Cooke / Cross One More Time (The Coxwells, #3)

1. Auflage 2015
ISBN: 978-1-927477-17-5
Verlag: Deborah A. Cooke
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 280 Seiten

Reihe: The Coxwells

Can you know what you want before you have it?
Or do you have to lose it to know for sure?
Mild-mannered Matt Coxwell has finally found something worth fighting for. In fact, it's only after he's left his marriage that he realizes he hasn't fought this hard for anything since he fell like a ton of bricks for his wife Leslie. How did their marriage shift from idyllic into idle? And is there any way back?
Leslie Coxwell, long rumored to be the most organized working mother alive, is suddenly having a tough time coping. Her job's in jeopardy, her teenage daughter has attitude to spare (well, that's not new), and her formidable mother-in-law has moved in unexpectedly...with two very large poodles.
She could juggle it all with the right motivation. Unfortunately her husband, Matt - the motivation for everything Leslie has ever done - turned into a sexy enigmatic stranger right before he walked out the door. Even better, he's gone to stay with his free-spirited ex-fiancé, the one woman who makes Leslie feel as sexy as dirty dishwater.
The only good news is that Leslie still has the greatest lingerie collection known to womankind and she's prepared to use it. After all, to give her marriage one more chance, to take the chance on falling in love one more time, she'll need all the support she can get...
'Witty and insightful!'
Booklist

Autoren/Hrsg.

Cooke, Deborah

Cross, Claire

Leseproben

Five
Leslie had always loathed people who used a lot of exclamation marks, on principle alone. The enthusiasm lacked a certain dignity that she thought written notes should have. That Sharan had made a little heart for the ‘o’ in ‘love’ wasn’t exactly adult either. Those items, however, weren’t the most troubling things about this note. In several short sentences, Sharan had revealed that she knew a great deal more about Leslie’s husband than Leslie did. Like, just for example, the fact that Matt had intended to lose the case, something Leslie had learned only after he had done so and she’d seen his smile of satisfaction. (It had been, come to think of it, a very Bernard-like smile, a smug smile. It had been a smile that Leslie would never have expected to have seen on her husband’s face, and one that she would be happy to never see there again. She might get that wish, actually.) And there was another example. A book? Sounded like a novel. Leslie didn’t know anything about Matt writing a novel. He’d never said one word about it. She knew he liked to write, and he had worked for years on a compilation of anecdotes about Boston’s history, but a novel? That was news. It wasn’t welcome news, not by a long shot. Leslie had always believed that sharing secrets was the most powerful flavor of intimacy in the freezer case. It takes trust to share your most hidden thoughts and desires, more trust even than it takes to share your body. So, it shook her to learn that she hadn’t been the recipient of her husband’s trust. What else hadn’t he told her? What was the book about? And most importantly, where was it? Oh, that devil was back, all frisky from finally having one triumph. Leslie considered temptation for about three seconds before she shook her head. She shoved the card back into the envelope. She had her limits and they had already been surpassed by a long shot. She went downstairs and put the card back precisely where it had been before the Chief had called. Don’t ask how she knew its exact location, wedged between Matt’s books and invisible to the eye. Let’s leave her some pride. Matt lay on the concrete against the mesh gate and closed his eyes against the pain. He could have done without that last kick to his gut. He wondered whether he had broken a rib—or had one broken for him—then jumped in shock as the metal grate abruptly slid back. “What happened to you?” The ferryman cussed under his breath when Matt looked up. “No, wait, I know. Those kids!” He helped Matt to his feet and gave him a critical look. “Jesus, don’t you have the sense to not come down here alone so late?” Apparently, Matt was hale enough to get a lecture. “You’re going to have a helluva shiner, mister. You wanna call the cops?” “What’s the point? I can’t identify them.” “Well, there is that. And it’s late.” Matt forced himself to take a step and when he didn’t fall flat on his face, he walked slowly to the bobbing ferry. “Let’s just go to Algiers,” he suggested, wincing as he took a seat in the little interior lounge. The ferryman watched him with a frown, then shook his head. “Looks like you drank all your sense away.” “No, it was gone long before today.” He smiled ruefully, and the ferryman half-laughed. Matt shoved a hand through his hair and wondered if things could get worse. The ferryman bit back something he had been going to say, then shook his head and went to do his job. The ferry had a pleasant hum, a vibration that slid through Matt and soothed him in an unexpected way. All too soon, they were docked and Matt opened his eyes to find the ferryman beside him. “I’m giving you a ride home, so’s I can be sure you make it,” he said gruffly, covering solicitous concern with a tough crust. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” And so it was only moments until Matt found himself in front of the house that must be Sharan’s. The address matched the one he knew. Even now, he could see that the clapboard house was painted a bright color, maybe yellow, and that there were plants crowded in the windows and in pots on the veranda. The lights were out though and he hesitated to knock on the door and awaken her. That was when he saw the wicker settee in the sheltered corner of the porch. Perfect. He went straight to it, took off his shoes and placed them neatly beneath the settee. He sat down and let exhaustion roll through him. Matt felt like ten miles of rough road. Maybe twenty. Maybe a gravel road with potholes big enough to swallow a small truck. He rubbed his face, knowing he’d trade his soul for a mint candy or even a cough drop, knowing too that there was no chance of anyone making him that offer anytime soon. He took a deep breath and let the silence soak into his skin. He could hear crickets and bullfrogs and not much else. The air was lush here, a little damp and cool but filled with the scent of plants. He rubbed the leaf of whatever was drooping over the railing and smelled its pungency. It was minty almost, which would do. He rubbed it between his fingers and beneath his nose, was reminded of the shampoo Leslie used. He wondered what she was thinking or doing, and easily imagined her sleeping, her long dark hair strewn across the white pillowcase like the pennant of a medieval knight. That made him smile. He didn’t think anyone would see him here in this shadowed corner, and if they did, well, there wasn’t much more anyone could take from him. Matt Coxwell loosened his tie, folded his arms across his chest, hunkered down and went to sleep. Runt dunt dada dadala dunt da. The tinkle of circus music fills Leslie’s dream, then the barker starts his spiel. “Come on down to the Big Top. Step right this way…” Leslie fights the recurring dream, but knows she has already lost. There she is, up on the tightrope. Here’s her father, insisting that she needs to carry something to make her feat “look good.” She still expects a pink parasol, even after all the years she’s had this dream. She’s still shocked at the box he gives her. This time, she sees that it says Good Daughter on one side. Leslie accepts the burden without complaint, good daughter that she is, but is surprised to find the box as heavy as it is. Then the dream takes a new twist, each box turned so that she can read the text on their sides. Previously, she only saw the colors of their wrapping paper and bows. The next one, the red one, is Academic Excellence. Huh. It’s followed by University Scholarship. Well-groomed. Polite. Respectful of Elders. Thoughtful of Others. The boxes add up quickly into a towering pile. At the same time, Leslie is growing with alarming speed. The wire slips away from her gaze as she grows. Her arms become longer and better able to bear more boxes. Dutiful Spouse. Organized Housewife. Passionate Partner. Did her father really add that one? Attentive Mother. Patient Griselda. ...