Silver Thaw: A Mystic Creek Novel
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His last stop was at Amanda’s place. No people in dire need here, at least not now. He’d find Amanda’s SD card and check the house. He was pretty sure he had flipped off all the switches in her breaker box. Sometimes the power went off while people were cooking, and if they weren’t home when the juice came back on, fires could start.
As Jeb pulled into the driveway area, dusk had settled over Mystic Creek. He grabbed a flashlight, aware that some of the rooms might be dark, and were probably still coated with ice. With a sigh, he cut the truck’s engine, opened the driver’s-side door, and braced himself for another skating session. As he walked toward the ramshackle rental, something about its silhouette against the darkening sky seemed off-kilter. Jeb stopped, stared, and felt a jolt of alarm when he determined that the front section of the roof had collapsed. Shit. Without any heat inside the dwelling, the snow and ice hadn’t thawed enough to slide off. The storm last night had added to the weight.
Making his way to the porch, Jeb shone his flashlight beam through the front windows. He saw three support beams lying in a tangle, like pickup-sticks, over the old sofa where Chloe and Amanda had huddled together for warmth just yesterday. Thank God I insisted that they go home with me. If I hadn’t, they’d both possibly be dead right now. No way would Jeb allow Amanda to reenter this dump to get her personal things. The rest of the roof could cave in at any moment. Jeb didn’t like the idea of going inside himself.
Amanda was stubborn, though. And, from what Jeb had seen, she had precious little by way of possessions. He couldn’t stay in there long enough to get all of her knickknacks, but he could make a quick sweep to collect pictures, important paperwork, and whatever else might be irreplaceable.
Because the front of the house was impassable, Jeb made his way out back and scaled the two steps of the stoop. The door was locked. He rammed the panel with his shoulder and nearly fell into the ice-covered kitchen. Son of a bitch. He caught his balance, shone his light on the locking mechanism, and saw that the metal had been mounted on rotten, crumbling wood. What the hell? Who in his right mind would rent out a hovel like this?
Feeling like a moose walking on window glass, he stepped into the kitchen. The ice had crusted over, making it less slick than yesterday. He crept through the house, carefully avoiding debris in the dining area and living room to reach the short hall, where the two bedrooms and bathroom were accessible.
Following Amanda’s example from yesterday, he took pillowcases from the linen closet and began filling them with anything Amanda might consider invaluable. In her bedroom, he found a framed photo of Chloe, a worn Bible, three novels from the local library, and clothes in her wobbly old bureau that were one step up from being rags. As he stuffed them into a case, he found the SD card and tossed that in, too.
In Chloe’s room, he gathered more clothing, all of better quality than her mother’s, a clown lamp, a picture of her mom, and about thirty children’s books. As Jeb swept the books from the shelves into the bag, he heard a loud groan and then a crack that resounded throughout the house like a rifle shot. He froze and listened, his heart pounding with fear. He was a big man, his body well padded with muscle, but he would be just as vulnerable to injury as Amanda and Chloe if roof beams rained down on his head.
That’s it. I’m out of here. If he’d missed anything else important, that was too damned bad. No possession on earth was worth dying for. Collecting the stuffed pillowcases, Jeb moved through the house, trying to be light of foot. As he passed through the kitchen, he thrust Amanda’s pink tablet in one bag. He didn’t breathe easy until he’d reach the backyard. Turning, he stared at the house, his eyes burning from the extreme cold. His entire body jerked when, with loud snaps and a huge boom, the rest of the roof fell in. Sweet Jesus. Jeb had never seen anything like it. Amanda’s landlord ought to be sued for allowing people to live in such a rattrap. He should at least be forced to reimburse his tenant for all her furnishings—not that there was anything inside worth a hoot, anyway.
As he walked to his truck, Jeb realized he was shaking. If he’d taken even a minute longer to get out, he would be caught under a pile of rubble right now. What frightened him even more was that it could have been Amanda and Chloe in there.
