Safely Home

by Ruth Logan Herne

  Gran had the courtesy to blush like a schoolgirl. Cress stifled a groan.

  “And second,” he met Gran’s eye, his look firm and direct, inviting no argument, declaring the words in slow, quiet succession. “Cress looks great.”

  Something warm and sweet rumbled through Cress’s veins at his words, his tone. He winked at her as he stood, then slid into the chair adjacent to hers, the only option left.

  Cress sent a quick look to his mother and Maggie. Had they done that on purpose? Left him to sit next to her? Could this evening possibly get worse?

  But their expressions revealed nothing and Alex accepted his fate with an ease she envied. She chalked it up to his expansive bankroll and decided then and there to order the most expensive thing she could. Just a little payback for ogling her that week.

  Twice.

  *

  Huge Australian rock lobster tails, twins, each bite dipped in butter. Whipped sweet potatoes sporting a pecan and amandine glaze, the nuts providing a perfect blend of taste and texture. Spring greens salad topped with crumbled bleu cheese and vinaigrette. A bread basket teeming with scents and flavors in a mix of rolls, scones and croissants, fresh-baked.

  Cress couldn’t remember the last time she’d been indulged like that. While her detective’s salary was nothing to complain about, by the time she was done paying the monthly bills and her nearly-maxed credit card, there was little left for fine dining. How often had James scolded her for maintaining her own place when they spent most nights together?

  But she’d been grateful to have her own place in the end. A sanctuary. And more so when she walked out of that hospital. The idea of going to James’ place, sharing space with him, knowing what he’d done…

  Correction: what she’d let him do. Grabbing a victim mentality would do her no good. She needed to see her own part in the problem and rectify those actions. She’d put her trust in the wrong man, wrong time, then followed it by hanging around for way too long. Her bad, totally.

  Blinking her eyes, she shoved away the stupidity of it all and pushed out of bed. Sunday morning stretched before her. The window predicted sunny and bright, a day of pot roast and rest.

  “Cress! You up? We gotta be at the church by ten.”

  No.

  Cress swiped her face with the backs of her hands, rubbed her eyes and crossed to the door. “What?”

  Gran stood at the bottom of the stairs, glowering. “It’s Sunday.”

  “Requisite day of rest, Gran. Didn’t you get the memo?”

  Gran’s sharp eyes darkened beneath a drawn brow. “They don’t have churches in Minneapolis?”

  Sure they did. Cress passed them all the time. Pretty places. And St. Paul was home to that great cathedral, the one dedicated to the city’s namesake. The Twin Cities probably sported more churches per capita than most of America. Not that she frequented them.

  Gran turned, unhappy. Her profile reminded Cress of Ellis Island pictures. The aged, ethnic profile, ready to embrace whatever came her way, a simple scarf drawn around her head, ending in a knot beneath her chin. The profile said more than words ever could. Cress squinted, rubbed her eyes once more, and headed toward the shower. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

  “Five.”

  Cress sucked a breath and bit her lip. The sting of hot water helped wake her, soaking her in fresh warmth and cherry/almond soap. Snatching a towel from the rack, she flung the door open, head turned to flick off the light.

  Strong arms lessened the impact into a thick, broad chest, fully clothed in Sunday best. “Whoa, there.”

  Cress jerked back but without much impetus, afraid to lose the towel. “What are you doing? Let go.”

  A quick glance at her attire brightened the humor in Alex’s brown eyes. “I stopped by for Gran like I always do. She needed a sweater.” He inclined his chin toward the ivory knit garment dangling from the bottom two fingers of his left hand. “I got it for her.”

  “Then kindly release me and take it to her.”

  His grip changed, the touch easing, his hands encasing her upper arms more than holding her. His stature relaxed. “You sure?”

  Teasing eyes looked down at her, one brow winged. He looked—

  Good. Solid. Empathetic. And he smelled like something marvelous and masculine, complementing the cut of his gray wool sport coat. Part of her wanted to lean in to the wool, breathe his scent.

