The Obsession

Eleven

Once or twice a week Xander and Kevin grabbed a beer after work. Sometimes they actually planned it and met up at Loo’s, but for the most part it just happened.

It just happened that Kevin swung into Xander’s garage after trips to the lumberyard and the tile distributor-and the half an hour huddled with his electrician.

He knew how to juggle jobs. Naomi’s was priority, but he had a couple others going, which meant he spent a lot of time traveling from site to site.

And right now he wanted a beer.

The garage doors, lowered and locked, didn’t mean Xander wasn’t around. Just as his truck sitting in the parking lot didn’t mean he was. Taking his chances, Kevin got out of his own truck and headed around the back of the garage, where a zigzag of steps led to Xander’s apartment.

He heard the music, classic Stones; he followed it around to the rear bay-Xander’s personal bay-and found his friend tending to the love of his life.

The ’67 GTO convertible.

Or, as Kevin thought of it, the Date Car.

“Who’s the lucky lady?” Kevin asked, pitching his voice to ride over Mick’s.

Xander glanced up from polishing the chrome rocker panels. “She is. She needed detailing. I’m just finishing it up.”

Xander had what he considered a damn fine crew of his own, but nobody, absolutely nobody, touched the GTO but himself. He loved her from her chain mail grille to her eight taillights, and every square inch of her Coke-bottle body between.

He rose now to take a critical look at his own work.

She shined, sparkling chrome against the red body. That was factory red-just as his grandfather had driven it off the showroom floor.

“Are you going to take her out for a spin? I’m up for it.”

“Not today. We got rehearsal in-” Xander checked the old schoolhouse-style clock on the wall. “In about an hour. We got a wedding up in Port Townsend on Saturday. Lelo’s cousin.”

“Right, right. I remember. Got time for a beer?”

“I can make time.” Xander took one last look at his sweetheart and stepped out. “Nice evening. How about we do this on the veranda?”

Kevin grinned. “That works.”

They trooped up the steps into the apartment. The main space held the living room, kitchen, and-with the card table and folding chairs-the dining area.

Bookshelves-loaded-rose and spread over an entire wall of the living room. Kevin had built them-and the bookshelves in the skinny second bedroom used as an office, and the bookcase in the bedroom-when Xander bought the property and the business.

Xander opened the old fridge, a cast-off harvest gold number that had been the rage in the seventies, grabbed two bottles of St. Pauli Girl, popped the tops on the wall-mounted opener-a rust-colored naked woman holding the opener in upstretched arms-and tossed the caps in the trash.

They went out the bedroom door onto a postage-stamp porch and sat in two of the folding chairs that went with the card table.

And considered it fine.

“Big wedding?”

“Yeah. I’ll be glad when it’s done. The bride texts me every five minutes the last few days, screwing around with the playlist. Anyway. It’s a living.”

“Did you break your ban on the Chicken Dance?”

“Never happen. I took an oath.” Xander stretched out his legs. He’d positioned the chairs so he could just stretch them out without his feet dropping off the edge. It worked.

“I saw your built-ins in the big house-library? And the tile work in the half bath. Nice.”

Kevin stretched out his legs as well and took his first end-of-the-workday pull. “You were up there?”

“Yeah. The dog was wearing your pants, man. I gotta say, he looked better in them than you.”

“I’ve got excellent, manly legs.”

“With bear pelts.”

“Keeps me and my woman warm in the winter. It was a smart solution. I don’t know how the hell that dog kept getting out of the cone, but once she got the idea for the shorts, and we got them on him, he left his no-balls alone.”

Kevin took a second pull on his beer. “And you’re still trying to move on that?”

“The dog?” When Kevin just snorted, Xander shrugged. “I will move on that. In time.”

“I’ve never known you to take time on a move.”

“She’s skittish.” At least that word came to Xander’s mind. “Don’t you wonder why that is? She doesn’t act especially skittish, look skittish, but she is under there. I’m curious enough to take time. If I just liked the look of her-and I do like the look of her-but if I just, I wouldn’t bother with so much time. Either it’s going to happen or it isn’t. I like that she’s smart. I like the contrasts.”

“Contrasts?”

“Skittish, but ballsy enough to buy that old place, live out there on her own. She handles herself-and makes you think she’s had to. I like what she’s doing to the old place, or paying you to do.”

“She’s got ideas.”

“Yeah. She’s damn good at what she does. You’ve gotta appreciate somebody with talent who knows how to use it. And then…” Smiling, Xander took a long drink. “She named the dog.”

“He’s a good dog. He loves her like you love that GTO. He stole Jerry’s hammer the other day.”

“A hammer?”

“Naomi brought it, a sandpaper block, two work gloves, and a pipe fitting back down the other day. He takes them up to her like presents.”

They sat a moment, in companionable silence, looking out toward the road where a few cars passed, the scatter of houses beyond, and the field where they’d both played Little League what seemed like a million years before.

“Tyler’s got a T-ball game on Saturday.”

“I’m sorry I’ll miss that. It’ll probably be more entertaining than the wedding.”

“I remember playing T-ball, right over in the field. You and me and Lelo. Remember?”

“Yeah. Dim, but yeah.”

“Now I’ve got a kid playing. Makes you think.”

It made Xander think, nostalgically, of Lelo, who’d been scarecrow scrawny with beaver teeth. He’d stayed scrawny, Xander considered, but had grown into the teeth. “We sucked at T-ball, man, both of us. Got a groove on in Little League.”

“Kids mostly suck at T-ball, that’s part of the charm. Maddy starts kindergarten next fall.”

Xander turned his head, gave Kevin a long look. “You’re thinking about having another.”

“The subject’s come up a few times.”

“Well, you do good work there.”

“Yeah, we do. We always said two, and when we ended up with one of each, hey, that’s a nice balance. Now Ty’s playing T-ball, Maddy’s going into kindergarten, and we’re talking about starting another from scratch.”

“Three’s a magic number. You can look it up,” Xander added when Kevin just looked at him.

“It’s looking like we’re going for the magic number.”

“Have fun with that.”

“That’s the plus side. It sure is fun working on making one. You’re not looking for sex with Naomi.”

“Are you crazy?”

“I mean not just sex.”

Xander contemplated his beer. “Why do married guys think single guys are only after sex?”

“Because they used to be single guys, and remember. Case in point-what was her name. Shit. Ah, Ari, Alli, Annie. The redhead with the rack and the overbite? Worked at Singler’s last summer?”

“Bonnie.”

“Bonnie? Where’d I get all those A’s from? That was just sex. She was built, so there’s that. But all the work went into the face and body, none into the brain.”

“It was the overbite.” Even now, Xander could sigh over it. “I’ve always been a sucker for an overbite.”

“Naomi doesn’t have one.”

“It’s a flaw I’m overlooking. Sometimes it’s just sex, as Bonnie illustrates and your memory serves. And sometimes, as you ought to remember, you want some conversation, some meat along with the sizzle. Bonnie had the sizzle, but I knew it wasn’t going to be enough, even for the summer, when she picked up a copy of East of Eden I had on the nightstand and said she didn’t know I was religious.”

“Religious?”

“She figured Eden-so it must be a biblical story. She didn’t even know who Steinbeck was.” And he could still shake his head over that. “Even an overbite can’t make up for that.”

“It’s good to have standards.”

“Oh, I’ve got standards. So far, Naomi’s meeting them, so I can take some time.”

“What if she’s lousy in bed?”

“That’d be both surprising and disappointing, but if so, we can still have conversations. Does she ever talk about her family with you?”

“Her brother, her uncles. Little bits and pieces here and there. Not much elaboration, now that you mention it.”

“Exactly. It’s interesting-what she doesn’t say. It’s interesting.”

–

He thought about that, late into the night, long after rehearsal and the cold-cut subs he and his bandmates chowed down on.

In general he liked the company of men more than the company of women. He understood what men didn’t say, didn’t need or want it all laid out in specific words, expressions, freaking tones of voice. Women, to his mind, were work. Often worth it, and he didn’t mind work.

But time spent with women, when it wasn’t before, during, or after sex, was entirely different than hanging out with men or working with them.

In general, he preferred the short, straightforward mating dance and considered the extra steps and flourishes a waste of everyone’s time.

You wanted or didn’t; there was heat or there wasn’t.

For some reason he found himself willing to take those extra steps with Naomi. He didn’t really mind them; in fact, he enjoyed them, all the stops and starts, the detours.

And in his experience once the mating dance was done, the first rush of sex slowed, interest faded.

He liked being interested.

He turned on the bedroom TV, with the sound low as it was mostly to cover the silence so he didn’t miss Milo’s snoring so keenly. He picked up his nightstand book-a worn paperback of Lord of the Flies.

He never had a first read on the nightstand, not if he wanted to sleep, so he settled in with the familiar and fascinating.

But he couldn’t get Naomi off his mind.

–

On the bluff, Naomi turned off the lights. Her brain was too tired for more work, too tired to pretend to read, even to stream a movie. The dog had already settled down, and it was time she did the same.

Since her tired brain didn’t want to turn off, she let it wander, circling around faucets, lighting fixtures, whether she should do that study of Douglas firs she’d taken that morning, the green eerie through thin mists. It would make a solid cover for a horror novel.

She worked on it in her head, played up shadows until she drifted off, drifted away.

When she walked through that eerie green, the wind rolled through the tops of the trees, a whoosh and moan that laid a chill on her skin. She followed the path. She wanted to get to the water, to the blue, to the warm. Her footsteps were muffled on the thick cushion of pine needles, and those deep green shadows seemed to shift into shapes. And the shapes had eyes.

She moved faster, heard her breath quicken. Not with exertion, but with an atavistic fear. Something was coming.

Thunder mumbled overhead, over the rolling, muttering wind. The shimmer of lightning tossed all into an instant of relief, and brought a sick heaviness to her belly.

She had to run, had to find the light again. Then the shadow stepped from the shadow, a knife in one hand, a rope in the other.

Time’s up, it said in her father’s voice.

She tried to scream, and woke with it trapped in her throat, with the weight crushing her chest.

No air, no air, and she clutched at her own throat as if to fight away the hands that circled it.

Her heart thudded, sharp, vicious hammer blows that rang in her ears. Red dots swam in front of her eyes.

Somewhere deep under the weight, the terror, she shouted at herself to breathe. To stop and breathe. But the air wheezed, barely squeezed through her windpipe, only burned her starving lungs.

