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No One But You
Brenda Novak
New York Times bestselling author Brenda Novak welcomes you to Silver Springs, a picturesque small town in Southern California where even the hardest hearts can learn to love again…Struggling to make ends meet after a messy divorce, Sadie Harris is at the end of her tether. Her waitressing gig isn't enough to pay the bills let alone secure primary custody of her son, Jayden, a battle she refuses to lose. Desperate, she accepts a position assisting Dawson Reed–the same Dawson Reed who recently stood trial for the murder of his adoptive parents. Joining him at his isolated farm seems risky, but Sadie is out of options.Dawson has given small town Silver Springs plenty of reasons to be wary, but he's innocent of the charges against him. He wants to leave his painful past behind and fix up the family farm so he can finally bring his dependent sister home where she belongs.As Sadie and Dawson's professional relationship grows into something undeniably personal, Sadie realizes there's more to Dawson than the bad boy everyone else sees–he has a good heart, one that might even be worth fighting for.


New York Times bestselling author Brenda Novak welcomes you to Silver Springs, a picturesque small town in Southern California where even the hardest hearts can learn to love again...
Struggling to make ends meet after a messy divorce, Sadie Harris is at the end of her tether. Her waitressing gig isn’t enough to pay the bills let alone secure primary custody of her son, Jayden, a battle she refuses to lose. Desperate, she accepts a position assisting Dawson Reed—the same Dawson Reed who recently stood trial for the murder of his adoptive parents. Joining him at his isolated farm seems risky, but Sadie is out of options.
Dawson has given small town Silver Springs plenty of reasons to be wary, but he’s innocent of the charges against him. He wants to leave his painful past behind and fix up the family farm so he can finally bring his dependent sister home where she belongs.
As Sadie and Dawson’s professional relationship grows into something undeniably personal, Sadie realizes there’s more to Dawson than the bad boy everyone else sees—he has a good heart, one that might even be worth fighting for.
Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author Brenda Novak (#u0d64026d-af9d-56cd-a8bf-f8340880d0f3)
“Brenda Novak is always a joy to read.”
—Debbie Macomber, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Brenda Novak doesn’t just write fabulous stories, she writes keepers.”
—Susan Mallery, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“The author deftly integrates topics such as coming to terms with one’s past and the importance of forgiveness into another beautifully crafted, exceptionally poignant love story.”
—Library Journal on Discovering You
“This Heart of Mine had such beautiful details that it captured my full attention—and had me sniffling and smiling while waiting to board my plane.”
—First for Women
“Another engrossing addition to Novak’s addictive series.”
—Library Journal on This Heart of Mine (starred review)
“With great sensitivity and an exquisite flair for characterization, Novak explores the ideas of redemption, forgiveness, and the healing power of love. This Heart of Mine is a potently emotional, powerfully life-affirming contemporary romance.”
—Booklist (starred review)
Booklist voted This Heart of Mine one of their Top 10 Romances in 2015.
Also by Brenda Novak
FINDING OUR FOREVER
THE SECRETS SHE KEPT
A WINTER WEDDING
THE SECRET SISTER
THIS HEART OF MINE
THE HEART OF CHRISTMAS
COME HOME TO ME
TAKE ME HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
HOME TO WHISKEY CREEK
WHEN SUMMER COMES
WHEN SNOW FALLS
WHEN LIGHTNING STRIKES
IN CLOSE
IN SECONDS
INSIDE
KILLER HEAT
BODY HEAT
WHITE HEAT
THE PERFECT MURDER
THE PERFECT LIAR
THE PERFECT COUPLE
WATCH ME
STOP ME
TRUST ME
DEAD RIGHT
DEAD GIVEAWAY
DEAD SILENCE
COLD FEET
TAKING THE HEAT
EVERY WAKING MOMENT
And look for Brenda Novak’s next Silver Springs novel
UNTIL YOU LOVED ME
available soon from MIRA Books.
No One but You
Brenda Novak


www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
Dear Reader (#u0d64026d-af9d-56cd-a8bf-f8340880d0f3),
I am so excited to introduce you to my brand-new series! Silver Springs is a fictional town of five thousand people modeled a little after the real town of Ojai, California, population 7,500. Like Ojai, it boasts some lovely Spanish colonial revival architecture and is nestled in a picturesque valley about ninety minutes northwest of Los Angeles. In order to keep the town unique, chain stores aren’t allowed. Instead, local business development is encouraged, and the whole area has an artsy, almost spiritualistic vibe. At the edge of Silver Springs, you’ll find a boys ranch called New Horizons, where a caring woman named Aiyana Turner takes in troubled boys and turns them into admirable men.
The idea for this book struck me after watching a true-crime show where the son of an older couple came home one night to the farmhouse where he lived with his parents to find them murdered—and wound up getting blamed for their deaths. Several years later, the police were able to prove he hadn’t killed them, but I could only imagine how having something like that happen would change someone’s life. And since I was planning to write about men who’d once attended the same boarding school—some due to difficult backgrounds where they were orphaned or abandoned—I thought this idea would be really intriguing to explore, especially because the police would likely be even more suspicious of an adopted son with a reputation for causing trouble. Once the idea was born, my hero, Dawson Reed, stepped out of my imagination and onto the page, and, as you will soon see, he is not the kind of person most people think he is. I love to write stories like this one, where the characters overcome incredible odds and wind up proving—to themselves and everyone else—that they are far more than anyone expected. Here’s hoping you enjoy your visit to Silver Springs.
I love to hear from my readers. Feel free to interact with me on Facebook at Facebook.com/BrendaNovakAuthor (https://www.facebook.com/BrendaNovakAuthor), or sign up for my monthly newsletter at brendanovak.com/newsletter-sign-up (http://www.brendanovak.com/newsletter-sign-up). I’d love to be able to stay in touch with you.
Happy reading!
Brenda Novak
To Brenda Novak’s Online Book Group, because they constantly remind me of the value and power of story.
Contents
Cover (#u8bbe491c-32f6-5dfc-b1e6-16a8a63cc1ce)
Back Cover Text (#ua6eb7101-290d-5ab9-8b50-0063e7baad08)
Praise (#uf1b25bc7-0a05-52b4-b17b-a49b8266170d)
Booklist (#u9a015a6e-c89f-5b40-9f0c-cca1a65464d3)
Title Page (#u445d4fcf-263f-51a7-95a3-957a7843dd04)
Dear Reader (#u524486db-d0b4-5ca4-b02b-2bb2ec5b4c38)
Dedication (#u259f8b45-77d0-597e-b340-ffce35388f8b)
Chapter 1 (#u5d6d2869-d03a-5768-87b2-fb3c14d85077)
Chapter 2 (#ud1ca7fe1-a8ee-5d40-af1f-2d936f36c049)
Chapter 3 (#u40fb7f40-7f44-588c-8324-4b211a26c959)
Chapter 4 (#ufb0ce897-4934-51e9-9135-907d41f1f01a)
Chapter 5 (#ua7236b55-efd5-5f43-ade9-666323382540)
Chapter 6 (#u88d28581-816d-5ecd-bd30-a3c654b56fb0)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
1 (#u0d64026d-af9d-56cd-a8bf-f8340880d0f3)
The century-old farmhouse looked haunted...
Sadie Harris wasn’t particularly superstitious, but knowing two people had been murdered in an upstairs bedroom of this isolated white clapboard home didn’t make her eager to work here. She parked outside the gate and sat in her car, engine off, angling her head to see through the passenger window.
Dawson Reed, who’d placed the newspaper ad she’d responded to, was out of jail, all right. A pickup truck that didn’t appear to be in much better shape than the rattletrap Chevy El Camino her mother’s brother left her when he died three months ago sat in the drive. Not only that, the 2x4s that’d blocked the doors and windows of the house for the past twelve months had been pried away, some of the weeds had been trimmed in front and the mailbox had been straightened and reinforced. But Dawson hadn’t been home long enough to get around to everything that needed tending to. What with the vandalism that’d occurred in his absence and the deferred maintenance that went along with having a house sit empty for so long, he had his work cut out for him.
She wondered what he had to be thinking, now that he’d returned to Silver Springs. After a year spent fighting for his freedom, he’d narrowly escaped a verdict that would’ve landed him on death row. But he couldn’t be too excited to rejoin this small community. Regardless of what the jury said, he was guilty in the minds of all those who lived around here.
Sadie frowned as her eyes traced the graffiti that was still on the house. Someone had spray-painted the word murderer on the wood siding above the porch, in letters large enough to be read from the highway a quarter mile away. That Dawson hadn’t scrubbed it off first thing said something about him, didn’t it? But what? Was he too beleaguered after his long ordeal to care what folks thought? Too busy with items he felt should be handled first? Or was leaving it there his way of flipping off the many concerned citizens of Silver Springs?
He could be taunting his detractors because he’d wound up inheriting the property despite what they thought...
The alarm she’d set on her phone sounded, startling her so much she whacked her hand on the steering wheel. “Ow!” she complained as she grabbed her cell and turned off the noise. If she planned to be on time for this interview, she had only three minutes to walk the length of the dirt drive leading to the front door. And yet she wasn’t completely convinced she should keep the appointment, couldn’t even say what kind of job it would be. Although Dawson had advertised for a housekeeper/caregiver, he lived alone. Why couldn’t he take care of himself?
Not many healthy adults had a housekeeper in Silver Springs. That sort of freaked her out right there, before she even got to the fact that it was dangerous to meet a man out here, alone, who might’ve hacked his adoptive parents to death with a hatchet.
She shuddered at the bloody image that crept into her mind. The gruesome details of the Reed killings had been reported in the papers and on the evening news with great regularity. Any murder in these parts would be shocking. LA was only ninety minutes to the south. Such a crime wouldn’t be so unheard of there. But this was a peaceful artist and farming community with mission-style adobe buildings and beautiful murals. The worst thing that’d ever happened, before the Reed murders—at least in recent memory—was when the Mueller girl ran away and was kidnapped. Even that was twenty years ago, and she went to Hollywood, so she was kidnapped there.
Pressing the button that would bring up her display, Sadie checked the time on her phone—the clock in the car was broken, along with everything else that didn’t directly contribute to the drivability of the vehicle. Two minutes. Dared she go? Or should she take off while she still could?
Sly, her domineering, soon-to-be ex-husband, would warn her to keep her distance from Dawson. He’d already put in his two cents. They’d argued about it for over an hour last night. “You don’t want to work for that bastard. What kind of guy kills two old people in their sleep—the couple who took him in when no one else would? Fed him? Clothed him? Treated him as their biological child? They were so proud of him! And you wouldn’t believe what he did to those people. Talk about the ultimate betrayal.”
When Sadie had pointed out that no one knew for sure whether Dawson had killed his adoptive parents, that there hadn’t been enough evidence for a conviction, he’d alluded to having some insider knowledge to suggest Dawson was as guilty as the infamous O.J. had been. “Trust me. You don’t know everything,” he’d said.
He knew everything, though—always had. She was tired of that, tired of him. He’d been playing games with her since before the murders ever occurred, drawing out the divorce proceedings, hiding any extra income he earned working security at various functions so it wouldn’t be included in his child support calculation, threatening to fight her for custody of their five-year-old son if she didn’t accept the pittance he offered. Since she’d been the one to move out, he was living alone in a three-bedroom, while she and Jayden were squeezed into a tiny one-bedroom guesthouse. But having the better living situation wasn’t enough for him. He was trying to keep her destitute so she’d have to come back if she wanted to be able to feed and clothe their child—and eat herself.
She let her gaze range over the farm and the fields that stretched on either side. The place didn’t look inviting. Several windows had been broken, an outbuilding had been burned and a pile of cast-off furniture and other rubbish from God knew where had been dumped in the yard. Even more notable, the closest neighbor had to be a mile away...
He’s a nut job. That was what Sly had said just before he hung up. As a Silver Springs police officer, he spoke with more than a little arrogance and authority. But in recent years, he’d related so many stories that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up—stories about breaking up a high school drinking party but not reporting the kids so long as they gave up all their beer, or picking up a prostitute but not arresting her if she “baked the force some cookies.” Although Sadie had a feeling there was a lot more involved than cookies—she’d once heard Sly make a crude joke about it—he denied any wrongdoing when she questioned him. Said he was only kidding. But if he thought he could get away with using his badge to gain some advantage in a situation, even if it was just to scare people or make someone scramble out of the way, he’d do it. And, especially toward the end of their marriage, he’d started throwing his weight around with her, too. Although he’d never seriously hurt her, he’d come close.
As far as she was concerned, he was a “nut job” himself. So why would she let him make her decision for her? She couldn’t trust him. At least, as far as trust went, Dawson was still a question mark.
With only a minute left, she got out of the car. Dawson was offering full-time employment doing...something she hoped she was capable of, and he was promising to pay much more than she was making waiting tables at Lolita’s Country Kitchen. If she wanted to escape her ex-husband for good, this was her chance. It wasn’t as if she could get anything else, not with Sly using his influence to sabotage her in every way possible. No one dared get on his bad side—he’d make life too difficult—so whenever she applied for a job, she was told she didn’t qualify, or a better candidate had been selected. The only reason she had her job at Lolita’s was because she’d been working there since before she left him.
