When Night Falls

by Cait London

  On the roof, shingling at dawn a week ago, Roman had called out to her. She’d waved, but hadn’t met Mitchell’s quiet look. She passed by two women who had suddenly started jogging up and down Lawrence Street, both single, very young, and man-hunting. Dressed only in jeans, the brothers were quite the sight, strong bodies gleaming, muscles surging, Mitchell’s back all broad and tanned and—

  Sex. Mitchell wanted sex. He was obvious enough about that, stunning her. Saying those things men just did not say to her, and she was far past any excitement a bad-boy image could stir.

  Did he have to say those things? Holding and tasting her—

  Uma shivered and broke the pencil she’d been holding, as she made notes of all the computer’s damage. The hardware seemed fine, but the files were lost—

  And Mitchell could do with a good dose of Charis Lopez’s takes on relationships, on intimacy, on tact, and—

  Uma quickly tied on her running shoes. If she couldn’t concentrate on her article or her work, then she would run out the tension that thinking about Mitchell had created.

  On her front porch, she stretched and whipped her hair back into a ponytail, placing the terry sweat band around her head. Everett was back, and she had enough to do straightening out her computer and meeting her deadlines.

  The Warren brothers were stirring up everyone in town. While people wondered where Mitchell got his money, they didn’t hesitate to take it at the plumbing and electrical stores, or at the small lumberyard. Served them right, the gossip said, that Lyle and the boys “fixed” their tires; they’d learn to leave Madrid’s good women alone.

  Gossip told her that the two men were working nights: “Busy as bees, the two of them. Working as if all hell were after them. They’ll have that place fixed up in no time. Probably want to sell it, or bring their buddies in. Wonder what they plan to do with the garage—run a chop shop, and paint stolen cars? Or that old ranch?”

  The speculations about the ranch had reached fever pitch. After all, what would the Warrens do with the dead bodies now? They were just lying low after the first one was discovered, but the town speculated that there were more.

  Uma stretched her arms high. She couldn’t worry about Mitchell; Shelly needed her—she’d seen Roman standing out on the street, watching the house. Dani spoke of nothing but him, and Shelly was terrified that Roman would find out about her daughter and that she would lose Dani.

  Uma started to jog slowly, warming up her stride as the dawn promised a hot, dry day. She passed her neighbor’s house and ran faster, determined not to notice Mitchell. She glanced at a runner coming out of the dawn and smiled, “Hi, Everett, I didn’t know you were still running.”

  Today he had already shaved and wore the sky blue T-shirt and matching shorts she had chosen for him—to match his eyes. She liked to shop for him. Was it because that was all she could give him, and not what he wanted?

  He was solid and good and dependable. “We used to run like this. It was good. I’m out of shape. Thought I’d try to keep up. Thanks for the casserole you left for me the night I came back.”

  “You’re welcome. Let’s see what you’ve got,” she teased, running faster.

  Then Mitchell was running at her other side, his chest bare and his shorts and shoes with a very expensive trademark. “Thought I’d try getting in shape, too—unless you mind?”

  You’ve got sweat between your breasts and they bounce when you run….

  Uma tightened her muscles and decided to buy a sports bra. No one had ever commented on her running gear before. Or her sweat. What kind of a man would mention a woman’s sweat? “No, of course not. We don’t mind, do we, Everett?”

  Everett ran grimly, silently. Mitchell’s scruffy jaw and shaggy haircut emphasized the difference in the two men, though they were the same height. In comparison, Mitchell looked rawly masculine and unsafe, especially when he glanced down at Uma’s chest.

  Uma tried to ignore him, but couldn’t resist glancing up at his face, which had a grim look she didn’t like. They cruised two blocks to Main Street, where the smell of the bakery mixed with Ruby’s morning coffee, and Lorraine Jarvis’s big black Labrador fell in behind them.

  Uma tried to ignore the people who had come out onto the street to watch the two men and her, the window shades being drawn aside in the two-story apartments.

  Unable to stand being the town’s spectacle, running beside the two men, Uma took the first opportunity to escape. “I forgot something,” she said and turned around suddenly, heading for her house and safety.

