by Brenda Novak
His parents had been through so much with him. He felt bad about his behavior now. But he’d had to test them, had to prove they were going to stick with him and love him no matter what. At least that was his mother’s interpretation. He wasn’t sure what had driven him to act out. Anger, he supposed. Youth, carelessness, selfishness. And yet they’d held fast. They’d stuck with Angela, even though she wasn’t perfect, and they’d stuck with him. Whoever killed them probably saw them as two insignificant old people, people who couldn’t adequately defend themselves or their belongings. But Dawson knew they were better than most people could ever hope to be. They’d made him whole, helped him find a little peace in the world, some direction—
“I guess having your help would make it easier to get the paint down without spilling it,” she conceded, interrupting his thoughts. “Hang on a minute.”
As he watched the crudely made letters disappear beneath her brush, an odd sense of relief grew inside him. Her simple act soothed some of the pain and anger that drove him like a cattle prod. But he would never forget what had started his rapid descent into hell. He’d find the person responsible for the brutal attack on his mom and dad and hold them accountable—even if it took the rest of his life to accomplish.
“How does it look?” Sadie asked when she was done. “Did I get it covered?”
He lifted his arms, in case she fell. “Whatever you do, don’t step back to see for yourself!”
She cast him a disgruntled look. “I’m not stupid. That’s why I asked you.”
“Tough to tell in this light. It’s too dark. I can always throw on another coat tomorrow morning. Come on. I’m starving.”
After handing down the paint and brush, she managed the descent quite nicely, for the most part. She was stronger and more agile than he’d given her credit for. Her problem was height. She was so short she had no choice but to swing freely until he guided her feet to the railing. That made him wonder what she would’ve done had he not been there, but he didn’t ask.
Although she probably would’ve been okay from there, she was close enough that he could grab her, so he set her on the ground, just to be safe. “Don’t go on the roof anymore,” he told her sternly.
She blinked at him with her wide hazel eyes. “I just wanted to get that...that ugly word off the front of the house. You could see it from the highway!”
“I’ll take care of that sort of thing in future.” He couldn’t let her get hurt. Everyone was so certain she wouldn’t be safe out here with him—especially her ex-husband.
“Then why didn’t you?” She picked up the paint and brush he’d set out of the way.
That she would come back at him, challenge him, took him by surprise. “I told you, I didn’t have the right paint.”
“It’s plain white, nothing exotic. You could’ve picked it up as easily as I did.”
He took the supplies from her. “And I planned to.”
“You just didn’t get around to it.”
“Not yet.”
“I’m not sure I can buy that.”
He said nothing, hoping she’d let the subject drop, but she didn’t.
“You’ve been back for two weeks.”
Again, he made no comment.
“You didn’t want to give anyone the pleasure of knowing it bothered you,” she said. “That’s the real answer, isn’t it? You were leaving it there to prove a point.”
“Oh yeah?” He spoke as he walked ahead of her, without turning back. “And what point would that be?”
He heard her slap her hands together as she dusted them off. “That you don’t care what people think of you. That you don’t need them to accept you, approve of you—or even like you.”
“You’re my employee, not my shrink,” he grumbled. “Don’t try to psychoanalyze me.”
“I’m not. I’ve just been wondering why you wouldn’t paint over that immediately. Having it up there had to be painful and embarrassing—a horrible thing to see every time you pulled into your own driveway. Then, after working with you for two days, I decided on the reason I think you left it. So...will you do me the favor of telling me if I’m right?”
“No,” he said. “Let’s eat.”
* * *
Dawson paced in the dining area while Sadie was at the stove, dishing up the food. He was restless. Something about what happened outside had agitated him, but she wasn’t sure what. He had to be relieved that she’d painted over that red-lettered indictment. Now he didn’t have to. Although she didn’t know him well, she was convinced she was right about his reasoning, even if he wouldn’t come out and admit it. He was a proud man who didn’t like to be pushed around—the kind who would sacrifice almost anything for an ideal. The way he’d reacted to Sly, that he’d refused to cave in, told her as much.
She put his plate on the table before eyeing him speculatively. “What’s wrong?”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he pivoted and came back toward her. “I’m not sure this is going to work out, Sadie.”
“This.” She could tell by his voice that he wasn’t talking about dinner. “You mean the job.”
He stretched his neck. “Yeah.”
“Why?” She would’ve been worried that he was about to fire her. She’d been worried last night. But this...this didn’t feel like someone who really wanted to get rid of her. He liked her, liked what she cooked and the improvements she’d made to the house. She could tell. She also knew he’d be loath to search for someone else; he didn’t want to be bothered with that. He wanted to work and put his life right. So...what was the problem?
“It’s complicated,” he said as he came over to the table and sat down.
She studied him, trying to read his body language. She saw regret, reluctance, maybe even a little indecision. “You mean because of Sly, my ex.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Yeah. I guess.”