Dawson didn’t have any reason to harm her. That was what she had to remember. If he killed Mr. and Mrs. Reed, he did it because he wanted their farm—not that that was any small thing.
As she drew closer to the house, she could see storm damage to the roof, peeling paint and bird droppings on the railing of the porch. These physical details added to her overall apprehension, but she didn’t get truly chilled until a curtain moved in the window. The idea that Dawson was looking out at her, watching her approach, almost made her turn back. She stopped, but before she could do anything, the front door opened and her prospective employer strode out.
“You must be Sadie Harris.”
Silver Springs had only about 5,000 residents. The town wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, and yet they’d never met. Not only was he two years older—she knew his age because of the many newspaper reports and the trial that’d revealed so much about his life—they’d gone to different high schools. She’d attended the public high school; he’d attended New Horizons, a boarding school exclusive to boys. Troubled boys.
So...how troubled was he? Troubled enough to murder the couple who’d taken him in? Troubled enough to lure a woman out to his farm with the false promise of employment?
She hoped not.
“Yes. I—” she cleared her throat as she shoved that last thought away “—I’m Sadie.”
“And I’m Dawson.”
As if he needed to identify himself. Close to six feet, he’d been out of jail long enough to have seen several days of sun. His sandy-colored hair, cut in a military style typical of county jail inmates, blended well with the golden color of his skin while contrasting sharply with his eyes, which were blue but not a deep blue—more ice-like. She’d known he was handsome before she came. Everyone had made a big deal about how his “angel” face didn’t jive with his “devilish” actions. She’d seen so many pictures she would’ve recognized him even if he hadn’t been standing on his own porch. “I know.”
“You followed the trial.”
“To a degree, yes. It was the talk of the town, pretty hard to miss.”
He nodded as if her response was nothing less than what he’d expected. “Right. That’s unfortunate, of course. But...thanks for coming.”
“No problem.” She wiped her sweaty palms on the flowing black skirt that constituted half of her best outfit. Sly had thrown away most of her clothes—everything she hadn’t been able to carry in that first load—when he came home to find her moving out. She’d grabbed Jayden’s things first, so that didn’t leave her with a lot of wardrobe choices. No doubt she looked a little silly hobbling down the rutted lane in a black blouse, a flowing skirt and high heels, but she didn’t feel as if she could show up for an interview in jeans.
“Would you rather talk out here on the porch?” he asked. “I’ve made coffee. I can bring out a cup and some chairs.”
He could tell she wasn’t set on staying. This was an attempt to entice her. But she couldn’t leave, not unless she wanted to walk right back into Sly’s arms. She needed the job, needed the money.
“Um...” She almost said it wasn’t necessary that he go to the trouble. She’d been programmed from birth to say those types of things, to be polite. And although it never got very cold—their weather was much like that of Santa Barbara twenty minutes away—it was a little chilly this morning. Thick dark clouds blotted out the sun, showing signs of rain. But she was frightened enough that the idea of staying outside did raise her comfort level. She had to be cautious. Had to be around for her son, after all. She didn’t like the way his father treated him. That was part of the reason she’d finally gathered the strength and determination to leave Sly, despite what she knew he’d put her through. He wasn’t proud of Jayden like he should be; most of the time he acted embarrassed of their sweet, gentle boy.
She drew a deep breath. “The weather’s not too bad. Sitting outside would be a great idea. If you don’t mind,” she added lamely.
“I don’t mind. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as he disappeared, she twisted around to see her car, trying to gauge the distance in case she had to kick off her shoes and make a run for it. The El Camino wasn’t all that far. Since she’d parked it outside the gate, where there’d be no danger of getting blocked in, she could make a quick getaway, if necessary.
Somewhat relieved to have Dawson occupied elsewhere for the moment, she hurried to the porch as best she could without turning an ankle and gazed at the dry rot and warped boards that needed to be replaced while telling herself to calm down.
When he returned with a small table and then a tray supporting two cups of coffee, as well as cream and sugar, she wished she had said no to the coffee. She’d been so preoccupied it hadn’t occurred to her he might’ve spiked it.
“Have a seat.” Next, he brought out chairs and placed hers—rather strategically, she thought—near the stairs and away from him. “It’s great to meet you. I appreciate you coming out here in spite of...in spite of everything.”
She didn’t deserve any gratitude. She wouldn’t have come if she’d had a better choice. “Sure. It’s okay.”
“Would you like cream? Sugar?”
She went through the process of adding cream and one packet of sugar to her coffee even though she couldn’t drink it.
“So...you live in Silver Springs?” he asked when she finished.
She met his eyes, tried to determine if they were lifeless. She’d heard that serial killers had emotionless, flat eyes, like those of a shark. But she wasn’t sure a man who killed his parents for the sake of financial gain counted as a serial killer. Probably not. And there didn’t seem to be anything unappealing about Dawson’s eyes. The reverse was actually true. They were such an odd, arresting color and fringed with the longest, thickest gold-tipped lashes. “I do,” she said.
“How long have you been in the area?”
“Since I was ten. My folks moved here, wanted to get out of the rat race of LA.”
“Your parents are in town, then?”
The wind came up, but other than trying to hold her hair back with one hand while gripping her coffee, she resisted the temptation to react to the cold. After making him bring everything outside, she didn’t want him to suggest they go in. “No, not anymore.” She set her cup on the stand with the cream and sugar. “My mother had a rare kidney disease. That was part of the reason for the move, although I didn’t know it at the time. We lost her when I was fourteen. My father finished raising me, but he died of a heart attack—while jogging—the year after I was married.”
“I’m sorry you lost your parents so early.”
“I guess we all have our problems.” She felt silly after she’d made that statement. No question his problems had been worse. At least she hadn’t been accused of killing her parents.
He took a drink of his coffee. “Any siblings?”
“No. I was an only child.”
When his free hand came up, she flinched before realizing that he was merely swatting a bug, and her cheeks began to burn with embarrassment when he scooted his chair even farther away. Obviously, he’d noticed that she wasn’t quite comfortable with him. She hoped he hadn’t also noticed that she had yet to take a sip of her coffee.
“So you’re married.”
She picked up her cup and cradled it with both hands, trying to leach the warmth from it. “Not anymore. Well, the divorce isn’t quite final, but that’s a technicality. We’ve been separated for over a year.” Conjuring what she hoped was a pleasant smile, she marveled that she was able to condense the hell Sly had put her through—was still putting her through—into such a mild statement. “Trying to work out the details, you know.”
He watched her closely, seemed intent on figuring out what she was thinking and feeling. Did killers do that? “Those things can take time.”
“Are you speaking from experience? Or...” She didn’t remember reading anything about him having a wife.
“No.”
“No children, either?”
“Not for me. You?”
“One. A boy named Jayden. He’s five.” She couldn’t help smiling, vaguely, when she thought of her son.
“Does he live with you or—”
She felt her smile wilt. “Yeah, he’s with me. His father has visitation every other weekend, but... Sly’s a police officer, so he works long hours.” Or he was at the gym. “I have Jayden most of the time.” Which was why it didn’t make a lot of sense that Sly would ever sue her for custody. He didn’t really want custody. He was using Jayden, along with anything else he could, as a weapon against her.
Dawson pursed his lips. “So that’s the connection.”
She peered at him. “What’re you talking about?”
“I thought maybe you were Officer Harris’s sister or something. But no—you’re married to him.”
She stiffened at the mention of her ex-husband’s name. “Was married. Why? You know him?”
“Not personally.” Leaning forward, he poured a bit of cream in his coffee, added one sugar as he’d seen her do and slid the cup over to her. “You saw me drink out of this, so other than a few germs you wouldn’t otherwise encounter, you should be able to trust it.”
Surprised he’d be so direct, she floundered for something to say in return. “That’s not it. I’m just...jittery enough without the caffeine.”
He said nothing, but she could tell he wasn’t fooled by the lie.
“So...how have you heard of my ex-husband?” she asked, quickly changing the subject. “He didn’t have anything to do with...with the investigation...”
“No. I was arrested by a homicide detective. Officer Harris wasn’t involved in the case. But he dropped by last night.”
Her surprise overtook her anxiety, even made her forget about the cold air that seemed to be passing through her blouse like a mesh screen. “He came here? Why?”
Rain began to plink on the roof. “To let me know he’ll be keeping an eye on me,” he replied.
“For...”
“Anything I might do he doesn’t approve of, I suppose. Sounded like he was looking forward to the challenge of keeping me in line.”
Sadie figured she shouldn’t be surprised that Sly would try to bully Dawson. He was the big, tough cop—thought he could bully anyone. Of course he’d pile on when it came to the town pariah. “Was he in uniform?”
A wry smile tugged at Dawson’s lips. “His appearance wouldn’t have had the same impact without it.”
Her nails curved into her palms as the anger and bitterness she’d had to live with for so long once again rose inside her, burning her throat like bile. “Please tell me he didn’t mention me...”
“Not by name. Said there was a woman coming to interview with me in the morning. And that she wasn’t the person I was looking for.”
She felt her jaw drop. “He threatened you?”
“If you consider ‘You’ve had enough trouble, it wouldn’t be smart to ask for any more’ a threat.”
This was the first time anyone had been brave enough to admit that Sly had attempted to ruin her chances of gaining employment.
Too upset to sit any longer, Sadie came to her feet. “That...that...” She wasn’t sure if she meant to say “That isn’t fair” or “That really pisses me off,” because both sentences ran through her mind at once. But when she got angry, she often broke into tears, especially when it came to her ex-husband. He made her feel so helpless, so easily overpowered—and he was relentless in his determination to get her back or make her pay, supremely confident he’d win in the end.
Would she never be free of him?
Falling silent for fear her voice would crack, she turned so that Dawson Reed couldn’t see her face and stared out at the rain.
Thankfully, he didn’t press her to finish her statement. He sat behind her in silence, giving her time to compose herself.
“I’m sorry,” she said when she could speak without evidence of tears in her voice. “I know you’ve been through...quite an ordeal. I...I’ll get out of your way.”
She’d already started down the stairs when he spoke. “Mrs. Harris...”
“Please, call me anything but that.” She wished she could use her maiden name, but she knew how Sly would perceive such a move, how embarrassed he’d be. She’d do it one day. She’d made a promise to herself. But, at the moment, there were too many other, more important battles to fight—and win.
“Sadie.”
The rain was falling harder now, soaking her blouse and skirt, but she didn’t care that she was getting wet. She closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sky, letting it wash away her makeup and run her mascara. What did things like that matter, anyway?
“Don’t leave...” Dawson had followed her. From his voice, he was right behind her, but he didn’t touch her. She wished, if he was a deranged killer intent on committing another murder, he’d hurry up and get it over with, because she no longer had the energy to keep soldiering on. Sly made her feel that cornered, that hopeless.
But then she thought of Jayden being stranded with only Sly to guide him through life and came back to the truth: she couldn’t give up. If this wasn’t going to work, she’d have to figure out some other way to build a new life.
She left him in the yard, was almost to her car when he caught up and grabbed her by the arm. Thanks to the wind and rain, she hadn’t heard him following her. She nearly screamed, but he let go as soon as she turned, lifting his hands as if he’d only been trying to get her attention and had no plans to harm her. “Stay a little longer,” he said. “Please. We haven’t talked about the job.”
Because she was unable to hold her tears in check, they rolled down her cheeks, mingling with the rain. “You can’t hire me now,” she said. “You have no idea what he’ll do. He’ll make your life so miserable you’ll wish you were still in jail.”
He wiped the rain from his own face. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
“Why?”
“I need you.”
Sadie shielded her eyes with one hand. “To make your meals? To clean your house? You can do that yourself—and save a lot of money.”
“That’s not it. I won’t be able to get my sister out of the institution where they put her if I don’t have someone to look after her while I’m on the farm. She’s mentally handicapped, could try to cook and burn down the house. Or go outside and wander off. There’s a pond out back. Wouldn’t be safe if she got around it.”
Sadie had forgotten about Angela Reed! She hadn’t been mentioned in the media since Lonnie’s and Larry’s bodies were discovered. Now that he’d brought her up, however, Sadie remembered reading, early on, that the Reeds’ daughter had to be institutionalized when they were killed and Dawson was imprisoned. She also remembered reading that Angela had been home during the murders but had been left unharmed, which wasn’t a point in Dawson’s favor. The police claimed her well-being served as proof that he was behind the killings, since only those who had to be removed in order for him to inherit had been harmed. “You want to bring her here?” she asked, gesturing at the weed-infested farm.
“I’m going to bring her here,” he clarified as if nothing could stop him. “This is her home. This is where she’d prefer to be. And she’s waited long enough. We both have.”
Sadie adjusted the strap on her purse. “So what would I be doing, exactly? I’ve never cared for someone who...who can’t manage the basics. You might have to advertise for a nurse or—”
“Angela isn’t on any meds. She manages, at a very basic level. She’s similar to...to a five-year-old. Like your son. She just needs some guidance, some reassurance and oversight.”