As he drove home, ever conscious that his studded tires had become as ineffectual as his shoe chains on the slick ice, he pondered how to tell Amanda that her home would never be habitable again. She’d be devastated. She clung hard to her independence. How could she afford to furnish another rental?
He imagined the shadows that would haunt her brown eyes when she realized she had nowhere to go.
Chapter Six
Jeb was no expert on kids, but he decided he shouldn’t tell Amanda about the roof cave-in when Chloe was present. He would leave the pillowcases filled with their things in his truck until the child was asleep. Then he’d sit Amanda down at the kitchen table and tell her as gently as possible that she’d just joined the ranks of the homeless.
As he pulled up in front of his house, it hit him that those two pillowcases on his backseat contained almost the entirety of Amanda’s and Chloe’s personal effects.
I will never allow them to live in a dump like that again. As the thought settled into his brain, he realized that he had no say-so about what Amanda did. The hell I don’t. He could help her find another rental. As for furniture, he had plenty to spare that she could borrow until she could afford to buy her own. Before she got another house, he’d do a walk-through to make sure it was structurally sound.
Feeling as tired emotionally as he was physically, Jeb entered his home wishing he had a pocketful of magic. Only he didn’t. Bozo came racing to the door at such a high speed that he slipped when he braked and would have fallen if Jeb hadn’t grabbed his shoulders to steady him. Not an easy feat when the dog weighed more than he did. Jeb guessed Bozo had separation anxiety. He was seldom left at home.
“Whoa, boy! I put in slate to prevent slipping. Don’t burst my bubble.”
Jeb received a wet slurp from Bozo’s tongue that got him on the mouth. He resisted the urge to wipe the kiss away. He felt, way down deep, that doing so would hurt Bozo’s feelings.
Apparently Bozo’s sharp hearing had paid off, because tonight no one else came to greet him. Jeb set a sack of surprises for Chloe near the closet door. Then he peeled off layers of heavy outer clothing, hanging it on the coat tree, knobs, mantel corners, and the top of the open closet door to dry overnight. He found his second pair of work boots inside the closet, stripped off the chained ones, and sat on the sofa to pull on footwear that wouldn’t make him sound like a ghost rattling through a haunted house.
By then, Bozo had vanished, telling Jeb that the dog’s eager greeting had been out of habit more than true mourning over his absence. He went into the downstairs bathroom to scrub and disinfect his hands, noting that Amanda had cleaned up the “working bubbles” mess and made everything shine like new.
When he crossed the hallway and stepped into the kitchen area, he saw his dog sitting beside Chloe, who knelt on a chair at the table. The mastiff gazed at the child with absolute adoration. Jeb no longer resented the dog’s shift of affection. He felt the same way about the little girl and, with mounting concern, realized that he was becoming just as attached to her mother.
Am I losing my mind? She was just another pretty lady, only she was put together like a small, perfect gift, wrapped in shabby paper with a tattered bow. But, oh, man, he wanted to strip that away and see what was hidden underneath.
I need to go on a date, no strings attached, and score. Jeb dragged in a deep, bracing lungful of air. Amanda was beautiful, no question about it, and he was coming to believe that she was just as lovely on the inside. But that was no reason for him to hurtle clear over the edge. That was a good way to get his heart broken.
Busy at the work island, Amanda moved in the fast, efficient way that had become eye candy for hi
m. The kitchen television was on, the volume turned low. While chopping a tomato, she paused to listen to the weather forecast with a darling wrinkle of her nose. Clearly, she did not like what she’d just heard. Jeb allowed his gaze to drift over her and linger in places it shouldn’t. Chocolate chip cookies, a sweet little girl, a dinner that smelled like heaven—and a woman who was swiftly laying claim to his heart. He needed to snap out of it. Just because his mom believed in fated lovers who hadn’t found each other yet didn’t mean that he had to plunge into the insanity with her.
Amanda saw Jeb standing there, jerked, and cut her forefinger. As she grabbed her hand, he saw blood pooling. She turned her back on him to run cold water over her injury. He hurried past Chloe and his besotted mastiff to enter the work area. Stepping close behind Amanda, he peered over her shoulder, watching her try to stop the bleeding with a viselike squeeze of her fingers just below the cut as the icy flow worked its magic.