  The other part considered raising a knee to a very sensitive area of his body. She desisted, stepping back, keeping the towel snug with her arms. “You’ll drive her?”

  “I always do.”

  “Then why…?” Cress glared toward the staircase as if her grandmother were there, then shook her head. “Never mind. Why don’t you two go ahead? I’ll meet you there.”

  Alex grinned. “She got you, didn’t she?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Rude.”

  She directed her gaze back to the staircase. “Go, will you? Or she’ll be late and that will be my fault, too.”

  He released his hold and raised his wrist. “Twelve minutes. Sure you don’t want us to wait?”

  “What I want you to do is—”

  Two fingers shushed her again as he bent close, so close she could see tiny dots of deeper brown flecking his more sienna eyes. “Be nice, okay? It’s Sunday.”

  Something in his words, his touch, his expression, or maybe the trio combined made her realize he was right. She drew a light breath and nodded, scenting fresh soap on his fingers, liking the feel of them against her mouth. “Okay.”

  His look deepened to awareness before he stepped back, turned and headed downstairs. Cress watched him go, her heart tripping faster, her breathing upgraded to match the pulse.

  She was losing it. What on earth was she thinking? For just a moment, Alex Westmore had looked—

  Do Not Go There. Crossing into her room, she heard the crunch of gravel as he backed toward the road. She shut the door with a bang and rifled her clothes, hunting for an appropriate outfit. Grabbing a skirt and sleeveless sweater, she slipped into them, irate.

  Nothing about Alex was appealing. Not his wavy dark hair or laughing eyes, not the easy way he wore designer clothes as though made for them, not the firm grip of thick, strong fingers holding her upright, cushioning her surprise.

  She ran a comb through the wet tangle of hair, wasted two minutes with the blow dryer on high to initiate the drying process, then raced down the stairs, out the door and half-dove into her car. She got to church almost on time with wet hair, her skirt semi-twisted, and somewhat out of breath for having to walk an extra block-and-a-half because the small lot was chock-full, and still earned a look of displeasure from Gran.

  Alex?

  He acted as if he hadn’t a clue she was there, which suited her just fine.

  Chapter Five

  Alex needed to steer clear of Cress Dietrich.

  He came to that realization about the time he lightened his grip along the soft curve of her arms, oblivious to anything except the feel of her skin beneath his fingers, inhaling the essence of fruit-soaked soap. He wasn’t sure if the fruit/spice blend wafted from her hair or her skin, and for long moments, he didn’t care.

  Dangerous. First because she was a cop, and Alex Westmore avoided cops for good reason.

  Second, she was Gran’s helper, and he would no sooner risk spilling the beans on Gran’s financial situation than he would on his own mother, and getting too chummy with Cress might encourage him to do just that. No, he carried his weight for Norma Dietrich willingly. No way would he risk her embarrassment or censure.

  Third, Cress was a full-fledged brat, tough and in-your-face, shoulders squared, butt tucked, ready to duke it out with whatever came her way. Tougher-than-nails women weren’t his cup of tea, not now, not ever. He liked quiescent women, soft, easy going. Pliable.

  Didn’t he?

  Obviously not if his reaction this morning was any indicator. He’d done his best to ignore her
throughout the service and beyond, then threw himself into his work after a mid-day meal on the run, refusing Gran’s offer of pot roast.

  And he loved pot roast. Especially with those little, round potatoes and long spears of carrot, all roasted in the meat juices. His belly rumbled thinking about it, but he put a firm clasp on both hungers and worked instead. Obviously his hormones were working overtime from lack of activity and his belly, well…

  His gut liked food, plain and simple. Once Gran was through with her treatments and Cress long gone, he’d join Norma for Sunday dinners again. As long as the treatments gave her more time.

  That sobering thought pushed Alex to demanding answers about the proposed parkland. He wanted it done while Gran was still around to enjoy it. Toxicology screens on soil samples from various locations should give him a clearer picture of what was required to ready the ground for undisturbed recreational use. It was a gift he wanted to give Norma for being nice to a little kid whose dad made embarrassing his family a daily routine. Norma had gone out of her way for him, and did so with the subtlety and graciousness of a true Christian, never looking for payback or self-satisfaction. Her example taught him a valuable lesson: there was scant satisfaction in getting even. He realized that truth when he’d relieved two of the cops involved in his father’s death of their homes. He thought he’d feel vindicated.

