by Brenda Novak
After spending another fifteen minutes positive that someone was creeping around, trying to look into her windows, she was desperate enough to consider renting a motel room. She had to shut down for a while.
But there were only a few B and Bs nearby, no actual motels, and she didn’t want to rouse some manager from his or her bed in the middle of the night. She didn’t want to drag the past into the present by making the people who lived here think she was odd. The B and Bs were probably full, anyway. It was tourist season and a weekend to boot.
Then she saw Rod’s deck. She would feel safe there, knowing he was so close. As lightly as she slept, the sun would wake her at dawn, so she’d be able to leave before he ever rolled out of bed. If she kept quiet, he’d never be the wiser.
Even if she overslept, or he came out for some strange reason and found her there, she didn’t care. She supposed that testified to the level of her desperation. If he discovered her curled up outside his door, she’d just ask how much he’d charge to rent his deck until she could feel reasonably sure that Sebastian wasn’t on his way to kill her.
“What do I have to lose?” she mumbled as she gathered a pillow and a blanket. She’d already embarrassed herself with Rod about as badly as a woman could. She’d never forget trying to kiss him after he’d told her no. Getting caught sleeping on his deck would be nothing compared to that. At least maybe she could rest over there so she’d feel somewhat human again. A short reprieve. That was all that mattered to her right now.
* * *
India didn’t wake early. When she finally felt the sun beating down on her face and heard the birds chirping in the trees, she guessed it was around ten. How could she have slept so long?
The moment she opened her heavy eyelids and realized where she was, she panicked. Then she froze, because any movement or noise could draw Rod’s attention if he was up and moving around his room.
Fortunately, she didn’t hear any sounds from within. The whole household seemed to be sleeping late.
It was Sunday, she reminded herself. Most people didn’t get up early on the weekend. It wasn’t as if there were any young children in the house.
Not that she planned to press her luck any further. Slowly and quietly, she picked up her sleeping bag and pillow and crept down the wooden stairs. Her heart stopped every time she heard them creak beneath her weight, but Rod didn’t come to the door. Someone who had nothing to fear probably didn’t startle at every little sound, like she did.
Her feet got wet as she hurried across the grass. Apparently, the sprinklers had come on not too long ago, and even that hadn’t disturbed her! She’d passed out the second she felt safe, hadn’t slept that soundly since before Charlie died. She felt so much better, she couldn’t regret sneaking over. And since she made it back to her house without being seen, it hadn’t cost her anything, not even the embarrassment.
“That was worth the risk,” she murmured as she let herself in. Maybe now she could get some pottery done. She hesitated as she remembered that she’d agreed to go out with Rod. Spending time alone with the sexy guy who lived next door was a risky proposition. Their relationship couldn’t go anywhere. She’d be smarter to stay away from him.
But she couldn’t bring herself to cancel. The idea of a dinner out—during which she wouldn’t be alone with her thoughts and memories and the constant fear that Sebastian might break in and shoot her—was too enticing.
She could keep the relationship on safe ground, she told herself. What was one meal with her new neighbor?
* * *
It was the first time Rod had ever considered bringing flowers to a woman who wasn’t his girlfriend. He wanted to convince India that he had some class, that he wasn’t as bad as the fight had made him look, and he thought flowers might help. He’d even driven over to the flower shop, but then he’d turned around. He was afraid that showing up with a bouquet might make him seem as though he was trying to be something he wasn’t, so he’d backed off. If she was after another heart surgeon, or someone with an equally impressive résumé, a bouquet of flowers wasn’t going to persuade her to consider an auto body technician.
He figured he was what he was. If that wasn’t good enough, there was nothing he could do to change it.
When she opened the door, and he saw that she was wearing a sleeveless cream-colored dress that hit a few inches above the knee, he caught his breath. She was gorgeous. Stunning. And now he was even more grateful he’d let Cheyenne help him with his attire. As it turned out, he didn’t own the type of shirt his sister-in-law had wanted him to wear. She’d brought one over earlier this morning from Dylan’s closet. Then she’d insisted he match it with the pants she’d given him for Christmas, which had still had the tags hanging from the waistband.
“Wow,” he said on a long exhalation.
She seemed taken aback. But surely she had to attract male attention wherever she went, had to know she was striking. “Thank you,” she said. “This dress is okay, then?”
Okay? He couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Of course. It’s fine.”
“Great. So where are we going?”
He’d contemplated many options but eventually settled on an old hotel in Jackson, famous for its prime rib. Gold Country towns weren’t quite like the Napa Valley Wine region, which was famous for its food. The nicer restaurants along Highway 49 struggled. Except during tourist season, there weren’t enough people to support them. But some of the local favorites managed to survive, and the restaurant in this nineteenth-century hotel had been around for years. It had a dark, romantic ambience, and Rod had always liked whatever he’d ordered there. “For prime rib—unless you’re a vegetarian.”
“No, I eat meat.” She left the door standing open while she got her purse. “How’s your hand?”
