Love and Peaches by Jodi Lynn Anderson Read Free Book Online Page B

the lawn. Apparently two of the items she had retrieved were a hammer and a box of nails.
    Suddenly Leeda realized what she was doing. “Oh.”
    Everyone—Poopie, Walter, and Murphy—came to the window and gawked.
    â€œIs that…?” Murphy said.
    â€œOh, she is going to fall out, break her neck. Mark this word,” said Poopie.
    Birdie was starting fresh, away from everyone.
    She was building a tree house.

Nine
    P rimrose Cottage, the home of the late, great Grandmom Eugenie, was just like a dollhouse. It curtsied its way out of its rolling lawn in white frills, decorative latticework, gingerbread window treatments, and romantic slate roof tiles. Eugenie—intrepid, determined, and more than a little spoiled—had hired an architect to build it as an exact replica of a dollhouse she’d had as a girl.
    Stepping out of her car, Leeda was surprised to see a tiny Chihuahua tied to the banister of the front porch. Seeing her, he licked his lips excitedly and trembled, stretching out his paws and trying to pull forward. Leeda walked uncertainly up the bottom few stairs, just out of its reach. What was it doing here? It must belong to the guy Eugenie had left in charge of the ponies. Leeda had learned, through talking with her grandmom’s lawyer afterward, that he had worked for her grandmom for about a year before she died, though only for a few hours a day. Leeda had never met him. Now he was staying in one of the house’s small guest rooms until Leeda could get everything sorted out. But why would he tie his dog to the banister?
    Leeda wasn’t an animal person. The closest she had ever come to having pets was when she’d hung out with Birdie’s dogs, and then she’d accidentally run over one of them. She had ridden one of Grandmom Eugenie’s ponies at her seventh birthday party, but it had eaten the pink ribbon from her dress and had died of an intestinal blockage. Maybe it was her track record as the Angel of Death to God’s four-legged friends, but for whatever reason, she didn’t feel comfortable around them. They liked to put their tongues on your face. Sometimes they wanted you to scratch right above their butts. They had no sense of boundaries. Leave it to her muleheaded grandmom to force her desires on Leeda despite Leeda’s obvious inclinations to the contrary.
    Thinking the caretaker was most likely out back, Leeda turned away from the stairs and walked over to the side of the house, turning the corner to where the grass was shaded from the morning sun. Bees were buzzing over the tiny white flowers that grew up the fence posts of the pony corral. Beyond, she could see a figure in the barn lot, standing in a filmy cloud of flying pony fur, dust, and a knot of gnats. He moved rigidly, stiffly. He looked up and noticed her. She plucked at the peeling paint on the gate while she waited for him to come over.
    As he got closer, her smile faltered a bit, and she felt a lopsided rhythm in her wrists. He was younger than he’d seemed from far away—a lot closer to her age. He wasn’t handsome, per se. But there was something about the way he looked that made her feel a little wobbly. He had shaggy brown hair and blue eyes overhung by straight, dark eyebrows. His face was angular, his nose broad and straight. His movements were angular too. But there was something vital about the way he moved.
    She stuck out her hand, overcompensating for her sudden wobbliness by speaking in a voice that was all business. “Hi, I’m Leeda. You must be Grey Backe.”
    He took her hand, expressionless. “How’s it going?”
    â€œYou’re the caretaker, I take it. Very nice to meet you.” She knew she sounded like her mother, all formal and polite, but she couldn’t help it.
    â€œYeah.” He gave her a once-over, taking in her black rubber boots with the buckles, her white leggings, and the clipboard tucked neatly under