Hot August Nights. Christine FlynnЧитать онлайн книгу.
caught her looking with some trepidation down the long, empty breezeway. The Vacancy sign in the office window looked permanent.
“There’s no place to lock up your bag at the site, so I’ll leave it in the office,” Matt explained, as he pulled to a stop by a row of pink plastic flamingos. “You can check in when we call it quits for the day.”
“That’s fine,” she said, thinking it best to be agreeable.
“Did you bring a hat?”
The suggested clothing list she’d been sent had highly recommended sun-protective clothing, along with the unfashionably sturdy practical boots she wore. Since a purse would only be in the way, the list had also suggested that ladies either carry what they needed in their pockets or use a very small waist pack. The little black pack on the seat beside her had been a good-luck present from her assistant. Elise had filled it with headache tablets and sunblock.
“I have a baseball cap.”
Since it was in one of her travels bags, she climbed out after him and was promptly greeted by the rumble of the three vehicles pulling in behind them. A sound boom was thrust through the window of the white van even as Matt lowered the truck gate and set the bag she indicated on it. The door on the side of the van rolled back to reveal the kid with the ponytail hoisting his camera onto his shoulder.
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