Reach For Me

by Elizabeth Cole

  “I think you take on too much, darling. You’re always doing more work, work, work. You should take care of yourself first, then focus on the rest of the world. Why not give this cat to the neighbor and not burden yourself with more responsibility?”

  “Pumpkin weighs like a pound and he’s not a burden.”

  “How much do you weigh now?” her mom asked abruptly.

  Cara grimaced. “I don’t know. Haven’t weighed myself in a while.”

  “This is exactly what I’m talking about, sweetie. You got swept up in this job and you’re neglecting yourself, eating junk food and not taking care of your physical condition. You’re beautiful when you prioritize yourself. I hate to think of you missing out on life because you’re not taking a few simple steps to improve your body.”

  Cara took a long inhale, trying not to snap. “I am not missing out on life. I am doing exactly what I want to be doing.”

  “You drive around the country like a vagabond. You’re always alone, or worse, surrounded by the sort of men who work in construction…”

  “They’re fine.” Except for the Barrys of the world.

  “You know what I mean. Those men who catcall or dog whistle—”

  “Politicians dog whistle, Mom. Construction workers wolf whistle. But not my crew, because they know I’ll sack them.”

  “Don’t change the subject,” her mom said.

  “I’m not. You brought up whistling.”

  “I was talking about your health. What did you have for dinner today? Junk food, I bet.”

  “Pizza,” Cara mumbled. Delicious, soul-feeding pizza.

  “You need to keep sensible food around. I’ll order you some of those chocolate smoothies and have them sent to you.”

  “Ugh, no!” Cara hated the little plastic bottles of weird flavored pseudo-milk that her mom always drank. Supposedly, they were calibrated with the perfect amount of vitamins and not too many calories, and if Cara would just drink three of those a day instead of eating actual food, she’d be thin and happy and married.

  The stuff tasted like misery in liquid form, and Cara wasn’t going to drink a single one. And definitely not in front of her work crew. Hard pass.

  Her mom was still talking. “I just want you to be happy, baby. You’re smart and talented, and if you tried you could look as pretty as you wanted. You’ve got the most beautiful eyes. And your hair is a gift. I bet you haven’t gone to a salon in months.”

  “I’m busy, and I don’t have money to waste on salon visits. Dad made sure of that.”

  “Don’t ever mention that man!” Cara knew needling her mom about him was cruel, but family was all about knowing which buttons to push.

  “Does he call you?” Cara asked curiously. Inexplicably, they were still married. Cara’s mom talked about divorce all the time, but always said it would cost too much to actually do.

  “If he did call, I wouldn’t answer,” her mom said with a haughty sniff. “You shouldn’t either.”

  “He doesn’t call me,” Cara said. It was technically true. He mailed.

  “Good. He ruined our lives. I had to move across the country to get a new start, and you poor thing are stuck in some cow town.”

  “Hey, there’s also a lot of corn,” Cara noted.

  After a bit more chitchat, she said goodbye, and then flipped back onto the bed. Why had she thought this conversation would go differently than the thousand before it? Her mother was convinced that if Cara just lost fifty pounds, she’d be happy as a Disney princess. And more importantly, Ever After like a princess too. Meaning hitched, with kids on the way. No matter what Cara said, her mom refused to understand that she was happy. Work made her happy. Craft made her happy. Creating form out of nothing made her happy. The smell of wood shavings and the gleam of woodgrain made her happy.

  Would it be nice to have someone in her life? Sure. If that someone actually wanted to be with her as she was. And Cara knew that the chances of someone seeing past her weight to her inner beauty were basically nil.

  Especially if that someone happened to have a lot of outer beauty himself.

  Someone like Mal.

  Chapter 13

  The very next day, a large crate of diet drinks appeared at the job site. Cara silently cursed her mother’s good intentions, and the modern business infrastructure that allowed crappy shakes to be mailed anywhere overnight. She hustled the crate into the trailer before anyone could get curious about it.

