“Yes, please,” she said. She reached into one of the grocery bags and started removing items. “I can help get the stuff put away, and we can talk a little more. It’ll be fun.”
She heard a few seconds of Jessie J’s “Price Tag.” He reached into his pocket, grabbed his cell phone, and frowned at the screen.
“I’m really sorry, but I need to take this. It’s my agent.” He hit the speaker function. “Hey, Bruce.”
“Kyle. It’s a relief to hear you’re okay. What’s going on there?”
“Excuse me?”
“You might want to call your family. They’ve hired a private investigator to find you. They claim they haven’t heard from you for three weeks. Is there something wrong? How can I help? I know some guys have trouble during the off-season . . . ”
“I’m fine. Everything is great.” Kyle blew out a breath. He hadn’t called home in two weeks, but he’d responded to texts from his parents during that time. “Would you please call them back and tell them I will be in contact soon?”
“I’m not sure they’re going to accept that from me, man. They think that something’s wrong, and they need to see you to verify that you are safe.”
Sophie watched the color spread up Kyle’s neck and into his face. “I can see I’m going to have to explain. To make a long story short, my family and friends are bleeding me dry financially. I’ve had enough.”
“You’re not the first client I’ve heard that from,” Bruce said.
“I realize that,” Kyle said. His voice was dry as dust. “I would prefer to have no contact with them for a few more weeks while I finish the arrangements I’ve made to protect myself.” Kyle shook his head at the phone. “I understand you probably don’t want to be involved here, but I would appreciate your help.”
“Today’s kinda rugged for me. Could you send them a text?”
Sophie saw Kyle close his eyes and pantomime banging his forehead on the kitchen island.
“Why don’t you give me the number of the private investigator who called you, and I’ll call him or her instead?”
“Sure.”
Sophie gathered up the items that needed refrigeration and crossed the kitchen while Kyle told his agent he’d talk to him later and hung up. She pulled the package of prime rib out to rest on the counter before getting it ready to go into the oven. She turned to Kyle, clasping her hands in front of her.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Don’t apologize. I’m sorry this is happening to you.”
He let out a long breath. “I know it’s rude, but I have to call this guy—”
“Do you mind if I get things ready to go into the oven while you’re on the phone?”
“Of course not. Make yourself at home,” he said.
KYLE STEPPED INTO the alcove off the living room the interior decorator had made into a small office for him. He was embarrassed that Sophie had witnessed his conversation with his agent. He shouldn’t have answered the phone while she was there in the first place; it was rude, but even more, he didn’t want her to know about his problems. She had enough of her own right now.
His hands shook as he stabbed the numbers on his business cell with one finger to dial the private investigator. He stared out the window overlooking evergreen trees and blue skies to calm himself as he listened to the rings.
He’d always thought guys who let their families and friends spend every cent they made were spineless. He never thought it would happen to him. He wanted to spend the evening reminiscing and laughing with Sophie. Instead, he was dealing with yet another problem with his family.
He wished he had the supportive, loving families most of his teammates had. Mostly, his family (specifically, his parents) let him know early and often that he owed them, and he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like they were at all of his games. Well, until he became famous, and then nothing could keep them away. He’d done his best to be generous to them even if they were uninterested in his challenges and struggles. He paid off his parents’ mortgage when he was drafted into the league, made sure he paid for their late-model cars and a nice vacation each year, gave out more “loans” (which were never repaid) than he could count, and picked up the tab for everyone’s cell phones. They weren’t grateful for any of it. When his playing days were over, they sure weren’t going to help him out financially. He needed to get out with enough money to get started on a post-football career, and he’d like to get married at some point and have a family of his own.
He couldn’t figure out why he was still giving them money. Once upon a time, he’d thought they’d at least thank him for his generosity. They didn’t bother, and the money he offered them was never enough.
He wondered what Sophie would say if he told her the truth about his family. He’d kept his problems with them concealed for a long time now; he didn’t want anyone else to know how bad it was or how much it hurt. He remembered that her family was close and loving when he’d met them previously. She said she’d contacted them to let them know she was fine, but they had to be in hell right now with worry about her.
Maybe there was a way to reassure them without tipping Peter the Psycho off to where she really was. He’d do his best to protect her while he was in Noel too. In the meantime, he needed to tell the private investigator to buzz off. He heard the click as the guy answered his phone.
“Rick Thomason.”
“Hello, this is Kyle Carlson. I’m fine. Your services are no longer needed.”
Kyle dropped into the leather desk chair. The decorator had hung his framed college jersey on the opposite wall surrounded by a grouping of photographs of his on-field exploits. She cost a lot, but she’d made a home instead of a place to sleep and do his laundry. She’d done the same at the condo in Bellevue.
“Your family is convinced you are being held against your will. I’ll need to see proof that you are not being coerced in any way, Mr. Carlson, or I’ll contact the local authorities in—Newcastle, isn’t it? I do have information that you’ve sold that home in the past two weeks. Where are you living now?”