“And you can’t do it?”
“What if she got confused and wouldn’t come out of the bathroom? Or needed help in the shower? I couldn’t go in—but you could.”
“You’re saying I’d be like a...a female companion. A babysitter.”
“Exactly. You’d make sure she bathes every morning. Puts on clean underwear and clothes. Has a healthy breakfast and is able to watch her favorite shows. You’d read to her, play games with her, take her out for walks. And you’d fix her lunch and dinner, since I won’t be finished until sundown or later. You’d also do laundry and help keep the house clean so I won’t have that to face when I come in at night—pretty much everything you do for your son. But you could bring him along, watch them both at the same time, if you like. That would save on child care, if that’s something you’re paying for now. And Angela would love having a little boy around—she’s always loved kids. She’s gentle, sweet. You wouldn’t have to worry about her ever hurting him.”
Sadie loved the idea of spending more time with her son. Saving on child care, which was such a big part of her monthly budget, sounded appealing, too, not to mention how much she’d miss Jayden if she was working more hours.
But she wasn’t worried about Angela hurting her son...
Besides, Sly would never put up with her bringing Jayden to this place. He’d claim she was endangering their son, would use such “reckless behavior” against her if he ever did sue for custody. “I have a good situation for him already.” She paid Petra Smart, a mother who had three children of her own and lived down the street from her, to watch him, so she did feel as if he was in good hands. But the money. There was never enough money.
“That’s up to you, of course.”
She rubbed her arms against the cold. “So...while I help with your sister, you’re going to be doing...what? Putting this place back together?”
“Yes. I have to get it up and working, make it productive again. I’ll be honest. That’s the only way I’ll be able to care for us both—and pay you—beyond summer.”
With a sigh, Sadie wrung her hands. She’d be taking a big risk. Spending so much time alone with someone like Dawson. Letting go of the job she had now on the off chance that working as his sister’s caregiver might pan out. She’d never done anything like that before, had no idea whether she and Angela would get along.
But she had to make a change, couldn’t go on the way she was. She was falling further and further behind, and that hurt anyone who trusted her enough to give her credit. “You’re not going to perform a background check before giving me the job?”
“I’m a pretty good judge of character.”
“You are?”
“I knew your ex-husband was an asshole in about five seconds.”
She couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’m sure I’ll find nothing amiss,” he added. “Am I right?”
“Yes, but...you really shouldn’t take my word for it.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers, Sadie. How many people from Silver Springs are there who’d be willing to work for me?”
He had a point. The whole town was embittered. The Reeds had been well loved. Those who knew them wanted someone to pay for their deaths. And most were convinced it should be him. “Have you received any other calls on the ad?” she asked.
“I’ve had several. They all hang up as soon as they realize I’m the one who’s looking for help.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of a pair of faded jeans, which fit him so well she couldn’t help noticing. “So what do you say? Will you give it a shot? I promise you’ll get paid, at least for the next six months. Although I don’t have a lot, it’s enough to carry us through August.”
What then? She had a kid to take care of. If he couldn’t pay her, she’d have no choice except to go back to Sly. But she’d only have to go back to him sooner if she didn’t take this chance. “When would you like me to start?”
His lean, spare features softened with relief. “Is tomorrow too soon?”
She was so wet and cold now that she was beginning to shiver. “I’m a waitress over at Lolita’s Country Kitchen. I had no idea I’d get this job, still have to give two weeks’ notice.”
“Okay, but...can you come here when you don’t have to be there? I was hoping you’d be able to help me get the house ready so that I can prove I have a safe and clean environment for Angela. They’ll check before they let me take her.”
This was happening much quicker than Sadie had expected. “Sure. Okay. I get off at noon tomorrow. I’ll come over right after.”
“Thank you.”
With a nod and a wave, she trudged the rest of the way to her car. She had a new job. She’d be earning $3,000 a month—almost twice what she was earning now, which would allow her to make ends meet, stand on her own.
The prospect of maintaining her freedom brought such relief, such exhilaration. Finally, she had something to be happy about. She’d struck a deal with Dawson in spite of Sly. That single act of defiance felt good, as if she was taking another leap forward in regaining control of her life.
At the same time, she knew her ex wouldn’t be pleased. She had no idea how badly Sly might react. And, even more to the point, she’d be working in almost total isolation for a man who’d just been acquitted of a brutal double homicide.
She prayed she wasn’t letting desperation goad her into making a terrible mistake.
2 (#u0d64026d-af9d-56cd-a8bf-f8340880d0f3)
“You’re back early. Lolita’s must not have been very busy this morning.”
Sadie turned from locking her front door to find Maude Clevenger, her spry but elderly landlady, standing beneath the patio cover of her own backyard. Maude lived with Vern, her husband, also retired, in the elegantly restored Craftsman that fronted the small “guest” house Sadie rented, but Maude spent a lot of time trimming plants, building rock statues or adding the occasional gnome, ceramic frog or other ornament to her yard. She loved to show Jayden her latest find or treasure. “I haven’t been to Lolita’s,” she said. “I wasn’t scheduled today.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I know you could use the hours.”
Maude was aware of her financial troubles because Sadie had been forced to ask if she could pay her rent in two separate payments the past few months. “It’s okay. I had a job interview somewhere else,” she said. “I only came home because I needed to change. I promised Jayden I’d take him to the park.”
“Where is Jayden?” She glanced around as if she was surprised she didn’t see him.
“With Petra Smart down the street. I’m on my way to get him.”
“I thought maybe his father took him...”
Maude was curious about her relationship with Sly, often asked leading questions, which Sadie did her best to answer without giving too much away. “No.”
“Is Sly at work, then?”
“I really can’t say. When I spoke with him last night, he didn’t mention his schedule.” And why would she ask? It wasn’t as if he’d help her out even if he wasn’t working. Sly never did his part when it came to parenting, but she had to be careful not to complain too loudly. She couldn’t let word get back to her ex-husband that she was trash-talking him. He was such a proud and private person—hard enough to deal with when he didn’t have a legitimate reason to be angry with her.
The jewels on Maude’s rings glinted as a shard of sunlight pierced through the clouds. “So? How’d the interview go?”
Sadie held her car keys at the ready. Although anxious to leave, she paused to finish the conversation. Maude got bored now and then and wanted to gossip. But she was essentially a good person. That she’d allowed Sadie to move in without a security deposit had been instrumental in Sadie being able to get out of the house she’d shared with Sly. Sadie would always be grateful to her. “Good. I got the job.”
“How wonderful!” She clapped her hands. “But I’m surprised you didn’t mention that you had an opportunity...”
Why would she mention it? She hadn’t been sure she’d keep the appointment. And she knew everyone would try to dissuade her, if they could, just as Sly had done. She wouldn’t have told him if he hadn’t been so adamant that she couldn’t afford to live separately from him and should come back. He’d actually invited her to live as a “roommate” for a while, until they could “figure things out.” But she could guess how long that would last... “I didn’t tell anyone, in case...in case it didn’t go well,” she explained.
“Apparently, you were worried for nothing! You got the job!”
“Yes.” She could meet her expenses without having to cave in to Sly’s demands. That brought her spirits up, gave her more hope than she’d felt in a long while.
The bangles on Maude’s arms clanged when she lifted her colorful muumuu to keep it from dragging as she walked closer. The rain had stopped, but the ground was still wet. “So where will you be working?”
Explaining this part wasn’t going to be as exciting as the rest. But nothing had been perfect in Sadie’s world for a long time. She figured she might as well hold her head high and accept whatever disapproval she’d encounter as a result of her decision to work for Dawson Reed. Word would get out eventually. It wasn’t as if she could keep what she did every day a secret. This community was too small for that.
“At the Reed farm.”
Maude’s mouth opened and closed twice before she managed a proper response. “You mean...where Lonnie and Larry were murdered?”
“That’s right. Their son’s planning to get the farm running again. He’s home now.”
“The adopted son who might’ve killed them?”
Sadie felt her smile grow strained. “Dawson was acquitted, in case you haven’t heard.”
“I’ve heard. It was all over the news. But...you’ve never worked on a farm, have you? What will you be doing?”
“I’ll be taking care of his sister.”
“Angela.”
“You know her?”
“Not personally. The Reeds belonged to my sister’s church. Chelsea saw them every Sunday, worked with Lonnie on various charity projects. She told me Angela was there the night of the murders.”
According to what had been reported on the news, Angela had been sleeping soundly and hadn’t been able to provide any details on what happened. First she’d said it was her brother. Then she’d said it wasn’t. “He’s bringing her home from the assisted living place where they put her when...when he was arrested.”
“Why?”
The ridge of Sadie’s car key bit into her palm, prompting her to ease her grip. “Because it’s her home.”
“But won’t that be traumatic for her—to return to the place where her parents were killed?”
“He claims that’s where she wants to be.”
Maude began to toy with the large chunk of amber she wore as a pendant around her neck, something she did whenever she became agitated. “You understand that even though he was acquitted, he still might be... I mean, will you be safe?”
“I hope so.” Afraid Maude would mention Jayden and her duty as a mother, Sadie shifted from one foot to the other. She had a responsibility to Jayden to be wise and responsible. That was true. But she also had a responsibility to provide, especially since Sly wasn’t much help. If one responsibility warred with the other—what was she supposed to do? She wasn’t going back to her ex. “Dawson seems plenty nice.”
“Most killers don’t announce their intentions right off the bat, Sadie.”
Some of the elation she’d been feeling dissipated, as she’d known it would once she had to tell people what she’d be doing. “I understand that, but a woman’s got to do what a woman’s got to do.”
“You’re feeling a little...desperate. But these are drastic measures, honey.”
Too drastic. That was the implication. Was she being foolish? “This is the only option I have left, Maude.”
Her landlady continued to caress her amber pendant. “Does Sly know you’ve taken a job from Dawson Reed?”
“Not yet.” Sadie didn’t care to go into the fact that she’d told him she was applying, and that he’d tried to ruin her chances.
“I can’t imagine he’ll be pleased...”
He wouldn’t—because this would ensure her autonomy, at least for a little while. She’d be able to finalize the divorce regardless of what he was willing to pay for child support. In order to continue to drag out the proceedings, he’d have to sue her for custody of Jayden. He’d been threatening to do so, but that would cost him in attorney fees, and he didn’t really want custody or he’d be more religious about exercising his visitation rights. “No.”
“He drives by almost every night,” Maude said.
Sadie didn’t need the reminder. She’d seen him herself. “I know.”
“He’s still in love with you, very concerned for your safety.”
What he felt had more to do with possession and control than love. He wasn’t concerned for her safety so much as worried she might start seeing someone else. He checked up on her constantly—at work, at home, at Jayden’s school—all under the guise of being a loving husband and father, and a dutiful police officer. But it was a farce. As far as she was concerned, he was stalking her.
“Yes. Well, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Sadie said. “I’ll keep an eye out for anything that might be...worrisome.”
“Isn’t what’s already happened worrisome?” Maude asked, but Sadie couldn’t listen. If Sly was her only other alternative, she was willing to take a risk, even a big one like this.
“I’d better go. Jayden’s waiting for me.” She’d promised him a celebration, one that included ice cream and an hour or two at the park. She’d been looking forward to spending some time with him when she didn’t feel as if she might be crushed beneath the pressure she’d been under. She’d be putting in more hours now that she had a second job, knew she wouldn’t get to see him as much in the coming two weeks, so there was that, too.
But Maude’s reaction had stripped the shine from her excitement. Her landlady didn’t approve of her decision. Sadie doubted anyone else would, either. And now that she’d shared her plans, word would begin to spread.
Sly would be banging on her door before nightfall.
* * *
Sly contacted her even sooner than expected. Sadie’s heart skipped a beat the moment she heard her cell phone ding and glanced down to see a text from him while she was at the park with Jayden.
So? Did you go this morning?
She stared at those words, wishing he could simply disappear from the planet. Perhaps that wasn’t a generous thought, but she’d been feeling smothered for so long she’d begun to fantasize about a world where he didn’t exist.
“Mommy! Watch!”
Sadie shaded her eyes so she could see her son go down the slide. Fortunately, the sun was out and the sand wasn’t too soggy from the rain earlier. She’d been playing with Jayden for two hours. They needed to get going so she could take care of some banking, shopping and other errands. But Jayden was having so much fun she’d decided to give him a few more minutes. “Wow! Look at you!” she said. “You’re getting to be such a big boy.”
“I’m going again!” he announced but got distracted by a shovel and pail a little girl, maybe six, was using near the swings.
As soon as Sadie felt confident his new friend was willing to share and that the mother didn’t mind, she returned her attention to Sly’s text. If she didn’t respond, he’d only call her or come over later.
Yes, I went, she wrote.
Are you fucking kidding me?
She blanched at the profanity. She could hear him screaming that at her...
Please tell me you didn’t take the job, he wrote.
I need the work, she wrote back.
