by Brenda Novak
He was so intent on the sandwich, he didn’t look up. “Anger and determination make for pretty good fuel.”
“Even that can’t carry you forever.”
He met her gaze. “No.”
“So it’s a good thing I’m here.”
He said nothing, just took another bite of his sandwich.
“Do you intend to run this farm by yourself?” she asked.
“This year,” he replied when he’d swallowed. “Until I start making a profit, I don’t have much choice.”
“Once I get the house cleaned, I can help.”
“Outside?” This time he spoke as he chewed. “You’d be willing to do that?”
“Until your sister arrives, and I need to keep an eye on her, why not?”
“With all the hoops I have to jump through, there might be a few days where that’s a possibility,” he admitted.
“I don’t have your strength, but I’ll do what I can.” She lifted the thermos. “This is coffee, by the way. I figured you’d have water—”
“Yeah. I’ve got a jug over there.” He jerked his chin to indicate the edge of the field. “But—” he took the thermos “—where’d you get this? I don’t remember seeing one at the house. I looked.”
Sort of proud that she’d anticipated his need, she smiled. It was a small thing, of course, but she liked feeling successful at her job, especially because it was only the first day—typically the toughest. “I brought it from home. I didn’t know what you had and what you might need, so I put a few things in the car, in case.”
“What else did you bring?”
“Some spices and utensils. And a knife. I’m picky about my knives. They have to be really sharp.” He made her so nervous she’d spoken without thinking. Only after those words were out of her mouth did she realize she was talking about an item that could be used as a murder weapon to a man accused of killing his parents.
He paused with a carrot stick halfway to his mouth, as if he could guess her thoughts, but he let it go. “I see. That was thoughtful of you.”
She tried not to notice the way his T-shirt clung to his muscular torso. He looked good enough to be featured on one of those man-candy calendars, she thought. Sly had a nice body, too. He spent a lot of time in the gym to make sure of it. But he didn’t have the face that Dawson did. His skin was too pockmarked, his features too angular and harsh. The pull of attraction was something she hadn’t felt for anyone in a long time. Feeling it now proved a little disconcerting, considering what Dawson had supposedly done.
Embarrassed by her own reaction to him, she gestured to the field surrounding them, hoping to direct his attention elsewhere before he could recognize the romantic interest. “You’re getting a lot done.”
“You’d think it would go faster.”
“How long have you been at it?”
Yanking on the bill of his cap, he settled it back on his head. “Since the day I got home, nearly two weeks ago.”
That explained the sun-kissed color of his skin. “Then I’m especially impressed. You’ve made a lot of progress for such a short time.”
He squinted at the ground he’d covered. “Doesn’t feel like it. Not with so much yet to do.”
“You had breakfast, I hope.”
Her comment drew his attention back to her. “I had a bowl of oatmeal.”
“When?”
“Six or so.”
She frowned at him. “That’s too far to go between meals, especially when you’re working this hard.”
“I meant to go back in and grab something else, but I was too busy—and too nervous.”
This was nothing she’d expected him to say. “Nervous about what?”
He gave her a sheepish grin. His teeth weren’t perfect. There was one on the right side that crowded the tooth next to it, but the fact that he hadn’t had braces—that his smile was natural—worked for him. “I was afraid you wouldn’t show up. I promised Angela I’d have her home in a week. That wouldn’t be possible if I had to keep looking for someone to help me get the house ready and care for her.”
Sadie bent to tie her shoe. “What’s the rush? She’s in good hands, isn’t she?”
He was scowling when she looked up at him. “Of course she’s in good hands, or she’d be out of there already—even if I had to bust her out.”
Sadie cleared her throat. Perhaps she’d been too cavalier with that statement, but she hadn’t meant to insult his ability to take care of those he loved. “Right. I wasn’t implying that you would ever allow her to be mistreated.” She tightened her ponytail. “Well, I’d better get going. I’ll see you later.”
As she trudged back to the house, she breathed a sigh of relief to be out of her new employer’s presence. He made her uncomfortable for so many reasons. He had a huge chip on his shoulder, was too driven, too intense. And he was so damn handsome that she could stare at him for hours. All of which made her self-conscious. She constantly screwed up and said the wrong thing, something that shouldn’t be said to a man who’d been through what he’d been through.
“Just do your work and ignore everything else. You need the money,” she muttered to herself.
Once she reached the kitchen, she plugged in her slow cooker and added the roast and vegetables along with some water and a gravy packet. Then she set to work in earnest, pulling everything out of the cupboards and drawers, washing them and reorganizing them. She also cleaned the fridge and oven and scoured the sink, counters and table so she could feel more comfortable cooking in this space.
While she worked, she kept expecting to hear Dawson come in—to return his lunch plate if not to take a short break. But after two hours, she guessed he wouldn’t quit until sundown. He was nothing if not determined. That was one thing that seemed sure. So she used her phone to put on some music and tried not to think about being in a house that had a crime scene upstairs. Although the unnerving images she’d seen on TV crept in now and then—whenever she heard a strange sound that was probably just a settling noise—she stubbornly ignored it. She had plenty to keep her busy where she was, she didn’t have to go upstairs. She figured tomorrow would be soon enough to face that daunting prospect.
