Waiting for Rain Read Online Free Page B

What was it my fellow countryman, Gary Player, had said? “The harder I practice, the luckier I get.” I liked the man’s style.
    Picking up my shirt, I walked out of the workshop. Sheba stood up and padded after me. The sun shone, the air smelling of fresh grass. I reached my cottage a few feet away and went into the bedroom. I picked up a fresh denim shirt from the pile in the corner and sniffed at my armpits then snorted in sheer disgust. I sprayed some deodorant all over me, paying special attention to under my arms, then shrugged into the shirt. It felt very tight. I’d been doing a lot of work lately outdoors, shifting wood, using my arms and shoulders, and I’d definitely picked up some muscle. Well, that was tough. My dirty laundry basket was overflowing, so this would have to do.
    Most of the tools and gear we needed to work were already packed in Lucas’s Citroen relay van, and the real heavy-duty stuff would arrive by truck tomorrow. I was already looking forward to unpacking those slabs of beautifully crafted cherrywood.
    I fed Sheba, scratched her between the ears, and we made our way to town. Known as the “stone town” due to its wealth of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century stone buildings, Stamford was an idyllic place to live with its green fields and waterways, and I was glad I’d made the move here. And the month of June was one of my favorite months. Warmish, without being too hot. But the farmers were already complaining about the lack of precipitation to grow their crops of rape and wheat. It was all a person heard about when you went into the pub for a pint.
    We finally parked in the Duck and Drake’s parking lot, close to the service entrance at the back. I jumped down from the van and made my way into the cool, dimly lit lobby of the hotel. It was like something out of a film set. All wood and fancy old-fashioned lighting, with one of the most elegant staircases I’d ever seen spiraling up on the right to the second floor. It was classic old English at its best. The best thing about it was the smell—wood and that vague hint of spice in the air. I walked over to the reception desk and smiled at the young lady sitting behind it. Her name badge said Tammy. She was a pretty young thing, her hair all dark brown and shiny, with a great set of boobs. I grinned slightly as I noticed Lucas’s sudden interest. He was like a pointer dog, all ready and alert at the thought there might be a pheasant in the bushes.
    “Hi, Tammy. My name is Rain Engel, and I’m here to start moving my gear into the Canterbury Bar Room. Is it okay if I go ahead? I know where it is.”
    “Oh, Mr. Engel. Yes, we’ve been expecting you. Mr. Winslake said you’d be by.” She batted her eyes at me, a slight sexy smile on her face. I smiled inwardly.
    Sorry, sweetheart, I don’t bat for your team. But you are cute. Now my friend here, on the other hand, is definitely the right man for you….
    “Please go ahead and do what you have to. I assume you know where the tradesman entrance is?”
    I nodded. Nothing like coming in via the tradesman entrance. Made me feel all warm and fuzzy.
    “If you need anything at all, let me know.” She batted her eyelashes again at me, and I grinned.
    I heard Lucas chuckle beside me but ignored him. “I’ll do that. Thanks.” We walked down the long corridor, through a set of double doors—more cherrywood from the look of them—down past a lounge that looked like it belonged in an exclusive men’s club, then a large library which was filled wall-to-wall with books. It looked incredible, like a bibliophile’s wet dream. I stopped to peer in and heard Lucas’s knowing sigh at my side.
    “Rain, if you go in there, we’ll never see you again. Come on. Let’s start getting the gear out.” He scowled. “And can you just leave the straight ladies to me? Christ, it’s no fun going anywhere with you. You give off sex pheromones like nobody’s business, man or woman.”
    I raised