The Summer's End by Mary Alice Monroe Read Free Book Online Page A

hers. It was always—clearly—Georgiana’s property.
    Sea Breeze, for all that it was elegant, surrounded by the giant oak in front and graced with a series of decks in the back, was an island home built for comfort. The antiques might not be as old as Granny James’s, or the paintings and portraits as historic, but Mamaw had developed a relationship with many of the local artists. She liked to say how each painting on her walls felt like a friend. At Sea Breeze, Harper’s help around the house was not only welcome, but needed.
    She was ruminating on all these thoughts, finishing mopping the kitchen floor, when the front doorbell rang. Exhausted, she paused, put her hand on her aching back, and listened to hear if anyone else would answer the door.
    The doorbell rang a second time.
    â€œCan someone get the door?” she called out.
    The house was silent.
    Cursing, Harper set the mop back into the soapy bucket, splashing water on the floor. She hastily crossed her clean floor toward the entryway, dripping a trail of water from her gloves. Where were her lazy sisters? she wondered. Here she was, slaving away in the kitchen, and they were probably out lying in the sun reading a book. So much for the chore chart, she harrumphed inwardly.
    The doorbell rang a third time, followed by an impatient rap on the door. Harper felt her temper rise. She opened the door with a frustrated swing.
    The man at the door was tall, over six feet, with shoulders so broad and straight they stretched the blue chambray shirt. The shirttails hung out over sun-bleached jeans, and thesleeves were rolled back, exposing muscled, tanned forearms. His brown hair was cut short, but she couldn’t make out his expression because he was wearing aviator-style sunglasses. The military bearing in everything about him shouted, Back off.
    Then he reached up and took off his sunglasses.
    Her breath caught in her throat.
    She knew him. She didn’t know how, but she felt it with the tingling in every fiber of her body.
    He was handsome with a broad forehead, a straight nose, and full lips. The muscled, athletic type that she’d always fancied but rarely dated. But it was his eyes that captured her. They were a pale green—the turbulent, changing color of the sea. Their gazes met, and once held, all the words of polite greeting that she’d formed in her mind fled. Instead, she heard herself thinking, Oh, it’s you.
    She felt as if she were standing still in time, staring at this green-eyed stranger with the overwhelming sensation that she knew him, would always know him. Yet another part of her brain told her she was being ridiculous. She didn’t really recognize him. She’d not met him before. At least not in this lifetime.
    The long silence grew awkward and the man shifted his gaze.
    Harper gathered her wits and offered a weak “Hello?”
    He smiled, so quickly she almost missed it, seemingly embarrassed for his own lapse of staring. Then he looked at his feet. “Hello,” he said with a strained smile. “I’m looking for Carson. We met in Florida and, uh, I’m in town and I thought I’d look her up. Is she in?”
    Carson? He was here to see Carson?
    Harper’s heart fell as she looked down at her damp and dirt-stainedshirt and torn jeans, the yellow rubber gloves dripping soap water, her flyaway hair falling out of its elastic. She inwardly groaned, imagining the picture she made. Of course it would be the beautiful Carson he was here for.
    â€œCarson Muir,” he elaborated. When she still didn’t reply, his brows furrowed. “Do I have the wrong house? Hey, I’m sorry.” He turned to leave.
    â€œWait! You have the right house,” Harper rushed to say. “Carson lives here.”
    Relief softened his face. “Is she in?”
    Now that she’d set aside her romantic vision, caution intervened. “How did you say you knew her?”
    â€œWe