The Imposter Marin Montgomery (rom com books to read TXT) 📖

my mouth watering for a home-cooked meal, though.”

“I’m glad you missed something about home.” She eyeballs the oversize sweater hiding my shrinking frame. “Looks like you could stand to gain a few pounds.”

I have a good reason for losing weight with the amount of stress I’m under, but I ignore her comment, asking where the missing salt and pepper are, a staple at the center of the table.

“Next to the stove.”

I spot them knocked over from the near disaster. I want to ask my own burning questions about the farm and her health, yet both subjects seem incredibly delicate. I decide to tread lightly.

“Do you want me to cut the grass and clean up the yard?” I offer. “Or get someone out here to help with the yard work?”

I’m met with a blank expression.

“It’s starting to look like a jungle.” I keep my voice monotone, not wanting to come off as accusatory.

“Is that why I saw a tiger the other night in the yard?”

I’m terrified she’s serious, but I relax when she cracks a small smile. Humoring her, I add, “I wouldn’t be surprised if jungle cats did appear. They’d hide fairly well in the tall grass.” Narrowing my eyes, I get to the crux of the matter. “Is this about money?”

“Money?”

“Are you short on cash? Do you need money for repairs?”

Her spoon clanks in her bowl. “What’re you doing?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t been home in years. Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Mother . . .”

“Don’t ‘Mother’ me,” she protests. “I haven’t seen you since practically birth.”

“Always a flair for the dramatic.” I pause, letting the soup spoon sink into the bowl and drown in the thick sauce. “Why does it look like you gave up on life, then?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Church. Volunteering.” She shrugs. “The usual.”

“Mother, you were always so proud of the farm.”

“And I still am.” Her voice has an air of finality, signaling an end to the discussion. “But I’m tired and worn out. I told you about the disadvantages of getting old.”

“You’re not that old.” I roll my eyes. “But seriously, do we need to think about selling it?”

Her eyes flash in anger. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Huh?” I wave a hand around the room. “Besides the condition of the property, I’m worried you can’t keep up with the housecleaning inside. You mentioned a rodent problem, but there are piles everywhere.”

“That’s because I want to donate most of it to the church.”

“Really?” I raise an eyebrow. “The church?”

“Yes. I have no need for it.”

“Fine, then. I bet there’re some storage bins or empty boxes around we can use.”

I chew on a couple of saltines, watching her shakily grip the handle of her spoon, the patterned handle bobbing up and down.

Abruptly, she abandons the metal, and I’m positive it’s because of my steady gaze. Giving me a small smile, she asks, “Did you see the old diner’s got a drive-through now?” She dabs her mouth with a napkin.

I’m about to respond when she cocks her head to the side as if listening intently to something only she can hear. Frantically, her eyes dart around the room, as if chasing a mosquito on its flight path.

“What’s wrong?”

She motions with her finger for me to be quiet.

I crane my neck impatiently. “Mother?”

“Shh . . .”

“Are you okay?”

She nods her head, but it’s as if she doesn’t hear me, her body twisting in its chair to face the front door, then the window.

She stands up slowly, and her uneven steps reach the stove. Her hands deftly touch the black knob, checking to make sure the burner is off.

I’m confused; I thought I had moved it to the off position. “Did I forget?”

“Nope. I just wanted to check. You know how OCD I am about leaving the stovetop on.”

I don’t, so I say nothing. When I was growing up, I was the one worried about leaving the curling iron or my hair straightener on, scared I’d accidentally burn down the house.

“Do you want anything while I’m up?”

“No. I’m good.” I study her anxious face and quivering lip. “Did you see something?”

“I thought I heard a noise.” She dismisses it with a wave. “Must’ve been a car driving by on the highway.”

“Probably.” There’s not much noise out here on this stretch of road. It’s mainly used for farm equipment or local traffic. “You have every right to be on edge,” I offer.

“That must be it.” Settling back in her chair, she kneads her hands together. “Does Holden know you made it safely?”

“Yes,” I hurriedly reply before she can ask another question.

“You still haven’t said the purpose of your visit.” Deborah rubs a hand over her face. “Though it’s clear you want to move me out of here.”

I try to formulate a response, but I’m yanked out of my pensiveness at the earsplitting sound of her chair scraping backward. It happens so fast that I’m confident black marks are stretched across the floor.

Standing up, my mother screams, “Someone’s in the window! Someone’s watching us!”

CHAPTER 24

Deborah

“Who?” Sibley jumps up in response, her eyes darting toward the kitchen window. After crossing the room in a few strides, she peeks out the smudged glass, holding the curtain to the side. Without turning to face Deborah, she murmurs, “Which direction did they go? I don’t see anyone out here.”

Deborah’s face flames red, and she’s suddenly embarrassed, worried her daughter is convinced she’s lost her mind. Strained from her session with Dr. Alacoy and the unexpected visit from Sibley, she lets out a long exhale, trying to slow down her breathing and subdue her rapid heart rate.

“Was it a man or a woman?”

“Looked like the build of a man.” Deborah thinks out loud: “I hope it’s not the man from before.”

“Did you catch how they were dressed?”

Deborah musters a shrug but says nothing, a weary look crossing her face.

“Are there any suspects in the robberies?”

“No.” She sighs. “Another reason Miles Fletcher is useless. Doubt he knows how to dust for fingerprints. I