by Beverly Long
He could not look away.
But then she straightened up, looking at him. Assessing.
And he lifted his hand.
Chapter Seven
And clamped it down hard on the back of his neck. Holy hell. What was he thinking?
He practically ran to the kitchen, grabbed the empty coffeepot, filled it with water and then completed the whole coffee routine. He didn’t turn around until the first drops hit the bottom with a quick sizzle.
She was sitting at the table, as if nothing had happened. Had he imagined it? Was it simply wishful thinking?
Was he losing his mind?
“What time is that guy coming?” he asked, needing something concrete to focus on.
“His name is Keith. He’ll be here around eleven. I thought I’d clear off a spot on the dining room table where we could work.”
Chase craned his neck to see into the other room. The old wooden table was covered with newspapers and brown sacks and milk cartons that had been emptied and then refilled with water, as if Brick was afraid the well was going out. There were stacks of bath towels at the far end. He suspected they’d been clean at one time but now they had a heavy layer of dust. In the middle, there was a pile of mail, looking as if it had been opened and then just tossed. He supposed he’d have to go through it at some point.
There was a matching china cabinet in the corner that had nothing in it. His mother’s dishes, the ones she’d gotten from her mother, chipped and probably full of lead, had been packed away after his mother’s death eight years ago. Bray had taken them, said he’d put them in storage. Chase didn’t care as long as Brick didn’t have them.
It was one of the few things that her sons had gotten from the house. They’d left the furniture, the cabinet, the table and the six wooden chairs, the same color as the table but not quite the same pattern. He could still remember how delighted his mother had been when she’d discovered them at a neighbor’s sale. They’d replaced the ones that had come with the table but had fallen apart after three boys and a husband had used them hard.
She’d bought them after his dad had died and before Brick had come into the picture. The idiot had been in the house for less than a year when he’d picked up one of the chairs and thrown it at the china cabinet, cracking the front pane of glass.
The crack was still there.
“I found a couple garbage cans in the garage yesterday,” he said. “I’ll get them for you.”
“No problem,” she said. She pushed her chair back, walked over to the coffeepot, getting just close enough that her arm brushed against his bare ribs. “Sorry,” she murmured.
He couldn’t say anything. Had she done that intentionally?
She moved away. As if it was nothing.
He was pathetic, trying to read something off a blank page. “I’m going outside,” he said.
“Did you eat?” she asked, sounding concerned.
There was no way that he could stay in the kitchen. “I’ll grab something later,” he said. “I want to work while the day is cool.”
Outside, he walked to the garage. He’d considered leaving the extension ladder out the night before so that he didn’t have to go back into the garage but had discarded that notion immediately. He didn’t want to give anyone easy access to the second story of the house, to Raney’s room. So he’d stashed the ladder behind some boxes, making it tough for someone to find.
He carried the ladder to the side of the house, tied his tool belt around his waist and started climbing. Fully extended, the ladder was just tall enough for him to reach the roof of the second floor.
Bray and Cal would both be appreciative of his work on the house. They would not second-guess his decision to replace the roof or anything else. They would be grateful that he had taken charge. Cal would not likely say it. Cal never said much to him anymore. Something had changed about the time of his mother’s death. There hadn’t been a big blow up. Nope. It was as if Cal had just shut down.
They needed to talk about that. But Cal hadn’t been around much in the past eight years, and on the rare occasions the two brothers had been together, Chase hadn’t wanted to dredge up old issues. He’d settled for stilted conversations and awkward silences. It was past time for that to change, and for the first time in a long time, felt as if now might be the time to press the issue. He and Bray always tried to get together on Thanksgiving. It had been their mother’s favorite holiday. There were times when either or both of them had to work on the actual holiday because crime never took a break. In those cases, they had a flexible approach.
It might be on Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday, it didn’t matter. It was still Thanksgiving dinner and they did the whole traditional thing. They generally found a place that cooked the turkey and all the trimmings and packed it up all nice and pretty so that the customer could take it home and eat it off real plates.
If the house wasn’t sold by Thanksgiving, he could invite Bray here. And Cal, too. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.
The idea was oddly appealing.
He got to the top of the ladder, stepped off onto the roof and squatted next to the area where he’d started prying off shingles with his crowbar. By Thanksgiving, the trial would be over. Raney would be home.
He jabbed the edge of the crowbar under the shingle and jerked his arm, sending the old shingle flying. It was a crazy idea to think about celebrating here. The house needed an exorcism, not a family holiday.
* * *
CHASE HAD BEEN working outside for more than three hours when he saw an old Toyota Camry drive down the road, slow well before the driveway and make the turn. It was black but filthy with road dust. When Keith got out, with the loose-limbed stride of someone in his early twenties, Chase felt a sharp pain in his thigh that had been dully aching all morning, as if damaged nerve endings had picked that exact moment to wake up.
Dawson’s taunt, You’re not getting any younger, rang in his ears as he sidestepped his way down the steep slant of the roof, caught the top rung of the ladder with his foot and climbed down.