He held up his cast. “I’m already tempted to bust this off. I doubt I’ll still have it in six weeks.”
“Just wait until it starts itching.”
“Something to look forward to.”
The smile she gave him as she came out of the house made him want to take her hand. But he could tell she wasn’t convinced she should even be going out with him. So he didn’t try. “What have you been doing today?” he asked. “More pottery?”
“Yes. I actually got some sleep last night—”
“Actually?” he broke in as she turned to lock the door.
She hesitated as if maybe she’d revealed too much. “I’ve been suffering from insomnia.”
He figured having someone break in while she was sleeping and shoot her husband, then threaten her daughter’s life as well as her own, could easily have that effect. “So what do you do? Take a sedative?”
“No, I don’t take anything.”
“Why not?”
“The thought of being drugged or too sluggish scares me.”
Because of Sebastian? “All you have to do is sleep it off,” he said.
“True. But who knows how long that would take? I’d rather not be impaired.”
In case she was ever threatened again. That was what she meant; he was sure of it. He wondered if it was what Sebastian had done or what he might do that frightened her most—but didn’t ask. That could wait.
“Anyway, I got a lot of work done today,” she said as they headed down the walk. “So that’s good.”
When they reached the truck, he opened the door so she could get in. He assumed Charlie had driven a luxury car. Rod had never even considered purchasing one of those. He couldn’t take it off-road or pull a trailer behind it. But a sedan would’ve been nice for tonight. She looked like the kind of woman who’d feel most comfortable in a Mercedes. “Did you ever finish that piece you were working on yesterday?”
“The vase? I did. I also finished a new set of wind chimes and a cute butter crock.”
He’d been a
bout to shut her door, but he held off. “What’s a butter crock?”
“It keeps butter cold and fresh when it’s not in the fridge.”
“Never heard of it. Do most people have one?”
She chuckled. “No. They were sort of a...pioneer item.”
He wasn’t sure butter crocks would sell, since refrigerators seemed to work quite well. But saying that might seem negative, so he didn’t volunteer his opinion. He closed her door. Then he walked around to the other side. “How long before you’re ready to open your studio?” he asked as he started the engine.
“Hard to say.” She buckled her seat belt. “I’ll need enough variety to make the shop interesting, with pieces that’ll appeal to all budgets. It’s tough to make a living at what I do, because it takes so long to create handmade things, and machine-made stuff is so cheap by comparison. I have to charge enough to cover my time and overhead and yet, no matter how good my work is, I can’t charge more than the market will bear.”
“Sounds like you’re looking at it very practically.”
“I’m trying to go into it with my eyes open. I have a daughter to support. I have to be careful to build a future for us and not lose what Charlie left us.”
He backed out and shifted into Drive. “Maybe you should limit the months you run the shop to summer, when the tourists come through. Then you could work at home to restock during the winter.”
“That’s an idea.” She adjusted the air-conditioning vent. “Is your business steady all year?”
“It is, but it’s not a retail shop.”
“Car repair is usually more of a need than a want,” she said.
“I’m not saving lives, but...what I do pays the bills.”
He regretted the reference to her late husband’s profession as soon as it came out of his mouth. Quickly changing the subject, he gave the truck more gas. “I hope you like prime rib,” he said. “We could always do Italian or something else if you prefer.”
“I can’t remember the last time I had prime rib. It’s not something you typically make for yourself. And I haven’t been out in...forever.”
“The past year has sucked for you. But things are going to get better. I’m glad you agreed to come tonight.”
The uncertainty and concern she’d been hugging about her like a cloak began to dissipate. “So am I,” she said, and she sounded completely convinced.
That was when he knew they were going to have a good time—and he relaxed, too.
8
Rod was easy to talk to and he could be funny, which came as a surprise to India. His wit was more sarcastic than Charlie’s, but she liked it. As they sat across from each other in the dimly lit restaurant, drinking a glass of wine while waiting for their food, she hid a smile at the fact that he’d dressed up tonight. He’d gone to the trouble of getting a haircut since she’d seen him last, but the changes didn’t really suit him. She preferred him in faded jeans and a simple T-shirt—even missed the wild, untamed curls he’d had lopped off—but she got the impression he’d made an effort to look nice for her. That felt so good she wouldn’t let herself think of all the reasons she shouldn’t be spending time with him.
“So what did you tell Dylan?” she asked, returning to the conversation that had started outside.
They’d passed a sports car when they were parking on the street, and that had triggered a story about a wealthy vineyard owner who’d brought his red Ferrari into Amos Auto Body when Rod was barely fifteen. It’d had a small scratch on the front bumper, which the owner wanted fixed. But Rod had been so excited to see such a fast and expensive car, he took it for a joyride—and totaled it. “I didn’t tell him anything. I couldn’t. I’d been arrested for driving without a license,” he said with a laugh.
“I can’t believe you weren’t hurt!” she cried.
“I had a few bumps and bruises, but nothing like it could’ve been. If I hadn’t hit that tree, if I’d hit another car instead, it could’ve turned into one of those stupid things you do as a kid that you regret for the rest of your life.”
