Summertime dream, p.1
Summertime Dream, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Praise for Babette James’
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
A word about the author...
Other Books You Might Like
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Summertime Dream
by
Babette James
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Summertime Dream
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Babette James
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Kim Mendoza
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Champagne Rose Edition, 2014
Print ISBN 978-1-62830-203-5
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-204-2
Published in the United States of America
Praise for Babette James’
CLEAR AS DAY
“I truly loved how Ms. James expressed so well the emotional rollercoaster of their relationship. The fears, happiness, confusion and pain that Kay went through in coming to a decision of her next step to this relationship was expressed wonderfully. This book truly made me laugh, giggle and cry. The other characters in the book were wonderful; some had their own problems to deal with and it was like this story just sucked you into their world. I know it made me feel like I was in the book and seeing it all unfold right before my eyes. The dialogue of CLEAR AS DAY was fluid and perfect. It had the perfect amount of passion that sizzled every time Kay and Nate got together.”
~The Romance Reviews (5 Stars, Top Pick)
~*~
“I loved not only the love story this book offered, but the dynamic of the side characters as well. I don’t think the friends they surrounded themselves with in this book could have been written in any better!”
~Tabatha, Insightful Minds Reviews
~*~
“Though very sensual, this is still a sweet romance.”
~Romantic Times Book Reviews (4.5 Stars)
~*~
“My final thoughts are if you are looking for well written story that has just the right balance of sexy, love, and romance, this is a great story for you.”
~Autumn, The Autumn Review
Dedication
For my mom and my husband
&
For the real Margie and Chris
and for all my lovely Rat Girls
Chapter One
The Fourth of July in Falk’s Bend, Missouri, made pretending nothing ever changed almost possible, Margie Olsson decided. All it took was a dollop of stiff determination and a generous application of wishful thinking.
Even the arguments remained the same.
“Told you we’d be late.” Her brother Joe wrenched open the hatch to their restaurant’s minivan, the tight muscle in his jaw sending his mustache twitching.
Most of the townsfolk had finished migrating from the parade route to River Edge Park and claimed their favorite picnic table or stretch of ground. Now they swarmed the softball field and concession stand, ready to enjoy the town’s 132nd annual Independence Day game.
Unperturbed at Joe’s grouching, Dad hefted the massive pan of beans. “Why rush to sit and stew in a long line of cars? It’s not like anyone would take our table. Plus, we can take our time unloading.” With that, he trundled off to the large brick grills.
Joe’s frown sharpened into a scowl that would do one of their Viking ancestors proud. “We could always try getting here early!” he growled at Dad’s back and dragged out the largest ice chest.
Margie choked off a laugh. Some things had remained absolute over her twenty-four years of life: Dad would never arrive early to any event and Joe would always fuss like a mother hen.
“At least you have a sunny day for the game.” She patted Joe’s shoulder. “Cooler than last week, don’t you think? I don’t think we’ve had a more sweltering end of June.”
Joe nodded woodenly. “I got the rest. Go on and find Grandma and Grandpa. Looks like Mom got them here on time.” He waved her off, as if she were still a preschooler tagging his heels. This, with his being ten years older, was a familiar feeling.
As soon as he turned his back, Margie scooped up the smallest ice chest and followed him to their table where Grandpa and Grandma Olsson’s wicker picnic basket waited.
Unfortunately, facts trumped determination and wishful thinking. Not everything in Falk’s Bend remained the same. The Heller family’s traditional table stood conspicuously empty, as did the Frost family’s table. Being spared the inevitable awkward encounters should be a relief, but the gossips would surely set to talking again, and the misery flashing over Joe’s face lodged a knot in her throat.
She fell in beside him as he returned for the next load. Should she ask now? The timing wasn’t perfect, but she had him alone. A glance over to Dad found him gabbing with the four elderly Mills brothers, who thrived on checkers and gossip while supervising the assorted dishes simmering on the grills. Over at the gate, a tall man in a white shirt paused, and rubbed the back of his neck as he scanned the confusion of tables, until Bert Mills hailed him over. They all shook hands like old friends, so maybe he was the grandnephew expected down from Montana.
Margie blew at her bangs. Cooler weather was debatable. The heavy air clung like a steamy second skin and the flags, bunting, and bows draped the park as perky as wet laundry.
“Hey, Joe, I was thinking, I’d really like to get back to work on Monday.” She winced at her blurt. Although Aunt Ida handled the staff schedules and Dad was the official boss, Joe ruled the family’s restaurant these days and he’d be the hardest nut to crack in her effort to return to normal life.
“Aw, Margie, we agreed you’d use the time to rest up and write and start when Amy headed back to school in August.”
