by Rachel Lee
Maybe because her hackles were already up over something she couldn’t even define. “I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me,” she said, trying to find a rational explanation for that lingering feeling of reluctance.
He didn’t answer, just waited for her decision.
Finally, forcing briskness into her tone, she made it. “Sure, come on in and I’ll show you around. Maybe you’ll enjoy laughing at me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I was crazy enough to take on a project this size?”
At that he chuckled but shook his head. “I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re a hard worker who isn’t intimidated by huge jobs.”
“Maybe I should have been intimidated with this one. Come on, I’ll show you what I meant about the rot in the walls.”
She thought he hesitated, but he was only a half step behind her as she led the way.
With each step she wondered what the heck was wrong with her. And why he could be so contrarily reluctant and friendly.
Walking into Del’s house in plain sight of any nosy neighbor who might be watching through sheers or around the edges of curtains might not be the smartest act on the planet, Mike thought. On the other hand, he could sense how troubled Del felt, and he couldn’t ignore that.
Just because some held on to old prejudices, it didn’t mean everyone did. Hell, didn’t this county have a couple of Native American lawmen?
But his people had been involved at Little Big Horn, something he’d had rubbed in his face for years when he was younger. Now that he was big enough to defend himself, most just plain didn’t say anything, so he might well be attributing those animosities to more folks than deserved it.
But he knew damn well the prejudices were still there, whether in most or just a handful, and he hoped Del wouldn’t suffer for what he was about to do. From what he could tell, she had quite enough problems on her plate.
Then he told himself to stop worrying about it. He was a grown-up and so was she. All that mattered was that she was nervous about entering her own house, and he’d learned early in life not to ignore those feelings. You might not be able to identify what triggered them, but ignoring them could get you into trouble.
As soon as he stepped through the front door, he looked around and remarked, “I can see why you bought this house.”
She cocked an eye his way, smiling faintly. “Why?”
He waved one arm. “Most houses from this era are shotguns, one room behind another. But this one… Look at this wide hallway. And the stairway. In most places it would be right in the living room. It seems extravagant considering the era when it was built.”
“It is.” Her eyes brightened as she smiled. “I couldn’t resist it because it’s so different, and because it’s more amenable to a modern lifestyle. When you have the shotgun floor plan, where rooms were just added straight back, it’s hard to change things enough so that you’re not walking through bedrooms. A real challenge. But this place is just perfect.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Except for all the hard work you have to do.” That much was impossible to miss. Even the railing on the staircase had been painted, as had doors and moldings. He suspected there was plenty of fine wood to be uncovered in this house. “Somebody with money built this place.”
“That’s my guess, but I really haven’t looked into the history of the house.”
“You should. There’s probably a fascinating story somewhere.”
Yet, despite the architectural grace of the place, there they stood just inside the door. Mike hesitated, looking inward, trying to sense the cause for that. He’d gone through the house with her because she felt uneasy. Because something had made him feel a bit uneasy, too, yesterday, and again today. But instead of taking that walkthrough, they both stood here as if an invisible wall held them back.
His uneasiness had grown, he realized. But just a shade. Not enough to worry him. Finally, feeling the tension in the woman beside him, he asked, “Would you just like me to walk through on my own?”
He was willing, and a bit of a street fighter out of necessity. He could handle just about anyone who didn’t have a gun. Although why the hell he should be worried about that he didn’t know.
He paused a few seconds, searching places in himself that he usually kept hidden. There was something about this house…
Del gazed at him, her blue eyes reflecting perplexity and even some embarrassment. “What’s going on?”
He got the feeling she was asking herself, not him. But he hesitated only a moment before saying, “This house feels sad.”
She nodded, surprising him. “I never noticed anything before but…” She sighed. “Okay, I’m feeling really weird. I’m not an overly imaginative person. Maybe Colleen’s complaint about noises is getting to me.”
“Could be,” he agreed smoothly, although for an instant he wanted to disagree strongly. But he’d turned himself into a man of science on purpose, and if he were to consider the empirical evidence, it was nuts to say the house felt sad. He managed a crooked smile. “I guess it must have gotten to me, too. Your daughter just doesn’t seem like the kind of kid to think she has bears in her closet.”
“She’s not. We got past that stage before she turned four. So if she says she’s hearing something, it’s got to be mice in the walls.”
“Or a water pipe ticking. I don’t have to tell you how many sounds an old house can make.”
“Plenty,” she agreed. “And now I not only feel ridiculous, I feel stupid. You don’t have to walk through with me. I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do.”
He almost took it as a dismissal, which he was used to getting often enough in life. But her expression gave him pause. No, she hadn’t lost her uneasiness, but she was feeling silly for it. He tried to think of a way to continue to accompany her while taking her concerns seriously. She was obviously a quite independent woman, and there was a good chance she didn’t like leaning on a man, especially over an inexplicable feeling. And there was still something about this damn house.