  The opposite held true. He’d hated himself for putting those families out on the street. Sure, it had been legal and above-board, but legal didn’t always mean right. He realized that too late.

  Gran Dietrich’s example helped him see the error of his ways, selfless and strong despite her tough demeanor.

  Like Cress?

  Pushing the younger Dietrich firmly out of mind, Alex buried himself in facts and figures until he was tired enough to sleep without thinking of her. Remembering the feel of her skin, the sheen of her eyes. Wondering what it would be like to towel dry her hair for her, then…

  No use. He pushed back from his desk, scowled at the empty coffee carafe, grabbed his light jacket and headed home where his trusty dog waited for a romp. Maybe walking the dog would soothe him. Or at least distract him.

  Maybe.

  *

  “Boy, I called you!”

  She hadn’t. He knew that, it wasn’t as if he had any place to go or anything to do that blocked the sound of her voice. He bit back words that might earn a smack and moved forward carefully. “Here I am.”

  She grabbed his arm, her thin fingers pinching deep. “Mind, you come when I say come, and don’t be taking your own sweet time about it, either! Understand?”

  He understood all right, but did she imagine she called him? Because she hadn’t said a word the whole morning. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “That’s better. You run outside and fetch me some of those late beans on the tall stakes. And don’t be dilly dallying, neither. I’ve got things to do.”

  He’d picked all the low beans a few days before. There was no way he could reach the higher ones. He’d already tried and failed. Maybe she’d forgotten. “I can’t reach the high ones, remember? I tried—”

  A slap to his cheek closed his mouth right quick. The sting of her hand still packed a wallop, even if she didn’t move too fast on her feet.

  Tears smarted.

  He choked them back. He’d learned the hard way that crying only made things worse. He’d gone a long time being hungry to learn that lesson.

  “Find a way. You expect me to put food on the table and do all the work myself? Get out there and do your work.” She leaned forward, eyes narrowed but gleaming with anger. “And don’t you be sassing me, Charlie. Not now. Not ever. Here.” She thrust a peck basket at him with unreasonable force, nearly knocking him off his feet, but he didn’t dare complain. He took the basket, bit back tears and moved to the door, heart heavy.

  He’d pretend while he was out there. He’d pretend to be big and brave and strong and that he could go anywhere he wanted to go. He’d be free, he could drive a car or walk anyplace at all. And when people saw him they’d say, “Hey, Brian.”

  And no one, no one at all would ever call him Charlie again.

  *

  “I may need to kill her.” Cress stared at Audra through the screened door mid-week and narrowed her gaze, hands clenched. “Or at least kill someone. And you happen to be right here. Which means—”

  Audra laughed, swung the door wider and stepped back. “Rough day?”

  “Rough day, rough month, rough…” She stopped, noting Audra’s look of appraisal. “Yeah. Rough day.”

  “Mm hmm.” Audra led Cress into the antiquated kitchen that could have stepped out of a black and white retro movie. “Sit. I’ll feed you. Ply you with alcohol. Then we’ll chat.”

  Cress shook her head. “No drinking. I swore off that about two years back when a really good day turned into a wretched night. Never again.”

  “Oooo….” Audra gave a sage nod as she held up a pitcher of tea in one hand, and a lemon in the other. “Sounds like a story worth telling.”

  Cress faked a grin. “Some other time, perhaps. Right now I need a break from mothballed clothes, dusty shelves, and endless haranguing about anything and everything including my clothes, job and lifestyle in general.”

  Audra’s silence lent credence to Gran’s assessment. Seconds ticked by as she poured tea, sliced a lemon, and slid the sweet beverage in front of her sister. “Gran’s a smart old bird.”

  “Translation: you agree.”

