Читать книгу The Nerd Who Loved Me - Liz Talley - Страница 7

Chapter Four

Tripp stared at the sagging porch and the colony of granddaddy long-legs that was inhabiting the steps of Long House and sighed.

He certainly had his work cut out for him to restore the Creole cottage built almost two centuries ago outside the small community of Bonnet Creek. Situated in south-central Louisiana and bordering the Atchafalaya Basin, the town had been an active trading post for runaway slaves, Native Americans and French settlers. Long House had held down this patch of soil for many years and deserved more than dry rot and neglect. She’d once been a beauty—the pride and joy of his father…

Until almost twelve years ago.

When Howard Long had left Bonnet Creek in disgrace at the hands of Buddy Rodrigue.

But Tripp planned to set things right, to restore the balance. His redemption would start with Long House and end with Buddy crawling on his knees with an apology.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Forcet Construction. “Hey, Tom. Tripp Long.”

After a few seconds of shooting the breeze, Tom got down to business. “I can spare the bulldozer for a couple of days. Shouldn’t take much to knock that old greenhouse down. I’ll send a construction bin you can keep on-site for a few weeks.”

“I really appreciate you leasing me the dozer.”

“No worries. I’ll give you the old-friend discount and send Lou out to show you the basics, but it’s not anything too difficult.”

After thanking him, Tripp hung up and looked around, assessing. Vines and tangled brush needed to be cleared so he could create workspace for the renovation. The house was structurally solid, but it had been neglected. Still, nothing some good, hard elbow grease and a buttload of money couldn’t fix. And Tripp was good at elbow grease since he’d worked his way through college working for a contractor. He knew enough to be dangerous.

Dangerous.

Something flickered in his gut as he walked to the car, popped the trunk and pulled out two duffle bags and an ice chest. Mary Belle Prudhomme.

The woman had looked like cherry pie with a side of cream. Lush, decadent, with a hint of tartness.

Tripp had always loved a good piece of cherry pie.

And he felt hungry.

Which bothered him.

After the way his childhood crush had rejected and humiliated him in high school, he should want nothing to do with her. But still, she made him long to forgive the sting to his pride, to forget the way everyone had ragged on him about getting stood up, to forget she’d chosen Bear Rodrigue over him.

But he needed to ignore the memory of Mary Belle laughing, of her wearing that bikini, of that one innocent kiss beneath the swaying willow.

Yeah, he had enough on his plate without mooning over his once-upon-a-time dream girl.

But deep down, mixed in with his plan for redemption, was another reason he’d come home—Mary Belle Prudhomme.