Something wet ran over her face. She saw it, felt it, as her own blood. She would die here in the woods of her own creation, in fear of a man she hadn’t seen in seventeen years.

Then the dog barked, hard and fierce, chased the shadows like rabbits. So she lay panting-breathing, breathing, with the terrible weight easing as the dog lapped at her face.

He had his front legs braced on the bed. She could see his eyes now, gleaming in the dark, hear his pants along with her own. Struggling to steady, she raised a trembling hand, stroked his head.

“Okay.” She rolled toward him, comforted, let her eyes close, focused on long, slow breaths. “It’s okay. We’re okay. Just a dream. Bad dream. Bad memories. We’re okay now.”

Still, she switched on the light-she needed it-brought her knees up to rest her clammy forehead on them.

“Haven’t had one that bad in a while. Working too hard, that’s all. Just working too hard, thinking too much.”

Since the dog remained braced on the bed, she shifted to wrap her arms around his neck, pressing her face into his fur until the trembling eased.

“I thought I didn’t want a dog. I’d say the way you were wandering you must’ve thought you didn’t want a human.” She eased back, rubbed his ears. “And here we are.”

She picked up the bottle of water she always kept on her nightstand and drank half of it before rising to go into the bathroom and splash cold water on her face.

Still shy of five, she noted, early for both of them, but she couldn’t risk sleep. Not now.

She picked up the flashlight-also handy on her nightstand-and went downstairs. She’d gotten into the habit of just letting him out in the morning, but this time she delighted him by going out with him. For a while they just walked, around the house, around the quiet.

Tag found one of his secreted balls and happily carried it around in his mouth. When she went back in, he watched her make coffee, let the ball drop when she filled his food bowl, picked it up.

“Let’s take it upstairs.”

He raced halfway up the back stairs, stopped, looked back to make sure she was coming, and then raced the rest of the way.

With the dog, with the coffee, she settled down, calm and content again, to wait for sunrise to bloom over her world.

–

When Sunday rolled around she thought of a dozen reasons not to go to Jenny’s, and the excuses that would cover it.

Why would she take one of her two days of quiet and solitude a week and spend it with people? Nice people, certainly, but people who wanted to talk and interact.

She could drive to the national forest, go hiking-alone. She could work on the yard, or finish painting the first guest room.

She could sit around and fat-ass all day.

Really, she’d agreed to go in a weak moment, in the rush of mermaid lamps and bargains. She should…

She’d agreed to go, Naomi reminded herself. What was a couple of hours? If she was going to live here, she needed to be moderately sociable. Hermits and recluses generated gossip and speculation.

And she’d said she’d bring dessert, and had even shopped for what she needed to make the strawberry torte. It was spring, after all-stubbornly cool, often rainy, but spring.

She decided to compromise. She’d make the torte, then see how she felt.

Tag cast suspicious looks at her new stand mixer, as he did the vacuum cleaner. But she loved it, had actually done a little dance when it had arrived two days before.

Cooking soothed her and gave her a chance to spend quality time in the kitchen with the pretty blue dishes behind the glass, her exceptional knives arranged on their magnetic strip.

Tag changed his mind about the mixer when she skimmed her finger over the batter left in the bowl and let him have a lick.

“Damn right, it’s good.” She slid the jelly roll pan into the oven, got to work on the strawberries.

She put them in one of her blue bowls first, found the right spot, the right light. Ripe red berries in a blue glass bowl-good stock photo. Considering, she added more props-new wineglasses-then put the bowl of berries and the wineglasses on the bamboo tray she’d bought and set it all out on her glider. She took another shot with the pot of pansies in frame.

She wished she had a throw pillow-hadn’t bought any yet. Maybe she would then set up this shot again with a colorful pillow in the corner of the-

No, better, a woman’s white silk slip or sexy nightgown, draped over the arm of the glider.

She didn’t have that either, and had less use for a slip or a sexy nightgown, but-

The oven timer buzzed.

“Crap. I haven’t done the berries.”

She went back to the kitchen work, composing other shots in her head.

The finished torte looked so beautiful, the making of it so satisfying, she convinced herself she’d be fine for a couple of hours with people she actually liked.

“And how the hell am I going to get it from here to there? Didn’t think of that.”

She didn’t have a cake carrier or a torte carrier or any carrier. In the end she lined a shipping box with foil, tented the torte on its white platter, secured it in the box, and, thinking of the dog, taped the lid shut.

She packed it in the fridge, then went up to dress.

Next problem, she realized. What did people wear to Sunday dinner?

Sunday brunch had been the thing in New York. Seth and Harry hosted elaborate Sunday brunches. Dress code had been casual or colorful, or whatever struck your fancy.

She hated to think about clothes, so she didn’t have any to worry about. Eventually she’d send for what was still in New York-the cocktail dresses, the sharp business wear, the artist black. Meanwhile, she had what she had.

The reliable black jeans, a white shirt. After a short debate, she went with the Converse high-tops.

Nobody would care.

She added a red belt to prove she’d given some thought to the whole deal, and remembered to do her makeup.

Anytime after four, she remembered, and as it was now four thirty, she should just go. A couple of hours-three, tops-and she’d be home, in her pajamas, back at her computer.

She loaded the boxed torte onto the floor of the passenger seat and let the dog in the back.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned him when he eyed the box.

Armed with the directions Kevin had given her, she set off.

She made the turns, took a road she’d yet to explore, and found a little neighborhood built around a skinny inlet. Docks speared out with boats moored. Sunfish, sloops, cabin cruisers. She saw a girl who couldn’t have been more than twelve paddling a butter yellow kayak toward the widening channel with such smooth skill she might have been born in one.

Naomi pulled up behind Kevin’s truck and gave Xander’s motorcycle a beady-eyed stare. She should’ve known.

She thought the house charming and decided she should have known that, too, given who lived there. Bold blue trim against weathered cedar shakes, wide windows to bring in the view of the inlet. It stood two stories, with dormers and the enchantment of a widow’s walk.

She immediately wanted one.

Flowering bushes, trees, and bedding plants danced in cheerful profusion and made her think of her own scrabbly, neglected yard.

She’d get to it.

Ordering herself to put on her Be-Sociable Suit, she got out and circled around for the torte and the dog. Tag all but glued himself to her side as she walked the pavered path to the covered front porch.

“It’s not the vet, so buck up.”

Before she could knock, Jenny opened the door-and Tag’s tail wagged in relief and joy at the sight of her.

“I saw you pull up.” Immediately Jenny moved in to hug, hard. “I’m so glad you came! Everyone’s outside running around. It’s almost like summer today.”

“I didn’t realize you lived on the water-and you have a widow’s walk. I had instant house envy.”

“Kevin built it. And half of everything else. Let me take that.” Jenny reached for the box as they stepped into an entranceway cleverly outfitted with a built-in bench and cupboards above, drawers below.

“Sorry about the delivery system. Dessert’s inside.”

“You made something? I thought you’d just get something from the bakery. You’re so busy.”

“I needed to try out my new mixer. I love your house. It’s so you.”

Colorful, cheerful, the bold blue of the trim echoed in a big sink-into-me sofa loaded with patterned pillows. And those were echoed by boldly patterned chairs.

Echoed, Naomi thought, but nothing matching. And everything complementing.

“I like cluttered.”

“It’s not cluttered. It’s clever and happy.”

“I really like you. Come on back to the kitchen. I’m dying to see what’s in this box.”

The kitchen showed Kevin’s hand and Jenny’s style. It followed the open floor plan with a lounge/play area, more comfortable seating, and the man-size flat wall screen.

Jenny set the box on the long, wide white granite peninsula and tore at the tape.

Naomi glanced toward the dining area, the painted blue table, the mix and match of green chairs with flowered cushions. “I love the dining room-did you paint the furniture?”

“I did. I wanted color-and easy maintenance.”

“It’s happy, again, and I really love the chandelier.”

Distressed iron strips formed a large ball with clear, round bulbs inside.

“Me, too, thanks. Kevin found it on one of his job sites-it was some sort of decoration. He brought it home, I fixed it up, he rewired it.”

“Handy couple-and I’m getting so many ideas.”

“I’m going to get you a glass of wine in just a minute,” Jenny promised, “but- Oh my God, you made this?”

“I can’t make a chandelier, but I can make a strawberry torte.”

Almost reverently, Jenny lifted the torte from the box. “It looks like something out of Martha Stewart. I’d ask for the recipe, but I already know it’s beyond me. And it’s going to put my lasagna to shame.”

“I love lasagna.”

“Mostly with two kids and a part-time job, I toss meals together. So Sunday dinner’s the day I actually try to cook, take time with it. Shiraz all right?”

“Yes, it’s great. I almost talked myself out of coming.”

Jenny glanced away from the torte she’d set in the center of the prep counter-like a centerpiece. “Why?”

“I’m easier alone than with people. But I’m glad I came, even if just to see your house.”

With a humming sound, Jenny poured Naomi a glass of wine, then picked up her own. “I should tell you, then, I’ve decided we’re going to be really good friends, and I’m just relentless.”

“I haven’t had a really good friend in a long time. I’m out of practice.”

“Oh, that’s all right.” Jenny wrist-flicked that away. “I’ve got the skills. Why don’t I show you my workshop? I’ve got your desk stripped down.”

They went through a laundry room and straight into a space full of tables, chairs, shelves, workbenches. Though both windows stood open, Naomi caught the scents of paint thinner, linseed oil, polish.

“I keep picking things up,” Jenny explained. “It’s a sickness. Then I fix them up and talk my boss at Treasures and Trinkets into taking them on consignment. She’ll use pieces for display, and if they don’t sell, I haul them down to this co-op in Shelton. If they don’t sell there, I haul them back. I’m getting some work from people who want a piece redone or fixed up, but most is Dumpster diving, I guess.”

Naomi gestured to a three-tiered piecrust table. “You didn’t get that out of a Dumpster.”

“Job site again. The lady sold it to Kevin for ten dollars-it was broken, the top tier snapped clean off. So he fixed it-you can’t even tell it was broken. And I’m-”

“I want it. When you’ve refinished it, I’ll buy it.”

Thrown off rhythm, Jenny blinked. “You think fast.”

“It’s just the sort of thing I want. I’m looking to mix a lot of old pieces, character pieces, through the house. This is perfect.”

“I should have you over more often. Will you barter for it?”

“You’ve already got the torte.”

