The House on Persimmon Road by Jackie Weger Read Free Book Online

attributes were provided by nature and not the subterfuge of padding and pinion. His gaze was drawn back to her eyes.
    He discovered himself overtaken by a mixture of one part caution and several parts potent longing. He was, he decided, a man in trouble. “My place is out beyond the persimmon trees. You can see it if—”
    Justine dismissed the way he was looking at her and ignored the fact that her heart was picking up speed.
    “You live in a barn. How quaint. What other animals do you house there?”
    “Justine!” Pauline said, her tone registering shock. “We’ve only just met the man, dear. You’re being exceedingly rude.”
    “That’s exactly how she used to talk to Philip,” sneaked in Agnes.
    Justine kept her eyes on Tucker. He was making no move to leave. He wasn’t looking insulted. There was even a hint of a genuine smile on his lips beneath the rakish mustache. Damn. He had to think her an imbecile. She deserved whatever thoughts he had of her. And she certainly wasn’t setting a good example for the children. She took a breath.
    “I’m sorry. I was out of line. I have no objection to you putting up the beds. It’s kind of you to offer to help. But I’ll do my own room.”
    Distressed, Pauline rattled on. “Justine, you’re making me look as if I were an inadequate parent in front of our new neighbor. I’m sure he thinks your father and I let you run wild. She isn’t usually so high-handed, Mr. Highsmith. It’s only that her patience has been so tightly stretched of late. Her divorce, the death of her father, my husband, our move…”
    Oh, Mother! Justine raged silently. How can you be so unthinking? She felt as if her soul had been laid bare for inspection. Worse, Highsmith appeared to hang on to her Mother’s every word.
    “Don’t bore the man with our life story, Mother.”
    “I’ve been accused of many things in my life,” said Pauline with stiff-necked, regal dignity. “However, being a bore was never one of them.”
    “I’m not bored,” Tucker said smoothly. “I’d like to get to know all of you.”
    Judy Ann thrust herself in front of Tucker. “Do you have any little girls I can play with?”
    “Ah…not yet, but if I ever do, I hope she’s as pretty as you.”
    The child preened in response to the compliment. “My dad’s gone off to be a monk,” she gushed.
    Justine wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.
    “It’s kinda like being a preacher,” offered Pip.
    Tucker eyed Justine to see if what he was hearing was good or bad. No doubts. Bad. “That sounds … adventuresome,” he said in a carefully neutral tone. “I’d like to hear more about it sometime.”
    With a triumphant, quelling glance at her daughter, Pauline gestured toward Tucker. “Come along, Mr. Highsmith. Pip, dear, you can lend us a hand.”
    “Just, Tucker, ma’am,” he said, his own expression no less triumphant. He squeezed by Justine, making certain that he didn’t even brush her. Their eyes met fleetingly: Justine’s were narrowed, his full of a self-satisfied gleam.
    “A monk?” he said softly, shaking his head.
    Bright hot color blotched Justine’s neck, sped over her smooth cheeks, stopping only before the heat singed her hair. She had run out of worthy retorts. Before she could compose one mentally and get it on her tongue, his back was turned.
    Her gaze followed him out of the kitchen. For the next few seconds she was full of rocketing emotions; the most vivid were the turbulence Highsmith aroused, sensations she had not experienced in years. Her feminine instincts, though little used of late, told her that his interest in her went beyond being neighborly. She didn’t want his interest. Her life was a maze of complications already. Even if her life weren’t complicated, he wasn’t her type.
    She was gripped by a sudden internal shaking. In the deep recess of her brain a surfacing voice of intuition proclaimed Tucker Highsmith was every woman’s type.
    “Not