Stranger in Paradise (Home Front - Book #2) by Barbara Bretton Read Free Book Online Page B

beauties like Janie. He looked up from his newspaper at the sound of their footsteps.
    “Jane?” He pushed his eyeglasses down on his nose and peered at them over the frames. “I believed you to be spending the day with young Queen Bess.”
    Jane crossed the room and placed a kiss atop his shiny pate. “Don’t tell me you didn’t peek out your window at the procession, Uncle Nigel, for I shan’t believe it for an instant.”
    “Stuff and nonsense,” said Nigel Townsend, eyeing Mac with open curiosity. “And who is your friend, m’dear?”
    Jane performed the introductions with alacrity. Mac stepped forward and pumped the older man’s hand.
    “You Americans,” said Nigel with a shake of his head. “You’re not gripping the pommel of a Western saddle, young man.” He flexed his fingers and scowled in mock pain. “This is—or was —a human hand.”
    Jane wanted to disappear beneath the floorboards. One living relative to her name, and that one living relative had to insult Mac.
    Mac, however, was having a fine time. Nigel was a sharp old bird, capable of setting up little traps designed to snare an unsuspecting victim. The handshake, for one. Mac hadn’t exerted anything but the most normal degree of pressure. Nigel was trying to discomfit him. Sorry, Nigel, thought Mac with a grin. I’m afraid I don’t discomfit that easily .
    “Sit down,” said Nigel after a moment had gone by. “I don’t know if my chairs are big enough for you, Mr. Weaver, but you’re welcome to give them a try.” All this said from the comfort of a huge wing chair of burgundy leather.
    Jane despaired when Mac pulled up a chair for her then one for himself. His sheer size dominated the room and she winced as he lowered his frame into a straight-back chair scaled for Munchkins from The Wizard of Oz . Nigel didn’t blink. Neither did Mac. Jane, however, was beginning to perspire. Please, Mac , she thought desperately. Don’t say anything about that foolish marriage proposal ....
    They made small talk for a few minutes. Jane prattled on about the queen’s coach, about Prince Charles and Princess Anne waving from the balcony at Buckingham Palace, and the crowds in front of Westminster Abbey. Nigel made the right noises, but he was more interested in sizing up Mac, who was every bit as interested in sizing up Nigel in return.
    Why on earth had this seemed such a brilliant idea? Oh, certainly they needed the typewriter. They couldn’t very well turn in their stories without one, but she had a portable tucked safely away in her hotel room. She had wanted to bring Mac and her uncle together so they could—
    What?
    She looked from one man to the other. What on earth had she been expecting? She was fond of her uncle, but he had maintained a laissez-faire attitude toward her during the time when she’d needed him the most. He had been no better than she at handling the deaths of her brother and father, and had retreated deeper into his world of books and ideas, leaving Jane to struggle with the real world of war.
    Still she harbored no bitterness. She was accustomed to shouldering burdens, to being the strong one when others fell apart beneath the strain. When you lost your mother early, as Jane had, you quickly learned to care for yourself. Her father had been shattered by the death of his wife; her brother, Jackie, had turned his anger outward, fighting with everyone in the neighborhood until his entry into the Royal Navy, where his anger was channeled into more worthwhile areas.
    Make no mistake about it: Nigel’s approval wasn’t necessary, but there was a tiny part of Jane’s heart that devoutly wished for his blessing. Wouldn’t Nigel be amused by such a bourgeois thought!
    The two men continued talking under, over and around the real reason for the visit. They talked about the weather. They talked about the queen. They talked about pipe tobacco, of all things.
    Finally Jane’s nerves simply couldn’t take another second of