That’s a yes? You took a job from a killer????
Her phone rang. It was Sly, of course, anxious to shout at her. Texting ugly things wasn’t nearly as satisfying; he craved a full verbal assault.
She pressed the Decline button, but after the ringing stopped, her phone pinged again. Answer, damn it!
When she didn’t respond to that, either, he kept calling.
Finally, with a sigh, she picked up. She figured she might as well get this over with while Jayden was distracted. Why subject her sensitive child to another argument between Mommy and Daddy if she could possibly avoid it? “Sly, what I do with my life is up to me,” she said in lieu of a greeting.
“That’s bullshit. Don’t let Dawson Reed fool you. He’s dangerous. I won’t have my wife anywhere near him, especially out there on the farm alone. Do you know how many places he could hide your body?”
Ducking her head so that her voice wouldn’t carry, she murmured, “I’m not your wife anymore.”
“Yes, you are. The divorce isn’t final.”
“That’s a technicality.”
“So? You’re the mother of my child. That means I should have some say.”
“No, it doesn’t! I’m taking proper care of Jayden. If you’re concerned that he’ll be at Petra’s too much, you can watch him yourself when you’re not at work. That would be a great way to make sure he remains safe.” She wasn’t convinced spending so much time with Sly would be good for Jayden, however. She’d hate to subject him to more of his father’s disapproval. Sly was so disappointed that their son wasn’t the rough-and-tumble boy he’d expected that he couldn’t help making snide comments: What do you mean, you don’t want to watch basketball with me? All boys—real boys—love sports... Why do you let him put on your lipstick? Are you trying to turn him into a fag? On and on it went. One time when Sly had taken Jayden for a few hours, she’d arrived to pick him up only to find him in time-out—for telling his father he preferred dance lessons to Little League.
“You’d like to turn me into your babysitter, wouldn’t you?” he said.
Not really. But she had to make the offer. No judge was going to deny Sly visitation rights. He was a police officer! And it wasn’t as if she could claim he was physically abusive. “I’m saying it’s an option.”
“So you can go off and make money you’ll use to keep our family apart? Screw that! Why would I help you when I haven’t done anything to deserve what you’re doing to me?”
“You’ve never done anything to cause the divorce?” she echoed, shocked that he could even make such a statement. “What about the day you nearly ran me over with your squad car?”
“For the millionth time, I didn’t nearly run you down. I didn’t see you standing there.”
That was what he said, but she was fairly certain he had seen her...
“Besides, I’ve apologized for scaring you.”
“So that makes it better?”
“What else can I do? I didn’t know you were there, yet I apologized anyway. That’s nice, isn’t it? I’ll make everything else up to you, too. I’ve told you I would, but you won’t give me the chance!”
“Because I’m done, Sly. I can’t do it anymore.”
“This time will be different. I promise. You’ll be happy. I’ll make you happy. You don’t need to work for some murderer!”
He couldn’t make her happy. Any chance of that had been extinguished long ago. “We don’t know he’s a murderer.”
“Who else killed those people? The mysterious hitchhiker he claims he met earlier in the night? The one he claimed was tweaking and acting irrationally?”
“Maybe. Was his story ever really checked out?”
“His story was ridiculous! What are the chances that some stranger—a drug addict—he had an altercation with is going to be able to find the Reed farmhouse and kill the Reeds before Dawson can even get home?”
His story did sound rather far-fetched... “I don’t know. But his attorney claims the homicide detective settled on Dawson right away, that he never even looked at anyone else.”
“Dawson told you this?”
Jayden was laughing with the little girl who was sharing her bucket. He didn’t seem to notice that Sadie was on the phone, let alone having an argument, which brought some relief despite her frustration. “No, I saw it on the news, like everyone else,” she told Sly. “But maybe he was right. Maybe they focused the investigation too soon.”
“No, they didn’t! I’m part of the police force, Sadie. Are you saying we don’t do our jobs?”
“You weren’t involved in the investigation, Sly.” He hoped to reach detective; his superiors just hadn’t promoted him yet. She’d heard him fume when another officer was promoted ahead of him. “So that comment had nothing to do with you.”
“You’re talking about my friends and work associates.”
“I’m telling you the truth—that we don’t know!”
“Does that even matter?” he cried. “Do we have to know? Why take the chance?”
For the sake of freedom! She’d do almost anything to escape him. She’d gotten involved with Sly when she was still in high school. It didn’t seem fair that a decision made when she was so young and naïve could have such long-reaching consequences. “It’ll be okay. Dawson seems nice.”
“Are you a total idiot? Ted Bundy seemed nice!”
Sadie stiffened. He treated her like she was stupid whenever she didn’t agree with him. “There’s no point in fighting about it. I’ve accepted the job. I’m going to work there. You have no say.” She considered bringing up the fact that he’d tried to sabotage her by visiting the Reed farm ahead of her and all but threatening Dawson, but she knew that would only cause the argument to explode into something uglier, even more emotional. His attempt to intimidate Dawson hadn’t been successful. She’d leave it there to protect Dawson from any backlash he’d receive for telling her.
“You’d rather work for a murderer than come back to me,” he said.
“I’d rather accept a job that will enable me to remain independent.”
“God, you’re such a selfish bitch!”
There wasn’t any way she could be more selfish than he was. That much she knew for sure. “I don’t have to listen to this, Sly.”
“Someone needs to knock some sense into you.”
Squeezing her eyes closed, she drew a deep breath. “Who? You?”
“Someday, you’ll get what’s coming to you.”
She recognized that tone, associated it with the afternoon he’d nearly run her over. He had the capacity for violence. She could sense it—and it frightened her as much or more as going to work for a man suspected of murdering his parents, maybe even more because it was directed at her. “I’ve got to go,” she said.
“Don’t hang up on me! We’re not finished yet.”
“I don’t have to put up with your abuse anymore.” She saw her son coming toward her, so she hit the button that would end the call. But she knew what she’d just told her ex-husband was a lie. She did have to put up with his abuse. There wasn’t any way to avoid it. She’d been fighting that battle for years.
All the power was on his side.
* * *
Dawson Reed was so tired by the time he finished working in the fields that he skipped dinner. Hungry though he was, the thought of trying to prepare a meal was too overwhelming when he could hardly climb the stairs to reach his bed. Bottom line, he needed rest more than food. His body was no longer accustomed to long days of physical labor, not after sitting in a jail cell for more than twelve months. Trying to salvage what he could of the artichoke plants he’d been helping his folks grow before they were murdered, and preparing a large section of land for new plants—which he had to get in the ground before spring, since artichokes needed a period of vernalization—was more than any one man should attempt on his own. But if he was going to bring Angela home, he couldn’t hire farmhands. He’d be spending what disposable income he had, what his defense lawyers hadn’t already taken of his parents’ estate and what was left of the money he’d borrowed against the farm on Sadie Harris, the caregiver he’d hired this morning for his sister.
He hoped he’d done the right thing. After Officer Harris had left, he’d almost decided to get the farm up and running—and turning a profit—before bringing Angela home. He’d figured, by then, maybe people would’ve had time to cool off, wouldn’t be so angry and determined to persecute him. But Angela wasn’t happy where she was, so he couldn’t wait. He was too stubborn to let the arrogant ass who’d threatened him tell him what to do, anyway.
Once he reached the top of the stairs, he paused, as he always did, to stare at the closed door looming at the end of the hallway. The two people he’d loved most in the world had been murdered behind that door. When he thought of his parents, of what he’d encountered the night they were killed, he felt so much anger and grief he didn’t know what to do. He tried to funnel it into his work, in the promises he told himself about the future and how he’d eventually find justice. But sometimes, the loss still hit him like a tidal wave, made him want to fight someone, anyone. Or he had to contend with a debilitating sadness that stole over him like wisps of fog, chilling him to the bone.
He reached for the knob, made sure the door was still locked, then dropped his hand. Aiyana Turner, the administrator of New Horizons, the boys ranch here in town where he’d gone to high school, had done her best to board up the place—as soon as the police gave her permission to come onto the property. She’d offered to clean up the blood for him, too. She was the only one, it seemed, who still had a kind word for him, who believed he was innocent. But he’d told her to leave the scene exactly as it was. He felt there might be some clue, some piece of evidence the police had missed that he could use to find the man who killed them—and he wouldn’t rest until he did. After everything he’d lost, everything he’d been through, he’d find justice eventually.
His cell phone rang. Someone from the Stanley DeWitt Assisted Living Center in Los Angeles, where they’d taken his sister, was trying to reach him. He’d spoken to a member of their staff almost every day since he got home.
He needed to remove his dirty clothes and shower before he could lie down, so he finished the short journey to his room and sank into the wooden chair by the desk he’d been using to apply for the loan on the farm, handle the paperwork for assuming guardianship of Angela and create the spreadsheets that charted out the farm acreage, growth time, projected earnings and cash flow. “Hello?”
“Mr. Reed?”
He’d been legally adopted by Lonnie and Larry when he was fifteen, had used their last name ever since. He certainly didn’t want to claim the name he’d been born with. The Reeds were the only ones who’d ever given a damn about him. “Yes.”
“It’s Megan. From Stanley DeWitt.”
She’d called before. He recognized the name. “What’s going on, Megan?”
“I’m sorry to bother you again, but... I thought maybe if you spoke to your sister, she’d cooperate with me.”
Fighting the exhaustion that hung on his arms and legs like wrist and ankle weights, he covered a yawn. “What’s she doing?”
“She’s been up since six this morning, but she won’t put on her pajamas and go to bed. She insists you’re coming to get her tonight.”
“Tonight.”
“Yes. She’s waiting by the door, her purse on her arm, her coat buttoned to the top, even though it’s too warm for that in here.”
Dawson sighed as he pictured his sister stubbornly resisting the young Megan’s pleas. The image that came to mind broke his heart. Not being able to help Angela had been as bad as everything else. “Let me talk to her.”
“Yes, sir. One sec.”
“It’s your brother,” he heard as she transferred the phone.
Angela came on the line almost immediately, her voice eager. “Dawson? Where are you?”
“I’m at home, honey. I can’t come tonight. I told you I have to get the house cleaned up before they’ll let me bring you here.”
“Then clean it! Why aren’t you cleaning it?”
“I am cleaning it. I’m doing a lot of other things, too—things that take time. I need you to be patient. I’ll come for you as soon as I can. I promise.”
“Okay. I’ll wait here.” She handed the phone to Megan, but that had been too easy, so easy that Dawson knew Angela still didn’t understand. He had Megan put her right back on the line.
“It won’t be tonight,” he reiterated. “I’m not coming now. It might be as long as a week. These things take time.”
“How long is a week?”
“Seven days.”
“Seven days!” She groaned as if he’d said seven years. “That’s forever!”
“That’s how it has to be. Moving you requires some paperwork, too, and it’s the paperwork that takes the longest. They won’t let me pick you up until everything’s done.”
“But it’s been so long.” She started to cry. “I don’t like it here, Dawson. Come get me now.”
“I’ll come as soon as I can, honey. I just... I need you to listen to Megan and get ready for bed. If you cooperate, the time will go faster for everyone. Then, before you know it, you’ll be home.”
She sniffed. “Will I get to see Mom and Dad? Or are they still dead?”
Dawson scrubbed a hand over his face. She had no concept of death, of forever. She only knew that she missed the people who’d always been there for her. He missed them, too. “They’re still dead. They’ll always be dead. But I’ll take you to see their graves and try to help you understand when you get home.”
“They’ll come back,” she said, supremely confident. “I know they will.”
“They can’t, Angela.”
“Yes, they can!”
“We’ll talk about it later. For now, listen to Megan, please? Put on your pajamas and get into bed. Megan doesn’t need you to make her night difficult.”
“You’ll be here in the morning?”
“What did I tell you?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied, and cried even louder.
“It’ll be a week. I’ll be there in seven days. Have Megan count them on your fingers.” He wasn’t positive he could get there in exactly seven days, which was why he’d been careful not to name a date so far. But after what they’d been through the past year, dangling a “soon” out there wasn’t comforting to her anymore. Angela needed a concrete figure, something Megan could circle on the calendar and she could look forward to in a more definite way.
He hated the thought that he might have to disappoint her at the end of the week—due to circumstances beyond his control—but it was better than disappointing her every night, like he was doing now.
“A week,” she repeated with another sniff.
“Seven days.”
“Megan? When is a week?” he heard her ask.
There was some shuffling as he heard Megan start to count, “One, two, three...”
“Seven takes too long,” Angela said, discouraged again, when Megan was finished.
“It won’t be that long. Have Megan get the calendar and show you how far Christmas is, and you’ll see that a week is soon. Very soon.”
After Megan went through the months with her, and the many, many days until Christmas, Angela finally relented. “Okay. I’ll go to bed. Tomorrow will be one day, right?”
“Yes.” He covered another yawn as Megan thanked him and disconnected. After that, he tried to get up so he could remove his boots, take off his clothes and shower—but wound up falling asleep with his head facedown on the desk.
