I finished roughing my fourth book on the 29th of December and immediately plunged into book number five. It's another love story, (what else), taking place in my home town of Camarillo with a young man who's been married, divorced and has custody of his two children. He meets a young woman that he doesn't want to love and then the fun begins. So here is Chapter Two of my fifth book:
He hadn’t intended to stare, but when a man’s been without a woman in his life for as long as he had, well, it was a welcome sight. Marc, or Marcellus Hamlet Swane, as his fanciful flighty mother had named him, was just retrieving the boxes containing the wood laminate for his son Adam’s free-wheeling bedroom. Marc opted for man-made products for the rambunctious and boisterous young five year old boy who moved through a home more like a charging rhino than a normal human being. Durable, sensible and practically indestructible, that’s what the label on the box read and Marc was all for it.
Before grabbing the final box and hefting it into the house, he’d couldn’t help but hear the 306 horses roaring down the block and squealing to a brisk stop in the driveway of the James’s old house across the street. Silvery steel gray, he smiled. His favorite color. The guy had taste. Then the car open and long silky legs slid out half hidden under a butterscotch colored skirt followed up by a jacket in the same color with a blouse the color of melting butter. Some guy was all Marc could manage. That’s when he dropped the last box, leaned back against the tailgate of the truck and crossed his arms and legs to enjoy the view.
The woman stopped for the longest time and just looked at the house then turned to look down the street as if looking for someone. Her lips moved but at this distance, he couldn’t hear what she said. Talking to her self, he mused, wasn’t a very good sign of a stable mind. Anybody that looked like that, drove a hot car like that and lived all alone in a huge English Tudor had to be just a little bit off. But that isn’t why he kept watching.
The Hoffman’s dog was running around in circles in the yard next door, but the women in butterscotch didn’t seem to notice. Loud rap music wafted from Ricky Hernandez’s car as he started it up to go to work at In-N-Out. Then the yard crew down the block at the Rameriz’s place began the loud work of grooming the yard, but she continued to stare off into the west as if saying good bye. And he kept watching her—wondering.
Why hadn’t he noticed her before? Surely he would have noticed a woman who looked like she just stepped from the pages of Glamour before now. Maybe he should have been paying attention to his Aunt and Uncle’s home a long time ago instead of staying away from it like a wounded puppy. But their passing and the subsequent legal battle for their estate had left everyone in the Brightstone/Swane family on edge and bitter. He was no exception.
He glanced again at the blond with the great legs and the great car and wondered if she’d finally come to the conclusion of her daydream. He figured a woman like that was totally self-absorbed just as Lilly had been and accustomed to having the finer things in life.
Caution brother, he warned himself. They’re okay to look at, maybe pine for, but hands off! Let some other sucker grind his teeth on that one.
Just then the woman reached up and pulled something out of her hair releasing almost three feet of the silkiest wheat colored hair he’d ever seen, then shook it out. Then she bent over to pick up the newspaper and his mouth went bone dry. Fighting unchaste thoughts he looked down at his dirty, calloused hands and fidgeted. It wasn’t right for him to be staring at a woman like he’d been doing. He should get back to work. There was so much to do before move-in day. He didn’t have the luxury to stand and watch a beautiful woman that had an invisible sign on her attractive back that read “hands off buster”. And even though he hadn’t been what you would call really active in church of late, he knew it was wrong to crave something akin to the woman who’d broken his heart. Stupid, he chided himself. Absolutely stupid. Get back to work.
Before he could move, the leggy, blond fished something out of her trunk and moved inside the house without a backwards glance in his direction.
After she was safely inside, another car screamed down the street and bumped violently into the drive way next to the Z. He prayed the little Mazda Miata wouldn’t come in contact with the Z. It would devastate him. Another tall leggy brunette half slid, half pulled her yard long legs out of the squatty car and skipped up the sidewalk after the blond. Just before she ducked into the house, she shot him a cool look over Oakley sunglasses and pursed her lips.
What a show! Two gorgeous women for a price of one.
He’d just about decided to turn around and lift the box from the truck bed when another car chugged down the street. A little red Fiat about thirty years old clamored to a stop in front of the same house. Marc watched out of pure curiosity. The door had to be forced open and complained loudly with a metal grind. A woman of medium height with short spiky black hair tumbled out of the car almost meeting up with the ground. Her lips moved in a silent derision, but she dusted off her black slacks and straightened her silky black blouse and shot him what looked like a disgusted look, but he couldn’t tell for sure because as she also wore black sunglasses that kept her eyes hidden from him. He imagined black as well.
She gripped a very large purse, the contents almost spilling to the ground, slammed the complaining door and sauntered—hips swinging to the door and disappeared after giving him a thorough look. Black cat crossed his mind. She resembled a black slinky cat. He imagined she just might purr.
He turned back to the truck bed and picked up the last box of flooring. As he slammed the tailgate, two more cars raced down the street. He laid odds which house they’d stop at. Man, he was glad he hadn’t bet against himself—he’d have lost.
This time a long legged red head and a diminutive blond bounded out of an old Chevy and a Toyota Prius. Gas hog and environmentalist, he smiled and leaned back to enjoy the rest of the show.
The red head looked like an Irish dream dressing to her strengths in emerald green and gold. The little blond wore a simple pair of dark pink slacks and a pink blouse. Some sort of uniform.They met and hugged in the middle of the street. Marc envied their easy camaraderie. Then the red head tilted her sunglasses down a long perfect nose and studied him. Her ruby red lips curled up at the corners and she muttered something to the little blond that had her spinning around to stare in his direction.
Red waved a hand and his went up automatically in response, frustrating the life out of him. Stay cool, brother, he warned himself. No need getting involved with a hen house full of dishing women. Before the blond could reciprocate the wave, he strode off to the house and slammed the door. Women!
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