by Craig, Susan
Setting the bacon on paper towels to drain, she took an eight-inch stack of dried bread and sliced through it in one swift stroke. Dipping the bread triangles in the egg-milk mixture, she put them in the bacon grease to brown. Once she had those locks changed, Jim would be out of here. And she wouldn’t be asking him to come back.
“Morning, Mom.” Tyler came over, still warm and sleep-tousled, to give her a hug. “Oh, good, French toast! Can I have syrup on mine instead of cinnamon?”
Sally hugged him back, hard, blinking away the sting of tears. He was the only male she needed. “Of course we’re having French toast—I know it’s your favorite. And, yes, you can have syrup. Get it out, and the orange juice and milk. Clean dishes are in the dishwasher.”
As Tyler set the table, she piled the French toast on a platter and dusted half of it lightly with a mix of cinnamon and sugar, leaving the rest plain. Two slices of bacon went on each of the three plates Tyler had laid out. As they were sitting down to begin, Jim came out of the guest bath and down the hallway.
“Morning, Dr. Donovan. We’re having French toast, because it’s my favorite. Do you like it?”
Jim smiled at the boy. “I do. I like it so much that I might eat yours and mine both.”
“Oh, no you won’t.” Laughing, Tyler wrapped his arms protectively around his plate.
‘Morning, Sally.” Jim’s voice was cool. “Thanks for the breakfast. It smells delicious.”
Her voice was no warmer. “You’re welcome. We appreciate you staying last night.” And I’ll appreciate it even more when the locks are changed and you leave. Where was the locksmith anyway? He’d promised to be here by eight.
As if in answer to her thought, the doorbell rang. Sally jumped up to open the door, aware that Jim rose also and followed a few steps behind her. Like someone’s going to grab me in broad daylight. It’s his fault I feel so nervous.
She opened the door to the locksmith, who set down his toolbox and got straight to work on her front door.
Two hours later he packed up his tools, Sally wrote him a check, and he was gone. She huffed out a satisfied breath. Time to get rid of Jim.
Stepping onto the back porch, she called to Jim and Tyler, who had taken care of the shelter chores after breakfast and were relaxing now, throwing a football back and forth. “Tyler, come in and wash your hands. We need to go food shopping.”
“Aw, Mom.”
“You heard your mother, Tyler.”
Tyler tramped past her, with Jim following. She waited until she heard water running in the bathroom sink, then turned to Jim in dismissal. “Thank you for staying until the locks were fixed. We’ll be fine now.” She tensed slightly, anticipating his arguments, gathering her resources.
“You’re welcome.” He walked through the house and opened the front door. Hesitating a fraction, he turned toward her with a slight frown. “Take care, Sally.” Then he slid into his truck and drove away.
Sally stared after him.
Great. Just walk off and leave us. So much for all your talk about protection and support.
With hands on hips, she watched the truck vanish from sight, then turned to the house blinking away the heat in her eyes. I don’t need him.
“Tyler, let’s go.”
Sally walked back into the kitchen and carefully locked and dead-bolted the door. Then, as Tyler trooped past her, she did the same to the front door and turned toward the car with the corners of her mouth pulled down. Grocery shopping. Yippee.
Jim steered his truck toward town, less than half-a-mind on his driving. His anger had turned cold, and he couldn’t decide which was worse: what Sally had done with Smith or the way he’d responded to it last night. He kept seeing the hurt and shock—the pleading—on her face just before he’d pulled her to him and assaulted her. What was the matter with him, anyway? He’d acted like an animal.
The four-by-four tore past trees and fence-line scrub, well beyond the posted limit. The thought of Sally and Smith ate away at his brain and his control. Smith had ruined everything for him. Jim hit the brakes, swung the truck around a sharp curve in the road and picked up speed again. Why did he take it out on Sally? Now the memory of loving her, that first time, was overwritten with last night’s ugliness.