“I’d actually like to see where Colleen’s hearing the noises.” He shrugged. “You never know. I might hear them and be able to identify them.”
“I wish you could,” she admitted. “I haven’t heard them myself, at least not yet.”
“So let’s go hunting.”
At that she chuckled and led the way.
The downstairs was quite spacious and nicely laid out. Kitchen and dining room on one side of the unusually large hallway, living room and an extra room on the other side. They skipped the extra room initially, though Mike could see color through the door that was slightly ajar.
Upstairs there were another three spacious bedrooms with walk-in closets and an unusually large bathroom that boasted an iron tub with clawed feet. A real antique, and a tub that a full-grown man could actually fit into.
“I wish this house had been available when I bought mine,” he remarked. “I’d have snapped it up.”
She flashed a smile. “You can always buy it once I get it fixed up.”
“I may take you up on that.”
The bedrooms, as yet, had clearly not been worked on, but even so their condition wasn’t bad. Her room held an ordinary double bed and a dresser, and not one personal item was in view. He found that a little odd. The two others were empty.
When they returned downstairs, she led him to the room at the back end of the hall, the one they had skipped the first time through.
It proved to be Colleen’s room and was a riot of color, with posters and a shiny mobile, and a bed nearly filled with pillows and stuffed animals. A lovely old table was obviously being used for a desk, high enough that the child’s wheelchair could slide up to it comfortably, and it sported a good laptop computer along with books, papers and doodads. Over the bed was a bar hanging from a chain, probably to help Colleen maneuver into and out of her chair. He squashed a natural sympathetic reaction, because he sensed it
would not be welcome either by Colleen or her mother. That child showed every sign of becoming just as independent as her mom.
“Does Colleen only hear the sounds in here?”
“So far. I’ve checked the attic and upstairs, but I haven’t found any spoor, or anything else for that matter. I put in some traps but they haven’t been sprung.”
“Can we just stay here for a little bit?”
Del shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” She sat on the edge of the bed, leaving him to sit on a wooden chair in the corner, which meant moving an oversize stuffed rabbit.
“Does she only hear the sounds at night?”
“Mostly, but sometimes in the evening when she’s in here doing homework. They’ve always stopped by the time I get in here when she calls me.”
“That’s…strange.” Something warned him to be very careful here. There might be some emotional land mines he didn’t want to trip by blundering around. “I like your daughter. She’s so friendly for someone her age. I’m used to kids kind of glancing my way and dismissing me unless I’m caring for one of their pets.”
“Kids that age are so awkward about things. Some of them anyway. Colleen has had so many adults in her life, in one capacity or another, since her accident that I think she’s more comfortable with older people.”
“That could be part of it. And she’s certainly outgoing.”
They sat a few minutes in silence and Mike realized that Del seemed to be growing uneasier, rather than less so. He wanted to ask what troubled her, but he didn’t feel he knew her well enough.
“You know,” Del said finally, “maybe I should sleep in here tonight. Colleen is spending the night with a friend, and it might be the perfect time to do a little more detective work.”
He nodded. “Might be a good idea.”
Suddenly her blue eyes, as sharp as lasers, met his. “Why did you say this house makes you feel sad?”
Crap. He’d kind of hoped she would let that go, because he never should have said it, even out of natural sympathy. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “It was just a feeling.”
She nodded slowly. “I’m Irish enough to be superstitious. Or maybe I should say my mother raised me to be superstitious. Don’t open an umbrella in the house, knock on wood, don’t tempt fate, all those things. I rebelled against all of that, of course. Sometimes I even open an umbrella in the house just to prove I don’t buy it.”
Her lips curved almost impishly, and he had to smile back. “I hear you.”
Her small smile faded. “But there’s a definite atmosphere in this house I didn’t notice before. I thought maybe I was imagining it because I couldn’t find a source for the noises Colleen complains about. But then you said the house felt sad.”
He wished he could take those words back. But he couldn’t, and by saying them he’d not only revealed something about himself that he ordinarily kept private, but he’d apparently also increased Del’s concern.
He ought to kick his own butt. “Sorry,” he said. But he couldn’t deny that he felt something in this house, because that would mean lying.
“It’s okay. At least I know I’m not riding the crazy train alone.” She sighed, then smiled. “Let me make us some coffee or something. We could probably sit here for hours and never hear the sound.”
Long experience warned him to leave, that he’d been in her house long enough to stir talk if people had noticed. But another part of him, the real person who’d been tucked away inside out of necessity, told him to stick around. If she wanted him gone, she wouldn’t have made the offer, and her suggestion that he stay intimated that she didn’t want to be alone here. Nor could he blame her.
But she caught his hesitation, and he saw her fair cheeks color faintly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You just got home and I’ve already taken too much of your time.”
This time he didn’t hear a dismissal. Far from it: this was genuine courtesy. And it warmed him.
“I’d love that coffee if it’s not too much trouble.”
She hopped up from the bed, clearly pleased. “No trouble at all. In fact, I need to make dinner for myself, so why don’t I just make it for both of us.”
