Picket Fence Surprise. Kris FletcherЧитать онлайн книгу.
perked up.
“Not this time, Lu. We’re biking it.”
Lulu whined and sank back to the floor, resting her head on her forepaws while giving him the evil eye.
“Damn it, dog, now I feel guilty. Here. Have a treat.” He stopped stuffing snacks into the backpack long enough to grab a dog biscuit from the box and toss it her way. She nudged it with her nose.
“Cookie?” Cady asked. “Cady have cookie? Pease, Daddy?”
God, he was such a sucker for that little voice. “One lion. Rawr.”
“Rawr!” she echoed while bouncing up and down.
With all his charges suitably bribed, he popped the diaper bag over one shoulder, scooped Cady onto the other and gave Lulu a nod.
“Make sure you scare the burglars before they toss you a steak.”
Fifteen minutes later, helmeted and laughing, they were zipping down the road as fast as Xander dared with his precious passenger. This was the life. Sunshine on his back, his kid giggling in his ear, sweet freedom all around. It didn’t get much better than this.
At least that was what he told himself as they flew past the turnoff to Heather’s place.
They bypassed the public beach—too many tourists this time of year—and landed at a little inlet where some of the locals liked to launch their fishing boats. It had stones to throw and sand to sift and the perfect blend of sunny openness and shady trees. Cady found a plastic bucket that someone had left behind and spent an hour hauling water back and forth from the river, pouring it into the channels that Xander dug with a stick. They chased birds and stacked stones, and Xander lost count of how many pictures he snapped before they retreated to the picnic table under the trees for a well-earned snack.
“Talk about a perfect afternoon, huh, Cady bug?”
Before she could answer, the sky let loose with a distance but unmistakable roll of thunder.
“Holy—”
He ran out from beneath the trees and looked up. Sure enough, storm clouds were rolling in from upriver. They looked nasty.
And here he was, half an hour’s ride from home.
He threw everything into the backpack, jammed helmets on heads and got Cady buckled into place in record time. If luck was on his side, they might just make it.
They hit the road.
The wind kicked in, pushing against him, slowing his pace.
The skies darkened. A drop of rain landed smack in his eye.
Cady whimpered in his ear.
“Hang on, kiddo. We might—”
Thunder broke through his words, a sudden crash that had him cursing and Cady shrieking. They weren’t going to make it home in time.
He glanced over his shoulder, checked the road and hit the turnoff to Heather’s.
Five long minutes later he wrestled a crying Cady out of her seat and sprinted for the door as the rain started in earnest. If Heather wasn’t home, he might have to break in and pray the place wasn’t alarmed. Heather would understand. Police, not so much.
He rang the bell, pounded on the door and huddled over to protect Cady from the wind. When Heather opened the door, he could have kissed her.
Purely in gratitude, of course.
“Oh my gosh! Come in, get in, are you guys okay?”
Heather fussed around them, asking for details and offering towels and doing her best to make a mother hen look neglectful. She was so busy bustling and exclaiming over the sudden slash of rain against the windows that it took a couple of minutes for Xander to notice the splotches of color decorating her face, arms and shirt.
“What’s this?” He pointed to a particularly large spot on her arm. “Are you trying out for a part in the next Dr. Seuss book?”
Heather swiped at a blotch of purple on her nose and grinned. “Sorry. Millie and I are in the middle of a project.”
“What are you—”
“Cady!” Millie clattered down the stairs, arms outstretched. “What are you doing here?”
Heather gave the condensed version while Xander eased Cady down to the floor and assessed the damage. Other than a few damp spots from the first bits of rain, Cady was relatively dry. His shirt was wet in the shoulders, but the backpack had done double duty today.
“Mom, can I take Cady out to the fun porch?”
Heather placed a palm over one of the purple spots on Millie’s shirt. “I guess you’re dry enough. Wash your hands first, though, and don’t let Cady get into your chemistry set.” She glanced at Xander. “Okay with you? I don’t think you’re going anywhere on a bike for a while.”
He winced as lightning flashed through the windows. “Hate to crash into your afternoon, but I think you’re right. Go ahead, Cady. Go with Millie.”
As soon as the girls departed, hand in hand and already giggling, he looked at Heather. “Did she really call it a fun porch?”
“Yep. Technically, it’s a three season room, but that’s where she keeps her art and science supplies, so, you know. Fun porch.” She waved at the stairs. “I need to clean up a bit, but do you want some coffee or tea or anything?”
“I’m good, thanks. But I’m dying to know what kind of project means you need to have—” he took advantage off the opportunity to look her up and down, giving thanks for every blotch that required scrutiny “—seven different shades of purple. Or is that one pink?”
Heather pulled her shirt away from her stomach and held it tent-style, frowning at the spot in question. “I think that one is Blushing Rose.”
“Good name.” Good color, too. He didn’t dare do an in-depth comparison, but he was pretty sure it was the same color as Heather’s lips, now tipped in a half smile more intriguing than that of the Mona Lisa.
“We’re going to paint Millie’s room, but she wasn’t sure what color she wanted, so we’re trying them on the walls. To see how they look in the light, and all that.”
“Gotcha.” And then, because he could hear Millie and Cady laughing and the evening was still early and he wanted to see this new facet of Heather, he said, “Can I see it?”
“Sure. Come on upstairs.” She turned in the direction of the childish laughter. “Millie, I’m showing your room to Mr. Sorenson.”
“Okay, Mom.”
“You know,” he said as he followed Heather up the stairs, lagging behind a step or two to better absorb the sight of her hips swaying as she climbed, “she doesn’t have to call me Mr. Sorenson. That makes me feel like my grandfather.”
“What should she call you? Xander? I don’t think so.”
“How about Mr. X?”
She burst into delightful ripples of laughter as she led him down a narrow hall made even skinnier by the bed frame and mattress piled along the walls. “Very mysterious.”
“Yeah, that’s me. One secret after another.” He ducked and entered a small room tucked beneath the roof. Too many slopes for his comfort, but they were countered by large windows on two sides—one looking out over a row of pines, the other over the river.
He let out a whistle. “I’m guessing that when it isn’t pouring, those are great views.”
“Yeah, I love this room. I told Mills she’s lucky it’s too small for my bed. Otherwise I’d have to wrestle her for it.”
He focused on the circles and swirls of color dotting the once-cream walls while she gathered brushes