Your Dream And Mine. Susan Kirby
the screened walls. A wicker love seat and an old-fashioned swing like the one on the front veranda just begged to be tried out. She pushed the door open.
“Careful,” Trace warned, and stretched an arm across the door, preventing her from stepping out on the porch. “The paint’s still wet.”
“Here, too?”
“I didn’t read the drying time until after the fact.” He turned back the way they had come. “The stairs are off the kitchen.”
Thomasina lingered a moment in the open door. She looked past the porch to freshly mown grass and ancient oak trees. “It’s a huge yard.”
“It looks even bigger when you’re mowing it, and the acorns are a real pain when they fall.” Trace flung words over his shoulder. “I’ll provide the mower, plus knock some off the rent if you want to mow the grass yourself.”
“Fair enough. Does your other tenant mow?” she asked.
“I live in the other half.”
For the second time that day, Thomasina’s gaze strayed to his ringless left hand. “With your family?”
“Just me,” he said, and turned away again.
Thomasina tracked with her glance a droplet of water dripping from a springy brown curl. It disappeared over the curve of his ear. It was a well-shaped ear, a little pink on the ridge where the skin had burned and peeled.
“Utilities are included in the rent.”
Thomasina followed as he moved toward the enclosed staircase leading to the second story. She tracked the water droplet as it fell from his earlobe and slid down his neck. He paused on the bottom step and turned.
“The hot-water heater needs some adjusting. Comes out of the spigot hot enough to make coffee.”
“Convenient,” she said.
“Unless you forget and scald your hide stepping in the shower.”
“Duly noted.” As was the small scar at the cleft of his chin and the straight nose anchoring his hazy blue eyes. His cheekbones were prominent and freckled beneath a deep tan. She noticed the insignia on his work shirt. “You work at the car plant in Bloomington?”
“Second shift.” He started up the stairs.
“No wonder you asked about kids and dogs. You sleep days.”
“Yes.”
“Me, too, since I started caring for Milt.”
“Are you out there every night?”
“I work for Picket Fence Private Nurses. It’s pretty much their call.”
Trace stopped on the landing. “The bathroom’s through the bedroom there. The other door is a walk-in closet.”
Thomasina sailed past him and flung her arms wide. “Bed here, dresser there, bookcases flanking the window. I wonder if I have enough furniture.”
A smile tugged at his mouth at her unbridled enthusiasm. He could have predicted that the dormer window would draw her.
“What a pretty view!” She turned as she spoke. “Are those train tracks I see cutting across open country?”
Trace nodded. The countryside as seen from the upstairs was old hat to him. She, on the other hand, was a fresh look. A cloud of dark bangs spilled over a wide forehead and ended at delicately arched brows. Her heart-shaped face ended with a dimpled chin. Her eyes were so dark, he had mistaken them for black. They weren’t. Bittersweet chocolate came closer. Her hair, loosely held at the back of her head with a butterfly clip, was equally dark and rich. One escaped wisp clung damply to her temple.
“Take your time.” Trace shoved a hand in his pocket and went downstairs to wait while Thomasina checked out the bathroom.
The walls were tiled in white. A modern shower had been installed inside a refurbished claw-foot tub. A window overlooked the town if you cared to peer out while you bathed. The closet was deep and spacious. Delighted with everything about the place, she decided to give small-town life a whirl.
Trace was waiting for her in the laundry room. She looked past the porch and over the green lawn. “You have central air, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“July. That’s a little late for planting flowers, I suppose.”
“Then you’re taking it?”
“I believe I will. Do you need references?”
“Milt and Mary speak well of you. That’s good enough for me.”
“Is it all right if I move in right away? The air-conditioning has been broken in my third-floor flat for a week and a half,” she added. “I’d pitch a tent under a tree for some cool air.”
“It’s ready to go. No reason you shouldn’t move in.”
“Where do I sign?”
“The lease? There isn’t one.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No. I don’t want a piece of paper keeping someone longer than they want to stay.”
Or vice versa, thought Thomasina. She’d wager by the set of that long upper lip, that he knew how to put an out-of-favor tenant on the road without much trouble, too.
“One key going to be enough?” he asked.
“Unless I lock myself out.”
Trace saw her safely over the plank and to her car at the curb, wondering idly if she had a significant other. She wrote the first month’s rent, then tallied the balance while he took a final appraisal from a landlord’s point of view. Just a nice honest down-to-earth working girl.
He’d have bet his bottom dollar she wouldn’t give him a moment’s trouble.
It was too early to go to Milt and Mary’s and too late to drive back to Bloomington. Thomasina killed a little time driving around Liberty Flats. It was an eclectic collection of homes with everything from refurbished Victorians to modest bungalows to ranch-style homes with a few upperscale dwellings sprinkled in.
Trees canopied the streets leading to a square in the center of town. There was a park with a baseball diamond, an old-fashioned bandstand, a few picnic tables and some playground equipment. A couple of old-timers sat on a bench in front of the post office watching her brake for a dog. They raised their hands, so she waved, too, then made a second pass through town just in case she’d missed something.
She hadn’t. There was no fast food, not even a mom-and-pop café. Wishing she’d picked up a sandwich before leaving Bloomington, Thomasina stopped at the only light in town, then followed Main Street to the country.
There was a roadside vegetable stand on the way to Milt and Mary’s. The proprietor was having a yard sale. She chatted amicably while Thomasina stocked up on fresh vegetables, picked through the paperback books, then deliberated over window coverings.
The middle-aged lady got up from the card table and came over to shake the wrinkles out of the curtains. “I can knock a couple of dollars off, if you’re interested.”
“I like them, but I’m not sure they’ll fit,” Thomasina admitted. “I’m moving, and I haven’t had a chance to measure the windows.”
“Hereabouts?”
“Liberty Flats. I’m renting from Trace Austin.” Thomasina spread the curtains out on the table. They were good-quality drapery and in excellent condition. But she had no idea if they’d fit the windows.
Watching Thomasina fold and return the drapes to the table, the woman said, “If you’re interested, I’ll see if I can catch Trace at home and have him measure the windows for you.”
“Oh,