The Reading Garden - Avalon
Important notice: All excerpts have been submitted by the author.
Author: Diana Fox
Out on the sidewalk, Logan waited for her.
Once she spotted him, he saw her hesitate. Charlene Walker, world-renown
pianist, looked just like her publicity photos. Picture perfect. The
forest green silk suit hugged her lush curves, the breeze ruffling the
smooth material tight against those curves. The skirt hugged her thighs.
Earlier, it'd been difficult keeping his gaze on Norton when he'd rather
watch her skirt creep up her thigh. He was both relieved and crushed when
she had jumped up, those legs no longer tantalizing him. Now a strand of
brown hair had escaped the confines of the chignon at the nape of her neck
that had become her signature hairdo. He wondered what her hair looked like
down.
She looked frail perched up there on the step, her hand clasping the
handrail in a deathgrip. For just an instant, he considered stepping
forward and helping her.
Then he saw her chin lift, her spine straighten, and a purposeful look
enter her brown eyes.
With precision and grace unlike anything he'd seen before she walked toward
him and then stopped in front of him. She had to. He blocked the sidewalk.
He looked down at her. Though she looked frail and tired, her eyes
revealed fire and spunk, an interesting combination.
"We have to talk," he said.
"I agree," she replied. "I want to know your intentions, your plans, and
what kind of influence you had over Gramps."
Logan squinted his eyes. Of all the raw, rotten--
"Right now isn't a good time, though. I've got to be out of the motel by
noon, and it's--," Charlene glanced at her watch. "--nearly that already.
Ouch, the boys are going to chew me out for leaving them alone that long.
Can you meet me at Gramps' house, say in two hours? It's the best I can offer."
"Fine. I've got some repairs to finish anyway."
"Good. I'll see you then." She started to move forward, but couldn't.
"Excuse me."
He was forced to step aside, and left to stare after her. Darn, if she
wasn't great to look at as she walked away. He could almost get riled at
the high-handed way she'd accused of manipulating Charlie. He'd had lots of
practice from Charlie-- and Beth--on how to control his temper and how to
bide his time. Charlene didn't know it yet, but she was just like the old
man. Logan knew how to handle her. There was plenty of time to straighten
things out. Straighten her out too if he had anything to say about it.
Weary from the week's total events, Charlene opened the door of the
fire-engine red Mustang convertible she'd rented last night at the airport.
It had been that or a Cadillac. Behind the wheel, she jammed the keys into
the ignition. Looking up, Logan stood at the side of a dusty two-tone blue
pickup watching her. If anything, his scowl had deepened.
The wind tousled his hair and ruffled the papers in his hand. He stood
with his feet in a wide stance, standing as if he owned the ground he stood
on. Even from this distance, she could feel the intensity of his cobalt
blue eyes as they bore into her. Though it was over one-hundred degrees in
the shut-up car, Charlene felt goosebumps break out on her arms.
Without taking her gaze off of Logan, she quickly turned over the ignition.
It caught and she punched the air-conditioner on. Immediately, cool air
caressed her all too warm face.
Just what I need, she thought. A partner with an attitude.
Realizing she was wasting time, Charlene shifted into gear, and tried as
best she could with her broken arm to swing into traffic.
As she drove past Logan, she tried not to look his way. She couldn't help
herself. She looked. She shivered at the look he gave her. What had
Gramps done to her?
* * * * *
"Your place or mine?"
"Kiss me, baby."
"All right, you two," Charlene said to her companions. She turned the
steering wheel one-handed, guiding the Mustang past the apple orchard. She
noticed the trees were heavy with ripening fruit. Good. She desperately
needed the orchard to do well.
Once she'd passed the orchard, she turned down the lane that led to Gramps'
house. Her house now. "We're almost there. Do you think you can hold it
down?"
"Not in this lifetime, Toots," the African gray parrot chirped, perched on
the headrest of the passenger seat.