Well, there was no way to take back what he’d done. He wrenched the truck around turn after turn on the winding country road, fish-tailing now and again, using the steering wheel as an outlet for the tension coiled in his muscles. He took the back route to the clinic, avoiding the town roads as much as possible. It was going to take more than fighting the jouncing pickup to satisfy the violence in his soul.
Damn Smith. I should have told him to stay away from her flat out instead of playing polite.
Jim twisted the truck into his parking space at the clinic. That was one mistake he could correct. And he would. Right now. He and Daniel Smith were going to go over a few home truths. Because he’d lied to Sally last night. And to himself.
He was still the world’s biggest sap.
Jim strode into the clinic, his footsteps echoing in the empty lobby. Smith’s Hummer sat outside, but apparently no one else was here. He headed for the younger vet’s office, trumpeting like an enraged stallion—“Smith! Where are you?”—and shoved open the door.
Smith stood behind his desk, eyes narrowed and brows drawn together. “What the hell is your problem, Donovan?”
“You. You’re my problem.” He crossed the room in two strong strides. “Stay away from Sally Johnston. She’s mine.” Jim stood across the desk from Smith: eyes on Smith’s chest, hands open, knees slightly flexed.
Smith looked him up and down, then sat, leaning back to put his feet up on the desk. “If you’re looking for a fight, you came to the wrong place.”
Jim narrowed his gaze, and his hands began to curl. “Does she mean so little to you that you’re not even going to bother to give me an argument? She was just another one night stand, is that it?”
Smith glanced at the fisted hands. The eyes he lifted to Jim’s face were mere slits below knotted brows. “Are you implying that I took advantage of her?”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m saying you had sex with her, and I’m telling you you’re not going to do it again.”
Something flickered in Smith’s eyes, causing Jim’s body to respond with a surge of adrenalin. “Donovan, tempted as I am to shove your ignorant comments down your throat, Sally wouldn’t appreciate it.”
Jim planted his hands on Smith’s desk and leaned forward. His voice was deadly quiet. “Get out. Now. Pack your stuff and go. I’d sooner work myself to death than have you as a partner, so I’m breaking our contract. You want to sue me, go for it, but get out.”
Smith didn’t move. “I’m not going anywhere, yet. You’re just pissed because you’re too thick-headed to figure out what to do with Sally. She’s hot and smart and she wants you, and you’re throwing it all away. You’re an idiot, Donovan.” Deliberately, Smith lowered his feet to the floor and leaned forward, leaving his hands relaxed on the arms of his chair. “Sue you? I’m grateful. I don’t want an idiot for a partner. You’ve jumped up on your high horse because I made a move on a woman you were too stupid to go after. Colossally stupid, as it turns out, because she’s gotten so little encouragement from you that she thought she wanted me. When it came down to it, she realized different.”
Jim stared at Smith’s face. “Are you telling me you didn’t—”
Smith leaned back, propping one ankle on a knee. “You are a bonehead. I was never even in the running. Do you think I’d pass on someone like her if I had an invitation?”
Jim put a hand to his forehead. “But you took her out. You went inside. You were there over two hours.”
Smith stood, his eyes narrowed. “Sit down, Donovan. You’re looking wobbly.”
Jim sat and stared at the floor.
Smith’s voice sounded amused. “You were watching her house? You really are pathetic!”
Ji
m looked up, scowling. “She’s got a stalker after her—he’s been getting more aggressive. I knew she’d be out with you. I was watching the house, hoping maybe I’d see him, not trying to spy on her.”
Smith forehead creased. “Is she scared?”
“What do you think? Yes, she’s scared. I’ve been staying with her—the guy’s a nut case. It isn’t safe for her to be alone.”
Now Smith frowned, and his eyes were troubled.
Jim glared at him. “What?”
“I walked off and left her alone Saturday night. She never said a word. Did she know you were there?”
“Hell, no. There was no reason to tell her.”
The two men stared at one another for a moment. Smith broke the silence.
