The Other Side of Us (Harlequin Superromance) by Sarah Mayberry Page B
Authors: Sarah Mayberry
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get to see for
himself how perky and round her breasts were. He was fresh out of a marriage,
heading toward an ugly divorce.
More than enough for any man to deal with.
* * *
M ACKENZIE PULLED ON fresh pajamas after her shower and went to check that things hadn’t
taken a sudden turn for the worse out front.
It wasn’t pretty outside, but it was definitely better, and she
retreated to her bedroom and pulled the covers all the way up to her ears. The
bed had been kept warm by her electric blanket and she wiggled her toes against
the toasty sheets and contemplated how she would make things right with
Oliver.
Because she needed to. Big-time.
Not only for the way she’d snapped at him tonight, either. From
the moment she’d met him she’d been rude. Shutting the door in his face not once
but twice, then getting defensive with him over Mr. Smith when she should have
been thanking him for repairing the fence. She had excuses for some of it—her
nausea, Gordon’s much-anticipated and hard-fought-for phone call—but the bottom
line was that she’d behaved poorly.
She winced, remembering the way Oliver had described her as
scary, in an “intense, I’ve-had-too-many-coffees-today kind of way.” He’d been
joking, trying to ease the tension, but she was a big believer in the
many-a-true-word-said-in-jest maxim and she didn’t doubt for a second that that
was how he saw her: scary and intense. And, of course, overly sensitive and
snappish.
Hardly a flattering portrait. In fact, it made her squirm.
The defensive part of her said to hell with what he thought of
her. He wasn’t her friend, after all, or a colleague. Once she picked up the
threads of her former life and moved back to Melbourne, he wouldn’t even be her
neighbor.
But everything in her balked at leaving the situation the way
it was. As she’d told him tonight, he was a nice guy. He’d come over to
introduce himself, he’d repaired the fence without hassling her or asking for a
contribution to pay for materials, he’d come riding to her rescue and downed
half a glass of Scotch simply to be polite. He was funny, too, with an easy
charm and a deceptively quiet, dry wit.
I like him. And I want him to like
me.
The thought made her eyes pop open. She’d been so caught up in
herself and her recovery that she hadn’t given any consideration to the outside
world and other people for a long time. She’d deliberately sequestered herself
here on the very tip of the Mornington Peninsula, shutting herself away from her
friends so she could concentrate on her rehabilitation. She’d been isolated from
life by her accident, and she’d made the decision to continue that isolation,
and now she was...what? Lonely? Antisocial? A cranky, prickly hermit crab, holed
up in her shell?
There wasn’t much she liked about this new perspective on
herself and her current life.
Then do something about it.
She could invite Oliver over for dinner, for example, to say
thank-you to him. And, maybe, as a byproduct, improve his impression of her. Not
that she thought it was likely they would become fast friends after such a rocky
start, but at least she could show him that she wasn’t a complete cow.
She could try, anyway.
* * *
M ACKENZIE WOKE TO bright
sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains. Muzzy headed, she peered at
the clock and saw it was nearly midday. She never slept in, but clearly her body
had needed the rest. When she tried to roll over she realized how much—she ached
as if she’d run a marathon, as though thugs had broken in during the night and
given her a thorough going-over with baseball bats. She was used to a low level
of constant pain, a sort of background hum of discomfort, but this was a whole
other ball game. Her breath hissed from between her teeth as she swung her legs
over the side of the bed. Moving like a much older woman, she shuffled her way
to the bathroom.
She looked at her gray, washed-out face in the mirror and knew
that
himself how perky and round her breasts were. He was fresh out of a marriage,
heading toward an ugly divorce.
More than enough for any man to deal with.
* * *
M ACKENZIE PULLED ON fresh pajamas after her shower and went to check that things hadn’t
taken a sudden turn for the worse out front.
It wasn’t pretty outside, but it was definitely better, and she
retreated to her bedroom and pulled the covers all the way up to her ears. The
bed had been kept warm by her electric blanket and she wiggled her toes against
the toasty sheets and contemplated how she would make things right with
Oliver.
Because she needed to. Big-time.
Not only for the way she’d snapped at him tonight, either. From
the moment she’d met him she’d been rude. Shutting the door in his face not once
but twice, then getting defensive with him over Mr. Smith when she should have
been thanking him for repairing the fence. She had excuses for some of it—her
nausea, Gordon’s much-anticipated and hard-fought-for phone call—but the bottom
line was that she’d behaved poorly.
She winced, remembering the way Oliver had described her as
scary, in an “intense, I’ve-had-too-many-coffees-today kind of way.” He’d been
joking, trying to ease the tension, but she was a big believer in the
many-a-true-word-said-in-jest maxim and she didn’t doubt for a second that that
was how he saw her: scary and intense. And, of course, overly sensitive and
snappish.
Hardly a flattering portrait. In fact, it made her squirm.
The defensive part of her said to hell with what he thought of
her. He wasn’t her friend, after all, or a colleague. Once she picked up the
threads of her former life and moved back to Melbourne, he wouldn’t even be her
neighbor.
But everything in her balked at leaving the situation the way
it was. As she’d told him tonight, he was a nice guy. He’d come over to
introduce himself, he’d repaired the fence without hassling her or asking for a
contribution to pay for materials, he’d come riding to her rescue and downed
half a glass of Scotch simply to be polite. He was funny, too, with an easy
charm and a deceptively quiet, dry wit.
I like him. And I want him to like
me.
The thought made her eyes pop open. She’d been so caught up in
herself and her recovery that she hadn’t given any consideration to the outside
world and other people for a long time. She’d deliberately sequestered herself
here on the very tip of the Mornington Peninsula, shutting herself away from her
friends so she could concentrate on her rehabilitation. She’d been isolated from
life by her accident, and she’d made the decision to continue that isolation,
and now she was...what? Lonely? Antisocial? A cranky, prickly hermit crab, holed
up in her shell?
There wasn’t much she liked about this new perspective on
herself and her current life.
Then do something about it.
She could invite Oliver over for dinner, for example, to say
thank-you to him. And, maybe, as a byproduct, improve his impression of her. Not
that she thought it was likely they would become fast friends after such a rocky
start, but at least she could show him that she wasn’t a complete cow.
She could try, anyway.
* * *
M ACKENZIE WOKE TO bright
sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains. Muzzy headed, she peered at
the clock and saw it was nearly midday. She never slept in, but clearly her body
had needed the rest. When she tried to roll over she realized how much—she ached
as if she’d run a marathon, as though thugs had broken in during the night and
given her a thorough going-over with baseball bats. She was used to a low level
of constant pain, a sort of background hum of discomfort, but this was a whole
other ball game. Her breath hissed from between her teeth as she swung her legs
over the side of the bed. Moving like a much older woman, she shuffled her way
to the bathroom.
She looked at her gray, washed-out face in the mirror and knew
that
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