Within Reach by Barbara Delinsky Read Free Book Online

real gentleman. Have you got any Kleenex?”
    She released his hand and turned in the seat to fumble in her pocketbook. Moments later she was pressing a tissue under first one eye, then the other.
    “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
    “Don’t be silly. We all have our moments. Something upset you, that’s all.” He glanced around. Hers was the only car in sight and the house looked deserted. “Is there anyone I can call?” She shook her head. “You’re alone.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “Ahhhh. And that’s the problem, or part of it, at least?”
    Chin tucked to her chest, eyes closed again, she pressed a finger to the spot between her eyes and nodded. When once more she was composed, she sniffled and looked up. “I was really hoping my husband would come. At the last minute he rushed off to Atlanta on business.”
    “I’m sure he had to,” Michael offered gently. “From what I understand, he’s an important man.” When Danica looked up in surprise, he smiled. “I know who your husband is. And your father. You weren’t planning on keeping them a secret forever, were you?”
    She responded to his gentle teasing. “It was kind of nice to be a nobody for that little while we talked.”
    Michael wondered if she remembered “that little while we talked” as clearly as he did. He had spent many an hour thinking about it. “You would never be a nobody.”
    “You know what I mean. Not Blake Lindsay’s wife. Not William Marshall’s daughter. It isn’t often that I get to be with people who see me for me .”
    “I will.”
    Somehow she knew it. Looking into Michael Buchanan’s eyes now, she felt the same warmth, the same lightness she had felt that first day on the beach. “I’d really like that,” she said, breaking out into a slow smile, then sniffling and looking down self-consciously. “I must look awful.”
    “You look wonderful.” Very gently he brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb, then pushed himself up and held out his hand. “Come. Time to go in. That is why you’ve come—to see the house—isn’t it?”
    She gave him a sheepish grin. “Right.” Putting her hand in his, she let herself be helped from the car. “My decorator’s been checking. She says things are nearly done.” For the first time she looked around, tipped her head back, took a deep breath—slightly uneven from her recent tears—of the ocean air. “Mmmm. Nice. An improvement over the last time.”
    “It’s warmer. And sunny. No fog.” Michael remembered that fog and the way it had given a mystical quality to his meeting Danica. He still felt it—a kismet of sorts. Much as he told himself he was crazy, he couldn’t shake the feeling.
    As they walked up the flagstone path to the door, Danica admired the landscape around the house. White pines dotted the yard, standing guard over clusters of bayberry and staghorn sumac. Though it was still too early for any of the flowering shrubs to blossom, the scrubby junipers looked fresher, in the first stages of rejuvenation.
    Unlocking the door, she stepped inside, then walked slowly from one room to another in silent appraisal of the work that had been done. Michael followed her, standing in the doorway of each room she entered.
    The house was almost identical to his own, which wasn’t surprising given that the same architect had designed and the same contractor built them some twenty years before. Both were of a modified Cape style, sprawling and open, fashioned to take advantage of the spectacular view of the sea. The structural changes Danica had made—breaking through walls between kitchen and living room and foyer—only served to enhance the sense of freedom and space.
    “What do you think?” he asked when they returned to the living room.
    “Not bad,” she said, but her smile was spreading. “Not bad at all. In fact, I think it looks great. Of course, it’ll look that much better once the furniture’s in, but I’ll appreciate that all the