up nothing. The street wasn’t wide enough for her to double park, either. After wasting a precious ten minutes in a fruitless effort to secure a parking space, she pulled into the alley behind A Good Yarn. It wasn’t the best area of town in which to leave an expensive car, and Lydia had warned them against using it, but Jacqueline didn’t have any choice. The alley was narrow and dark and she shuddered involuntarily as she quickly locked the car.
When she got to the construction site, Reese was nowhere to be seen. However, as soon as she arrived at the trailer, his project manager greeted her. Jacqueline couldn’t recall his name, although she was fairly certain Reese had mentioned the young man. It’d been a long time since she’d kept track of his employees’ names.
“Thanks,” the youthful-looking man told her. “I know Reese was pretty upset about forgetting this.”
“It wasn’t any problem,” she murmured, stepping over a pile of rebar on her way out.
Grumbling under her breath, she walked across the street and down the block to the alley entrance. Unfortunately the yarn store wouldn’t be open for another twenty minutes, or she could’ve walked through there. As she entered the darkened alley, Jacqueline’s anger increased steadily. No wonder her marriage was in trouble. Instead of greeting her personally, Reese had sent his assistant—as if he took for granted that she’d interrupt her entire day on his behalf. Next time he could damn well retrieve his own briefcase.
Disgruntled, Jacqueline was halfway into the alley before an eerie warning sensation crawled up her spine. She stopped and looked suspiciously around. Nothing. She relaxed and mentally chastised herself for being foolish. The sun had yet to clear the tops of the buildings and the area remained cool and shady. She moved forward two more steps and stopped again as the sensation grew stronger, more compelling.
Her imagination was running away with her, Jacqueline decided. She’d watched one too many episodes of CSI. Still, her fear persisted, growing more intense by the moment. But she had to get to her car. What alternative did she have? It was either that or stand here all morning.
She was no more than twenty feet from her Mercedes when two men stepped out from the shadows. They loomed in front of her, half-obscured by the darkness. Menacing. She couldn’t see their faces clearly but she saw their sneers. They were street people, she thought, unkempt and filthy.
“What do we have here?” one called to the other, who moved quickly to block her exit.
Jacqueline broke into a cold sweat. Instinct told her to run, but she feared her legs were about to collapse. And in her heels, she had little chance of escaping if they decided to chase her.
“Kindly get out of my way,” she demanded and was rather pleased with her bravado.
“Kindly,” the second man, the taller of the two, echoed in a falsetto voice, raising his right arm and dangling his wrist. “We got ourselves a genuine lady here.”
“High society.”
“Lots of money.”
“Now give it up, bitch.”
Jacqueline clutched her purse tighter against her side. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Never