“I mean, would you trade me a picture for it and the work on the desk? You’ve got this one on your website, and I keep seeing it over our little fireplace in the living room in a white-shabby-chic white-frame. It’s sunset, and oh, the sky is just full of red and gold and going to indigo blue, and the trees are reflected on the water. And there’s a white boat-sailboat-in the sound. It makes me think that’s what heaven could be. Sailing in a white boat on the water into the red and golds.”

“I know the one you mean, but it doesn’t seem fair-two pieces for one.”

“I know what your work goes for. And I know what mine goes for. I’m getting the better deal.”

“Depends on where you’re standing. Done-but I frame it. Tell me what size you want.”

Jenny pointed toward a frame-shabby-chic white.

“About twenty-four by eighteen. I’ll take the frame with me.”

“Oh boy! And what I really wanted you to see was that bench. It just seems right for your bedroom deck.”

Following the direction, Naomi stepped around a couple of projects in progress and saw the high-backed wire bench, done in a distressed forest green.

“No pressure,” Jenny said quickly. “If you don’t like it-”

“I do. And it would work there. Better, if I ever get the grounds cleared and decently landscaped, it would be wonderful as a garden seat, wouldn’t it?”

“In a shady nook,” Jenny imagined. “Or in the sun, by a weeping cherry.”

“Absolutely. And it would make pretty seating on the bedroom deck in the meantime. Sold.”

“Will you trade me the water lily print for it?”

“You make it easy,” Naomi agreed.

“I have this frame-distressed silver-and I can just see that print in it, on my bedroom wall. It’s fun helping decorate each other’s houses.”

“Let’s see the frame.”

“Ah, it’s over… there.”

With Jenny, Naomi started toward it, then stopped. “Oh! My desk.”

At her tone, Tag stopped exploring and trotted over. Naomi all but cooed as she ran her hand over the smooth wood. “I know it’s just stripped and sanded, but it’s already beautiful. Look at the hues, the grain. It’s like somebody had dressed a gorgeous woman in a baggy black coat, and you took it off. I think we just made a hell of a good deal, both sides.”

“That’s what good friends should do.” Delighted, Jenny hugged an arm around Naomi’s waist. “I’m going to love seeing my work in your space, having your work in mine. And now, why don’t we go out the door here so we can walk around outside. I bet Tag wants to see Molly. They’re friends, too.”

“He decided she wouldn’t try to rip his throat out. Now he takes her the tug rope when he sees her. It’s sweet.”

They stepped out into the side yard.

“It’s awful quiet,” Jenny commented as she turned to secure the door. “Quiet worries me.”

She’d no more than said it before Naomi took a blast of cold water-heart-shot.

Xander swung around the corner, leading with a huge water rifle. Naomi held her hands out to the sides, looked down at her soaked shirt, and looked up.

“Really?”

“Hey, sorry. I thought you were Kevin.”

“Do I look like Kevin?”

“Can’t say you do, but I figured him to double back from this way. Kids broke the treaty, and the three of them are ganging up on me. This would be the fog-of-war sort of situation.”

“Fog of war, my ass.”

“It’s more your-” He broke off when he took a volley of shots in the back.

“Xander’s dead!” Tyler did a war dance. “Xander’s dead.” He wiggled his butt and shook his water gun at the sky.

“Traitors. You’re living with traitors and back-shooters,” Xander told Jenny.

“You shot an unarmed woman. I’ll get you a dry shirt, Naomi.”

“Thanks. And thank you for killing him,” Naomi said to Tyler. “He ambushed a noncombatant.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re a really good shot. Could I…” She took the gun and shot a stream into Xander’s face. “There. That’s what we call a coup de grace.”

Maddy giggled, then started climbing up her father’s leg. “Xander’s got cooties.”

“That’s right.” She gave Tyler back the gun, then narrowed her eyes at the gleam in Xander’s. “Don’t even think about it,” she said before walking away with Jenny.

She ate in one of Jenny’s T-shirts and enjoyed herself more than she’d thought possible. Good food and good company, two things she rarely took the time for or had the inclination for, proved the perfect end to the day-even when she found herself cornered into playing Xbox.

“You’ve got game,” Xander commented after she’d trounced everyone at the LEGO Movie game-twice.

“Everything is awesome when you have a brother who’s still a video game maniac. And now that I remain undefeated”-she added a finger in the belly for Tyler-“I really have to go.”

“Play one more!”

“Practice,” she advised, “and I’ll take you on next time. But Tag and I have to get home. Everything was great, Jenny, thanks for having me. I can take those frames with me if you want.”

“I really want.” In her easy way, Jenny stepped up and hugged Naomi. “Sunday dinner, open invitation. I mean it.”

“Thanks. And thanks, Kevin. See you tomorrow.”

“I’ll get the frames. Meet you out front with them,” Xander told her.

She hadn’t intended to stay so late. But the setting sun painted the sky in the west and the air had cooled enough that she could have used a sweater.

Still, she thought as she walked the dog to the car, she could get some work in, plan out her agenda for the week, and have time to read herself to sleep.

She opened the door to the back; the dog jumped agilely in. Then she sat on the back of the car, facing the water, and took pictures of the sunset over the inlet, the empty docks, the shimmering silence.

“Do you ever quit?” Xander asked as he carried the frames across the lawn.

“I get amazing sunrise shots from my place, but this little spit of water edges west, and that’s one champion sunset.”

“My place isn’t on the water, but I get some worthy sunsets through the trees. You might want to check it out.”

“I might.”

He propped the frames in the back, gave the dog a rub, and then managed to turn in a way that boxed her in.

“It’s still early.”

“That depends. Maddy was drooping.”

“Maddy’s four. Why don’t we go into Loo’s? I’ll buy you a drink.”

“I had several glasses of wine.”

“Over about four hours. Walk a straight line.”

She laughed, shook her head. “I can walk a straight line, and since I want to continue to be able to, I’ll pass on another drink. You have terrific friends, Xander.”

“Seems like they’re your friends, too.”

“Jenny won’t take no.”

“Why say no?”

She shrugged, looked back to the sunset. Going to gold now, she thought. Soft, shimmering gold. “General rule.”

“You make it hard not to ask questions.”

“I appreciate that you don’t. I really have to go.”

He ran a hand down her arm, but stepped back. Didn’t kiss her, Naomi realized, because she expected it.

He had game, too.

But he walked around, opened the door for her. “Do you like eggplant parm?”

“I do.”

“Come to my place Wednesday for dinner. We’ll have eggplant parm.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re going to make eggplant parmesan?”

“Hell no. I’ll get takeout from Rinaldo’s. They make good eggplant parm.”

“Two social outings inside one week? I don’t know if I can handle it.”

“Try. Bring the dog.”

She blew out a breath as Tag shoved his face out her door and pushed his muzzle into Xander’s big, callused hand.

“Just dinner.”

“I can take no.”

“You’re going to have to. What time?”

“About seven works best. I’m over the garage. You come around back and take the stairs up.”

“All right. Wednesday. Probably.”

Still letting the dog nuzzle his hand, Xander grinned. “You like keeping the door cracked open.”

“Always. Good night.”

Why was that? he wondered when she drove away. What was it she needed to be ready to run from?

Yeah, she made it hard not to ask questions.

Twelve

Creatively, her week sucked. She had to move her workstation from the bedroom into one of the guest rooms-at least she could try it out as her potential studio-as they wanted to demo her bathroom. And since they were doing that, Kevin opted to have them demo all but one of the other baths on the bedroom floor.

The noise, even with earbuds in and music blaring, was horrendous.

She considered moving downstairs, but the painters held court in the living room, with the library next on the slate. She’d end up playing musical workstations, so she tried her best to stick it out.

By midweek she gave up and drove into the national forest with the intent of hiking with camera and dog.

Fresh air, a dry, sunny day, and lovely green-tinged light whipped annoyance away. She wished she’d brought her laptop, as she’d have found a handy stump, sat right down, and done her updates in the serenity of the forest.

She walked-the leash fixed to her belt, as Tag tolerated it now-through a stand of trees that looked as if they’d stood since time began. Towering columns with branches lifted to catch the sea of wind and send dapples and rays of filtered sun to the forest floor.

Wildflowers danced there through fans of young ferns, around moss-carpeted rocks. Snow-white trillium like fairy brides, and calypso orchids their colorful slippers.

She thought about taking a few days, camping out. How would the dog deal with that, now that she had a dog to consider? Two or three days, on her own again, away from the noise she’d brought on herself.

Maybe.

No question Tag enjoyed the forest, puffing himself up by threatening squirrels or prancing along beside her. He even sat patiently enough when she paused to take pictures, no matter how long she took.

“It could be fun. Just you and me, and all this.”

As they meandered she began to think getting a dog-or being got by one-had been a fine idea after all.

A couple of hikers came her way, leading a handsome little beagle. Before she could give them the fellow-hiker nod of greeting, Tag let out a yip of terror and literally leaped into her arms. And knocked her flat.

The hikers-a couple of guys up from Portland for a few days-rushed to her aid. But the friendly and harmless beagle only had Tag squirming on top of her as if he could worm his way straight through and under her where it would be safe.

Since her camera was cushioned between her body and the dog’s, no damage done. But she’d seen stars-and felt their sharp little points in her ass.

“You’re a disgrace,” she told the dog as she walked stiffly back to the car. “Definitely no camping for you. A teacup poodle might come along and try to rip you to pieces.”

Tag crawled into the back, hung his head, and said nothing.

Since her butt ached, she tried the seat warmer on low and found that it soothed her considerably on the drive back. And with relief she saw only Kevin’s truck in front of the house.

He walked out as she gingerly eased out of the car.

“Hey! I just left you a note. We made some good progress today. How was the hike?”

She watched Tag rush over to greet Molly like a long-lost friend.

“He’s fine with her.”

“Sure.”

“If there’s a cat or a Pom or Pekinese, whatever, in the vet, he shakes like he’s walking into the seventh circle of hell. He runs at squirrels, or barks at them, but we ran into a couple of guys with a damn beagle on the trail, and he freaked. Jumped on me, knocked me flat.”

“You okay?”

Automatically she rubbed her sore ass. “It rang my bell, I’ll tell you that, and he’s all but clawing me open to climb inside, away from the terrifying beagle who licked at my limp hand in sympathy.”

To her shock, Kevin stepped straight up and started running his hands over her head. “You’ve got a little bump. I can run you to the ER.”

“It’s just bumps and bruises. And extreme pissed-off.”

He cupped her chin, looked hard into her eyes, and did something she thought no one could at that moment. He made her smile.