She brought her own plate over to the table and sat across from him. “Except that you’ve gotten beyond Sly’s opposition to my working here twice so far.”
He turned his fork over and over in his hand. “He could always come around again.”
“True. I warned you of that. And you texted me to be here at one.”
“Maybe I should’ve thought about it a little more carefully.”
“Because...”
He said nothing, just started shoveling spaghetti into his mouth.
“You’re upset that I covered up an ugly word some asshole painted on your house. Why?”
“You could’ve fallen off the roof.”
“But I didn’t. And now that it’s handled, I won’t go back up there. So...can we focus on the real problem?”
“This isn’t the best place for you, that’s all.”
He was wrestling with himself over something. “You told me I’d be safe.”
“You are safe. From me. Problem is...I can’t control anyone else.”
“Who do you need to control?”
He didn’t answer.
Pushing her plate away without touching her food, she waited as he polished off a meatball. “If I’m not around, how will you get your sister back?” she asked at length.
“I’ll have to hire someone else.”
“Then this is because I painted the front of the house.”
“No, it’s not. That’s ridiculous!”
“You’re uncomfortable because I did you a favor, and it wasn’t even that big of a deal. You’re so used to being judged and reviled, you no longer know what to do with human kindness.”
He swallowed, his gaze finally riveting on her face. “I know what to do with kindness. It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you.”
“Me.”
“Yes!”
“Why
?”
“How do you think all the people you care about—your friends and neighbors, your ex and his family—will react if they believe you’re taking my side? Befriending a man who—” he made quotations marks with his fingers “—killed his parents? They’ll start treating you like they do me. You’ll be an outcast. It can happen quickly, and once it does, you might not be able to turn it around—not in such a small town.”
She folded her arms. “So I’d be better off finding work elsewhere.”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure it isn’t a little more than that?”
He dropped his bread into his pasta. “More in what way? If you’re talking about Sly, we’ve covered that.”
“I’m not talking about Sly. I’m thinking that maybe you’d just feel more comfortable with someone who keeps their distance from others, like you do. I can’t believe what you’ve been through has made you very trusting. Something like that is bound to leave scars, make you leery of those around you. But I was just doing you a good turn, trying to go the extra mile. I mean, you’ve done me a nice turn, too. It’s not like you have to be my friend or anything.”
He put down his fork. “Telling you to find other work has nothing to do with me. It has to do with keeping you from experiencing anything like what I’ve been through. How do you think I’ll feel if someone vandalizes your house the way they did mine? A woman who has a five-year-old child to protect? If they see you coming here every day, making my meals and fixing up the place, they’ll assume you’re on my side, which means you’re not on their side, and they’ll make you a target, too. I should’ve thought of that.”
Sadie remembered Sly’s cop friends paying her a visit at Lolita’s to warn her that they’d be slow to respond if she got herself into trouble working for Dawson. They’d made it clear she was fraternizing with the enemy, that they considered her actions disloyal. Dawson was right. Sly wasn’t the only thing they had to worry about—although the problem her ex presented was difficult enough. Compared to how nasty he could get, right now he was being relatively nice. But she knew his patience wouldn’t last forever. What would he do if she refused to listen and quit working for Dawson? What if she not only stuck it out here at the farm but became a friend of Dawson’s—a defender?
The possibilities were frightening. She wouldn’t put anything past Sly.
But she already believed Dawson was innocent. That meant she couldn’t abandon him. “I guess we’re both taking a risk, aren’t we?” she said.
He drank some of his beer. “That means you’re staying.”
“Yeah.”
He sighed before forking another bite of meatball into his mouth. “Well, at least you can cook.”
She grinned at him—and laughed when he tried to scowl instead of grinning back.
7
As Sadie cleared the dishes, she was happy in a way she hadn’t been happy in a long time. She couldn’t point to one specific reason. She just felt...free. She also felt productive and capable of taking care of herself, which made her view the future in a more positive light. Then there was Dawson Reed, of course. She’d been so worried that he was as bad as everyone was saying, that she was making a mistake by answering his ad. But she didn’t believe that anymore. She liked him, thought he was a decent man. Although she could be wrong—there were people who’d been fooled by killers before—she couldn’t imagine him harming the Reeds. He hadn’t said or done one inappropriate thing. On the contrary! What kind of killer tried to bring his mentally handicapped sister home so he could take care of her—because she’d be happier with him? What could Dawson possibly get out of assuming that responsibility? Nothing! He was paying for a caregiver for Angela when he could be spending those dollars on a farmhand who would make his own workday easier.
Sadie certainly didn’t get the impression he’d lured her into his employ for some nefarious purpose. He was less likely to engage her than she was him. She heard from him only when he came in for dinner.
She was tired when she walked out to her car to go home, but after she backed out of the drive, where she could see the house from a better perspective, she paused to look. She’d done a good job covering the writing that’d been painted on the front. She was so glad to have gotten that off.