  Everett and Mitchell grunted at the same time. When she ran a block back, she looked over her shoulder to see the two men running full speed in the other direction, the Labrador replacing her position.

  As she ran past Lauren’s house, Roman was just setting out the sun-tea jug. It was comforting to see Lauren’s customary summer tea on the repainted porch. Uma badly needed comfort; she didn’t care if people were peering at her from behind their blinds.

  She ripped off her sweatband and stopped to talk with Roman; if Madrid wanted to gossip about her after all this time, that was just fine.

  “So how’s it going?” Roman asked, grinning at her.

  “You know how it is. There I was, running between two men. My ex-husband, who is nice, and your brother, who isn’t”.

  “A lot of women like that competition kind of thing. It suits their egos.”

  “Not me.”

  “My brother isn’t here now. He said you wouldn’t come in if he were here, and I know how you felt about Lauren—nice girl. Would you like to see the house? We’ve done quite a bit of restoring. It was a shame her husband trashed it. The house has got a certain—soft feel to it, I guess.”

  She was grateful for Roman’s consideration. “Yes, I would. Thank you.”

  That “soft feel” would be Lauren—waiting. The house had been repainted, carpeted, and cleaned. Barren of furniture, it was achingly lovely in butter-cream walls against the dark wood trim. The stained glass window Lauren loved created softly colored patterns on the cream carpeting. The damaged entryway flooring had been replaced. The kitchen was stark and clean, two bar stools the only furniture. Beyond that was the utility room where laundry was humming and then the door to Lauren’s garden. In the room where Lauren’s things rested, a vase of fresh roses scented the air, a contrast to the masculine scents of soap and shaving lotion.

  “I don’t know what to do with them,” Uma said as Roman came to stand beside her. “It’s all so wrong. I should get her things out of your way.”

  “Take your time. Mitchell put the flowers in there. I did go through the albums and the class yearbooks. Seems like a long time ago, forever, in fact, when we were all young. Hope that was okay.”

  Uma knew that he was battling the past, the same as Mitchell, and probably remembering Shelly. Dani’s fascination for him was no secret. “Be careful, Roman,” Uma advised softly.

  He inhaled and slowly released his breath, watching her. “What do you know about Shelly’s daughter Dani?”

  Uma knew about Dani, and about Grace Warren’s struggle to save her marriage. The Warren men weren’t an easy breed. “I think you need to be very careful with Dani. She’s got your eyes.”

  Roman studied her. “You know, then.”

  “Everything. But tell me anyway.”

  He sighed roughly and ran his hand through his hair. “I haven’t done much with my life, but I’m trying. I sold a car I wasn’t using. Not much money to start working the old garage again, but Mitchell is helping. I’m good with cars and motors, same as the old man when he was on top of it. And with this bum knee, I’m not good for much else.”

  “I think you’ll be marvelous,” she said quietly, aching for him, for all he had gone through. “Did you ever find out who put nails in your tires?”

  “Someone who didn’t like us,” Roman stated. “And I don’t think it was Lyle and his friends. But that knife rip through the back screen door wasn
’t sweet. The town would like to see us leave. We aren’t. Come on in the kitchen. I’m great with toast.”

  “I should be going.” The hallway table was a paper-cluttered improvised desk with a copy of The Smooth Moves List.

  “Okay, but I want your opinion on something. Do you think that book is any good? Or is it just something women like to dream about—” Roman reached for the book on top of colorful garden books, and a stack of papers slid to the floor.

  Uma bent to pick them up and noted the Rogers Building and Supply letterhead with Mitchell’s big, bold signature.

  At a slight noise behind her, she turned to see Mitchell leaning against the doorframe, lifting a water bottle to drink heavily. He was sweaty and thunderous. “Snooping again?” he asked overpolitely.

  She handed the paper to him. “What made you choose now, after all these years, to come back to Madrid?”

