The Ring on Her Finger Read Online Free PDF Page B

talk about.”
    Oh, fabulous , Lucy thought morosely. “Oh, fabulous,” she said cheerfully.
    “So what do you think about his poem—”
    A sudden clank-clank-clank from beneath the roadster cut short Rosemary’s question—much to Lucy’s relief—and the two women turned their heads in that direction.
    “Max!” Rosemary called out over the din, bringing it to a halt. “Come out and meet Lucy! She’s to be taking Mrs. Lindstrom’s place for a few months!”
    Only then did Lucy notice a pair of denim-clad legs and booted feet extending from beneath the chassis of the car on the side facing her and Rosemary. But instead of seeing a wizened little old German man push himself out from under the vehicle to say something about the discombobulator intravector svitch goink kablooey, the clank-clank-clank erupted again, as if the nanny had never spoken.
    Poor old guy. He must be hard of hearing, too. Or maybe he just didn’t speak English very well.
    Rosemary set Lucy’s suitcase down on the drive, then smiled and tilted her head toward the car. “He’s playing hard to get. Let’s go give him a nudge.”
    Lucy really didn’t want to bother him, but Rosemary obviously had no qualms about it, because she was already making her way over to the little sports car. She halted next to the booted feet, then bent over at the waist to peer beneath the car. “Come on, Max. Don’t be shy.”
    “I’m busy, Rosemary,” came a deep, gruff voice in reply. It didn’t sound particularly old or wizened or German.
    Rosemary straightened and tapped one of the booted feet with the toe of her sandal. “Come on,” she repeated in the coaxing kind of tone one might use for an obstinate toddler. “You’re going to have to come out sooner or later. And I want to take Lucy up to the big house to show her ’round. Come meet her now, so she doesn’t frighten you later when you see her.”
    Oh, so he was shy, too, Lucy thought. She made a mental note to be very polite and speak softly and not make any sudden movements when he was around.
    In response to Rosemary’s cajoling came an uncomfortable expulsion of air from beneath the car. Sounded like the old guy had a bit of a respiratory problem, too. This was followed by a heartfelt groan that made Lucy think he might have arthritis, as well. She hoped the job of car guy wasn’t too much for him. Then, very slowly, the rest of his legs—surprisingly long for a little, wizened old man—began to appear from beneath the car as he pushed himself out from under it.
    Lucy strode closer to the vehicle, drawn to the emerging body. The denim-clad legs were attached to firm thighs and trim hips, and those combined with a torso that was likewise covered in denim. No, wait, she realized as Max pushed himself farther out from beneath the car—the torso wasn’t exactly covered, because the denim work shirt hung open over a naked abdomen that looked way too sculpted to belong to a man of extended years. It was roped with muscle and covered with a rich scattering of dark hair that spanned his upper torso before arrowing down over a flat belly to disappear into the waistband of his jeans.
    Lucy’s mouth went dry as she took in the body that revealed itself. Not old. Not wizened. Not plagued with respiratory problems. Not arthritic. Next thing you know, he’ll be saying he’s not German, either .
    Two hands appeared next, gripping the bottom of the driver’s side door to aid the body in its journey. The fingers of those hands were long, blunt and capable-looking, smudged with grease. The denim shirt, too, was streaked with grime, as were the brawny arms, the powerful chest, the bold chin, the intrepid jaw and the—
    Whoa, baby.
    The face. The incredibly handsome face. The face, when it finally appeared, took Lucy by surprise. Not because it, too, was streaked with grease. And not because it belonged to a man far younger than she had guessed. But because it was, without question, the most