Page 16 of The Guest Cottage
Giving up, mostly because she wanted to get off the phone, Marlow recited her new address.
“Bramble? I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a small, quiet town in southernmost Kentucky.” Well away from Illinois and everyone she knew. “I’m renting a guest cottage, but if I can find a way to make it happen, I plan to stay here.”Forever.
“Dear God. Aguest cottage?” She made it sound as if Marlow lived in a hovel. “You didn’t buy your own home?”
“No, but I’mnotreturning.” Marlow filled the words with firm conviction. “If it doesn’t work out here, I’ll find another place. Either way, I have no plans to return to my prior job or location.” That was the nicest way she could phrase it.
“Many of Dylan’s friends have asked about you.”
Sure they had, the gossipmongers. His friends had not necessarily been her friends, but she knew them well all the same. They lived to uncover dirt on each other. For them, every scrap of knowledge was power to use for leverage or advancement, and if neither of those could be achieved, there was always the pleasure of ridicule. Once she’d filed for divorce, they’d come sniffing around, hoping to get the inside scoop. As if she’d willingly share that her husband found her lacking? Fortunately, she had the gift of gab and a formidable backbone when necessary. She’d shut down the first few people so thoroughly that others had decided just to talk about her behind her back, instead of approaching her.
That had been the least of her worries—she hadn’t felt like socializing anyway. “Tell them I’m fine, not to concern themselves.”
A note of excitement rang in Sandra’s tone. “I’ll let them know we’ve spoken. All will be forgiven, you’ll see.”
Incredulous at that attitude, Marlow half laughed, but without humor. Leave it to Sandra to think she needed forgiveness when it was her husband who’d been unfaithful. “I have to go.” There, she’d said that reasonably enough, even though she’d forced the words through gritted teeth. “Take care of yourself, Sandra.” Her mother-in-law was replying as she ended the call and dropped the phone into her purse.
Hoping her food was done because she was more than ready to seek real privacy, Marlow turned—and nearly ran into Cort’s chest as he was about to step around her.
“Good God,” she said, irritation and embarrassment crowding in. “How long were you looming behind me?”
Light brown eyes, rimmed with circles of darker brown, stared down at her with no visible reaction. “Just on my way out.” Saying nothing else, he went through the door and headed for his truck.
Well, damn. She’d snapped at him for no reason. She was about to go after him when Herman stepped up with her meal.
“Here you go,” he said with a broad smile. “I did a rush order for you.”
A rush order? She’d hate to be hungry on a busy night. “Thank you.” She read the receipt stapled to the bag, dug hurriedly in her purse, and handed a few bills to him. “Keep the change.”
“Nice, thanks.” As she rushed from the tavern, he called out, “I stuck salt and pepper, and some ketchup and mayonnaise packets in there, too.”
“You’re amazing, Herman.” She gave an airy wave . . . and watched, disheartened, as Cort drove away. The day had not ended well.
Tomorrow, she’d do better.
* * *
On his short drive home, Cort’s thoughts centered on Marlow and the frustration he’d seen on her face after she’d disconnected the call and turned, almost plowing into him. Clearly, she thought he’d eavesdropped when he hadn’t.
Didn’t need to.
Her body language alone made it clear that dealing with her caller had both annoyed and upset her. A few times her voice had gotten clipped, but most of the words weren’t distinct enough to hear. Good thing, because he was pretty sure everyone in the tavern had been trying to listen in. It was always that way with newcomers, but especially with someone like Marlow.
Bramble didn’t see women like her very often. An understated woman who attracted attention more for her poise than perfect looks. Not that Marlow Heddings was unattractive. Far from it.
She wasn’t tall and statuesque, not delicate and petite, either. She was somehow more than that. More substantial, more real.
More woman.
Not just physically but in her strength of character and her convictions.
Her desires, too? He found himself wondering about that.
From what he knew of her so far, he’d bet yes.
She was in her mid-thirties, refined in a way that couldn’t be faked, yet not condescending. Confident in every situation, even when the siblings had been rude to her with their bickering.
