Faith talked around his hands in her mouth as he asked about her family and work and dating life (because everyone seemed to think that was ripe ground for conversation). In the universal way of all dentists, he seemed to understand all her answers.
Her mouth felt clean and new again as she drove across town to her house, making one stop along the way to pick up her dry cleaning. “Is it true you’re dating that nice Brendan Cooper?” Mrs. Smitty, the owner of the dry cleaner, asked as she handed over Faith’s clothes.
Faith winced. Mrs. Smitty happened to be sisters with Nora Blattenberg, who owned the Sweet Hill Recorder and, naturally, spent a lot of time at the courthouse. Of course, as a reporter, Nora would be privy to all of the gossip that went on in that building.
“We did have a date a week ago.” She nodded politely, remembering that Mrs. Smitty had been a friend of her mother’s and had brought over dinners for months after her mother passed away—long after everyone else had moved on with their own lives and forgotten about the grieving Walters family.
“Ah, I reckon he took you someplace nice. Such a gentleman that man! And so handsome! Where did you two go?” She leaned forward expectantly, her eyes bright as she waited for Faith to spill all the details, and Faith dutifully answered, including what they ordered and how much the restaurant charged for iced tea. As far as Mrs. Smitty was concerned, a three-dollar iced tea was criminal.
Half an hour later, Faith extricated herself, promising to attend the annual boosterthon spaghetti dinner. Mrs. Smitty’s nephew played football and they had dreams of making it to state this year.
North wasn’t in the backyard. His bike was gone. As she pulled into her driveway (thankfully vacant), she noticed North’s side gate was wide open. She’d never noticed it open before. North was always mindful about that. Maybe the meter reader had come by and left it open.
Emerging from her car, she hesitated. She looked left and right up the quiet street. No one was outside. Only a few cars were even parked in driveways. Everyone was either at work or school this time of day. The neighborly thing to do, the right thing to do, would be to close the gate for him. He surely had all kinds of valuable things in his backyard shop.
Slamming her door shut, she crossed his side of the driveway and walked into the yard, her heels sinking into the soft grass. She grasped the edge of his open gate door. Instead of shutting it, however, and sliding the bolt into place, she hovered there thinking, biting her lip in contemplation.
She sent a glance over her shoulder as though she expected him to appear. Which was unnecessary. She would hear the motor of his bike pulling into their street. He would not magically manifest out of thin air.
Maybe it was the fact that she was home by 2 p.m. and she knew he wouldn’t be home anytime soon.
Maybe it was because he spent hours working in that shed and she simply felt compelled to make sure her neighbor wasn’t running a meth lab next door.
Hey, it could happen. If a well-respected chemistry teacher could turn into a meth cooker, then anyone could.
She snorted and stifled a laugh. Obviously last summer’s marathon of Breaking Bad still left its mark on her.
She tried to tell herself it was just about self-preservation. She was a lawman’s daughter, after all. And she was a social worker. Investigative instinct ran in her blood. The more she knew about him the better. The more she knew about him, the more at ease she would feel. And contrary to what her brothers and dad wanted, she was not selling her house and moving, so she needed to do whatever she could to feel more at ease.
The reality was . . . she just wanted to know what kept him so occupied in the backyard. She wanted to know what made him tick. She wanted to know him.
All that considered, she really didn’t intend to go fully into his yard.
She just wanted a closer glimpse of his workshop. But then she saw that the door to the shop was wide open. Wide open and beckoning to her. An invitation she couldn’t refuse.
With one last glimpse over her shoulder, she scurried across his freshly mowed yard. She noticed he was good about that. His grass never got overgrown and there wasn’t a weed in sight. He took care of his yard and home.
She stopped at the threshold of his shed and peered inside. Something large sat in the middle of the space. She angled her head, trying to make sense of the object in the midst of various machinery and equipment—all things she couldn’t even identify by name. She wasn’t good with knowing about tools and mechanical things.
It was large and made of different-colored metals. She stepped inside and walked around it. It was art. Very modern in sensibility. The central focus was a dog in midleap. There was a striped cat, too, swatting at the dog’s tail. He had used different shades of metal to create the striped effect. It was incredible. Curled at the base was another dog with sleepy, soulful eyes. The legs supporting the piece were several large copper goldfish. It was detailed and amazing. Even abstract, one got a sense of emotion from the expressions on the animals’ faces.
She reached out a hand and brushed it against the warm metal, a breath of awe escaping her.
“What are you doing in here?”
She whirled around with a yelp. North stood there, his big body framed in the hot afternoon sunlight. And speaking of hot . . .
Her face burned at being caught on his property. She felt cornered. The only way out was through him—this big, sexy man who filled her with far too many naughty thoughts.
“I—I—”
“Did you just walk into my backyard?” he asked evenly, that deep voice of his reverberating in the hot, still air of the shed.
She stammered some more. “N-no. The gate was open and then I saw that the shed door was open—”
“So you decided to trespass?” He stepped closer and the air just felt thicker, the space tight, his body bigger.
“I decided to be neighborly and—”
“And take the opportunity to snoop around?”
“No!” Yes. That was it exactly.