He wasn’t, that was true. But then again, at any age, taking a bullet was a kick in the butt. It hadn’t helped the head games when the surgeon said that had the bullet been an inch to the right, he’d have probably bled out at the scene. It had been a postsurgery buzzkill that no amount of narcotics had busted through.
After a crappy twenty-four hours, he’d chosen to focus on the positive. It hadn’t been an inch to the right and he’d lived to tell about it.
So his leg hurt a little. Big deal. Didn’t mean that he was going to sit back and let some punk kid get the best of him. Not on his home territory.
Home. Territory.
Again, crazy thoughts.
It was just that since almost the moment he’d arrived, there’d been something right about being back in this house that he’d sworn he’d never return to. And that had a lot to do with Raney.
Who was about to get cozy with Keith.
Chase slammed the door on his way into the house.
* * *
RANEY TOLD HERSELF that she absolutely would not let Chase distract her from the task at hand. She had barely invited Keith into the dining room when Chase stormed into the house, scuffing his boots on the floor, banging cupboard doors and scraping chairs across the floor.
She reviewed Keith’s résumé and tried to ignore the noise. Keith showed no reaction to it. After a few minutes of enduring the commotion, she looked up.
“Can I help you with something?” she asked, pitching her voice so that he could hear.
Chase stuck his head around the corner of the doorway. “Don’t mind me,” he said. He was chewing peanut-butter crackers. Noisily.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
He showed no response, simply pulled his head back. He did, however, quiet down a bit. He did not leave.
What did she care if he wanted to act like a fool? She turned to Keith, smiled and got started. Two hours later, they h
ad discussed potential modifications to his résumé, reviewed his answers to common interview questions, talked about his short- and long-term goals and developed a reasonable plan to get there.
Chase had to be bored out of his mind. He was behaving, though, quietly sitting in the kitchen.
“I do so much better when you’re the one asking the questions,” Keith said, giving her a big smile. “I need you to be with me at the interview.”
A cupboard door slammed. She ignored it.
“I really appreciate all this help,” Keith added. “At least let me buy you lunch.”
Something hit the floor in the kitchen. Hard. She suspected it might have been the toaster.
Keith, finally catching on, rolled his eyes. “I guess not,” he said.
She shook her head, stood up and walked him to the front door. “Let me know how your interview goes,” she said.
She waited until his car turned onto the road before turning to find Chase. He was standing at the stove, his back to her, spatula in hand. She was ready to blast him.
Then he turned, still holding the spatula but now also a plate. He’d cooked a grilled-cheese sandwich. “I thought you might be hungry,” he said. “You missed lunch.”
Oh, good grief. “I thought you didn’t cook.”
“This isn’t cooking. It’s survival.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“He can’t really think that ‘I was underutilized’ is a good answer for why he only lasted three months at the telemarketing company,” Chase said.
“He’s Gen Y, like me. We all think we’re underutilized. You’re Gen X, apples and oranges.”
“Thanks for making me feel a hundred years old.”
Sexiest hundred-year-old guy she’d ever met. She smiled. “Sorry. Next year I’ll be in my thirties. We’ll be in the same decade of our lives. If that makes you feel any better,” she added.
“Stop, please. In any event, we’ll probably both be working for him in ten years.”
“I hope not. Didn’t you hear that his long-term goal is to own his own restaurant?”
“It’ll be great. You can be the short-order cook and I’ll be the bouncer at the door.”
“Restaurant. Not biker bar.” She wiped her mouth on a paper napkin. “That doesn’t seem like a great next job for you.”
He shrugged. “Always got to be open to the possibilities. Ready to move on to the next opportunity.”
She’d been teasing, but now he was serious. She wasn’t sure what to say.
“How’s the roof coming?” she asked.
“Pretty good.”
“Can I take a look?”
He studied her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. This is a big two-story house. I’m pretty high in the air. It doesn’t bother me but I’m used to it—like Gordy said, I did it for years.”
“But I’ve never seen a roof get put on. If I do get my own house someday, that would be a good thing for me to know. I’m not afraid of heights.”
“The first summer that I worked for Gordy, about midway through the season, Brad Morgan, who was a year older than me, made a mistake. A costly one. He fell more than twenty feet. He broke his pelvis and cracked several vertebrae. He was in bad shape. I won’t take that chance that you might get injured. And I certainly don’t think it’s what Chief Bates had in mind when I described this as a safe house.”
She wasn’t going to be able to budge him. “Oh, fine. Then, I’m going to open the Toasted Meringue and get started in the kitchen. It’s the one room where the roof doesn’t seem to be leaking.”
“You know, I really appreciate everything you’re doing in the house.”
It was hard to be irritated with him when he was such a nice guy. “I know you do. I appreciate that I’m not opening Eggshell White.”
“I’d have probably woken up one morning and you’d have painted me Eggshell White.”
“Maybe.” She wanted to talk to him about the house but didn’t know exactly how to do it. Her friends who had remodeled their homes were always asking her opinion on things, saying that she had a good eye for color and design. But she didn’t think Chase was especially interested. Neutrals sell. He was totally focused on that. But she felt compelled to say something.
