Georgie Be Good by Marg McAlister Read Free Book Online Page A

against it for a moment, waiting for the stress of seeing Sarah and James melt away. Her trailer was her haven; a peaceful oasis in the midst of any storm. 
    Georgie gazed around her, taking it in one part at a time. She looked at the comfortable bed at the back of the trailer, with its plump wine-colored cushions, its soft pillows and cozy spread, and then at hand-carved rails on the shelves. A cheerful crimson kettle sat on top of the gleaming oven, and on her polished wooden fold-out table, fat pink blossoms spilled over the edge of a painted pot. 
    Looking at the stained glass inserts, she thought about what it meant to her. What was it that called to her so about this little trailer? Why did she feel it was somehow more than just a home on wheels? 
    It was all tied up, she mused. Her heritage, going back through the mists of time, back centuries in the past. That unknown ‘something’ out there that she could tap into, for better or for worse. 
    No wonder Rosa had been so insistent that she follow in the footsteps of her gypsy forebears. For Rosa, too—crazy old lady that she was—it was not something you could choose. It was something that you were .

    W hen she went outside , Scott had her camp chair set up next to his and a glass of her Margaret River wine waiting. 
    “I can do coffee instead, if you prefer,” he said, leaning over and passing her the glass. “But you look as though wine would be a better option.” 
    “You can tell how it went by looking at me?” She took the glass and thought briefly that what she really needed was a hug. A big, enveloping, no-holds-barred hug that her father specialized in. 
    The father, she reminded herself, who was quite prepared to consign her vintage trailer section to a weedy cracked concrete lot in a down-at-heel area. 
    She sipped her wine and cast a glance at Scott over the rim. He looked like the type that could give good bear hugs. She already knew he was strong, after the day he’d caught her plunging down the steps of her trailer back at the Dayton RV park. 
    “What?” he said, seeing her speculative gaze. “You look as though you’re sizing me up for something.” 
    “Just wondering how I can put the members of my new CBI team to work,” she fibbed. “But we’ll talk about that later. I’d rather plot Jerry’s downfall. Have you heard from Tammy?” 
    Layla caught her question in a momentary lull in the buzz of conversation. “Not yet,” she answered for him. “But we’ve sold another trailer. A gypsy bowtop this time.” She waved her coffee cup in the direction of a fine-boned girl with a wild tangle of black hair and a billowy magenta-and-plum striped skirt. “Mags over there wants one. She’s got a line of gypsy and Boho clothing; plans to do the markets.” 
    “She has?” Georgie said, diverted. She eyed the girl’s outfit, especially the filmy peasant-style blouse. “I need some more clothes. I like what she’s wearing.” 
    “You should see the whole line. I could buy it myself.” 
    Georgie looked from Mags, who looked like she was born a gypsy, to Layla in her high-waisted pleated shorts and form-fitting blouse. Tonight she had her hair swept up in a bandana with cute candyman curls spilling over her sparkling eyes. “No, stick with your own look,” she said. “You look great in what you’ve got on.” 
    “Yeah,” Layla said immodestly, “I know.” She crossed her knees and jiggled her foot up and down, admiring her scarlet toenails. “But you , that’s another story. Mags has that sexy wild gypsy woman look down pat. I’m thinking of what she could do with you.” She grinned, her eyes running over Georgie’s neat French braid and high-cut tank. “You’re looking far too stitched-up right now.” 
    “Stitched up?” Georgie frowned at her. “This was deliberate. Sarah told me James is a skeptic. He wasn’t going to open up to me if I looked like Mags over there.” 
    “No, but you could fall