"I want a kiss," the large macaw demanded. He sat in his cage, the door
open, content to remain on the swing as it moved with the motion of the car.
After the long flight to Detroit yesterday, then the shorter one to
Kalamazoo, and then having to leave them in their cages at the motel for
fear one of the maids would unwittingly let them out the front door when she
came in to clean while she was out, Charlene had been reluctant to confine
them to their cages during the drive out here. She probably should have
left them at home, but after her hospital stay, she had to admit she missed
their stupid banter.
"Can't you guys be good for just a few minutes?"
"I'll be good." This from the macaw.
"Thanks, Stan. Now if we can convince your friend
Ollie--"
"Speech, speech!" Ollie cried.
Ignoring their chatter, Charlene concentrated on easing the car to a stop
in the shadows of the large rambling farmhouse. At one time the yard had
held magnificent gardens. Now there were only weeds and overgrown lilac
bushes almost reaching second- story height. The house appeared shabbier
and more rundown than she remembered. A coat of paint would brighten the
house up. Unfortunately, she wouldn't be doing it. Someone else would have
to spruce it up.
On the way back to the motel, Charlene had made her first decision. She
was going to sell the house. With Gramps gone, she had no other family.
She certainly didn't want to live here. It didn't make sense to keep the
house unless she wanted to rent it, and that didn't appeal to her either.
She needed the money she'd get from the sale more than she needed to keep
his memory alive. It saddened her that she didn't have a choice in the
matter.
The birds ruffled their feathers. They were getting restless.
"Okay, guys. We're here. Ollie, get in Stan's cage."
"Oh, no!" Stan cried.
"It's just for a few minutes," she promised him. "With my broken arm I can
only carry one cage at a time. Listen to me," she mumbled to herself.
"I'm talking to two dumb birds."
"I'm home," Ollie said, hopping into Stan's cage.
"Oh, no!" Stan repeated.
Awkwardly, Charlene turned off the ignition. Before she opened the back
door, she made sure Ollie was in the cage as he'd pronounced. Shutting the
cage door, she lifted the cage from the seat which had been protected with a
towel.
Charlene gazed at the house as she approached it. She wished she could
extend the driveway around to the front of the house, beyond the side where
it ended now. She remembered Gramps had always wanted to make that
improvement. It'd be a lot more convenient than having to walk through the
grass, toting everything across the yard.
As she rounded the corner of the house, Stan and Ollie resumed their
chatter. Now they played their favorite game. Cops and robbers.
"Hands above your head!" Stan said.
"Spread 'em!" Ollie returned.
"They're up and I'm spread!"
Charlene's head snapped up at the sound of a male voice.
"All I've got is twenty bucks. It's yours if you want it."
In front of her stood a man with his back to her, his hands up in the air,
his long, lean legs spread. Instantly, she recognized Logan; she'd remember
that stance anywhere.©1996
***
*About the author: I confess. I never grew up wanting to be a writer. I was twenty-eight
with two babies before I realized what I wanted to do with the rest of my
life. With no formal writing education other than high school English
classes and a love for reading, I set out to tell my stories. From a weekly
Erma-Bombeckish newspaper column, to magazines, then to books and
screenplays, I've found my niche. Heartfelt stories about real people.
They're real to me. They stand behind me, the hero behind one shoulder, the
heroine behind the other, teasing, laughing, fighting, loving, sometimes
with both of them talking at the same time. They make me laugh, they make
me cry. I'm just they're fingers on the keyboard transcribing their story.
I hope their story makes you laugh and cry too.
NEW BEGINNINGS is Diana's third book, her second for Avalon. She
has three production companies looking at her family script, CHARLIE'S
CHRISTMAS CAROLE. In addition to her writing, she teaches creative writing
at Georgia's Bainbridge College. She'd love to hear from you. Write to Diana Fox Check out Diana Fox's website. You can order NEW BEGINNINGS from Amazon Books
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