Free A Change in Altitude by Cindy Myers Page B

looked around the clutter—boxes, tools, and bits of junk were everywhere.
    â€œI put them on the windowsill when we unpacked the boxes yesterday.”
    She found the tiny plastic bags of door hardware scattered across the windowsill and the floor below. “There are only seven here,” she said. “One’s missing.”
    â€œIt was there yesterday. I counted.”
    â€œIt’s not here, D. J.”
    Muttering under his breath, he stomped over.
    â€œI’m not stupid,” she said, as she watched him paw through the construction debris scattered around. “It’s not here.”
    He reached out and caressed her shoulder with one big, calloused hand. “I never said you were stupid. I must have put it someplace else.”
    She leaned in and slid her arms around his waist. “Maybe the ghost took it.”
    He laughed. “So we have a ghost now?”
    â€œThat’s what Bob thinks is behind all the things that keep disappearing here.”
    â€œOh, well, I’m sure Bob Prescott is an expert.”
    â€œI don’t believe in ghosts, but he did tell me some interesting history about this place. He said the man who lived here before Mrs. Gilroy supposedly murdered his wife and buried her in the backyard.”
    â€œGrisly. And probably untrue.” D. J. patted her back and released her. “Even way back when, if your wife disappeared, people asked questions. They’d notice a fresh grave in the backyard. I think Bob’s pulling your leg.”
    â€œProbably.” She looked back at the row of cabinets. “What are you going to do about the missing door hardware?”
    â€œIf I don’t find it, we can order another one.”
    She leaned back against the counter and watched him install the handles on the other seven doors. “Everything is looking really good.”
    â€œYeah, especially considering what a dump this place was.” He pressed the trigger on the drill driver and drove a screw into place. “I’m looking forward to spending my nights and weekends doing something besides construction work.”
    â€œThere’s always yard work and home repairs,” she said. “When you have a house, the upkeep never stops.”
    He looked over his shoulder at her. “You’re not sorry we got the house, are you?”
    â€œNo.” She moved over and put her arms around him again. “We’re going to be happy here.”
    â€œI’d be happy anywhere with you.” He set aside the drill and kissed the top of her head.
    â€œI know. But it’s just so crazy sometimes, how things turn out.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    She closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the dust, cotton, and soap scent of him. Why did that combination smell so good to her? “I always thought of myself as a city girl. Yet here I am in a small town in the mountains, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been,” she said. “I’m starting to earn some money from my art. Lucas is doing well in school. . . .”
    â€œDon’t forget the wonderful man who loves you.”
    â€œOh yeah, him, too.” She stood on tiptoes to kiss him, a long, satisfying kiss that might have turned into more if she hadn’t pulled away.
    â€œSeriously,” she said. “If you’d told me two years ago that I’d end up living near my mother, I’d have spit in your face. She and I never got along.”
    â€œSometimes you have to grow up to appreciate your parents.”
    â€œYeah.” She reluctantly straightened and began gathering up the cardboard and plastic the cabinets had been packed in. D. J. returned to attaching the cabinet hardware.
    â€œHey, speaking of unexpected family relationships, have you met Jameso’s sister?” she asked.
    â€œThe new librarian, right? I saw her when I stopped by to pick up Lucas the other day. She looks like Jameso.”
    â€œDivorced, one