“Bumps and bruises only, Dr. Banner.”

“Headache?”

“No. Ass ache.”

“Ice bag, warm bath, a couple of Motrin. That’ll be two hundred dollars.”

“Put it on my account, because that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“A good dinner you don’t have to cook over at Xander’s should polish it off.”

“I… It’s Wednesday.”

“All day, half the night. You take it easy,” he added, giving her a gentle poke. “And I know it looks torn up in there, but it’s good progress. Tell Xander I’ll see him tomorrow at Loo’s.”

“Right.” Fuck, fuck, fuck. She started in as Kevin got into his truck.

She had a perfect excuse-reason, she corrected-to cancel dinner at Xander’s. Sore, cranky, out of sorts-all for good reason, she thought, and headed straight back for that ice pack.

Then she turned straight around and walked back to stand and stare at the living room.

The painting wasn’t finished-as the ladders and drop cloths attested-and she could see where touch-up was needed.

But oh, it was going to be just lovely.

She’d gone back and forth, around and around on color, and had worried the soft taupe would come off as dull and boring.

It didn’t.

Settled, she thought. For some reason the tone said settled to her.

“I keep thinking I’ve made a mistake with this place.” Sighing, she laid her hand on Tag’s head as he leaned against her leg. “Then I see the next step or stage, and know I haven’t.”

She looked down, smiled. Then narrowed her eyes. “I’m mad at you,” she reminded them both, and went back for the ice bag.

She argued with herself as she soaked her aching butt in the ugly baby blue tub in the single bathroom left to her upstairs. She could call off dinner without a qualm. She’d had an incident.

But calling it off tonight really equaled postponing.

Better to do it-get it done-and work on a way to shift whatever this was with Xander into the kind of friendship she had with Kevin.

The kind where being touched made her smile instead of tense.

And that, she admitted, would never happen.

Too much heat.

She got out of the tub, pleased the ache had lessened-and displeased to see she had a palm-sized bruise on her posterior.

She opted for leggings-softer on the ass-and a pale gray hooded sweater. She considered skipping makeup altogether but deemed it too obvious, so she kept a very light hand with it.

At quarter to seven she started out-though she felt Tag didn’t deserve a second outing. Then she walked back in and grabbed a bottle of wine.

It wasn’t a strawberry torte, but she’d been raised too well to go empty- handed.

She made the drive easily, then let the dog out but gave him the cold shoulder. As instructed, she took the steps up and rapped a knuckle on the door.

“Yeah, it’s open! Come on in.”

Naomi pushed the door open to see Xander in the jut that formed a kitchen, opening a bottle of wine.

Jeans, a chambray work shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, at least a day’s worth of scruff on that toughly handsome face.

She’d break down, she thought, and ask him to pose for her. “I could have been a trained assassin with her vicious hellhound.”

“A locked door wouldn’t stop a trained assassin or her vicious hellhound.”

He had a point. Tag strolled right in and wagged his way over to Xander.

And Naomi stared, with wonder and delight, at the living room wall of books. “Wow, the rumors of book lover are true. That’s quite a collection.”

“Part of it.”

“Part? You’re a serious man, Xander.”

“About books, anyway.”

She glanced around. “Very efficient space, and that is one of the best uses of a wall I’ve ever seen. Color, texture, dimension.”

“Not to mention words.”

He walked over, offered her a glass of wine, took the bottle from her.

“Yeah, words. I like to read as much as the next guy-unless you’re the next guy.”

“That’s the plan.”

She laughed, waving him off as she walked up and down the wall. “But this is art. You’re smart enough to know your furniture is absolute crap. You don’t care about that. You’ve arranged your space for efficiency and highlighted a passion. And by highlighting it, created art. I want pictures of this.”

“Sure, go ahead. I don’t care.”

“Not now, not with my phone. I mean serious pictures. I want to come back with my camera. And with big daddy Hasselblad.”

“Whose daddy is he?”

She laughed, but continued to study the wall of books. “Film camera. Medium format. I could do a nice panorama, too, and-”

“Bring your camera when you want. But why don’t we sit outside and have this wine?”

“You’re having wine?”

“It’s not so bad now and again. You smell great.”

He cupped her chin, but not like Kevin had, and took her mouth.

No, she thought, no, not like Kevin. Not in the least.

“Bath salts-it was medicinal.”

“Yeah, I heard. Small-dog fear.”

“What?”

He took her hand, tugged her into the bedroom, felt her resist. “I’ve got a deck through the door in here.”

And more books, she noted. A big-screen TV, crap furniture, and more books.

He opened the door to the small square of deck with a half-rusted table and a couple of folding chairs. “I can get you a pillow to sit on.”

“You talked to Kevin.”

“I’m supposed to keep an eye on you, which I’d planned to do anyway.”

“I’m fine.” She sat, carefully. “Mostly. But to the issue: There’s no such thing as small-dog fear.”

“Microcynophobia.”

On a laugh, she sampled the wine. “You’re making that up.”

“Cynophobia’s fear of dogs-add the micro. You can look it up.”

Though she had her doubts, considering his collection of books, she didn’t argue the term. “Why would he-and he’s eighty-five pounds now, a lot of it muscle, I can attest-have microcynophobia?”

“Can’t say. Maybe he was traumatized at an early age by a Chihuahua.”

He reached behind her head, gently tested. “Ow.”

“That’s what I said once I got my breath back. My ass hit harder than my head.”

“Want me to check it out for you?”

“I’ve taken care of that, thanks.” She studied his view. “You can sit here and watch the ball game.”

“And do, if I’m too lazy to walk over.”

“Little League?”

“T-ball, Little League, Pony League, and some sponsored adult leagues. Keaton’s sponsored the Whales-currently battling their way out of the basement.”

“Do you play?”

“Not much anymore. Not a lot of time for it. You?”

“No, I never did.”

“What kind of feminist are you?”

“The non-sport-playing type. My brother played for a while, but basketball was his deal.”

“Is that right?”

“He played for Harvard.”

“Huh. Crimson. What position?”

“Point guard. I noticed you have a blacktop court and hoop out back.”

“Shooting hoops clears the brain. Used to play, back in high school. Mostly pickup games now.”

“What position?”

“Same as your brother. We’ll have to go one-on-one if he ever gets out here.”

“He will.” She’d have her family here, she thought, including her grandparents so they could see what they’d helped her have. Maybe by the fall, she’d have her family out.

“Are you any good, because, I can attest, he is.”

“I hold my own.”

She suspected he did, in many ways.

And he was right about the sunlight through the trees as it dropped toward the horizon.

“It seems like a good spot for a garage. Quick and easy access to the road, close to town, and a quick zip to 101. Is that why you picked it?”

“The place was here already. It used to be Hobart’s. He was looking to sell-getting up in age, and his wife took sick. We came to an agreement, and they moved to Walla Walla. Their daughter lives there.”

“Was it having your own business, or mechanics?”

“It was both. Is. I like cars. If I wanted a car-and I did-I had to learn how to keep it running. I liked learning how to keep things running. I didn’t mind working for Hobart-he was fair. But I like working for myself better. You must feel the same.”

True enough, she thought-but she preferred being by herself as much as working for herself.

Still…

“I worked as a photographer’s assistant for about fourteen months after college. I thought of it like an apprenticeship. He was not fair, by any measure. Arrogant, downright mean, demanding, and prone to toddler-scale tantrums. He was, and is, also brilliant.”

“Sometimes the brilliant think they’re entitled to tantrums.”

“Unfortunately true, but I was raised by a chef-a brilliant one-and brains and talent weren’t considered excuses for arrogance, for pettiness, but gifts.”

“No throwing spatulas or frying pans?”

The idea made her smile. “Not in Harry’s kitchen-home or restaurant. In any case, I’d planned on two years with Julian-the photographer-but fourteen months was all I could take. One of the happiest days of my life was punching him in the face and walking off the shoot.”

He glanced at her hand-slender, fine-boned. “That’s an interesting way to give your two weeks’ notice.”

“Two weeks’ notice, my ass.”

She shifted toward him-he wondered if she knew she rubbed her foot on Tag’s back, keeping the dog in quiet bliss. “Major shoot. Advertising-shampoo.”

“Shampoo is a major shoot?”

“Let me tell you, friend, there’s big money in ad photography. The model has a yard of glorious flame-red hair-she’s a joy to shoot. This guy, he’s a perfectionist, and I’ve got no problem with that. He’s also a vicious little dick. I’m used to the verbal abuse, at this point. The blame-casting, the castigating, even the throwing of objects. All of which were present during this particular shoot. He actually had the makeup artist in tears at one point. Then he claimed I handed him the camera with the wrong lens, I’d had enough, and pointed out I’d given him what he’d asked for. He slapped me.”

Amusement faded. “He hit you?”

“Slapped me like a little girl. So I punched him, just the way Seth-my uncle-taught me. Nothing in my life had ever felt that good. I think I actually said that while he’s screaming-again like a little girl-and the other assistants are scrambling around. The model walked over, gave me a high five. He’s holding his bloody nose.”

“Did you break it?”

“If you’re actually going to punch somebody in the face, it’s stupid to pull it.”

“That’s my philosophy.”

“I broke his nose, and he’s screaming about having me arrested for assault. I told him to call the cops, go right ahead, because I had a studio full of witnesses who’d seen him assault me first. When I walked out I promised myself I’d never work for a vicious little dick again.”

“Another excellent philosophy.”

Had he thought her interesting? No, not interesting, he corrected. Fascinating.

“So you broke a guy’s nose, then started your own business.”

“Sort of. Seth and Harry were friends with the owner of a gallery in SoHo, and they convinced him to take a couple of my pieces. They’d have supported me-in every way-while I tried to make a living in art photography. But I knew I could hold my own doing stock photography, getting some work doing book covers, album covers. Food shoots-I already did them for the restaurant. And clip art-it can be fun and creative, and it can generate income. I needed to get beyond New York, so I took the leap. Car, camera, computer.”

She stopped, frowned down at her wine. “That was a lot.”

“A microcosm,” he countered, pleased she’d forgotten her reserve, distrust, whatever it was, long enough to tell the story. “It tells me you’ve got guts and spine, but I already knew that. You do album covers?”

“I have. Nobody major. Unless you’ve heard of Rocket Science.”

“Retro-funk.”

“You surprise me.”

“I haven’t even started. The band’s working on another CD.”

“Another?”

“We did one a couple years ago. Mostly for tourists, or when we do a wedding, that kind of thing. How about it?”

