Here I Stay Read Online Free PDF Page B

spreads, beds and chairs and fireplace screens. Andrea was able to advertise that "each room is furnished with genuine antiques" without stretching the truth too much. She had several advance bookings weeks before she was ready to open. Here again she had Reba to thank. "Word-of-mouth advertising is what you want," Reba had said, adding, with a lip-stretching grin that proved her point, "My mouth is big enough to help quite a lot."
    The inn sign was the final touch. Andrea had deliberately waited until everything else was in order before hanging it; the act was a little private ceremony not to be shared, even with Jim. She wanted everything to be absolutely perfect when he saw it.
    He would see it in only a few more hours. The doctor had suggested she pick him up about eleven. She knew she ought to get back to the house, shower and change. But the warm sunlight felt good on her aching shoulders and she was reluctant to move.
    Out in the middle of the pasture next to the house a single dark blot broke the expanse of rippling green. Satan sat like a statue carved of jet, his coat shimmering in the sunlight. Haunches and tail were concealed by the tail grass, and in his utter stillness he resembled an expensive art object in a dealer's window, with green satin swathing his pedestal. He spent hours in that position on sunny days; presumably he was lying in wait for mice or moles. Andrea preferred not to think about that. Satan's sole virtue was that so far he had not presented her with the spoils. Such a demonstration was, she had heard, a mark of affection. It was one she could well do without.
    The road behind her was a county highway, narrow but well traveled. Cars passed frequently; not a few of them slowed as they approached. Prospective customers, hopefully...But most, she knew, were local people gaping at the transformation of the house. Some even pulled into the driveway to stare openly. I must put up a sign, she thought—Private Road, No Trespassing. When she heard the screech of tires and the crunch of gravel she turned, frowning.
    Instead of retreating in embarrassment at the sight of her the car came to a stop. Andrea's freshly laid and very expensive gravel spurted up under its wheels. She recognized the car immediately; it was one of a kind. Kevin's beloved 1965 Buick convertible, rescued from a junkyard in Connecticut, stripped and refurbished by the devoted hands of "the guys." Kevin was at the wheel, and beside him sat Jim.
    Anger weakened Andrea's knees. The boys were waving and grinning like idiots...She took a deep breath and walked toward them.
    If they noticed her scowl they ignored it. "I asked Kevin to pick me up," Jim explained.
    "So I see."
    "Figured we could save you the trip," Kevin added, his hands caressing the steering wheel. "Jeez, Andy, you've done a sensational job. It looks great. Wow—is that Satan? Look at the old bastard, lying in ambush. The sign is sensational. Did you put it up yourself? Should have waited for us."
    He didn't stop talking long enough for her to answer, probably because the expression on her face warned him that her comment would not sustain the cheerful mood he was trying to create. "Hop in and we'll save you a walk. There's enough room in the back, even with all Jim's stuff."
    Andrea looked steadily at Jim. "Hop in," he repeated. "We can all get in the front. Here—"
    "No." Andrea's hand went out in an involuntary gesture of protest. "No, thanks. You go on. I'll be there in a minute."
    "Right." Kevin shifted gears and off they went, the twin exhausts roaring. He's afraid I'll crack and say something, Andrea thought bitterly. Well, I won't. At least I hope I won't...
    From among the boxes and bags heaped promiscuously in the back seat the crutches protruded like a pair of flagpoles, boldly defiant. Jim wasn't wearing the pants she had carefully tailored to fit; his faded, tattered jeans had presumably been supplied by Kevin. The material was wadded up and fastened with