8
Sadie fed Jayden, played with him and read to him. Then she put him to bed and continued her study of Dawson’s case in the living room. But she couldn’t comprehend what she read. She was too preoccupied—too anxious. She hadn’t heard from Sly since their encounter on the highway, and she knew he wouldn’t let that go. She’d dared to take a stand against him. He was probably planning his revenge right now, thinking up some way to hurt her.
Or he could be out at the farm, causing trouble for Dawson...
She almost called her boss again, but it was growing late and she hoped he was getting some sleep. He couldn’t keep working the hours he’d been working otherwise, and she knew how important it was that he get the farm producing again.
After reading the same article twice, and still feeling as if she’d missed most of the information she was hoping to retain, she set her computer aside and got up to pace around the room. She was so tired of worrying about Sly. She almost couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t overshadow everything else. Why wouldn’t he let her go? What good was having her come back if she didn’t love him? And how could he even pretend to love her? A man didn’t treat a woman he cared about the way Sly treated her. That had been the problem from the beginning.
So what did he have in store for her?
She went over to peer through the slats of the blinds that covered the front window. She didn’t see Sly’s car, didn’t notice headlights down the drive or movement about the yard. But that didn’t mean anything. Tucked away as her house was, she wouldn’t see anything. He could still be out there.
Would they have another argument, one in which she’d have to cajole and appease Sly for Jayden’s sake?
She wouldn’t sleep with him again, no matter what. She couldn’t. She lost a piece of herself every time she succumbed. But it wasn’t fair that Jayden should be awakened and frightened by such angry voices as he’d heard in the past. Sadie didn’t want that kind of emotional, upsetting life for him—or herself. Why was she the only parent he had who cared about that sort of thing? Sly did exactly as he wanted, fought dirty if that was what it required to win, while she was handicapped by trying to protect their son.
“When will it all be over?” she grumbled.
For a brief moment, she allowed herself to fantasize about packing up and slipping away in the middle of the night—going someplace where Sly would never be able to find them. She could start over, build a new life and try to forget.
But how far would her rattletrap El Camino take them? What if it broke down in the very next town? And how would she find a place to live, when she had no money, no resources? Besides, they couldn’t have a good quality of life if she was always looking over her shoulder. If Sly ever did find her, he’d have a compelling reason to sue her for custody—and would likely win.
Although she cherished the dream of escape, that was all it was—a dream. She was stuck in Silver Springs, had no choice except to try to cope with the man she’d grown to dislike so immensely.
With a sigh, she checked her phone again. Should she text him? She wanted to know how worried she should be. She could be driving herself mad for no reason. What if he’d cooled off—or had something pressing at work? An emergency of some sort? If she knew there was no danger, she could relax and get some sleep so that she’d be able to handle whatever happened tomorrow. But...hearing from her could also start something new.
With a sigh, she tossed her phone aside. She wished Maude were awake and out in her yard, so they could chat. It was times like these that she missed her parents, especially her mother. She needed to hear someone else’s voice. As the night stretched on, she felt so alone, so inadequate.
But wishing for Maude was silly. Her landlady couldn’t help her. It wasn’t even fair to ask.
* * *
Although Dawson told himself not to worry about Sadie, a sense of foreboding hung over him for the rest of the evening. She’d sounded so upset; he doubted she would’ve gotten that way unless she felt there was good reason.
He showered and called Angela as he did most every night. Then he tried to sleep—Lord knew he was tired—but every creak or thump had him up, checking the windows, the doors, the driveway or his phone in case Sadie tried to reach out for help. He’d seen the face of tragedy, knew the worst could and sometimes did happen, which made it almost impossible to sleep. The blood from his parents’ murders was still down the hall, the scene he’d encountered when he found them forever etched in his mind.
Finally, at two in the morning, he texted Sadie: You okay?
He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he didn’t hear back. Silence could mean she was sleeping; it could also mean that she wasn’t okay...
As the minutes dragged on without a reply, he decided to go into town, since he couldn’t sleep, anyway. He had her address; it was on the résumé she’d submitted. He’d drive by her place to see if everything appeared normal. Maybe that would give him some peace of mind. He understood that Sly could also target him. She obviously thought the chances of that were good. But Dawson had a feeling he’d direct his displeasure at her first. He was used to tormenting Sadie, felt entitled because she “belonged” to him in some way. Sly would also see her as a much easier, more predictable target.
