by Liz Isaacson
Kyler thought Dahlia was actually quite feminine, especially in shorts that only went halfway down her thigh. But he kept that thought to himself as he answered his sister’s questions about how they met, when they’d started going out, and if they’d kissed yet.
“Not telling,” Kyler said to that question.
“Then you have!” Wren cried triumphantly.
“Come on,” he said, tired of the game. He handed the now-sleeping Etta to her dad. “I’m thirty-five-years-old.”
“And you owe me ten bucks,” Wren said to Fabi, too much glee in her voice.
Fabi glared at Kyler like it was his fault she’d bet on his love life. “I can’t believe you’ve kissed her already. It’s been a couple of weeks.”
“And she’s been really busy with a big case,” Tate added, totally not helping Kyler out at all.
“Bro,” he said in warning, and Tate flashed a quick smile before looking down at his sleeping daughter.
“Maybe if you guys had your own boyfriends, you wouldn’t be so worried about what I’m doing with Dahlia.” Kyler stepped past them as his mother waved at him to come in and get the hamburgers so they could get cooking.
No way he was telling them he’d kissed her within twelve hours of meeting her, but he grinned just thinking about it.
Chapter Twelve
Dahlia threw her pen on top of the folder she’d just closed. “Something’s got to break,” she said, her voice full of frustration and scorn. “I can’t keep going over these files.” She stood, grabbing her water bottle. “I’m going for a walk.”
“It’s a hundred degrees out there,” Gray said, sounding bored. “Take more than that tepid water in your bottle.”
She ignored him and went straight outside. How he could review the same notes day in and day out, she didn’t know. He’d been a detective longer than her; maybe she’d develop the patience required.
But this case…this case was slowly driving her insane. At least the late nights had calmed down a bit. They’d gotten nothing from the sighting at the cabin, other than a more detailed description of the suspect. Jose Garces was a fake name that had led them nowhere. They needed another witness to interview, one with real information.
They had nothing.
Dahlia’s long strides took her away from the offices in downtown Beaverton and into the park where she could find relief from the near-July sun in the form of shade. She’d gone out with Kyler again last night, this time right in Brush Creek. He’d told her that his whole family now knew about them, and he’d invited her to the family dinner the following Wednesday.
She still hadn’t said a word to her parents about Kyler, and he was going to be eating lunch with them in just forty-eight hours.
She sighed as she found a bench and sat. Dahlia had always been able to release her cares and frustrations to the world once she got outside. It was why she’d grown up hiking in the hills surrounding Vernal, and why she liked a good hard run in the morning. Not lately, as she’d worked so much she could barely peel herself out of bed once the sun rose. But especially in the fall and spring, when the weather was calm and crisp during the dawn.
With her phone on silent and no one else in the park, her restless thoughts and never-ending frustrations started to seep away. She breathed in and then focused on pushing her breath out, relaxing her muscles as she did.
After several minutes, a calm peace descended upon her. She stood and made her way around the park, just a bit of exercise to get her heart beating a tiny bit faster than it did when she sat at her desk.
Sometimes the pieces she’d been playing with on a case would come together on an anti-frustration walks such as this one. With her mind free and able to wander, Dahlia had impressed Gray and their boss with her ability to return to the office with a new idea, something else to research, or a theory which steered them in the right direction.
Today, she couldn’t stop thinking about the coyote showing up at Kyler’s house in broad daylight. He’d never done anything like that before, choosing to work under the cover of darkness or from inside an unknown location.
Why Kyler’s cabin?
Why Sunday morning?
Who had he called? For what? Why had he told Kyler his name at all?
None of it made sense, and the loose, ill-fitting pieces had been tormenting her for almost two weeks.
“Maybe it’s his real name,” she muttered to herself. “Maybe it’s a parent’s name. A brother. An uncle. An ancestor.”
Around the park she went again, though she was sweating and completely out of water. Why Kyler’s cabin?
They’d found nothing at the bluffs to indicate anyone had stayed the night there on that particular weekend. So the coyote had lied about that. She and Gray had been in the area to follow a lead that had never panned out. A man supposedly lived up near Kyler’s cabin, completely off the grid, and he’d been spreading stories around Beaverton about people passing his campsite in the night.
Naturally, Dahlia and Gray wanted to find this man and question him. So they’d gone up the canyon two weeks ago to find him and gotten caught in the storm. Since then, no one had seen or heard from him. He’d basically disappeared as quickly as the coyote had.
“Maybe the witness is the coyote,” she mused. “Maybe they live off the grid together.” Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Because Gray had been correct about the heat and that she needed more water, she returned to the office and filled her water bottle from the ice-cold drinking fountain.
“Hey,” she said, lifting her bottle to drink again. “What about going back up there to find that off-grid guy?”
Gray looked up, his eyes guarded and yet hopeful at the same time. “The off-grid guy?”
“The one we were looking for when the storm hit. Who is he? Maybe he is the coyote. Maybe our guy didn’t go down to the road and hitch a ride somewhere. Maybe he’s still up that canyon right now. Maybe he’s been coming down to town, spreading rumors about someone else in the hopes that we’ll focus on finding anyone but him.”