Although dinner was ready at six, she still hadn’t seen any sign of Dawson. Rather than put the food in the fridge for him to warm up later, she decided to take another plate out to him. He had to be starving. She’d seen how hungry he’d been at lunch when he’d wolfed down that sandwich, and that was hours and hours ago.
She found him in the same field. Once he spotted her coming toward him, he stuck his shovel in the freshly turned earth and leaned on it as if he could hardly stand up any longer.
“You’re going to give yourself a heart attack working so hard,” she said. “You realize that.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think there are many people who would mourn my passing, do you?”
He spoke flippantly, as if even he didn’t much care whether he lived or died, and she realized just how lucky she’d been to be loved and wanted as a child, despite what’d happened to her parents later. At least they’d been able to give her a solid base—before she screwed up her life by marrying Sly. She wondered what the situation was with Dawson’s birth parents, if he’d ever had any contact with them, or if he’d been an orphan from the beginning. “Do you have any extended family in the area?”
He wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I don’t have any family at all, except Angela.”
Sadie couldn’t imagine a man who cared so much about his sister would murder their parents even if it did mean he’d inherit. That brought her some comfort—but it also made her question her own thoughts and feelings, made her wonder if she was building a case for his innocence because she preferred to believe he was innocent. “What about friends? I mean...you went to school here...”<
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“I stay in touch with a few guys. But the kids at New Horizons are sent there from other places. Most leave when they graduate. Other than the Turner boys, none of my friends stuck around here. I actually left for a while, too. Went to Santa Barbara, where I attended college and then worked, until my parents needed me to come home.”
“When was it that you returned?”
“Three years ago.”
The fact that the community didn’t know him all that well couldn’t have helped when he was accused of killing his parents. It was always easier to think the worst of a stranger—or someone with a bad reputation.
His attention shifted to the food. “Roast? Wow. Smells delicious.”
She tried to hand him the plate, but he waved her off. “Go ahead and take it inside, okay? It’s getting too dark to keep working out here. I’d like to wash my hands and eat sitting down for a change.”
“Okay.” She was glad to hear he was quitting for the night. Although he hid the extreme exhaustion she’d noted before behind a smile as if he was fine, she could see the fatigue in his eyes.
“I’ve got to put away my tools. It might be a few minutes.”
“I’ll keep your dinner warm.”
She picked up his empty lunch plate on her way to the house, put his food back in the slow cooker and set a place for him at the table.
The slap of the back door alerted her when he arrived. She heard him go into the bathroom off the rear porch, recognized the slide of the pocket door as he closed it. When he came out, his hands were slightly damp as he gestured at the single place setting. “You’re not going to eat with me?”
“I ate while I was waiting for you to come in. I’m just going to mop the floor. Then I’ll go.”
“It’s after six-thirty. I’m sure you’d like to see your son. Go ahead and leave. You can mop tomorrow.”
Now that she could see him in full light and not the dim twilight, he looked even more fatigued than before. She wondered if he was going to be okay after she left. “I checked on Jayden not too long ago. He’s watching a movie with the babysitter’s kids. I’d really like to get the floor done so I can go home knowing I have one room finished, if it’s all the same to you.”
“It’s all the same to me.” He gazed around as he took his seat. “You’ve made good progress already.”
“Only in here. Cleaning out the cupboards and drawers takes time, especially because I had to wash a lot of the stuff that was going back in them. Maybe when you’re done eating, I can show you what I accomplished,” she said, dishing up his food once again.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” he said as she carried it over.
He didn’t have the energy to get up for something so trivial, she realized. He seemed grateful for the food, though.
Before she could fill the bucket she planned to use, her phone rang. She’d kept her ringer on in case Petra needed her. But when she checked her screen and saw it was Sly, she winced.
“Is that about your son?” Dawson asked.
She hesitated. Her new boss had been so intent on his dinner she hadn’t expected him to be paying any attention to her, whether her phone was ringing or not.
“Because, like I said, you can go,” he added.
“No. It’s not my son.”
“You don’t seem pleased to hear from whoever it is.”
“I’m not. It’s my ex.”
His chewing slowed. “Does he know I offered you the job—and that you accepted it?”
“Yes.”
“What’d he have to say about that?”
“He was sure to...make his displeasure clear.” And to send his cop buddies over to the diner to make the ramifications even clearer. She considered telling Dawson about that incident, thought maybe he should know that Sly had a lot of friends on the force, so he’d understand their bias if he ran into it. But she couldn’t be entirely sure he was as innocent as she wanted to believe, felt that it wouldn’t be wise to point out that she was losing support as far as the force went. Besides, she hesitated to wreck his day, especially when he’d been nice enough to hire her in spite of Sly’s threats. The police had had plenty of bias against him before she came to work here. Hopefully, he understood to stay clear of them all.