  He glanced at the paper, then crushed it into a ball, hurling it at Roman, who grinned and ducked. The wadded paper hit the wall and rolled back onto the floor between Mitchell and Uma. He stared at it as if it were condemning evidence. “I delivered a baby in the back of a cab for my secretary and it changed my life. That’s the whole damn truth of it, as near as I can figure. So you’ll come in the house when I’m not here, huh? And why would that be, I wonder? Could I have possibly said something to upset you, Mrs. Thornton?”

  Before she could think of an answer, Mitchell turned and walked toward the shower, slamming the door behind him.

  Roman was looking up at the ceiling, which was good, because Uma didn’t want him to see the anger bubbling inside her. “So what about this relationship book?” he asked. “Is it worth reading?”

  “It’s very, very good. Your brother could take a few pointers from it. I’ve got to get home. My computer crashed and I’ve got a deadline—ah, a brochure that needs to be finished. I’ve underbid the project as is, but I intend to deliver on time.”

  In the shower, Mitchell braced his hands against the smooth tile. The ties between Uma and Everett ran deep. Everett was a husband-guy; they deserved each other. And here Mitchell was, trying to fit into a neat little threesome. He had ended up flopped in the small city park, too out of breath to move while Everett ran on.

  Lonny had come to sit on the park bench beside him. He handed Mitchell bottled water. Mitchell poured it onto his face, then opened his mouth and let it stream into him.

  The policeman’s laughter roared. When he caught his breath, he wiped away the tears. “Out of shape? That was quite the sight back there, Uma running between her ex-husband who still wants her and you.”

  Mitchell strained to lift an eyelid. “He’s in shape. I’m not. I’ll work on it.”

  “He’s been working on it for years. She’s not buying. She may be one of those women who doesn’t seem to need men. Seems just happy living a quiet life with her father. So what are your intentions? With Uma, I mean.”

  “I’m not talking about Uma,” Mitchell had said tightly and heaved himself to his feet.

  “Well, okay then. You boys are busy as bees over at that house. Makes a person wonder what you’re trying to get out of your system. People are keeping tabs on the delivery trucks parked in your driveway. Now, if there were a Rogers Building and Supply in Madrid, you wouldn’t have to go ordering in supplies. You could do a lot for the town, if you wanted.”

  “I don’t. I’m just trying to live, that’s all.”

  “Sometimes that’s all we can do.” Lonny looked up at Mitchell, his mood changed to serious. “Still haven’t found any news on that shooter. Dufus Boy just figured out that someone pushed the car back into the garage after the shooting. I knew it when I saw the marks on the front bumper and the window open. The bullet went clear through and we can’t find it. That shot was fired outside the garage, or it would have been stuck in the wall—probably by the same person who shot up the windmill with the .45. If anything turns up out there, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”

  “Sure. I suppose I’m still under suspicion.”

  “Only Dufus’s. He did that background check and knows who you are, but he’ll shut up. We had a little chat. If someone else wants to check you out, I can’t stop them.”

  Mitchell nodded, his stare locking with Lonny’s. “You want to play this real quiet, don’t you? You’re keeping the town from panicking, right?”

  Lonny spat that arc into a bed of fuchsia impatiens. “Just let me know if you pick up anything. I’m just praying Dufus Boy doesn’t muck up this investigation. His prints are probably all over the car by now. Hadn’t you better be running along? If you can?”

  “Lay off.” Mitchell knew what panic could do—guns, people shooting too quickly at suspected prowlers, and innocent people hurt.

  To save the shreds of his pride, he forced himself to jog back to the house, where he had found the irritating, fragrant, soft, womanly problem of his sleepless nights. It had been easier to take a shower than to face her.

  But Uma was still waiting for him when he came out of the bathroom. Roman was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed in front of his chest, wrapped in the look that said he wasn’t going to let anything happen to Uma.

  Mitchell knew that Roman had a protective streak when it came to women—but when it came to Uma, Mitchell wasn’t exactly certain what he did feel, other than wanting to dive into her. He didn’t like feeling like a boy, chasing a girl he wasn’t likely to have, and Roman understood too well, moving in to buffer Mitchell’s mood. “She didn’t get her daily fortune cookie. Her computer has crashed and checking the online I-Ching and her horoscrope is the way she starts her work day.”