He had a gem here. It had taken her a little bit to see it. From the minute she’d arrived, she’d loved the outside, with its wide porch and the big windows on both floors. She’d been a little disappointed with the insides, because it was dark and dismal and had so much clutter that it was hard to see past that. But now that she’d had some time to look around, she felt differently.
“Hey, I had a chance to look around this morning while I was waiting for Keith. I needed to make some space for us to work at the dining room table and while I was in there, I happened to take a look under the carpet. It’s sort of coming up on that one side.” If it hadn’t been before, it was now because once she’d spied a small section of the floor, she’d had to see more. “Did you know that there is really lovely hardwood flooring under there? I mean, it needs to be refinished and all that, but it’s nice.”
“The next owner can refinish floors. For now, I’ll get the carpet cleaned and tack down that corner.”
She hated the idea of that carpet staying. She knew she wasn’t going to be living here but really, it was just a shame to cover beautiful wood like that.
“You know what the living room is missing?” she asked.
He smiled at her. “I have no idea.”
“Bookshelves. You could build them into the two corners and that room would pop.”
“Pop,” he repeated.
“And I’d take those curtains down and put in those shades that you can raise from either the top or the bottom, depending on the time of day and the position of the sun. And it goes without saying that flooring in there, which is intended to look like wood but doesn’t, would need to go. But you could probably find something that would closely match the wood in the dining room.”
“Which will be covered by carpet. No bookshelves,” he added. “I will take the curtains down only because they smell, but the next owner can do his or her own windows. I’m not decorating. Refurbishing. Or gentrifying,” he added.
“But you’re sort of flipping. I mean, I realize you didn’t buy this house with the intent of fixing it up and selling it to make a nice profit but you did inherit it, it needs to be fixed up and you could make a nice profit.”
“I want a quick sale. That’s more important to me.” Chase pushed his chair back. “Speaking of which, I better get busy. I may need to run into town this afternoon. I’m almost out of nails.”
She was disappointed that she hadn’t been able to get him to see the possibilities in the house. But it really wasn’t her worry. “I’d be happy to do the nail run. I forgot to buy oatmeal yesterday and I want to make some granola.”
She could tell that he wanted to say no. But he probably felt bad about not letting her on the roof and shutting down her decorating pleas. “Okay. I guess there’s no reason to think there’s any risk.”
* * *
A HALF HOUR LATER, Raney had her oatmeal and two bags of chips, because it did seem as if Chase went through them at an alarming rate. As she drove down the street, she saw that the big church on the corner was having a car wash to raise money to assist with the winter heating bills of the elderly. There was a line of cars that stretched around the block, waiting to be washed.
None of them looked that dirty.
Small towns were certainly interesting. A hundred feet from the Wright Here, Wright Now Café, she made the decision to stop. She wouldn’t stay long but she was thirsty and an iced tea would do the trick. The weather was changing. Late morning, when she’d been working with Keith, it had been comfortably warm and sunny. But now it was hot and very humid. The wind was picking up.
She wondered if a storm was headed in their direction. She definitely shouldn’t stay long at the café. Chase would need all the nails
he could get in hopes of having the roof patched before the rain hit.
Raney opened the café door. Summer was behind the counter and she looked up and smiled. “Hi, Raney. Nice to see you again.”
Raney took a stool at the counter. It was well past lunchtime and only two booths had customers. She eyed the pie case on the back counter. “Is that lemon meringue?” she asked.
Summer nodded. “Made fresh this morning.”
“I’ll take one,” she said. If Chase could see this, he’d probably make some crack about her falling off the healthy-eater wagon. He liked to tease her.
That was what she’d been doing this morning. Teasing him. When she’d woken up, blonde Raney had taken over. Instead of getting dressed, she’d come downstairs in her pajamas. And then she’d gotten even bolder and deliberately leaned over to look at the books, knowing that he’d be able to see down her shirt.
He’d looked. And when he’d raised his hand and she’d thought he was going to touch her, she’d about melted.
But then he’d double-timed it to the kitchen. The image of what might have been had given her the courage to brush up against him.
His skin had been very warm. And he’d been very sexy with his bare chest and shorts.
But he’d left the kitchen quickly, as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her. Blonde Raney had struck out.
Which was a silly thought because there was a distinct possibility that blonde Raney was all talk and no action. That, when push came to shove, if Chase was interested, she’d be the one running for the door. Her inexperience would catch up with her.
She’d dated Mike for three years before she’d married him three weeks after graduating from college. Two years later, at age twenty-four, she was already divorced. A divorcée.
Gun-shy. She’d made a mistake about Mike and that had caused her to question her judgment skills. And she’d chosen to play it safe for the past five years. But now, a month past her twenty-ninth birthday, that wasn’t feeling right anymore.
Harry Malone had changed things. Sure. But this was even more than making good on a terrified promise in the dark that if she ever got away, she was going to live. Really live.