The Thawing of Mara Read Free

Prentiss?"
    "Fine, fine," was Adam's dismissing reply, and he began looking through his mail.
    As Mara turned to rejoin Harve, she let her gaze inspect his features. Cynically she thought that fresh-scrubbed, faintly freckled face had probably been responsible for selling quite a few houses. Although in his early thirties, Harve Bennett still possessed the wholesome innocence of a boy—a trick of nature, Mara was sure.
    "Shall we go into the kitchen?" she suggested smoothly. Whatever Harve had come to discuss, it was no business of her father's. And she didn't want him listening in on their conversation.
    "Sounds great. I could use a cup of coffee if you have any made," he said unabashedly.
    "I think there's some left from lunch," she admitted, amused rather than irritated by his naturally pushy behavior.
    Pushing open the swinging door to the kitchen, she walked to the coat rack. Harve was there to help her out of the wool jacket. She coolly smiled a thank-you before hanging the jacket on its hook.
    "You said you had a phone call from someone interested in the cottage." She reminded him of the reason for his visit as she walked to the counter where the electric coffeepot was plugged in. "Someone local?"
    "No, from Baltimore." Harve pulled one of the chairs away from the table and sat down, rocking it back on two legs and clasping his hands behind his head.
    "From Baltimore? Why? Is this person moving here?" Mara filled two coffee mugs and carried them to the table. "Cream or sugar?"
    "Haven't you remembered by now that I take it straight?" he chided her, and let all four legs of the chair come down on the floor with a resounding thud. "It seems your prospective tenant is looking for a weekend retreat so he can get away from the hassle of the city and the pressure of work."
    "I suppose he wants to see it," she concluded logically. Sitting in one of the other chairs, she mentally began to calculate how long it might take her to complete furnishing the cottage if she devoted all of her spare time to it, "I have the bedroom furniture and the kitchen appliances there, as well as a sofa, but—"
    "He doesn't want to see it," Harve interrupted.
    "You don't mean he's going to rent it sight unseen?" Mara looked at him in frowning surprise.
    "I didn't mean exactly that he isn't going to see it," Harve qualified his previous statement. "He can't get away right now and I, er—" he grinned "—gave him the impression that you already had several inquiries about the cottage and wouldn't be inclined to let it sit vacant until he was free to come here to look at it."
    "So how is he going to see it?" she persisted.
    "When I told him it was out in the country, secluded and quiet, he said it sounded like just what he was looking for. I almost got a commitment from him over the phone," said Harve, the pride in his selling ability surfacing with the claim. "To make sure he wasn't renting a log cabin instead of a cottage, and to speed things up, he wants me to send him some Polaroid pictures of it. I promised I'd send them to him in tomorrow's mail."
    "Tomorrow? That's worse than I thought," she muttered. "Why did you do that, Harve? You know it isn't completely furnished yet."
    "I told him that. He said he was only interested in the bare necessities." Harve sipped at his coffee, cradling the mug in both his hands.
    It was all beginning to sound too good to be true. Mara felt a surge of skepticism that all wasn't as wonderful as Harve seemed to think.
    "Who is this man? What do you know about him?" she demanded. "Is he young or old? After all the money I've spent fixing the cottage up, I'm not going to rent it to some wild young kids so they can wreck it partying all weekend."
    "It's difficult to judge people over the telephone." he defended himself. "His name is Sinclair Buchanan. He sounded mature and well educated. I bumped the monthly rental a hundred dollars higher and he didn't even hesitate when I told him the price."
    "A hundred