A Promise to Cherish by Lavyrle Spencer

Author:Lavyrle Spencer [Spencer, Lavyrle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780739426845
Google: Vrx2oAEACAAJ
Publisher: New York
Published: 1982-01-14T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter SEVEN

LEE spent the following morning at her usual Saturday drudgery—cleaning house. She had changed the sheets, cleaned the upstairs, vacuumed the steps, and was shoving the vacuum cleaner along the living room carpet when she thought she’d heard the doorchime. She heard it again more clearly and, mumbling a curse, turned the machine off with a bare toe.

She opened her front door and stopped dead still. There, his hips against the wrought-iron handrail, sat Sam Brown, practically naked!

“Hi,” he greeted, puffing hard. “This is an obscene house call.”

Without warning, Lee burst out laughing. She covered her mouth with both hands and bent forward, overcome with mirth. “Oh, Brown, I believe you!”

There he sat, wearing nothing but his beat-up running shoes, a pair of white jogging shorts with a green stripe, and a red headband. Sweat ran down his heaving chest, making it shine in the sun. There was little hair on it, but what there was burned like red-gold sparks as trickles of perspiration ran down the center hollow toward his navel. His legs were crossed at the ankle, but his shoulders slumped forward as he panted laboriously.

“Don’t tell me you ran all the way over here,” Lee said.

He nodded, still trying to catch his breath.

“But it must be eight miles!”

“Eight mi . . . hiles is nothing. I’m in goo . . . hood shape.”

“I can see that.” And she could, in spite of his breathlessness. He looked like poured copper, wet and smooth and sleek and sculptured, the muscles of his legs as hard as an Olympian’s, his shoulders glossy and well developed.

“Must’ve lost six pounds of sw . . . sweat on the way ov . . . over here though.”

“I can see that, too.”

He drew in a large gulp of air, his breathing growing even while he continued to slump against the rail. “You wouldn’t turn a man away thirsty, would you?”

“And risk a darn good job?” Lee returned impertinently. “Come on.”

Sam boosted himself away from the railing and followed Lee inside, making her uncomfortably conscious of her bare feet and legs and the strip of exposed skin between her skimpy bandeau top of white stretch terry and the faded denim cutoffs with strings dangling down her legs. She resisted an urge to run a hand over the single coarse braid that fell down her back and was as frayed around the edges as her cutoffs. She led Sam along the short hall to the rear of the house, where the kitchen’s sliding glass door stood open to her small, shady patio. He stood before it, hands on hips, letting the draft cool his sweating body, as she opened the refrigerator.

“Here.” She moved behind him with two clinking glasses.

“Thanks.”

“Let’s go out on the patio where it’s more comfortable.” She slid the screen open, and he followed. There was only a single webbed lounge chair, and before he could protest, Lee plopped down on the concrete, facing the lounge chair with her legs crossed Indian fashion. “Have a seat,” she said.

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