If Looks Could Kill. BEVERLY BARTONЧитать онлайн книгу.
Knoxville decorator she’d hired had told her.
Going through the selection of CDs stacked beside the entertainment center, she found that it was comprised of mostly older country hits. She didn’t care much for country music and doubted seriously if Dodd did. As she continued perusing the stack, her gaze stopped on one particular CD that stood out from the rest. The Romantic Piano. She removed it from the stack, opened it and inserted it in the player. When she heard the soft, sweet strains of Schuman’s “Dreaming,” she sighed.
Only moments after she relaxed on the sofa, she heard a car outside. Her heartbeat accelerated. Forcing herself not to jump up and run to the door, she rose from the sofa and walked slowly toward the entrance. By the time she reached the door, she heard footsteps on the porch. She took a deep breath and opened the door.
Dodd Keefer was an elegantly handsome man, his grayish- brown hair neatly styled, his attire a sports coat, dress slacks and lightweight turtleneck sweater. He paused the moment he saw her and smiled. His sparkling blue eyes devoured her. A tingle of some sort fluttered in her belly. Suddenly she felt like a young girl meeting secretly with her first beau.
He held up a bottle of wine. “I brought champagne. Dom Perignon. It’s been chilled, but we might want to—”
Reba boldly grasped his free hand and tugged, urging him toward her. Lowering his hand holding the bottle to his side, he stepped over the threshold and eased the door closed behind him. Acting purely on instinct, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him fully on the mouth. He responded instantly, returning the kiss with gentle force. A feeling of pure euphoria filled her body, unlike anything she’d experienced in ages.
Dodd ended the kiss somewhat reluctantly. Reba gazed up at him. He smiled.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a very long time,” she admitted, then took a step back, putting some space between them.
“So have I.” He studied her for a moment. “This isn’t something we have to rush. I’ll be perfectly content this evening to sit here in front of the fire with you and drink champagne, listen to music and talk.”
She nodded. “I’d like that very much.” He’s a rare man, she thought, a man who understood that she wasn’t quite ready to make that big step into a full-fledged affair.
“And perhaps you’ll allow me to kiss you again.”
“I’ll be disappointed if you don’t kiss me. Several more times.”
Reve found herself at Genny Sloan’s kitchen sink removing the shells from a dozen boiled eggs. If her Chattanooga friends could see her now, they’d be shocked. Reve Sorrell doing a menial task! She had rolled up the sleeves of her silk blouse and donned a white apron her hostess had provided, then had listened carefully as Genny explained how to prepare deviled eggs. It had seemed simple enough, but she was having more than a little difficulty. Some of the eggs shed their shells without a problem, but some shells stuck as if they were glued on, and the only way to remove them was to tear the egg apart.
“I’m afraid I’m not very good at this.” Holding one of the tattered eggs in her hand, Reve glanced across the kitchen to Genny, who was lifting pieces of fried chicken from the heavy iron skillet filled with hot grease.
“Oh, you’re doing fine,” Genny told her. “The whites that mess up, just save for Drudwyn. That dog loves eggs. And put the yolks with the other ones. I always like to have more yolks than whites. It makes for overflowing deviled eggs.”
Reve forced a smile. She felt as out of place here in this old mountain farmhouse helping prepare dinner as Genny and Jazzy would probably feel at one of her elaborate dinner parties. And it’s not dinner here in Cherokee County, she reminded herself. These people call the evening meal supper.
These people? Watch out, Reve, your snobbery is showing again. These people are two very kind women who have done their best to make you feel as if you fit in. Since that crazy “reading” Genny had done a couple of hours ago, both Genny and Jazzy had bent over backward to soothe Reve’s ragged nerves. Considering how she’d reacted to Genny’s dire prediction that both she and Jazzy were in grave danger, Reve supposed she was lucky they hadn’t asked her to leave and never come back. She had jumped up from her chair in the corner of the darkened bedroom and screamed for them to stop.
“This is total insanity and I want no part of it!” After yelling this, she had run from the room, leaving Jazzy to deal with Genny, who had either fainted or had done a great job of acting as if she had. As skeptical as Reve was about Genny’s sixth-sense abilities, she didn’t think the woman was a fake. Maybe sometime in Genny’s childhood, her crazy old witch woman grandmother had convinced her she was psychic. It seemed obvious that Genny truly believed she was gifted.
Later on, the two women had found her outside on the porch. Neither mentioned the “reading” or Reve’s outburst. Instead, Genny suggested she give Reve a tour of her greenhouses, which turned out to be a rather interesting excursion. It seemed that Genny owned a successful local nursery and specialized in herbs she also sold by mail order.
As soon as Jazzy removed a skillet of cornbread from the oven and turned it out onto a brown earthenware plate, she came over and eased the hot skillet down into the soapy water on the left side of the double sink. The minute the skillet hit the water, it emitted a sizzling sound.
“Need some help?” Jazzy asked Reve.
“Yes, I’m afraid I do.”
“Looks like you’ve managed to keep about six of the whites intact.” Jazzy lifted a tray from the counter and set it down to Reve’s right. “Clean your hands and then arrange the whites on the tray in a circle. While you do that, I’ll prepare the yolks.”
Reve sighed with relief. “Thanks.”
Jazzy patted her on the back. “It’s okay. Really. You’re just new to this kind of stuff. Any time I try something new, I feel as if I’m all thumbs.”
Before Jazzy could take over, a phone rang. Reve knew instantly from the musical ring that it wasn’t her cell phone or Genny’s residential line.
“That’s mine.” Jazzy wiped her hands on her apron, then grabbed her purse from the back of the kitchen chair and retrieved her cell phone. “Hello.” Jazzy’s eyes widened in surprise. “I’m doing just fine, Miss Reba. How are you?”
Genny stopped dead still and looked inquiringly at Jazzy, who shrugged and grinned. Genny eased up beside Reve and whispered, “That’s Caleb’s grandmother. She’s always hated Jazzy. I can’t imagine why she’s calling her.”
“Lunch tomorrow?” Jazzy asked. “I—yes, I suppose so. Hold on just a sec, will you?” Jazzy looked at Reve. “Miss Reba has invited us to Sunday dinner. What do you say? Want to go?”
Not really, Reve thought, but when she noted the hopeful expression on Jazzy’s face, she replied, “Yes, certainly, if you’d like to go.”
“Miss Reba, we’ll be there.” Jazzy sucked in a deep breath and slowly released it. “And thank you.”
The minute she hit the off button on her phone, Jazzy whirled around, grabbed Reve and hugged her. Reve stiffened. She was unaccustomed to physical displays of emotion. Her parents had been kind and caring, but neither of them had been the type to shower hugs and kisses on anyone, not even their only child.
“Hot damn!” Jazzy released Reve and danced jubilantly around the room. “I guess hell has done froze over, gals. Miss Reba not only was civil to me, she honest-to-God invited me to Sunday dinner.”
The sound of a dog’s friendly barks alerted them that someone was outside several minutes before they heard tromping on the back porch. The kitchen door swung open, and a huge wolf-looking dog came barreling in, followed by Caleb McCord and Dallas Sloan. The dog came straight to Reve and sniffed her. Oddly enough, she wasn’t afraid of him, even though she’d never owned a pet. When he finished sniffing, the dog lifted his head and stared at her with golden eyes.
“I