Free 15 Tales of Love by Jessie Salisbury Page A

library.”
    “He’s been talking about it for a week.”
    Jasmyn considered that and its damning implications. Matt and Rory did know a lot of the same people. She didn’t comment.
    More people were returning to the water and Rory turned away. “Got to get back on duty,” he said. “Think about it. I’ll give you a call.” He glanced back at her, his face and tone still serious. “Or come swimming. I’ll be here most evenings until dark.”
    She watched him walk back to the edge of the lake, stop to talk to the young mother and greet a couple of teenage boys carrying floats which were not allowed in the swimming area. He has the personality for this , she thought, charming, never offending, and apparently capable, which isn’t surprising, considering all the things he’s done.
    She wrapped her towel around her waist, picked up her bag and went home. She didn’t look back at Rory.
    “So,” Uncle Horace said. “Matt’s gone off again and you don’t know where, or when he’ll come back, but you’re going to sit around and twiddle your thumbs while he’s off doin’ whatever it is he wants?”
    His tone irritated Jasmyn; it was too close to the truth. “We have an agreement,” she said.
    “He’s just keepin’ you on the string.” It was a nice Saturday afternoon and he was finishing up the woodpile, which had been left to thoroughly dry out before he put it into the shed. “If he’s free to do what he wants down there in Boston, you should be doin’ the same thing here. You’re too young to be tied like that.”
    She didn’t answer.
    “You got to look deeper.” He hefted the piece of wood in his hands. “This here piece of wood looks solid, like it should burn good. And look at that one over there.”
    She looked where he was pointing at the small pile of pieces still on the ground.
    “This here is popple,” Horace said, indicating the one in his hand. “Soft, don’t burn so good.” He put the stick on his pile and picked up another one. “This here is oak, solid, no matter what it looks like.”
    Jasmyn didn’t know one kind of wood from another, but she could see that the stick in his hand was misshapen by a knot, and a broken stub protruded from one side. The piece of popple, the old name for poplar, was straight and smooth. She didn’t comment.
    “Matt’s like that popple,” Horace said, and went back to stacking wood. “Looks nice, acts the big professor, high and mighty, above all of us, but maybe he ain’t too dry on the inside.”
    An old, dented, green pick-up truck pulled into the driveway. Jasmyn was surprised and a little dismayed to see Rory climb out of it.
    He strode confidently toward them, smiling. “Hi, Jaz. How are you today, Mr. Jameson?”
    Horace smiled warmly at him. “Tolerable, Rory, considerin’ the weather.”
    Rory stepped toward him. “Let me give you a hand with that wood.” He collected all of the remaining pieces into a large armload and stood up. “Over there on that pile?”
    Jasmyn watched him stack the wood competently. Horace watched and said nothing.
    Rory turned toward them. “Got a rake somewhere? I’ll clean this up for you.” He swung his arm over the ground littered with bark and chips.
    “That’s my job, got to keep busy, and you come here to see my girl, not help me.”
    “Always glad to help. Haven’t stacked wood in a while.” He looked sideways at Jasmyn. “I’m on my way to the lake, but I wondered if you’d do brunch tomorrow, that diner out on the highway has this special . . . a Sunday special, some fancy omelets with all the extras.”
    She couldn’t think of a snappy answer. She enjoyed brunch and the diner produced an excellent meal, but she and Matt rarely went out for breakfast since he wasn’t a morning person. She realized there were a lot of fun things Matt didn’t want to do, but did she want to do them with Rory?
    “Oh, go along,” Uncle Horace said. “You don’t get out much anymore.”
    She could