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

clothes?"
Alex pulled his shirt away from his chest and waved it briefly. "I
think they're all dirty."
From what she could see through the wet cotton, his chest was broad,
muscular, and judging from the dark swirls on his naked forearms, covered with
black hair. It had been much too long since she'd rested her head on such a
chest, much too long since hands like his had teased her awake in the middle
of the night.
He cradled the coffee cup, not moving it toward his mouth. She tried
not to stare, and he kept his eyes focused on his coffee. The silence felt
uncomfortably long to her, but didn't seem to bother him.
"Would you like that hot meal now?" Skye asked.
"Not really. I'm more tired than hungry."
Before Skye could think of a polite response, Marvin banged open the
door. "Why are you guys still here?"
Alex took his jacket from the back of his chair. The only sign of
distress was his tensing jaw when he eased his arms through the sleeves. He
zipped the jacket to his neck. "I'll catch a ride back to the shop with my
car."
After throwing Skye a dirty look, Marvin reached for the money jar she
kept for non seniors who mooched coffee. He dug two coins out of his pocket
and pushed them through the slot in the lid. Alex pulled out his wallet,
turning away before he opened it.
Skye's cheeks glowed red. Darn Marvin. He had the man digging for his
last dime to shame her into living up to her family's example of hospitality.
"You don't have to do that."
Alex tucked his offering into the jar. "I can afford coffee."
Her face grew even hotter. "Of course, you can. I only meant you're a
friend of Harley's and he asked me to put you up at my place. If you don't
mind taking the sofa." Skye expected Alex to decline.
Instead, he smiled. "Great."
****
ALEX DIDN'T WATCH Marvin haul away the Mustang. The car rolled slowly down the
street behind the truck, reminding him of a funeral procession. He wasn't up
to another one of those.
Even if the car were road worthy, Harley wouldn't have let him drive
it. Backwater sheriffs were such sticklers for little details like car
registration. And Harley had surprised him by connecting the name on his
driver's license with his identity as Clayton Jackson. For most of his life,
he had answered to Alexander Casale, using Clayton Alexander Jackson, III,
only for legal documents.
Thankfully, the sheriff kept that information to himself. If he had
told Marvin, all of Close would know of Alex's arrival before noon tomorrow.
He hoped to attend the reading of his stepfather's will, dispose of his share
of the family business, and leave town unnoticed.
His hostess for the evening didn't strike him as the gossiping type,
but according to the sheriff she was best buddies with his stepsister
Lorraine. Alex could think of no better reason to keep his distance from a
pretty woman. If she knew who he was, she would no doubt call his stepsister
the first chance she got. Alex wanted to put off seeing Lorraine as long as he