by Brenda Novak
“It’d be nice to...to have someone to talk to for a few minutes,” she added when he hesitated. “A little adult conversation might give me the chance to get my feet underneath me again.”
She needed company, someone close at hand to provide a sense of security, at least until she could calm down.
He decided to stay. Why not? He’d been up this long. “Sure. What do you have to drink?”
She held the door so he could come in. “I have a bottle of Pinot Grigio, which should be much better than the wine I brought to your place,” she added with a self-deprecating smile.
He tried not to let his gaze fall to her bare legs—or her shirt, since it was obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra—but that was exactly where his eyes tended to go. He hadn’t been with a woman in so long. Although he’d initially thought Sadie wasn’t his type, that he wasn’t attracted to her, the more he got to know her, the prettier she became. She had the most gorgeous legs, and her breasts, though small, looked like the perfect size to fit the palm of his hand.
In an effort to keep his mind—and his attention—where it should be, he circled the room, inspecting his surroundings. Her place was clean and neat but sparsely furnished with what looked like thrift-store purchases or hand-me-downs. “That’s what you typically drink?”
“I don’t typically drink anything. I can’t afford alcohol,” she said with a wry laugh. “I’ve been saving this.”
Stopping in front of a side table, he picked up a photograph of her and her son. They were on a beach, the same towel wrapped around them both as Sadie kissed Jayden’s cheek. “For what?”
“A celebration.”
He put the photograph down and looked over his shoulder. “Of...”
She shrugged. “My neighbor gave it to me for my birthday last month.”
“Why didn’t you open it?”
“I decided to wait for something better to come along.”
“What’s better than a birthday?” he asked, but he hadn’t celebrated his birthday this year, either. He’d spent it in jail, wondering if he’d be convicted of murder.
“My divorce. The day I receive my final papers. The day it will all be over.”
“What’s holding that up?”
She rolled her eyes. “Sly, of course. He’s doing everything he can to sabotage the process.”
“Don’t tell me opening this wine signifies that you’re giving up.”
“No. I’d just really like to have a glass, especially now that I have someone to drink it with. You interested?”
For however long he stayed, she wouldn’t be alone. “Sure.”
She went into the kitchen and returned with a regular water glass filled almost to the halfway mark.
“That’s a lot of wine,” he said as he accepted it.
“Sorry. I don’t have any wineglasses.”
He took a sip, found it to be as good as she had promised—much better than what she’d bought the other day. “What happened to your belongings? I mean, I can’t imagine you’ve always lived in such a...spartan fashion.”
“I had to leave most of my stuff behind,” she explained. “It was hard enough just to get myself and Jayden out of that house.”
“Where’d you live?”
“In one of the new homes on the other side of town. We had some nice furniture, too. Nothing like this. Sly can be stingy with his money, but he likes quality—things that make him look good to his friends.”
“So...he lives there alone now, with the good furniture?”
She nodded. “I didn’t take anything, knew that would only make it harder for me to leave. I did try to get my clothes. But even that didn’t work. He threw away what I couldn’t carry in that first load.”
“And he thinks I’m bad,” Dawson grumbled.
She studied the liquid in her own glass. “He has a way of justifying—or excusing—the most terrible things.” She gestured toward her threadbare couch. “Would you like to sit down?”
To avoid hovering over her, he took her up on that offer and made himself comfortable. The room was so small it was the only way to put a little distance between them. “What made you marry a guy like that?”
“I wish I knew,” she replied. “In the beginning he seemed...different than he turned out to be. But I was barely eighteen when we married. What did I know?”
Dawson took another sip of his wine. “When did things start to go bad?”
She leaned against the wall opposite him. “I can’t really pinpoint a date. He grew more demanding and irritable as the years passed, especially after he had to share my attention with Jayden. He’d withdraw or sulk if he didn’t get his way—or rail at me until I gave in just to appease him. He became so controlling there were times, lots of them, when I felt I couldn’t breathe. If not for my son, I would’ve left him long ago—and I wouldn’t still be living here in Silver Springs, where he can continue to harass me. That’s for darn sure.”
“Why can’t you move away?”
“And take Jayden from him? The court would never allow it.”
He found his gaze drifting back to her legs. For all he knew, she was wearing a pair of shorts under that old, soft-looking T-shirt. But he wasn’t picturing shorts. He kept picturing a pair of lacy white panties—and imagining what her thighs would feel like if he ran his fingers up under the hem of that shirt...
An awkward silence fell. He realized that she’d spoken last and he should’ve said something to keep the conversation going. Once he dragged his eyes up to meet hers, the flush to her cheeks indicated she’d noticed his preoccupation with her bare legs.
Knowing that his interest couldn’t be comforting to her, not after all she’d been through and the doubts she probably still harbored where he was concerned, he cleared his throat, set his glass aside and stood. “Sorry for...staring. I’d better get going.”
Her eyebrows came together in a look of despair. “Already?”