Almost every muscle in his body complained as Dawson dressed, scooped his keys off the dresser and descended the stairs. He’d been sore in one place or another since he got home from jail and put in his first hard day of work. Just when one muscle group stopped complaining, he’d do something a little different and antagonize another, which was okay during the day. He could compensate for it, overcome it, when he was moving around. At night those muscles stiffened up, so his back ached and his thighs burned.
A full moon hung low in the sky. After he climbed into his truck, he sat behind the wheel for a few minutes, staring out at the moon before starting the engine. The night he’d picked up that hitchhiker had been so much like this. He remembered a big, portentous moon and the same cool breeze blowing the trees, carrying the fecund scent of moist earth and growing things...
But the similarity didn’t mean anything. He was merely letting his fears get the best of him.
He shifted his gaze to the left, in the direction of his parents’ graves. He’d buried them on the farm, in the far corner. He’d felt they’d want that. He needed to take Angela out there, to show her their headstones and let her say goodbye. Maybe then she’d quit asking when their parents were coming back, as she had again tonight.
Shifting into Reverse, he backed out of the drive.
The highway was empty, as he’d expected. Even the two bars in town would be closed this time of night. He figured there might be a few cops out—was afraid he’d be unlucky enough to run into Sly or someone else on the force.
Fortunately, that didn’t happen. He breathed a sigh of relief as he turned down the street where Sadie lived, a few blocks off the main drag, and rolled slowly past the expensive home that fronted her one-bedroom.
Everything looked quiet in the neighborhood, but he couldn’t see Sadie’s place from the street, so “quiet” didn’t tell him anything. After parking at the corner, he walked back to be sure.
A light glimmered around the edges of the blinds in her front window, but that wasn’t necessarily reason for concern. Maybe she couldn’t sleep, either. Maybe she wanted to be prepared in case something happened, or she’d fallen asleep reading and hadn’t gotten up to turn it off. She might even leave that light on at night for the sake of her child, so he could find the bathroom or whatever.
Dawson didn’t see a patrol car or any other vehicle parked behind her El Camino. If Sly was there, arguing with her—or doing anything else—he would’ve had to block her in, because the drive was so narrow, or park out on the street, as Dawson had, and Dawson hadn’t seen him.
He checked his phone, as he’d been doing every few minutes. Nothing. She hadn’t responded to his text.
Briefly, he considered knocking on the door. He’d come this far, hated to go home without achieving any reassurance. But chances were he’d only wake her child or scare her to death by appearing so unexpectedly in the middle of the night.
Convinced he’d done all he could do, he turned to leave. But then he heard his phone chime and glanced down at it.
There she was.
I’m okay. You?
He scratched his head. He was fairly certain his hair was standing up on one side. He hadn’t put much thought into his appearance when he left the house.
I’m fine.
Why aren’t you sleeping? You were exhausted when I left.
He was always exhausted these days. He was working too hard not to be. Because I’m not in bed.
Don’t tell me you’re working!
No, I’m standing outside your door.
What? Why?
You sounded so upset earlier. I was concerned there might be trouble—wasn’t sure how bad things might get. But now that I know you’re okay, I’m leaving. See you tomorrow.
The door opened before he could get too far and she called out to him in a loud whisper. “Dawson!”
She was wearing an overlarge T-shirt, her legs and feet bare, her face devoid of makeup and her hair mussed. Obviously, she’d taken no thought for her appearance, either. But he liked it—more than if she’d been all made up. There was something sexy, intimate about seeing her this way.
He walked closer so they could talk without waking her landlady or anyone else. “Sorry to disturb you. After what happened to my folks, I guess I was...assuming the worst. I let my imagination get the best of me.”
“I can’t believe you came to check on me, especially so late. That’s really nice.”
“It’s no big deal. I’ll see you tomorrow—”
“Wait! Where’s your car?”
“Down the street.”
That seemed to bring her some relief. “That’s good. With Sly dropping by all the time... Well, never mind. Anyway, would you like to come in for a drink before you go? I mean, you’re already here.”