Dahlia was aware that she was speaking too fast, but she couldn’t slow herself down.
“That’s a lot of what ifs,” Gray said.
“Our whole job is what ifs.” Dahlia took another long drink from her water bottle. “It’s worth following up on. What else have we got?”
Gray glanced at the files he’d been reading for the twentieth time. “Where’s the file on that off-grid guy’s statement?”
Dahlia grinned and started shuffling paperwork to find the statement they needed. “Right here.”
“Let’s go over it again.”
Dahlia twisted to see herself from the back, just to make sure her skirt wasn’t too short. The flirty, flowy black fabric swished with the movement, and she decided that if she didn’t wear heels, the skirt would be fine.
She owned exactly one pair of heels, and she usually wore them to church. But with this skirt, and the pale pink blouse that almost fell off her shoulder, and she thought a sensible pair of flats would be better.
She smiled at her reflection. “You should go to church more often,” she told herself. Dahlia spent a lot of time in her masculine uniform and boring shoes, and she found she liked dressing up from time to time—especially when she was about to meet her boyfriend.
When she opened the door to Kyler’s grinning face, she liked the way he drank her in, the heat that entered his eyes, the way he leaned in close and inhaled the scent of her before touching her.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Lead on.”
The mood between them was fun, light, playful, as he drove the few minutes from her house to the church right on Main Street. She usually went to the one that sat at the mouth of the canyon, but she didn’t mind going anywhere with Kyler. He held her hand on the way in, and though Dahlia caught people looking their way, she didn’t mind. She was used to people staring at her.
He led her right down the aisle to a bench fille
d with people already—his family. Nerves made her lick her lips and clear her throat. All the Fuller eyes turned her way, and Kyler put himself between her and them, quick smiles for everyone.
The pastor got up right after she’d smoothed her skirt down and sat, and she realized Kyler had timed their arrival to the second so there could be no introductions. She’d already confirmed that they needed to leave fifteen minutes before church ended, so she really wouldn’t be meeting them until Wednesday.
Kyler took her hand in his and held it on his leg, his attention toward the front of the room. Dahlia copied him, but inside she worried about what her parents would think of him. Particularly her mother.
The pastor seemed to have a kind soul, and he spoke with passion about relying on the Lord for guidance. Dahlia, admittedly, hadn’t done that a whole lot, but as he spoke, she wanted to do a better job of it.
When Kyler nudged her and nodded to the end of the row, Dahlia realized it was time to go. She stood abruptly, glad she hadn’t worn the heels so they wouldn’t click on the hard wood floor as they made their way out.
“So what did you think?” he asked as they exited the building and stepped into the summer sun.
“I liked him a lot,” Dahlia said. “He said good things.”
“He usually does.” Kyler held her door for her while she got in the truck and made sure she covered her legs with the skirt. With him seated beside her, he exhaled. “So your parents.”
“We have to stop at Sweets first. I want to get a chocolate cake.”
“Sounds amazing.” He eased the truck onto Main Street and on out of town. Dahlia turned up the radio, which Kyler kept on the country music station, and he started to sing along. He had a wonderful, rich, tenor voice, and Dahlia closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift away.
She often worked out problems in this dream-like state as well, but before she knew it, Kyler said, “Sweetheart, do you still want to get a cake?”
Dahlia snapped her eyes open, her pulse spiking as she tried to figure out where they were. “Did I sleep the whole way here?” She yawned, not quite sure when she’d slept so soundly.
“Yep.”
“I’m sorry.” She glanced at him, a sheepish smile on her face.
“It’s fine.” He indicated the pastry shop. “We want cake, yes?”
“Yes.” She followed him out of the truck. “This was my favorite place growing up,” she said. “My father and I used to ride our bikes here and get treats.” She stepped through the door as Kyler held it open for her.
“He always paid in cash so my mother wouldn’t know.” She giggled and drew in a deep breath of the heavenly aroma inside the bakery. “Ah.” She smiled at Kyler. “Smell that chocolate?” She practically danced up to the counter.
Kyler chuckled and followed her. “Can we get more than cake?”
Dahlia cuddled into him. “You can get whatever you want.”
He ordered a macadamia coconut cookie with lime frosting and a oatmeal chocolate chip cookie. “And the chocolate cake,” Dahlia said, pulling out her wallet.
“I got this,” Kyler said. He paid and they headed across town to her parents’ house. As they pulled up outside the squatty, white brick house, nerves struck Dahlia full in the chest.
“So we talked about this, right?” she asked, swiveling toward Kyler.
“It will be fine,” he said.
Dahlia wanted to believe him. Wanted it more than anything. He got out and she followed him, putting her hand on his arm to stop him. “Hey.”
He turned back to her and looked her right in the eye. She let her hand drop, and he made no move to touch her, somehow sensing the weight of the moment.
“I really like you,” she said.
Happiness bloomed on his face, and he leaned in close and whispered right in her ear, “I really like you too, Dahlia.”
Chapter Thirteen
Kyler let Dahlia enter her parents’ house first, her words still ringing in his ears. I really like you.