  “And you’ve embarrassed me in front of the whole town,” Uma said, clearly launching her attack. She crossed her arms in front of her, as Roman had. “What were you thinking?”

  Since he was wearing only his boxer shorts, Mitchell had the advantage. Uma was trying to focus on his face, determined not to be embarrassed. Now, that was sweet, and he almost felt sorry for her—but not quite. “I’m thinking that it’s a real good morning,” he returned pleasantly.

  Always the lady in control, Uma said quite properly, “You’ve done a nice job with the house. I haven’t looked at the garden yet. Nice furniture in the living room.”

  Mitchell glanced at the big screen television and the two huge leather recliners that had been a necessity for Roman and himself. Between them, a rickety metal TV stand served to hold their dinners, beer, and popcorn. “Thanks. Are we done here? This little conference?”

  The banging on the front door and Uma’s father’s bellows said the morning was just revving up. “You Warrens. Come out. I know you’re in there.”

  “This wonderful, peaceful morning isn’t over yet,” Mitchell said quietly as Uma walked quickly to the door. Beyond her was Clarence Lawrence in his undershorts, his hair standing out in peaks and his expression furious.

  “Dad! What’s wrong?”

  “Someone just shot out every one of our windows. BBs all over the floor. These hooligans—” He motioned to the brothers as they came out onto the porch. He thrust out his hand, BBs rolling in the palm. “Here’s the evidence. They need to be arrested, and—”

  “It was probably little Nicky, Dad. I’ll talk with his father.”

  “It’s them. Those Warrens. They used to go around shooting up old buildings with the BB guns, and Fred didn’t make them stop. Now they’re men and they haven’t changed their habits. They have to pay for the windows. Don’t you dare defend those rapscallions. You know what they did when they were boys, and now it’s worse.”

  Mitchell pressed a warning shoulder into Roman, who had just moved forward at the accusation. “We didn’t break your windows, and we’re a little old for BBs.”

  “See there? They even admit what they used,” Clarence snapped to Uma. “I forbid you to come here.”

  Uma straightened and smiled pleasantly, but those gray eyes were as dark as smoke and packed a sizzle; the tem
per was there, the independence. “We’ll talk about this later, Dad. Let’s go home.”

  When Mitchell returned to the kitchen, Roman tossed him a bottle of water. Mitchell mulled clashing with Uma when all he wanted was to lay her down and—

  The stack of decorating magazines mocked him. He had no idea how to make the house look like a home. He had no idea about handling Uma, which he wanted to do in a very up-close and personal way. One more disenchanting fact about his life popped in front of him—he wasn’t good at developing relationships of the friendly and persuasive kind, and that’s what it would take to treat Uma right. It was very important that Uma be treated well, that he give her everything she would want.

  The word “intimacy” taunted him and he scowled at the bottle of water.

  “Old Man Lawrence needs to get laid,” Roman remarked coolly. “Maybe you, too. Take it easy on Uma. She’s just like everyone else, trying to make a life for herself. Her kind has things all planned out for them, the Life Plan, and hers didn’t work out. Now she’s trying to make the best of it. She’s the kind of woman who should have a houseful of kids by now, seeing them off to school in the fall—and you don’t like that picture, do you? All those little rules and a woman calling the shots? I know I don’t.”

  “Lay off.”

  Roman swigged his bottled water and said quietly, “Dad used to do that, you know—close up, get sour, go hide. I remembered when you tromped off to the bathroom. He and Mom would argue and he’d go hide out somewhere while she cried. I hated the sound of that.”

  “Let’s skip the good old days, okay?” Mitchell said. He didn’t like comparing himself to Fred, but that’s exactly how he had acted. He’d handled tough board meetings, but handling Uma set him on edge. He enjoyed nudging her control too much, picking at it to see the woman she concealed—a fascinating woman.

  “Sure.”

  When the phone rang, he answered, and Uma’s cultured voice cruised over the lines. “My father extends his apologies. Please come to dinner tonight. Roman, too.”