He was about to say no. He had to work in the morning; nothing mattered more to him than saving the farm. But she was right. He was here, and he was more than a little curious about how she lived—not to mention intrigued by her apparel, or lack of apparel.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m too on edge to sleep, anyway.” She gave a nervous laugh. “The slightest noise disturbs me.”
He understood. It’d been the same for him. Expecting some sort of reprisal from a man like Sly had a way of putting a person on pins and needles. After what he’d been through, both with the death of his parents and what he’d experienced at the hands of police since, Dawson felt like he was particularly sensitive to the possibilities.
“It’d be nice to...to have someone to talk to for a few minutes,” she added when he hesitated. “A little adult conversation might give me the chance to get my feet underneath me again.”
She needed company, someone close at hand to provide a sense of security, at least until she could calm down.
He decided to stay. Why not? He’d been up this long. “Sure. What do you have to drink?”
She held the door so he could come in. “I have a bottle of Pinot Grigio, which should be much better than the wine I brought to your place,” she added with a self-deprecating smile.
He tried not to let his gaze fall to her bare legs—or her shirt, since it was obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra—but that was exactly where his eyes tended to go. He hadn’t been with a woman in so long. Although he’d initially thought Sadie wasn’t his type, that he wasn’t attracted to her, the more he got to know her, the prettier she became. She had the most gorgeous legs, and her breasts, though small, looked like the perfect size to fit the palm of his hand.
In an effort to keep his mind—and his attention—where it should be, he circled the room, inspecting his surroundings. Her place was clean and neat but sparsely furnished with what looked like thrift-store purchases or hand-me-downs. “That’s what you typically drink?”
“I don’t typically drink anything. I can’t afford alcohol,” she said with a wry laugh. “I’ve been saving this.”
Stopping in front of a side table, he picked up a photograph of her and her son. They were on a beach, the same towel wrapped around them both as Sadie kissed Jayden’s cheek. “For what?”
“A celebration.”
He put the photograph down and looked over his shoulder. “Of...”
She shrugged. “My neighbor gave it to me for my birthday last month.”
“Why didn’t you open it?”
“I decided to wait for something better to come along.”
“What’s better than a birthday?” he asked, but he hadn’t celebrated his birthday this year, either. He’d spent it in jail, wondering if he’d be convicted of murder.
“My divorce. The day I receive my final papers. The day it will all be over.”
“What’s holding that up?”
She rolled her eyes. “Sly, of course. He’s doing everything he can to sabotage the process.”
“Don’t tell me opening this wine signifies that you’re giving up.”
“No. I’d just really like to have a glass, especially now that I have someone to drink it with. You interested?”
For however long he stayed, she wouldn’t be alone. “Sure.”
She went into the kitchen and returned with a regular water glass filled almost to the halfway mark.
“That’s a lot of wine,” he said as he accepted it.
“Sorry. I don’t have any wineglasses.”
He took a sip, found it to be as good as she had promised—much better than what she’d bought the other day. “What happened to your belongings? I mean, I can’t imagine you’ve always lived in such a...spartan fashion.”
“I had to leave most of my stuff behind,” she explained. “It was hard enough just to get myself and Jayden out of that house.”
“Where’d you live?”
“In one of the new homes on the other side of town. We had some nice furniture, too. Nothing like this. Sly can be stingy with his money, but he likes quality—things that make him look good to his friends.”
“So...he lives there alone now, with the good furniture?”
She nodded. “I didn’t take anything, knew that would only make it harder for me to leave. I did try to get my clothes. But even that didn’t work. He threw away what I couldn’t carry in that first load.”
“And he thinks I’m bad,” Dawson grumbled.
She studied the liquid in her own glass. “He has a way of justifying—or excusing—the most terrible things.” She gestured toward her threadbare couch. “Would you like to sit down?”
To avoid hovering over her, he took her up on that offer and made himself comfortable. The room was so small it was the only way to put a little distance between them. “What made you marry a guy like that?”
“I wish I knew,” she replied. “In the beginning he seemed...different than he turned out to be. But I was barely eighteen when we married. What did I know?”
Dawson took another sip of his wine. “When did things start to go bad?”
