by Koontz, Rena
A full bath opened off of the bedroom, decorated in bright greens and yellows. She stared at the double sink and jet tub. She hadn’t enjoyed a bubble bath in months.
She turned wide eyes to Clay, who stood uncomfortably close behind her, so close she could feel his body heat. “You want me to stay here?”
“Don’t you like it?”
“Oh, no, it’s beautiful. Wouldn’t you rather rent it and get the money? I could never afford this.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll earn it. Let’s get your stuff from last night. Then we’ll hit the grocery store. Maggie always needs diapers.”
For the next three hours they were side by side, walking through the grocery store, stopping in the hardware store, picking up his uniforms at the dry cleaners, and making a bank deposit. Clay explained her job more fully; he wanted her to help Maggie with whatever she needed, but he also expected her to clean vacant apartments, help him paint or clean carpets, or whatever easier tasks needed done.
“The more active Jack becomes, the more help she will need. Maggie will work around your schedule. You’ll have time for yourself to socialize. But there is a waiting list for these units, so sometimes the turnaround has to be quick. Occasionally, it might eat up your whole weekend.”
She smiled. “That’s not going to make a difference.”
He regarded her with one eyebrow raised. “Why is that?”
“I really don’t have a social life.”
“Why?”
She reached for the truck’s door handle. “This isn’t going to work if you are always interrogating me.” Damn. He hadn’t turned off the key yet and she was locked in the truck with him. She twisted to reach the lock, but the seatbelt crossing her chest held her tight.
“All right, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound like an interrogation. I’m simply curious about you, that’s all. You intrigue me.”
She caught her breath. “That’s not a good idea.”
He shrugged. “Probably not. C’mon.”
Maggie had bed linens, paper towels, and soap ready to give her. Cassidy had purchased a few items for her own pantry: peanut butter and jelly, wheat bread, milk, butter, and coffee after Clay said the unit had a coffee pot. He’d tossed lettuce, ranch dressing, carrots, tomatoes, a multipack of instant soups, a variety pack of cereals, popcorn, and a container of ice cream in the cart, all which he unloaded in her apartment. He held up his hands when she protested and said it would go on her tab.
“I didn’t need ice cream.”
He propped his hands on his hips. “Don’t tell me you don’t like ice cream. That’s un-American. How are you going to make a milkshake without ice cream? You like milkshakes, don’t you?”
She laughed. “Yes. Chocolate. But we didn’t buy syrup.”
He winked, causing her heart to skip. “I’ll pick some up tomorrow. Keep a list of other things you need. We can make another store run tomorrow. What time do you have to be at work?”
“I don’t return until Monday morning at eight. I’m at the Greenbrier store with Amber for the next few weeks. I need to find the closest bus stop so I can check the schedule. And,” she tried to sound casual, “I was wondering about Internet access. Is there somewhere close where I can use my laptop?”
He nodded. “We offer that for our tenants. I’ll give you the password.” He ignored her inquiry about the nearest bus stop. Instead, he walked to a wall and straightened a brightly painted picture of a garden with a white picket gate. He seemed hesitant to leave. “How’d you get the name Cassidy? I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone called that before.”
They stood in the center of her new living room. Outside, daylight had faded to dark. This was surreal, chatting with him as if it were an everyday occurrence. She liked it.
“If I tell you, you’ll only laugh at me.”
He smiled, crinkling his eyes. She’d seen that smile often today and it warmed her. “Well, I can always use a good laugh. Tell me.”
“My dad claimed to be a descendent of Neil Watt McIntyre Cuthbert. He’s the man who shot Hopalong Cassidy in the left leg.”
His smile broadened into a wide grin. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. I was his last chance at having a boy and he was determined to name me Cassidy.”
Clay cleared his throat. “Ah, you do know that Hopalong Cassidy was a fictional cowboy, don’t you?”
She rolled her eyes. She really should create another reason for having her name. No one ever believed her.
“I know that and you know that. But my dad insisted that Mr. Neil Watt McIntyre Cuthbert was a real person whom the author used for his character in the comic books and movies. And he insisted he was some great-great-great descendent.”
Now Clay laughed outright. “You’re right, that’s funny. Maybe I’ll call you Hoppy for short.”
She laughed, too, another thing she hadn’t done in a long while. “Please don’t.”
“Where’s your dad now? I’d like to hear the longer version of this story.”
Her smile disappeared and she dropped her gaze to the floor. “He died when I was little.”
“I’m sorry.” The silence between them grew awkward. “Well, I better go. See you tomorrow. If you need something that can’t wait until then, call me.” He handed her a business card with a police badge embossed in the right corner and his contact information printed in royal blue beside it.
She bolted the door behind him, turned and leaned against it, staring at the card in her hand. What the hell was she doing?
• • •
Clay leaned against the wall outside Cassidy’s apartment door and squeezed his eyes shut. What the hell was he doing? The last thing he needed was a relationship.
He could tell himself that Cassidy was in some sort of trouble and that he simply wanted to help. A police officer was, after all, a public servant.
