Dirty

by Gina Watson

  “It was around two forty-five.”

  “And when did you begin to search for her?”

  “Around five-thirty her secretary came into the shop and asked if we’d seen her. Immediately I knew something must have gone wrong. You see, she’d asked me to accompany her to the showing.”

  “She didn’t mention that.”

  “Well she did. She’d shown him a house before and said she felt uncomfortable around this guy. I just feel terrible for not going with her. I should have.”

  Sergeant Lewis placed her hand on his shoulder. “She’s going to be fine.”

  “Is she?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll let her tell you the details.”

  He told Sergeant Lewis how he found the home and about the pieces of dress and shoes. She took them from him as evidence, and then he was escorted to her exam room where he found her dressed in a hospital gown and socks, and sitting in a wheelchair.

  She smiled at him. “I bet this isn’t how you wanted to spend your evening.”

  “It’s okay, I like hospitals.” Frowning at his own comment, he then tried to offer a smile, but couldn’t. As he took in her bruised face he was heartbroken.

  “I’m sorry to have kept you out all night. You can call one of my brothers to come get me. They should be home by now.”

  “Please, I’d like to look after you.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I do. I need to.”

  Nurse Peterson escorted them out to his waiting truck. Courtney climbed in, and then they were given a prescription. While the nurse spoke with him, he heard Courtney returning calls to Perla and Clara who’d both called several times for an update.

  He piled in quietly beside her. “Where do you get your prescriptions filled?”

  “At Duke’s.”

  Liver shook, making known his presence in the backseat.

  “Oh, it’s your dog.”

  “Yes.” He drove quietly. Eventually he heard the little whimpers that she tried to hide. He pulled off the road and slid across the seat, pulling her into his arms. “I’m sorry Courtney. Can you ever forgive me?”

  She swiped at her cheeks. “For what?”

  “For not escorting you when you asked.”

  “You were at work Sawyer. Anyway, you came after me. I’m alive because of you.”

  “I should have gone with you.”

  “Please, let’s just forget it.” Her tight set mouth belied her unwavering state of mind.

  “Do you want me to get your prescription filled?”

  “No. I don’t need it.”

  “I’ll take you home then. Where to?”

  She nodded and closed her eyes tightly. Tears began to flow. He rocked her gently. “Tell me what I can do for you.”

  “I don’t want to go home.” She rubbed her nose against his chest.

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “Can we go to your place?” Her bright blue eyes sparkled at him.

  “We can. It’s not very fancy.”

  “I’m not feeling so fancy right now.”

  He moved over to the driver’s seat and pulled her with him. With her head on his shoulder he drove. She burrowed deeper into his side, so he placed his arm around her, securing her to him.

  “I’ve got frozen pizza and popsicles. If you’d like something else we should stop.”

  “Frozen pizza and popsicles sound heavenly.”

  He giggled. “Okay. But you had your chance.”

  “I only take chances when I have to.”

  ***

  They walked through a waist high iron fence. Liver took off running. Sawyer’s home was lovely. Sure it was small and old, but it had been updated quite nicely.

  “Let me turn on the lights.”

  He left her side, and in a few moments the home was awash in light from a single lantern that was hung from the porch ceiling. The small porch greeted Courtney cheerfully. Between two tall narrow windows sat an iron bench that she could imagine him sitting on and reading the newspaper because he definitely seemed like the newspaper reading type. A dog’s nose appeared in one of the windows, and then his whine could be heard. She laughed at the pathetic sound.

  “That’s just Liver, he’s got his own special door.”

  Neglected planters were overrun with weeds, but still provided some green to the canvas. “Your home is inviting and pleasant.”

  “Thanks.” He carried her purse and hospital bag, which hindered his ability to do anything quickly. She knew her purse was large, but the sight of him placing it on his shoulder made her giggle because it looked absolutely ridiculous.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You with my purse.”

  “Oh.” He smiled. “I do love Calvin Klein armor.”

