The One Worth Waiting For Read Online Free PDF

night. Which brought her, of course, to the day. She felt her stomach tighten, and a strange, light tingling filled her. Anticipation. Abruptly, she punched her pillow, and swung her feet to the floor.
    Darn it, she wasn’t going to feel such things. She was going to tend to his wounds like a good nurse and see to his health as Cagney’s best friend. She was going to be a good citizen, and not think of anything else. She was practical and strong, and she’d paid dearly for both those qualities. If she ran around like some efficiency machine, then the approach had served her well through the years. Everyone in Maddensfield respected her. And no one, no one, ever mentioned her mother or all those years before.
    She drew her nightgown over her head and stepped briskly into the shower. To prove her conviction, she turned her mind expediently to its lists of daily tasks. She had a meeting about the upcoming August parade at eleven, then the Maddensfield Fair at two. Choir practice began at eight tonight, and it was her turn to supply refreshments. Of course, tomorrow night she was due down at the Y as part of the literacy program.
    They would all have to be canceled. She frowned in the shower, lathering her long hair briskly as the thought of lying settled low and uncomfortable in her stomach. She really wanted to curse Garret Guiness. She would have to say she was sick, she thought finally, rinsing out the last of the soap from her hair. At least it would explain why Dr. Jacobs continued to visit her house. Perhaps Cagney’s, as well.
    She stepped out of the shower and quickly toweled off. With a comb, she impatiently attacked the knots in her long brown hair, her fingers working automatically while her mind wandered free. She’d never liked her hair. It was fine and straight and completely unruly. Other people with long hair seemed to have thick, luxurious strands that shone after a brisk brushing. But, she thought, hers remained dull and lifeless, a color she’d come to call dishwater brown. Ruthlessly, she gathered it up into a knot on top of her head, and pinned it into submission. Over the course of the day, strands would escape to curl hot and uncomfortable down her neck. She’d discovered there was little she could do about that, except console herself with the knowledge that at least at the beginning of each day, she’d won the battle.
    She only ever wore a touch of brown eyeliner and mascara, so when she found her hand hovering inexplicably over some ancient eye shadow, she felt the first stirrings of anger. She absolutely, positively, was not going to change anything for the man downstairs. It didn’t matter that he was Garret and had once beat up Tank Nemeth for her and her sister. It didn’t matter that he’d once flashed those special grins for her and walked her home. He’d left fifteen years ago, damn it. And not once had he ever looked back.
    Not even all those nights she’d lain awake, and prayed that he’d come take her away at last.
    The ache that appeared suddenly was rusty and deep. She turned away from it completely, and sought out her closet instead. Fifteen years was fifteen years, and so help her God, she was not going to suffer one moment of feeling for Garret Guiness.
    She grabbed a skirt and blouse out of her closet without allowing herself a second to reconsider, threw them on and left without even a backward glance at the mirror. It was bad enough she’d given up her morning walk and afternoon meetings for the man. She wouldn’t give up anything more.
    The resolution lasted as long as it took her to get downstairs to the guest bedroom.
    Here, she’d left the window air-conditioning unit running all night, and the air remained cool, prickling light goose bumps along her bare arms. But more to the point, the climate finally seemed to have reached Garret; he now lay quiet and still amid the twisted sheets, his chest falling with the even rhythm of sleep.
    As she looked at him, tanned and