The Saint by Kathleen O`Brien Page A

creep.
    â€œYes, ma’am, I was wondering if you still need someone to do your lawn. I was thinking, if you did, that maybe I could squeeze you in.”
    She smiled slowly. He flushed, wondering if she thought he had meant something dirty. But then he remembered that grown-ups didn’t do that, didn’t read sexual innuendos into every single word.
    Must be nice to be a grown-up. Frankly, it would be a lot less stressful to think about something other than sex.
    â€œThat’s great, Eddie,” she said, grinning. “I would be very happy to be squeezed!” She laughed slightly, as if they had shared a cute joke.
    He laughed, too. Ha ha. Nice one, Mrs. Tremel.
    â€œLet’s see,” she said. “I guess now we just need to agree on a price. Exactly what do you offer?” She held out her hands, palms up. “I think I’m going to need everything you’ve got. I haven’t had a service in a very long time.”
    Eddie took a deep breath and focused on being a grown-up. She’s not coming on to you, moron. It was just that last night with Binky had left him all revved up and nowhere to race. His mind was one big cloud of sex fumes.
    But he noticed that even Mr. Morrison was listening curiously, forgetting to study his tiny little watch workings. And Mrs. Tremel was still smiling.
    Well, okay, maybe she was flirting with him a little. She was that type. She was gorgeous, and she liked men. He realized that the idea made him feel kind of cool. He wished Binky were here to see it.
    â€œI can do whatever you want, Mrs. Tremel,” he said. He put on his most professional voice, eager to show her he was practically an adult who took his job seriously. It was true. He’d be eighteen in a couple of weeks. That was an adult, in every way that mattered.
    â€œI have a riding mower and an electric edger and a grass whip. For your yard, I’d probably charge a hundred a month. I’d come every week from now to October, then twice a month in the winter.”
    She tilted her head. “That sounds great. Although I should warn you, sometimes I need a little extra attention. If I’m going to have a party or something I might need you to come an additional time or two.”
    â€œOf course,” he said. “That’s how it is with all my customers.”
    Still smiling, Mrs. Tremel dug in her purse and pulled out a wad of twenties. She held out her hand. “Then it’s a deal, Mr. Mackey. And here’s the first month in advance, just to make things official.”
    He started to say no, no that wasn’t necessary. No one paid in advance. But then he thought about the earrings. A hundred dollars would put them on hold. Next week the Gordons would pay him for June, and then the little silver lariats would be his.
    And Binky Potter, too.
    Although suddenly he wasn’t sure prissy Binky Potter was quite woman enough for a man like him.
    Â 
    A URORA Y ORK’S ELEGANT four-poster with satin sheets and down comforters just might be the most comfortable bed Claire had ever slept in.
    Or maybe it was simply that, for once, Claire didn’t have to toss and turn all night, wrestling withunanswerable questions. Her path, right or wrong, had been chosen. She was going to marry Kieran McClintock, and she was going to do it in a small ceremony two weeks from today, orchestrated by Aurora York.
    Whatever the reason, it was the best night’s sleep Claire had had in a long time, and she was very glad she’d let Aurora talk her into staying here instead of at the hotel.
    Though she woke once, around seven, she had felt no morning sickness at all. She hadn’t heard anyone stirring in the house, so she lay back down. To her amazement, she didn’t wake up again until almost one in the afternoon.
    Sunlight was pouring through her third-story window, dappled gold and green by the nearby sourwood tree. More than sixty feet tall, it towered over the