Cedar Creek Seasons Read Online Free PDF Page A

“It’s a wig stand.”
    “Ms. Miles, you are about the most thoughtful person I’ve ever met. Erma will love this.” He handed her a metal clipboard.
    She signed the form, said good-bye, and went back inside. Leaning against the door, she hugged her thin blouse to her goose-bumped belly. “You’re acting like a child.”
    Saying it out loud didn’t end the polka party in her gut.
    Wilson Woodhaus was just a man. A rich, famous, worldly-wise man, but nevertheless, he was still human. And if, after all she’d told him, he was still calling to ask her out, the least she could do was give him a courteous answer. And a chance.
    She let her fingers do the walking across the kitchen table to her phone. As she picked it up, the string from a black Mylar balloon drifted across her ear. She looked up at the annoying reminder of yesterday’s milestone and set the phone down.
    “This is ridiculous. Fair, fat, and forty people get gallstones, not dates.”
    Snagging the black orb hovering over her head, she headed for the basement stairs. There were potty step-ups to be painted and rocking horses waiting for tails. As she passed the fridge, the Polar Bear Dip picture slid out of its frame and sailed to her feet. Elsa and Crystal glared up at her. “Fair, fat, forty, and
afraid
,” they yelled.
    “I am not.” She lifted her chin. Both of them. And marched back to the phone.
    One date. She didn’t want to offend him. After all, he might be the key to Star’s future. “I can do this. I can be scintillating for one date.” It probably wouldn’t go anywhere anyway. What did it matter if she exhausted her entire repertoire of social brilliance in one evening? He’d move on after one night. He probably had women tucked away in Mediterranean villas and artsy East Coast brownstones. That would explain the never-been-married part. She pushed the little green icon next to his name.
    “Hello,” he said. “Willow?”
    “Hi. Sorry to be rude like that.” She stared at her reflection in the microwave and fluffed her hair. “What was it you wanted to ask?”
    “Yes, well. I hope you don’t consider me impertinent.”
    Honey, at forty impertinent might be a compliment
. She plucked a stray eyebrow hair and waited.
    “Something you said the other day got me thinking, and I was wondering if maybe the two of us could talk about an arrangement that would be mutually beneficial.”
    An arrangement?
    “My house isn’t large, but there are times when it’s just a bit too much for me to handle alone.”
    It sounded like dialogue from a prairie romance. Only it was usually a father left with a passel of kids who offered the woman a roof over her head in exchange for raising his kids, running his house, and warming his bed. The back of her neck prickled. She opened her mouth but didn’t know what should come out of it.
    “And I’m sure with all those kids you could use a little extra help.”
    Prickles turned to the feel of fiberglass insulation against her skin. The man’s audacity was triggering the mother of all hot flashes. In four strides she reached the front door and opened it wide.
    “So I thought maybe we could barter.”
    Barter. The word had a few meanings. Trade. Swap. Negotiate. What was the man saying? His house was small, but he’d help her raise her kids if … if
what?
“Mr. Woodhaus”—
Wilson
was way too personal—“I’m afraid I’m not interested in that kind of arrangement.”
    Silence. A sigh. “I didn’t mean to offend you. When you mentioned you cleaned houses, I just thought maybe it would help us both if you came and cleaned for me in exchange for—”
    As her finger zeroed in on the red button, she heard him say “art lessons.”

    Willow sat in the van and stared at the old stone barn. Snow dusted the red roof and gathered in the crevices between the round fieldstones. Ancient trees surrounded the building. An artist’s haven. She pictured the interior. Scandinavian, maybe. She’d once