  “It’s Michael Kors.”

  “I think it weighs ten pounds.” He patted the bag. When he finally managed to open the door he gestured her through. “Make yourself at home. I’ll start on the pizza.”

  Liver attacked his owner, spinning in circles and standing with his front paws on Sawyer’s chest as if he hadn’t seen him in days. He had a friendly face and excitable countenance as he ran away and came back with a yellow ball. “I can’t do the ball right now buddy.”

  Liver sat on his heels and whined. “No. Go outside.” Liver eyed Courtney with suspicion as he slowly walked to the back door. A beep was heard and then he walked through the doggie door portion of the door.

  Rich hardwood flooring that wasn’t quite finished made the rooms warm. The living room was separated from the kitchen by a small fireplace that stood in the center of the home. The chimney was red brick with white mortar and extended all the way to the ceiling. The firebox was open to both rooms. The effect was magnificent and she could imagine the coziness of the space with a small fire in the wintertime. The kitchen was small, but had been updated somewhat. Large holes existed where a dishwasher would go, along with an oven.

  “Did you do all the work yourself?”

  “I did. Obviously I haven’t yet finished.” He used a counter top toaster oven to heat a personal sized pizza. “Most of the materials were left over from various construction jobs I’ve had. Unfortunately no appliances have made their way out to the dumpster area.” He frowned.

  “I’ve seen hundreds of houses and I think your work is original and quite fine.”

  “Thank you.”

  In front of a window near the kitchen was a console table. On the table was a yellow dollhouse. If she wasn’t mistaken the home was made to look like the very one she stood in. “I especially like your dollhouse.”

  “That belongs to my sister.”

  “Is it a replica of this house?”

  “It is.”

  “Did you build it?” She adjusted a forest green window shutter.

  “I designed and cut the boards for it, but Riley painted and pieced them together.”

  Courtney pulled the house apart to reveal the inside where darling little pieces of antique furniture were spread around. “When I was a little girl I had a Strawberry Shortcake dollhouse. It smelled like strawberries. There was a skylight in the shape of a big strawberry that lit up the inside. I must have spent hundreds of hours in front of that little house. If I’d had this one I would have never slept. This”—she pointed to the house atop the table—“is magnificent.”

  “Would you like a soda?”

  “I’ll take a Coke if you’ve got it.”

  Courtney arranged the round rug in the living room of the tabletop house, and then she situated the seating around the fireplace. “That’s better.”

  Behind her she heard the scrape of a chair being pulled across the floor. Sawyer brought two chairs up behind her and sat in one. She took the other and her soda. “Thank you.”

  The worry lines on his forehead seemed deeper than she’d remembered. “Are you sure you don’t need that medicine? I could run out and get it for you.”

  “No, but
thank you. And thanks for coming after me. I don’t know . . . I’d started to get panicked when I passed out in the woods. If you hadn’t come”—she sighed heavily and he placed his arm around her.

  “I should have gone with you.” Pain laced his dark gaze as it burrowed into hers.

  “Stop saying that.”

  His eyes took in her hospital gown and messy hair. “Would you like to take a shower or a bath?”

  “That’d be nice. After dinner?”

  “Such as it is.”

  “I told you I like pizza and popsicles.”

  “He hit you?” His eyes narrowed with his frown.

  “No.” Her hand covered the bruise. “I uh . . . I was trying to get away from him, but I was against the wall.”

  Sawyer abruptly went into the kitchen. The little house had a button near the door and she pressed it. To her delight it pinged. He returned and gently pressed a cool towel to the bruise on her face. It felt good, immediately relieving her headache. His eyes still held worry.

  “Sawyer, I got away. I guess maybe you didn’t know that, but I did.”

  “You mean he didn’t . . .”

  “No, he didn’t. I got away.”

  His sigh held relief. “I was so worried I thought . . . I’m glad you got away. I told Sergeant Lewis about the pieces of dress I found. She took them for analysis. How much do you know about Eric Houseman?”

