I’d never bought a used handbag before probably wouldn’t do it again, but there was a red bag perfect for the shoes I’d just purchased. It’s a red quilted purse with a shoulder strap, made in the Coco Chanel style. It came from Holt Renfrew, an especially high-end store in Vancouver, Canada, and a truly unheard of item in a garage sale. My neighbor had only used it once. It had been in her closet for over twenty years. She was please to have someone else appreciate it.
Do you have a red handbag or a favorite garage sale find?
Without the sun, the evening cooled. In the great room of old farmhouse, Wyatt set a fire in the stone fireplace. Amy watched the muscles of his strong back flex as he lifted a huge oak log and placed it on the burning kindling. Her body reacted with a sudden shot of heat, but it was proximity to him not the fire’s warmth that caused it.
“That should keep the cold out tonight.” Wyatt brushed ash from his jeans and stretched his hands out to the fire, then turned and smiled.
Even though anger toward him pulsed in her, his magnetism called to her. Damn her female response to his sex appeal. She moved toward him, stopped, moved back and gave her head a quick shake. Granny must have felt the pull of his charisma too. Was that how he got her to sign over half the farm to him?
“I obviously make you uncomfortable.”
“No. It’s not that.” She crossed her arm in a defensive motion and resisted moving further away from him. “I just thought I’d be alone,” she said not wanting to admit the truth of his statement.
The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, not exactly a smile, but at least not a frown.
“I’m trying to remember what the judge said. I couldn’t seem to focus when I was in his chambers,” she whispered.
“The will said I’m the executor of your grandmother’s estate and that I inherit half the property. I can live on the farm and use the barn for as long as I need it.”
“But I—” Unable to think how she could contradict what he said, she stopped.
“Amy, I slept in the house when your grandmother was alive. And after she was gone there didn’t seem to be a reason to move out.” He hesitated. “Tomorrow I‘ll make the old cottage in backyard livable. Tonight, if you want to be alone, I can sleep in my truck.”
The thought of him trying to rest, while tossing and turning, unable to fold his tall frame into a comfortable position in the truck’s cab, sent a genuine
smile to her lips. But she said, “I wouldn’t dream of it. Of course you can sleep in the house. Uh—tonight.”
Find Her Country Heart at: Amazon
Find Reggi Allder at: Her Country Heart Website