Eager to see Jayden, she put on some music through her phone—the radio, like the clock, didn’t work in her car—and finished backing out of the gate. That was when she spotted a squad car parked down the street, just out of sight from the house.
Sadie slowed as she went by. Sure enough, Sly sat behind the wheel.
Damn him! How long had he been there, waiting for her?
Determined not to acknowledge him, she pressed the accelerator. “Go home and leave me alone,” she mumbled. But one glance in the rearview mirror indicated he’d pulled onto the highway behind her. She really didn’t want her ex-husband waiting for her every night, didn’t want to deal with him nearly that often...
Her cell phone rang, interrupting the music, and his name appeared on her screen. Her car was so old it didn’t have Bluetooth capacity, but she had a Bluetooth device in the ashtray. She would’ve used it, if only the battery wasn’t dead.
She pulled over so that he wouldn’t follow her all the way to Petra’s again. She didn’t want him taking Jayden out for more ice cream. She missed her son, wanted to spend some quality time with him before bed—and she didn’t want Sly involved in any way. He made her anxious, on edge. His moods could be so mercurial; she never knew if he’d be pleasant or go off on some rant in which he held her accountable for “ruining his life.”
He parked behind her and came walking up.
“What are you doing?” she asked, lowering her window via the hand-crank as he approached.
“Nothing. I was just out for a drive.”
She made a face. “So finding you outside Dawson’s house was purely a coincidence.”
His lips twisted into a wry grin. “Maybe not entirely. I was making sure you were safe. What do you think? You should thank me.”
“Except that it’s not necessary for you to waste your time. And it’s more than I have a right to expect, since we’re no longer together.”
“Our separation is merely a temporary setback, Sadie. I’m going to prove that to you, prove that I can make you happy.”
They’d tried for ten years and nothing had changed. She was no longer in love with him, hadn’t been in love with him for at least half that time. “I’m flattered by your tenacity. But I think it’s important to know when to let go. We both need to move on.”
“And leave you in the hands of someone like Dawson Reed? What kind of man would I be?”
“The kind who respects boundaries. I’m fine! Dawson didn’t kill his parents, Sly. He hasn’t killed anyone. He’s not capable of that type of thing.”
Sly had his mouth open, ready to say more. He was used to dominating every conversation. But at this he clamped his lips shut. By his expression, she’d triggered one of his infamous mood swings.
“I mean...no one knows for sure what happened,” she added, trying to backpedal.
“He was the only one who could’ve killed them, Sadie—the only one anywhere nearby that night. There was no foreign DNA found in the house. If a random hitchhiker broke in and murdered Lonnie and Larry, there would’ve been something.”
She’d read about that. She hadn’t yet added the discrepancy to the list she was making, but she had a rebuttal. There was a shoe print outside in the mud—from a smaller foot than Dawson’s—which the police had conveniently explained as coming from some random visitor to the farm and not the killer. She almost said so but bit her tongue. She didn’t care to debate the case, especially with Sly. He had to win every argument, by getting mad and screaming if he didn’t have a solid basis for whatever he was saying.
“Not necessarily,” she said. “There have been plenty of crimes where no DNA was found. So why can’t we give him the benefit of the doubt? He hasn’t made one wrong move. He works all day. That’s it.”
“And you...”
“I work, too.”
“Just the two of you, out there alone together, when he probably hasn’t had a woman for a year or longer.”
She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “I don’t appreciate what you’re implying.”
“I know what men are like. I know what he’s thinking when he looks at you.”
The image Sly’s words created made Sadie feel oddly overheated. She told herself that had nothing to do with Dawson. “That’s not true. He hasn’t acted remotely interested in...in me.”
“Yet. I can promise you he’s after more than cooking and cleaning.”
“Stop it! You don’t need to watch the house. I’m sure you have better things to do.”
He hooked his thumbs in his utility belt. He was every bit as fit as Dawson, made sure he spent plenty of time jogging and lifting weights. He’d stepped on a scale every day of their married life. He wasn’t too handsome in the face, had much plainer features, but no one could call him a slouch. He could easily find another woman.
The part of Sadie that longed to be free sometimes wished he would, but she couldn’t put her heart behind that wish, not when he was so miserable to live with.
“You don’t think he’d love to feel you beneath him? To feel you close around him and—”
“No!” she broke in. “I mean...he’s not thinking like that. Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to twist everything?”
“Because you need to see the truth. You’re too naïve for your own good.”
“I’m not naïve! I know when a man is coming on to me. I like Dawson. We’re...friends. That’s all.”
The way his eyes narrowed made her uneasy. “Friends? You’ve worked there two days and you’re already friends?”
It sort of felt that way, but she shouldn’t have said so, shouldn’t have let Sly get the upper hand. “Not friends, exactly. Employer and employee. Why can’t anything be that innocent to you?”