  “I don’t know much. Samantha may know more.”

  “The other realtor?”

  “Yeah, she’d shown him some houses when he first started looking.” She adjusted the cool towel against her face, realizing there were pebble shaped little ice cubes in it.

  “How did you get involved?”

  “Sam’s son got sick when she’d had a showing scheduled so I took it.” The towel unfolded and ice fell to the floor.

  “You said you were uncomfortable. Did something happen before?” He took the towel and folded it neatly into a square, righting the mess she’d made.

  “When I was showing him the custom closet he came in close behind me and I think he was smelling me. That was weird by itself, but then his hands enclosed around my upper arms and I started to freak, but his phone rang, and then we abruptly left.” She shrugged. “I just thought he was a weird guy. He must have thought I would welcome his advances. I look like that kind of a girl I guess.”

  He pressed the towel to her face and grimaced. “A—you don’t look like a woman who deserves to be treated roughly. B—no woman does.”

  The buzzer went off alerting them to the status of the pizza. He left her to see to their dinner. She heard a can opener and then Sawyer whistled. In a few moments Liver entered through his personal entrance and swiftly trotted to the kitchen. “Dinner, old boy.”

  When Sawyer returned from the kitchen he had a placemat and a pizza, along with a little salad he’d made of tomatoes and lettuce. “Pizza a la Sawyer. Don’t get too excited.”

  “I love pizza a la Sawyer!”

  “The only explanation is that you’ve developed Florence Nightingale syndrome.”

  “Is that the only explanation?” Courtney hummed.

  “For a girl who makes a lunch of expensive wine and cheeses . . . yes. It’s the only explanation.”

  She frowned. His words stung. Evidently he thought she was the high maintenance type—demanding and tedious. It really wasn’t fair. He didn’t know her. Her father raised them all to dig in and get dirty, and to know what hard labor was by experiencing it. They’d built decks, coops, repaired fences, and helped erect stables. Family affairs her father called them. They may have had help, but Britton David’s children also had chores. Hers included cleaning out the stables, watering and feeding the chickens, and brushing the horses. She’d start on the work as soon as she got off the school bus.

  “You’re not eating.” He pointed at the pizza.

  She lifted the pepperoni pizza to her mouth and took a large bite. At that moment she realized how hungry she was. “Mmm, it’s good.” He passed her the soda she’d been nursing earlier. “Where’s yours?”

  “They heat faster if you cook them one at a time.”

  She wiped her mouth with the napkin he’d laid out with the placemat. “I would have waited.”

  He shook his head. “You need to eat.”

  She forked some salad and brought it to her mouth. He’d dressed it with lemon and olive oil—her favorite. She smiled at the familiarity.

  “What?”

  “This is how I dress my salad . . . lemon and olive oil.”

  “Clara taught me that trick. She also gave me the fancy bottle of olive oil on my counter. It’s the only reason there is anything green in the house.”

  “Not fond of salads?”

  He smoothed an eyebrow with his finger. “I am. I’m just not a very good cook.”

  “Oh, you seem to do all right.” She took a sip of soda.

  She’d eaten half her pizza by the time Sawyer retrieved his—sans salad—and they finished their dinner, enjoying casual banter as they did so.

  After dinner he asked, “Do you prefer a shower or a bath?”

  She looked at him quizzically.

  He grinned. “I only ask because there are two bathrooms. One with a bath, the other with a shower.”

  “I could go for a hot shower.”

  “Follow me.”

  She complied, and Liver also followed.

  He led her through a narrow hallway and into what she assumed to be his room as jeans and boxers were strewn in a chair in the corner and on the floor. He immediately began picking up the dirty items that littered the carpet. “I uh . . . wasn’t expecting a beautiful blonde or I would’ve picked up.”

  “Beautiful blonde?”

  “You mean you didn’t know?” He seemed embarrassed. It was hard to tell with his skin so bronze, but she thought maybe his color had risen as well.

