Kissing Cousins

by Diana Tobin

  “All right,” Gus agreed. “Would you give me directions, please?”

  ♥•♥•♥

  Getting to Highway 295—or the Turnpike as freeways were more often called in New England—in Portland wasn’t too difficult. It was an easy drive up to Augusta, the state capitol, through gentle hills and forests.

  Gus wrinkled her forehead wondering how her parents had come up with her name. Had they met in Augusta, and named her after the city? She knew there was an Augusta in Georgia, too, but her parents never talked about living in the south.

  As it turned out, there was a great deal her parents hadn’t talked to her about.

  Upon reaching the city of her name, Gus had a few problems negotiating the roads. There was a huge rotary, a traffic circle, which coincided with a bridge crossing the Kennebec River. Gus crossed the bridge, and the river, three times before finally gaining the proper traffic lane that would lead her to the Belgrade Lakes region and the town of Webster.

  She loved the lush green hills dotted with white church spires and red barns. Sun glistened off the water of the lakes as she approached the town of Belgrade, then turned to head for North Belgrade, and finally, Webster.

  Gus pulled into the driveway at 14 Lakefront Drive. She sat in the car staring at the white cottage before her. It was very much what she expected of a home in Maine.

  The cottage was two-story with dark blue shutters at the windows. A screened porch at the side of the house looked to be the link between house and garage. A small window at ground level meant there must be a basement. Flowers edged along the house, meeting the green grass that spread to the walkway leading to the front door.

  As Gus emerged from her car, the driveway beneath her sandals was a combination of gravel, sand, and packed-down weeds. She headed for the screened porch, hoping she had the right key for this door. Mr. Gates hadn’t told her which door her key unlocked, just that more keys would be found at the house.

  Just as she got to the steps, the screen door opened out and a man stood at the threshold. A very tall, very gorgeous man.

  Gus swallowed, never taking her gaze from him. “Wh-who are you?”

  The man smiled showing bright white teeth in a tanned face. “Are you Augusta Thompson?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great!” he said as he came down the three wooden steps and held the door open for her. He stretched out a hand to her. “I’m Charles Webster.”

  OMG! Grandma had been a cougar!

  CHAPTER THREE

  Gus’s eyes widened as her hand was engulfed by his large warm one. “How old are you?”

  “Well,” he laughed. “Nice to meet you, too.”

  She shook her head, only then realizing he still had her hand. “Sorry,” she said as she tried to draw her hand back. When he didn’t release her, she met his quizzical gaze. “I was expecting someone much older.”

  “Ah,” he said as if that explained it all. He gave her hand one final squeeze before releasing it. “Do you want some help with your luggage and things?”

  “Thanks, um, I’d really like to look around first. If that’s all right.” She wished the words back as soon as she said them. She didn’t need to ask this man permission to look around her own house, just because he’d been living there already. “We need to call Mr. Gates to let him know I’ve arrived.”

  “Okay,” he said agreeably. “C’mon in. We’ll call John, then I’ll give you the grand tour.”

  She stepped past him, going up the stairs onto the screened porch. A small table sat to the right under a wall of windows that overlooked the drive.

  “This is a nice place to eat or play cards,” Charles said.

  To the left an open door led to the kitchen. Another door, standing open, straight ahead led to what appeared to be the garage.

  Charles Webster placed a hand on her back, guiding her into the kitchen. “Want a cold drink?”

  “Just water would be good. Thanks.”

  Gus watched as he got out a glass, filled it with ice and water from the door of the refrigerator pushed into the far corner. “There ya go. Let me call John and we’ll get things rolling.”

  Charles went around the corner beyond the refrigerator into a dining room. A long, oval table and carved wooden chairs sat in the middle of the room. She followed him through the doorway to find a desk tucked into the corner, complete with computer, printer/fax, and a landline phone.

  She wondered if the computer went with the house or was his, personally. She’d had a laptop, needed it for her business, but had sold it to help pay for Hope’s cremation. Gus turned away from the desk, not wanting to think of all she’d lost. She was still reeling from the discovery that she wouldn’t be sharing the house with Grandpa Webster as she’d thought.

  No wonder John Gates had said Charles Webster didn’t yet have children!

  Instead of having to put up with conniving children and whiny grandchildren, she’d probably have to deal with a horde of single women trying to snare this handsome man.

  And, she had to admit, he was very handsome. His copper-colored hair hung thickly down his neck and accented his sharp cheekbones and narrow jaw. He wore a blue tee shirt that stretched over his broad shoulders and muscled biceps. He had on khaki cargo shorts that clung to his backside and showed his strong legs were as tanned as his arms and face. His thighs were as large as some tree trunks.

  When he turned to hand her the phone, his hazel eyes sparkled with amusement—as if he knew she’d been checking him out.

  Nothing wrong with looking, she decided. She could window shop, she just couldn’t afford to buy. And, a man was one thing she was not in the market for.

  “Yes, hello, Mr. Gates. No, no problems. Well, just a slight one in Augusta. I just need to settle in, now. Thank you.” She handed the phone back to Charles.

  He grinned at her. “The rotary in Augusta, huh? That one gets me every time, and I’ve lived here most of my life.”

