Her Every Wish Read Online Free PDF Page A

It’s cold and you’re almost out of everything.”
    Harriet beamed at him. “How utterly darling. He brings rum. Ree, I must get myself a nephew like him. How ever does one obtain one?”
    Ree rolled her eyes. “Don’t let the rum fool you. It’s scant penance for all the woe he’s brought into my life. Fortunately for us all, Crash is one of a kind.”
    Crash waggled his eyebrows at his aunt. “You know you love me.”
    She glowered at him. “Unfortunately.”
    â€œI’ve always meant to ask. What sort of a name is Crash? Is it a first or a family name?” Miss Walsh frowned at him. “That can’t be your real name, can it?”
    â€œHis Christian name is Nigel,” Ree put in, “but we started calling him Crash at a very young age, and it stuck so well that we’ve just decided to forget there was ever anything else. As for family names, we don’t deal in those. It’s a bit of a tradition. But if you feel better calling him Nigel—”
    â€œRefer to me as Nigel again,” Crash said with a raised finger, “and I’ll start calling you Catriona.”
    His aunt made a face. “You don’t want him,” she explained earnestly to her friend. “He talks back. And he only brings enough rum for a little glass here and there. He’s hardly worth all the bother.”
    But she gave him a proud smile.
    And oh, he had been a bother. Never sitting still, always moving. Once, when he’d been a child scarcely old enough to learn his letters, he’d lived up to his assumed name. He’d dashed around a corner in a store and ran headlong into a display of canned goods. They’d toppled to the ground with a resounding crash.
    The shopkeeper had grabbed him up, shaking him viciously, calling him a good-for-nothing hell-bent bastard who would end his days in a noose.
    â€œJust like your father,” he’d said. “But then, you don’t even know who that is, do you, you worthless little mongrel?”
    His aunt had taken Crash’s hand and conducted him out of the shop.
    â€œDon’t you listen to him,” she had said, her voice shaking. “He can’t see you, not as you are. So don’t you listen to what he says. You’re good for anything you want to do. You’ll have to try harder, and you’ll have to do it a little differently—but don’t you ever listen to him.”
    Twenty-six years of don’t you listen to him.
    Every time someone crossed the street at the sight of him. Every time someone spat in his direction. When the vicar announced at Sunday service that unnatural attractions to men were a sign of moral turpitude. The morning when a well-meaning woman had sought him out in a crowd and earnestly explained that foreign heathens like him needed to learn of Christ and seek divine forgiveness.
    For twenty-six years, his aunt had told him not to listen to any of them. After all she’d done for him, a little rum was the least he could offer.
    â€œYou know,” Miss Walsh put in, “if we could get this fine young man to play Martha’s hand for us, nobody could use her to cheat.”
    Three faces considered this contemplatively. Crash was fairly certain that all three women were considering the many ways he might choose to play Martha’s hand.
    â€œSpeak for yourself,” Ree said piously. “I never cheat. I win by skill.”
    This was met with the raucous laughter it deserved.
    Ha. She’d give up cheating the day she… No, he didn’t want to think such morbid thoughts. His aunt was fifty-four; she had decades left in her, god willing. She’d taught him everything he knew about cheating. Cheating was the only way to win, and so she did it assiduously.
    He sat and dealt.
    â€œHe won’t do for a fourth,” Harriet said. “But you know, May…”
    May frowned. “I know. It’s been a year.