  She’d always kept in steady contact with Morningside, the attorney who was handling all the client’s end of the business. Cara had called him the previous day about the extra lumber purchase, and had expected a speedy response, since the lawyer didn’t seem to sleep. However, she was surprised when he told her that he’d be coming in person to check on the progress, expecting to be there right at the end of the workday.

  Cara was freaking out, trying to get everyone to be especially tidy before leaving. Dan told her that he could get her some Valium if she needed it, and she was pretty sure he was being serious.

  Most of the crew left on time, since Cara didn’t want to keep them there just for looks. Mal remained, since he volunteered to handle some final tasks in the basement while Cara dealt with the lawyer.

  Hoping to look more like a supervisor than a scrub, Cara even dashed into the office trailer to change her outfit. Away went the jeans and flannel shirt. She pulled on her only dress, a jade-colored, high-waisted thing that came down to her knees. She only had black flats, but they’d have to do. Cara brushed her hair and prayed she didn’t have iron filings stuck in her eyebrows or something. Why did she choose to operate the drill that afternoon?

  A shiny black car pulled up, the lingering purple twilight reflecting off the surface and making it look especially expensive. A tall man in an Italian suit stepped out, and Cara immediately had flashbacks to the men in Italian suits who’d got her father into trouble.

  Not the mob, not the mob, she told herself. Morningside was not an Italian name. She was fine.

  “Miss Michaels?” he asked. “How very nice to finally meet you in person.”

  “Hi,” she said too brightly, too eager to please. “I’m glad you could come. I think you’re really going to like what you see.”

  “I have every confidence in you, Miss Michaels. Shall we?”

  “Yeah! Come on in and I’ll give you a tour. Oh, and take a hard hat. We’re past most of the worst parts, but there’s always the chance of something falling.”

  The bright yellow hard hat looked somehow classy on the lawyer’s head, concealing his silvery hair.

  Cara showed him the house, pointing out the good and bad things. He made appreciative noises at all the right moments. He didn’t seem to notice the weird cold spot in one of the upper rooms. Cara shivered her way through it, and prayed no ghosts actually showed up.

  “How are things coming along?” he asked just as they were about to enter the parlor, which Cara saved for last.

  “We’re pretty much on schedule. Maybe a week behind due to the scale of some of the water and termite damage.” She hit the floodlights, illuminating the room.

  Morningside frowned as he looked at the walls and floor. “This room is not anywhere close to done.”

  “Well, no. But it’s better than it looks, I promise. See all those tiles? They’re ready to go. It’s like a puzzle. It looks like it’ll never get done, but then it’s real fast at the end. I promise it’ll be done.”

  “Promises, Miss Michaels, are very pretty, but contracts are what matter. And the contract did state that November first would be the day the client could be assured everything was complete.”

  “I know that, sir. I signed the contract, and I’m promising too. Double promise. I won’t screw this up.”

  He nodded, smiling slightly. “Very well. I accept your word.”

  “Restoration projects are always a gamble,” Cara went on. “Old houses are quirky, like old people. We have to allow for complications. Li
ke termites taking out that one bedroom decades ago. We couldn’t have planned for that.”

  “I certainly see your point,” he conceded. “The parlor is the top priority. If the other parts aren’t done exactly before November first, that’s all right. But the parlor is the showpiece of the house. It has to be perfect.”

  “It will be.”

  “You’re putting your heart and soul into this restoration, I can tell.”

  He walked over and ran his fingers over the Egyptian female carving that she’d just installed as part of the mantelpiece. “Absolutely beautiful work. My client will be pleased.”

  Cara breathed a sigh of relief.

  Suddenly, an angry voice burst out, “Who the hell is this?”

  Cara whirled to see Mal in the doorway, glaring at Morningside. “Mal! This is Mr. Morningside. The attorney who’s in charge of the project. Maybe use some manners?”

  Mal had noticed her change of clothing and narrowed his eyes further.

  She glanced back at the lawyer. “This is Mal. He was just finishing up something in the basement.”

