by Ava Gray
Sixteen miles, plus his normal workday—Neva did not know what to make of him. “True enough. Well, I think these three are settled. With any luck, they’ll keep until we get them to your place.”
God, she was going to love sleeping in an actual bed again. Assuming he had a spare room. Even the old farmhouses had at least two bedrooms, one for husband and wife, the other for young’uns. But even a couch would be better than the cot in her office. She was tired of spending all her time at the clinic . . . and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t inappropriately interested in getting to know him outside work. With an eye toward becoming friends, of course. As his boss, she couldn’t see him any other way.
“Not fancy.”
For a hideous, guilt-inducing moment, she thought he was warning her off, telling her he wasn’t a fancy man, and wouldn’t put out. Heat suffused her cheeks. She was already framing a mortified apology when he added, “The farm. Needs work. But it’s cozy.”
Oh. Thank God.
“If you could see my apartment, I’m sure you’d think yourself lucky by comparison. I bet you don’t have a foot of water on your floor and a hole in your ceiling. And I remember where you live, the area anyway, and that means your neighbors are squirrels, raccoons, and woodchucks. Mine are drunken Albanians who scream at each other all day and then bang the walls making up all night.”
Okay, so she was exaggerating. Somewhat. But it was so worth it when some of the worry faded from his face, replaced by soft amusement. Could it be . . . yes. Zeke was actually smiling.
“Maybe get some earplugs?”
“I use my earbuds.” At his blank look, she explained, “Headphones for my iPod. They go in your ears, not over them.”
“Uh-huh.”
It seemed weird he hadn’t heard of earbuds, but who was she to judge? Maybe he didn’t follow tech trends. She’d find out more about him when she saw the inside of his house. A forbidden, secret thrill surged through her, as if she’d been invited to some exclusive party. This was better, actually, because she liked Zeke, and she didn’t like the ones who would attend such a gala.
She tucked a kitten into her shirt and Zeke did likewise. They’d deliver the other one to Julie to provide the daily required dosage of snuggle time.
“Well, I have patients.” Neva thought she might live through the day after all. “See you at six.”
CHAPTER 7
Zeke watched her—and tried to seem as if he wasn’t. If he hadn’t managed to get the power back on and clean the place, he never would’ve invited her out here. He felt strange and anxious, but he didn’t regret it. Having Neva here pushed back the loneliness and the feeling of hovering an inch away from some new disaster.
He couldn’t tell what she thought. The walls needed a fresh coat of paint. In the kitchen, the floor was cracked and worn. No new furniture had been bought in years, so it was all faded, stuff his mother had chosen more than twenty years before. The house was pretty small for the plot of land—one bedroom downstairs and two upstairs, along with kitchen, parlor, and a mudroom out back for the laundry.
First thing, they took care of the kittens, who were mewing plaintively again. Afterward, she asked, “Where’s my room?”
“Upstairs.” He led the way, ignoring the empty room downstairs.
Nobody had slept in there since his dad died. Nobody would. That space needed more than a simple cleaning; it might take a young priest and an old priest to get rid of the badness. Kitten box in hand, he nodded at the second door.
“Here, I take it?”
He watched her step inside. It was a plain room with a mattress and box springs on a steel frame, no headboard. The only other piece of furniture was a battered dresser with four drawers. There was a closet, too, but it was empty.
“Gonna start supper,” he muttered, uneasy with how much he liked seeing her in his home.
“I’ll bring the kids to the kitchen. It should be warmer anyway.” She hesitated before asking, “Would it be all right if I left them with you? I need to go home and pack some things . . . I only have work clothes with me. Do you have a washer and dryer?”
“Yeah.” It was the answer to both her questions.
Warmth dawned. She trusted him. Not just with the kittens, but with herself, too. They were going to be alone out here, and it was pretty isolated. He’d make sure he deserved that faith. Somehow he’d keep a lid on his crazy night-prowling, and do whatever it took not to scare her.