“You were lucky.”
“I don’t think Dylan’s ever been so mad at me.”
She cradled her glass as she watched the candlelight flicker across his face. “Did you have to pay for it?”
“It was a hundred-thousand-dollar car. There was no way I could. Dylan couldn’t, either. We had so little back then. Fortunately, our insurance took care of it. But there was a huge deductible, of course, and the wreck made the premiums go up.” He shook his head. “For the next six months, we ate nothing but bean burritos for dinner. I don’t know why Dyl didn’t kick my ass out right then and there.”
She chuckled as she imagined Rod so young and unruly, making life even harder for his beleaguered older brother. “He must love you a great deal.”
“He does,” he said unabashedly. “But I had to work two years of overtime to make up for what I cost the company that day.”
She took a sip of her wine. “Did you resent Dylan for that?”
“How could I? I was the one who screwed up. I deserved worse.”
The fact that he took responsibility for his mistakes showed more maturity than her first impression of him had suggested. She liked that. She also liked the way he made her feel every time he looked at her. In the six years she’d dated before marrying Charlie, she couldn’t remember a man being quite so transparent in his appreciation and found it surprising that Rod would be the first, since he was possibly the prettier one between the two of them. He was willing to build her ego instead of waiting for her to build his, and that made him seem more like Charlie than she would’ve expected. Her husband had been so generous with his compliments, always saw the best in others.
“You speak with such reverence when you talk about Dylan,” she said.
Rod grew silent, contemplative. Then he said, “I owe him a lot.”
She’d figured out from the way he talked about his older brother that Dylan had raised him, but he hadn’t told her why. “Was your father ill or something? Is that why Dylan took over?” If so, he must’ve recovered, because he seemed perfectly fine these days.
The waitress was hurrying over with their food. When Rod saw her, he leaned back to allow her to deliver their plates and waited for her to walk away before answering. “My father was in prison.”
India had picked up her fork. At this, she put it back down. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
He shrugged, but she could tell it wasn’t the careless gesture he intended it to be.
“How long was he...gone?” she asked.
“Sixteen years.”
Almost two decades! Whatever his father had done must’ve been serious, but she didn’t ask for details. She understood how invasive those questions could be and assumed Rod would volunteer the information if he cared to discuss it. “When did he get out?”
“Two years ago. It still seems strange to have him back.”
“Do you get along with him?”
He gestured at her food. “Go ahead and eat. This is old news. I’m fine. And he and I do get along, for the most part. Probably because he has no control over my life. Sometimes our relationship feels odd—that’s all. What I’ve experienced is so different from what other people have experienced. My dad’s more like a...a roommate than a parent.”
Now she was beginning to understand the unusual bond he had with his oldest brother. “How old was Dylan when he...when he had to step up?”
“Eighteen. A senior in high school.”
“Wow. It’s impressive that he kept you all out of trouble.”
His grin slanted to one side. “He tried to keep us out of trouble. Didn’t always succeed.”
Her meat, so salty and tender, nearly melted in her mouth. “What about his wife?”
“Cheyenne? She’s great. I’m glad Dylan found her. They couldn’t be happier.”
“I meant your father’s wife.” India didn’t want to judge someone she didn’t know, but the clothes his stepmother wore were often dirty or wrinkled and were usually too revealing. She certainly wasn’t the typical mother. The woman rarely even bothered to put on shoes.
“I can’t stand her,” he admitted. “I try to be cordial, but that basically amounts to ignoring her whenever I can. There’s just nothing to admire.”
She took a bite of mashed potatoes, savoring the garlic and cheese that’d been added. “So why do you allow her to stay?”
“When we made the decision to let them move in, her daughter was still in high school. We did it for Natasha’s sake, so Anya wouldn’t keep dragging her around and she could get her diploma.” He speared a carrot. “Now that Natasha’s graduated and will be attending an out-of-state college in the fall, I’d like to reconsider. But if we kick them out, where will they go? We can’t leave them homeless. Whether we like it or not, they’re family.”
Rod sounded tough, but he obviously had a soft heart. “Your father can’t afford a place of his own?”
“No. With his record? Where would he find work? And he’s too young for social security.”
“There must be something he can do.”
“If so, he hasn’t found it. It’d be different if he’d been put away for some white-collar crime. But he shot a man in a bar.”
She stopped chewing. Rod’s father had killed someone?
“Does that shock you?” he asked evenly.
“It’s not the kind of thing you hear every day,” she said after she’d managed to swallow. “What made him go that far?”
He turned his wineglass around and around. “There was this guy, Fenley Tolson, who was convinced my father hadn’t fixed his car right. My father insisted Fenley had been warned that it would be impossible to match the paint exactly, so he refused to refund the money. That caused a feud between them that went on for some time. Then, somehow, one night they wound up in the same bar. We think Fenley must’ve seen my dad leaving town and followed him just to get under his skin.”
