The Wanderer. Робин КаррЧитать онлайн книгу.
have to miss Landon’s games. It’s not as though I have any other social life.”
Carrie leaned her elbow on the diner. “Wish I had an exciting career like you, Sarah. Being a pilot beats my job, any day.”
“Tell me about it,” Lou said.
Before Gina could weigh in, the door to the diner opened, the bell tinkling. Ray Anne appeared in her version of a Realtor’s business suit—too short, too tight, too much boobage. She scowled. “Sarah, that dog should be on a leash!”
“He is, Ray Anne.” She leaned back on her stool to look out the glass pane in the door. “He’s all hooked up.”
She wiped at her purple skirt. “He still managed to get me with that awful mouth of his.”
“Well, Ray Anne, you’re just so edible-looking,” Lou said.
“Ha-ha. Well, you’ll never guess what I just saw! The most gorgeous man, out at Ben’s place. He was built like a brick you-know-what—worn jeans, torn in all the right places, plain old T-shirt under a leather jacket. One of those flying jackets, you know, Sarah. Driving one of those testosterone trucks, pulling a trailer... Handsome face, maybe a dimple, scratchy little growth on his cheeks and chin. He was talking to Mac. It was like an ad for Calvin Klein.”
“What were you doing out at Ben’s?” Lou asked.
“I was checking on a rental up the hill two blocks. You know, that old Maxwell place.”
“Then how’d you see the tears in his jeans and his stubble?”
Ray Anne dipped a manicured hand into her oversize purse and pulled out her binoculars. She smiled conspiratorially and gave her head a toss. Her short blond hair didn’t move.
“Clever,” Lou said. “Man-watching taken to the next level. How old is this hunk of burning love?”
“Irrelevant,” Ray Anne said. “I wonder what he’s doing here. I heard Ben had no next of kin. You don’t suppose cuddly old Ben was hiding a handsome brother? No, no, that would be cruel.”
“Why?” Sarah asked.
“Because Ray Anne would love a shot at selling that property of Ben’s,” Carrie said.
“That’s not true,” Ray Anne protested. “You know me, I only want to help if I can.”
“And bag a single man or two while you’re at it,” Lou said.
Ray Anne stiffened slightly. “Some of us are still sexual beings, Louise,” she said. “A notion you might not be familiar with.” As the Sheriff’s Department patrol car passed slowly down the street, Ray Anne said, “Oh, there’s Deputy Yummy Pants—I’m going to go ask him what’s going on. If I can get past the dog!”
Out the door she wiggled.
“Deputy Yummy Pants?” Sarah asked with a laugh in her voice.
“The teenage girls around town call him that,” Lou explained drily. “I don’t recommend it. He hates it. Gets him all pissy. I should tell you what kind of pants Ms. Realtor of the Year has. Maybe Busy Pants.”
Carrie’s lips quirked. “She suggested you don’t quite get the whole sexual pull. Louise.”
Lou had a sarcastic twist to her lips when she said, “If she turns up dead, can I count on you girls for an alibi?” Then she turned and called to her niece and nephew. “Hey, kids. Let’s make tracks.” To her friends she said, “I’m going to beat Yummy Pants home. Betcha I get more out of him than Busy Pants does.”
* * *
Sarah hung her red slicker on the peg in the mudroom just in time to see her younger brother, Landon, coming toward the back door of their house with his duffel full of football gear. “Hey,” she said. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
“I came home to get a couple of things and grab a sandwich,” he said. He bent to pet the dog. He didn’t have to bend far—Ham was tall. “Gotta get going.”
“Wait a sec,” she said.
“What?” he asked, still petting the dog.
“For Pete’s sake, can you look at me?” she asked. When he straightened, heavy duffel over one shoulder, she gasped. There was a bruise on his cheekbone.
“Practice,” he said. “It’s nothing.”
“You don’t practice on game day.”
“Yeah, well, I hope I don’t get in trouble for that. A couple of us went out to run some plays, some passes, and I got nailed. It was an accident.”
“You were practicing without a helmet?” she asked.
“Sarah, it’s nothing. It’s a small bruise. I could’ve gotten it running into an open locker. Lighten up so you don’t make me look like a girl. Are you coming to the game?”
“Of course I’m coming. Why couldn’t you be into chess or something? Choir? Band? Something that didn’t involve bodies crashing into each other?”
He grinned at her, the handsome smile that had once belonged to their deceased father. “You get enough sleep without me boring you to death,” he said. “Why couldn’t you just be a flight attendant or something?”
He had her there. Sarah flew search and rescue with the Coast Guard. There were those occasions that were risky. Edgy. And admittedly, that was part of what she loved best about it. “I trust you’ll be wearing your helmet tonight?”
“Funny. It should be a good game. Raiders are a good match. They’re a good team.”
“Does it hurt?” she asked, touching her own cheek.
“Nah, it’s really nothing, Sarah. See you later.”
She suppressed the urge to beg him to be careful. It was just the two of them; she was his guardian and family. She sometimes wanted to simply enfold him in her arms and keep him safe. Yet watching him play was thrilling. He was a great athlete, already six feet tall and muscled at sixteen. She’d heard he was the best quarterback they’d seen in a long time here in Thunder Point.
For the millionth time she hoped bringing him here had been a good decision. He’d been happy in the North Bend high school last year. He’d barely found his footing, his friends, when she’d moved them here. But she couldn’t bear to stay in the same town as her ex, in the home they had shared. It was bad enough that they still worked together.
She’d moved them so often....
She reached out as if to hug him, then retracted her arms. He didn’t want mush, not now that he was a man. So she held back.
“All right,” he said patiently. “Get it over with.”
She wrapped her arms around him and he gave her a one-armed hug back. Then he grinned at her again. He had absolutely no idea how handsome he was, which made him even more attractive.
“Play your little heart out, bud,” she said. “And do not get hurt.”
“Don’t worry. I’m fast.”
“You going out after the game?” she asked.
“I dunno. Depends on how tired I am.”
Sarah looked at him. “When I was your age, I was never too tired to go out. If you go out, getting home by midnight would be nice. No later than one, for sure. Are we on the same page here?”
He laughed at her. “Same page, boss.”
But as she knew, he seldom went out after a game.
Two
Roger McCain headed home for the day. He lived in a large house he couldn’t quite afford with three kids and his aunt Lou. He was thirty-six