Nightwind Read Online Free PDF

delighted to accept your
    invitation, Mr. Turnbridge,” he found himself saying through clenched teeth.
    “Please, call me Allen.” The Realtor clapped him on the back. “If you don’t have a date, maybe you
    could drop by and pick up Beth.”
    “I have someone I will be bringing with me,” he said, cutting off the man and gaining the stunned surprise
    of the blond.
    Allen Turnbridge blushed. “Well, good then.” He cast an embarrassed look at Beth. “We’ll see you at
    our place at seven?” At his companion’s absent nod, he ducked his head and headed for the sandwich
    shop, wanting to get away from an embarrassing situation.
    “Anyone I might know?” Beth asked, somewhat annoyed that this glorious hunk of a man could have
    met someone so quickly.
    He smiled nastily. “Oh, yes. Yes, you do,” he said before nodding to her. He turned and walked away,
    leaving her staring after him.
    Lauren looked upfrom her book when the doorbell rang. She frowned. No one ever visited her, not
    even her mother. She laid the book aside and went to answer the door. She was even more surprised
    when she recognized Steve Keller, the delivery boy from Hatcher’s Florist, looking back at her through
    the screen door.
    “Hello, Steve,” she said, pushing open the door. She’d babysat for him when he was a little boy.
    “Just wanted to see if you was home,” the teenager said before he turned on his heel and tripped lightly
    down the steps.
    She watched him slide open the door to the delivery van and reach inside. Her puzzlement grew as he
    straightened up, a large bouquet of white roses in his hands.
    “Those can’t be for me!” she gasped as he brought them to the door.
    “I wouldn’t have delivered them here if they weren’t.” He thrust the bouquet out to her. “Here.”
    She took the arrangement of plush white roses and looked at Steve. “If you’ll wait, I’ll get you a tip.”
    With a shrug of disdain, the boy turned on his heel. “He already paid me.”
    “Who?” Lauren asked. “Who paid you?”
    “If it ain’t on the card, the man don’t want you to know.” He was back in the van and pulling away from
    the curb before Lauren could reply.
    She became aware of someone watching her and turned. Her next door neighbor, Henrietta Malone,
    was eyeing her with ill-concealed curiosity. The woman’s face was glowing with speculation.
    “Good afternoon, Mrs. Malone,” she called out, but the old woman didn’t answer. Instead, Henrietta
    clumsily turned and hobbled into her house on the aluminum walker that enabled the old woman to get
    about.
    Feeling foolish for having tried still one more time to get Mrs. Malone to acknowledge her greetings,
    Lauren went back inside the house, closing the door behind her.
    She placed the bouquet of roses on the dinette table and took the florist’s card from the holder. Even
    before she opened it, she knew whom it was from.
    The card read: Forgive me. I meant you no disrespect. And it was signed: Syn.
    Could she have been wrong about him? She tapped the little card against her lip. Had she misinterpreted
    his actions? If so, she owed him an apology. The man was new in town, did not know her, had no idea of
    the contempt with which the rest of the town held her. Perhaps he was all that he appeared to be—a
    friendly man trying to make friends in a new place. She felt even more foolish than she had when her
    neighbor had not answered her hello.
    Lauren touched the petals of one silky white rose, bent to inhale its soft fragrance. She counted the
    roses. There were two-dozen long-stemmed buds in the green glass vase. Never having a reason to
    purchase flowers before, Lauren had no idea how much the bouquet cost, but she had a notion they
    weren’t cheap. Mr. Cree’s extravagance was not lost on her. If he felt he had needed to apologize to
    her, she could at least acknowledge it.
    Making up her mind, before she lost her nerve, she went to the telephone and dialed