Part 6 (1/2)

”I'm sorry about Rotquel frightening you. She got away from me, a first for her since she's always by my side when we go for our midday run.” Bridgette came up to Deborah and blocked the sun, holding out her hand for her to take. ”I guess she wanted to meet our new neighbor.”

Deborah got up without her help. She wiped off her b.u.t.t and did a quick scan of Bridgette, who wore running sneakers, gray cotton shorts, and a well-worn T-s.h.i.+rt. Her face was red, a healthy glow. Deborah bit her tongue, surprised her neighbor ran, seeing as she had too many curves to be considered athletically fit- Wait. They were neighbors?

”Did I hear you right? You're my neighbor?” Deborah asked, eyeing the dog called Rotquel. I must be hearing things. It has to be the heat.

”Yup.” Bridgette smiled broadly and finally lowered her hand, not looking out of joint at Deborah for not taking it. ”I live in the house right across from yours. My Aunt Sandy found you your new place.” Bridgette motioned around them.

”Are you kidding me? You two are related?” Deborah asked in surprise.

”Yup again. You'll be tripping over Woodberrys soon enough. You'll eventually meet my brothers, parents, and rest of the clan,” Bridgette said proudly, jutting out her chest.

Deborah took a quick peek at Bridgette's chest, then back up at her face. Bridgette's smile grew and she glanced down at her T-s.h.i.+rt, much the same as Deborah did to her. Her cheeks grew warm and when she crossed her arms, her nipples poked out.

”Must be nice to have such a...big family,” Deborah mumbled and brushed a hand over her damp head. ”Listen, I'm pretty busy right now-”

”Woof!”

Deborah backed away when Bridgette's dog from h.e.l.l tried moving in between them.

”Rotquel, heel,” Bridgette ordered and the dog did as she was told.

”What did you call her? Rockette, like the dancers in Manhattan?”

Bridgette placed her hands on her hips and chuckled. ”It's Rotquel. I've had her for five years. At first she was named Raquel, but then my brother Bryan though he'd be funny and started calling her Rotquel because she's a Rottweiler. It stuck. Rotquel hasn't answered to anything else in years. Right, girl?” Bridgette patted the top of Rotquel's head and was rewarded with a loud bark and a swipe across her hand with a tongue.

”I'm surprised you don't keep hand sanitizer with you at all times, seeing as your dog has the unsanitary habit of licking your flesh-I mean skin.” Deborah swiftly corrected herself. Bridgette had more than enough abundant flesh she couldn't stop eyeing.

Bridgette released a girlish laugh and t.i.tled her head. ”That's quite a sense of humor you got there.”

”Glad you think I'm funny. I can't crack a joke to save my life,” Deborah admitted.

”Who told you that?” Bridgette's expression turned into a more inquisitive one.

Not going there. ”There are too many people to list.” Deborah said lightly, although only one had ever criticized her.

”If you say so.”

Deborah wiped her arm over her forehead, feeling like she had been in a sauna, while Bridgette acted as if she wasn't bothered by the humidity in the least.

”Before I forget, I should apologize for what I did to you at the drugstore the other day. It was rude of me and I didn't think before I spoke. That's one of the quirks I have,” Bridgette confessed as she pushed a few stray hairs behind her ears.

”There's no need for you to feel bad. I was cranky because of, well, you know. And where I moved from, not too many people go out of their way to be as helpful as you were,” Deborah said and lowered her arms to her sides. She glanced down at her feet as Bridgette stared too closely at her.

”That's a relief! I'd hate to think you would be upset with me.” Bridgette lowered her voice. ”I just admitted another unfortunate quirk about me.”

What is with her and her quirks? Deborah found herself moving in closer and when Bridgette's tongue came out and swiped over her bottom lip, Deborah's nipples twitched. She moved back and shook her head. ”I take it when you mean quirk, you mean a fault?”

Bridgette nodded her head. ”Exactly. I hate saying someone has a fault. It sounds so harsh. Saying I have a quirk sounds kinder, don't you think?”