Her response surprised him. She’d just caught him ogling her; didn’t she want him gone? “You’d like me to stay even though...”
“It’s okay.” Her blush deepened. “I know it’s probably been a long time for you, and...and there’s nothing wrong with looking, right?”
“There is if it makes you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to do that. I...got distracted. It has been a long time for me since...since I’ve been with someone in that way. But I would never come on to you, never put you in a compromising situation. All you have to do for me is cook and clean and look after my sister.” He lifted his hands. “I promise you that.”
“Thank you. The reassurance is...appreciated. And, knowing how tired you must be, I wouldn’t ask you to stay any longer except...having someone here is nice, you know? It gives me a little break from having to be quite so diligent. Sometimes, late at night, it feels like I’m going out of my mind.”
“You’re just tired.”
“Yeah. But not only physically. I’m tired of keeping watch. Of being worried. Of never knowing when he might appear to challenge me in some way.” She made a negating gesture with one hand. “That isn’t your problem, of course. I don’t mean to drag you into anything. I just thought we could spend a few more minutes chatting about our lives, or something else, if you prefer. You know...have the chance to calm down before facing the rest of this nerve-racking night.”
She didn’t need to chat with anyone; she needed a chance to recover, to feel safe. And she needed more sleep than she was getting. “Bring me a blanket and a pillow,” he said. “I’ll stay here for a few hours, on the couch, so you can rest without worry.”
Her eyes widened. “You don’t have to go that far—”
“It’s fine.”
“But you must be as weary of your battles as I am mine.”
He was weary, but as
harrowing as his ordeal had been, it’d lasted only a year. He got the impression she’d endured her “hell” for much longer. “Whether I crash here or at home doesn’t matter. After sleeping on such a thin mattress while I was in jail, I can nod off just about anywhere.”
A look of relief came over her face. “That’d be great. Really great. If you’re sure you wouldn’t mind. I’m normally not like this—just sort of at loose ends tonight.”
“Like I said, it’s no trouble.”
“Good.” The tension seemed to leave her body. “Then I wouldn’t have to worry that Sly might be...bothering you out at the farm, and that it would be my fault.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. Go sleep. I’ll let myself out in a few hours.”
“Okay.” She put down her wine, left the room and returned with an old quilt and pillow. “I’d let you take the bed, since you’re doing me a favor, but my son’s in there and moving him would risk waking him.”
“You share a bed with Jayden?”
“A mattress, actually. That’s all we’ve got.”
No doubt Sly preferred Jayden to be sleeping with his mother. Then she’d be unlikely to invite another man into her bed.
She downed the rest of her wine, gave him a grateful smile and told him good-night.
After she went into her room, he sat on the couch sipping his own wine for another ten or fifteen minutes. He couldn’t get the image of her bare legs out of his mind. Even after he’d drained his glass and lain down, he couldn’t seem to rein in the desire that kept him rock-hard. Now that he’d thought about sex, he couldn’t quit thinking about it.
That she’d given him her pillow didn’t help. He could smell her perfume on the case.
9
What’d just happened?
Sadie’s heart thumped against her chest as she crawled into bed with Jayden. Dawson had never given her the impression he found her attractive; she’d assumed he didn’t. She’d noticed certain things about him, of course—like his perfect backside, since the fit of his jeans made that obvious, how the corded muscles of his arms and shoulders rippled as he worked, or the way his lips moved when he talked or smiled. Like Sly had said, most women noticed Dawson. They’d have to be blind not to. But he’d seemed completely indifferent to her.
Until a few moments ago.
Remembering the hunger in his eyes took Sadie’s breath away. He wanted a woman—so badly she wasn’t sure he was feeling very particular about which one. Acknowledging that helped her cool off a little. It wasn’t her he wanted; anyone would probably do.
Still, she hadn’t felt young or attractive for some time. She’d become a cliché, had fallen to the unappealing status of “beleaguered mom anxious to get out of a bad marriage” and was happy if she could just get an extra hour of sleep in a night or a generous tip at the diner. Romance hadn’t even entered her consciousness, so achieving the interest of a man who was that good-looking, even though there was still a great deal of suspicion surrounding him, reminded her that she wasn’t too old or too far gone to feel the kind of titillating desire depicted in movies. For the first time in ages, she wanted to make love. And she was so unaccustomed to the arousal flooding her body that she didn’t know how to combat it.
Having Dawson stay probably wasn’t the best way. She had to admit that. Knowing he was in the other room made her want to go back out there, but... God, it felt good to feel attractive again.
Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to imagine what it might be like if he were to kiss her with those full, soft-looking lips, imagined his large hands sliding up under her shirt to touch her breasts—and jumped out of bed again.
Stop, stop, stop! She couldn’t let her mind go there. Allowing herself to fantasize about Dawson Reed wouldn’t improve her situation. What if she acted on those fantasies? If she did, and Sly found out they’d been together—well, she didn’t even want to contemplate what would happen if Sly found out. And that wasn’t the only thing. Dawson was her boss! She needed the job he was providing.