3 (#u0d64026d-af9d-56cd-a8bf-f8340880d0f3)
Sadie passed a restless night. She hadn’t heard from Sly since their conversation at the park, but she knew he wouldn’t go about minding his own business. He’d blindside her with something, sometime, which was why she kept looking out the window, watching for his squad car. If he was working, he’d think nothing of stopping by in the middle of the night and dragging her out of bed to continue their argument—regardless of what she had to do the next day. Even if he wasn’t working, he could drop by very late. He’d done it before.
Fortunately, she didn’t hear from him. But even when she wasn’t getting up to check her windows and make sure her doors were locked, she was lying on the mattress she shared with Jayden, wondering what it was going to be like juggling two jobs for a couple of weeks. She’d be putting in long hours; it wouldn’t be easy.
She kept telling herself she’d muddle through, but the closer it came to morning, the more nervous she grew. Her shift at Lolita’s would go fast. She’d been there for three years, ever since Jayden had been potty-trained (what Sly required in order to watch him), so it had become almost second nature. She just hoped what she had to do in the afternoon wouldn’t be too difficult or upsetting. Dawson had said she’d clean the house. But no way would she let him assign her the Reeds’ bedroom. She hoped someone had already taken care of the blood that had been spilled there...
She hurried to focus on something else before she lost the nerve to go there at all. Did Dawson even have cleaning supplies? Or would she need to bring some with her?
She called him after she got up in the morning to check, before taking Jayden to Petra’s.
“Hello?” His voice, deep and filled with a bit of gravel, was easily recognizable from the few minutes she’d spent with him during the interview.
“It’s Sadie Harris.”
There was a long pause. Then he said, “Please don’t tell me you’re already calling to quit.”
She gripped her phone that much tighter. Should she? That was what Maude and Sly wanted her to do. If her parents were alive, she’d be willing to bet they, too, would weigh in on the side of keeping her distance. But, in spite of caution, she heard herself say, “No. I’m calling to see if you’d like me to pick up anything before I come.”
“You mean like groceries?”
“If you need them.”
“That’d be great. I’ve been meaning to get back to the store, but...there hasn’t been time.”
She couldn’t imagine shopping would be fun for him, anyway. The second he walked through the doors of the local supermarket, everyone would stop and stare. It was even possible the checker would refuse to ring him up. That was how hostile Silver Springs felt toward him. “What should I get?”
“I have oatmeal and eggs. That’s about it.”
“So...maybe some bread, lunch meat and fruit? Stuff like that?”
“Sure. And whatever else you like to eat. I don’t want you going hungry while you’re out here. Something for dinner would be nice.”
What was he surviving on? Oatmeal and eggs, even in the evenings? “Okay. I’ll swing by the store. What about cleaning supplies?”
“You’d better get that sort of thing, too.”
“What do you need me to clean?”
“The whole house.”
“The whole house?” she echoed.
She knew he’d heard her uncertainty, and understood the reason for it, when he quickly amended that comment. “Everything that’s not closed off. I mean...the space I’m using. The living room, the dining area, the kitchen, two bathrooms, my bedroom and Angela’s. I’ll deal with the master when...when I can.”
She took his response to mean it hadn’t been cleaned. That she’d be working in a house where two people had been murdered and the blood hadn’t even been washed from the walls and carpet made her feel slightly ill. But she wasn’t sure she should let that change her mind. She’d known about the murders before she went out to meet with him.
Still, she didn’t want to see that room, let alone touch anything. Maybe he felt the same. Maybe that was why he’d closed it off. “What supplies do you have now?”
“Not much. To be honest, I haven’t had a chance to think about that sort of thing. All of my work so far has been outside.”
“So furniture polish, disinfectant, dishwashing soap, toilet bowl cleaner, oven cleaner, a powdered cleanser and some rags? Do you have a toilet bowl brush?”
“No. Grab one of those, too. Most everything was stolen or trashed while I was...away, so I threw all the broken bits and pieces in the pile of garbage out front. I didn’t have time to sort and salvage. I needed some space to be able to live so I could get out on the land.”
“What are you going to do about that pile?”
“Get rid of it. I’ve hired someone to haul it away this weekend.”
“I see.” If he was as innocent as he claimed, the day he saw what others had done to his house must’ve been very difficult. She couldn’t imagine showing up to find her home in such poor shape, the blood of her parents still in their bedroom upstairs. How was he living there let alone working?
And if he wasn’t innocent?
Sadie wouldn’t consider that. She’d decided to trust the jury’s verdict, hadn’t she? “What about a vacuum?” she asked as she switched the phone to her other ear.
“Don’t have one. Someone... Never mind. I threw that out along with everything else. How much do you think a new one’ll cost?”
More than she could front, and she didn’t get the impression he had money to burn, either. “I’ll bring one. We can limp by using mine for a while.”
“That’s very nice of you. Do you have a credit card or something to put the purchases on until I can reimburse you? If not, feel free to swing by and pick up some cash to take with you.”
“I’ve got a little room on my card.” She should be able to get a few things—at least enough that she’d be able to work today.
“Okay. Thanks.”
Jayden came out of their bedroom in his Spider-Man pajamas, rubbing his eyes. “Mommy? Why are you awake when it’s dark?”
Sadie covered the speaker on her phone. “Because it’s almost morning, handsome. We need to get you dressed and over to Petra’s. Can you go potty for me first?”
With a tired nod, he went into the bathroom, and she spoke into the phone again. “I’ll be there as soon as I get off at the diner.”
“I’ll be in the north field. Come find me, and I’ll let you in.”
“Okay.”
“Mommy?” Jayden called with some emergency. “The toilet won’t flush!”
“I’m coming, babe.” Sadie was afraid he’d filled it with toilet paper again. She had no idea how or why he’d developed such a fascination for stopping up the toilet, but she wished she had remembered and gone into the bathroom with him to protect the plumbing. “I’ve gotta go,” she told Dawson.
“You can bring your son here, you know,” Dawson said. “He’ll be safe.”
“That’s okay. We’ll see if I survive the day first.” She laughed as if she was making a joke, but when he didn’t respond, she cursed herself for being so insensitive. She’d been trying to feel safer by making light of the danger. Instead, she’d rubbed salt into what had to be a very painful wound.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That wasn’t funny.”
He made no comment on the subject. “I’ll see you when you get here.”
“It’ll be at least one.”
“Understood.”
She started to hang up, but he spoke again. “Sadie?”
“Yes?”
“You don’t have anything to worry about over here.”
Could she believe him? He sounded sincere. But she’d once been in love with a man she could no longer stand. That showed how easy it was to be fooled, didn’t it? “Good to know. Thank you for trying to reassure me.”
After another pause, he said, “You’re not going to ask me if I killed them?”
Them being his parents, of course. What else could he be referring to? “Would you tell me if you did?”
“No, I guess I wouldn’t,” he admitted. “So much for words.”
He disconnected, but, as unsettling as their conversation had been, she didn’t have time to mull over her gaffe or his reaction to it.
“Mommy, the toilet’s going to spill!” Jayden called.
Setting her phone on the counter, she rushed into the bathroom. “Stop flushing it!”
* * *
The diner was crowded, but Sadie was relieved to be busy. The crush kept her from thinking too much. For some reason, the comment she’d made at the end of her conversation with Dawson kept running through her mind—along with the pregnant silence that’d fallen afterward—and she couldn’t quit kicking herself. Just in case he was innocent, she needed to be more sensitive. She’d rather err on the side of assuming the best, of being kind, than piling on with everyone else, wouldn’t she? Dawson faced enough haters. The only person who stood in his corner, and had throughout the entire ordeal, was Aiyana Turner, the woman in charge of New Horizons. Aiyana insisted the man she knew could never do what had been done to the Reeds.
Usually, Aiyana’s opinion carried some weight in Silver Springs. She did a lot of good in the community, was well respected, but she was always an advocate for her “boys,” had adopted eight of the students who’d attended New Horizons herself. Some of them probably supported Dawson, too. They’d gone to school together, after all. Everyone just discounted what the Turners had to say because of their close affiliation with Dawson and the fact that if he was responsible for those murders, it would reflect poorly on Aiyana and the school, for bringing him to town.
Now that Sadie would be working for Dawson, however, she prayed the founder of New Horizons knew what she was talking about. The man Sadie had met didn’t seem unhinged or greedy. He’d seemed perfectly normal.
But what did she know? She’d barely met him. Maybe she was letting his gorgeous face and jaw-dropping body get in the way of her good judgment.
Sadie was just putting in an order for a Spanish omelet when two of Sly’s closest friends from the police force came in. They stood at the door and gazed around the restaurant until they saw her. Then they skipped the hostess station and headed directly to her section at the breakfast bar.
“Hi, Pete. Hi, George.” She handed them both menus. “How are you today?”
Young, maybe twenty-eight, and stocky, with close-cropped dark hair, Pete looked at his older and much heavier companion. “We’d be a damn sight better if we hadn’t just heard what we heard,” he replied.
Sadie dodged another server to be able to grab the coffeepot so she could fill their cups. She knew they liked coffee, had served them many times over the past three years. “What’d you hear?”
“Sly told us you’re going to be working for the man who murdered Lonnie and Larry Reed. That true?”
Sadie nearly dropped the coffee. She’d known word would spread, but she hadn’t expected to be confronted by these guys. Although she’d been to a few barbecues with them over the years, she didn’t feel as if they were close enough—at least to her—to say anything. “I’ll be working for their son, Dawson.”
Pete’s thick eyebrows came together. “Like I said, the man who murdered Lonnie and Larry.”
“Dawson has already been tried in a court of law, Pete. He was found not guilty. So... I’m not sure who killed the Reeds. From everything I’ve seen and heard, no one is certain.”
He added a touch of cream to his coffee. “When you work in law enforcement, you get a feel for these things, Sadie. You can tell when someone’s lying. Dawson Reed is guilty as sin. Don’t let him or anyone else convince you otherwise.”
She put the coffeepot back on its warmer so that the other servers would be able to get to it. “Even cops get things wrong now and then. If that wasn’t true, we wouldn’t have so many innocent people in prison.”
The expression on his face suggested he didn’t appreciate her daring to argue with him when he was such an authority on the matter. She’d seen that look before, many times, on Sly’s face.
No wonder they were friends...
Leaning back, he rested his hand on the butt of his gun as he appraised her. “If you think there are a lot of innocent people in prison, you’re more delusional than I thought.”
“Delusional, Pete?” Sadie said, shocked that he’d go that far.
He shrugged. “Just sayin’. You’ve got this one wrong, sweetheart. And you’ll pay a hefty price, if you’re not careful.”
“You don’t know I’m wrong.” By the way Pete was treating her, Sly had been flapping his gums again, running her down even though she tried so hard not to disparage him. He was, after all, the father of her child. “But, now that’s out of the way, what can I get you both this morning?” she asked, pulling the order pad from her apron pocket.
“I’ll take some biscuits and gravy,” George said.
Obviously tempted to pursue the argument, Pete hesitated. But then he closed his menu and handed it back to her. “I’ll have the pigs in a blanket.”
“Great. Your food’ll be out in a few minutes.” She’d already turned away when George tried to stop her.
“Sadie...”
The order window was right behind her, so she stuck their ticket on the rounder for the cooks. “Yes?”
“Look, you and Pete got off on the wrong foot. We’re not trying to be jerks. We understand things have been a little...rough financially since you and Sly split up. Divorce is never easy. But is going to work for Dawson Reed the best solution? I mean, think about it. If we’re right and you’re wrong...something terrible could happen.”
“I appreciate your concern,” she said. But she didn’t really believe it was concern. They were supporting Sly while attempting to isolate Dawson, to make sure he was reviled for his “crime,” even though a twelve-person jury had heard all the evidence and determined he shouldn’t be punished for what happened to the Reeds. “But I’m hoping my faith in our court system hasn’t been misplaced.”
“You’re not going to listen,” he said, incredulous.
She remembered the terror that’d shot through her when Dawson grabbed her arm as she was leaving the farm yesterday—and how quickly he’d backed off when she turned. That made him seem safe, but there was nothing to say he wouldn’t harm her later. She just hated how certain everyone else seemed to be when they didn’t know whether he was guilty any more than she did. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”
Pete made a clicking sound with his mouth. “Sure hope so. Either way, you’ve been sufficiently warned.”
“Meaning...”
His eyes widened at the challenge. “If you get into trouble now, you’re going to have to call someone else.”
Although Sadie had empty plates to collect farther down the bar, she put that off. “What?”
“You heard me,” he replied.
Her jaw fell open. “You’re on the police force! Don’t tell me you’re saying that if I call for help from the Reed farm, no one will come...”
“Of course someone will come,” George said.
Pete nudged him. “But we can’t promise whoever it is will come real quick,” he added with a laugh.
Sadie glared at him. “You’re a self-righteous bastard, Pete Montgomery. Now I know why you get along so well with Sly.”
He sobered instantly. “Whoa! Sounds to me like you deserve whatever you might get!”
“And it sounds to me as if you’ve appointed yourself judge, jury and executioner—not only for Dawson Reed but for me, as well.”