“Are you with law enforcement, Mr. Thomason?”
“No, but I’m on very good terms with the local police departments in Newcastle and in Bellevue. Would you like me to call them?”
“Absolutely. Maybe you could tell them that you’re harassing me, and you have no business involving yourself in my private life. I’m an adult. I don’t need to give you any information at all as to where I am, whom I’m with, or what I am doing. I don’t need to give anyone else that information, either.”
The private investigator adopted a fatherly tone of voice. “Look. They’re worried about you. Why don’t you make it easy on everyone and contact your family? They want to be sure you’re okay.”
“That’s interesting, Mr. Thomason. They’re more concerned about access to my bank accounts than they have ever been about me. And I want you to know that if you persist in bothering me, I will call the police and my lawyer, give them your contact information, and let them do their jobs. Are we clear?”
“Maybe you could answer a few more questions before we hang up—”
“I’m not answering any more questions. And I’m hanging up now. Don’t contact me again.”
Kyle hit End on his phone with relish and settled back into the chair. He bought this place because he hoped for a little solitude, but he’d barely lasted twenty-four hours before going out to find some human contact, no matter how fleeting.
He missed his teammates and their easy rapport. They knew what it was like to deal with the challenges of fame and money. He enjoyed his time with them. Maybe he should invite a couple of them over for a barbecue or something.
Most of all, he needed to get it together. He pulled his business cell out of his pocket and tapped in a text to his mother.
I AM FINE. I WILL CONTACT YOU ALL SOON.
There were a million other things to say, but they could all wait. He could still enjoy the evening with Sophie, th
e woman he couldn’t quite forget.
Chapter Six
IT WAS ALL Sophie could do to let the prime rib sit in its protective butcher paper wrapper on Kyle’s kitchen counter for an hour. It needed to come to room temperature before cooking. She preheated his oven to five hundred degrees, lined the ingredients up behind the disposable roasting pan on the island, and got to work.
She poured a teaspoon or two of olive oil into the bottom of the roasting pan and rubbed it over the meat. She laid a dishtowel on the quartz counter to protect it and hit a Ziploc baggie of peppercorns with a heavy stainless steel measuring cup to break them up. Normally she’d use a rolling pin, but she wasn’t surprised Kyle didn’t have one yet. She washed her hands, and combined the salt, peppercorns, diced garlic, and rosemary into a mixture she pushed onto the exterior of the meat. It would form a delicious, fragrant crust when it was done cooking, infusing the prime rib with flavor.
Miraculously, she’d found a meat thermometer in one of the kitchen drawers. She stabbed it into the meat. It would cook for an hour, and then she’d shut off the oven and let it continue cooking for another three hours. She should make Kyle some lunch while they waited. He was probably hungry.
She heard footsteps behind her, and Kyle settled onto one of the barstools that sat on the other end of the island.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“It’ll be fine,” he said. “Something smells good.”
“I have good news and bad news,” she said. “Which would you like first?”
“How about the good news?”
“I can make lunch while we’re waiting for the roast to finish cooking.”
“How long will it take?”
“About four hours.”
“That’s crazy. Why?”
“It has to cook slowly. And we can’t open the oven while it’s cooking, either.”
“So you’re telling me we’ll be eating dinner about midnight.”
“Eight o clock, actually,” she said.
He let out a laugh. “That’ll give us a lot of time to catch up. So what’s the bad news?”
“There will be lots of leftovers.”
“I’m not complaining about that.” His mouth twitched into a smile. “Want me to make you a sandwich?”
“I’ve got it,” she said. “How about some quesadillas? They’re good and quick to make.”
Sophie was moving around his kitchen like she’d been in it her entire life. Whoever did the initial design must have also loved to cook; everything was exactly where she would have put it to ensure cooking was fun instead of another chore. She pulled one of the rotisserie chickens he’d bought, tortillas, cheddar-Jack cheese, and green onion out of the refrigerator.
“It’s a good thing I ran into you in the store,” he said. “I might have starved to death.”
She had to laugh. That feeling of freedom—and being around someone she really liked—surged through her again.
KYLE WATCHED SOPHIE bustle around his kitchen with fascination. He’d spent four years of high school wishing they were more than just friends, but he didn’t know much about the things she was interested in—and so much time had passed since then anyway. He’d like to know a lot more.
He wondered if she realized she hummed while she worked. He saw the slight dimple on her cheek as she smiled.
“Are you at a place that you can take a break for a few minutes?” he asked.
“The most time-consuming thing will be stripping the meat from the bones on the chicken. If we get the cheese grated, we’ll be eating before you know it.”
“How about I help you, we get the quesadillas into that convection oven thing the decorator talked me into, and we can talk while we eat?”
“Perfect,” she said.