“How bad is it?” he asked, sensing that his nearness made her uneasy.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” She moved to put a slight distance between them. “I just need to stop the bleeding.”
Jeb determined that the cut ran deep. It wasn’t long, though. A butterfly bandage would pull the edges together and do the trick without his having to take her in for stitches. Even so, she had to be relieved of KP duty for the rest of the evening. Oddly, his earlier exhaustion vanished. Being near her revitalized him. How nuts was that?
“My turn to play nurse.” He grabbed a kitchen towel and stepped over to the freezer side of his Sub-Zero. When he’d filled the towel with ice to create a pack, he moved back to the sink. Amanda tried to protest, but he wouldn’t allow her to finish the meal when she was hurt. Screw that. “Here. Get it on ice, squeeze it hard, and go sit with Chloe. I’ll finish up.”
She sent him a flash of those gorgeous eyes, which were beginning to make him feel as if he might lose his balance, fall in, and drown. “You’ve worked hard all day,” she said. “You must be exhausted.”
Jeb made sure nothing required his immediate attention in the kitchen. The oven timer read ten minutes, allowing him plenty of leeway to bandage her finger and then take over the meal prep. He went for the first-aid kit, saying over his shoulder, “Keep pressure on it. I’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
When he returned, he found her sitting near Chloe, icing and squeezing the finger. “I’ve ruined the towel. You’ll never get the stains out.”
Jeb figured she might be right. “It’s pure cotton. I’ll be able to use it in my shop.” He dragged a chair around to sit beside her and went to work. She’d whacked the blade deep, which told him that the mere sight of him, when unexpected, frightened her into a mindless zone. He wished he knew the full name of the jerk who’d made her so afraid of men. He’d be online later tonight to locate him. Ten minutes. That was all Jeb figured he’d need to teach the bastard a lesson he’d never forget. “It doesn’t need stitches,” he pronounced, still so angry from thinking about her husband that his molars ached from clenching his teeth. He willed himself to relax, not wanting Amanda to think he was angry with her. “I think you’ll live.”
“Well, of course. I’ve lived through far worse.”
Jeb glanced up. The memories of far worse injuries were etched upon her face. How could any man lift a hand to her? Jeb knew from Amanda’s notes that she slept restlessly, terrified that her husband might find her. That saddened him. Even armed with a knife or a skillet, Amanda stood no chance against such a man. She undoubtedly realized that and felt afraid much of the time. Despite the fabulous smell of chocolate chip cookies and a mysterious dinner that filled the room with a mouthwatering aroma, he felt his stomach turn.
“Okay,” he said as he sat back on the chair. How could a lady’s forefinger be so little? On his finger the same cut would have been a nick. It drove home to him just how much larger he was, and the realization made him want to shrink and slump his shoulders. “Got you all fixed up. So where are we with dinner? I’ll finish up.”
“You have latex gloves under the sink. I’ll just put on one of those and finish everything. I was almost done, anyway.” She looked over her shoulder. “The instant the oven timer goes off, everything will be ready. I made steak. I’ve got vegetables in the warmer, and all the salad needs is diced tomato. I’ll be fine.”
Jeb’s kitchen gloves were extra-extra-large, and her small hands could easily fit inside to protect the bandage. Shit. He’d created a balloon at the end of her finger, using enough gauze to cover a bullet wound. He guessed it was a subconscious reaction to how protective he felt. If that no-account, abusive jerk found her here, Jeb would kick the snot out of him.
“You’re not lifting a finger,” he insisted.
He went to the kitchen and finished chopping the tomato, jumped to remove the baking pan from the oven when the timer went off, and fetched the vegetables from the warmer. He walked back and forth, bringing the food to the table. As he grabbed plates, flatware, and paper towels for place settings, he asked, “Is this steak Diane?”