Zeke tucked the box in the corner near the fridge. Warm there, but not too much so. He’d planned to make his own favorite dinner to honor the feat of getting things back to normal. Lights on at night, a working radio. It might seem like a small thing to anyone else, but having music to drown out the noises he shouldn’t be able to hear helped a lot. The radio was old, a clunky black thing his dad had bought at Sears in the seventies. But it still worked.
He found a country station and then he went to work on the meal—meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Over the years, he’d become a good cook. If he didn’t want to go hungry, he fixed his own food; it was just that simple. Sid was the only person who’d ever done for him, but she had her own kids. Two of them had moved out of state, just as soon as they could, which meant she now had more time to fuss over him. Only his cousin Amber still lived in Harper Creek, and she showed no signs of wanting to settle down.
The potatoes were cut up and boiling, and he had just slid the meatloaf into the oven when Neva got back. Tension he hadn’t even been aware of eased out of him. Deep down he’d thought maybe she’d taken a look at the place and decided to dump the kittens off on him. His heart had been pretty sure she wouldn’t do that, but the rest of him had been kicked enough not to trust so easily.
“Something smells good.” She had changed out of her scrubs into a pair of faded jeans and an Auburn sweatshirt; Zeke recognized the colors and the school logo, and he remembered she’d gone to school there.
“Thanks. Will be done in about an hour.”
He wasn’t surprised when Neva checked on the kittens. She scooped them out of the box and tucked all three of them into her sweatshirt. Then she started squirming while they tried to get comfortable. Her grin lightened her whole face, and he found it hard not to watch her. Zeke admired everything about her. She’d committed to looking after them, and she didn’t take it lightly. He didn’t know what to make of her. She came from money; she didn’t have to live like she did or drive that old car. Julie had said she was sad, and he could see hints of it in her eyes. It made him wonder what he’d have to do to make her laugh.
“Anything I can do to help?”
In answer, he gave her the spatula and nodded at the beans. “Don’t let ’em scorch.”
He made them with onion and bacon, just like his aunt. This meal wasn’t healthy, but he’d wanted it—to feel like he was home—for longer than he cared to recall. The food in the cell . . . no, he wasn’t thinking about that. Horror rose up in him. The longer he was free, the more he worried he might be crazy—that he’d invented the whole thing. How else could he explain the changes, though? And he had some scars they’d left behind as proof, nothing he’d gotten on his own working at the mill and on the farm.
No, it had been real. He’d never made up stories or seen things that weren’t there. Even his mother’s crazy hadn’t gone that route. Over the years she just got quieter and sadder until there was nothing left.
“Julie’s mom has a kitchen like this.” Neva gazed around at the scarred cabinets as if what she saw appealed to her. “It has character. Lots of living.”
He guessed that was true. And somehow, having her here balanced out the bad history. Instead of neglect and darkness, the room lit with welcoming light. It didn’t all come from the fixture overhead, either.
Silently he set the grey and white Formica table for two. It had banded metal around the edges, stylish in the forties. For Zeke, it had always been enough that it was sturdy. Things didn’t need to be pre
tty; they just needed to work. So it was rare for him to find such fascination in a woman who offered both.
“Got Coke, milk, or juice,” he said.
“Juice, please. I left my bag in the hall so you didn’t end up making dinner by yourself, after everything else. If it’s all right, I’ll take it up now.”
Why was she asking him? He stared at her in confusion until he realized she was being polite. He owned the house. She was unsure of her place. He fought down the urge to tell her she could do whatever she wanted—to his house and him. For an awful moment, he turned into that untried sixteen-year-old boy again, watching her glide across the emerald lawn he’d just trimmed while his heart went wild in his chest and his hands clenched on the silent mower.