He washed his hands and followed her directions. She grabbed a grater out of the drawer full of gadgets he hadn’t spent a lot of time investigating since he moved in, and then handed it to him along with the block of cheese. “If you could grate two cups of this, it should be plenty.” She was pulling the already cooked meat off the chicken with a couple of forks as she spoke and arranging it on the flour tortillas she’d found in his refrigerator, along with some black beans she’d grabbed from the pantry and drained. She added the cheese he’d grated and spooned a little salsa into the tortillas before she folded them in half. He didn’t have any fresh cilantro. Maybe she should make him a grocery list.
“These are really easy,” she said. “You can put almost anything into a quesadilla too. If you get tired of sandwiches, they only take ten to fifteen minutes or so in a three-hundred-and-fifty-degree oven. Or I’ll come over and make them for you.”
He saw color rising in her cheeks when she realized what she’d blurted out. She turned to slide the baking dish she’d put the quesadillas in into the convection oven.
“I might take you up on that,” he said.
“Well, I don’t want you to starve or anything.” She was gathering up the items that needed to go back into the refrigerator as he watched. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but she was still smiling.
“You just want to get your hands on my kitchen.”
“That’s true,” she said. “It’s pretty nice.”
“I’ve never had a woman more interested in my kitchen than me before.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
Sophie dished up the quesadillas with some raspberries he’d bought at the store yesterday. They had finished off their beers, so he brought a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses to the kitchen table and sat down across from her.
He took a bite of the quesadilla and let out an appreciative “Mmmm.” He tried to say something else that was muffled due to a mouthful of food.
“I’m glad you like it,” she said, pressing one hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh.
“It’s really good. Are you sure you don’t want to move in here? There’re two guest rooms upstairs,” he coaxed. “You can cook as often as you’d like. I’ll do the dishes too.”
“Now that’s an offer.” She took a bite of her food. “I like my place, but this is gorgeous.”
“You said you lived a couple of blocks away from the grocery store.”
“Yes. I rented a mother-in-law apartment in this woman’s backyard. I can walk to work from there. It might be tough in the winter, but it’ll be great the rest of the year.” She poured them both a glass of iced tea. “I’m saving up to buy a used car just in case.”
“You had a car in Florida, right?”
“I did. I had to leave it.”
“What happened, Sophie?”
She took a sip of her iced tea, put the glass back down on the table, and looked into his eyes. “Everyone’s heard a story like mine a million times before. I got involved with the wrong guy. He hit me. When I tried to get away from him, he said he was going to kill me. I have a restraining order against him, but most women find they’re not worth much when the police can only get to wherever you are so fast.” She swallowed hard. “It took me a month of planning, but I disappeared in the middle of the night.”
“He hit you? What did the cops do?”
“He got arrested, but he was out on bail hours later. He’s really good at convincing everyone else that it’s a one-time thing, it’ll never happen again, blah, blah, blah.”
“What did your family say? Do they know where you are?”
“I told them I’d left after I got to Utah. I sent them a text from my old phone and told them I was fine when I arrived here, but I didn’t tell them where I am. I can’t use e-mail right now, either. I’m afraid he will hurt my family. I might be able to go back when he’s finally in jail or something.”
Her eyes dropped to the table.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I know this probably sounds pretty stupid, but be my friend,” she said.
KYLE WATCHED HER shoulders tense up as she talked about her ex-boyfriend. She’d been relaxed and hap
py ten minutes ago as they’d joked about how much she loved his new kitchen. The color drained from her face as she described what had happened to her. She pushed her plate away and folded her arms.
He reached across the table and laid his hand palm-up in front of her. She slowly uncrossed her arms and placed her hand inside his. They listened to the birds in the trees chirping outside his kitchen windows. A robin balanced precariously on one of the shrubs outside. His yard was a thousand soothing, peaceful shades of green.
He’d bought this house to hide from the world for a while. Hopefully, it could offer some refuge to someone who needed quiet and security a lot more than he did.
“Tell me what happened with your family,” she said.
“As long as we talk about what we can do to fix what’s happening with you.”
“I’m not sure if anyone can fix it,” she said. “So many other people have to deal with stuff like this every day. At least I had the money and resources to get out before he could permanently hurt me. Maybe I’ll just have to live with it.”
“I disagree. I think you deserve more from life than to live in fear.” He squeezed her hand. “Why don’t we finish the excellent lunch you made, and I’ll tell you about what’s happening with me. Maybe we could help each other out.”
Chapter Seven
KYLE FELT RIDICULOUS talking to Sophie about his pushy and demanding family members and friends. His problems were small compared with hers. The solution to his issues was to man up and tell the people in his life he’d had enough, and things would change—hopefully. He wasn’t sure what he dreaded more: the actual conversation or the fact other people might find out that his own family was more interested in his money than they were in him. A few of his teammates had similar problems, but it wasn’t like they sat around discussing them. They seemed to handle it.
Sophie encouraged him to talk about his challenges anyway. The years they hadn’t seen or talked to each other melted away as they relaxed on his deck in the sunshine. She listened intently and didn’t laugh at him for being a wimp, which he appreciated.
Guarding Sophie Page 4