by Alison Kent
“I didn’t say that you would,” he responded, his brows drawn into a frown.
“There has to be more to it than that.” Unless she was just wishing there was.
“Not really,” he said, returning his mug to the table, then reaching for the safety goggles he’d left on his table saw stand. “I told Tennessee. I told Indiana. Manny knows. Figured you should, too.”
His brother and his sister. His parole officer. The three people she assumed to be most important in his life. And her. Which brought her back to her original question. “Is it because of that night before you went to prison? Because you left me without saying good-bye?”
How was he supposed to give Thea an answer when he hadn’t been able to give one to Indiana, or Tennessee, or Manny, or even himself? He didn’t know why this urge to leave was pushing him harder and harder away from the most important people in his life.
Or why Thea was in that number. Only that it was, and that she was—which at least explained why he’d felt compelled to tell her.
And that’s what she was asking. Not why he was leaving, like the other three had demanded to know, but why he had given her the news, too. Because she was right.
His putting Hope Springs behind him would have no impact on her, as long as she signed off on the Bread and Bean job before then.
Then he frowned because what she’d said finally registered. “Did I really leave that last night without telling you good-bye?”
She nodded, her topknot flopping from one side of her head to the other. “I was out of it, having cried myself to sleep. But I heard you get up and get dressed, and you may have been talking to yourself, but you never said anything to me.”
“Huh.” He remembered the sex. He remembered her crying. He’d cried, too, but he was pretty sure she’d been asleep by then and missed the show. At least he hoped she had. If she’d said anything to him then, he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to leave. He’d been that torn up, that frightened and desperate to find a way out. “I must not have wanted to wake you.”
“For something like that?” she asked, her eyes wide, her voice raised. “You going to prison? Me not seeing you for three years? Three that turned into so many more?”
He shrugged. It was all he had.
“And would you stop doing that,” she said, waving her hand. “That shrugging thing.”
“Sorry,” he said, toying with the strap on his goggles. “I thought that was universal body language for ‘I got nothing.’”
“It’s not that,” she said, rubbing at her forehead with one hand. “Never mind. I’m just . . . frustrated.”
With him? With the job? Sexually?
He tossed the goggles back to the table. “My mind was all over the place that night, Clark. I was ready for it to be tomorrow. To get all of that over with. To be in prison. Not to be waiting to go. The waiting was the worst. The not knowing what it would look like. What it would smell like. What the men inside would say to me. What they would do to me. What they would want.”
He reached up and scrubbed both hands down his face. Why was he telling her this? Why was he talking about prison at all? And even as he asked himself the question, he went on. “I thought I was going to die of a heart attack that day. Or an aneurysm. My head and my chest. My gut. I don’t know why I bothered eating. I lost my breakfast before we were out of the driveway.”
“Oh, Dakota,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes and threatening to spill, then the sound of the back door opening and closing keeping either of them from taking the subject further. “That’s probably Ellie. I knew she’d be in since the bread at the house got finished off with breakfast.”
He didn’t mind the intrusion. Hell, he welcomed it. Anything to keep him from going on about something he’d deemed off limits. Besides, he’d been wondering about something anyway so the timing was perfect. “Are you paying her and Becca? For the hours they’re here?”
“Since Bread and Bean’s not open yet, you mean?” When he nodded, she returned to the table and pumped herself a refill, taking the time to come up with an answer. “Yes and no.”
Yeah. He could see why she’d needed time to come up with that. “Thanks. Things are so much clearer now.”
She rolled her eyes in response. “I’m not paying them yet, but I will. They keep track of the hours they put in here that aren’t personal. Becca organizing the kitchen is business. Ellie baking bread for the house is not.”
Seemed fair. “And when Becca has to clean up after Ellie?”
Thea laughed, her mug cradled in both hands. “You’ve noticed that, have you?”
He nodded. One of the first things he’d done in prison was grow eyes in the back of his head. “Becca was doing a lot of work in the kitchen yesterday morning, and mumbling to herself more than once when I walked through.”
Thea frowned down into her mug. “Ellie’s not the most organized person in the world. Brilliant, yes. Like an absent-minded genius. But I’ve yet to find anyone whose bread holds a candle to hers. You think Becca’s forearm was something, be glad you didn’t run into Ellie’s, all that mixing and kneading and hefting those huge bags of flour.”
That was another thing he’d noticed. About all of them. Their shoulders and killer guns. “She’s been doing it awhile then.”
A sip of coffee, a careless shrug. “She was an art teacher before budget cuts had her looking for a new line of work. She decided bread made for a safe bet.”
“And luck sent her your way.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it luck,” she said, picking up a pencil from his table saw stand and bouncing the eraser end on the surface. “But I am very fortunate that we crossed paths.”
Another thought went through his mind. “So with Ellie baking, and Becca pulling shots, who’s going to clean the kitchen once you’re open?”
“Funny you should mention that,” she said, putting the pencil back in its place. “We actually talked about it at dinner last night.”
“You going to hire additional help?”
“Yes, once we’re closer to opening.”