They stood there, neither budging. Silence stretched. She gazed uncomfortably into the dark brown pools of his eyes and shifted on her feet. She motioned lamely to the metal sculpture. “You built this.”
He didn’t respond to her noncomment, and that only made her feel all the more lame. Although, he wasn’t indifferent. A muscle feathered along the cheek of his strong jaw.
“It’s amazing,” she added. “Beautiful.”
He turned to stare at what he had created and some of the tension ebbed from his shoulders. “Yeah?”
“Yes. It really is. Is it for . . . you?”
“A veterinary clinic commissioned me to do it.”
He got paid for creating sculptures? For his welding? How many people could say that? And this guy had spent almost half his life in prison, no less.
She shook her head, marveling. He was more . . . so much more than she realized, and then she felt slightly ashamed. She didn’t really know anything about him. That being the case, she shouldn’t have such preconceived notions of who he was. She prided herself on being open-minded. On her job, she’d seen people with all odds stacked against them turn their lives around. Of course, she’d also seen the dregs of humanity just slide lower.
“That’s really . . . impressive,” she said.
He looked back at her, his gaze sharp. “You sound surprised,” he said flatly.
She winced. “No,” she started to say. “It’s only—”
“I can count, too. All the way to one hundred,” he continued, his voice cutting. “I know my letters and everything.”
“Look, we don’t really know each other, do we?” she snapped. “Why shouldn’t I be surprised?” She motioned to the sculpture. “I can’t do anything like this. I don’t know anyone who can. It’s a surprise because it’s incredible. Maybe you shouldn’t be so defensive,” she accused.
His lips pressed into a flat line, apparently digesting this.
“It’s a compliment,�
�� she added. “That’s all I was trying to do. The gracious thing to do is to accept it.”
After a long moment, he nodded. “All right. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
He was slow to move, but he finally did, stepping closer to her, a great wall of living heat coming at her. “That doesn’t erase the fact that you trespassed.”
She swallowed. “Er, yes. Sorry.”
“It’s just there’s lots of dangerous equipment in here.” His eyes rested on her face even as he motioned around him with one hand. “And the space is . . . tight. And filthy.”
She stared at his mouth, hearing those last words and suspecting he wasn’t talking about his workshop anymore. He reached a hand between them and touched the thick silk ribbon dangling from the collar of her blouse. Her breath caught at the proximity of his fingers to her breast. “A nice clean thing like you could get dirty.”
She swallowed again. “I won’t come on your property again.”
“Oh, you can come over any time. I just want you to know what you’re getting into when you do.” Okay, he definitely was talking about more than her stepping foot into his shop.
Her face warmed and she remembered his earlier words. He’d charged her with drawing a line in the sand. It was up to her to cross it.
He dropped the ribbon and stepped to the side, suddenly all brisk business as he waved her to pass. “Thanks for closing my gate . . . even though you have yet to do that.”
She sniffed and smoothed a hand down her skirt. “I would have.”
“Right.” He grinned and her stomach did that heady flip-flop.
She stepped past him quickly, making sure they didn’t brush each other. Not touching North would be the smartest thing she had done all day. Far smarter than snooping around his backyard and discovering there was, in fact, much more to North Callaghan than she could ever have imagined.
FIFTEEN
Faith managed to avoid North Callaghan over the next few days. She actually didn’t even have to try very much. They simply didn’t bump into each other. She was starting to wonder if maybe he was avoiding her. For some reason that stung. Was he trying to make a point? Did he really expect her to come after him? To cross that proverbial line in the sand? Not. Happening. She went about her life and tried not to glance next door every time she emerged from her house or pulled into her driveway.
She spent Tuesday and Wednesday conducting interviews around Sweet Hill. She visited the elementary and the middle schools, responding to concerned calls placed by staff members regarding specific students. She completed a few home visits as well. She thought she was done for the day at five but just before leaving the office, she received a call from the local police department requiring a social worker present as they executed an arrest at a home with a child in residence. Faith took the four-year-old and stayed with her in one of the back rooms at the police station. One of the officers ran out and bought the little girl a Happy Meal, which she happily munched on as she and Faith drew together in a Dora the Explorer coloring book until the grandmother was able to come and collect her.
It was after nine by the time she arrived home. North’s bike was missing from the driveway. She told herself she didn’t care as she stumbled through her house to her bathroom. After a quick shower, she made her way down to her kitchen. Opting for easy, she pulled a frozen pizza out of the freezer and stuck it in her oven.
Leaning against her stove, she sighed as she waited, rolling out her neck. Truthfully, it wasn’t the day that had her tense. Her gaze drifted to the kitchen window and the shut blinds. Call it pent-up sexual frustration.
She released a gust of breath. Things were gonna get a whole lot more pent up because trains would not be colliding and she would not be crossing that line in the sand.
When her pizza was ready, she took it upstairs with her diet soda and ate in bed while watching TV. She rarely ate in bed, but she did it now so that she would not hear when North pulled into the driveway. It would keep her from rushing to the blinds to score a glimpse of him. She didn’t need that temptation.
Her plan worked. Only she was more tired than she realized.