“You’re the one putting yourself in a bad situation.” He shoved his coffee out of the way as he leaned forward. “The question is why? Do you and Dawson have something going on? Is he warming your bed at night now that he’s out of lockup?”
She shook her head. “You’re disgusting.”
“What?” He gestured as if he’d said nothing wrong. “You wouldn’t be the first to want to spread your legs for him. You should’ve seen the women on that jury, preening and making eyes at him whenever he walked into the courtroom. If not for them, he’d be in prison right now, awaiting an execution date. So next time you think he’s innocent because that damn jury handed down a ‘not guilty’ verdict, you might consider there were seven women on it.”
“Women can weigh evidence as well as men,” she snapped.
He nearly spilled George’s coffee when he shoved his water glass into it. “Don’t give me that feminist bullshit!”
“Pete, that’s enough,” George mumbled, looking around. “You’re going too far.”
People were starting to stare, but he didn’t seem to care about that. “She’s the one who won’t listen!” he responded.
“Thanks for your concern, but tell Sly I’ll make my own decisions,” she said.
Glenn Swank, down the bar, was growing impatient with her lack of attention. “Hey, Sadie! Are you going to bring my check sometime today or what?” he called out. “I gotta go to work!”
Sadie nodded to reassure him. “I’m coming.”
“Remember, you’re taking a big chance,” Pete growled as she hurried away. “Are you sure he’s worth it?”
* * *
Sadie was still livid when she reached the grocery store. Every time she thought about that visit at the diner from Pete and George, she wanted to go ballistic. How dare they say what they did! They had no right. They were just taking up for Sly. He’d sent his buddies over because she wouldn’t listen to him.
“Pricks,” she muttered.
“What’d you say, dear?”
Sadie turned to see the organist from her church standing behind her in the aisle and felt her face grow hot for cursing. “Nothing,” she muttered.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were talking to me.”
Fortunately, Mrs. Handley was partially deaf. “No. I was just...mumbling to myself.”
“Nowadays you never know what people are doing.” She shook her head in apparent exasperation. “What with those little devices—blue teeth or whatever they’re called—they have in their ears.”
“Bluetooth. People talk on Bluetooth.”
“That’s it.”
Sadie smiled, trying to relax. “How have you been?”
“Good, and you?”
“Busy.”
“Will I see you at church on Sunday?”
If Dawson didn’t murder her first. The idea that he might be dangerous had always been daunting. But now she knew the police would be slow to react if she called for help. Pete, George and Sly had all warned her not to take the job, so they felt justified in letting her go it alone. They meant to teach her a lesson, even though it could be a costly lesson indeed.
She’d almost told them she’d been forced to take the job because Sly was being so stingy with his child. It cost a lot more to take care of Jayden than the $250/month Sly was currently paying. That didn’t even cover his child care! But she knew that would only cause more problems. Sly would call her up and accuse her of trying to make him look bad in front of his friends, and they’d be headed toward yet another terrible argument.
“Yes. I’ll be there,” she told Mrs. Handley.
“I’m glad. I’ll see you then. Have a nice day, dear.”
“You, too.” Sadie wheeled her cart around to the next aisle and then the next, whizzing through the store, grabbing everything on her list. She needed to get started cleaning Dawson’s house so that she could accomplish something before it was time to go home.
Once she’d bought his food and supplies, she stuck the receipt in her purse and loaded the items in her car. Dawson owed her $189.03. She hoped he was good for it. She also hoped he’d like what she bought as far as groceries. She’d picked up a roast and some vegetables to put in her slow cooker, which she needed to pick up, since she hadn’t thought of using it when she put her vacuum in the back of the car earlier. After being out on the farm all day, she figured he could use a solid meat-and-potatoes kind of meal.
Sadie had the slow cooker in her car with the vacuum and a few other things she thought might be useful and was walking around to get behind the wheel when Maude called out to her from where she’d been standing yesterday. “Are you heading to the Reed farm?”
“Yeah, I’m off,” she said, turning to wave. She couldn’t help thinking Maude might be the last person she’d ever see alive. She almost implored her to look after Jayden if anything happened, but she knew, if she were to be murdered, Sly’s mother would step in and raise him. It wasn’t as if Marliss expected her beloved son to do much.
“Good luck,” Maude said. “I hope everything goes okay.”
Wading through so much disapproval was zapping Sadie’s strength. She felt like she needed a nap—she probably did, since she hadn’t been able to sleep last night—and yet she had a whole afternoon of menial labor ahead of her. “So do I,” she said and got in the car.
4 (#u0d64026d-af9d-56cd-a8bf-f8340880d0f3)
Dawson wasn’t entirely sure Sadie would show up. At one-forty, he still hadn’t heard from her. He kept pausing to gaze toward the highway, hoping to see her distinctive green-and-brown car. But there was no sign of her.
Had her ex-husband gotten hold of her? Convinced her not to work for a “murderer”?
The memory of how Officer Harris had tried to bully him at his own door made Dawson long to break his jaw. The dude deserved it. If Dawson had his guess, Harris wouldn’t be much of an opponent. He hid behind his badge and his gun, would have no clue how to handle himself in a fight where those things weren’t allowed and his position as an officer didn’t count for shit. But if Dawson wanted to bring his sister home and rebuild his life, he had to be careful. He couldn’t get in trouble, especially with a Silver Springs cop. The entire force was so sure that he’d gotten away with murder, the blowback would be severe, and he couldn’t afford to become a victim of police harassment right now. Law enforcement had done enough to destroy him.
At a quarter till two, he pulled out his cell phone again. He had his ringer turned on, in case she tried to reach him. He’d already checked his call history. But maybe something weird had happened and her call had inexplicably transferred straight to voice mail...
Nothing. No missed calls. No texts. He was dialing her number, figured he might as well face it if she had bad news, when he heard the sound of an engine and looked up to see her El Camino turn into the drive.
“Hallelujah,” he muttered and hung up before the call could go through.
She was out of the car and grabbing the handles of four bags of groceries by the time he could reach her.
“Hey,” he said.
She glanced over one shoulder. “Hi. Sorry I’m late. The diner was busier than usual, so they made me stay an extra half hour. Shopping took a bit longer than anticipated, too.”
“I’m not upset.” He was just glad she’d come. He tried to take the groceries from her, but she wouldn’t relinquish them.
“I’ve got these. Why don’t you grab the vacuum out of the back? And the slow cooker next to it,” she added as she headed to the house.
“Got it.” Her vacuum didn’t look like much. Neither did the slow cooker, or her car, for that matter. Even she looked a little beleaguered. He’d noticed the dark circles that underscored her hazel eyes when she interviewed with him, but they were more pronounced today, when she wasn’t wearing makeup and had her fine blond hair pulled into a ponytail. Now that she was in jeans and a Lolita’s Country Kitchen T-shirt, and not the blousy top and skirt she’d had on before, he could also tell she was thinner than he’d first thought.
Although he knew there were probably a lot of guys who’d find that waiflike look attractive, he wasn’t one of them. He liked his women with plenty of curves. But he hadn’t hired her for her looks. He only needed her to be reliable.
She was making room on the counter to stack the dirty dishes he’d left in the sink when he set the vacuum in the living room and put the slow cooker on the table.
“Sorry you’re starting at such a deficit,” he said, seeing the mess he’d created the past several days through fresh eyes. He’d thrown out everything that’d been broken—all the beer cans, cigarette butts and other trash teenagers and various vandals had left behind, as well. But he hadn’t been taking the time to clean up after himself. “Daylight hours are precious to me. I haven’t been able to waste them on housework.”
With the sink clear of dishes, she began running hot water. “I understand.”
He propped his hands on his hips as he gazed around. “So...you’re going to start in this part of the house?”
“As far as I’m concerned, the kitchen is always the best place to start. It’s the heart of the home, as they say. I’ll get this clean and organized so that we can make meals and...get around in here. It’ll take some time, though. I might have to tackle the other parts of the house tomorrow.”
“That’s fine.” Hungry, he began rummaging through the groceries to see what there might be to eat. “How much do I owe you for this stuff?”
She wiped her hands before getting the receipt out of her purse.
Once he saw the total, he pulled $200 out of his wallet. She tried to give him change, but he waved her off. From what he’d seen, she didn’t have much, either. “Consider it a very small bonus. Have you had lunch?”
She watched as he opened a loaf of bread. “I heated up some leftovers when I changed out of my uniform. Why? You haven’t eaten?”
“Not lunch.”
He was surprised when she took the package of ham he’d just picked up and started to shoo him out of the kitchen. “I’ll make you something and bring it out.”
She didn’t seem to expect a lot of hand-holding. He liked that about her. “Are you sure you don’t have any questions or...need some direction?”
“I’ve cleaned plenty of kitchens,” she said with a wry smile.
“Right. Thanks.” Dawson breathed a sigh of relief as he left the house. He hadn’t had a lot to go on when he hired her, but he was beginning to think he’d found the right person.
* * *
After Sadie made Dawson a sandwich, she cut up carrots and celery and added them to his plate along with a small puddle of ranch dressing. Then she carried it all out along with a thermos of coffee. The farm was nearly a hundred acres, big enough that it took her several minutes to find him, but she eventually spotted a lone man weeding and trimming artichoke plants in the far quadrant and figured that had to be him.
He removed the ball cap he was wearing and wiped away the sweat on his forehead as she approached. Maybe he was a murderer, but no one could say he wasn’t a hard worker, she thought. A glance at the field revealed that he’d done a lot to clean it up—a Herculean task for only one man. “Thanks,” he said simply.
“Happy to help. Will this be enough, or—”
“Plenty. I can’t overeat. Too much food will bog me down.”
“I’m getting the impression you need to eat more than you have been. How else will you keep up your strength?”
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...”
“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.”
“But...”
“He will definitely hurt you, in any way he can, and I don’t want to be responsible for that. Now you’ve had a glimpse of...of what he’s like, you might want to change your mind about having me work here.”
He set his jaw. “You mean cop to his demands.”
“I know it sounds unappealing. Believe me, I hate it as much as you do. But that’s the only way to appease him.”
“That’s what you do?”
“That’s all I can do.” Suddenly feeling her own fatigue, she shoved the loose strand of hair that kept falling into her face out of her eyes again. “Anyway, I’ll go now so that he’ll leave, too, and you can get some sleep. But if you decide you have enough problems, that you’d rather not have me back tomorrow, just let me know.” She should’ve known this would never work, that Sly would never allow it to work. “I’ll understand,” she assured him and went to get her purse.
5 (#u0d64026d-af9d-56cd-a8bf-f8340880d0f3)
The anger that welled up as his new “caregiver” left, followed closely by her ex-husband, made Dawson long to hit something. He hated to see Sadie give in to Officer Harris, to let him control and manipulate her. Just watching it happen, being a party to it, brought back the horrible feelings of helplessness he’d experienced over the past year—and with it a familiar rage. So much shit had happened to him, and he’d been powerless to stop it. When his parents were killed, he’d been swept into a vortex of pain, loss, confusion, accusation, distrust and resistance to the truth that had nearly destroyed everything in his life—not only his parents but all they’d left behind, including their life’s work, their home and their poor daughter.
He’d often lain awake at night on that cement jailhouse bed, feeling as if he’d fallen through the proverbial “rabbit hole.” That was how twisted his life had become, how distorted from what was fair, right and true. And the crazy thing was, no matter how hard he fought back, or how much he proclaimed his innocence, there was no escape. He remained at the mercy of strangers, completely subject to the rationale, judgments and will of people who had no idea who he really was or what’d happened that terrible night. They stripped him of his freedom and convicted him in the press, pointing to the anger and confusion he’d experienced as an unwanted child as the reason he’d risen up to destroy the only people who ever truly loved him.
If not for the slimmest of margins, he’d be sitting on death row right now. Only, he wasn’t. He was here. Home. Sure, he was starting over with very little. But at least he had the chance to reclaim his sister, save the farm and find the man who did murder his folks. He might even be able to bring that man to justice.
If he didn’t screw up.
In an effort to calm down, he walked to the table and poured himself another glass of wine. As he stood there drinking it, he couldn’t help feeling a measure of relief at the transformation that’d taken place around him. The kitchen had regained its former dignity, because of Sadie. Sure, that was a small step forward, but it made him feel as if something had finally been put right, which gave him a shred of normalcy to cling to. Then there was Sadie’s practicality in bringing groceries and supplies, her flexibility in being willing to front the money for them, so that the shopping wouldn’t turn out to be a big hassle on his part, and her diligence in seeing that he got fed. She’d worked hard today. He liked her, believed he’d found a good employee.
But what she said was true: he had enough problems. He’d hired her yesterday despite Officer Harris’s threats—maybe, at least partially, because of them. It felt good to fight back. But did he really want to get involved in a battle that had nothing to do with him when he had more than he could handle already?