“You’re looking for a photographer?”

“Jenny’s cousin’s friend did the last one. It wasn’t bad. I figure you’d do better.”

“Maybe. Let me know when you’re ready, and we’ll see. How long have you been playing?”

“With the band or at all?”

“Both.”

“With these guys, about four years. Altogether, since I was around twelve. Kevin and I started a band-Lelo on bass, just like now.”

Obviously surprised, she lowered her wineglass. “Kevin?”

“Do not ask him to play his Pearl Jam tribute. Trust me.”

“Does he play the guitar?”

“You can’t really call it playing.”

“That’s mean,” she said with a laugh.

“It’s truth. Let’s eat.” He took her hand again, this time tugging her inside. “We did some local gigs-school dances, parties. After high school, we lost our drummer to the Marines, Kevin did the college thing, Lelo stayed stoned.”

“And you?”

He pulled the takeout from the oven, where he’d kept it warm. “I hit trade school, worked here, picked up some gigs. Some with Lelo when he realized he wasn’t going to get the girls, and couldn’t play worth crap when he was stoned.”

She thought of the wall of books, looked over at it again. “No college for you?”

“Hated school. Trade school, that was different. But regular school. They tell you what to learn, what to read, so I opted out, learned from Hobart, learned from trade school, took some business classes.”

“Business classes.”

“If you’re going to have your own, you have to know how to run a business.”

He divided the salad from the take-out box in the fridge into two bowls, transferred the eggplant parm to plates, and added the breadsticks the pizzeria was locally famous for.

“This actually looks great.” She sat, and smiled when Xander pulled a rawhide bone out of a cupboard. “Smart.”

“It’ll keep him busy. What was your first picture? You had to have a first.”

“We had a long weekend in the Hamptons-friends of my uncles. I’d never seen the ocean, and oh God, it was so amazing. Just amazing. Seth let me use his little point-and-shoot Canon, and I took rolls and rolls of film. And that was that. What was the first song you learned to play? You had to have a first.”

“It’s embarrassing. ‘I’m a Believer.’ The Monkees,” he added.

“Oh, sure. Really? It’s catchy, but doesn’t seem your style.”

“I liked the riff, you know…” He diddled it out. “I wanted to figure out how to play it. Kevin’s mom used to play old records all the time, and that one kept circling around. His dad had an old acoustic guitar, and I worked on it until I could more or less play it. Saved up, bought a secondhand Gibson.”

“The one in the bedroom?”

“Yeah. I keep it handy. I figured out, by the time I was fifteen, that if you had a guitar and could even pretend to play it, you got the girls. How’s the parm?”

“You were right. It’s really good. So you got the girls, being as you can more than pretend to play, but none of them stuck?”

“Jenny might have.”

“Jenny?” She set down her fork. “Jenny-Jenny?”

“Jenny Walker back then, and I saw her first. New girl in school, just moved up from Olympia, and pretty as a butterscotch sundae. I asked her out before Kevin. Kissed her first, too.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s Keaton/Banner history. I was about half in love with her, but he was all the way in love with her.”

“And there’s bros before hos.”

Grinning, he picked up a breadstick. “You said it, I didn’t. I ended up playing Cyrano to his Christian, finally got his guts up to ask her out. And that, as we’ve said, is that. I’m still half in love with her.”

“Me, too. And the package along with it. They’re like central casting called for a great-looking, all-American family, dog included. If you’re waiting for another Jenny, you’re going to be out of luck. I’m pretty sure she’s one of a kind.”

“I’ve got my eye on a tall, complicated blonde.”

She knew it, wished hearing it didn’t set off those flutters low in the belly. “It’s not smart to aim for the complicated.”

“Simple’s usually surface anyway, and wears off. Then the complications are annoying instead of interesting. You’ve got my interest, Naomi.”

“I’m aware.” She watched him as she ate. “Nine times out of ten I’d rather be alone than with anyone.”

“You’re here now.”

“I’m twenty-nine, and I’ve managed to evade, avoid, and slip around any sort of serious relationship.”

“Me, too. Except I’ve got three years on you.”

“Since I left New York six years ago, I haven’t stayed in any one place over three months.”

“You’ve got me there. I’ve lived here all my life. But I have to repeat myself, you’re here now.”

“And right now, this feels like my place. Things start up with you, screw up with you, it affects that.”

“I don’t know how you manage life with that sunny, optimistic nature of yours.”

She smiled. “It’s a burden.”

Knowing the risk, he pushed a bit deeper. “Ordinarily I’d assume you had some crappy relationship or marriage behind you. But that’s not it. You’ve got a solid family under you, and that’s foundation.”

She nudged her plate away. “Think of it as internal wiring.”

“No. I’m good with wiring. You’ve got enough self-confidence and sense of self-worth to punch an asshole, to head off on your own to go after what you wanted. You’re complicated, Naomi, and that’s interesting. But you’re not wired wrong.”

She rose, took both their plates to the counter. “There was a boy who loved me-or thought he did the way you can at twenty. I slept with him, and studied with him, worked with him. When he told me he loved me, asked me to live with him, I broke it off. Right then and there. It was hard for us both to get through the rest of college. Easier for me, no doubt, because I didn’t have those feelings for him. So I could just walk away.”

“But you remember him.”

“I hurt him. I didn’t have to.”

Maybe, Xander thought, but he doubted anybody got through the labyrinth of life without hurting someone, whether or not they had to.

“I guess you’re counting on me falling in love with you and asking you to live with me.”

“I’m pointing out the problems with relationships when they go south and people live and work in close proximity.”

“Maybe you’ll fall in love with me, ask me to live with you in that big house on the bluff.”

“I don’t fall in love, and I like living alone.”

Xander glanced at Tag and decided not to point out that she’d fallen for the mutt and lived with him.

“Then I know that going in-unlike the college boy. I’ll get those. I know how it works. Want more wine?”

She turned away from the sink. “Better not. Water’s better since I have to drive.”

“It’s a nice night. Once I clean this up we can take a walk, work off dinner. Let the dog stretch his legs.”

“He could probably use it.” She took the water he offered, wandered back toward the wall of books. “I really do want to take some shots here. Is there any time that works for you?”

“Why don’t you come over Friday-anytime. The door’s open if I’m working down below. But if you came later in the day, you could go over to Loo’s after. We could grab some dinner before we play.”

“You’re playing Friday?”

“Nine to midnight. Ish. Kevin and Jenny can probably come, if you want.”

Not really a date so much as a get-together, with food and music. And she did like the music. More, she wanted to get back in here with her camera and…

Everything went blank and cold as her gaze latched onto a single spine in the wall of books.

Blood in the Ground: The Legacy of Thomas David Bowes, by Simon Vance.

They’d changed the title for the movie-the title and focus-as they’d wanted the drama focused on the young girl who’d discovered her father, who’d saved a woman’s life, who’d stopped a murderer.

After her mother’s death, once she’d believed she could face it, Naomi read interviews by the director, the screenwriter, so she knew why they’d turned the book into Daughter of Evil. But this was where it had started, this held all the horror and the cold-blooded years of one man’s murderous secrets.

“Naomi?” Xander tossed the dishcloth aside and started for her. “What’s wrong?”

“What?” She turned, too sharply, and she’d gone pale so her eyes burned dark. “Nothing. Nothing. I… A little headache. I probably shouldn’t have had the wine after rapping my head.”

She sidestepped, talking too fast. “This was really great, Xander, but I should go pop a couple more Motrin, make it an early night.”

Before she could get to the door, he took her arm, felt it quivering. “You’re shaking.”

“Just the headache. I really need to go.” Afraid the shaking would turn into a panic attack, she laid a hand over his. “Please. I’ll come back Friday if I can. Thanks for everything.”

She bolted, barely waiting for the dog to catch up.

Xander turned back, eyes narrowed on the books. Was he crazy? he wondered. Or had something there put the fear of God into her?

He walked over, scanned the titles. Then adjusted, estimating where she’d been looking. Her position, her height.

Baffled, he shook his head. Just books, he thought. Words and worlds on pages. He pulled one out at random, put it back, tried another. She’d been looking right about here when he’d glanced back, when he’d seen her freeze as if he’d pointed a gun at her head.

He frowned, drew out the nonfiction book-serial killer, he remembered, back east. It had fascinated him as a teen when it buzzed all over the news. So he’d bought the book when it came out.

West Virginia, he remembered, looking at the grainy photo of the killer in the cover art.

Couldn’t have been this. She came from New York.

He started to slide it back in, and then, as he often did with a book in his hand, opened it to skim the flyleaf.

“Yeah, West Virginia, some little podunk town. Thomas David Bowes, cable guy, family man. Wife and two kids. Deacon in his church. How many did he kill again?”

Curious enough, Xander kept skimming.

“Hot August night, summer storm, country dark, blah blah. Eleven-year-old daughter finds his murder room, and… Naomi Bowes. Naomi.”

He stared at the book, once again saw her pale, stricken face in his head.

“Son of a bitch.”

Thirteen

After considerable internal debate, Naomi pushed herself out of the house on Friday night. A compromise of sorts, she thought, as she couldn’t and wouldn’t push herself to go back to Xander’s. Not yet.

Tag wasn’t thrilled with the idea of her going out at all, though she left him with his stuffed cat, a rawhide bone, and the promise that she’d be back.

She couldn’t take the dog into a bar.

She’d nearly used him as an excuse, at least to herself, but going out was normal, and normal, after the disaster ending Wednesday night, was her current goal.

One drink, she told herself. One drink, one set, easy Friday-night conversation with Jenny and Kevin-and if Xander came over during the break, easy conversation with him.

Normal.

Maybe the thought of reaching for normal exhausted her, but she’d give it a solid attempt.

Conversation posed no issue with Jenny, so she’d just let Jenny take the lead, ride that wave until it was time to go.

Keeping it all light had to help throttle things back with Xander. She’d chosen the house-or it had chosen her-the small town. Which meant that avoiding Xander struck the wrong note. So throttle it back to casual friendship. That was the answer.

How could she have forgotten, allowed herself to forget, what she’d come from and how easily normal could come crashing down?

A book on a shelf, she thought now. It only took that to remind her.

As before, she’d timed it so the band already rocked the small stage. She made her way to Jenny and Kevin, cozied up at the same table. Jenny immediately grabbed her hand.

“Great timing. Sitter was late so we just got here. And they’re hot tonight! Kevin’s going to get us drinks, then he’s going to dance with me.”