  “Well, he can certainly go now,” Morningside said, his voice as cold as Mal’s had been hot. “And perhaps not come back.”

  “I can’t lose another worker,” Cara said quickly. “Not with the schedule so tight already!”

  “In any case, the shift is over, is it not…Mr.…” He trailed off, not knowing what name to use.

  “Mal works just fine,” Mal drawled as he stepped up to Cara. “And yeah, shift’s over and you’ve seen what you came to see. Let’s all leave.”

  Cara had never seen Mal so murderous, not even when he’d fought the ghost. She gasped when Mal grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the door. “Wait! The lights and the locks…”

  “Later. Time to go.”

  Mal did everything short of picking Cara up and hauling her across the street. Morningside paced after them, protesting the whole time.

  Mal only stopped once he and Cara stood on the Salem lawn, about ten feet from the mailbox.

  Morningside glared at Mal. “Really, sir. It’s quite out of fashion to drag women to your cave. Let Miss Michaels go at once.”

  “No one’s tying her down. She can walk off this property whenever she wants.”

  “Cara, please come here.” Morningside gave her a smile. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

  “Don’t go with him,” Mal warned.

  Cara held her hands out, feeling utterly confused. “Sorry, am I free to go, or what?”

  “You can leave, but I’m telling you that you’re safer here,” Mal said, his voice low. “Don’t step off the property.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “I agree,” Morningside said. “Miss Michaels, this man is unhinged. Come back here and I’ll drive you home.”

  Mal reached for her, but didn’t actually touch her. “Don’t, Cara. That dude is evil.”

  “By that you mean he’s a lawyer?”

  “No. I mean he’s evil. Don’t ask me how I know, but I do. The fact that he’s got a law degree is beside the point.”

  Cara shook her head, stepping back from both men. “I can’t deal with this.”

  “If he’s a normal, non-evil person,” Mal said, “he could step onto the lot and take you back over the boundary. He’s not doing that. Instead he’s trying to convince you to return on your own.”

  “Because she’s a grown woman,” Mr. Morningside said calmly. He gave Mal a chilly smile. “If I do not step onto another person’s property, it’s because I respect the laws that govern this nation, and I am too intelligent to allow myself to be led into some trap where you, as a belligerent property owner, will try to bring some false charges against me the moment I try to assist Miss Michaels.”

  “I don’t need assistance. I’m not in danger,” Cara said, wishing she sounded more certain. The necklace she wore felt hot against her skin, though perhaps just because she was super embarrassed and her shame was heating the metal.

  “I sincerely hope not,” Morningside told her. “I’m going now. But rest assured that as soon as I get in my car, I’ll call the police to come to this address to respond to a possible kidnapping.” He looked at Mal with a clear challenge in his eyes.

  “Don’t talk and drive,” said Mal. “It’s dangerous.”

  “You may be joking, sir, but I’m not. The police will respond to my report.”

  “Fine,” Mal said. “I’d rather have half the county law enforcement here than let Cara go anywhere with you.”

  The lawyer stalked off. Mal and Cara remained on the lawn until they saw his shiny black car drive away.

  Then Cara rushed into the house, basically dying from mortification at what just happened. Behemoth found her on the couch and jumped into her lap. “What is going on,” she murmured to the cat. “I am in a horror movie.”

  Mal strolled in. “Well, that was weird.”

  “Weird?” she snapped. “That’s your word for it? You acted like a complete psycho, and now you’re probably going get us both canned.”

  “Sorry. I overreacted a bit. But I did not like the vibe from that guy, and I think there’s a strong chance he’s a vampire.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I wish I was, but I’m not. The night I took Pumpkin to the vet, I ran into one.”

  “A vampire?”

  “It knew who I was, and it knew who you were. Mentioned you by name.”

  “What name?” she asked sharply.

  “Cara Michaels. And it called me Malachy East. Both of our construction industry identities, you’ll notice.”

  “What did you do with this vampire?”