Interrupted while telling Chloe to put her drawing materials on the extra chair, Amanda sent him a wary look. “Yes, but I did it my own way. I’m not good at flambéed dishes. Well, I don’t know for sure, but I’m thinking that fire and I don’t mix.”
Jeb figured Amanda and an abusive husband didn’t mix, either, which was fine with him. She was ready to move on—had, in fact, already moved on—and she’d landed in his lap. He couldn’t help but believe that divine orchestration might be at work. He’d never put much stock in the legend of Mystic Creek, that any lonely stranger who stood along its banks was destined to find true love, but now, with Amanda in his home, he wondered if there wasn’t some truth to it.
He set the table. He flapped paper towels as if they were made of fine linen and settled them over his guests’ laps, not surprised when Amanda flinched. Then he played server. He considered flambéing the entrée, but as much as Chloe might love it, he didn’t want to upstage Amanda’s efforts to prepare a fine meal.
And it was fine. Jeb liked to play chef and gave himself high marks, but this lady was phenomenal. After asking Chloe to say the blessing, which she delivered with more confidence than she had earlier, Jeb dug into the meal.
“School is canceled again tomorrow,” Amanda said after swallowing a bite of salad. “It sounds as if Mystic Creek has been hit horribly hard.”
She was clearly trying to hide her worry. Jeb figured she was concerned because she couldn’t afford so many days off, and he regretted that he’d be adding to her stress when he told her that the roof of her rental had collapsed.
“It’s definitely the worst weather I’ve ever seen,” he agreed. He took a bite of the steak, chewed, and then swallowed. “Oh, man, you’re kidding me!”
Amanda’s face drained of color. “Is it awful?” She jumped up from her chair and circled the table. Jeb noticed that she stood between him and Chloe. “I’ll fix you something else really fast.”
His heart hurt for her, but he had no time to dwell on that. “Awful?” He gestured with his fork. “You take this plate, and I’ll pout for a week.”
He saw her shoulders relax. “So you like it?”
“Like it? It’s delicious.” Jeb watched as she resumed her seat, then added, “Just for the record, not everything anyone prepares is always going to be fabulous. When you don’t hit your goal, the food will most likely still be edible, and in this house, edible gets high marks. I’m never going to get mad because something isn’t quite to my taste.”
“My daddy did,” Chloe chimed in.
“Hush, Chloe,” Amanda whispered.
Chloe flashed her mother an apologetic look and filled her mouth with food.
Jeb pretended he hadn’t noticed the exchange, wondering just what kind of hell Amanda had lived through if even her meals had been cause for mistreatment.
Some of the color seeped back into Amanda’s cheeks, but Jeb noticed that her hands trembled as she resumed eating. “It’s minced salad. My grandma always made it for holidays, and I became addicted.”
He decided ordinary conversation was needed to dispel the tension. Turning to Chloe, he asked, “So, how did your day go, princess?”
“How come you’re calling me princess?”
Jeb shrugged. “You’re as pretty as a princess, so why not? And because you look like a princess, today I got you some shampoo and bath bubbles that every princess should have. I left the bag by the entry closet.”
Chloe started to wiggle from her chair, but Amanda stopped her. “Not right now, sweetie. We’re still eating. It’s impolite to leave the table unless it’s necessary.”
To assuage the child’s disappointment, Jeb asked again about her day.
Chloe smiled, revealing missing front teeth. “I helped Mommy cook, and then I made the chocolate chip cookies all by myself with hardly any help.”
“Wow! You did?” Jeb glanced at Amanda, who blushed and dipped her head. He determined that although Chloe was taking all the credit for dessert, her mother had more than supervised. “I’ve got ice cream in the laundry room freezer. After dinner, we’ll have a dessert party!”
All during the meal, Jeb tried to think how he should tell Amanda about her house. He insisted on cleaning the kitchen while she got Chloe bathed and off to bed. He handed her a latex glove to protect her injured finger. Chloe grabbed her sack of surprises from the hallway, and then the pair trailed upstairs, Bozo at their heels. Jeb wondered if the dog hoped for more treats or if he was just head over heels in love with the little girl. He suspected it was the latter.