"Christine W. Murphy - Through Iowa Glass" - читать интересную книгу автора (Murphy Christine W)

place. You can drop me off at a pay phone -- "
"But if I drop you off, you won't call anyone, will you? You'll end up
sleeping in your car."
"It is after midnight. I wouldn't want to wake Jacob."
Skye felt the last of her apprehension drain away. "Jacob Van Wyk? You
know him?"
Alex nodded and stifled a yawn. "He's a friend of the family. My father
served with him in Nam. I called him uncle when I was boy, but we're not
related."
"You're right. We wouldn't want to bother Jacob. I installed his new
computer system this month. The lights in his office must be from his
secretary. She never seems to go home, but I don't think Jacob's stayed up
after ten in years."
Alex nodded and hid another yawn, but when she turned off the main
road, he sat up and rubbed his eyes.
When she left the well-lit streets of Close, she felt vulnerable again.
"I take care of a place a couple miles out. I live there with my husband."
"You mean the husband who milks the cows by hand for the fun of it?" A
smile lit his voice. "The one with arms as big as pigs? The insanely jealous
one?"
Skye glanced at him as she left the county road. He pointed to her
ringless left hand and chuckled.
She couldn't keep from smiling. "All right, my brother. My large,
overprotective brother."
His infectious laugh convinced her she was being paranoid. Too many
people knew they were together -- Marvin, Harley. Besides, Alex knew Jacob.
There wasn't a more respected citizen in Close than Jacob Van Wyk. "I also
have an enormous dog," she warned, teasing now.
"In that case, I'll sleep in your truck. Brothers I can handle, but I'm
a cat person. We cat people avoid confrontation."
 "Marvin says you're pretty good at kung fu."
"Tae kwon do."
"Tie what?"
Alex repeated the words. "Tae kwon do is Korean. We non-confrontational
types like to know how to defend ourselves. Unfortunately, it doesn't work on
dogs."
While they talked, Skye relaxed. She found the foreign lilt of his
voice soothing. By the time they reached the private road to the Old Jackson
house and the Bettencourt estate, she realized she'd done most of the talking,
answering his questions about how things had changed during the twenty-some
years since he'd left.
When she pulled up to the house she took care of for her friend
Lorraine Bettencourt, Alex straightened. Floodlights mounted on the four-car
garage lit the stone facade. He appeared mesmerized by the sight.
"This is home." He sounded hoarse and coughed at the end, changing his
question into a statement.
Skye smiled. Her ancient Ford looked out of place parked in the formal,
stone drive. "I've been house sitting for over a year now. It's some style, I
forget -- "
Alex cleared his throat before murmuring, "French Country."