Kneeling by the mattress, she forced herself to focus on the small body curled up under the covers. Jayden. Her son. She had to be smart, for his sake. Working for Dawson gave her an opportunity, made it possible for her to one day get out from under Sly’s thumb so she could build a better life for them both.
She couldn’t do anything to blow that.
* * *
Dawson woke to find a small face staring intently into his. Startled and unsure of where he was, he sat up rather abruptly, and the boy jumped back.
“Mo-om!” the kid cried. “There’s a man in our house!”
Dawson’s ears rang with the unexpected noise as he glanced around, trying to regain his bearings. He’d fallen asleep at Sadie’s—so deeply he hadn’t gotten up and gone home as he’d intended. And now it was...morning? Tough to tell with the blinds down...
“Shh. It’s okay,” he said to Jayden. “Don’t wake your mom. I’m leaving.” Shoving the quilt he’d been using out of the way, he got to his feet but staggered there for a moment. Still groggy, he hadn’t given his sore muscles any warning that they would suddenly be bearing his weight.
“Mom! Hurry!”
Dawson shoved a hand through his hair, trying to get it to stay down. If he had his guess, he looked pretty scary, especially to a small person. But he wasn’t sure there was anything he could do to change that. They were in such a tiny house he couldn’t even back away. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt anyone,” he said and started searching for his keys. They weren’t in his pocket. He remembered taking them out because they were cutting into his leg while he was sleeping, but...
“Dawson?”
At the surprise in Sadie’s voice, he whirled around to see her standing in the doorway of her bedroom, looking as rumpled as he was. “I’m sorry to still be here,” he said. “I didn’t wake up as planned. I guess I was more exhausted than I thought. But I’m going now—if only I can find my keys.”
“Who is it, Mommy?” the boy whispered loudly.
“Jayden, it’s okay. This is Dawson Reed, Mommy’s boss.”
Her son gave him a skeptical once-over. “Why’s he sleeping at our house?”
Dawson racked his brain, searching for a safe answer that would also appease the boy. He’d stayed to be nice, to offer Sadie some reassurance so she could sleep, but he knew it wouldn’t look like a favor if Jayden mentioned his “overnighter” to Sly, the landlady or someone else.
Fortunately, Sadie spoke up. “He came over to see Mommy last night and was too tired to drive home. We can share our couch with him, can’t we?”
Jayden didn’t seem too sure about that, but he was calming down now that he could tell his mother wasn’t alarmed. “I guess,” he said with a measure of reluctance.
“What time is it?” Dawson asked.
Sadie rubbed her face. “Almost seven.”
“When do you have to be at the restaurant?”
“Not until eight today. My alarm will be going off in five minutes.”
“So you’ll be out to the farm at one.”
She covered a yawn. “Unless I get done early.”
“One is fine. I’ll see you then.” Spotting his keys on the floor, he stooped to grab them, but Sadie hurried after him, still wearing that darn T-shirt he’d dreamed of pulling off her for half the night, and intercepted him at the door.
“Actually, I was thinking maybe you could stay for breakfast and then...you know—” she lowered her voice “—leave after we do.”
He froze with his hand on the knob. Now that he was on his way, he didn’t want to be held up. He had the feeling he should never have come here. He hadn’t been ogling Sadie at the farm. He’d been able to keep his mind where it should be, for the sake of his sister. “Because...”
“My landlady gets up early, and she...she looks for me in the mornings, for a bit of chitchat before I head to work. After that, no one will be paying any attention to my place, and I wouldn’t want her to, you know, think the worst.”
By seeing a strange man come out of her house... That was the part she didn’t add. “Right. Okay.” He had a lot to do and was suddenly damn uncomfortable hanging out here. But he figured he could tolerate another few minutes.
Letting his breath go in a long sigh, he returned to the couch.
Jayden was still staring at him. “You live on a farm?”
He’d said that as if Dawson lived on a spaceship or the moon or something really exciting. “I do.”
“What kind of animals do you have? Do you have any pigs?”
“I don’t have animals right now. I grow artichokes.”
Jayden looked disappointed. “What’s an arti—What did you call it?”
“Artichokes are vegetables. I’ll have to send one home with your mom so you can try it.”
“I don’t like vegetables,” he said.
Dawson couldn’t help chuckling. “Then I’m glad I’m not depending on you.”
He wrinkled his nose. “What’d you say?”
“Nothing. I didn’t like vegetables when I was your age, either.”
“Jayden, why don’t you go potty and get dressed?” Sadie said. “And please don’t put so much toilet paper in the toilet this morning. If you stop it up again, Mrs. Clevenger is going to want to kick us out.”
“I don’t do that,” he said, but he shot Dawson a glance that was just devilish enough to indicate otherwise.
“Hurry,” Sadie prodded. “We can’t be late.”
“I’m going,” her son said, but he was barely inching along. Clearly, he was more interested in keeping an eye on Dawson.
“Hurry,” she said again. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”
