Reading books romantic stories you will plunge into the world of feelings and love. Most of the time the story ends happily. Very interesting and informative to read books historical romance novels to feel the atmosphere of that time.The Forgotten Child by Lorhainne Eckhart (latest ebook reader .TXT) đź“–
- Author: Lorhainne Eckhart
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Book online «The Forgotten Child by Lorhainne Eckhart (latest ebook reader .TXT) 📖». Author Lorhainne Eckhart
She paused, and took a deep breath of the clean air. The front of the house was virtually bare of any landscaping. Patches of grass poked up here and there from the well-packed dirt in the front yard. The flowerbeds in front were littered with dead perennials; weeds and overgrown grass, long and bare, were leaning against the house. How many acres did he have? A large barn, and other outbuildings, littered the property with, what looked like, miles of open land and a spectacular view of the mountains.
She flexed her damp hands and climbed the four white wooden steps. She noticed the paint was chipped. Emily nearly tripped when the third step suddenly creaked and caught her off guard. She was way out of her comfort zone and this didn’t help; prompting her self-doubt to send SOS signals to confuse her already shaky insides. She was a mess. Her face ached so much, that she was positive the forced smile she wore looked more like a grimace. Emily clutched a brown manila envelope, stuffed with her resume and references from her friends. On unsteady legs, she crossed the wide porch. A porch made for families to gather on at the end of the day; to laugh together and share dreams and triumphs. Something families did. Well, the sort of dream family Emily yearned to be part of. She spied a wooden swing suspended by chains at the far end of the porch, beside two wicker chairs placed on each side of a large picture window, and she sighed.
She could daydream about this imaginary family abode all day, but when she faced the classic wooden frame door, Emily’s dry throat threatened to close up. “Well, it’s now or never.” So she did it. She rapped on the door with a couple of confident firm knocks. Her heart pounded, echoing with a thud in her ears when she heard solid, heavy footsteps approach. She swallowed, and felt a bright scarlet flush flame her face.
She wanted to hide, in that anxiety-panicked second, but it was too late when the door flew open. Emily stepped back, clutching her purse to her chest like a shield, and fidgeted with her old wool coat, pulling it tight around herself. Suddenly, a tall, broad-shouldered man filled the doorway. She was struck speechless by this man with hazy brown eyes. He didn’t have pretty-boy features. What he had was a solid, strong jaw, a hardness to his square face, and eyes alive with some ancient wisdom, making him, in fact, the most handsome man she’d ever seen. His flannel plaid shirt didn’t cover any average man. This was a well-formed man who, she’d swear, could make a burlap sack look good. He pulled off a pair of reading glasses and gazed at her, looking confused, as if she were a door-to-door salesgirl; obviously wondering why she was on his doorstep. She hated that feeling.
“Hi, I’m—” Then the worst thing that could possibly happen, happened. She fumbled her purse upside down. It tipped open, scattering the contents of her bag, as well as coins from the unzipped coin purse inside, all over the doorway floor… along with what remained of her dignity.
Mortified, the ringing in her ears catapulted her tingling body into, what she could only call, an out of body experience. Who was this idiot who’d taken over her body? Emily’s face burned crimson again. And she did what any self-respecting woman would do. She dropped to her knees, grabbed the coins, open wallet, crackers, Katy’s toys, and the wrapped sanitary napkin lying by this handsome stranger’s feet, and stuffed everything back in her purse; cursing her idiocy at not making sure it was zipped up. Wasn’t that purse rule number one?
Retreating into her head she prayed, that maybe at some point in the years to come, she’d look back on this and laugh. Except now, to make things worse, Mr. Good-looking knelt down in front of her, nose to nose, and started scooping up the loose coins that were scattered across the hardwood floor. Emily glanced up—his eyes were burning into her, and she wanted to do nothing more than slink away, apologizing profusely, run to her van; and drive away so she could cry the tears threatening to burn a hole in her head. “I’m so sorry—I can’t believe I did this.” Why did he have to help? Why couldn’t he just ignore what she’d done? He said nothing as he handed her the loose coins. She dumped everything into her plain black purse and zipped it up. Emily then sprung to her feet without looking, smacking her head into his, which sent her tumbling back down where she landed on her derriere.
“Wait. Don’t move. Let me help you up. Are you okay?”