No. He’d have to put off getting Angela out of Stanley DeWitt. He didn’t like that she’d be disappointed, but he could continue to advertise for a caregiver—in Santa Barbara this time—hoping to find someone who was willing to commute. Santa Barbara wasn’t that far. Surely, if he gave himself more time, he could find an alternative to hiring a woman connected to an abusive ex-husband who also happened to be an egotistical cop.
But if he chose that option, if he let Sadie go, what would happen to her?
He recalled the tears he’d seen streaming down her cheeks yesterday, the way she’d turned her face up to the sky as if she wished the rain would just wash her away. She seemed pretty desperate herself. Whether he knew her well or not, he hated the idea of abandoning her to be victimized, hated the thought that she had to be experiencing those same feelings of helplessness that’d cut him to the quick. If she wanted to get away from the guy she’d married, she should have that right. If she wanted to work for a man suspected of killing his parents, she should have that right, too. She was an adult. So why did Sly Harris get to dictate what she did—what either of them did?
You can’t hire me now. You have no idea what he’ll do. He’ll make your life so miserable you’ll wish you were still in jail.
He believed her, especially after Sly’s latest visit. Her ex would not back off simply because they’d gone ahead despite his disapproval. They’d have a real fight on their hands, a fight that Dawson was ill equipped to take on in his current situation. But ducking that would only make him feel like he’d felt while he was in jail—completely at the dictates of others. And he’d never been one to back down from a fight. Perhaps he’d screw up his only chance to get his life back, but at least he’d go down swinging for what he believed in.
“You can go to hell, Officer Harris,” he muttered and sent Sadie a text.
* * *
Sadie refused to speak to Sly. Her phone rang while she was driving, but she ignored his call, wouldn’t even get her phone out of her purse. If he wanted to follow her home, let him. She couldn’t stop him from using the same highway. But that didn’t mean she had to have a conversation while she was driving.
When she pulled up to Petra’s, he got out, too, and tried to intercept her. “We need to talk,” he told her. “You can’t keep working for that bastard.”
“I’m not breaking any laws,” she said.
Petra must’ve heard their voices, or she’d been watching for Sadie, because she came out.
“There you are,” she said before her gaze shifted to Sly.
If anyone understood the truth of what her relationship with Sly was like, it was Petra. Although Sadie had been careful not to say too much, Petra knew she wished she could be rid of him, and that he refused to leave her alone.
Using the distraction Jayden’s babysitter posed, Sadie circumvented Sly and continued to the door. “Sorry I’m later than originally planned.”
“You warned me it’d be seven or eight. Jayden’s fine, anyway. How’d it go?” Petra swung the door open to admit her but said nothing to Sly, and Sly said nothing to Petra. He hung back on the walkway, as if he was waiting for Sadie to get Jayden and come out again.
“I liked it,” Sadie admitted as she went in.
Petra hesitated as if she wasn’t sure whether to close the door, since Sly was outside. She settled for leaving it cracked open to suggest they’d only be a moment. “What’d you do?”
“Mommy!” Jayden came running as soon as he saw her.
She pulled him into her arms and hugged him tight as she answered. “I cleaned the kitchen while Dawson Reed worked on the farm.”
Petra lowered her voice. “So...why’s Sly with you? Nothing happened—nothing went wrong, did it?”
Sadie did her best to maintain a pleasant demeanor. “No. He was...worried when I stayed so late. That’s all.”
“I see. And now he’s...making sure you get home safely?”
“Apparently.”
Petra’s eyebrows knitted as if she understood that meant much more than Sadie was saying. “Divorce is so hard. Here’s hoping I never have to go through that.”
“You have no idea,” Sadie agreed.
Petra squeezed her arm for encouragement. “What time do you need me tomorrow?”
“Same time, if that’s okay. I have to be at Lolita’s by seven.”
“No problem. The kids have school, of course, so I get up early.”
“Thanks. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your flexibility.”
“We love Jayden. You know that.” She picked up a toy that’d been left on the floor. “So it’ll be another long day? You’ll be going out to the farm after the restaurant?”
Sadie let her son wiggle down. He was getting too big for her to carry for long, anyway. “Um...not sure, to be honest.”
She cocked her head. “Dawson doesn’t need you tomorrow?”
If he knew what was good for him, he’d find someone else to help him. But she couldn’t say where he stood on that decision. They’d left it sort of open-ended. “He told me he’ll let me know.”
“Okay. Text me when you find out. I’d like to take the kids on a nature walk, but if Jayden won’t be here, I’ll wait until he is so he doesn’t miss out.”
The gratitude Sadie felt for Petra brought a lump to her throat. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Of course!”
Jayden brought the bag Sadie sent with him whenever he came, but before Sadie could go, Petra caught her wrist. “I know Sly’s out there waiting for you, but... I’ve been dying of curiosity. What’s Dawson like?”
She thought for a moment. “He’s...determined.” Yes, she felt safe saying that, especially when she thought of the way he’d stuck it out in those fields.
“Somehow that isn’t what I was expecting you to say,” Petra said with a laugh.
Of course not. Everyone wanted to know if he was the killer he’d been portrayed as being. They were hoping for some small tidbit that might reveal more than what they’d seen on TV. The way he stares at me is so creepy... He sits around sharpening a knife all afternoon... He laughs about what happened... Something juicy and gossip-worthy like that. The good citizens of Silver Springs would be surprised to know all he did was work and work hard. “I think he’s innocent.”
Petra’s lips formed a surprised O. Sadie was surprised herself, especially by how committed she was to that belief, so soon. She had nothing more to judge by than anyone else. Not really. She’d worked with Dawson only one day, hadn’t even seen him much. But there was something about him that spoke of the kind of integrity a murderer would not possess. Maybe it was his devotion to his sister. Maybe it was the courage it must’ve taken to come back to this place. He could’ve sold the ranch and moved to friendlier climes, disappeared into the melting pot that was LA or some other urban center where he wouldn’t have to face the same recrimination.
Or maybe she believed he was innocent because he’d had the guts, even after all he’d been through, to hire her in spite of Sly. He’d stood up to her ex at the door, too, probably would’ve done more if she hadn’t intervened.
She admired him, and not only for his looks.
That was something she’d never expected...
“What makes you think so?” Petra asked, still eager for details.
“He’s a strong man,” she replied.
Petra grinned and began to fan herself. “No kidding. I’ve seen him on TV. What a hottie!”
“He has a nice body, but I mean he’s strong in his head and his heart. He doesn’t need to kill old people to get what he wants, doesn’t seem like he’d ever attack someone weaker.”
“Are you sure?”
She realized she was sounding like Aiyana, who’d proclaimed his innocence all along. “No. That’s just my opinion.”
“Well, it sounds like he’s managed to impress you.”
Sadie nodded. “And he wasn’t even trying.”
“I admit I sort of hope he’s guilty—or I would if you weren’t working out there. I’d hate to think of anyone going through what he’s been through as an innocent man.” Petra gave her a quick hug. “Good luck with Sly. Would you like me to walk you to your car?”
“No. I’ll manage on my own and deal with him at home.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow.”
Sadie slung Jayden’s bag over her shoulder and led him outside to find that Sly had gotten back into his patrol car. Jayden saw the car, too, had to know it was his father, and yet he didn’t run over to greet him.
Sly rolled down the passenger window. “Want to come ride with me, bud?” he yelled.
Jayden looked up at her for some cue as to what he should do. Sadie could tell he was reluctant to leave her, since they’d been apart all day.
“It won’t be for long,” she whispered to him. “We only live a few houses down.”
“Okay.” He spoke so softly that Sly couldn’t have heard him, but he let go of her hand and walked over.
“Is it really necessary to offer to drive him home when I live half a block away?” she muttered so that only Sly could hear as she unbuckled Jayden’s safety seat.
“It’s going to be more than half a block,” he announced, full-voiced. “We’re going for ice cream!”
Fun. Ice cream should make up for the fact that you haven’t stepped up as a parent since the day he was born, she thought but said nothing.
Sly’s hand covered hers as he took the car seat. “Care to join us?”
Sadie resisted the urge to recoil.
“Come, Mommy!” Jayden cried, but Sadie didn’t have it in her. She couldn’t sit around making small talk with Sly when she was so upset with him. He’d just shown up at her work, might’ve cost her her job, and now he wanted to take her and Jayden out for ice cream as if he hadn’t done anything wrong. That was the kind of stuff he did all the time—crossed certain boundaries and then pretended he hadn’t.
“I’m sorry, honey.” She slid her hand out from under Sly’s. “Mommy’s too exhausted. I worked really hard today.”
Fortunately, Jayden didn’t complain. The prospect of a treat had won him over.
“I’ll wait for you at home,” she added.
“Don’t sit around and stew,” Sly said to her retreating back. “You have no reason to be mad! I was only trying to look out for you.”
She pivoted and nearly gave him a piece of her mind right there on Petra’s front lawn. The desire to let loose was so strong she almost couldn’t rein herself in. But she knew from experience that causing a scene would only make the problem worse, and she had Jayden—and Petra and Petra’s family—to think about. “I’ll see you when you get back,” she said in a firm voice, to let him know she wasn’t willing to discuss it, and waved to Jayden as they drove off.
It wasn’t until she got home and was taking her phone out of her purse to charge it that she finally saw Dawson’s text.
Be here at one tomorrow, if possible. And this time, could you bring a six-pack of beer? That wine you bought was terrible.
She couldn’t help laughing at the wine statement. She’d never tried that brand before. It had been in the right price range, but it had been terrible.
You are a glutton for punishment, she wrote back.
When she didn’t get a response, she guessed he was already asleep.
* * *
By the time Sadie bathed Jayden, she was too exhausted to read to him. Promising she’d make it up to him tomorrow, she slid him over so she could climb into bed, kissed his forehead and turned out the light. But long after he went to sleep she couldn’t drop off herself, couldn’t get her mind to shut down. One question after another bombarded her. Why had Dawson Reed agreed to keep her on? Why would he risk his own well-being? He’d been through so much, and yet he was the one willing to take her side over Sly’s—when so many others had decided to protect their own interests.
She understood he was in a hurry to get a caregiver so his sister could come home, and that there wouldn’t be a lot of people in Silver Springs who’d trust him enough to take the job, but there were other places he could draw from. His sister had been in that institution for over a year. Why not take one or two more weeks to expand the search so that he wouldn’t have to deal with Sly?
Was it because he was a nice guy, as she thought? Or something else?
When Sly brought Jayden home, she’d told him she believed Dawson could never have hurt his parents, and he, in turn, had tried to convince her that Dawson was merely “grooming her,” setting her up to trust him and believe in him so that he’d be able to manipulate her. Sly said narcissists and psychopaths were experts at creating positive experiences designed to make their victims feel connected to them. Before he left, he even tried to persuade her to visit the police station in the next day or two so that he and the homicide detective who’d investigated the case could go over the details with her.
She wasn’t sure that would convince her of anything, though. If the facts of the investigation clearly indicated Dawson was guilty, why hadn’t he been convicted? There had to be some question, didn’t there?
Finally giving up on sleep, she slipped out of bed and went to the living room, where she’d left her laptop. She’d paid a fair amount of attention to the Reed murders, had listened to and read the various media reports as they came out. Like most everyone else in Silver Springs, she couldn’t believe something so terrible could happen in their little town.
But after going to work for Dawson, she had the desire to look at what’d transpired from a more objective vantage point—and not while she had several police officers at her elbow, trying to sway her opinion. She also hoped to see if she could determine whether the media, in their quest for shocking headlines, had helped create a bias that shouldn’t have existed, as Dawson’s defense lawyers claimed.
Putting her computer in her lap, she propped a couch pillow behind her back and logged onto the internet.
A search for “Dawson Reed” called up several links. She clicked one after the other and read, with fresh eyes, what she’d given only a cursory glance before.
Silver Springs Man Denies Killing Couple Who Adopted Him featured several quotes attributed to Dawson. “I would never hurt my parents. I loved them,” he said, and, “I didn’t need to kill anyone in order to inherit the farm. Time would’ve taken care of that whether I wanted it to or not.”
That made sense to her. Murder did seem like a drastic approach for a son who was set to inherit anyway. But the police claimed he wasn’t willing to wait. They said that after Dawson achieved a master’s in environmental science and management at UC Santa Barbara—quite an accomplishment, considering he’d spent his high school years at a boys ranch—he started working for a lighting conservation company, also in Santa Barbara, until he got into a disagreement with the owner and was fired after only eight months. Discouraged, since he couldn’t make a go of life even with a degree, he returned to Silver Springs to work for his parents.
Although that sounded plausible to Sadie, Dawson painted his personal history in a different light. From what she could piece together, he said that he argued with the owner of the lighting company because the guy was bilking the local utility out of thousands of dollars on various state-mandated rebate programs. And it wasn’t because he couldn’t get a job that he came back to Silver Springs. He’d barely started to apply when he realized that his parents could no longer manage the farm on their own. So he gave up the life he was going to pursue to come help them.
Devil...or saint?