She had been wearing a yellow sundress, he remembered, in some fancy fabric with little holes that showed glimpses of her tan skin. The breeze blew the skirt against her thighs, and he’d had to look away. That summer, he’d thought she was the closest thing to heaven on earth. He’d gone home that night and lay in bed daydreaming about a day where she noticed him working and led him off into the flower garden. He’d spent himself more than once, imagining what she felt and tasted like, imagining the clasp of her legs and the hot welcome of her body.
Neva wasn’t the same girl anymore, and he wasn’t that boy. But he still wanted her with the same awful, hopeless ache. And now she was standing in his kitchen, a little lost and forlorn. That look stirred all kinds of needs, tangled up so he couldn’t separate them.
“No problem,” he got out.
He reduced the heat on the beans. They’d come from a can so they wouldn’t take as long to cook down. It was about time to mash the potatoes; he did it by hand, adding milk and butter and garlic powder. By the time she got back, they were only waiting on the meatloaf, and it should be done soon. His stomach rumbled. It felt like forever since he’d eaten.
“The quilt in my room looks like an antique,” Neva said from the doorway.
Once again, her voice soothed him. Even if she’d created knots of unwelcome desire in him, she also made them go. Some of the raw edges smoothed away.
“My grandma made it.”
“It’s beautiful.”
She meant it. Since coming home, he’d discovered sincerity had a scent. He could smell when people were lying to him. Like Skip Felton at the drugstore. Zeke had known he was going to crumple his application as soon as he walked out the door. We don’t want any crazy Nobles working here, his eyes said.
But Neva didn’t do that. She was often sad or angry or exhausted, or some combination of the three. But she wore those feelings openly. It made her an honest island in a sea of liars.
They ate in silence, listening to the radio. She looked absolutely worn out, so once they finished, he said, “Get some sleep.”
“You’ll wake me when it’s my turn to look after them?”
Zeke made some noncommittal noise, but when the time came, he didn’t. She needed somebody to take care of her for a little while. Maybe he’d never have what he wanted of her, but he could have this much. He’d make do.
When Neva got up in the morning, she felt amazingly good. And then she realized she hadn’t lifted a finger all night. He’d said he would get her up but clearly that hadn’t happened. Oh, crap. If they’d both slept through the night, the kittens could be in bad shape. Without getting dressed, she bolted from her room. She’d left them in the kitchen—
“Don’t worry,” he said. “They’re fine.”
“You did it all.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, Zeke, you shouldn’t have. I committed to these babies, not you.”
“Reckon they’re as much mine as yours, now.”
Well, that was true. Some of the fear dialed back. She had the irrational surety that if she could save these three kittens, then Luke would be all right, too, somehow. It was illogical, sympathetic magic, the kind people practiced as kids. Step on a crack, break your mother’s back. Most days, Neva was very careful not to step on any cracks because she loved her mom. Other days, if Lillian had been hard on her, she would stomp them. It never made any difference but it gave the illusion of having some power to change circumstances. She couldn’t overlook the value of that.
Everyone else believed Luke was dead.
The sheriff was still investigating, of course. But the trail had gone cold, and they all thought the best possible resolution would be to discover his body, so their family received closure. There were no leads. Just an empty car on the highway.
“When did they eat last?”
“An hour ago. Breakfast’s on the table.”
“Good Lord,” she said. “I didn’t agree to this so you could wait on me. You’re doing too much.”
“Can’t cook pancakes for one,” he said.
It was impossible to argue with him. He just didn’t offer enough words in a single go to give her complaints traction. Further, after his kindness, it just seemed churlish to protest. Plus, she was hungry.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
“Woulda been a long weekend,” he agreed.
Holy crap, he was right. Today was Saturday. He’d saved her from spending a whole weekend alone in the clinic with the kittens. She really had to thank him properly.
All men appreciate sex, Julie’s voice suggested. It was a testament to Neva’s inner workings that her mischievous side always sounded like her best friend. When they were kids, it had always been Julie suggesting stuff that got them in trouble. Neva would follow along more reluctantly, conscious of what people would think because she was a Harper, and she ought to be better than this. The only thing she’d ever done, against her family’s wishes, was go to vet school. She didn’t regret the decision, despite all the complications.