She didn’t hear North come home. Nor did she hear her alarm go off. Probably because she forgot to set it. She fell asleep with the TV on. She opened her eyes to the sounds of a morning talk show and sunlight streaming through her blinds. Her heart lurched to her throat. She’d overslept. She bounded from bed with a yelp, her plate flying to the carpet with a thud.
She dressed quickly, wildly shoving a blouse into a skirt. She cast a quick glance down to make sure her top half matched her bottom half at least moderately well. Satisfied, she raced downstairs, skipping applying even the minimal makeup she used for work. She could put it on at stoplights.
She forwent breakfast and flew out the front door, hopping as she stuck first one foot inside a heel and then the other. She wasn’t looking where she was going. Head down, hunkered halfway over, she caught herself just seconds before colliding into North.
“Faith Walters,” he greeted with exaggeration. North looked rested and shower-fresh. Yes, that was annoying. Especially considering she looked like a train wreck. His dark damp hair brushed the collar of a shirt that bore the logo for Sammy’s Garage in the corner and his jaw was clean-shaven. “Late night? Looks like you went on a bender.”
“Charming as usual,” she grumbled, straightening her spine and adjusting her briefcase bag over her shoulder.
His gaze flicked over her. “Your shirt isn’t tucked.”
She glanced down with a huff of indignation. Half her blouse dangled out. “It’s called a blouse. You’re wearing a shirt.”
“Ah.” He rolled his eyes. As though to clarify, he pointed at his chest. “Shirt.” He pointed to her. “Blouse. I’ll be sure not to make that mistake again.”
She stalked past him.
“What? Good girls don’t go on benders?” he called behind her back.
“Don’t confuse your behavior for mine,” she tossed over her shoulder, punching the unlock button on her keys.
She yanked open her car door and tossed her bags inside.
“Faith,” he called.
She stopped and looked back at him. “What?”
“I’ve missed you.” His tone was mocking, the glint in his dark eyes taunting. Even if he was teasing, just hearing those words out of his mouth made something flutter inside her.
Just like that, some of her bluster faded. He grinned, his flashing smile transforming his face, softening his usually severe features.
“Say what you will. I’m still not crossing that line in the sand.”
“Not yet,” he countered. Without another word, he moved down his driveway and climbed into his truck.
Shaking her head, she sank down behind her steering wheel. He backed out and turned down the street. She stayed where she was, suddenly forgetting that she was late. Or not caring. I’ve missed you.
She wondered if he really meant it.
Her phone rang all day. From the moment she arrived (one hour late), it was nonstop. While it was a great way to keep her mind off North, it was not very conducive to keeping headaches at bay. Everyone wanted to complain about something . . . or wanted to make their jobs easier by inconveniencing her. Or they simply wanted her to perform a miracle.
She managed to escape for a brief lunch break. When she returned it was only to find her phone ringing—again. Sighing, she lifted it to her ear, ready to resume the marathon. “Faith Walters here, how can I help you?”
“Do you sleep well at night, Miss Walters?”
Faith stopped midaction as she was tearing a sticky note off the pad to remind herself to check on a case before leaving the office today. “I beg your pardon?”
“Stealing people’s children? You sleep well, you cunt?”
She jerked at the words. “Who is this?” Her voice came out a breathy demand, but at least she wasn’t stammering. She’d dealt with disgruntled par
ents before. She’d been called ugly things before. She didn’t take it personally. The rewards of her job made this occasional verbal attack worthwhile. In moments like this, she just had to remember that.
“What? You steal so many kids from their parents, you can’t guess who this is?” the voice demanded.
“If you would like to lodge a formal complaint—”
“I’m complaining to you, bitch. You’re the kidnapper who took my kids.” She thought back to the last child she had placed in foster care just yesterday. A little girl. Faith didn’t recall any men in the picture when she had searched Hannah Moriarty’s background for relatives to take her. The mother had been MIA for days. The little girl had gone to a neighbor when her mother had left her alone.
“You belong in jail,” he continued. “Or worse.”
Or worse. It didn’t take much imagination to realize what he meant by that. Still, his words made her shiver a little. She’d dealt with unhappy people before. They only needed to blow off steam and she was a good target for that. Even so, that didn’t mean she didn’t have her moments where she wondered if maybe she should have been a music teacher. Or an architect. Something with a little less day-to-day drama.
His words flayed her like bullets. “Enjoy your sleep, bitch. While you can.”
The phone went dead. She pulled it back and stared at it for a moment before setting it back down.
“Who was that?” Wendy asked from her desk across the way, looking at Faith curiously.
Faith shook her head. “Just someone that wanted to nominate me for Social Worker of the Year.”
“Riiiight.” Wendy snorted as she lifted her coffee cup and took another sip. “So you never answered my text. I want the scoop on your date.”
“It was nice.”
“Uh-oh.”
She angled her head. “What?”
“Nice. That’s the kiss of death.”
She stifled her wince. “What are you talking about? That’s not true.”
Wendy lifted her eyebrows in disbelief. “I’m just saying I’ve been on a lot of nice first dates. Sometimes they make it to a second date . . . even a third. But notice, I’m still single?” She wiggled her fingers, pointing to her ring finger for emphasis.
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