A Crazy Kind of Love Read Online Free Page A

hall. The dark red tiles felt cool beneath his bare feet as he stalked along the hall and down the flight of stairs.
    In fact, the whole house felt cool, despite the September heat outside. And he probably owed Mike Marconi for that, too, he thought in disgust. She was the one who’d insisted he insulate the thick stucco walls with straw. She’d cited a dozen different sources on environmental house construction, but she’d captured him with her last argument. That the early Spanish settlers in California had built their adobe homes with a layer of straw between the walls—keeping their houses cool in summer and warm in winter.
    He ran the flat of his hand over the lightly textured, cream-colored wall on his right. The woman was a pain in the ass, but she knew her stuff. As he hit the bottom of the stairs, he paused to stare at the completed great room in front of him.
    Wide and open, the area fed into the dining room and the kitchen beyond. But here, the walls soared and rough-hewn oak beams, which Mike had insisted on “distressing” with a propane torch, crisscrossed the ceiling. The effect gave the house the feel of its having stood here for centuries.
    “Something else she was right about.” Scowling, he wondered if the woman was
ever
wrong.
    The window casements were arched and the glass panes leaded into diamond shapes that drew interesting patterns on the shining tile floor. A kiva-shaped fireplace stood in the corner, with built-in bookcases on either side.
    Twin forest-green sofas sat facing each other in the middle of the room. Squatting between the sofas was the table Lucas had found in a furniture shop outside Chandler. A one-of-a-kind piece, it had been fashioned out of an old apothecary bench. Cut down and polished, it shone with a dark rich finish in the afternoon sunlight.
    Heavy rugs dotted the cool tiles and tables and lamps were scattered throughout the room, giving the place warmth while still maintaining its open feel.
    Amazing how much work could get accomplished if you were willing to pay extra to keep the construction firms working around the clock. Not for the first time in his life, Lucas was grateful to his father. If not for him,Lucas would have been forced to live on the salary he made as a research scientist—which would never have afforded him this home.
    The Gallagher money had been made years ago. When his dad invented a simple little device that was used in heart operations around the world. The patent and ensuing royalties brought in more money than anyone could spend in three lifetimes.
    Though God knows, Justin had tried.
    Nope, he told himself. His brother would
not
ruin this moment for him. Pushing thoughts of the bastard aside, he determinedly relaxed and went back to enjoying his new house.
    He already felt at home here. With the woods surrounding him, the lake behind him, and the ocean just a mile or so away, he had the best of all possible worlds. Isolation that he’d need to work on the book that was due to his publisher in less than six months—and a small town close by for when he needed to see people. Hear voices other than his own—or Mike Marconi’s.
    And when the book was finished, and his year’s sabbatical over, he’d go back to the lab and continue the research that he hoped would one day change the world.
    He grinned at the thought. “No ego problems here,” he murmured.
    Still smiling, he opened the double front doors, stepped onto the wide front porch, and stopped dead. “How does she do it?” he wondered aloud. “How does she know to show up just when I’m relaxing my guard?”
    But there she was.
    Mike Marconi had parked her battered, dusty navyblue truck at the end of the line of workmen’s vehicles clogging his driveway. But instead of coming up to the house, the woman was bent over his mailbox, peering inside as if looking for buried treasure.
    Annoyance rattled through him and was quickly followed by a different emotion—one Lucas was in no