Free A Crazy Kind of Love by Maureen Child Page A

open astronomy textbook in front of her. “For God’s sake,” she muttered as she threw her pencil at the wallopposite. “How hard can this be? Stars? Planets? And why the
hell
do I have to know how far away they are? Isn’t it enough to know that they’re in the sky?”
    She pushed her chair back and jumped up, stalking across the blue-flecked cream-colored linoleum. The kitchen of her rented condo was as small as every other room in the place, but it had never bothered her before.
    It was temporary. One of these days, she’d find the perfect house to buy and redo. Until then, the condo was as good a place as anywhere else and substantially better than an apartment. At least here she had a yard, small as it was, and the sense of privacy that having someone live above and below her wouldn’t afford.
    Although today she was feeling just a little bit . . .
trapped
.
    Hitting the open doorway, she left the kitchen, stomped into her tiny living room and flopped onto the sofa. Propping her feet up on the coffee table in front of her, she shoved a stack of mail order catalogues and magazines to the floor in a heap. Snatching the remote from the cushion beside her, she turned on the TV and pretended interest in a home makeover show.
    Ordinarily, Jo loved these programs. This was right up her alley. Breathing new life into old homes. But today her mind was too fixed on her failures to enjoy the thought of new projects.
    She’d made a solemn promise to herself years ago—to complete the education she’d run from and to prove to herself that she was stronger than she’d once been.
    And it fried her ass to have to admit defeat.
    The hum of voices from the television faded into the background as her mind kicked into high gear. Andit wasn’t just flunking that was bugging her. She never should have told Cash about this. What in the hell had she been thinking? Her head dropped to the back of the sofa and she stared up at the sunlight streaking across the ceiling.
    Dust motes drifted in the breeze slipping beneath the open window. The McKenna kids next door were out tossing a football and the accompanying shouts and laughter sounded like a song heralding the end of summer.
    Cash.
    A man she didn’t trust and didn’t like.
    And as soon as the Marconis started work on his place, she’d have to see him every damn day, knowing that
he
knew she was flunking a stupid college course that eighteen-year-old kids passed in a walk.
    “Perfect,” she muttered and lifted her head to flip through the channels. “Just perfect.”
    A knock on the door interrupted her black thoughts and she gratefully leaped up off the couch. She slipped on the stupid magazines, caught her balance again, and glared at the mess on the floor as if it had deliberately set out to trip her up.
    Grumbling viciously, she stalked across the room. The beige generic no-style carpet muffled her footsteps, and when she yanked the door open, the guy standing on the porch jumped a foot.
    “Crap, lady. Scared me to death.” His brown uniform was rumpled and way too big on him. He was short and skinny with bright red hair, big blue eyes, and an Adam’s apple that was bobbing up and down like a cork tossed into the rapids.
    Jo chuckled and tossed her dark brown hair over her shoulder. “Sorry. Bad day.”
    “Yeah, well, mine’s not getting any better.” He checked the clipboard he carried. “You Jo Marconi?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Never met a girl named Joe.”
    “Wow,” she said, sighing, “never heard that one before.”
    “Right. Got a delivery.” He bent down, picked up a thin brown box, and held out the clipboard. “Sign there. At the bottom.”
    She stared at the box in his hand. “What is it?”
    “Do I look psychic?”
    “No,” she said wryly, cocking a hip and leaning against the doorjamb. “You look like a guy who’s not trying for a tip.”
    He laughed. “Hey, the guy who ordered this already included a tip for me. Big.”
    Intrigued, Jo signed