“That’s okay,” Hope assured her. “I’m not looking for a man.”
Chapter Four
LIZARD TASTES JUST LIKE CHICKEN!
Hope rinsed her plate, then washed her hands with Lemon Joy. When she turned off the water, the sound of Shelly’s bootheels and the low hum of a motorboat out on the lake filled the silence.
“Sounds like Paul and the boys are back,” Shelly said as she walked across the kitchen.
Hope reached for a towel and dried her hands. She glanced out the back screen door into the shaded yard but couldn’t see anything. “I better get back across the street.”
“Stay a minute and meet my husband.” Shelly stuck her head into the refrigerator, looking for something. She was nosy, but Hope could appreciate her style. She’d invite Hope to lunch to pump her for info, nonchalantly slipping in personal questions between amusing stories, bits of gossip, and bites of crab. “Are you staying in the Donnelly house tonight?”
Out of habit, Hope hung the towel over her shoulder. “That’s the plan. My things are supposed to be delivered later today.” She leaned her behind against the counter and folded her arms beneath her breasts. “But the way my luck is running, my
stuff is probably lost in transit. Probably fell off the truck in Vegas.”
The screen door opened, then slammed. “Gotta piss so bad my back teeth are floatin‘,” Adam Taber said as he ran through the kitchen.
“Where’s Wally?” Shelly called after him.
“At the boat,” he answered, then was gone.
“Hey, there, Adam.” A deeper voice spoke from just outside the door. “You know better than to go into somebody’s house without knocking.”
Only that morning, Hope had heard the same voice ask if she liked passion fruit. She straightened and dropped her arms to her sides.
“Why should he knock when his daddy never does?” Shelly asked.
Dylan raised one hand above his head and rapped his knuckles against the wooden frame. “Knock, knock,” he drawled. “Can I come in?”
“No,” Shelly replied and shut the refrigerator door. “You smell like fish guts.”
He came in anyway and walked toward Shelly. From across the kitchen, his broad back and shoulders filled Hope’s vision. He wasn’t wearing the battered hat he’d worn that morning, and his short hair stuck to the back of his neck. He advanced on Shelly, his hands out in front of him as if he meant to touch her.
“Stay away, Dylan Taber, and I mean it!”
He chuckled, three deep “huh-huh-huhs,” then asked, “What are you going to do?”
“I’ll beat you up like I did in the fifth grade.”
“Come on, now, you didn’t beat me up. You kicked me in the bean bags, Shelly. It’s not right kicking a guy in the bean bags.”
“You touch me,” she warned, “and I’ll tell Dixie Howe you love the way she looked in that sequined tube top she wore to the T-ball game last night.”
He dropped his hands. “There you go. Hitting below the belt again.”
“Paul, get in here,” Shelly called out. “We have company.”
“Dylan’s not company.”
“I’m not talking about Dylan. Hope Spencer from across the street is here.”
Dylan shot a glance over his shoulder and slowly turned to look at her. His brows rose up his forehead, and the kitchen light above his head picked out the gold in his brown hair.
“So,” Paul Aberdeen began as he and Wally entered the house, “you’re our new neighbor. Welcome to Gospel. I’d shake your hand, but I’ve been gutting fish.”
Hope offered him a smile. “Thank you.”