She leaned against the wall opposite him. “I can’t really pinpoint a date. He grew more demanding and irritable as the years passed, especially after he had to share my attention with Jayden. He’d withdraw or sulk if he didn’t get his way—or rail at me until I gave in just to appease him. He became so controlling there were times, lots of them, when I felt I couldn’t breathe. If not for my son, I would’ve left him long ago—and I wouldn’t still be living here in Silver Springs, where he can continue to harass me. That’s for darn sure.”
“Why can’t you move away?”
“And take Jayden from him? The court would never allow it.”
He found his gaze drifting back to her legs. For all he knew, she was wearing a pair of shorts under that old, soft-looking T-shirt. But he wasn’t picturing shorts. He kept picturing a pair of lacy white panties—and imagining what her thighs would feel like if he ran his fingers up under the hem of that shirt...
An awkward silence fell. He realized that she’d spoken last and he should’ve said something to keep the conversation going. Once he dragged his eyes up to meet hers, the flush to her cheeks indicated she’d noticed his preoccupation with her bare legs.
Knowing that his interest couldn’t be comforting to her, not after all she’d been through and the doubts she probably still harbored where he was concerned, he cleared his throat, set his glass aside and stood. “Sorry for...staring. I’d better get going.”
Her eyebrows came together in a look of despair. “Already?”
Her response surprised him. She’d just caught him ogling her; didn’t she want him gone? “You’d like me to stay even though...”
“It’s okay.” Her blush deepened. “I know it’s probably been a long time for you, and...and there’s nothing wrong with looking, right?”
“There is if it makes you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to do that. I...got distracted. It has been a long time for me since...since I’ve been with someone in that way. But I would never come on to you, never put you in a compromising situation. All you have to do for me is cook and clean and look after my sister.” He lifted his hands. “I promise you that.”
“Thank you. The reassurance is...appreciated. And, knowing how tired you must be, I wouldn’t ask you to stay any longer except...having someone here is nice, you know? It gives me a little break from having to be quite so diligent. Sometimes, late at night, it feels like I’m going out of my mind.”
“You’re just tired.”
“Yeah. But not only physically. I’m tired of keeping watch. Of being worried. Of never knowing when he might appear to challenge me in some way.” She made a negating gesture with one hand. “That isn’t your problem, of course. I don’t mean to drag you into anything. I just thought we could spend a few more minutes chatting about our lives, or something else, if you prefer. You know...have the chance to calm down before facing the rest of this nerve-racking night.”
She didn’t need to chat with anyone; she needed a chance to recover, to feel safe. And she needed more sleep than she was getting. “Bring me a blanket and a pillow,” he said. “I’ll stay here for a few hours, on the couch, so you can rest without worry.”
Her eyes widened. “You don’t have to go that far—”
“It’s fine.”
“But you must be as weary of your battles as I am mine.”
He was weary, but as harrowing as his ordeal had been, it’d lasted only a year. He got the impression she’d endured her “hell” for much longer. “Whether I crash here or at home doesn’t matter. After sleeping on such a thin mattress while I was in jail, I can nod off just about anywhere.”
A look of relief came over her face. “That’d be great. Really great. If you’re sure you wouldn’t mind. I’m normally not like this—just sort of at loose ends tonight.”
“Like I said, it’s no trouble.”
“Good.” The tension seemed to leave her body. “Then I wouldn’t have to worry that Sly might be...bothering you out at the farm, and that it would be my fault.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. Go sleep. I’ll let myself out in a few hours.”
“Okay.” She put down her wine, left the room and returned with an old quilt and pillow. “I’d let you take the bed, since you’re doing me a favor, but my son’s in there and moving him would risk waking him.”
“You share a bed with Jayden?”
“A mattress, actually. That’s all we’ve got.”
No doubt Sly preferred Jayden to be sleeping with his mother. Then she’d be unlikely to invite another man into her bed.
She downed the rest of her wine, gave him a grateful smile and told him good-night.
After she went into her room, he sat on the couch sipping his own wine for another ten or fifteen minutes. He couldn’t get the image of her bare legs out of his mind. Even after he’d drained his glass and lain down, he couldn’t seem to rein in the desire that kept him rock-hard. Now that he’d thought about sex, he couldn’t quit thinking about it.
That she’d given him her pillow didn’t help. He could smell her perfume on the case.