Ain't She Sweet (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers #2) - Whitney Dineen Page 0,31
of James’s house while he’s upstairs with the plumber. She concludes that while mostly charming, it needs a lot of work. The kitchen floor is on a slant which appears to be causing the cabinetry to misalign. As a result, practically all of the cupboard doors are hanging open.
The hardwood floors are scratched up and there’s decades-old wallpaper peeling off the walls. The appliances are ancient, and the fixtures are the originals of the knockoffs places like Restoration Hardware sell. Gwen shakes her head in dismay for her daughter’s friend. Where do you begin when there’s so much to do?
She walks out the kitchen door intent on checking out the backyard. While the porch appears in need of some attention, it looks safe enough. Gwen steps out before spotting the old glider that’s taking up a good portion of the space. After sitting down, she pulls Penny onto her lap, and pushes off the weathered green decking to set the swing into motion.
She easily gets lost in her thoughts wondering what it would be like to live in this part of the country. Her friends and her clubs are all back in LA. Her life there is in constant motion and there’s a comfort to that.
Yet, she wonders what it would be like to live in a place where traffic is five cars at a stoplight. Gwen isn’t sure that’s for her. No, she decides, it would be easier if Tara just came home. But then she remembers what it was like for her daughter those last months in LA.
Tara was constantly being pursued by reporters. Romaine’s fans had the gall to approach her and demand to know why she wasn’t taking better care of him. It was a continuous bombardment.
Maybe the Willamette Valley is where her daughter will finally be able to find herself without the microscope of fame pointed at her. Gwen inhales the fresh farm air, ready to accept that Oregon might be the answer after all. Then she hears James yell, “Get that thing the hell out of my face!”
Tara
Things that Scared Me in LA
Earthquakes. More accurately, dying in an earthquake via a building falling on me.
Death by paparazzi. Honestly, I was more concerned for their safety than my own. I used to fantasize about their demise in a cinematic Kill Bill sequence. I guess that means my real fear was spending my life in prison when I got caught.
Botox
Things That Scare Me in Oregon
Being found out
Kiley, the daytime hostess comes back into the kitchen and says, “Tara, you have a call on line three.”
Who in the world could it be? I’ve managed to keep myself off of everyone’s radar. I order my supplies through Geoffrey, so I don’t even have to talk to vendors. “Who is it?” I ask.
“She didn’t say. She just said she wanted to talk to Tara.”
I reluctantly answer the phone, trying my best to deepen my voice so that it’s unrecognizable. “Hello?” I sound afraid.
“Tara, it’s Mom.” Before I can ask why she’s calling me on the restaurant phone, she says, “You weren’t answering your cell and I needed to talk to you right away.”
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’m with James at his house …”
“What? Why?” I interrupt her before she can finish her sentence.
“I ran into him in the parking lot at the lodge this morning and he offered to drive me around town and show me the sights after he let his plumber in.”
“Is he okay?”
“Well, yes and no …”
I start to nervously pace around in a small circle next to the cappuccino machine. “Mom, what’s going on?”
“James is threatening a reporter with an armed escort off his property. It looks like I was followed from LA.”
This can’t be happening, but deep inside I knew my anonymity was too good to be true. “How do you know it’s someone from LA?”
“It’s the same douchebag who’s stopped by my house every week since you left. He must have heard Sheila tell me to have a nice trip when we were talking the other day.”
Mom’s choice of adjectives confirms how upset she is. She’s not known for her colorful language. My heart is hammering so loudly, I can hear it inside my head. “Does he know I’m here?”
“I don’t know how long he’s been following me. If he’s been with me since the airport, then he knows where you live.”
“Oh, my god, Mom, what do I do?” In the past I never bothered to try to avoid the press because let’s