The Klone and I by Danielle Steel Read Free Book Online

hair shirt would remind me of my long-lost flannels.
    “Sounds pretty boring.” Charlotte summed my life up with her usual precision, and then went on to tell me about all the cute boys she'd met, or wished she had, in the south of France. Sam told me he caught seven fish on the yacht, and Charlotte reminded him it was only four, immediately after which he punched her, but not too hard.
    It was good to have them back. It felt comfortable and warm, and reminded me that I didn't need a man. All I needed was a television set, and a charge account at my neighborhood bookstore.And my children. Who needed Peter Baker? As Charlotte would have said, if she'd known about him at that point, he was probably a pervert.
    We flew back to New York, where we spent a day doing laundry, and packing again, and then headed for East Hampton. The house I had rented was very small, but adequate for us. The kids shared a room, I slept alone, and the neighbors assured us their Great Dane loved kids. They forgot to mention that he also loved our front lawn. He used it hourly to leave us unavoidable presents. There was a constant chorus of “You stepped in it again, Mom,” as we tracked his little gifts all over the house, grateful that we hadn't gone barefoot. But he certainly was friendly, and he loved Sam. We'd been there a week when I found him sleeping in Sam's bed. Sam had hidden him under the covers so I wouldn't find him, and it looked like a man sleeping next to him. After that, the dog sometimes slept in Charlotte's bed, and she slept in my room.
    Charlotte was still asleep next to me, in fact, when Peter called on Saturday morning, and I thought it was the refrigerator repairman. The fridge had died the previous afternoon. We'd lost all our frozen pizza by then, the hot dogs had gone bad, and the ice cream had sat melting in the sink. The only thing we had left were forty-two cans of Dr Pepper, sixteen diet 7-Ups, somebread, a head of lettuce, and some lemons. I do a lot of gourmet cooking in the summer.
    “How are you?” he asked, and I recognized the voice instantly. I had spoken to him twice the night before, or so I thought, and he promised he'd come by in the morning, but so far he hadn't.
    “I'll be a lot better when you get here. We lost three hundred dollars worth of food last night,” I said, crabbing at him. He had a deep, sexy voice, but like those people on sex hot lines, I figured he weighed three hundred pounds and wore pants that slid slowly down and revealed things you never wanted to see on a three-hundred-pound man, particularly one who was sweating and smoked cigars.
    “I'm sorry to hear it,” he said sympathetically, referring to the food we'd lost. “Maybe I should come out and take you to dinner.”
    Christ. Not another one. The carpenter who had come to fix the loose front step the second day we were there told me I looked great in a bikini, and then invited himself to dinner. I figured I looked desperate, and told him we were going out. “No, thanks, just come and fix the fridge. That's all I want. Just get over here, for chrissake, and fix it.”
    There was a brief silence. “I'm not sure I know how,” he said apologetically. “I can try. Itook a couple of engineering courses in college.” Oh, great. A college graduate. A refrigerator repairman who was willing to admit he didn't know what he was doing. At least he was honest.
    “Maybe you could buy a book or something. Look, you told me you'd be here yesterday. So are you going to fix it today or not?” Charlotte woke up and left the room while I argued with him.
    “I'd rather take you out to dinner, Stephanie. If that's an option.” Persistent little devil. But so was I. It was hot and all the soda was warm, and I didn't find him amusing.
    “It isn't an option … and I'm not Stephanie to you. Just fix the fridge, dammit.”
    “Can't I just buy you a new one?”
    “Are you kidding?”
    “It might be simpler. I'm a lousy repairman.” He