Could it get any worse? She wanted to weep, right here, right now, but she was stronger than that, right? She rubbed her head, and the strong man held out a large, rough hand, and, with little effort, pulled her up. Back where she started from, facing this extraordinary tall man, who shoved his hands in his front pockets as he appeared to study her with amazing control, no sign of embarrassment, but an odd curiosity twinkled in those wise whiskey-colored eyes.
Without a doubt, he must think she was nuts, a moron. Maybe he’d ask her to leave. Her forced smile pulled at her mouth.
“I’m Emily Nelson. I called about the job in the paper, we spoke...” The telephone rang. He promptly turned and walked away.
He abandoned her inside the doorway, as if she were a woman of no importance, and hurried in the direction of the ringing phone. Unsure of what to do, Emily shuffled from one foot to the other, this time looping her cursed bulky purse over her shoulder. He shouted from around the corner, “Come in, have a seat. Sorry, I need to take this.”
Emily wiped her boots on the mat before stepping onto the light hardwood floor, and closed the door behind herself. The wide entryway was filled with a large gold plated mirror, something a woman who liked the finer things would have insisted upon. Emily caught her perky image in the entryway mirror along with white spots, which were most likely Katy’s milk, on the lapel of her tired old coat. Her plain mousy long hair was pulled back in her usual ponytail. She was by no means gorgeous…but her friends labeled her cute, like a shorter brown-haired Meg Ryan. She brushed at the milk stain again, gave up, stepped past the mirror, and went around the corner, which opened into a large living room done up in earth tones, with a rock-face fireplace on the east wall. The furnishings were exquisite; dark brown leather, with a lot of wood, very masculine. But the hints of a feminine touch were everywhere; in the framed artwork, carvings, floral rug and designer cushions, all coordinated and tastefully arranged. Guided by the rumble of his voice, she crossed through the living room and faced a large oval archway that opened into a square country kitchen. In the middle sat a solid oak table, surrounded by ten wooden straight back chairs, enough to sit and feed a large family. And there he was, striding back and forth, with the phone pressed to his ear. He didn’t glance up. Instead, he turned his back. His scuffed black cowboy boots squeaked on the worn wood floor. Emily gazed at her ruggedly handsome potential employer who arrogantly oozed deep alpha male; a man with priorities, self-confidence, and rudeness. Give him a break, Emily mused. Maybe he’s just busy.
He hung up the phone and let out a hard sigh before turning to face Emily. He put his hands on his hips then gestured toward her as he stalked into the room. “Let’s sit in the living room here.”
Emily darted a glance at the clutter-free, extremely neat, living room behind her. The plump green cushions on each end of the high amber sofa added to the warm pleasant vibes bouncing off the art-laden walls. All the oil paintings had a western motif: lone cowboys, horses and western murals. Beside the sofa, but under the large picture window, was a solid oak box filled with toys neatly put away.
As Emily walked past the large flat screen TV on her way to the three-seat sofa, she noted the tidied end tables; nothing valuable was within a child’s reach. A homemade brown and orange afghan was carelessly tossed over the back of the couch. It was pure instinct for Emily to fold it and lay it over the back of the couch. She turned and allowed the back of her legs to touch the sofa, but she didn’t sit.
“Please sit down, Emily.” He extended out the flat of his hand, very much in control.
“Ah, thank you.” She perched on the edge of the soft leather seat across from a man who was too damn good to look at—a man obviously comfortable in his own skin.
Hardness set his jaw as he studied her. The tick of the wall clock seemed to echo in the silence, and Emily squirmed in her seat. Why was he looking at her like that? Maybe it was her outrageous entrance and he was wondering what kind of crazy person she was, whether he could entrust her with his child. Yes, that had to be it.
She swallowed hard. “I’m Emily Nelson. I talked to you yesterday on the phone about the job.”
He blinked before closing those exquisite eyes, as if he’d forgotten the reason she was here. When he opened them again, his hard judgmental expression seemed to have softened a bit.
Again he extended his large hand, taking hers in a firm grip. Just the touch of his solid calloused hand and the secure squeeze was enough to teeter her nerves back to that awkward woman at the door. She wondered what it would be like to have a man like this run his hands over you. She snatched her hand back before her face burned any brighter. Finally, he introduced
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