“Is that what this call is about?” he asked. “More displeasure?”
“No doubt.” She nibbled at her bottom lip while trying to puzzle out how best to handle Sly. She didn’t want her lack of response to cause another fight, and yet...she didn’t feel as if he had the right to continue harassing her about her new job. Besides, she didn’t care to talk to him, especially in front of Dawson.
After silencing the ringer, she went about mopping the floor.
She was relieved when Sly didn’t call back like he so often did, thought she’d been granted a reprieve—until she heard a knock at the front door about fifteen minutes later.
“Oh no,” she said, a spurt of adrenaline causing her stomach to cramp.
“That’s him, isn’t it?” Dawson had finished eating, was just having a glass of the inexpensive brand of wine she’d bought at the store.
“I don’t know for sure, but...maybe. I mean, who else could it be?”
“I have no clue. I’m not expecting anyone.”
“I’ll get it,” she said, but he put up a hand.
“No, let me.” With a sigh, he pushed back his chair, seemed to summon what energy he had left and got up.
Sadie waited in the kitchen, hoping she was wrong about the identity of the visitor while listening to see.
“Officer Harris. What a surprise.”
She heard the sarcasm in Dawson’s greeting, knew Sly wouldn’t be able to miss it, either. Dawson didn’t know what he was getting himself into. If he wasn’t careful, Sly and the rest of the force would make his life a living hell, and she didn’t want to be responsible for that.
“Everything okay around here?” Sly asked.
“Have you received a distress call or something that would indicate otherwise?” Dawson responded.
The risks inherent in provoking such an egomaniac made Sadie catch and hold her breath...
“Not a call, exactly. But I have to admit, my cop’s intuition is sending out a warning.”
“Well, there’s no trouble here. You can go on your way,” Dawson said.
“Not so fast,” Sly responded.
Sadie tiptoed to the entrance of the living room and peered around the corner to see her ex-husband holding the door so that Dawson couldn’t close it. “I guess you decided not to take my advice, huh?”
“Advice?” Dawson echoed, using the same facetious tone as before.
“You know what I’m talking about. Was there some confusion?”
“No, not really. Why?”
Sly’s expression hardened. “Maybe you don’t know this yet, but it’s not smart to get on my bad side.”
“Your ex needed a job, and I had one. Seemed like the perfect fit. I’m not sure why you’d have anything to do with it, to be honest.”
“I have everything to do with it,” he said. “Everything to do with her. And I’m telling you, she doesn’t belong here.”
“Actually, she does now. Technically, you’re the one who has no business coming onto the property.”
Sadie gripped the edge of the opening so hard she thought she might leave impressions in the wood. “Don’t let him explode. Don’t let him explode,” she chanted silently to herself. She didn’t want this to come to blows, especially because she wasn’t convinced Dawson could overpower Sly, not when he was so tired. Even if he could, she was afraid Sly would make up some lie about being attacked and call for backup, which would land Dawson in jail again.
“Funny,” Sly said. “A murderer with a sense of humor. I like that.”
“Great. Glad to hear it. Now, I’m tired and eager for bed. Not interested in any domestic bullshit. So...why don’t I go on about my business—and let you go on about yours?”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Sly said. “Not until I see Sadie. I tried calling her, but she didn’t pick up. When that happens, I tend to worry.”
Dawson didn’t even glance her way. “Her hands were wet. She’s mopping the floor. I’m sure she’ll call you when she gets done.”
“I want to talk to her now. So I suggest you make it easy on both of us and get her.”
Before Dawson could refuse and thereby provoke Sly even more, Sadie walked into the room. “Sly, what are you doing here?” she asked.
His gaze shifted to her, but his expression didn’t grow any friendlier. “It’s after seven.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means it’s getting late, and I’m wondering why you’re not home with our son.”
She slid in front of Dawson to block Sly’s view of him. “I haven’t finished work. I’ll be leaving soon.”
“When?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“Fine. I’ll wait out here and escort you home.”
She wanted to tell him to leave, that she didn’t need an escort, but she feared that would only tempt Dawson into trying to enforce her wishes, which wouldn’t be good for him, or her. “Fine,” she said and shut the door.
“Please, try to stay out of it, if you can,” she whispered to Dawson when she turned to find that he hadn’t moved since she slipped in front of him.
“Because...”
“It could be dangerous not to.”
He seemed much more alert than before. No doubt Sly’s attitude and the anger it evoked had given him a shot of adrenaline. “How dangerous? Has he ever hurt you?”
She thought of all the temper tantrums and other rages she’d witnessed over the years. Sly putting his fist through a wall. Sly throwing something and breaking it. Sly peeling out of the drive and nearly crashing his car or screaming and ranting at her until he had her backed into a corner with her arms up over her head, convinced this would be the time he would strike. “Not yet.”
