Lakeside Sweetheart Read Online Free

cardinals fussed at each other near the bird feeders one of the church members had built and hung near the pergola where people liked to hold picnics. And the ever-present, pesky squirrels chased each other through the trees with all the precision of drag-racing champions.
    What a view.
    â€œYou’re not working.”
    He whirled to find Mrs. Fitzgerald standing with her flower-encased walker near the sidewalk, her hat today black straw with red cherries around the rim.
    â€œI’m taking a thankful break,” he explained with a grin.
    â€œCan I come and take it with you?” she asked. “I’m thankful and I have corn fritters.”
    Rory brushed his hands against his old jeans. “Bring yourself on over to this picnic table,” he said. “How did you know I had a hankering for corn fritters this morning?”
    She gave him a mock scowl, her wrinkles folding against each other, her gray hair as straw-like as her hat. “Since when have you not been hankering for something to eat? I declare, I don’t know how you stay so fit.”
    â€œI pick up limbs and trash all the time,” he said with a deadpan expression.
    â€œYes, you do. And you ride that bicycle and carry that board thing out to the water.” She moseyed over to the table and fluffed her yellow muumuu. “You swim and fish and surf and jog all over the place. When do you rest, Preacher?”
    â€œI’ll rest when I die.”
    She shook her head. “Oh, I doubt that. The Lord will put you straight to work when you reach the Pearly Gates.”
    They both laughed at that notion. Then she pulled out the still-warm corn fritters that were her specialty. Part hush puppy and part corn bread, the fat mushy balls were filled with real corn nuggets and tasted like nectar to Rory.
    â€œSo good,” he said. “I think I’ll be able to finish this mess before lunch, thanks to you.”
    Mrs. Fitzgerald chewed on her food and studied the water. “Nice sermon yesterday. I think you impressed that newcomer.”
    Miss Fanny, as she liked to be called, took impish pleasure in stirring the pot.
    Rory played coy. “We had a newcomer?”
    The older woman playfully slapped his arm. “I saw you looking at her. And I’m pretty sure she was looking back.”
    â€œDon’t you have cataracts?”
    â€œNot since that fancy eye doctor up on 98 did some sort of surgery on me. I can see a feather caught in a limb up in that tree yonder.”
    He glanced at the tree and squinted. “Feathers are a bit different from watching me and making assumptions.”
    â€œI know what I see,” she replied on a prim note. “It’s springtime. Love is in the air.”
    â€œWell, aren’t you the poet.”
    â€œI used to be, you know.”
    â€œYou? A poet?” Miss Fanny was full of surprises.
    â€œMe.” She pointed to the houses lining the lake. “See that Craftsman cottage with the blue shutters?”
    He nodded and grabbed another fritter. “The one near your house that’s in need of serious repair?”
    She lived in a small Cape Cod style two-storied house across from the church.
    â€œThat’s the one. I used to run around with the woman who lived there. We were artists. She dabbled in mixed media and men. I dabbled in poetry and one long and loving marriage.”
    â€œYou don’t say?” He’d heard about how much Miss Fanny loved her husband, but she was already a widow when he met her. “So what happened to your friend? That house has been vacant since I’ve been here.”
    â€œThat was her home at one time, but after she remarried, it became a vacation home. The last man she married also had a home in Birmingham, Alabama, and they used to travel back and forth. But...she died recently.” Fanny took off her hat and gave him a direct stare. “That woman you’re pretending you didn’t notice in