The Baby Season. Alice SharpeЧитать онлайн книгу.
was a gorgeous room filled with delectable smells that reminded Roxanne she was hungry. Starving. She wondered if she could sneak a cucumber wedge. Or a sandwich. She politely kept her hands to herself as she met the gaze of an attractive woman of about thirty wearing blue jeans and a baggy fringed cowboy shirt. Jack’s girlfriend? The woman smiled at Roxanne.
“Roxanne, meet Grace, our housekeeper slash cook,” Jack said. “Grace, this is Roxanne.”
Grace, who was at the huge stove, was busily stirring a pot of something that smelled good enough to…well, eat…said, “Hi.”
“If you have time, could you show Roxanne where to clean up, and maybe loan her something to wear to Ginny’s party?”
“Oh, I couldn’t impose like that—” Roxanne said, but Grace laughed.
“Trust me, this is one time when you want to impose,” she said, her gaze assessing Roxanne. “Besides, it’s no bother. This stuff should simmer for a while anyway.” With that, she turned down the gas flame under the pot of what smelled like barbecue sauce.
“I’ll leave you in capable hands,” Jack said with a lingering look that was hard to read. He took off his hat and ran a tanned hand through his short hair, his gaze still fastened on Roxanne, and she had to remind herself to breathe and blink and not gape.
There was something about this man that had her catching her breath like no other man ever had. It wasn’t just his startling good looks—she regularly spent her days around men the camera loved, Kevin among them. It was something else, something elusive, something that seemed to charge the air between them that had Roxanne’s fertile imagination conjuring up some mighty interesting scenarios. She could almost feel those hands of his running through her hair, could almost see his eyes close with passion as his lips touched hers…
He finally shifted his gaze to Grace. “Where did Ginny disappear to?”
“Sal is helping her get ready for her party.”
With a last look at Roxanne, Jack left the kitchen, and she watched his retreat with a combination of fascination and lust. Damn, the man looked as good leaving a room as he did entering it!
Grace touched her arm. A glance down at Grace’s hand revealed a wedding band, which made Roxanne foolishly happy.
“We have a couple of rooms of our own behind the kitchen,” Grace said. “You need a shower and some lotion for that sunburn. Come with me.”
“But Sal might know of a woman I’m here to find. Her name is Dolly Aames. Do you know anything about her?”
“Nope,” Grace said. “I’ve never heard that name before. I hate to be rude, but now is when I can take a few minutes to get you settled. Later I have to get the chicken ready for the grill and—”
“I’m the one who’s rude,” Roxanne said. “Of course, I’ll talk to Sal later.”
Within moments, Grace had shown Roxanne the bathroom, secured a clean towel and washcloth, even produced a toothbrush still wrapped in cellophane. “Help yourself to whatever else you need,” she told Roxanne. “Here’s lotion with aloe for after your shower. I’ll put clothes out on the bed. We’re about the same size, more or less. You’re in luck—I bought underwear a while ago that I haven’t had the occasion to wear. Not likely to any time soon. Holler if you need anything.”
As Grace closed the bedroom door behind her, Roxanne came face-to-face with her reflection in the long mirror that backed the door.
“Oh, my,” she said.
Her clothes were a wreck, streaked with dirt, splotched with something greasy, covered with tiny pieces of straw. The dry cleaner back home wasn’t going to be amused. Her fancy shoe—the one she hadn’t broken—was history. And her straw purse looked like something she should donate to the cats in the barn.
Bad as all that was, it couldn’t touch what she looked like above the neck. Straw-encrusted hair struggling to escape the ponytail, face sunburned and dirty, crimson and white and brown.
She turned away from the mirror. A cool shower would help. A shower had to help.…
She emerged sometime later with tingling pink skin and a mop of wet hair. A glance in the bathroom mirror revealed a face still colorful, but clean. A blow-dryer took care of the hair as long as she was careful to keep it away from her skin. Lotion helped with the burn. She didn’t want to use Grace’s cosmetics, and her own were still locked in the trunk of her car, so she’d have to go without mascara, her one concession to beauty. She didn’t need blush she thought with a smile, but when she found a tube of Vaseline, she smeared a little on her finger and gently applied it to her lips, sighing with relief. Heaven!
Wrapped in a towel, she let herself back into Grace’s bedroom and found a black dress laid out on the red-and-yellow quilt. Next to it were two pieces of lacy black underwear, the tags still attached.
Roxanne put on the black strapless bra and panties that fit like a second skin. She didn’t own any lingerie as beautiful or luxurious—it always seemed silly to spend money on something no one else ever saw.
Not even Kevin, thank the Lord. The swine.
The black rayon dress had an elastic waist and neckline and a full skirt that draped softly to below Roxanne’s knees. She cinched it at the waist with an incredible silver-and-turquoise concho belt she found lying beside the dress. She pulled the neckline down off her shoulders and looked in the mirror. Not too bad. Considering everything.
She left her hair loose on her shoulders, slipped her feet into a pair of Grace’s black sandals that were only a little snug and piled her own belongings into a pitiful heap on a chair.
She was ready to look for Sal.
Grace handed Roxanne a glass of iced tea the minute she entered the kitchen. “I knew that dress would look great on you,” she said.
“Thanks. I really appreciate the loan. It smells heavenly in here.”
“Doc said to remind you to keep drinking fluids and to take a couple more buffered aspirin. I put them out on the counter for you.”
As Roxanne swallowed the pills and hoped they would somehow magically make her skin feel less prickly, she said, “I don’t suppose Oz called?”
“Nope.”
“You waitin’ for Oz, you’ll be here a while,” Carl said as he pushed a wheelbarrow full of blue sacks of crushed ice into the kitchen. He started emptying them one by one into the large bowls that cradled the smaller bowls of perishable food. Looking at Grace, he abandoned his ice and went to stand beside her. “How you feeling, honey?”
“I’m fine,” she said.
“You look tired. Maybe Doc should—”
“No, Carl. Now, stop, honey. I’m fine.”
They exchanged a lingering look. Roxanne finally noticed that Carl wore a wedding ring identical in design to the one Grace wore.
“I just don’t want you overdoing it,” he said. “Doc said you have to take it easy this time.”
Grace patted his cheek tenderly, lifting a spoon from the pot of bubbling sauce to his lips. “Tell me what it needs.”
He tasted. “Salt.”
As Grace added a pinch of salt, she glanced at Roxanne and explained, “I’m pregnant,” she said. “I had a miscarriage last year, so we’re being extra careful this time.”
“Of course. Uh—congratulations.”
Beaming, Carl and Grace said, “Thanks,” in unison.
As they worked side by side, Roxanne thought to herself that Jack Wheeler’s house had a very nice feel to it. How wonderful it must be to grow up with kind people like these, in a house this warm and welcoming, with a father whose eyes flooded with joy when