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

could.
Besides, the unofficial director of the Close Senior Citizen's Center
was not his type -- a cheerleader in blue jeans. Tight blue jeans. Bright,
brown eyes that revealed every thought. Short, blond hair so curly it bounced
when she walked. And she couldn't stop blushing. The girl next door in a
neighborhood he'd seen only in the movies. Little Miss Innocent. Not his type
at all. She deserved better.
A light across the street caught his eye and Alex found himself staring
at block lettering -- Jacob Van Wyk, Attorney-at-Law. His eyes watered before
he blinked. He remembered the name. Jacob had sent the telegram informing him
of Bettencourt's death and the reading of his will. Jacob was his
late-father's lawyer, and the last man to see Alex the night he left Close
twenty-five years ago.
****
SKYE CLEARED HER throat. As if waking from a trance, Alex turned.
He looked past her to the lone vehicle on the street. "Is this yours?"
Alex sounded amused.
Skye didn't bother replying. Aside from her dilapidated pickup, the
street was empty. She kicked the passenger-side door at the hinge and the door
popped open. By the time she climbed behind the wheel, Alex sat inside with
his duffel at his feet. He rolled down the window and reached inside his
jacket.
Squaring her shoulders, Skye braced herself. "I don't allow smoking in
my truck."
"Calm down. It's just a reflex. My supply of cigarettes ran out last
month."
Grateful for a harmless topic to pursue, she asked, "When did you quit
smoking?"
"Three weeks ago. Four years before that. Ten before that -- "
"Sounds like you've had a hard time of it."
"It's not easy when you start at twelve. By the way, I don't think we
got around to introductions. My friends call me Alex."
She took his hand. "I'm Skye Devries."
He didn't shake her hand, but held it a moment. His grip was firm and
dry, and his fingers sent sparks up her arm before he released her. "Skye.
That's an unusual name."
"Not really." She couldn't stop staring at his mouth, wondering if his
lips felt as soft as they looked, if the ragged growth of hair would tickle
when they kissed.
When they kissed?
Skye broke away from his hypnotic smile. "Skye is Dutch. It means
sheltering. Most of the original settlers around here were from Holland,
including my father's family. My mother's from Sweden. We have a tulip
festival here every spring." God, she was babbling again.
"Now that I do remember."
"You're from around here?" Skye started the truck to hide her surprise.
Although she couldn't place his accent, Alex sounded distinctly foreign.
When she pulled onto the street, he rolled up the window and closed his
eyes before answering. "I left when I was a kid. I don't have blood relatives
here now, but I know someone in town if you don't want to take me to your