Free The House On The Creek by Sarah Remy Page A

back and stained the waistband of his shorts.
     
    Something tightened deep in her belly, and Abby had to swallow hard to keep from licking her lips.
     
    “Stupid,” she warned herself. “Stupid, stupid.” But she couldn’t quite turn away.
     
    He was just as dark skinned as she remembered, and the blond hair was still a shock. The coloring was his mother’s, Abby supposed as she watched him strain against the mower. She’d never met the first Mrs. Anderson, but Edward had been pale and redheaded, the result of a tenuous Irish heritage.
     
    Everett turned the mower and started to lap back. Abby shook herself hard, and clunked up the front steps. She shed her boots on the doormat, and rolled up the soiled cuffs of her jeans. Then she pushed open the front door and stepped into the house.
     
    She had almost managed to forget how much she loved the old building.
     
    Sunlight spilled across the walls, and the curving banisters still smelled of lemon polish. She’d labored hard to keep many of the old leaded glass windows and all of the period light fixtures.
     
    The house had been a pain to work on, but the result made her heart sing.
     
    Swallowing a nostalgic sigh, Abby walked slowly down the front hall. She took a side door through the butler’s pantry and into the kitchen.
     
    She didn’t see any sign of habitation. She guessed Everett must have dumped his belongings in the upstairs master. Even the kitchen was spotless, which surprised Abby. She had never known a man who picked up after himself so thoroughly. Especially a man living alone.
     
    She wiped a finger along the counter and found it clean. Maybe he’d been eating it out every night, or ordering pizza in. Abby felt a pang of regret. She wanted the beautiful kitchen she’d so lovingly restored used daily and with passion.
     
    When she opened the fridge, searching for a cold drink, she saw evidence of a man’s stomach. Cold cuts, potato salad, and a mangled chunk of ham waited on an uncovered plate. Her pride was soothed some when she noticed the nearly decimated pie.
     
    He’d replaced the beer she’d stocked with a brand of his own. And way back behind the ham, on an oval platter she didn’t recognize, she found sliced water melon. The thick pieces made her smile.
     
    You could take the boy out of Virginia, but Virginia always stuck with the boy. She didn’t know a house in the state without fresh watermelon in the summer.
     
    Abby grabbed a beer, and dragged the platter of watermelon from the fridge. She carried both with her onto the back porch.
     
    He’d watered the plants she’d potted, and arranged around the deck, and swept up after the rapidly growing honeysuckle vine she’d urged along the railing, but the white Adirondack chairs appeared unused. Kernels of dried honeysuckle blossom drifted across the streets, nudged by a sluggish breeze.
     
    Abby brushed the petals free and settled into the nearest chair. The sun had begun to dip at last on the horizon and the air felt cooler, pleasant. The beer chilled her tongue, and she let go a sigh, beginning to relax.
     
    She helped herself greedily to the watermelon, and studied the lawn at the back of the house. She noted where the plantings were doing well, and where they were not, and she considered the pile of tools and the canvas tarp piled next to the gazebo. In the distance she could still hear the faint rumble of the mower.
     
    She was almost dozing by the time Everett came through the kitchen and onto the porch. He grunted when he saw the melon, stole a slice, and then dropped into a chair. When Abby offered him her beer, he shook his head.
     
    He smelled of healthy, over heated male. Sweat sculpted runnels in his cheeks and painted the prow of his nose. His eyes were narrowed against the sunset, and he ate his watermelon with a fastidiousness that was close to obsessive.
     
    When had that developed? Abby wondered, and caught herself staring.
     
    Everett turned his head