Summertime Dream (9 page)

“Ready when you are.” She tugged on her gloves.

They began with the front door. Whoever had boarded up the place had used screws, and plenty of them, but between the stepladder and the drill they made short work of the job. Behind the plywood, the old metal screening of the screen doors was corroded and torn, but the wooden framework remained surprisingly solid. A few stripped screw heads on the first front window gave them fits, but they won the battle.

Margie peered through the grimy glass like a kid at a toy store window. “Sunlight! This is great!”

The other three front windows went smoothly and they stood back to survey the job and take pictures. The removal of the boards made a massive improvement to the house’s appearance and Christopher’s enthusiasm for the task rose. Ornamental moldings bearing the weathered remains of red and blue paint surrounded each tall, gently arched window, and complemented the faded yellow siding.

“I’m real tempted to take down those front second-floor boards today. But that means walking on the porch roof.” He studied the peeling, water-stained porch ceiling. Falling through the roof would be a bad start to his week.

“The house would look much happier.”

“I’ll put the extension ladder up and see what we’ve got up there.” However, when Christopher reached the roof, all he saw was an accident waiting to happen. With the broad wraparound porch there was no getting to the windows without crossing the gently sloping roof covered in slippery, brittle slates. Lloyd would know in an instant how to do the job safely. He was stumped.

He looked over his shoulder at Margie below. “I’m not going to risk it. The roof’s all slate and some are cracked and broken. There’s no safe place to step. I’ll have to find someone with the proper equipment and have the job done correctly.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“Right.” He fished his phone from his pocket and took several pictures of the roof and then, on impulse, twisted and snapped one of Margie smiling up at him from the foot of the ladder.

She laughed, and turned the tables on him by snapping his photo.

They returned to their ground floor task. The huge bay windows were a pain with their narrow side windows and multiple pieces of plywood necessary to cover the face. Uncovering a side-porch door revealed the same ornamental moldings, arched double panels, and leaded glass as the front door. After uncovering both back doors, they paused for another water break. Christopher opened the doors to let the breeze through the house.

“Wow. Major improvement back here.” Margie stood back, hands on hips and smile sparkling.

He wiped a hand over his sweaty forehead. “Yeah, making progress.”

Removing the plywood from the back of the house had also eliminated most of the paint ball splatters. At least his vandals were good shots. Something to be thankful for, perhaps.

They sat on the back steps, enjoying the view of the pond and the duck family fussing and dunking in the shallows.

“It’s going well, I think. I’m really having fun. So exciting to see daylight inside.” Margie grinned. “It’s like unwrapping a Christmas present.”

“More like cracking open a tomb.”

“Either way, you never know what treasure you might find inside.”

Christopher snorted. He enjoyed her enthusiasm, but so far all they’d found was plenty of trash. “Treasure would be a nice change.” He craned around and looked past the littered porch into the open kitchen door and the ugly, dirty indoor-outdoor carpeting covering the kitchen floor. The dark yesterday had hidden loads of faults.

After their break, they set to work on the home sprint to the front and in short time they were finished. Margie’s excitement was contagious, and pleasure at a job well done filled Christopher as they strolled around the house, peeking in each window. Every room now had at least one window’s worth of light and ventilation, and the two side-porch doors were functional.

“This house must have been something in its heyday.”

“It was the talk of the town. Albert Einar reportedly spared no expense and installed every modern convenience of the time to make his Chicago society bride feel at home.”

They reached the back of the house. The garbage left by the trespassers pissed him off. “I want to do a quick trash detail here. I’ll grab the broom and dustpan for the broken glass.”

While aggravating, the chore went swiftly between the two of them and seeing the trash cleared from the backyard and the porch swept clean further raised his spirits.

Margie set the broom aside and planted hands on hips as she scanned the tidied porch. “Oh, yes, so much nicer already. Don’t you worry, it’s going to keep getting better.” She swung around, tipped up on her toes, and kissed him, quick and cheery.

Quick wasn’t enough.

More
was his last intelligent thought as he pulled her close. He brought his mouth down on hers and took, sliding his hands over her hips to cup the perfect curves of her ass, and backed her against the wall beside the kitchen door. She lifted herself into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, soft breasts crushed against his chest, opening her mouth to his with a reckless abandon matching his own, giving hot and sweet.