“Come on. At least part time. I’m totally fine now. I miss working—” She stumbled over a rough grass tuft.
Joe steadied her, his face strained and gaze darting over her. “You all right, sweetie? Maybe you should just take it easy today.”
Oh, that snapped her last straw. “I’m fine! I’m weary to pieces with hearing ‘Take it easy.’ Dr. Saylor said no restrictions. I can do what I want. When I want. Anything!”
“Hey, Margie? Joe?” Her best friends Debi and Baxter strolled up beside Joe.
Joe planted his hands on his hips, another lecture looming. “Margie, I know, but—”
She crossed her arms against the chill surge of shame at losing her temper in public and her throat tightened. “No! Enough! You’ve got work to do. I’ll see you after the game.”
Grumbling under his breath, Joe stomped off.
Baxter dropped his bag on the table and stooped to kiss Debi quick and hard. “Hon, I’ll go on help Joe unload. See you at the bleachers.” He winked at Margie and loped after Joe.
Mirth sparkling in her blue eyes, Debi hugged Margie. “Well, well, there’s hope for you after all! I’ve never seen you back Joe down before.”
“He’s just...being Joe. I shouldn’t have snapped at him.” Margie groaned. The giddy spark at having stood up for herself fizzled. Thank goodness, her parents had missed her tantrum. Joe hadn’t been himself since breaking up with Stephanie and jumping down his throat was a dumb way to get his agreement.
“I’ve known you since the first day of kindergarten, and yeah, Joe means well, but let me tell you, that was one long overdue snap. I’m proud of you.”
“I just wish he’d stop hovering.” Margie peeked over her shoulder at the minivan. Baxter had Joe’s softball gear, and Joe hauled out the first large, food-laden hotbox.
“Maybe you ought to think about a place of your own. You need a change.”
“I’ve had enough change over the last year.”
Debi waved her hand in a stop-it motion. “A positive change. And, yes, I know all the reasons why you stay with them. Heck, I’d leave Baxter for your mom’s peach pancakes alone. But it’s something you should consider seriously.”
“I will. Someday.” Even moving out wouldn’t stop their loving, smothering concern.
“Why don’t we skip the game? I’ll crack open the pinot grigio and we can compare brotherly pet peeves.”
Margie laughed. “I think we’ve covered them all over the years. Go on. Catch up with Baxter. Let me jot some quick scene notes, then I’ll meet up with you all.” That was a complete fib, but her skin crawled with the need for some space.
Debi accepted her fib with a commiserating hug and headed for the ball field.
Margie escaped for her fav
Wild cheers jolted her attention to the game. Whoa. Seven innings already and tied at nine runs each. She sighed. Her missing the game would just give Joe one more thing to fuss over.
They all meant well, but when would Joe and everyone accept she was perfectly fine, better than ever, actually, and stop trying to keep her packed in cotton balls?
Patience, patience. All you can do is wait.
“Wait for what?” a quiet male voice answered.
Jolted, she sat straight, straddling the board to keep from falling, her heart zipping. She’d spoken out loud?
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” The man from the gate stood at the edge of the shade. “Just came over to check out this great old oak. I’ll leave you be.”
His soft, low voice, rich and warm as caramel, set every dormant feminine nerve on alert.
But who was he? Between growing up in Falk’s Bend and working at the restaurant, she knew everyone and their kin, or, at least about them. If he was a Mills, he must take after his mother’s family. He had the greenest eyes she’d ever seen set in a craggy, captivating face, and smile crinkles by his eyes and mouth. He was lanky and fit, but not so tall as Joe, and maybe older, late thirties. His sleek brown hair was neatly trimmed, his white polo shirt set off his outdoor tan, and more men should look as good in jeans as he did. Her gaze returned to those remarkable eyes of his, and something hot and bright leapt inside her.
He cleared his throat, as if he’d been waiting for a reply.
Holy moly. Heat flooded her. She’d been staring like an idiot. So that’s what all that being lost in a man’s eyes in romance novels felt like. Holy moly indeed.
Okay, pull yourself together.
“Hi, no, I don’t mind. Plenty of shade to share.”
“Thanks. Ah, the shade’s nice. Hot today.”
Oh, and warmer now here with you. She fanned a hand. “That’s July in Falk’s Bend for you. I should have brought a cold drink with me.”
“I’d offer you a drink, but all I have is beer, sorry.” He shifted his small six-pack cooler.
She almost said, “That’s okay, thank you.” Then Joe giving the big-brother worried eye and the unending “Doncha think you should take it easy? Are you sure?” filled her mind and clashed with Debi’s grinning advice, “You need a change.”
A fledgling thrill fizzed. Maybe he could be that positive change, for today at least. “I’d love a beer.” There! Mirth bubbled. How sad was her life these days that a beer with a stranger felt wildly adventurous?
