Lenora Worth - A Perfect Love

“But I’m not telling you a thing, Mr. Mack Riley—Mr. Golden Vista Poster Boy, Mr. This Old House and Curb Appeal all rolled into one.”

She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of being right, of course. And she wasn’t ready to set him straight by giving him all the intimate details of her sad life. So she slammed at her pillows and told herself she was just fine, thank you. Then she got up and checked her e-mails, pouring her troubles out to her cousins until she was exhausted and bleary-eyed.

But Mack Riley still stood out like a thorny blackberry bush in her buzzing, confused brain. And she had to wonder if there wasn’t more to his story, too. That nagging inside her gut told her to keep digging, to find out what flaws lay beneath that outdoorsman appeal and lethal smile.

Everybody had secrets. Mack Riley was no exception.

Summer woke up to the smell of bacon frying and coffee brewing. Her stomach growled hungrily. Rolling over, she glanced at the clock. Eight o’clock. After tossing and turning for part of the night, she’d finally fallen into a deep sleep. Stretching, she had to admit this bed was comfortable and this little apartment had wrapped her in a cozy cocoon.

Now the sun was streaming through the white blinds of her window. Time to start her day. “What now, Lord?” she asked as she rolled out of bed. “Do I go make crafts or play a mean game of Scrabble in the rec room?”

Right now, she just wanted to find that coffee.

After taking a quick shower and blow-drying her hair until it was just damp, she put on fresh jeans and some lip gloss, then headed up the carpeted hallway toward the dining room. It was crowded with a variety of senior citizens, some smiling and chatting, some sitting alone, cranky and cantankerous.

Since Summer felt like the latter group, and since she couldn’t find her grandparents, she poured herself some coffee and grabbed a fiber-filled banana bran muffin, then headed to the brooding corner of the room.

“Who are you?” a white-haired man asked as she passed his table. He wore a Texas Rangers baseball cap and a big scowl.

Summer tried to smile. “I’m Summer Maxwell. I’m here visiting my grandparents.”

“Who are they?”

“The Creswells—Martha and Jesse.”

He nodded, then leaned forward. “Hey, wanna go out with me Saturday night?”

Shocked and appalled, Summer shook her head. “No, thanks. I might not be around that long.”

He thumped his chest. “Hmph. Me neither.”

Sliding as far away as she could, Summer thought maybe he was just lonely. “You always eat alone?”

“Nah. Sometimes I have family come to visit. When they can find the time, that is.”

He looked sad for a minute, until the next available female came by, this one much closer to his age.

“Hey, Gladys. Wanna go out with me Saturday night?”

Gladys was carrying a wonderfully aged Louis Vuitton purse which she held very tightly to her middle. Fingering her double strand of pearls, she gave him a look that would have flattened lesser men, then huffed a breath. “I don’t think so, Ralph. Especially since I heard you took out Bullah Patterson last Sunday night.”

“We’re just friends,” Ralph insisted, waving a hand at her. “It was just a gospel sing, not a lifelong commitment.”

Gladys kept on walking, her purse held to her side as if she were the Queen herself.

Ralph shrugged, bit into a piece of toast and stared ahead for the next conquest.

“I see you’ve met Mr. Maroney.”

Summer looked up to find Mack Riley standing there with a tray full of food in his hands. Noting that he looked as fresh as a daisy in his clean jeans and faded red T-shirt, she wished she’d bothered to finish styling her hair and had applied a bit more makeup. Too late now. And why did she care anyway?

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