Raining kisses down her throat, he savored the salt and sweet heat of her, breathing in the faint clean floral remnants of her shampoo. Sighing, she tilted her head to give him easier access to nibble and nip at that delicate sensitive skin and the tender lobe of her ear. Her pleasure laden moan, “Oh, nice,” blew away the last shred of his guilt and control.

Words failed under hungry strokes of hands, reduced to delighted groans and pleasured gasps. Needing more, needing her closer, he stroked his hands over the smooth skin of her thighs, and lifted her. His voice broke hoarsely. “Wrap your legs around me.”

Now she was the perfect height, the perfect fit, her body to his, caught between him and the wall, her soft to his hard. Gasps and laughter escaped them all through the crazy hot time-stopping kiss. Aching for her as they strained and rocked, burning up inside, he needed more. Not a single damned place in this house he could lay her down…

Wait, wait—He grabbed for sanity. What the hell was he doing?

Tearing his mouth from hers, he let Margie slide to her feet, uncomfortably aware of her exasperated whimper. He’d never lost control like that before. He slumped against the wall, propped away from her on palms and forehead against the siding, sweating and breathless. Maybe he should feel guilty, but mostly he felt incredible, shaken, and frustrated as hell.

“Sorry.” He shut his eyes and fought to calm his aching body. Sweat trickled over his temples. Far from trusting his legs enough yet to walk away, yet he needed to step away. Maybe if he counted backwards from a thousand…

“Sorry? I’m sorry it had to end. Holy moly, oh, that was crazy wonderful.” She traced her fingertips in a mesmerizing pattern over his back.

“I came on too strong. I—”

Wait. She was okay with him manhandling her like that? He opened his eyes and found her watching him, her gaze deep and dreamy and the smile on her kiss-bruised lips happily bemused.

She pressed a soft fingertip to his lips. “You were wonderful. That was the most incredible kiss ever, so don’t you dare apologize.”

Incredible, oh, yeah. Crazy wonderful was a good description. His chuckle ended in a groan. He doubted he’d ever been harder. “I really wish the water was on. I need a cold shower. Bad.” He really needed to walk away from her before he caved and did anything else stupid.

Like running his hand over her soft curves or caressing the perfect handful of her breast as he was doing right now.

“I know what you mean. I’m as wrung out as a noodle. Oh, that feels good.” She arched into him and their mouths met.

“Hey, Margie!” Joe’s harsh shout resounded through the house, jolting them apart. The shock proved an unpleasant, but effective mind-clearing alternative to a cold shower.

Margie’s eyes flew wide. “Oh, boy. Close call.”

“Margie? Why the heck aren’t you answering your phone? Where are you?”

She sucked in a deep, shaky breath. “Hi, Joe. I’m in the back, in the kitchen. Come straight on through.” She patted Christopher’s cheek and, after a quick brush of her lips over his, stepped into the kitchen.

“Like I know where the kitchen is.”

He couldn’t let Margie face her brother alone. He followed. Maybe in the semi-shadowy house the evidence that they’d been far from hard at work yanking plywood wouldn’t be completely obvious.

He groaned. Yeah, right.

****

Oh, that really was a close call. Margie smoothed a hand over her hair.

Joe stomped into the kitchen, carrying a cooler. “How many times do I ask you to just answer the damned phone? This place is a wreck. And you’re a sweaty mess. You promised you’d take it easy.”

Her happy glow crashed to steamy annoyance. “I’ve been doing exactly what I want to do. Aren’t you supposed to be working?” But, boy, oh boy, was she lucky. Joe was grouchy enough now. If he’d caught them in that body and brain sizzling kiss...

And what if Joe hadn’t interrupted? Oh, boy.

Well, you were the one who wanted an adventure.

“Since you weren’t answering your phone, Dad asked me to see how you were doing and bring you two some lunch.” He shot a glare past her as Christopher came up to stand at her side.

“I made lunch already.”

“Well, Dad didn’t know that, did he, since you didn’t answer your phone. He sent turkey sandwiches, coleslaw, French fries and ice cream.” On that surly snap, he pushed the cooler into her hands. “Eat what you want.”