Deborah found herself speechless. Bridgette's seemingly sunny disposition and naivete was both refres.h.i.+ng and, in a way, disturbing to Deborah. When was the last time she met someone so open and honest without wanting anything in return?

”Either you don't know what to make of me or the heat has stolen your speech. I'd like to think it's the humidity and not my quaint personality.” Bridgette tapped her chin as she began to scrutinize her again.

Deborah opened her mouth to ask what Bridgette's deal was with her constant staring when Bridgette tugged on the collar of her s.h.i.+rt and fanned her face with her hand. ”Jeez, it sure is hot today. I bet you don't even have a fan or air conditioner hooked up yet. My house is nice and cool. Why don't you take a break from moving in and come over to my house for some homemade lemon meringue pie and lemonade? I used the lemons straight from the tree in my backyard,” Bridge whispered, as if she was sharing a secret. ”I'll have you know my pie has won the country fair three years straight.”

When Rotquel lifted her head and whimpered, Bridgette got down on one knee and pressed her face against the side of her dog, giving Deborah a pout. ”See, even Rotquel wants you to come over and see her home. I promise you she won't attack you again or give you unhygienic doggy kisses. She may try to swipe a slice of your pie off your plate, but I have treats available to keep her happy.”

Deborah blinked as Bridgett finally took in a deep breath at the end of her long dialogue. Rubbing the back of her head, she s.h.i.+fted from one foot to the other. I really shouldn't-but what would be the harm in sharing lemonade and pie with this exceedingly kind-hearted woman?

”I suppose I can take a short break. It wouldn't help if I pa.s.sed out from the heat since I've been so busy cleaning.”

Bridgette got to her feet and lightly clapped. ”Great. Follow me.”

”Wait a minute,” Deborah said to Bridgette's back as she started to walk away.

”Yes?” Bridgette stopped and twisted to look back at her.

”I must smell rank and should wash up first. Plus I need to lock up the house.”

”I just ran for forty minutes, so you can only imagine what I must smell like. Also, there's no need for you to lock up anything. We're only going across the street.”

”Um, where I come from-”

”Sharon, you're in Woodberry Creek now. There's no need to worry someone might sneak into your house and steal your things. It's okay. Trust me.”

”All right,” Deborah conceded. As they walked to the end of the driveway, Deborah almost tripped when she came to the unpleasant conclusion about something. A nervous fluttering in her stomach grew and she almost turned and ran back into her house regardless if she was overheated or not. ”I never told you my name.”

Bridgette lips twitched and she winked. ”Let's just I have my ways. I'm too nosy for my own good sometimes.”

”Another quirk of yours?” Deborah asked, wondering what else Bridgette might know about her. Maybe it was better if she took more caution where this adorable redhead was concerned.

”Yup,” Bridgette responded happily. ”I'll explain everything while we eat so you don't think I'm a stalker.”

Deborah continued walking, anxious to learn what she could about Bridgette Woodberry in case Bridgette's inquisitive nature got out of hand and Deborah would have to look elsewhere to live-and to hide.

Chapter Eleven.

Bridgette knew as soon as Sharon had taken a bite of her lemon meringue pie that she'd want another. Sharon didn't disappoint, and after taking a long sip of her lemonade, she shyly asked for another small piece.

Bridgette planned on giving Sharon the rest of the pie as a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift. And the hungry way Sharon are her slice, as if she hadn't eaten anything so tasty in such a long time, made Bridgette want to cook something more substantial for her.

Sharon also gave off a vibe, more like a flas.h.i.+ng signal that said do not touch.

Perhaps it was the white skin of her left tanned ring finger that led her to believe Sharon had just ended her marriage. Bridgette knew from experience with the married men who'd hit on her, and their ring finger sans the wedding ring they slipped off in the hopes of getting laid. As if she would ever date a married man, or even a single man for that matter. At least the women she'd gone out with were honest with what they wanted from her and didn't need to lie about someone waiting for them at home.

”You're staring at me,” Sharon pointed out as she patted her mouth with a paper napkin and looked around the room, barely meeting her eye.