  “I killed it. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to freak you out prematurely. But yes, vampires are real, and I think some of them are very interested in Egan House.”

  Cara hugged Behemoth, drawing comfort from the cat’s bulk. “Please, please, please tell me this is not happening.” The cat did not respond other than to nuzzle her.

  “Sorry, Cara,” Mal said, sounding sincere. “Can I make you a drink?”

  “Wine would be a godsend right now.” A full bottle sounded about right.

  “We’ve got wine. Hold on.” Mal left the kitchen and Cara took a deep breath. Pumpkin wandered in on wobbly paws, mewing at her.

  “Oh, it’s feeding time,” she said, pushing Mr. B aside.

  Cara had stashed one bottle of her mom’s shipment into her bag, wondering if it could serve as dinner for a cat on a liquid diet. She opened the bottle of vanilla-flavored smoothie and poured some into a dish. Pumpkin approached it eagerly, lapping it up. Then a startled expression crossed his face and he spat it out. Directing a wounded look at Cara, he began to scrape his tongue against one paw, ridding himself of the taste.

  “Totally agree,” she said. “Ok, I’ll toss the whole box in the trash and leave a bad review. ‘Even cat was grossed out—one star.’”

  Mal returned with a bottle of wine. “What is that?” he asked, pointing to the smoothie.

  “Nothing. My mom sent me some diet drinks.”

  “Gross. Why?” Mal was rooting around in a drawer for a bottle opener, so he probably missed Cara’s jaw dropping.

  “Uh, because of my weight?”

  He shook his head. “Forget that. You look great, and you can haul heavy drills and two by fours up the stairs faster than any of the guys. You’re in perfectly good health. Here. Drink this. It’s a…” He peered at the label. “Pinot something? Vinny bought it and she’s good at picking out rich people stuff.”

  Cara took the glass, still stunned by Mal’s comments. She took one sip, and decided that whoever Vinny was, she knew wines.

  Just then, Mal looked out the window. “Oh, look who’s here.”

  Cara followed his gaze. A squad car pulled up into the driveway. No lights or sirens, but the cops who got out looked damn serious.

  “He did call,” Mal said softly. “I didn’t think he was a
ctually going to go that far.”

  “Isn’t that the cop from before?” she asked nervously.

  “Officer Hallihan, yeah.”

  He opened the front door and stepped out. Cara followed, leaving her lovely red wine in the kitchen with a sense of regret.

  The blonde woman walked up to the porch, unsmiling. “Mr. Salem, we got a call to emergency dispatch. Something about a woman being held against her will?” She sounded skeptical, but was clearly going to do this by the book.

  Mal held out a hand, indicating Cara. “One woman right here. But she’s free to go whenever she wants.”

  Hallihan looked directly at Cara. “If you wouldn’t mind stepping onto the lawn to answer a few questions, ma’am?”

  Cara passed by Mal on the way to the steps. He winked at her, which she felt was a little too self-confident, considering he had cops on his lawn. Officer Hallihan took her by the arm and started to walk to the center of the front yard.

  Over her shoulder, Hallihan said, with studied nonchalance, “Stay with Mr. Salem, would you, Jim?”

  Once they were out of earshot, Hallihan took Cara by the shoulders and turned her away from the porch, presumably so Mal couldn’t read her lips.

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I think there was a mix-up,” Cara said. “You got the call from Mr. Morningside, right?”

  Hallihan said nothing.

  “Well, Morningside was just on the job site a half hour ago and he and Mal got into kind of a…discussion.”

  “Go on.”

  “Mal doesn’t like Morningside. Like, hated him right off the bat. And Mal didn’t want me to go with Morningside. But he didn’t kidnap me. It was my choice to stay here.”

  “Yeah, kidnapping isn’t really Mal’s style,” Hallihan noted dryly. “Just so we’re clear, I’m going to ask a few more questions. Do you feel that you’re safe in the company of Malachy Salem?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you feel safe at this location?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want a police escort to any other location?”