He could tell himself that he only thought about her every other hour last night because he was convinced she would bolt and he hoped if she did, she locked the apartment behind her.
He might convince himself that spending the afternoon with her running simple errands hadn’t been the most fun he’d had in a year or that, once she relaxed, they weren’t extremely compatible. Hell, he’d been as comfortable with her as with Maggie, only he enjoyed being with Cassidy so much more.
She had an arousing effect on him, standing in the middle of the room laughing and talking about chocolate. Jesus, his craving came to attention against his will. Maybe it had been a while since he got laid, but his body reacted as if it were possessed by a teenager with raging hormones. Even as he walked from her floor down to his, an erection throbbed behind his zipper.
Cassidy was so different from his ex-wife. Lauren reeked of self-confidence and assumed control in any situation. Aided by her six-foot frame, which allowed her to tower over most women and face men eye-to-eye, Lauren operated on the assumption that the world was hers and she allowed you to live in it.
Even in bed she’d dictated the action, regularly taking top and pacing the encounter to suit her needs. The act had ceased to be enjoyable for him three months into their marriage. It wasn’t long afterward that he’d depreciated to an accessory in her world, someone to escort her to dinners and service her needs, someone to fight and make-up with, someone to swing at.
He flexed his left hand opened, closed, opened wider, closed. The divorce had publicly humiliated her and she’d sworn vengeance. She’d attempted murder.
Cassidy and Lauren were like sun and snow. Thinking about Lauren chilled his heart and his ardor. For now, that was a good thing. He had time to call Maggie and then he had to roll to work. After tonight’s midnight shift, however, he was off until Monday. Just like Cassidy.
Chapter Nine
Cassidy stretched
, luxuriating in the smell of the fresh sheets and the support of a firm mattress. She hadn’t slept as soundly since she’d left home, her real home, the one where her mother and brother slept down the hall. Dreamily, she glanced around the room then let her eyelids slide closed again.
She smiled, heard the noise, and bolted upright. A rhythmic tapping, coming from the living room. She blinked the remainder of sleep from her eyes and aimed her ear in that direction. Knocking. Someone was knocking.
She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand and exclaimed out loud. It was after nine.
Barefoot, she ran to the door to peek out. Clay stood in the hallway. Opening the door a crack she put her face in the gap.
“Hey! I don’t have your number so I couldn’t call. Are you still asleep?”
“Can you give me a minute?”
He smiled. “Sure, let me in. I brought you coffee.”
She slid the safety chain and opened the door. Clay strolled into the living room, turned, and furrowed his brow at the sight of her sweatshirt and jeans.
“Did you just wake up? You look like you slept in your clothes.”
“Yeah, I, ah, kind of fell asleep in them last night and was too lazy to get up and take them off. Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
She hurried to the bathroom, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and slipped into a clean T-shirt. She finger-combed her hair, grabbed her glasses from the sink and returned to the living area. Clay sat at the table sipping his coffee.
He held out her cup as she approached. “Thanks.”
“You’ll have to give me your cell number. I could have called first. I thought you’d be up. We have a little work to do today.”
She ran her hand through her hair. “I don’t usually sleep this late. I don’t usually sleep well at all. I just kind of died last night.”
“It’s probably a lot quieter here than your other place.”
She nodded.
“I’ve already had breakfast, but you have time to eat. We’re cleaning a vacant one-bedroom and I’ll show you how to vacuum the pool. It’s cool, so I doubt anyone will be using it today, but we don’t close it until the end of the month and until then it has to be maintained. While you’re doing that, I’ve got a clogged drain to deal with. Then we can work on the vacancy.”
“I don’t need breakfast. I can start now.”
“There is a toaster in the kitchen and I know you bought bread. Have a piece of toast and then we’ll start.” He stood. “We can run over to your old apartment tonight and get the rest of your things unless you have plans.”
She shook her head.
“Good. Then it’s a date. I’ll meet you at the pool in about a half-hour.”
Dutifully, she toasted a piece of bread, but she barely tasted it. “It’s a date.” He had to have meant it as a figure of speech, but her heart had catapulted to her throat when he said it, making it hard to swallow her breakfast.
She washed the plate and knife and stacked them in the drainer. Grabbing her hoodie, she slipped into her tennis shoes and walked to the pool. Clay was in the outbuilding. He’d put on a sweatshirt as well and wore ass-hugging jeans. Mentally, she shook the image away.
He explained how to assemble the pieces and force the air out of the hose, and then demonstrated how to vacuum the pool floor. The key was not to break the suction. There was something therapeutic about rolling the triangular vacuum head across the bottom, picking up bits of debris and bugs with each swipe. Ahead of the brush lay a dark, dirty surface but behind it, the plane was wiped clean, like a second chance at a new life. Was that what Clay was, a mechanism to clean up her past? Her second chance?
Yesterday, telling him the origin of her name and laughing with him about it, she’d relaxed and forgotten her fear of his occupation or his motives. He’d simply been a man she was attracted to. She couldn’t deny that. She’d been mildly disappointed when she finally closed the door behind him. He hadn’t seemed like he wanted to leave and she hadn’t wanted him to.
