Free Paradise Wild (Wild At Heart Book 2) by Christine Hartmann Page B

kitchen.
    Where’s that damn bottle opener?
     
    ***
     
    Chimes woke her the following morning. Her hand fumbled across the nightstand until she found the phone. She held it to her ear with her eyes still closed.
    “Hello?”
    “Hey. It’s Noa.”
    “Noa?” She sat up and quickly tugged her nightshirt up under her chin, hiding her cleavage, feeling as if he’d invaded her personal space.
    “You get my texts? Just calling to say hi.”
    Ellie felt exposed as she looked around the room for a long-sleeved shirt. “Hi. How are you?” She found one, pulled it over her head, and sat on the edge of the bed, legs tightly crossed.
    “You coming by the store today?”
    Are you kidding?
    “Uh. Sorry. I’m busy.” She bit her lip. “And, by the way, how’d you get my number?”
    “Your registration. We keep them here at the store in case we have to check up on anyone.”
    I don’t need you checking up on me.
    Ellie stood. “Look. I’ve got to go. There are people at the door.”
    “Yeah. Catch you later then.”
    “Bye.”
    Ellie threw the phone on the bed and wiped her hand on the sheets as though she’d just touched something dirty.
    A car honked. She pulled apart the heavy venetian blinds. Palm fronds blocked her view. More honking accompanied her frantic dressing. She ran in bare feet across the lawn and tiptoed across the vines to the gate.
    A young man leaned against it, smiling. She read the name of the landscaping company on his shirt through the iron bamboo fronds.
    “Sorry. I forgot you were coming.” She looked down and fiddled with the key in the lock.
    I’ve got my shirt on inside out. Sweet.
    “Mahalo.” The young man waved his thumb and pinkie at her and climbed into a black pickup. A caravan of three trucks and two trailers with machinery drove through. Ellie waved at the muscular youths inside.
    What did Celine say about my not being lonely?
    She picked her way back across the vines toward the house as a burly, gray-haired man with a kind face approached. Six men fanned out across the property behind him. Ellie signed the proffered paperwork and handed the foreman a spare gate key. She skipped up the porch stairs and had her hand on the door when renewed crunching of tires sounded from the drive. A white van pulled up behind the trucks.
    The cleaners.
    Ellie gave the crew of four Asian women a quick tour of the house. Then she retreated to her bedroom to change. But a knock caught her in the act of raising her t-shirt. She pulled it down and answered the door.
    “Man at door. Say you want to buy apply ants.”
    Ellie laughed. “Apply ants? What are those?”
    The young woman nodded seriously, stepped to the side, and motioned for Ellie to go to the door.
    “Got it. I’ll just change.”
    The young woman shook her head and tugged Ellie’s sleeve.
    “Okay. Ants first. Changing for hot studs later.”
    The woman’s brow wrinkled. “Excuse?”
    Ellie grinned. “Never mind.”
    A warm morning breeze blew down the hall. Strands of hair drifted across Ellie’s face and she brushed them out of the way, feeling tangles tug at her fingers.
    Celine would not approve of the first impressions I’m making.
    The middle-aged Caucasian at the door looked as though he belonged in Iowa. His skin was pale and his plaid button-down short-sleeved shirt was tucked into khaki shorts secured with a web belt that looked like it had come from an army surplus store.
    “Mrs. Atherton?”
    Ellie glanced at his serious face and bit back a laugh.
    “Kind of.”
    “You called. Said you wanted to buy some appliances. You wanted…” He checked a computer printout. “An estimate for a refrigerator, stove, microwave, dishwasher, and disposal.”
    “I want to buy apply - ant -ces. I get it.”
    A weed whacker revved to a screeching start in the garden, followed closely by the roar of two rider mowers.
    Ellie sighed and nodded. “You might as well come in.”
    Two hours passed before she re-entered her bedroom