Sure, they’d only really known each other for a couple of weeks. But she wasn’t new to the dating scene, and neither was he. He knew what he liked, and she obviously did too. He’d shared things with her he’d only told his brothers. She confided in him. And every moment with her felt filled with magic and the hope of many more experiences together.
“Mom?” she called. “They’re usually sitting right here.” She pointed to the two recliners facing the television in the tiny front room. This whole house could fit inside his parent’s kitchen and dining room. But it was clean, with white painted walls and carpet that seemed new in the last five years.
A dining table sat in the far corner, with the kitchen opposite of that. He glanced down a hall and saw three more doors—bedrooms and a bathroom, he assumed—before following Dahlia outside.
No signs of life existed in the backyard. The Reids live in a quiet neighborhood, and he couldn’t even hear a dog barking.
“If they went downstairs….” Anger flashed in Dahlia’s eyes as she spun back toward the house. Back inside, a gray cat leapt onto the table, and Kyler watched it as he passed. Not really a fan of cats, he’d learned to give them a wide berth after he’d been scratched from elbow to wrist.
Dahlia opened the first door in the hallway, which led to a set of steps leading down. “Mom? Dad?”
Someone called from down there, and Dahlia practically spat fire. “Leave the cake,” she said. “Let’s go see if they’re okay.”
“They can’t go downstairs?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “They’re not supposed to.”
“Why not?” He followed her as she practically stomped down the steps.
“Because someone will get hurt,” she said, reaching the bottom and pivoting away from him. Kyler had no choice but to go with her, and just as he turned, a man appeared in a doorway leading to a cold storage room.
“Oh, hello there. You must be Kyler.”
Caught off guard, Kyler stumbled over his words a little, finally saying, “Uh, yes, yes, sir, I am.” He wasn’t sure what Dahlia had told them. She’d spent the time warning him about her parents. Dad is nice. Mom can be standoffish.
“And you must be Theo, Dahlia’s father. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah.” Kyler chuckled, keeping one eye on Dahlia as she reached her mother and said something sharp to her. “Something about a bike ride and Sweets. Oh, and cash.”
Her father tilted his head back and laughed, which drew Dahlia’s and her mother’s attention. She came back toward them. “Dad, you’re not supposed to be down here.”
“The railing’s fine, dear.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “We’re fine.”
Dahlia made a face like she smelled something rotten. “What are you doing down here anyway? We moved everything upstairs.”
Kyler glanced around. Sure enough, there was no furniture down here, just one long, empty room with two doors at the end of it.
“We wanted to make Dutch oven peach cobbler.” He held up a jar of peaches.
“I told you we’d bring dessert,” Dahlia said. “There isn’t even a fire going, Dad. There’s not time for peach cobbler.” She spoke with exasperation in her voice, and Kyler wanted to diffuse the situation for her.
Her mother shuffled over and cleared her throat. “Hello. I’m Darby Reid.” She pinned Dahlia with a look that meant business. What that business was, Kyler wasn’t sure. He only knew he didn’t want to find out.
“Of course,” Kyler said. “I’m Kyler Fuller.”
“And you’re dating my daughter.” She definitely didn’t approve of that.
Dahlia had hinted that her mother wouldn’t approve, so Kyler hitched a smile on his face and said, “Yep.”
Somehow that single syllable word was wrong, because Darby Reid frowned.
“Mom, not now.” Dahlia put her hand through her father’s elbow and handed the peaches to Kyler. “I’ll help you u
p.”
“I really am fine,” her dad said, but with his first step Kyler saw the limp, the weakness in his left leg, and he suddenly understood why Dahlia didn’t want him going up and down the steps.
It took an agonizingly long time for him to climb the steps, and when Kyler reached the top, he watched as Theo collapsed into the recliner, panting and sweating. Dahlia turned, her face flaming red, and helped her mother up the last few stairs.
Foolishness pulsed through Kyler. He hadn’t even thought to help her mother up. He’d been so focused on her father’s obvious injury, he hadn’t thought that her mother would require assistance too.
With her mom seated in the other recliner, Dahlia said, “So what’s for dinner?”
“I was going to do steak and potatoes,” her father wheezed.
“But you hadn’t built a fire yet.” Dahlia took a few steps and entered the kitchen. Unsure of where he belonged, Kyler went with her. She pulled ingredients out and set a pot of water on the stove.
“Will you do the steaks, please?” she whispered. “I’ll make mashed potatoes and see if there’s any corn in the garden.” She stepped away before he could answer that of course he’d take care of the steaks.
Before he knew it, she’d slid open the glass door and left him in the house with her parents. “So Dahlia tells me you were the Chief of Police,” he said to her dad. “What about you, Darby? What did you do?”
“Do?” The woman’s shrill voice could’ve called dogs. “I raised Dahlia, of course. Rearing children is a full-time job, you know. Dahlia’s got herself all mixed up in that police work.” She tsked like Dahlia’s job was terrible. “She’ll never be able to be a mother and a detective.”
“Darby,” Theo said, a clear warning in his voice. Kyler laid out the steaks and started opening cupboards to find the salt and pepper.
“It’s probably fine.” She patted her hair, which looked like it had been set recently. “She can’t find a decent man anyway.”