“My round,” Naomi insisted. “Sam Adams, red wine?”

“You got it, thanks. Come on, Kevin.”

“Why don’t we just-”

But Jenny dragged him to the dance floor while Naomi worked her way back to the bar.

She felt Xander’s eyes on her, the responsive flutter in her belly. She needed to acknowledge him, and she would. She would.

She outlined it as she maneuvered.

Get to the bar, order, then lean back on the bar, send Xander a smile.

Two bartenders worked nonstop, so she figured she’d have a wait. But the hot brunette-sassy swing with… yes, that looked like magenta streaked through the brown-glanced her way.

She had a face so sharp, cheekbones so keen, she might have been carved with a scalpel.

“Leggy blonde, short hair, long bangs, a boot-in-the-balls face. You’re the photographer.”

“I… Yes.”

The woman sized her up with eyes more gray than blue in the dim light. “All right,” she said with a slow nod. “You’re with Jenny and Kev?”

“Yes.”

“Sam Adams, glass of merlot-and what’re you drinking?”

“The merlot’s fine.”

“It’s not bad.”

The woman wore big silver hoop earrings, joined in the left lobe by a trio of red studs that matched her snug, low-necked T-shirt.

“I used to be married to the guy who pretended to take care of the lawn and yard work up at the old Parkerson place.”

“Oh. Pretended?”

“Turned out he was smoking more grass than he mowed. I ended up firing him as a husband before they fired him as groundskeeper. Can’t say he wasn’t a good-natured sort. Do you want to run a tab?”

“Ah, no. Thanks.”

Naomi paid cash, digging bills out of the wallet in her pocket.

“I can have that brought out to you,” the woman said.

“I’ve got it.” Competently, Naomi used one hand to cup the two wineglasses, the other to lift the lager.

“You’ve done some waitressing.”

“Yeah, I have. Thank you.”

They’d slowed it down with the Stones and “Wild Horses.” As she worked her way back, she saw Kevin and Jenny, still on the dance floor, wrapped around each other and swaying.

The sweetness of it struck her straight in the heart.

Love could last, she thought. She’d seen it with Seth and Harry. For some, love could last.

She set the drinks down, sat, and, since the bartender had distracted her from her outline, picked up her wine and looked toward the stage with a smile ready.

Xander’s gaze locked on hers. He sang as though he meant it. As if wild horses couldn’t take him away. Talent, showmanship, she told herself. And she wasn’t looking for love, for promises, for devotion.

Still, where Jenny and Kevin had struck her heart, he gripped it. Just hard enough to make it ache.

She wanted it to stop, just stop. Wanted to empty herself of what he made her feel, made her need. He’d been a mistake, she knew it. Had been a mistake since he’d hunkered down to change her tire on the dark side of the road.

She made herself look away, told herself to watch the dancers. Her gaze brushed over the woman who’d whispered something in Xander’s ear the last time she’d been here. Right now the woman looked back at her with something between a sulk and dislike.

Great. Now she had the attention of some jealous groupie.

She should’ve stayed home with the dog.

The ache stayed lodged in her when they kicked it back up, and Kevin pulled Jenny back to the table.

“Two dances in a row.” Bright-eyed, Jenny pumped fists in the air. “That’s a record.”

“You don’t like to dance, Kevin?”

“Did you see me out there?”

She laughed, and spoke absolute truth. “I thought you looked adorable.”

–

He’d known the minute she’d come in-not because he’d seen her, Xander thought as he let Lelo take the lead. But because there had been a change in the air. The way there was before a storm.

She had that inside her, that storm. He knew why now, but the why wasn’t the whole story. He wanted the whole of it as much as he wanted her.

Should he tell her he knew? He’d asked himself that question a dozen times and more since he’d picked that book off the shelf. Would telling her help her relax or send her running? She remained too much of a mystery to be sure.

If she trusted him… But she didn’t.

She didn’t want to be here. She covered it well-he imagined she was used to covering-but even in this light he could see that the smile didn’t reach her eyes and stay there.

But she’d come, maybe to prove a point to herself, to him. To both.

If he left her alone, just backed away? He suspected she’d be fine with it. And that was likely something else she was good at-making wherever she was, whatever she did, fine for the moment.

She’d be used to that.

And he was damn set on giving her something she wasn’t used to.

The hell with fine.

They moved on to Clapton, and Xander ordered himself to concentrate. Even as he watched Naomi and Jenny get up and join the others on the dance floor.

–

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d danced, but since Jenny had pleaded, Naomi thought dancing might help burn off some of the heat, the tension.

It felt good to move, to let herself go with the music, let her hips clock the beat.

She didn’t think anything of it when someone bumped her hard from behind. It was all part of it. But when it happened a second time, she glanced around.

“Am I in your way?” Naomi asked the sulky blonde.

“You’re damn right.” She gave Naomi a pissy little shove. “And you’d better get out of it.”

“Cut it out, Marla,” Jenny warned. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

“I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to the bitch in my way. You can’t just come around here and try to take what’s mine.”

“I don’t have anything of yours.”

Several of the dancers had stopped or slowed, eased back to stare. The attention had spiders crawling over Naomi’s skin. To avoid any more, she held up her hands.

“But if you want the floor, it’s yours.”

She started to back off, and the woman shoved her again, slapped out at the friend who said her name, grabbed at her arm.

“You’ll be on the floor if you don’t stay away from Xander.” Eyes gleaming from too much beer, too much frustration, she shoved.

Avoiding attention, sidestepping confrontation-those were hard-learned habits. But defending herself, standing up, those were ingrained.

“You don’t want to touch me again.”

“What’re you going to do about it?”

Smirking, drunk-sure of her ground, Marla planted a hand on Naomi’s chest and started to push. Naomi grabbed her wrist, twisted, and had Marla squealing as she dropped to her knees.

“Don’t touch me again,” Naomi repeated, then released her and walked away.

“Naomi, Naomi! Wait.” Jenny caught up with her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. She’s drunk and stupid.”

“It’s all right.”

It wasn’t, it wasn’t all right. She heard the buzzing, felt eyes following her. And she saw Kevin making his way through the crowd toward them, annoyance and concern clear on his face.

“I’m just going to go. Why ask for trouble?”

“Oh, honey. Let’s just go outside, take a walk. You shouldn’t-”

“I’m fine.” She gave Jenny’s hand a squeeze. “She’s drunk enough to try something again, and I need to get home to the dog anyway. I’ll see you later.”

She didn’t run. She wanted to, but running made it too important. But by the time she got out to her car she felt as if she’d run a mile in a sprint. And the shaking wanted to start, so she just braced herself against the door until she could gather herself to drive.

She straightened quickly and dragged out her keys when she heard someone coming.

Xander just closed a hand over hers before she could hit the lock release.

“Wait.”

“I need to go.”

“You need to wait until you stop shaking so you can drive without running off the road.” He let go of her hand to put both of his on her shoulders, turned her around. “Do you want an apology?”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“No, I didn’t, unless you want to count that I had sex with Marla twice-when I was seventeen. That’s about fourteen years ago, so it shouldn’t apply here. But I’m sorry she upset you and made a fool of herself.”

“She’s drunk.”

“You know, like brilliance, I never find that a decent excuse for being an asshole.”

She let out a short laugh. “Me either, but it’s a fact she’s drunk. And she’s fixed on you, Xander.”

“I haven’t given her reason to be in fourteen years.” Hints of frustration leaked out, but he kept his gaze calm, and on hers. “Plus, for nearly seven of those she’s been with or married to someone I consider a friend. I’m not interested.”

“Maybe you should tell her that.”

He had, more times than he cared to remember. But given the current circumstances, he accepted that he’d have to do it again-and hurt someone he had a fondness for.

No, you didn’t get through life’s labyrinth without it.

“I don’t like scenes,” she added.

“Well, they happen. You play in enough bars, at enough weddings, you see every kind of scene there is, more or less get used to it. You handled it, and that’s all you can do.”

She nodded, hit the lock release.

He turned her around again, pressed her back against the door.

Not fair, not right, she thought, for him to take her over this way when her feelings were so raw, so unsettled.

Not gentle, not soothing, but a struck match to dry timber. And his mouth, just his mouth taking hers, set it all raging.

He took her face in his hands-not gentle there either-as if temper bubbled just under the surface.

“You walked in, and the air changed. I wasn’t going to tell you that. It gives you an advantage, and you’re enough of a challenge.”

“I’m not trying to be a challenge.”

“It’s one of the things that makes you one. I want you. I want you under me and over me and around me. And you want. I’m a good reader, and I read that from you clear enough. I’m coming by your place when we wrap tonight.”

“I don’t-”

He took her mouth again, just took it.

“If there’s a light on,” he continued, “I’ll knock. If there’s not, I’ll turn around and go home. You’ve got a couple hours to figure out what you’d rather. Text Jenny when you get home. She’s worried about you.”

He opened the door for her, held it open as she yanked at the seat belt.

“Leave the light on, Naomi,” he said, and closed the door.

–

She’d left a light on for herself, and turned it off, very deliberately, while the dog danced around her in desperate, delirious welcome.

“Just you and me.”

Determined not to dwell on the disaster of the evening-and wasn’t she racking them up-she went back to the kitchen. She’d make tea, take something for the stress headache banging in her skull. And let the dog out for a last round, she reminded herself, before she locked up and went to bed.

“Sleep’s the great escape,” she told Tag, who clung to her every word, every move.

Since he wanted her close, and she wanted the air, she went out the back with him, sat watching the moon over the water, drinking soothing tea while he wandered.

She didn’t want scenes, she thought. She didn’t want complications. This was what she wanted, this right here. The quiet, the peace of moonlight over the water.

It calmed her, settled the jumps the altercation with a drunk, jealous woman had wound up inside her. She’d just stay away from Loo’s, from Xander, from everyone else for a while.

Plenty of work to do, and she could take that trip to Seattle. Maybe take two or three days there.

Tag came back, sat beside her.

If she could find a motel that took dogs, she realized, and laid a hand on his head.

She hadn’t thought she’d wanted him either, she remembered. And now… Now she needed a motel that took dogs if she took a trip.

“Why don’t I mind that? I should mind that.”

They sat, companionably, for more than an hour.

He rose when she did, walked in when she did, followed her as she checked locks. He walked upstairs with her, darted to his bed to get his stuffed cat, and though he settled down with it, he watched her while she checked her email, her accounts.

As she worked, she’d glance back, see the dog continuing to watch her. Did he sense her restlessness? she wondered.

