The Caretaker's Son by Yvonne Lehman

Author:Yvonne Lehman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-03-03T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Annabelle had just finished on the treadmill when Symon called to say the porch repairmen would be there shortly. She hurriedly showered, dressed and settled at the breakfast table with a bagel, cream cheese, orange juice and her laptop.

“Scat,” she warned and SweetiePie reluctantly ambled away and hopped up onto a windowsill, probably dreaming of capturing a golden retriever.

She opened her emails and emitted a little laugh, seeing she had one from Symon. He’d written, I’ve looked at your blog. Copy three of what you think are best on different subjects. Then we’ll work on an outline. Go ahead and write a query letter.

Good grief, what was that? Oh well, he could explain it later. In the meantime, she copied one on makeup, another on exercise and the last on nutrition.

Afterward she felt rather helpless, then remembered the books she’d bought. She’d already looked them over. Okay, he’d said she should look at the index for an example of how to develop an outline.

Ah, that helped. So under makeup, she added hair and nails, and then decided makeup should go under that category and she’d call the whole thing Grooming. Woo-hoo, she was becoming a writer.

For the rest of the morning, while the repairmen fixed the section of porch ceiling and roof, she worked on the project. SweetiePie sat on the front windowsill watching every move as Mudd and Symon seemed to be watching the work in progress.

It was nice having someone around. A man. What would her and Wes’s lives be like? Would he mow the lawn or have someone else do it? She tried to picture Wes on a mower. She laughed. Somehow it didn’t fit.

Well, of course not.

Aunt B had probably had this comfortable, cared-for feeling when Symon’s dad was caretaker. That’s why he was called caretaker.

Looking out occasionally, she’d see Symon walking around, moving the sprinklers from one section to another and inspecting the newly planted flowers that already looked as if they’d always been there.

Symon seemed the same way. More a part of the property than she had ever been. As if he belonged here. She could understand why Aunt B had said the cottage was his home. Not because she felt sorry for him. There was no need for that. And come to think of it, the cottage rivaled, if not exceeded, the worth of the house on Jones Street.

After the repairmen left and Symon neared the back, she invited him into the kitchen and showed him what she’d done.

“Good start,” he said. “Did you write the query?”

“What do I do, just say, ‘Hey, you want my book?’”

He laughed. “That may need a little revising. May I?” He gestured at the coffeepot.

“Sure. Cups in the cabinet above the pot.”

While he got the cup and poured the coffee, he instructed. “A couple sentences saying Pretty Is as Pretty Does is about grooming, exercise, nutrition...” He came to the table and pulled up a chair near her, permeating the odor of the out-of-doors. Fresh, cool.

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