The Other Side - J. D. Robb [98]
Combination Rocking Chair/Butter Churn?
They alternated, the messages, between suggestions for inventions and love notes. She liked both, but the love notes were her favorite. Yesterday’s had said, “Reader, I married him.” Of course she’d recognized the line from Jane Eyre, her grandmother’s favorite book. It wasn’t Henry’s, though, so how had he known of it? Oh, her husband was a man of many parts.
“Darling,” he said, turning from the mirror, his eyes shining with tenderness. “What a beautiful sentiment. Elizabeth Barrett Browning?”
She blinked at him stupidly. “The rocking chair/butter churn?”
“The what?” He blinked stupidly back. Who knew how long that might’ve gone on, but just then Astra bounded into the room, followed by Eveready, the new puppy—named after the company that had bought Angie’s portable electric hand torch. “Flashlight,” they were calling it, and she had to admit that had a nice ring. (“Willow Light,” she’d wanted to call it, in honor of the house it had helped to buy, but Eveready hadn’t seen the marketing potential in that.)
“Was my dog door a good idea?” she wondered out loud, far from the first time, while dodging sloppy kisses from both animals. They couldn’t seem to absorb the lesson that the bed was not a legitimate part of their territory.
Henry tossed them both onto the floor (but so gently, no wonder they weren’t getting it) and climbed in beside her. “Sure it was, especially after the patent comes through. How are you liking the Reader?”
“It’s grand. Norah says they’ve already passed the first subscription quota. And Walker’s so happy now—she says he’s a different man.”
“It’s a fine journal. He should be happy. He’s thinking of selling it, you know.”
“The Reader? Walker wants—”
“No, the Republic.”
“Oh.” This was news. “But that’s wonderful! Henry—we could buy it!”
“Hang on there, moneybags.”
“Think of it: you’d have your very own newspaper!”
“It would be . . . ”
“A dream come true!”
“Ye-es, but—”
“No buts. Let’s buy it!”
“Sweetheart,” he said, laughing, rolling over on top of her, sliding his hands under her shoulders and nuzzling her neck. “You scare me.”
“I do?”
“No, not you. Our life.”
She pulled away to see his face. “I love our life.”
“Me, too.”
“Then—”
“But we have everything. Willow House, your work, my work—”
“Don’t forget each other.”
“The best part. But you see what I mean? We already have everything, so how could we want more? It almost seems greedy. Like tempting fate.”
“Since when do you believe in fate? You sound like Mrs. Grimmett. That reminds me. I got a note from her today, asking if I’d like to join the garden club.”
They made amazed faces. “The power of the nouveau riche,” Henry said.
“More likely the power of your irresistible charm attack. She couldn’t take it anymore; she folded like a . . . ”
“Like a gutless poker player.”
“Like an accordion.”
“Like a well-read love letter.” Henry was so much better at words than she was. “Thank you, darling,” he said, “but I think it was the ad rates I gave her husband’s bank. So? Are you going to join the garden club?”
“Should I? What if we become pillars of the community?” She gave a mock shudder.
“What if we do?”
“Wouldn’t it be funny? The ex-ghost detective and Wild Johnny Darlington’s girl, leading the way in Paulton high society.”
“Now that’s supernatural. What was I saying? Before Mrs. Grimmett—”
“Something about tempting fate.”
“Sweetheart, it’s just that my cup runneth over already—”
“Oh, all right, we won’t buy the Republic. Yet. But isn’t it nice to know that we could if we wanted to?”
“Yes, Mrs. Vanderbilt.”
“Not as nice as this, though.” She squirmed under him, wanting to feel all of Henry on all of her. “This is very high up on our list of blessings.”
“Possibly the top.” He undid the buttons on her nightgown so he could kiss her between her breasts.
“I do love you, Henry,” she said, while she could still think. (She’d tried calling