She got up to put on the fire, hoping that would settle them both.

When it didn’t, he walked back down with her, waiting while she turned on the light again.

“This is a mistake, a terrible, stupid, shortsighted mistake.”

Still time to change her mind, she thought. But she wouldn’t, no, she wouldn’t change her mind. So she walked into the kitchen again, this time pouring herself a glass of wine.

And went back outside with the dog again, to wait for Xander to knock.

–

He caught the tiny glimmer of light up ahead, and everything inside him unknotted. He’d told himself he’d accept the dark-the choice would always be hers-but that glimmer lit inside him like a torch.

She’d left the light on-just one, but one would do.

He parked his bike beside her car, swung off with the guitar case still strapped to his back. He wouldn’t leave it out in the air overnight-and he fully intended to stay.

He’d heard the dog bark, approved that. Nothing like a dog for an early-warning system. And his knock brought out another trio of woofs.

When she opened the door, Tag rushed out to wag and lean and wag some more. But Xander kept his eyes on Naomi, with the dark house behind her.

“I’m coming in.”

“Yeah.” She stepped back. “You’re coming in.”

When he did, she closed the door behind him, checked the lock.

“I worked out some things to say if the light was on.”

“Would you have gone home if it wasn’t?”

“I can want, you can want. But unless you open the door, I stay out. Until,” he corrected. “Until you open it.”

She believed that, realized she could trust that. He might overwhelm, but he’d never force.

“Confidence or patience?”

“It can be both.”

“I’d go to the wall telling myself I’m not impulsive. But I have this house, this dog, and I left the light on when I swore I wouldn’t.”

“You’re not impulsive.” He unstrapped the guitar case, set it against the wall by the door. “You just know how to make a decision.”

“Maybe. All right, I’ve made a decision. This is just sex.”

He didn’t smile, just kept his gaze-patience, confidence-locked on hers. “No, it’s not. You know that, too. But I’m more than happy to start with that. Tell me what you want.”

“Tonight, I want you, and if that doesn’t-”

She broke off when he gave her a yank so her body met his. “I’m going to give you what you want.”

She let herself take. If this was a mistake, she’d regret it later. Now she’d take, she’d consume, she’d let herself gorge on what was offered.

Needy, she dragged at his jacket, fighting it off as the smell of leather surrounded her. As it fell to the floor, he backed her toward the steps, pulled her sweater over her head so fast and smooth it might have been air.

Tag’s tail batted against her legs.

“He thinks it’s a game,” she managed.

“He’ll get used to it.” Xander pressed her back against the wall on the stairs, turned her blood to lava-molten. “This is mine,” he said to the dog. “Settle down.”

Reaching back, Xander flicked open her bra, flicked the straps off her shoulders. “You really need to be naked.”

“Halfway there.”

Hands, big and rough, took her breasts, callused thumbs running over her nipples, stealing her breath while his mouth enslaved her.

He wanted her just like that, desperate, quivering, against the wall. Too quick, done too quick, he warned himself, and pulled her up the rest of the stairs.

The world spun, bursts of light through the dark-heat lightning-shocked sounds she barely realized came from her. She tore at his shirt-where was flesh, she needed his flesh. And when she found it she all but sank her teeth in.

They fell on the bed with streams of moonlight slanting like bars, with the unearthly whisper of wind over the water.

He smelled of leather and sweat-and of the wind over the water. He felt of hard muscle, roughened hands, and bore her down with his weight.

The panic wanted to come but couldn’t carve its way through the needs. Desperate to meet those needs, she found his belt, fought the buckle. And his mouth, rough as his hands, closed over her breast.

She arched up, shocked by the bolt of pleasure, the sheer strength of it. Before she could draw the next breath, his hand pressed between her legs.

When she came it was like falling into a hot pool. She couldn’t surface, couldn’t reach the cool and the air. He only took her deeper, yanking her jeans down her hips, using his hands on her.

Hot and wet, slick and smooth. Everything about her drove him mad. Her nails bit into him as she bowed up. In the dark her eyes were blind and dazed. Her heart, his heart, hammer blows as he fought to free himself.

He couldn’t have stopped if the world ended.

When at last he thrust into her, he thought it had.

For an instant it stopped-sound, breath, movement.

Then it all rushed back, a tidal wave that battered and swept and pounded beyond reason.

He lost himself in it, in her, gave himself to it, to her.

When it broke in him, she broke with him.

She lay limp, still, with her heart still raging. Her body felt bruised and used, and so utterly relaxed. Since no coherent thought would form, she let the attempt go.

If she just stayed like this, eyes closed, she wouldn’t have to think of what to do next.

Then he moved, rolling off her. She felt the bed dip with his weight. She sensed movement, more shifting.

“Back off, pal,” he muttered.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting my boots off. Nobody looks good with his pants around his ankles and his boots on. The dog has your bra if you want it.”

“What?”

She blinked her eyes open. In those slants of moonlight, she could see Xander sitting on the side of the bed, see the dog standing there, tail wagging, something hanging out of his mouth.

“That’s my bra?”

“Yeah. You want it back?”

“Yes, I want it back.” Now she rolled over, reached. Tag did his down-in-front, tail-up move. Wagged.

“He thinks you want to play.” To settle it, Xander rose-tall, built, naked-and plucked the stuffed cat out of the dog bed. “Trade you.”

Tag dropped the bra. Xander picked it up, tossed it on the bed.

“Is that a naked mermaid?”

Naomi glanced at the floor lamp. “Yes. It doesn’t go in here.”

“Why not?” And he did what any man would and stroked a hand over a bronze breast.

“It’s going in the room I’m doing for my uncles. They’ll love it.”

All so casual, Naomi thought. That was good. No intense pillow talk.

Then he turned, looked at her. Ridiculous to feel exposed now, she thought, after what they’d just done to each other. But she had to suppress the urge to cover herself.

“We’ll call that the fast and the furious.”

“The what?”

“I take it you’ve missed some movies.” He walked back over, obviously not bothered by being naked, and sat on the bed. “Still, it would’ve been faster and more furious without the dog. Being focused on the goal, I’d have banged you against the stairs, but he’d have been all over us. You do that, you tend to miss the finer details. Like how you look, right now, in blue moonlight.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“Glad to hear it.” He skimmed a finger over the little tattoo riding low on her left hip. “Like your tat. Lotus blossom, right?”

“Yeah.”

A symbol of hope, he thought, endurance, as it was beauty that grew out of mud.

“What kind of rocker are you?” she asked. “No tats.”

“Haven’t found anything I want that permanent.”

He cupped the back of her head, leaned in to kiss her-softly, a surprise.

“We’re going to slow things down some this time.”

“We are?”

He smiled, eased her back. “Definitely. I don’t want to miss those fine details this time around.”

Later, Naomi could attest he hadn’t missed a single one.

Fourteen

Xander woke with the dog staring at him from the side of the bed-nearly nose to nose. His cloudy brain registered Milo before he remembered his longtime companion was gone. Still, he handled the interruption of sleep in the same way he had with Milo.

“Go away,” he muttered.

Instead of hanging his head, à la Milo, and sulking off to lie down again, Tag wagged his tail and pushed his cold, wet nose into Xander’s face.

“Crap.” To make his point, Xander nudged the cold, wet nose away, which Tag took as encouragement.

The wet, soggy tennis ball plopped on the bed an inch from Xander’s face.

Even the sleep-clouded brain knew better. If he knocked the ball on the floor, the dog would see it as a game and start all over again. So he closed his eyes, ignored the ball and the dog.

Helpfully Tag nosed the ball closer so now the soggy and wet rolled against Xander’s chest.

Beside him, Naomi stirred, reminding Xander he had much more interesting games he could play at oh-dark-thirty.

“He won’t stop,” Naomi murmured beside him, and sat up before Xander could make his move. And beside the bed, Tag danced in joy. “It’s morning ritual.”

“It’s not morning.”

“Five in the morning, like clockwork. He’s actually about ten minutes late.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m getting up, which is part of the morning ritual. Getting dressed-also part of the ritual.”

To Xander’s severe disappointment, she moved away in the dark, rummaged around. He could see her silhouette pulling on some kind of pants.

“You get up at five, every morning?”

“Yes, we do.”

“Even weekends? This is America.”

“Yes, even weekends, in America. The dog and I are in tune there, at least.” She crossed over and opened the doors to the deck. Tag happily raced out. “Go back to sleep.”

“Why don’t you come back to bed, and we can try out a new morning ritual?”

“Tempting, but he’ll be back inside of ten minutes nagging for his breakfast.”

Xander considered. “I can work with ten minutes.”

He liked her laugh, the smoky morning sound of it.

“Go back to sleep. I need coffee before he comes back.”

If he wasn’t getting sex, maybe… “Is the dog the only one who gets breakfast?”

She was still just a shadow-a long, slim one-already heading for the door. “Not necessarily.”

When she walked out Xander lay there a moment. Normally he’d get another hour-maybe seventy minutes more on a Saturday. But he wouldn’t get a hot breakfast.

He picked up the tennis ball, judged the distance to the dog bed, tossed it.

So, she was an early riser, he thought as he got out of bed. He could handle that. She wasn’t a snuggler-and that equaled bonus points in his score book.

He didn’t mind staying tangled up for a while after sex, but when it came to sleep, he wanted his space. Apparently so did she.

Not only amazing in bed, but didn’t expect him to cuddle her like a teddy bear for hours after. Big bonus points.

And she cooked.

He found his pants, tugged them up, and when he couldn’t find his T-shirt, he turned on the mermaid light. It made him grin. A woman who’d buy a naked mermaid lamp-more points.

The room smelled like her, he realized. How did she do that? And she smelled of summer. Of storms and the sultry.

He found his T-shirt, pulled it over his head.

She still kept some of her clothes in packing boxes. Curious, he crossed over, glanced into them. Organized-and he appreciated at least a sense of organization. Not a lot to organize in there, to his eye.

He studied the opening of what would be a walk-in closet, currently under construction and empty of wardrobe.

Jesus, he had more clothes than she did.

It struck him as both weird and fascinating.

He also spotted a boxed toothbrush in what he’d term her bathroom box, and figured everyone would be happier if he took it.

He crossed over again to use the bathroom, and when he hit the light found it gutted. The rough plumbing told him where things would go-and she’d have a kick-ass shower from the size of it.

He could use a shower.

