Out of Eden Read Online Free Page A
Author: Beth Ciotta
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Contemporary
or.”
“Neither.”
“His name was Bobby Jones. You wouldn’t know him. He was a free spirit.”
You mean a freeloader . “Spenser mentioned him.” Jack kept in touch with his friend via e-mail. Mostly they talked sports and global affairs, but they always touched on family.
“Spenser never liked Bobby.”
That was putting it mildly, but Jack held his tongue.
“I’m not fond of my brother right now.”
“Because he didn’t approve of Bobby?”
“Because he’s an insensitive boob.”
Jack swallowed a laugh. “Did he forget your birthday?”
“No. He forgot I’m human.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I have dreams, too.”
He started to ask specifics, but she’d slumped against the window, eyes closed. She’d either passed out or clammed up. One thing he’d learned on the force, sometimes the easiest way to learn something was not to ask. He’d let it go for now and she’d talk when she was ready.
He tapped the radio media key, scanned his presets and chose a local classic rock station. The same music he’d listened to in his teens while cruising these back country roads. He grinned at the irony when the speakers rattled with the Cars’ “Shake It Up.” What did Kylie plan on doing, anyway? TP-ing every tree in town? Spraying Eden’s sacred water tower with graffiti? Streaking down the center of Main Street?
A vivid image of the woman sitting next to him exploded in his mind. Ivory flesh and toned curves. It was the second time in less than twenty minutes he’d imagined Kylie McGraw naked. Damn. He shifted in his seat, frowning when “Shake It Up” segued into “Keep Your Hands to Yourself.” Seemed the DJ had coordinated a playlist specifically fitted to Jack’s evening. He lowered the volume and concentrated on the road, not Kylie. The scenery, not Kylie.
She’d changed. He’d changed. But aside from a random new home, this rural area had remained the same. Between the music and landscape, he easily slipped back in time. He soaked in the serenity as if it were a restorative drug.
Ten minutes later he zipped by Max Grogan’s place. The antique fire engine parked in the drive had been in the old man’s possession for more than twenty years. He wondered if Red Rover still ran. He relived a few choice memories regarding that red hook-and-ladder truck while keeping an eye out for Kylie’s house. A half mile past Max’s place, she’d said.
He was about to wake her when he spied a lone mailbox and rolled to a stop. Brightly colored shoes were painted up and down the white post and McGraw was scripted on the box alongside #312. He turned his SUV into the crushed-stone drive that led him into the woods and soon after his headlights flashed on a mobile home. Not only did she live alone in the boonies, she lived in a disaster waiting to happen. Eden was smack in the middle of Tornado Alley. If a twister touched down, she’d be gone with the wind. What was she thinking? Why hadn’t Spenser intervened?
She stirred along with his annoyance. “You found it,” she said in a slurred, husky voice. “Great. Thanks for the lift.” Then her lids drifted back shut and Jack smiled in spite of his unease. Damn, she was cute.
Three seconds later he sidestepped potted flowers and carried the dozing woman toward her green mobile home. Moonlight bathed the tended lawn. The warm evening breeze rustled the leaves of the surrounding oak and maple trees and the bamboo wind chimes hanging from a wrought-iron pole rooted next to a bird feeder. He smelled earth and flowers and perfume. “Kylie?”
“Hmm?”
“Keys.”
“Purse.”
“Where?”
She furrowed her brow.
“Let me guess. You left it at Boone’s.”
“No problem. Mat.”
“Who’s Matt?”
“Doormat. Hey, it’s like a knock-knock joke. Funny,” she said with a loopy smile, then slipped back into la-la Land.
If he hadn’t been pissed about her obvious hiding place for the spare key, he would’ve laughed. The joke
“Neither.”
“His name was Bobby Jones. You wouldn’t know him. He was a free spirit.”
You mean a freeloader . “Spenser mentioned him.” Jack kept in touch with his friend via e-mail. Mostly they talked sports and global affairs, but they always touched on family.
“Spenser never liked Bobby.”
That was putting it mildly, but Jack held his tongue.
“I’m not fond of my brother right now.”
“Because he didn’t approve of Bobby?”
“Because he’s an insensitive boob.”
Jack swallowed a laugh. “Did he forget your birthday?”
“No. He forgot I’m human.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I have dreams, too.”
He started to ask specifics, but she’d slumped against the window, eyes closed. She’d either passed out or clammed up. One thing he’d learned on the force, sometimes the easiest way to learn something was not to ask. He’d let it go for now and she’d talk when she was ready.
He tapped the radio media key, scanned his presets and chose a local classic rock station. The same music he’d listened to in his teens while cruising these back country roads. He grinned at the irony when the speakers rattled with the Cars’ “Shake It Up.” What did Kylie plan on doing, anyway? TP-ing every tree in town? Spraying Eden’s sacred water tower with graffiti? Streaking down the center of Main Street?
A vivid image of the woman sitting next to him exploded in his mind. Ivory flesh and toned curves. It was the second time in less than twenty minutes he’d imagined Kylie McGraw naked. Damn. He shifted in his seat, frowning when “Shake It Up” segued into “Keep Your Hands to Yourself.” Seemed the DJ had coordinated a playlist specifically fitted to Jack’s evening. He lowered the volume and concentrated on the road, not Kylie. The scenery, not Kylie.
She’d changed. He’d changed. But aside from a random new home, this rural area had remained the same. Between the music and landscape, he easily slipped back in time. He soaked in the serenity as if it were a restorative drug.
Ten minutes later he zipped by Max Grogan’s place. The antique fire engine parked in the drive had been in the old man’s possession for more than twenty years. He wondered if Red Rover still ran. He relived a few choice memories regarding that red hook-and-ladder truck while keeping an eye out for Kylie’s house. A half mile past Max’s place, she’d said.
He was about to wake her when he spied a lone mailbox and rolled to a stop. Brightly colored shoes were painted up and down the white post and McGraw was scripted on the box alongside #312. He turned his SUV into the crushed-stone drive that led him into the woods and soon after his headlights flashed on a mobile home. Not only did she live alone in the boonies, she lived in a disaster waiting to happen. Eden was smack in the middle of Tornado Alley. If a twister touched down, she’d be gone with the wind. What was she thinking? Why hadn’t Spenser intervened?
She stirred along with his annoyance. “You found it,” she said in a slurred, husky voice. “Great. Thanks for the lift.” Then her lids drifted back shut and Jack smiled in spite of his unease. Damn, she was cute.
Three seconds later he sidestepped potted flowers and carried the dozing woman toward her green mobile home. Moonlight bathed the tended lawn. The warm evening breeze rustled the leaves of the surrounding oak and maple trees and the bamboo wind chimes hanging from a wrought-iron pole rooted next to a bird feeder. He smelled earth and flowers and perfume. “Kylie?”
“Hmm?”
“Keys.”
“Purse.”
“Where?”
She furrowed her brow.
“Let me guess. You left it at Boone’s.”
“No problem. Mat.”
“Who’s Matt?”
“Doormat. Hey, it’s like a knock-knock joke. Funny,” she said with a loopy smile, then slipped back into la-la Land.
If he hadn’t been pissed about her obvious hiding place for the spare key, he would’ve laughed. The joke