Her Fifth Husband? Read Online Free PDF Page B

best had already been taken; the rest were too old, too young, too dull or too dumb.
    Ironically, over the past couple of years it had been Daisy and Marty, two of the original matchmakers, who had skimmed the cream off the top, with Daisy marrying Kell Magee when he’d come east to check out a relative, and Marty marrying the yummy carpenter she’d hired to renovate her house.
    And she wasn’t envious, she really wasn’t! As she turned to go, one of her heels slipped between two boards. Flailing her arms for balance, she grabbed at the chaise longue, which slid away from her, throwing her even more off balance. Pain shot up her left leg. Trying to catch herself as she went down on her behind, she jammed her fingers on the sun-warped deck.
    â€œOh, help, oh, shoot, oh, damn, damn, damn! ” She rocked back and forth, clutching her ankle with one hand and waving the other hand in the air, her shoe heel still trapped in the crack between boards.
    Seeing that the pink suede covering the five-inch heel was ruined, she cried out in frustration as well as pain. She’d paid dearly for these shoes, knowing that nothing flattered a woman’s legs like a good pair of spike heels. Especially a woman who had stopped growing—at least vertically—in the fifth grade. Having been told at an early age that redheads shouldn’t wear pink, she’d gone out of her way to wear something pink on every possible occasion, even if it was only pink tourmaline jewelry.
    With trembling fingers, she managed to unbuckle the ankle strap, unwrap it and ease her foot from the arrow-shaped toe that looked so gorgeous she usually didn’t even notice the torture.
    Oh, gross! Her ankle was already starting to look like an overstuffed sausage. Not only that, she had popped three fingernails and collected a handful of splinters that would probably give her blood poisoning. Didn’t they use arsenic to treat the lumber for these beach houses? Did that include the sundecks?
    At least she managed to unfasten her gold ankle bracelet before it cut off circulation. Oh God, she was going to die right here on the top deck of an empty cottage. The sun would turn her red as a boiled crab. Her nose would blister, seagulls and ospreys would drop disgusting things on her body—
    Her cell phone—she’d left it in her purse inside. If she could just get up she could use one of the plastic chairs as a walker and hop inside to call 911. Although after yesterday…
    Maybe a different dispatcher would be on in the mornings.
    Tears streamed down her cheeks, leaking trails of mascara through her blusher, dripping off her chin onto her Tilly MacIntire blouse. She unfastened her other shoe and tossed it aside. What good was one shoe when its mate was ruined? If it weren’t for the fact that nothing flattered a woman’s legs like putting them on a pedestal—and she was just vain enough to want every advantage she could possibly get—she’d burn the treacherous things the minute she got home.
    But first she had to get there.
    She was on her knees, trying to grab the leg of a chair and drag it closer when she heard someone step out onto the sundeck behind her.
    â€œWhat the devil have you done to yourself?” a familiar voice boomed.
    Startled, she twisted around and stared up at the voyeur—the man who had scared the wits out of her just yesterday.
    Oh, please, her inner woman groaned, not like this!
    â€œHelp?” she said weakly.
    Â 
    By the time they were in Jake’s SUV on the way to the hospital in Nags Head, Sasha had set aside her misery to make three firm vows. First, no more five-inch heels—at least not when she was working. Second, starting now she would cut her carb count in half. No more Krispy Kremes, no more double lattes.
    In other words, no more anything worth eating.
    Jake had insisted on carrying her down the stairs. As her only option was bouncing on her butt all