Read Smitten for Free Online Page B

got in the way. Now if you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to take a shower. If I’m not out of the shower in half an hour, send up a chisel. And don’t youdare invite Matt to supper. He smirked at me all the way home.”
    â€œShe don’t mean it,” Elsie said to Matt. “We’re having baked ham. We’ll eat at six.”
    Matt stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Sounds good to me. I’ll pull the tile up in the downstairs bathroom while I wait. Tomorrow’s Saturday. I’ll come first thing in the morning and put down a new subfloor.”
    Upstairs Lizabeth kicked her clothes into a corner of the bathroom and dragged herself into the shower. Laying plywood was a lot more tiring than painting trim. Chances were, if she hadn’t been so tired, she wouldn’t have fallen into the cement, she decided. If she hadn’t been so tired, she would have sensed Oliver Roth sneaking up behind her. And if she hadn’t been so tired, she might have had more patience with Roth’s groping.
    She lathered up and watched the last vestiges of cement sluice down the drain. Thank heaven it hadn’t hardened on her. She washed her hair and winced when the water beat against the back of her neck. She was sunburned. Occupational hazard, she told herself, wondering about the statistics on skincancer for construction workers. The statistics probably weren’t good. On the other hand, after another week of pounding nails she’d be so physically fit she’d be able to forget about cardiovascular disease.
    And there were other things she was learning. Elsie was wrong about carpenters. Most of the men were extremely courteous to her, going out of their way to make her feel comfortable.
    She shut the water off, wrapped a towel around her head, shrugged into her threadbare terry-cloth robe, and stumbled into her bedroom. She flopped facedown onto the bed and instantly fell asleep.
    At six, Jason shook Lizabeth awake. “Mom, it’s time for supper. You better hurry up.”
    Lizabeth opened her eyes halfway and looked drowsily at her youngest son. “Huh?”
    He put his face down next to hers, nose to nose, and shouted. “It’s time for supper!”
    â€œGotcha,” Lizabeth said. “I’m moving.”
    â€œYou better move fast. Aunt Elsie doesn’t like people being late for supper. She’ll whack you one with her wooden spoon. She’ll make you eat the stalks on the broccoli.” He backed off and ran out of the room. “I’ll meetcha down there.”
    Lizabeth pulled a faded T-shirt over her head, stepped into a pair of old running shorts, and combed her fingers through her hair. She was doing her best to hurry, but her muscles weren’t cooperating. Everything ached. Matt had been right. She was a wimp. She was thirty-two years old, and she was falling apart at the seams.
    She took the stairs one step at a time, mumbling as she went. She stopped grumbling when she saw Matt watching her. “Oh, jeez, what are you doing here?”
    â€œElsie invited me for supper.”
    â€œWhat a nice surprise.” About as nice as bubonic plague. She could barely move without screaming in pain, her hair looked like World War III, and she wasn’t wearing a bra. As she descended the stairs, she decided it was the last fact that caused his look of rapt fascination.
    â€œYou seem kinda tuckered out.”
    â€œI’m fine,” she said, shuffling past him. “I’m not at all tired. And I’m not the least bit sore.”
    â€œGuess you’re tougher than I thought.”
    Jason took a scoop of mashed potatoes. “Good thing you’re not tired. Matt said he’d play soccer with us after supper, and you could play, too.”
    Lizabeth noticed it was no longer “Mr. Hallahan.” She supposed that was okay. Matt didn’t seem to mind the familiarity, and the