  Audra made a face. “Does it matter, Cress? What Gran or I think?” She shook her head, glanced down to the table, then drew her gaze up, unhurried. “You’ve been here two weeks now. That’s more than we’ve seen you in nine years.”

  “Yeah.”

  Audra ran a finger around the condensation forming on the outside of her tumbler. Her action made rivulets of water flow along the glass surface, pooling against the protected finish of the old table. “It’s not hard to tell you’re troubled, Cress. Not for the people who love you.”

  Cress tapped her leg for emphasis. “Chronic pain makes people grumpy. Pretty understandable.”

  A faint smile brushed Audra’s lips before it nosedived into a frown. “Avoiding the issues is a no-win situation. They just look worse at the end of the day. Today might be a case in point.”

  Two things Cress hated right now. One, that her sister was right. James’s early morning voice mail left her dealing with convoluted questions culminating in witch-like behavior. Worse, she hated that Audra saw beyond Cress’s attempts to slough off her feelings by blaming a physical ailment. But was she ready to confide what she’d discovered about herself? That she was no better, no smarter, no stronger than those beleaguered women who sought refuge at the inner city shelters?

  Sheaves of emotion tied her gut. What was wrong with her? What had she been thinking? That things would get better, improve as James moved up the ladder of police success?

  She knew better. She was trained to know better, and that put her a leg up on most of society. The signs were there, growing more obvious the past year. Longer if she examined things more closely.

  And still she’d stayed. Tried to work things out. Made excuses.

  She couldn’t forgive herself for the latter. The excuses. The lies. The cover up. How one small fib led to another, until it all came to a violent head in early summer.

  Audra’s hand covered hers. “When you’re ready, I’m here.”

  Was it her sister’s touch that filled Cress’s eyes, or the words? Cress had no idea. A long blink sent a tear down her right cheek, then another. Audra gripped her hand with more pressure, then slid out of her chair to offer a hug. “It’ll be okay, Cress. Promise.”

  Would it? Cress wasn’t nearly as certain. Her mind’s eye graphed the pattern she’d created, one that stood in direct conflict with the Cress she showed the world. Tough. Acerbic. Smart.

  Audra’s hug felt good. Cress returned the embrace, wishing there’d been more t
ime to stay close with her younger sisters. Wishing…

  She heaved a sigh, grabbed a napkin, sat back and mopped her eyes. “Rough time of the month. Hormonal.”

  Audra’s look didn’t buy it, but she let Cress’s assertion slide. “Life as a woman. So. Come outside. Meet the crew.”

  Cress glanced around. “No guests?”

  “Two coming in later, but I’ve already cleaned the rooms and gotten things ready. Grab one of those leftover muffins from this morning and tell me what you think. Come on.” She gave Cress’s free hand a tug. “Down your tea and pet something live and furry. You’ll feel better.”

  Cress was pretty sure that wouldn’t be the case, but she let herself be led outside, a fruit-studded muffin in one hand while Audra clutched the other. The rear of the gracious colonial overlooked a pastoral setting. An L-shaped red barn, tall and sun-bleached, provided a cornerstone for the far edge of a barnyard that housed whatever leftover critters people didn’t want. Audra stopped by two sheep first. One stood quiet and still, letting Audra’s hands stroke her curly head, while the other shied away. “This is Belle. And this,” she pointed to the farther ruminant, “is Beast.”

  A grin touched Cress’s lips. “Theme-park-oriented mutton. Excellent. So that’s a male?” She waved her hand toward the more skittish one.

  “A ram. This one’s a ewe.”

  “And Sesame Street has been brought to you today by the number two. And the letter K.”

  Audra laughed. “How am I supposed to know whether or not you’re familiar with the terms? It’s not like you’re farm-sympathetic.”

  “That’s not true.” Cress shook her head. “I loved Grandpa’s farm. Loved going there and helping out, taking care of the horses and the cows. We had some great times there, Audra.”

  “Yeah, we did. Tommy Russell?”

  The memory of chasing down Tommy Russell and locking him in the old shed until he promised to never bother Kiera again dispelled more of the shadows. Cress’s smile deepened. “And Mrs. Herlihy’s girdle?”