  “Yes, well, I’ll know which lane to take next time.”

  He just chuckled. “You’ve seen the kitchen. Do you cook?”

  “I know how, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to prepare meals for you,” she said stiffly.

  “Okay,” he drew out the word as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “I was going to say I left everything the way Emma had it, but feel free to rearrange however it suits you.”

  “Oh. All right.” She drew in a deep breath. “Look, Charles–”

  “My friends call me Web.”

  “Since we’ll be living together for the next year we should try to at least be friends, or friendly. Most everyone calls me Gus.”

  Web slowly shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  She took a step back in astonishment. “We’ve only just met and you’re calling me a liar?”

  He put his hands up. “Whoa, there. I’m not calling you anything, least of all Gus. You’re much too pretty for a man’s name.”

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and settled for rubbing her hands over her face. “I apologize, Ch—Web. I’ve been through hell the past few months.” The past ten years, to tell the truth. “Last week I was in Oregon, today I’m in Maine…and still trying to get my feet under me.”

  “Anything I can help with?” he asked softly.

  Gus drew a deep breath and stood erect. “No, but thanks for offering.” She tried to give him a smile, but felt sure she failed. “I would like to see the rest of the house and my room.”

  “Sure,” he said agreeably. “Obviously, this is the dining room, but I’ve been using it as more of an office. We’ve got WiFi so you can use your computer.”

  “That will be great, once I can afford one.”

  “Oh, sorry, I just assumed…”

  “I had one, but had to sell it. If you wouldn’t mind, could I use yours to send an email to my boss? It’s going to be a while before I’m ready to work again.”

  “No problem. What type of work do you do?�
�� Web perched a hip on the corner of the desk.

  “For the last five years, I’ve designed and written crochet and knitting patterns. That’s what the computer was for. Once I came up with a design and worked out instructions, I could email the end result to my publisher. At least I was able to save all my work to a USB drive so once I can afford a new laptop, I should be able to get back to work.”

  “Feel free to load what you need onto mine.” He cocked his head, studying her. “Maybe I can get a hand-knitted sweater out of the deal?”

  This time, the smile was real. “I think that could be arranged.”

  Web smiled back at her. “You should turn around to see the view out the windows.” He pointed behind her.

  She did as told, then gasped.

  A covered porch ran along the back of the house. Steps in the middle led to a huge flowerbed, still in bloom. To the left of the flowerbed were bushes inside a huge wire cage. Beyond that, grass rolled green down to the edge of the clear, sparkling lake.

  “Wow!” Gus stared out the windows, then under her breath said, “Hope would’ve loved this.”

  “Was Hope your daughter?”

  She stiffened before looking over her shoulder at Web.

  “John told me about your daughter. To explain why we didn’t know when you’d arrive.” He started to lift his hands, then shoved them into his pockets. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  Gus only nodded her head.

  “There’s a bedroom and bath on this floor, but it’s at the front of the house. Emma used it after she broke her hip. No way could she go up the stairs, and she wouldn’t let me carry her.”

  His words brought images to Gus’s mind better left alone. Emma may have been a cougar, but it seemed Charles Webster hadn’t minded. It sounded as if he had really cared for her.

  “Do you mind me asking where you sleep?”

  “My room is upstairs, looking out over the back. I like waking up to that view each day.” He nodded at the windows behind her. “There’s two more bedrooms upstairs. The master has windows overlooking the lake, too. I’d recommend that one.”

  That would put their rooms next to each other. Gus didn’t think she’d care for that. She’d prefer separate buildings for them, but barring that, she’d go with separate floors. “May I see the room down here?”

  “’Kay.” Gus followed Web to the far end of the dining room to a door that stood open. “Emma and Henry added this part on to the house about ten years ago.” He turned to grin at her, “For when they got too old to climb the stairs. Funny thing, that never happened. This was a guest room, until Emma broke her hip.”

  Windows faced the front and east side of the house, showing lots of lush grass and more flowerbeds. A queen-sized bed filled most of the space, but there was room for a small dresser and a nightstand next to the bed. A louvered door revealed a closet.

  “Bathroom is through there,” Web pointed to the door. “There’s another door on the other side leading to what was the shop.”

  “Shop? What kind of shop?” Gus asked.

  “Emma’s Cut and Curl. Her beauty shop.” Web had gone through the bathroom and leaned against the jamb leading to a room with a stand hair dryer and one chair. “She’d always hoped your mom would come back and work in the shop with her.” He walked through the small room to an open doorway. “Front door is here, but no one uses it now that the shop is closed. Living room’s on the other side. Shall we go upstairs so you can see your room?”

  “I think I’ll take the bedroom down here. Is there a bathroom upstairs?”

  “Yeah,” Web said. “Off the master bedroom. I’ve been using it, but I can use the one down here.”

  “No, I’ll be fine down here. Maybe I can use the shop for my yarns and things?” All she wanted to do was take a shower and curl up in bed. “I’ll check out the upstairs tomorrow.”

  Web stared at her a long moment. “Okay. Let me help you bring in your things.”

  “You don’t need to. I’ll just bring in my overnight bag for now. I can unpack and settle tomorrow,” Gus insisted.