  “I didn’t know you thought so.”

  “Of course I do. Have to be blind not to.”

  He led her to a bathroom, and then leaned in to turn on the shower. She sat on the toilet lid while the water warmed. As if he knew she needed a friend, Liver rested his head on her legs. She delicately patted him.

  “You’ll need shampoo.”

  “I’ll just use yours.”

  “I use body wash for everything.” He swept his index finger from his head to his toes and her eyes followed.

  Everything. She’d like to wash his everything. His tan biceps bulged in his threadbare T-shirt and she swallowed thickly as his brown eyes bore into hers, echoing her sentiments.

  He moved abruptly toward the door. “Won’t you just stay while I shower? I won’t take long I promise. I don’t want to be alone.”

  “I was going to grab some shampoo for you.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes filled with tears that she couldn’t blink away.

  “Hey.” He grasped his fingers around hers. “Just gotta run to the other bathroom to get it.”

  “I don’t need any.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ve got conditioner and a comb—the works. Would you like to follow me?” He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes, where concern was still etched.

  She shook her head and smiled at his attentiveness. He nodded toward the shower, “It’s ready.” And then he was gone and she felt so alone.

  The steam filled the bathroom and she was only too happy to rid herself of the hospital gown. Liver closely watched the stranger in his home. Naked, she walked toward the shower, noticing for the first time that it was an enclosed shower with a glass door. He’d see her nudity, but the hot steam beckoned and she was pulled toward it.

  Standing under the raining water caused her muscles to loosen and she sighed away the anxiety of the past seven hours as she thanked God for a hard-working man named Sawyer.

  ***

  “I also found tropical scented body wash if you’d rather smell like pineapple than Old Spice, but it’s”—his words and all thoughts arrested w
hen he saw her silhouette through the glass. He and his dog had their heads were focused on the steamed glass shower. Through the condensation he could make out her feminine curves, and then she opened the door, lifting her hand for the products. Her breasts pressed lightly against the glass, wiping away the accumulated steam and affording him a clear view of her beautiful flesh.

  “Um . . .” he pointed as he passed her the bottles. “I can see your uh . . .”

  “Shy?” She reached for the shampoo. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. In fact you must get a lot of action if you keep these products on hand.” She giggled.

  “They’re my sisters'.”

  He couldn’t stop staring. She was mesmerizing. When she turned her body he saw her other feminine assets through the little window she’d made.

  Stop staring, Sawyer!

  She’d need clothes, but given the curves he’d seen and the fact that he didn’t think Jess had yet to develop any, he decided on a pair of his athletic shorts and a T-shirt.

  When she padded out of the bathroom in a towel, her skin silky and pink, his throat went dry. Clearing it he said, “I pulled out these clothes for you.” He gestured to the bed where he’d laid them out.

  “Thank you.” She slid the shorts on under the towel and then, with her back to him, she dropped the towel to don the shirt.

  Watching her muscles work as she raised her arms, he saw the bruising on her upper arm and across her ribs. “Hey,” not thinking he walked toward her and placed his palm delicately on her ribs. When she turned toward him his vision was graced with fleshy breasts and delicate pink nipples. “You’re hurt.”

  “The doctor said it was just a bruise.”

  He frowned. “Just a bruise.” She held her arms in the air, shirt overhead. He gripped the hem and pulled it slowly down, kissing the bruise on her ribs before letting the soft cotton whisper over her skin. He took the comb, and then pulled her to sit on the bed where he started in on the process of raking the plastic teeth through her curls.

  She let him care for her, and he was glad because he felt like he needed her redemption. She’d asked for something so simple, but his mind couldn’t process anything but the need for work and cash so he’d let her down and left her alone. The comb settled on a knot in her hair and he gently pulled through it. No . . . she wasn’t his responsibility but he didn’t have to be inhumane. Truth told he’d pushed her away because he’d been attracted to her all along. There was no way he could act on his attraction, and what he sensed was also an attraction for her.