For the Love of Pete Read Online Free Page A

what he deserved, yet it rankled.
    He spent a few minutes surveying the porch, determined that it needed to be totally replaced since half
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    measures would only delay the inevitable. He made a few rough calculations on the notepad he always kept in his pocket, then knocked on the door again.
    It took a long time for Jo to answer, and when she did, it was obvious she'd been crying. Her pale skin was streaked with tears. Pete's heart turned over at the sight.
    "What?" she asked impatiently.
    Forgetting all about the porch for the moment, he asked, "Jo, are you okay?"
    "Nothing a little time won't cure," she said. "Or so they say. Personally, I think that's a crock."
    He heard the unmistakable bitterness in her voice and concluded she was referring to something recent, though it could just as easily have had something to do with his betrayal all those years ago and a wound he'd caused that had yet to heal.
    He shoved his hands in his pockets and risked another rejection. "Want to talk about it?"
    "No, and certainly not with you," she said flatly. "What I want is to be left alone."
    He knew he should take her at her word, but how could he? She looked as if she were on the verge of collapse. What were her sisters thinking, leaving her alone like this? Ignoring her words, he brushed right past her and walked inside the cottage, determined not to go until there was more color in her cheeks, even if anger at his presumption was what put it there.
    It was like coming home. The paint was fresh and there were a few unfamiliar touches, but essentially it had hardly changed from the way he remembered it. It was warm and cozy with the fire blazing, the chairs covered with a cheery chintz fabric, the walls
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    decorated with delicate watercolors of the Chesapeake Bay and one or two of the garden right here at Rose Cottage. Jo's grandmother had painted them. What they lacked in expertise, they made up for in sentiment.
    "Have you eaten?" he asked briskly, heading for the kitchen as if he had a perfect right to do so. "I haven't and I'm starved."
    Jo hurried to catch up with him, then faced him with a stubborn jut to her chin. "What is wrong with you?" she demanded. "You can't barge in here and take over, Pete."
    "I just did, sweetheart. How about some soup?" he asked cheerfully, opening a cupboard to find it fully stocked with everything from chicken noodle to tomato soup. "Seems like the right kind of night for it. It's cold and raw outside."
    The suggestion was greeted with silence. He took that as a good sign.
    "Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches," he decided, after checking out the contents of the fridge. "Your grandmother used to fix that for us all the time. Is it still your favorite?"
    "I'm not hungry, and you need to go," Jo insisted, trying to reach around him to shut the cabinet door without actually touching him.
    "I have time," he said, deliberately misinterpreting her objection and making it impossible for her to succeed in thwarting his actions. "Sit down. I'll have it ready in no time."
    He began assembling the ingredients for their makeshift dinner with quick, efficient movements, finding pans where they'd always been, bowls and plates in the
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    same cupboard. He was pretty sure the flower-trimmed plates had the same chips he remembered.
    "Ah, you've already boiled water," he said, noting that the teakettle on the stove was still hot to the touch. "Teabags in the same place?"
    He didn't wait for a response, just kept on making the meal, flipping the sandwiches as the bread turned a golden brown, stirring the soup. This was Davey's favorite meal, too, so Pete had become something of an expert.
    He took heart from the fact that Jo hadn't blown up and insisted that he go. At the same time, it was telling that she apparently didn't have the strength to fight his obviously unwanted presence. Eventually, she simply sighed and sat down.
    "So, what brings you to Rose