The same doubting look as the bartender at Debi’s wedding last month narrowed her stranger’s lovely green eyes.
“I’m completely legal. Twenty-four. Twenty-five in two months from today actually. My wallet’s in my bag there if you’d like to card me.”
“Ah, not to be rude, but yeah, I should.”
Far from offended, she hopped off the swing, the sandy dust warm against her feet. She liked a sense of responsibility in a man. She fished her wallet from her bag. As she offered up her license, she spoke playfully, embracing this opportunity to be a little other than quiet, sensible Margie. “See, Marguerite Lauren Olsson, September fourth of the year perfectly legal. Or you could check with my dad, mom, brother, and anybody from town down at the ball game. Mr. Jansson, our police chief, is coaching first base. Although, my brother Joe still seems to think I’m five and should stick to milk and cookies. Acceptable proof?”
“Sorry. Just…” He smiled and cleared his throat. “You, ah. Well, you look...”
“Look like a kid. Happens all the time.” All the time. On the other hand, if looking like a kid now helped keep her looks as Grandma June had, she should count her blessings.
“Not a kid, ah…Sorry, Marguerite, one cold beer coming up. I’m Christopher Gordon.” He opened two bottles, a microbrew she’d never tried before, and handed her one.
“Thanks. Very nice to meet you, Christopher. You can call me Margie.” After taking a sip of the bright, fizzy lager, she held the bottle to her temple and enjoyed the icy chill for a moment. There weren’t any Gordons here in town, but he had to have family here. Why else would a stranger come to Falk’s Bend for the Fourth of July?
Laughter and cheers rang from the softball game.
“Sounds like they’re having a fun time over there. Why aren’t you there?” He nodded at the ball field.
“Why aren’t you? You’d be able to see better from the bleachers.”
“The shade feels good and I’ve got a fine view.” He sipped at his beer. His eyes met and held with hers, instigating all sorts of intriguing, unsettling ideas.
She eyed the long board of the swing seat. Room for two. Would he? Should she offer? “Visiting family for the holiday?”
“Not exactly.”
What an odd answer.
He shrugged. “Mrs. Dodd, at the motel, told me I should come to the picnic. I just arrived last night and wasn’t sure, but she was, ah…”
“Irrepressible? That’s Miriam Dodd all right. No one’s a stranger at the Wander Inn Motor Court.”
A grin lit his face. “Something like that, yeah.”
“Would you like to share the seat?” She patted the swing and ignored her blush. This was her little adventure to enjoy. “The swing’s sturdy enough for two.”
****
Christopher was staring and couldn’t help himself.
She might not be a kid, but she’s still way too young for you.
He dragged his mind off the way her soft rosy mouth closed on the bottle. Marguerite. Margie. Olsson? He’d run into another Olsson when he first arrived. A friendly guy with an odd name, Mats, old enough to be Margie’s dad or grandfather. He could see some resemblance about the eyes. Margie’s wide, hazel eyes sparkled like a deep trout pool…
Snap out of it.
She was sure cute, though. With her fresh young face, he’d taken her at first glance for a college kid. Well, at almost twenty-five, she wasn’t long out of college. A fascinating line of white buttons ran from mid-calf to collarbone on her sleeveless, light blue dress sprinkled with red, white, and navy flowers. The same light pink polish sparkled on her bare toes as on her fingers. No rings. She wore her sunny brown hair caught up in a red ribbon bow, with curls escaping everywhere, and the desire to pull that ribbon and let down her hair was dizzying.
He swallowed hard. Yeah. He’d definitely been working too hard lately, because three sips of beer couldn’t account for how this cute slip of a woman made his head spin.
“If you sit on that side, back against the rope, it’ll be easier to chat.”
The swing’s supporting branch, ropes, and long, heavy board looked old, but sturdy. He sat carefully. The swing swayed and sank under his added weight. Another cheer rose from the softball game. He chuckled at the timing.
“So where are you visiting from?”
“I live in Los Angeles at the moment.”
“Oh, California. I’ve never been there. It must be fantastic living where you can have an orange tree in your garden.”
Margie could read him a spreadsheet with that shy sweet voice and he’d be rapt. He gave himself a mental shake. “Yeah, if I had a garden, I’d like that—well, I live in an apartment on the seventh floor, there’s barely room on the balcony for my tomato plant and some herbs.”
“I love to garden.” Her sharp breath slid into a sigh.
He raised a brow. “Something wrong?”
“No, not anymore. Long story.” She sipped at her beer and smiled brightly. “So, if you’re not exactly visiting family, what brings you to our little town?”
Why was he here?
Pull it together, Gordon, or she’ll think you’re an idiot.