With a frown, Sadie opened a Word document and began to write down the various points so that she could keep them straight. On the night in question, the police said Dawson went to The Blue Suede Shoe, a local bar that offered live entertainment on the weekends, where he watched a Lakers game on the big screen and played pool with Aiyana’s oldest two sons, Elijah and Gavin Turner. He left at eleven-thirty and stopped by the gas station to fill up before going home. The police admitted they couldn’t figure out if he planned the murders in advance, or if he decided to kill his parents on the spur of the moment, but while everyone was sleeping, he took the hatchet from the woodpile in back, attacked his parents in their bed and then called 9-1-1 to report that there’d been a break-in and he needed an ambulance.
Both Lonnie and Larry were dead by the time police arrived to find Dawson cradling his mother in his arms. “Although that might sound like a touching act, there were no tears in his eyes,” Detective John Garbo, whom Sadie had once met at a picnic, said. “His emotion felt fake to me.”
Had Dawson been insincere? Or was it the police who had it wrong? Everyone reacted differently to grief. Maybe he’d been in shock after seeing such a horrifying thing.
Dawson agreed with everything they claimed about the night of the murders up until he left the gas station. At that point, he said he was approached by a tall, wiry man with brown eyes, dark hair and a scraggly beard, who asked for a lift to Santa Barbara. Dawson told him he wasn’t going that far. The guy indicated a friend lived much closer and climbed in, but as Dawson drove, his passenger began to act more and more irrationally and wouldn’t name a place, other than Santa Barbara. Dawson said the hitchhiker kept showing him the map of where he wanted to go on his phone, saying he had to get to a friend’s place, so Dawson told him to call that friend and ask him to come, but the hitchhiker wouldn’t. They were at the edge of town when Dawson finally insisted he get out. The man refused and an argument ensued, followed by a scuffle, during which Dawson managed to pull the guy out of his truck so that he could take off.
Because of the difficulty of dragging a grown man from the passenger seat through the driver’s-side door, the police found that part of Dawson’s story highly suspect, but Dawson looked plenty strong to Sadie. She thought the police actually made a better point when they argued that it was too much of a coincidence that some hitchhiker would be able to find Dawson’s house. Dawson had an answer for that, too, though. He said he had various documents in his truck—a couple of work orders, even a bid for solar on the house—and one must’ve fallen out during the scuffle. His guess was that after he drove off, the hitchhiker simply used the address on that lost work order to find his house.
Sadie supposed that could’ve happened. Dawson drove a work truck, likely kept various things he thought he was going to need on the dash or seat, and loose papers could easily blow out or get dragged out amid a tussle.
Either way, he never changed his story. She felt that was important, even if the police didn’t give him much credit for that. As for the rest of Dawson’s explanation of the night’s events, he said he wasn’t far from home when that disagreement occurred. Once he got the guy out, to avoid leading him right to the farm—and because he didn’t realize something with his address had already fallen out—he went back to town, where he drove around listening to music while waiting for the stranger to get wherever he was going. He even stopped at Gavin’s house, but Gavin wasn’t back from the bar.
When Dawson drove home, he didn’t see the hitchhiker along the way, and he quit worrying—until he walked into the house and noticed the back door standing open. Once he saw that and his mother’s purse dumped out on the kitchen floor, he rushed upstairs to find Angela asleep in her bed, his parents bleeding in theirs. Although he felt as if his father was already dead, his mother was making a gurgling sound. He was cradling her in his arms, trying to comfort and encourage her, when she died.
“Heartbreaking either way,” Sadie mumbled, rubbing her eyes. She wanted to continue her research. There was so much left to read. But it was one o’clock and she’d had a long day, with another one to follow.
After saving her document, she set her computer on the coffee table and slipped back into her room but still didn’t rest well. Frightening images of opening that locked door at the top of the stairs at the farmhouse and finding two mangled bodies filled her dreams—along with the sound of Sly laughing at her.
Just before her alarm went off, she startled awake on her own. She’d been having a different nightmare by then, one in which Dawson was standing over her while she slept—lifting a hatchet.
6 (#u0d64026d-af9d-56cd-a8bf-f8340880d0f3)
Work at the diner proved uneventful, and much slower than the day before, so Sadie was able to leave early, swing by the store for the beer Dawson had requested and the hardware store to pick up a few items and arrive at the farm on time. She got the key to the house from Dawson, who was working in the same field as yesterday, and let herself in. Then she mixed up a quick bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough. Dawson had told her he didn’t need lunch. He’d packed himself a sandwich using some of the leftover roast she’d made for last night’s dinner—he seemed to really like the roast—but she figured he’d be ready for a snack in a couple of hours. Since he was keeping her on instead of hiring someone else, she wanted him to be glad, and everyone loved her cookies. Sly still asked her to bake them for certain events. Anyway, a small treat was about all she could think of to thank Dawson—partially because that was the best she could afford.
After she cleared away the dishes he’d put on the counter since she left last night, and cleaned up her mess with the mixing bowl and beaters, she decided to vacuum and dust the downstairs and wash the windows. The place needed a good de-webbing, too. She’d purchased a brush with a long handle at the hardware store so she could reach the corners.
Throughout the house, but especially in the living room, several pictures had been taken down. The wallpaper wasn’t quite as sun-bleached where they’d once hung. She guessed they’d been destroyed by vandals, were among the bits and pieces Dawson had swept up and dumped out, and felt sad that people would do such a thing. Destroying the house and its furnishings wasn’t right even if Dawson was a murderer. Trespassing was a crime. So was the destruction of private property. What made them so confident they knew what happened here, anyway? What if he was innocent? And what if the items destroyed were treasured family heirlooms? Those items had belonged to Angela, too, who was absolutely innocent.
At least Dawson still had most of his parents’ furniture. The word murderer had been engraved in the coffee table as well as spray-painted on the front of the house. But she was going to take care of both those things. She’d purchased paint at the hardware store when she bought the de-webber, felt it was especially important she get the letters off the front of the house before she left today. Not only would having them gone make her more comfortable coming to work, she couldn’t imagine the sight of them would impress anyone who visited to make sure the house was ready for Angela.
The first batch of cookies came out as she finished sanding the top of the coffee table. She’d ruined the finish, of course, but the sight of bare wood beat what’d been there before. Who wanted to be constantly reminded of someone else’s judgment—someone who probably didn’t know one way or the other?
She’d bought some stain at the hardware store, too, so she could cover the damage. Even if it didn’t work perfectly, she was glad she’d obliterated that word. She couldn’t believe Dawson would mind.
She stopped working on the table long enough to put some cookies on a plate, pour a glass of cold milk and take them outside.
She could tell Dawson was surprised when she called out to him. Chances were he hadn’t expected to see her again until he came in for dinner. But she figured her timing was good. He was breathing hard when she reached him—sweating, too. As far as she was concerned, he was running himself ragged.
“What’s this?” he asked as she drew close.
“I baked some cookies.” She offered him the plate but kept the milk so he’d have a free hand with which to eat. “Here’s hoping you’re not opposed to having a little treat now and then.”
“I’d never turn away homemade cookies. I haven’t had anything like this since...”
When his words fell off, she guessed he’d been about to say, “Since before my mother died,” which gave her the impression he really missed Lonnie. That was another reason she didn’t think he’d killed her or his father. Although he seemed cautious when it came to revealing emotion, he seemed to be sincere in his love for them, seemed to miss them.
“Sly insisted I enter this recipe at the county fair,” she said as he took his first bite.
He swallowed. “And?”
She regretted mentioning the county fair. That she cared about something so inconsequential made her sound like a hick, especially considering the fact that he had a better education than she did. But she was nervous. He was so good-looking that he made her self-conscious. Those eyes of his...
No wonder the women on the jury had been blamed for his exoneration.
She cleared her throat. “I won.”
He took another bite, then nodded. “I’m not surprised.”
Maybe he didn’t think it was a stupid comment. Tough to tell. She ventured a smile. “I’m glad you like them.”
“How are things at the house?”
“Good. I’m working on the downstairs. I should get most of it done today. But...”
When she paused, he glanced up from the plate. “What?”
“I noticed that you have a new washer and dryer.”
“Someone filled the other ones with dirt and who knows what else. I wasn’t going to mess with trying to clean them out.”
“That wasn’t right. I’m sorry.”
“They were old, needed to be replaced, anyway.”
“Still.”
He reached for the milk and took a long swig. “We all have our problems, remember?”
“That was a pretty dumb thing for me to say.”
His eyebrows slid up.
“I was nervous when I made that comment. I feel terrible about what you’ve been through.”
He studied her as if weighing her sincerity. “Thanks,” he said at length.
She accepted the glass of milk so he could finish the cookies. “Anyway, I was wondering if I could do some of my own laundry while I’m here. I have a small stackable set at my house, but there’s something wrong with the washer. It’s not getting our clothes clean.”
“Of course. Do as much laundry as you’d like.”
“I appreciate that.” She’d brought her and Jayden’s dirty clothes with her, in case. Now she could get the bag out of her car. “Where will I find your hamper? I’ll wash your stuff while I do mine.”
“There’s a pile of clothes in the corner of my bedroom. I’ve been meaning to buy a hamper. Haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
“I can get one when I’m in town sometime, if you’d like.”
“Sure. That’d be great.” Finished with the cookies, he downed the rest of the milk and handed the dishes back to her. “Those were delicious.”
Perhaps it was a simple thing, but she was happy she’d managed to please him. “I’m glad.”
She was on her way to the house when he called out to her.
“How’d it go with your ex last night?”
She shaded her face as she turned back. “Better than expected. He knew he had no business coming over here, that I was angry with him for doing that, so he was trying to be charming.”
“Charming means he has hope.”
“Excuse me?”
“He’s still trying to win you back.”
“Yes.”
“Is that a possibility?”
“Not if I can help it. That’s why I’m here.”
He scratched up under his hat. “He didn’t give you any grief about working for me?”
From the moment she’d let him know about the appointment. But she couldn’t repeat most of what Sly had said. “A little. He asked me to go down to the police station with him so I could talk to the detective on your case.”
A muscle moved in Dawson’s jaw. “And? Did you agree?”
“No.”
“Because...”
“I already know what they’re going to say.”
* * *
Sadie wasn’t in the house. Dawson could smell dinner simmering in that old Crock-Pot she’d brought over, but she didn’t answer when he called her name. He found a receipt she’d left on the counter. Apparently, he owed her another $78.08 for supplies from the hardware store, so he left a $100 bill beside it. There was no note to indicate she’d left, though, nothing else.
He checked the front window to see if her El Camino was still in the drive. It was. And when he went to the laundry room off the back porch, he saw a stack of little boys’ clothes folded on top of the dryer he’d missed when he came in.
So where was she?
“Sadie?” He moved back toward the front of the house.
No answer.
While in the kitchen again, he removed the lid on the slow cooker to see what she’d made for dinner and found some giant meatballs bathed in tomato sauce. A bowl of plain pasta sat on the counter with tin foil over the top. Garlic bread that looked and smelled as if it’d just been pulled from the oven waited nearby.
He’d been served plenty of spaghetti in jail, but he could tell this meal wasn’t going to be anything like that tasteless mess.
He cut off a chunk of meatball so he could taste it. “Damn, that’s good,” he muttered.
Thinking she might’ve decided to clean his room or Angela’s, he went upstairs. She’d made great strides on the first floor. He liked the lemon smell of the furniture polish and the astringent scent of the disinfectant. But, from what he could see, the only thing she’d done upstairs was his laundry. His clothes, folded as neatly as her son’s, waited on the bed.
On the way back down, he paused in front of his parents’ bedroom. He doubted she’d go in there—hoped she wouldn’t—and was relieved when he tried the handle. Locked, as usual. She wasn’t in any of the bathrooms, either. She wasn’t anywhere in the house.
Had she gone outside, looking for him?
“Sadie?” He let the screen door slam as he went out back. “Sadie, where are you?”
“Here!”
At last, he got a response. He followed her voice around to the front, where he found her on the roof, painting over the graffiti on the house.
“How’d you get up there?” He squinted to see her clearly in the fading light.
She gestured to the far side of the porch. “I climbed.”
Using the railing and then the overhang. Whoever had defaced the house had probably gotten up the same way. He’d used that makeshift ladder to sneak out of the house when he was in high school, so he supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised. “You need to come down before you fall and break your leg or worse. The moss on those shingles can make them a lot slicker than you might expect.”
“I’m being careful.”
“I can cover that up myself. I just didn’t have the right paint.”
“This isn’t a perfect match, but I took a chip from the lintel of the back door when I left last night, so it’s not bad. Better than leaving it as it was.”
“I’ll finish up,” he insisted.
“Don’t make me stop in the middle. I’m almost done. Why don’t you go eat? Dinner’s in the kitchen. No need to let it get cold.”
Still a little nervous that she might come sliding off the porch and land on her back or head, he frowned as he watched. “I saw it, but I’m staying right here so I can help you down.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”
“Trust me. Climbing up is a lot easier than coming down.” He’d almost broken his own neck on occasion—and that was before he’d arrived at whatever party he was heading out to, so he hadn’t been drinking. Some nights when he returned it was a miracle he’d been able to climb back up at all.
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.”

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