foyer and stopped in the den, his gaze riveted to the
Palladian glass window overlooking his backyard. A cluster of oaks so
ancient the branches swayed with age provided shade while a fish pond
added more visual interest.
Pride swelled in his chest at his accomplishments.
Still, material things weren’t enough. His thirst for knowledge couldn’t
be quenched. He’d vowed to learn everything he could about high-risk
deliveries. A child’s life might depend on his skill and expertise.
The key to reaching his goals lay in that job in Atlanta.
Now he just had to devise a plan to see Rebecca again and swing an
invitation to her grandmother’s surprise birthday party so he could meet
Bert Hartwell.
Rebecca hurriedly placed the bride’s book and a book on dream analysis
back into the chest and shut it, not wanting any of her neighbors to see
the contents of her hope chest. Ignoring the growing chill in the air,
she tugged and pulled at the hope chest, trying desperately to remove it
from the back of the station wagon, but the bumps she’d taken had wedged
the corner of the chest into the side by the spare tire, and it was
completely stuck. The effort made her already sore chest ache even more.
She felt a sharp pain in it each time she took a deep breath, too. She
must have bruised her ribs. They couldn’t be broken or she would be in
much worse pain. Right?
She shoved again, and mashed her finger. Why hadn’t she had the courage
to accept Thomas’s offer of help?
She couldn’t ask him to assist her when she’d already inconvenienced
him. No telling how long it would take to repair his car. Granted he
could borrow something from Uncle Wiley’s lot to drive in the interim,
but she had no idea what kind of vehicle he’d get for a loaner.
Uncle Wiley did not have any brand-new silver Porches on his used-car lot.
“Yo, Becky.” Jerry Ruthers, Rebecca’s neighbor who’d dogged her for a
date ever since she’d moved into the small duplex next to his, loped
toward her, pulling baggy jeans up beneath his sagging belly. “Need a
hand?” He flexed his muscles, the bulge shoving the short sleeve of his
white T-shirt up, revealing arms layered in thick, dark hair and a
cigarette pack.
Rebecca cringed. “Thanks, but I can-“
He pushed her aside, yanked out the hope chest much the same as Thomas
had done, except Jerry added a melodramatic grunt, and sweat poured down
his unshaven face. He thundered toward the front door, his jeans
slipping down his backside.
She hurried after him, deciding to buy him a belt to hold up his pants
in exchange for his good deed.
“Where do you want it, Becky?”
She hated being called Becky, but she unlocked the door and ignored the
nickname, not wanting to prolong their conversation. “The den is fine.”
She gestured toward the blue ruffled sofa and watched him
heave as he lowered the chest to the faded beige carpet.
He whistled, wiped at his forehead with his arm, then grinned. “What you
got in there, sugar cakes?”
“Some things from my grandmother.” She inched back toward the door,
hoping he would follow. She didn’t intend to discuss the hope chest with
him any more than she had with Thomas.
“Dang it, you look pretty today.” His gaze traveled over her dark green
bridesmaid’s dress, lingering at her cleavage before dropping in
appreciation to her silver spiked heels. “Where you been? You look like
a Christmas tree, all lit up and sparkling.”
“My cousin’s wedding.” Rebecca ignored his come-hither grin. “She got
married at my grandmother’s house.” Jerry was the only man who’d shown
an interest in her recently, Rebecca thought morosely. She should try to
see him in a romantic light. After all, she never stuttered or had
klutzy attacks when he was around, but she couldn’t muster up an ounce
of attraction toward him. She yawned, her chest pinching again, and
hoped he’d take the
Hundreds of Years to Reform a Rake