“Donovan, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”
Jim thought of what he’d said to Sally the night before…of what he’d done. He shook his head. “Man, you don’t know the half of it.”
Sally’s front doorbell rang. She looked at Tyler, sitting on the couch manipulating the game remote as he negotiated the obstacle course displayed on the television screen. She went to the set and turned the volume all the way up. He didn’t seem to notice. Then she closed the door between the entryway and the living room.
As she’d expected, it was Jim. He’d been calling her cell phone all afternoon. She hadn’t answered once. Finally, she’d simply turned the phone off. Now he stood on her doorstep ringing the bell. As she stepped toward the door she saw him looking at her through the three tiny windows stair-stepped across the top half. He waited for her to throw back the bolt. Instead, she put her face close to the glass and spoke through the door. “Go away!”
He didn’t move. “Sally, open the door. It’s not safe for you to be alone.”
“It’s safer than letting you in.” She saw him wince as the shaft drove home.
“I won’t touch you. I promise. Let me in. We have to talk.” He looked like he was in pain.
Good. He deserved to be in pain. There was no way he was coming near her ever again. She was done with men, done with sex. Look at all the trouble it caused. “Go away. We don’t need you here.”
She turned her back on him, slipped back into the living room, and closed the entryway door firmly behind her. The longer she thought about last night, the angrier she became. At herself. At Jim. She wasn’t upset about the sex. That he had been driven by his own pain, had been less considerate, more rough than normal was not the issue—he hadn’t hurt her physically, despite the rage that had driven him. But the words he’d said as he turned away, the disgust in his eyes, and the way his voice had lashed at her… those things had left marks on her spirit. They had shredded her confidence in his love.
She refused to consider having him stay with her tonight. There were new locks on the doors—deadbolts. She and Tyler were safe.
Two hours later, Jim parked his truck on the East side of the shelter next to the kennel wing. If Sally happened to look over, she wouldn’t see it there, and the dogs would alert him if anyone came messing around. The frantic barking set off by his arrival didn’t worry him. Sally wasn’t likely to notice. It was early evening and the dogs barked every time a homebound commuter drove by on the road.
So here he was again. She’d tell him to leave if she knew, but he had to be here, regardless. He dumped a duffle on the reception counter and pulled out binoculars, a heavy metal flashlight and his service revolver. Leaving the flashlight where it lay, he pulled the comfortable purple chair from behind the desk over to the window and positioned a low table next to it. It would be a long, sleepless, and thankless night. Well, he’d earned it. Shrugging his shoulders, he moved behind the counter to the cabinets along the wall and started a pot of coffee brewing. She wouldn’t have him in her house, and he couldn’t blame her for that. He’d been worse than an idiot.
He picked up the binoculars and moved to the window to see if he could spot either Sally or Tyler. They were in the kitchen. Sally moved back and forth between the stove and counters. Tyler sat at the table with some books. He was looking from book to paper, pencil in hand, copying something.
Probably working on his math. I could help him, if I was there instead of here. Jim sighed. No use dwelling on that.
The light began to fade as he sat watching the windows across the meadow. She might have loved him when she offered to marry him, but his behavior last night had destroyed any chance that she still did. Once again, he heard her voice through the door: ‘It’s safer than letting you in.’ His mouth compressed and he blinked, shaking his head at himself. Why didn’t I listen to her instead of jumping her like that?
The answer brought no comfort. Because I didn’t believe her. The about-face was too quick, too convenient. Since this afternoon, he’d given it a lot of thought, now that it was too late.
Three years ago, he’d chosen to be just a friend. I meant it to be temporary. But once Sally accepted him as friend, she’d simply ignored anything that didn’t mesh with that designation. Every nudge he gave her toward romance was ignored. He should have recognized what was happening. Sally could be incredibly single-minded and impervious to points of view other than her own. It was part of her strength and the root of her stubborn and headstrong ways. It’s why she could refuse to recognize she was being stalked.
But it’s also why she picks herself up and goes on, time after time.
