Knit in Comfort by Isabel Sharpe Page A

own manuscript. How does that sound?
    â€œLike bad movie dialogue?”
    â€œI think I remember something about the ‘ruination of our species’…”
    â€œTouché.” He grinned, turning into a brown-eyed Paul Newman again. “I’m just old and bitter.”
    â€œRight, and wrinkled and gray and impotent.”
    â€œLest we forget.” He rolled his eyes. “Now tell me what you think of Comfort and your new family.”
    â€œI love it, and them, especially the kids. I love Megan, too, except sometimes I think she’s either unhappy or doesn’t like me.”
    â€œMmm.”
    â€œWhich?”
    David put his drink down and clasped his hands behind his head, gazing off toward the glowing mountains. “You’d better ask her.”
    â€œYou protect each other.”
    â€œFriends do. Tell me what you love so deeply about Comfort.”
    â€œIts beauty. Its peace. Its purity, and innocence. Its un-spoiled Norman Rockwell family values that—” She scowled at him, hearing the slurring starting in her own voice.
    â€œWhat’so funny?”
    â€œ Things are seldom what they seem. ” He sang the words in a surprisingly smooth baritone, picking up his drink again. “ Skimmilk masquerades as cream. Highlows pass as patent leathers; jackdaws strut in peacock feathers. ”
    â€œUm…”
    â€œGilbert and Sullivan, H.M.S. Pinafore . My mother sang professionally in Chicago, before alcohol ruined her voice.”
    â€œSo you were brought up in the Midwest too, on opera.” She could sort of picture it, but only sort of.
    â€œUntil age fourteen, when I was sent here.”
    â€œBecause your mother was too busy performing?”
    â€œBecause my mother was too busy drinking.” He gestured; gin overshot the rim of his glass and ran down his arm. “Off I went, over the river and through the woods, to be raised by Great-Aunt Delia, who trusted nothing but God and Lemon Pledge.
    â€œHere’s to Aunt Delia.” Elizabeth toasted and drank. “I was raised by fat Polish women who feared everything but sausage and misery.”
    â€œHere’s to fat Poles.” He raised his drink more carefully this time.
    â€œTo them!” She hoisted hers, only half gone and she was looped already. And enjoying herself. David was a challenge, but not, as she first suspected, a threat. And he was sexy in that brooding, tortured-artist way, and he made her feel witty, smart and interesting.
    Did she mention she loved Comfort? Maybe she really did belong here. Of course, right now she loved everything. Even David. Especially David.
    â€œTell me what you have against—”
    â€œHi there.” A throaty female voice behind them. Ella appeared from the shadows of a tree near the back door, tall andsexy in a tight fuchsia top and cropped pants that left her stunning figure with no secrets. She sauntered up next to Elizabeth and gave her yet another once-over, as if she hadn’t already examined every pore. Then she flicked a pointed glance over to David and back. “Well. Elizabeth. You work fast.”
    â€œNice to see you again, Ella.” She kept her tone pleasant, wondering how Ella would look with a martini dripping off her face.
    â€œYou two stunning women have already met?”
    â€œThis morning at Megan’s.”
    â€œAh.” He looked back and forth between them, then settled on Elizabeth. “Ella is my favorite drinking partner, and the only other person in Comfort who doesn’t bother.”
    â€œBother…”
    â€œWith Comfort.”
    Ella gave a laugh that excluded Elizabeth from the joke, then adopted a model-like pose, one foot pointed forward, hand on her hip clutching a pack of Marlboro cigarettes and a lighter.
    â€œAny gin for me?”
    â€œThere’s always gin for you.” David got up, a little less than steady by then, and gestured gallantly. “Take