It's a Wonderful Wife by Janet Chapman Read Free Book Online

because I’m pretty sure motels don’t rent rooms to inebriated people,” he added as he straightened.
    â€œOf course they do,” she shot back. “Why else do you think they always build them right next to bars?” Up went that haughty chin again. “And I’m not inebriated. I just haven’t gotten my land legs back after that roller-coaster ride from hell.”
    Jesse turned away so she wouldn’t see his grin. “Well, you definitely were sober when you decided to stow away on that roller coaster.” He walked to the kitchen and put the corkscrew and clay and hat back in her purse, cracked the camper door enough to free it, then opened a drawer, pulled out a knife, and cut off all the balloon strings—releasing the sole survivor to float up to the ceiling. “So if I go get us a pizza or rotisserie chicken,” he said, walking over and setting the purse on the couch beside her, “will you promise to be here when I get back?”
    â€œThat would depend on whether or not you promise to also get a bottle of Moscato. Pink. Preferably bubbly.” The sparkle suddenly returned. “And feel free to get something for yourself.” She cocked her head. “My guess is you’ll tolerate wine in social settings, but that you’re really more of a Scotch, no ice, kind of guy. Single malt? Aged at least ten years?”
    Jesse stilled in surprise. “Single cask,” he said quietly, “aged no less than twenty.”
    â€œWhatever floats your boat,” she said as she started looking around the camper, only to stop long enough to flash him a smile. “Excuse me—your
ship
.” She bent over and ran her gaze along the slightly raised floor under the couch. “I really like the idea of these slide-outs,” she went on, seemingly to herself, as she straightened to study the slide-out on the opposite side of the camper. “They’d be cool in a house.” She looked at him, her eyebrows disappearing into her curls again. “Think of all the wonderful childhood memories a passel of kids would have if they grew up in a home that had moving walls.”
    The woman was all over the place, her mood rising and falling more often than a real roller coaster, making him wonder if the wine was responsible or if she might have a mild case of attention deficit disorder. Not that it mattered, because either way he was about to send her plummeting downward again. But hell, she was going to find out eventually, and when better than after drinking
two
bottles of wine? “Speaking of homes, I’m hoping you won’t work up the nerve to leave Whistler’s Landing until after you rebuild my models.”
    She snapped her gaze to his, her face draining of all color. “What do you mean, rebuild them? You . . . you don’t like the house?”
    Jesse shoved his hands in his pockets. “I liked the short glimpse I got of it before both the island and house models were crushed.”
    â€œCrushed?” she repeated in a whisper, her eyes widening as she clutched her throat. “They were destroyed? Both of them? How?” she asked when he nodded.
    â€œBeatrice threw the birthday cake at Stanley, but most of it hit his friends standing behind him when he ducked, and three of them stumbled back and fell on the models.”
    â€œBut only the island was behind the reception counter.”
    â€œThe house was sitting on the floor beneath it.”
    She stared at him for several seconds, then simply . . . imploded. “Oh, God,” she rasped, covering her face with her hands and bending at the waist until her head touched her knees.
    Jesse dropped to a crouch in front of her and laid a hand on her back when he saw her shudder, not exactly sure how to respond. He usually was unmoved by tears, since in his experience they usually only showed up when a woman wasn’t getting her way. “I’m