Jo Lynn looked over her shoulder, toward another row of big picture windows on the opposite end of a great room, through which Matt could see a stretch of glimmering river. “I guess that’d be okay,” she said after a moment. “Come on in.”
Matt stepped inside—or rather, was pulled in by Grayson, who still had a fierce clamp on his hand, and along with the four dogs, moved into the cool interior. He was standing a few steps above a sunken great room, where overstuffed couches and armchairs graced the wooden floor and large woven rug. A massive fireplace was on one wall, and from either side of the room, long corridors shot off in different directions. At the opposite end of where he was standing was a rustic dining table. A bar separated the great room from what he supposed was the kitchen area, given the ice cream container and two bowls there.
It was a lovely room, warm and inviting, right out of the pages of Southern Living. But Matt couldn’t help noticing, as Grayson pulled him along to follow Jo Lynn (the dogs, too, naturally), that the books on the floor-to-ceiling shelves on either side of the fireplace were arranged by color and height.
That wasn’t all. The magazines on the large pine coffee table were fanned out at perfect one-inch intervals, just like a showroom. In the large, spacious kitchen, he could see a cupboard with dish towels stacked neatly by color and folded identically so that they were all of uniform size. Dishes, cups, even salt and pepper shakers were also perfectly placed according to size and color. The stainless steel appliances were gleaming, as if they had never been touched. The wood floor was spotless. It was as if some deranged Williams-Sonoma floor crew had attacked this kitchen.
“She’s down there on the dock,” Jo Lynn said, pointing through the kitchen window. “Want me to hold those?” she asked, pointing at his enormous bouquet.
“No thanks.”
“Can I go?” Grayson asked, still at his side, still clutching his hand.
“Tell you what, Gray. Let me talk to your mom for a few minutes, and then you and I will talk. Okay?”
“But what if you don’t come back?” he asked, his little fingers squeezing tighter.
“Are you kidding? Of course I’m coming back. I promise, kid. So let go, okay? I promise I’ll come back.”
Grayson didn’t look as if he appreciated Matt’s promise all that much, and Matt couldn’t blame him, given what the little guy had seen and heard from him. But Jo Lynn seemed to understand that this was important, and put a hand on the kid’s shoulder, reminded him of his ice cream, and he reluctantly let go. “Just right on out there,” she said.
Matt stepped through a screen door onto the back porch. He continued on with his canine honor guard, down the steps to the grassy lawn below, past a stone barbecue pit beneath live oaks, past the padded lounge chairs beneath the willow tree, and onward, to the dock, which ended in a big square where boats could be tied around the sides. On the square end of the dock, three big white Adirondack chairs sat facing the river. Strung between the four corners were Chinese lanterns and tiki torches. Giant potted ferns and a small cabinet gave the dock a little class.
It was a perfect place for a beautiful alien to land. Speaking of beautiful aliens, where was she?
Not on the dock, as Jo Lynn had suggested. Matt stopped at the edge of the dock; his helpful companions all laid down in the shade of a cottonwood, their tongues hanging out as if they had run a marathon. Matt looked downriver, saw nothing, not a person or even a boat. He turned, noticed an old barn or shed, thought it was possible she was doing something in there, and started in that direction.
Only the door to the barn was shut tight, the windows were caked with dirt so he couldn’t see inside. It looked like it hadn’t been used in years, so Matt circled around the other side of it just to be sure she wasn’t back there planting watermelons or building a do-it-yourself doghouse.
As he picked his way around the backside of the barn, he caught sight of her . . . and stopped dead in his tracks.
She had been swimming, that was why he hadn’t seen her. She’d climbed up on the dock, where she was shaking the water from her ears. Standing there, one slender leg slung out, her head tilted to the side, a towel hung from her hand and her long black hair streaked in soft, thick waves down her back. She was wearing a two-piece bathing suit, one that covered just enough and at the same time left just enough to his exploding imagination. Matt was so entranced by the vision that he did not realize he was moving, did not realize he was groping his way around the side of the barn toward her until one of the dogs suddenly barked. At which point, the vision of beauty before him looked over her shoulder and shrieked bloody murder.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Friends will respect your personal boundaries. Lovers will try to make your boundaries their own . . .
FRIENDS AND LOVERS AND HOW TO TELL THE DIFFERENCE