She hurried from the room, apparently intent on doing just that. He remained a moment longer, wondering if he’d just put his foot in it for both of them.
But the sadness in the house called to him, and he couldn’t help thinking that, in her own way, Del was probably as lonely a soul as he was.
And that called to him, too.
In the big scheme of things, impulsively inviting a neighbor to stay for a cobbled-together dinner probably didn’t amount to much. But for Del it was a big step. She liked to know her neighbors, yes, but rarely socialized beyond the most casual conversations. Not since the accident.
Once she’d been quite engaged with friends and a social life, but since Don’s death she had begun to note how she had narrowed her world and limited the people she allowed to become close. In fact, she had even let close friends go, slowly, simply by not keeping up with them.
Afraid to make new connections because she was afraid of more pain? Yeah, and she knew it. But it didn’t bother her. She had more than enough to occupy herself, and she could justify narrowing the scope of her life by the need to take care of Colleen.
So in the big scheme of things, asking Mike Windwalker to join her for dinner was nothing. In her scheme of things it seemed like a huge step. But, she assured herself as she began to pull things from the fridge and cupboards, it really was a minor thing. He’d offered to help her get an appropriate kitten for Colleen. Asking him to stay for a run-of-the-mill dinner hardly seemed out of line.
And maybe it was time for her to pull at least one foot out of her self-imposed rut. She wasn’t opposed to healing—she just didn’t seem to have time for it. Maybe she needed to make time, for the sakes of both her daughter and herself.
“What can I do to help?” Mike asked as he entered the kitchen.
“Have a seat and keep me company.” She looked over her shoulder at him and said frankly, “I’ve turned myself into a hermit. It would be good for me to start practicing my social skills again.”
He smiled as he pulled out a chair at the small table and sat. “I probably could use some of the same myself.”
“I doubt it. You deal with people all day long. I deal with wood, plaster, paint and noxious chemicals. They don’t talk back.”
A chuckle escaped him. “You picked quite a profession.”
“I enjoy it. I like working with my hands and solving the problems that go along with restoring a house.”
He was silent a moment, then asked carefully, “Why’d you turn into a hermit?”
She faced him then, folding her arms and leaning back against the counter. “Truth or social quip?”
“I vastly prefer the truth to social ice skating.”
At that she felt a smile tip up the corners of her mouth. A smile she hadn’t expected. “Truth it is, then. My husband was killed in the accident that paralyzed Colleen. You know what they say about once burned, twice shy? I seem to have applied that lesson to everything except Colleen.”
“I can definitely see how that might happen. I have a similar story, but I’ll leave that for another time.”
She could see his barriers snap into place, and her curiosity itched. But okay, she was willing to observe his boundaries. She expected the same courtesy for herself.
“Fair enough,” she agreed and turned back to the counter. But she couldn’t help wondering what his story was. “I hope you like salad.”
“Any way it’s made.”
“Good.” Because that was all she had planned tonight, a green salad with some leftover grilled chicken breast and a choice of bottled dressings. Her time was so limited these days that she stuck with basics, the quicker and easier the better, her only nod being to the healthfulness of what she prepared.
As she was standing at the counter slicing tomatoes, a bang sounded thr
ough the house.
She whirled around, her heart accelerating, and found Mike looking upward. “Door slamming,” he said. “Do you have windows open or a fan on?”
“Not right now. I didn’t open anything when I came home.”
He rose. “Stay here. I’ll go look.”
“Like hell,” she answered. She’d been using her chef’s knife to slice, and she seated it more firmly in her grip. A weapon.
He didn’t argue with her as she followed him. For that she gave him points.
“Sounded like it was from upstairs,” he remarked quietly.
“It did,” she agreed. In the hallway it was easy to see at a glance that all the doors stood wide open, the way they’d been left. Mike glanced at her, acknowledging that he’d noticed, too.
And then he started up the stairs, stepping to the outside of the risers so as not to make noise. She followed his example.
But at the top of the stairs, they could see all the doors were open, just as they’d been left.
He spoke. “Could something in the attic have made that sound?”
“There’s nothing up there. Not so much as a box.”
They both stood for a minute, listening, but no other sound disturbed the utter silence of the house.
“It must have come from outside.” But even as Del spoke the dismissal, she knew she was lying to herself. That noise had come from inside, not from without. And there was no mistaking the sound of one of these solid oak doors slamming.
“Well,” said Mike slowly, apparently agreeing with her thought if not her words, “if one of those doors slammed open it would have been hard enough to leave some evidence.”
Del watched as he checked in every room. She didn’t need to look for herself because she knew exactly what the sound was, and it wasn’t a door opening. As often as she had the windows open and fans going, she absolutely knew how these doors sounded when they slammed shut, and it wasn’t the same as when they got caught on a gust and were pushed open. Not the same at all.
Mike returned in only a few moments. “Let me check the attic,” he said.