Breakfast was oddly comfortable. She thanked him for the meal and then showered. It was rare that she found herself not besieged with work calls, even on a Saturday. Her cell phone served as her emergency number; people rang up if their pets suffered any life-threatening injuries or illnesses. Neva hoped they didn’t today, though this time of year was notorious for trouble. If it wasn’t a hunting accident, then somebody’s dog ate something he shouldn’t at a holiday party, and then wound up in her office. To say nothing of cats chewing on Christmas lights.
But a good night’s sleep had gone a long way toward restoring her energies. She appreciated Zeke’s kindness more than she could say, but he wasn’t in the kitchen when she came downstairs. Banging drew her toward the porch; Neva grabbed her jacket from the hall closet before going outside. She’d noticed one of the steps was broken coming in last night; he’d guided her over it. Now, she watched as he repaired it. His hands were quick and deft. Maybe it wasn’t enlightened but she’d seen men doing such things so rarely that she liked it. There was just something about a guy who knew how to swing a hammer.
She admired the bunch and pull of his muscles with each movement. Despite the chill, he wore only a thin white T-shirt, which seemed strange. But he didn’t appear to notice the cold. No goose bumps. When he bent to place the last nail, his jeans slid down, revealing the taut slope of his lower back; they were loose in a way that spoke of recent weight loss. His skin was smooth and beautiful. He hitched them up in an absent movement, but not before she saw the gorgeous curve of his hipbone.
Oh, God, he didn’t have anything on beneath his jeans. How she wished she didn’t know that . . . because it invited all manner of unsuitable thoughts. I’m his boss, she told herself. This is inappropriate. He’s helping you out, and you respond by ogling him? Nice, Neva. Really nice.
Plus, he could look to younger women for his hook ups. She was thirty-one, and men always seemed to want the nubile coed, no matter how old they were. Four years wasn’t a huge age difference, but that, coupled with her role as his boss, rendered her interest ten kinds of wrong. A lawsuit would destroy her practice, so she had to keep things respectable, even under these odd circumstances.
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“Anything I can do to help?”
He shook his head. While she looked on, he finished securing the new step in place and checked how secure it was by putting his weight on it. “Don’t mind me. Just have work I need to be doing.”
It rankled that he wanted her to sit around like a hothouse flower. If she was going to accept room and board from him, he ought to let her help. What was she supposed to do all day, between kitten feedings? She suspected he wouldn’t budge on this particular argument, however.
Remodeling an old house would be fun for her, not that she expected him to believe it, especially with her background. She had quiet dreams for when the practice was stable and she’d fought clear of the bad luck. One day, she’d buy a place like this and restore it by hand. She had a bunch of DIY books at the apartment; Neva never called her landlady when something minor needed fixing. That self-sufficiency didn’t extend to holes in the ceiling or broken glass, unfortunately, but she’d unplugged the drains more than once.
“Me, too,” she said firmly. “I just need you to tell me what it is.” He glanced up then, wearing a doubtful look. She didn’t let that deter her. “It looks to me like you should replace that support column or the porch is coming down, sooner rather than later. Do you have the wood?”
“Yeah. But that’s a two-person job.”
“Well, I’m here.”
To her surprise, he nodded without further protest and went toward the garage. When he returned, he carried the raw column, already cut in proper shape. How he’d expected to do it on his own, though, she had no idea. But maybe he’d intended to call a friend over today. She didn’t know that much about him, after all.
“Need you to hold this while I get the other one.”
She knew what he needed her to do. But she hadn’t been expecting for him to flip a bucket, step up on it, and pull the weak column loose with his bare hands. He caught the sagging roof with one hand and motioned for the replacement. Thanks to her secret interest in repair work, Neva handed him the proper tools without being asked, and pretty soon, he had the new one affixed in place.