  Before Web could say another word, Gus scurried back the way they’d come, heading out to the screened porch to reach her car. Quickly, she grabbed her small bag and the box with Hope’s ashes. Locking her car, she turned to find Web holding the door open for her.

  “Pretty box,” he motioned to what she held.

  “Thank you,” she murmured as she stepped past him.

  “It must be an important keepsake.”

  She stopped halfway through the kitchen, turning slightly so she wasn’t quite facing him. “It’s my daughter.”

  ♥•♥•♥

  Augusta Thompson was nothing like Web had expected.

  He’d known she was young, not quite thirty. Web thought her father must’ve been tall because Augusta was around five foot eight or nine. At six foot four, Web had a few inches on her, but at least he didn’t have to bend over to talk to her. Emma had barely been over five feet.

  Augusta was so thin she appeared even taller, but he supposed considering what she’d endured lately, he couldn’t fault her for not having a healthy appetite. Despite her thinness, and drab skirt and jacket, it was easy to see she had curves in all the right places.

  She had a bit of a temper on her. She never had told him if she cooked, just made it clear he shouldn’t expect it of her. And, she didn’t like to be questioned.

  Her hair, what there was of it, was a brown. Not quite blonde, but not a deep brown, either. She looked a bit like a pixie with her close-cropped hair and the little dent in her pointed chin.

  For a moment he’d had an urge to place his lips on that dent and test it with his tongue.

  But her deep brown eyes had been the killers. They had held a wealth of loss and sadness, like she’d never be happy again.

  Well, of course, you idiot! She’s just lost her child. Naturally, she’s sad.

  According to John Gates, Augusta never knew about Emma. If that were true, how could her mother never tell her about her family? And, if Augusta was lying about not knowing of Emma, why?

  John hadn’t shared much with Web, other than Emma’s grandchild had been located. Emma had a granddaughter who didn’t know she existed, had been married and divorced, and had an ill child, one not expected to live. If Web wanted to know more, he’d have to get the information from Augusta herself.

  He wasn’t sure he liked her.

  He felt sorry for her. Losing your only child, and he assumed she didn’t have another child since she’d arrived alone, had to be beyond rough. Just because she was divorced didn’t mean she’d gone through that child’s death by herself, but he had a feeling she was very alone.

  Web would offer her friendship. It would make the next year easier for both of them if they could get along. He’d be glad to share his knowledge of Emma with her. Learning about her grandmother, her family and roots, was long overdue.

  As he’d thought before, maybe Augusta did know about her grandmother, or at least, Julia Dodge Thompson’s version. Maybe Julia had kept tabs on Emma all these years and had learned her mother had become a wealthy woman. Maybe Augusta was just here for the money. These days, who sold a laptop without upgrading? Was that just an excuse so she could see what he had on his computer? She could be an expert hacker, for all he knew.

  If that was the case, she’d be disappointed. All his personal and financial files were on his laptop and password protected. Not that a true computer hacker couldn’t get in, but if she didn’t know he had another computer, she couldn’t hack it.

  Were her mood swings a sign she was dealing with problems other than the recent loss of her child? He’d been around a few who used drugs, although they preferred to call them “performance enhancing” once they were caught.

  Something wasn’t right with this whole situation with Augusta. He’d been prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt before meeting her, and still was, to a point.

  W
eb could admit, to himself, he’d been attracted to Augusta on first sight. On second sight, he wanted to scoop her into his arms and promise that things—life—would be better. But he couldn’t forget she was the daughter of a woman who had walked away from Emma without a backward glance.

  He owed it to Emma to find out the truth.

  And, who walked into a house with a small box under her arm claiming it was her deceased daughter? Thank God the box was too small to hold the body of an eight-year-old. Hopefully, she meant the box held mementos of the child’s life.

  That was another mystery he should solve.

  What the hell had Emma Biddle gotten him into?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The morning was already warm and humid when Web made his way downstairs to the kitchen. He thought Augusta would be making breakfast since she’d missed supper the night before, but she wasn’t in the kitchen—nor was there any sign she’d been there. Probably still sleeping, he thought, as he popped his favorite blend into the coffee machine.

  Taking his cup out to the porch with him, he spied his new housemate sitting down by the edge of the lake. Sipping the hot brew, he remained where he stood a few moments before making his way through the garden.

  “Good morning, Augusta,” he called out halfway to her side. His intent had been not to startle her, but he could see he had, when she jolted a bit at his voice.

  She swiped her hands over her face before throwing a quick look over her shoulder at him. “Go-good morning,” her voice cracked as she returned his greeting.

  “Sleep well?” he asked as he folded his legs and sat beside her in the grass.

  She was dressed in a pair of cut-off jeans and an over-sized black tee shirt with a gold and gray picture of a knight’s mask on the front. A pair of cheap flip flops sat on the cool grass near her knee. Her hair stuck out from her head, as if she’d rolled out of bed without doing more than run her fingers through the short strands.

  The corners of her mouth moved in a near smile. “Better than I expected, thank you.”

  “Have you been up long?”

  “Mmm,” she murmured. “I watched the sun rise.”