That didn’t make a lot of sense. “Why not line up someone now? Someone to wash all your coffee cups and mop the floors, at least. Sounds like the perfect job for a kid wanting to earn a few bucks. Have Ellie teach him or her to bake. Becca could do the same with the latte art. You’ll end up with a jack of all trades who can fill in anywhere you need him.”
She looked at him as if he’d just made an argument she couldn’t refute. “You’ve put a lot more thought into this than I have.”
For a pretty simple reason. “I’ve been a jack of all trades. More than once.”
“Sounds to me like you should be the one running the place.”
And it sounded to him like Thea Clark was in over her head. Why would she put off something as easy as advertising for a dishwasher? Then it hit him how many of their conversations had gone off the rails, and how many of his questions she’d never really answered.
Thea Clark was hiding something big. As well as he’d known her in high school, he was surprised it had taken him three days to recognize the signs now. He pushed a bit further. “If you’ve got a reason to wait, then wait.”
She reached up with one hand to smooth the hair at her nape. Another tell. “Let’s just say it’s complicated and leave it at that.”
Complicated. Another word for “none of your business.” It was her life. Not his. Her money. Not his.
But curiosity was his, and a normal human condition. His suspicion, however, came from three years in the state pen and a decade of being the vagabond she’d labeled him. Something was rotten in the state of Denmark—or at least in Hope Springs. “So you’re footing the bill for everyone. The rent. The utilities. The food. Everything.”
“Well, not everything.” She drained her coffee and returned the mug to th
e table. “But again. It’s complicated. We all chip in, whether that’s manpower or cash. In some cases, in most cases, it’s both. Once the shop is open, we’ll get everything sorted out. Including the extra help.”
And that was that. He wasn’t going to get anything more out of her. In fact, getting anything out of her at all might take a lighter touch than he was capable of.
“Listen. I’m having breakfast with Indiana in the morning. At her cottage. You should come. The two of you could catch up.” And keep me from having to let down my sister for a few more days.
Her eyes grew wide, animated, all traces of the barrier she’d erected to ward off his questions gone. “Oh, I’d love to see her. But I wouldn’t want to be a third wheel.”
“If you were going to be in the way, I wouldn’t have invited you.” It was only a tiny lie.
“Okay, then. Should I bring something?”
“She’s bringing breakfast tacos, but I only ordered for me.”
“I’ll grab something then. Kolaches, maybe.”
Man, when was the last time he’d had a good kolache? “With cream cheese? Or peaches?”
“You have a microwave to heat them?”
He nodded. “I do. And I have coffee.”
“Like that’s a surprise,” she said with a snort, pushing through the kitchen door and leaving him alone to wonder if Indiana would be too happy at seeing Thea to be mad at him.
And to wonder what in the world was going on with the women who lived in the house on Dragon Fire Hill.
CHAPTER NINE
Lena had no idea what she was doing. Well, that wasn’t true. She was taking cheese to Ellie Brass. The why of the cheese was escaping her, though it had seemed like a good idea at the time.
She’d been standing in the grocery store’s expansive deli department, looking for something fresh for dinner because she was so effing tired of frozen when she’d wandered into the cheese aisle. Or the cheese section really. Wedges stacked on barrels, wheels nestled into refrigerated cases, tubs bearing brands she’d never heard of, bricks in flavors she’d never seen.
There was just something about the cold and the smell and the bakery just beyond with the loaves of fresh bread she couldn’t resist. She’d picked up a wedge of hard Parmesan and remembered Ellie talking about sharp cheddar. She’d grabbed a slab of extra sharp aged, then her gaze had fallen on a container of local chèvre, and she’d added it into her cart.
She knew Ellie had bread; the house on Dragon Fire Hill would always have bread with Ellie living there, but the rest of the pantry . . . Minutes later, Lena’s basket held Gouda, Havarti, provolone, too. And fresh soup, which she’d found in the same section as the made-in-store hummus. A good grilled cheese with a bowl of tomato basil soup and an olive hummus appetizer. Lena wasn’t sure when she’d last had such a simple meal, and her stomach had started rumbling.
None of that explained what she was doing here, however, climbing the steps to the porch of Ellie’s residence unannounced, unexpected, having driven straight from the grocery store to the big Gone with the Wind plantation house. She was pretty sure the women who lived here weren’t big fans of visitors. She didn’t know their stories, but Ellie wasn’t exactly hard to read.
Lena knew about causality and figured whatever Ellie had faced in her past was a big part of the need she now had to overshare. As if a big strip of duct tape had been ripped off her mouth. Or she’d been let out of a room where she’d lived alone with no one to talk to for years. What Lena feared was that Ellie had suffered a combination of both, even if metaphorically, and that sucked.
She lifted her hand to knock, really hoping neither of those was the case, though if they were, they weren’t her business. She was only here for soup. Soup and hummus and a grilled cheese sandwich. And if she was the only one hungry, well, that was fine. She had no trouble taking the groceries home and cooking for herself. She was used to it. It was how she spent most nights.
Ellie, not one of the others, answered the door, but only after a lot of noisy tumbling of locks. She seemed pleased, more than baffled, though she’d had no idea Lena was coming, leaving Lena to wonder if her arrival had been captured by a camera, and her image fed to a monitor inside.