Now, today, they’d be spending hours together. And tonight he’d offered to take her back to Fortieth Street. If he was free on a Saturday night, why wasn’t he spending it with Amber?
“Nice job.”
She jumped at his words.
“I’ll show you where to stow it then we can hit the vacant.” Within minutes, they were walking to the first building and Clay was explaining their tasks.
“It was painted before the former tenants moved in and they were here only for a year. They retired to Marco Island. We don’t have to repaint, but the walls need wiped down, the kitchen needs thoroughly scrubbed, everything needs swiped clean, and then we’ll shampoo the carpets. How about if you start in the kitchen? Clean all the appliances, swab out the cupboards, and shine the counter. I’ll take the two bathrooms then start on the walls.”
This was another lushly carpeted two-bedroom, partially furnished unit that already looked clean enough to occupy. But Cassidy bent to the task of spit-polishing the kitchen. More than an hour later, she emerged looking for Clay. The afternoon light picked up a cobweb swinging from a return air vent high in the ceiling corner over built-in book shelves. She relocated the stepladder Clay used earlier to replace a light bulb and wedged it into the corner. If she stretched, she could clean the vent with the duster. She climbed the ladder, nearing the top and leaned to reach, but she was too far away. If she stood on the top step, she might reach it, but there was nothing to balance her from there.
“Whoa. Please be careful,” Clay said, coming into the room.
“I can almmmooost reee-ach this but … ”
“Stop before you lose your balance.” Clay walked up behind her and put his hands on the ladder. “The wall will keep you from falling forward, but you could tumble backward. I’ll brace you from behind, but be careful.”
The ladder swayed slightly when he stepped on the bottom rung and then two strong hands took a firm grasp of each of her thighs. She braced her hand on the wall for balance and tried to dismiss the electrical charge shooting up her legs. Through her jeans she could discern all ten of his fingers supporting her and she imagined what it would be like to have them creep north, slowly to her …
“You okay up there?”
“Um, yeah. I got it cleaned.”
“Thanks. I won’t move. Start stepping down, carefully, please.”
She began her descent, cautiously lowering her left foot to the next rung, then easing her right into place, acutely aware of Clay’s hands running along her sides as she descended. By the third step, the tops of her legs and her butt skimmed Clay’s chest.
“One more,” he uttered in a raspy voice.
She led with her right foot this time, brushing his thigh and sinking into the circle created by his arms when she settled her other foot. Unless he moved, she could go no farther. Heat from his body caressed her back and his breath brushed her left ear.
“Don’t do that again, please. I don’t want you to get hurt,” he whispered with his nose buried in her hair.
Cassidy tightened her grip on the ladder and closed her eyes. If she leaned back the tiniest smidge, she’d have total contact with him, against his chest, wrapped in his arms.
His mouth remained at her ear. “We both worked hard today. If things were different, I’d suggest we take a shower right now.”
Goose bumps pimpled her skin and her stomach somersaulted.
“Maybe another time,” he suggested. Then he pulled her backward into his embrace, lifted her feet off the ladder rung, and stepped down to the floor. His grip eased and she stepped out of his arms.
“All we have left is to shampoo the carpet. That won’t take me long. What if we get cleaned up and go grab something to eat, then we can swing by Fortieth Street and get the rest of your things.”
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nbsp; Her pulse pounded in her ears. Despite his attempt to sound casual, his cheeks were flushed.
She cocked her head. “Are we cleaning up together or separately?”
Just as she’d hoped, she caught him off guard. His head snapped up, his eyes widened, and his cheeks transformed into red beets.
She raised both hands, laughing. “Just kidding.”
He grinned. “Too bad. I wasn’t.”
He folded the ladder as he spoke. “How about I knock on your door in, let’s say two hours, maybe a little longer? Does that work?”
Cassidy narrowed her eyes as she watched him gather the remaining cleaning materials. “It’s Saturday night. Don’t you have a date with Amber?”
He stopped and turned. “What?”
“I only have dirty clothes, a handful of linens, and some pantry items at the other apartment. I don’t need them tonight. Wouldn’t you rather spend time with Amber?”
He squinted, staring at her lips as if she spoke a foreign language and he had to read them for translation. “Why would I do that?”
She swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable, overheated, probably by all the work she’d done and antsy, most likely because she wanted a shower. Clay stood staring, waiting for her response. His love life was none of her business. But her heartbeat quickened and her lips locked, making it difficult to ask a question she didn’t really want to know the answer to.
“Cassidy? Why do you ask if I’d rather spend time with Amber?”
“It’s just that, um, I know you don’t have all your weekends free and I thought, well, you know, you’d want to be with your girlfriend.”
His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “My girlfriend?”
She nodded.
“What makes you think Amber is my girlfriend?”
Now she squirmed. If only she hadn’t said anything. “Well, um, I’ve heard talk at work.”
This time, he raised only one eyebrow. “What kind of talk?”
“Nothing, really, just, you know.”
“No, I don’t know. Please tell me.”