“Strawberry ice cream from Ruth’s Scoops?”

“Of course.”

“Then you’re forgiven for the grumps. I’m fine. Christopher is fine. We’re having fun and, scout’s honor, I’m not working too hard. I repeat, I’m having
fun
. So you can go back to work and report.”
Fun?
Definitely fun, and many other feelings she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Or maybe ever. That kiss scored way beyond
fun
.

“Margie, I just—”

“Worry. Which you’re allowed, but you’re being such an annoying
bear
.”

Joe shot another glower at Christopher, who didn’t help matters by resting a hand on her shoulder.

She rolled her eyes at Joe. “Go on, shoo, we all have work to do and the strawberry ice cream is calling my name.”

Joe shifted, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Come for dinner at the restaurant after you’re done here, okay? And answer your damned phone!”

She wanted to shout, No! But she shoved her embarrassment and hurt at his scolding down hard and fought to answer lightly, “Sure. We’ll come and tell you all about our day. And because you’re such a grump, you can buy me my favorite wine from Hank and have it nice and cold for Christopher and me when we get there at six.”

Joe huffed out a breath. “Later.” He spun on his heels and stomped away.

Margie turned around, smiling for Christopher, but aching for her brother. How long could he go on under so much anger? “Sorry about that. I know it’s hard to tell, but he really is a sweetheart, usually. He’s had a lot on his mind lately.”

Christopher took the cooler from her, his eyes troubled, as if he could see behind her smile to her hurt and worries. “I can handle the attitude, but I don’t like him stressing you out, like he thinks he’s preventing.”

“Exactly. Oh—thought of something. Just a sec. Joe!” She dashed after him.

She caught him at his car. “Joe, question for you. You wouldn’t happen to remember who old Mr. Sorensen hired to board up the house or how they managed to do the second floor?”

“He hired Kent Shelton. Don’t you go getting up on that roof and make sure Gordon doesn’t either. You don’t walk on slate.”

“Okay, thanks. Don’t worry, no roofs for us.” She kissed his cheek. “See you at supper.”

Back in the kitchen, she found Christopher poking through one of the mystery trash bags. He glanced up at her approach and heat filled his expression.

Aftershocks from that kiss sizzled through her and she shivered.
Oh, my
.

“Good news. It’s not trash, just clothing. It’s all folded and looks clean.” He held up a blouse. A straight pin attached a slip of paper marked
Size 6
in spidery old-fashioned handwriting.

“Maybe she planned to donate to Goodwill or something.”

He replaced the blouse and closed the bag. “Maybe. Certainly makes me more hopeful about all those other garbage bags.”

“Ready to find some shade and a breeze and eat ice cream?”

“Ice cream before sandwiches? I don’t think I’ve ever had dessert before lunch.”

She grinned. “I like to live dangerously.”

Laughter burst from him. “Plus, sandwiches won’t melt.”

“There’s that.”

Shade still covered the back steps and a sticky, but welcome breeze rustled the trees.

She pulled out two spoons and the pint of ice cream. “Let’s dig in. I hope you like strawberry. This is the best stuff ever.” She dug in and offered him the pink spoonful flecked with strawberry bits.

He closed his mouth over the ice cream. As he drew off and swallowed the melting bite, their eyes locked. “Delicious.” He licked his lip.

A warm shiver rolled through her. Oh, yes, she wanted more. If she was a different sort of girl…She ducked her head and quickly took her own spoonful.

They devoured the sweet, fruity ice cream and then tackled the sandwiches and fries.

Christopher finished the last mouthful of his sandwich and gave a deeply satisfied sigh. “Good stuff. That sandwich was like Thanksgiving all rolled into one handy bite.”

“Thanks. I love their cooking. Our restaurant has been rated top in the county for all my life.”

“So far, from what I’ve eaten, that honor’s well-deserved.” He gathered up their takeout boxes and napkins. “Ready to tackle a little trash duty inside now?”

“Sure. Which room do you want to start with?”

“Let’s start off small and take the bathroom.”

She nodded. “Sounds good.”

Christopher eliminated the spider webs with a ratty straw broom from the kitchen and lugged out the books, papers, and magazines, while Margie tackled the expired medicines, remedies, ancient creams, and soaps cluttering the étagère and sink.