“Lena. Hello.” Ellie’s smile was welcoming, warm and soft and genuine as she adjusted her glasses on her nose. Lena’s stomach fluttered happily. “What are you doing here?”
She lifted the plastic grocery bags. “I brought cheese. And deli soup. Tomato basil. There’s also some hummus and naan. I thought if you had bread—”
“Goodness. Tomato soup and grilled cheese for dinner? And I can’t even remember the last time I had hummus.” Ellie’s face lit up as if Lena had brought her a rib eye and a stuffed baked potato. With apple pie for dessert. Then again, that was Lena’s favorite meal. For all she knew, Ellie was vegetarian. “Do you know how good that sounds?”
“Actually, yeah. I do.” Lena exhaled deeply and smiled. “That’s why I’m here.”
Ellie took the bags from her hand and peered inside. A lock of her wavy hair fell forward, and she flipped it back over her shoulder, the motion—and the porch light—showing off another bunch of small circular scars above her collarbone. “And there’s plenty for everyone. Oh, Lena. You’re so sweet. Do you mind? If the others share?”
“Of course not.” She just hoped she’d brought enough. And that whatever had happened to Ellie had been over with quickly and healed without a lot of pain. “I had to guess at how much everyone would eat.”
“Oh, this is more than plenty. So much more,” she said, as if the idea of not having to go hungry was foreign.
The flutters in her stomach having tightened into knots, Lena cleared her throat. “And you don’t mind if I stay? I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, showing up like this.”
Ellie lifted her gaze and gave Lena a look. A longing sort of look, not lusty, but unfulfilled, as if she hadn’t had a true friend in a very long time. As if she’d been left emotionally empty and lost. Those were the words that came to mind. They were ones Lena wasn’t sure what to do with. Having Ellie as a friend was wonderful. But having her as more . . .
“I absolutely insist you stay.” Ellie backed into the room and reached for Lena’s wrist, pulling her inside. “No. I demand it,” she added, laughing and shutting the door. She bolted it, then turned another lock and another, finally setting some sort of electronic alarm on the tablet mounted beside the door.
The one showing the image from the camera outside on the porch.
Still holding Lena by the wrist, Ellie guided her through the house’s big front room. Lena wasn’t able to see much of it. There was the basic furniture: a couch, a loveseat, a couple of tables and chairs, a lamp or two, though neither was on, and a big fireplace.
The floor was hardwood. The walls, plain. She had no idea if there was a color scheme since everything was in shadow. It was a big house. Made sense they wouldn’t light rooms they weren’t using. But something left her thinking there wasn’t anything chic about the sense of shabby.
“Watch the flashing on the floor here,” Ellie said as they crossed out of the big front room into a kitchen and eating area equally huge. “It’s loose and I’ve tripped too many times to count.”
Lena stepped carefully then looked up. It was obvious the room used to be at least two, like a separate cooking area and dining room, and maybe even three. Near the back door, both the ceiling- and floorboards ran perpendicular to those in the rest of the space. An old washroom? Or a mudroom? “Were y’all the ones who gutted the rooms, or was it like this when you moved in?”
Ellie carried the bags to the counter. She unloaded the four one-quart containers of soup, then read the labels on each chunk of butcher-papered cheese. “You’re seeing it in all its pre-renovated glory. Thea has all kinds of plans, but for now it’s a roof over our heads, and that’s all
that matters.”
A roof with some serious windows and doors, Lena mused, catching sight of a monitor similar to the one at the front door beside the back. The kitchen itself, well, it was as homey as something in its condition could be, she guessed. The sink and cabinets and all the appliances sat to the right of the door she’d come through, which pretty much bisected one wall.
To the left, toward whatever the other room had once been, a big round table sat in one corner. In the other were three cushy but mismatched club chairs, and two small side tables piled with books and craft projects. She wondered if the women living here didn’t use the front room at all.
“It’s really not as bad as it looks,” Ellie said. “Though your expression is saying otherwise.”
“No, no,” Lena hurried to say, feeling like crap for being so judgmental, even if she’d been doing all the judging—and speculating—in her head. “It’s fine. I wasn’t really expecting Tara.”
“Tara?” Ellie frowned for a moment before her eyes went wide. “Oh. Gone with the Wind Tara. No. It’s nothing like that. We don’t even have drapes for our windows, much less to make into dresses. But we do have blinds, even if they’re not in the best shape.”
“Hey, whatever keeps the Toms from peeping in,” Lena said, the words hanging there until punctuated by Ellie dropping the tub of chèvre she’d been holding.
They bent at the same time, Lena’s hand closing on top of Ellie’s over the lid that had—thankfully—only loosened and not come off. Ellie’s fingers were cold, her grip deadly. Lena had to use both hands to pry the cheese away.
“I am so sorry.” She wanted to shoot herself. What in the world was wrong with her? She’d seen the security system and the size of the front door and Ellie’s scars. “I didn’t even think. I’m bad about that. Spouting off when I shouldn’t.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Ellie said, shaking her head, her eyes watery, her smile weak. “They’re just words. I shouldn’t let them get to me. I’ve never even had a peeping Tom.”