The first time he kissed her, he thought he’d made some headway at last. He should have realized she’d blame the effect on hormones instead of love. Leaning back in his chair, he let his body remember the feel of her yielding to him. He’d been felt so great the next morning… stealing a kiss and sure she was on her way to coming around. Damn it all, he wanted her. Feeling empty inside, he rose to pace the room, eyes trained on the house across the meadow.
Sally finished the dishes and glanced nervously out the window. It was dark. Tyler was still working on math at the kitchen table. She had decreed that homework was to be done tonight so he would have the rest of the holiday free. It sounded reasonable, but the truth was that she wanted him where she could see him. She walked to the back door and surreptitiously checked the locks. Then she went to the front door and did the same.
She turned on the lights in the living room, and drew the shades shut, checking to make sure there were no gaps. Walking down the hall to the bedrooms, she repeated the procedure. Back in the kitchen, she lowered the mini-blinds, angling them to block the view from outside. It should have made her feel better—no one could see in. Instead, she was uneasily aware that she could not see out.
She thought tonight would be better than last night’s sleepless fiasco, but it wasn’t turning out that way. Dead bolts or not, she was worried. She was alone and responsible for her son. She had to find a weapon of some kind. Once she had a way to protect him, just in case, she’d feel better.
She eyed the drawer that held cutlery—a knife under her pillow?
No. She didn’t think it was a good idea to choose something that might easily be used against her. Besides, the very idea of getting close enough to an intruder to use a knife gave her the willies.
Her eyes scanned the kitchen again, looking for inspiration. A frying pan?
It was a classic choice, but hers were too lightweight to be effective.
A broom!
No, too unwieldy, but perhaps…
Glancing back at Tyler, who was still absorbed in his math, she walked to his room. There in the corner was her weapon. His baseball bat. Why hadn’t she thought of that right away? It, too, was a classic choice.
Quietly she removed the bat to her bedroom, laying it on the floor next to her bed.
Feeling more prepared, she returned to the kitchen. Now what?
She could watch some television.
No, the sound of the set would interfere with her ability to hear what was going on outside the house.
She could cook something…but she hadn’t planned to, and didn’t really fe
el like it anyway.
What was she thinking? Her economics paper. She needed to work on that.
How could I have forgotten about my paper? That stupid stalker is really making a mess of my brain.
Going back into her bedroom, she hauled her books and notes to the kitchen table. I should have brought the laptop home from the shelter. Tomorrow I’ll do that. Tonight the old-fashioned way would work. And turning to a fresh sheet on her yellow legal pad, she began to write.
It wasn’t easy. Her brain wanted to spin in circles around the problem of the stalker, but she persevered. Her heart tempted her to dwell on her troubles with Jim, but she refused. She worked steadily for hours, interrupting her writing only to brew more coffee and supervise Tyler’s bedtime routine. Once he was settled, she quietly retrieved the baseball bat from her bedside and brought it into the kitchen with her. She wished Jim was… No, they were secure. She was just nervous. Except for Tyler’s bedroom, every light in the house was on, and she meant to keep them that way. Maybe then she would sleep—unlike the night before.
Again and again she forced her mind back to the short and long term effects of unionization on the economy. Eventually, her brain began to cooperate. Words flew from pen to page and the only interruptions were to uncramp her hand.
At last, she wrote the final words of the paper’s conclusion. It was only a first draft, still needed polishing and typing, but it was complete. She checked the clock. Two in the morning. She was drooping with exhaustion. Her mind had pretty well gone south, but she knew she would toss and turn if she went to bed—she’d inhaled too much caffeine earlier. Her head hurt. She lay it on the table, pillowed by her arms, and shut her eyes.
It was very late. The moon had been directly overhead around midnight, but now it was angling toward the horizon. Hours had passed since Sally closed the drapes and blinds. What was she doing? Had she gone to sleep? Despite her brave words, he knew she was frightened. She still had every light in the house on. Frustration filled him. He should be there with her, not here.