Linny's Sweet Dream List Read Free Page A

Consumer Reports before she bought anything big, and subscribed to Prevention magazine. Still, husband number one—her beloved Andy—died after a brown recluse spider bite three years ago at age thirty-five, and now Buck was dead. Conscientiousness and planning were no guarantees of safe passage.
    Linny groaned aloud at her stupidity. Why had she married Buck in the first place? What a lunk-headed decision. Any woman in her right mind should have known that a golden boy with a Matt Damon smile and driving a vintage Cadillac convertible would be trouble. “But no, not me,” she muttered as she tossed.
    She snorted as she glanced at the happy hula girl on the label of the Ronrico rum bottle—she was probably so carefree because she was an unmarried girl in an island home. She didn’t have to tidy up the story about the seedy circumstances of her most recent husband’s death or clean up the mess he’d left for her.
    Linny suspected she’d made a mistake shortly after the ink was dry on the marriage certificate. At the Royal Palms Hotel, her brand-new husband made eyes at the young concierge who was giving them details of their honeymoon package. Linny had tried to explain it away. She was jittery and tired from all the excitement. Buck was just being friendly.
    But on the sugary pink beach the next day, under the cover of a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, she’d pretended to thumb through a magazine and watched Buck’s eyes follow bikini-clad women as they strolled down the beach.
    Linny paused and pushed back her bangs. It had made no sense. During their courtship Buck had never glanced at other women. She married him, and he turned into Cassanova.
    â€œStupid . . .” Linny started to berate herself yet again, but paused her frenzied tossing and snapped the rubber band on her wrist. She modified her self-talk, a concept she’d read about in the latest self-help book she’d loaded on her tablet after Buck died—peace goddess and healer Indigo Merriweather’s best seller, Snap Out Of It and Boogaloo with Your Inner Goddess.
    With the sleeve of her shirt, she wiped the sweat dripping down her forehead, and continued her internal pep talk. I cha-cha toward courage with my cheetah goddess. Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, she gave herself a little hug the way Indigo had suggested in Chapter 1. She’d weathered other setbacks, and she’d weather this one. She needed to stop beating herself up. As George Dickel and Jack Daniels exploded into shining shards of amber, she felt a fresh surge of resolve.
    She flung the last bottle high and hard, but her fingers were slick and the bottle got away from her. Instead of the tinkling of breaking glass, she heard an oddly muffled thud and, a beat later, a crack.
    A man’s voice rang out. “What in the h . . . ?”
    Linny’s heart pounded in panic as she raced around the side of the dumpster. It was the man from the truck, pressing a hand to his head. Her heart hammered. If another man died on her watch, she’d really be in trouble.
    â€œOh, my goodness!” Linny gasped and squinted as she tried to assess the man’s injuries. “Are you okay? I am so sorry!”
    The man grimaced, took off his sunglasses and cap, and gingerly touched a spot on his head. “I’m okay.”
    Her heart pounded. “Are you sure? Let me see you.” Linny stepped closer to the man, and gave him a quick once-over. No bones jutting out and no blood seeping through. That was good. Clean-shaven and solidly built, he wore an NC State Wolfpack shirt. With his farmer’s tan and smile lines that fanned out around his eyes, he looked like he spent a lot of time outdoors. A small goose egg rose atop his salt and pepper hair. She winced. “That must have hurt.”
    â€œI’m fine,” the man said, eying her warily.
    But what if he wasn’t fine? She rubbed her sweaty palms