Contents ( 66)
- Cover
- Books by Valerie Fraser Luesse
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Contents
- Map of Florida
- one
- two
- three
- four
- five
- six
- seven
- eight
- nine
- ten
- eleven
- twelve
- thirteen
- fourteen
- fifteen
- sixteen
- seventeen
- eighteen
- nineteen
- twenty
- twenty-one
- twenty-two
- twenty-three
- twenty-four
- twenty-five
- twenty-six
- twenty-seven
- twenty-eight
- twenty-nine
- thirty
- thirty-one
- thirty-two
- thirty-three
- thirty-four
- thirty-five
- thirty-six
- thirty-seven
- thirty-eight
- thirty-nine
- forty
- forty-one
- forty-two
- forty-three
- forty-four
- forty-five
- forty-six
- forty-seven
- forty-eight
- forty-nine
- fifty
- fifty-one
- Epilogue
- Keep Reading for a Preview of Valerie Luesse’s Next Book!
- Prologue
- one
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Back Ads
- Back Cover
He and Lisa were both drenched. As he frantically apologized and brushed her dripping red hair out of her eyes, she looked up at him, somber at first, but then her lips curled into a smile and she laughed.
Still fussing with her hair but now laughing with her, Peyton said, “I’m sorry, Lisa. I wanted to show you such a good time—”
“Who says you didn’t?” she said. She was beginning to shiver in the cool March air, so he took off his jacket and wrapped it around her. As he did, she slipped her arms around his waist . . .
Peyton drifted off to sleep, listening to a Florida rain splash against the river and the palms, dreaming of a girl with long auburn hair dripping wet and a beautiful face that felt so soft in his hands.
Hours later, when his dreams of Lisa were fading, he awoke to a strange tapping sound. Or was it whapping? He wasn’t awake enough to tell, but this much was sure—it was unrelenting. Whap . . . whap . . . whap-whap-whap-whap. Whap . . . whap . . . whap-whap-whap-whap. When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he sat up in bed to find the biggest, most gorgeous cat he had ever seen pawing at the screen door. For a couple of seconds, it would sit and bang the door with one paw. Then it would stand on its back paws and whap with its front ones, like a boxer going after a punching bag. Standing on its hind legs, the cat had to be three feet tall, with a thick coat of silver, charcoal, and white all blended together. Its long tail was as fluffy as a feather duster, and it had pointed ears like a bobcat.
Peyton got out of bed and opened the door. The cat paid him no mind, calmly proceeding across the porch, through a cat door, and into the house. Peyton went inside, stopping by his room to get dressed before he followed the smell of bacon into Aunt Gert’s kitchen.
“Mornin’, sleepyhead,” she said as she used her spatula to splash bacon grease on the eggs she was frying.
“Mornin’,” Peyton said.
“I guess I don’t need to ask if you slept good.” Aunt Gert cracked the oven door and took a quick peek inside.
“No, ma’am. That thunderstorm put me out like a light.”
“Well, good. You needed some sleep. I expect you’ve met Pirate?” She nodded toward the cat having his breakfast from a bowl underneath the table.
“Yes, ma’am.” Peyton eyed the cat’s bowl. “You fry your cat bacon?”
Aunt Gert pulled a small pan of biscuits out of the oven and set it on a pot holder on the kitchen table. “Not every meal,” she said as she brought a butter dish and a pitcher of orange juice out of the icebox. “He only likes it for breakfast. By the way, I don’t b’lieve in dirtyin’ up a bunch o’ dishes if I don’t have to, so help yourself to biscuits and butter and pour you some juice while I finish up the rest of it.”