He went out, found another gutted bathroom, found a bedroom half painted-nice color-and a third gutted bathroom. Just as he decided he’d have to use the great outdoors like the dog, he found one outfitted with baby blue fixtures. Ugly, he decided, but serviceable.

And if the fist-sized showerhead over the blue tub worked, he’d make use of it later. But now, he really wanted coffee.

He wandered down, seeing bits and pieces of Kevin’s work. The place would be a showstopper. Not glitzy and fussy-and someone else might have looked for that.

But solid and handsome, with some serious respect for history, location, style.

He paused at the living room. Again, the color worked, and while the gas logs made sense up in the bedroom, he was glad she’d kept the wood-burning original here.

She could use some help with the yard, clearing out the overgrown, pruning back, digging up the weeds. Right now the view from the front was just sad.

He worked his way back, wondering what in the hell one person would do with all the space-then stopped at the library door. For the first time he felt genuine and deep, deep envy.

He’d seen the early stages of the built-ins when he’d dropped by Kevin’s shop a couple times, but the finished product beat it all to hell. The natural cherry would glow red-gold in the light, and simmer like the fire in the evenings. And all the space-what he could do with all that book space.

He’d get himself a big leather chair, angle it to face the fire and the view out the window.

Change the chair to a couch? He could live in this room.

The empty shelves and cases stabbed his book-lover’s heart. They needed to be filled.

He took one more step toward the kitchen, and the scent of coffee reached him.

She was racking up points like Fast Eddie.

He found her sitting on one of the four stools that hadn’t been there on his last visit, drinking coffee and looking at her tablet.

“Help yourself,” she told him.

He went for one of the big white mugs rather than the daintier blue cups, poured coffee.

Though it was cool, she’d opened those accordion doors. He could hear the dog chowing down on the deck in the dark that was just starting to thin.

“I found a toothbrush in one of your boxes. I used it.”

“That’s fine.”

“That blue bathroom. Slated for gutting, right?”

She looked up then-just punched him in the gut with those deep, dark green eyes. “You don’t like the Boxer Bathroom?”

“Boxer-wait-black and blue. Funny.”

“I wasn’t sure what to call the pink and black one, but it’s gone now. And so is its cabbage rose wallpaper border.”

She sipped her coffee as she studied him. He looked rough and rugged, jeans zipped but not buttoned, the slate gray T-shirt bringing out the blue of his eyes, his hair mussed, stubble on his narrow face. Feet bare.

What the hell was he doing drinking coffee in her kitchen before dawn-and making her regret she hadn’t taken him up on the offer to come back to bed?

He watched her as steadily as she did him.

She set the coffee down. “So. I’m trying to decide if you get a bowl of cereal, which is my go-to if I go-to breakfast. Or if I really want to try out my new omelette pan.”

“Do I get a vote?”

“I believe I know your vote, and lucky for you, I really do want to try out the pan.”

“You cook in it, I’ll wash it.”

“That seems fair.”

She rose, went to the refrigerator, began to take out various things, set them on the counter. Eggs, cheese, bacon, a green pepper, those little tomatoes.

This looked serious.

She chopped, sliced, tore up some leaves she got from a pot on the windowsill, whisked, while he drank coffee.

“What makes that an omelette pan?”

“It’s shallow with sloping sides.” She poured the eggs over the tomatoes and peppers she’d sautéed, crumbled bacon over that, did the cheese-grating thing over that.

She slanted him a look as she eased a spatula around the sides of the cooking egg mix. “I wonder if I still have what it takes.”

“From where I’m standing you do.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Watching him still, she tipped the pan, gave it a gentle shake. “I’m taking the gamble.”

Before his astonished eyes, she jerked the pan so the egg flew up, flipped over. She caught it neatly back in the pan, smiled in satisfaction.

“I’ve still got it.”

“Impressive.”

“Could’ve been a disaster. I haven’t made a serious omelette in a couple years.” She used the spatula to fold it. “Bread’s in that drawer-pop some in the toaster.”

She slid the omelette out, set it in the oven she had on warm, and did the whole thing again. Including the flip.

“I officially love this pan.”

“I’m pretty fond of it myself.”

She sprinkled a little paprika over the plated omelettes, added the toast. “I still don’t have a table.”

“We aren’t far off sunrise.”

“My thought, too. Take the plates, and I’ll bring the coffee.”

They sat on her glider, the hopeful dog sprawled at their feet, and ate while the stars went out and the sun began its golden burn over the water.

“I thought the library was the only thing I was going to envy here. But that…” Red, pink, and pale blue joined the gold. “That’s another one.”

“It never gets usual. I’ve taken dozens of pictures of sunrises here, and they’re all their own. If this place had been a dirt hut, I’d have bought it, just for this.”

“And this is where you eat your cereal.”

“Or whatever. I probably will even after I get a table. I need to look for one for out here, and some chairs.”

“You need books. That library needs books. I haven’t seen any around here.”

“I use my reader when I’m traveling.” She arched an eyebrow. “Do you have something against e-readers?”

“No. Do you have something against actual books?”

“No. I’m sending for mine. I don’t have anywhere close to what you do, but I have books. And I have the room now to collect more.”

It made him think of the book on his wall, the one that told him things about her she didn’t want anyone to know.

“Do you still want pictures of mine-the books?”

He caught the hesitation, though it was brief and well covered. “Yeah, I would. It’s a statement.”

“What will you do with them?”

“That depends on how they look, if they work the way I see. For the gallery, most likely. And I may do some as notecards for my website.”

“You do notecards?”

“It always surprises me how well they sell. People still use notecards. Plenty of book lovers out there to buy them. The wall of books-some angles on that. And a stack of them beside a lamp maybe. One open, being read. I could use your hands for that.”

“My hands?”

“You have big hands, big man hands, rough and callused. That’s a good shot,” she murmured, already seeing it. “Rough hands holding an open book. I could do, say, six shots for cards. One big, arty one for the gallery.”

“Do you have anything going tomorrow?”

“Why?”

Always cautious, he thought.

“You could take the pictures tomorrow, and since you’d have your equipment anyway, you’d be in the mode, I should be able to get the guys together. You could take the shot for the CD.”

“I don’t know what you want there.”

“Something that sells some CDs. You’re the doctor.”

“I’d want to see what you used before.”

He boosted up a hip, took out his phone. He noted that he had a half a dozen texts to check, then scrolled through for the CD shot.

The five men, with instruments on the stage at the bar. Done in moody black-and-white.

“It’s good.”

“She says without enthusiasm.”

“No, it’s good. It’s just not particularly interesting or creative. Nothing here to set you apart.”

“What would you do?”

“I don’t know yet. Where do you practice?”

“The garage, one of the back bays.”

“Well, I’d start there.”

He wanted, seriously wanted, to see where she’d start, where she’d finish. What she’d do. “Is tomorrow too soon?”

“No, I guess not. At least I can get a sense. The black T-shirts are okay, but have everybody bring a couple other choices-and some color.”

“I can do that. That was a hell of an omelette. I’ll get things washed up.”

It wasn’t much, and easily done. So he still had time to…

“Does the shower work up there?”

She did a little wiggle with her hand. “Grudgingly.”

“Okay with you if I grab one before I head to work?”

“You work today?”

“Eight to four, Monday through Saturday. Twenty-four-seven emergency towing and road service. When I have a gig, somebody covers until I’m clear.”

“Right. Sure, you can use the shower.”

“Great.” He grabbed her, had her back against the refrigerator, plundering with that hungry mouth, those big, rough hands. “Let’s go do that.”

She planned to get out early, explore on her way to Cecil’s-for pictures and maybe a table.

But his hands were under her shirt, and his thumbs…

“I could use a shower.”

–

Naomi blamed the sexual haze in the shower for her agreeing to have pizza with Xander after the workday.

It wasn’t a date, she assured herself, and decided to go wild and wear the pewter leggings instead of the black. They were having sex now, so dating was unnecessary.

If she hadn’t been hazed, she’d have made an excuse or at the least suggested he pick up the pizza, come to her place.

Her turf. Despite the short span of time since she’d moved in, the house was her turf.

“Then I’m going over there tomorrow,” she told the dog. “It’s work, yes, but that’s still three days running.” She topped the leggings with a tunic in a ripe peach color she liked, then belted it so it didn’t look as if she wore a bag.

She grabbed what she needed-wallet, keys-and started downstairs with the dog prancing beside her.

She stopped. “You can’t go. You have to stay here.”

Until that moment she hadn’t known a dog could actually look shocked.

“I’m sorry, but you’d just have to sit in the car the whole time, and that’s not fair, right? Besides, you’re my excuse for coming back in case he suggests, I don’t know, a movie, or going to his place. You’re my ace in the hole. I’m only going to be an hour or two. Tops two hours, then I’ll be back. You have to stay.”

He trudged back upstairs-actually trudged, she thought, while sending her forlorn looks over his shoulder.

“You’d think I was locking him in a closet and going out dancing,” she muttered. And felt guilty all the way into town.

–

As he pulled on a fresh shirt, Xander figured he was running right on time. Hitting her up for the pizza had been inspired-especially since she’d been hot and wet and limp in the shower when he’d come up with it.

He also figured it was past time they had an actual date. Pizza always served up a good starter. He’d be on call, but those calls-if any-would go to his cell phone. If luck stuck, he’d get her back to her place and into bed without being called back to tow anything or anyone.

He opened the door, pulled up short. Chip stood, his big, raw-knuckled hand poised to knock. Or punch.

“Hey, Chip.”

“Hey, Xander. You’re heading out?”

“Yeah, but I got a minute. Do you want to come in?”

“That’s okay, I’ll walk down with you.”

Chip started down the steps on his slightly bowed legs. A big guy-football star in high school-he tended to lumber unless he stood on the deck of a boat, as he did daily for his family business. There, Xander knew, the man had the grace of a Baryshnikov, and his shy, self-effacing nature worked well for the tourists who wanted to do some fishing or sailing.

He’d mooned over Marla as long as Xander had known him, and had finally won her when she’d come back to the Cove after two years of college.

He’d won her by punching the guy she’d taken up with who liked punching her.

It wasn’t the first or the last guy Chip had punched over Marla. Xander really didn’t want to be the next guy.

But he didn’t sense anger, didn’t see that hard light in Chip’s eyes as they reached the base of the stairs.

“I wanted to, you know, say I was sorry about how Marla acted last night. I heard about it.”

“It’s no big.”

“She’s still got that thing for you.”

Xander kept a close watch, in case that hard light came calling. “Chip, you know there’s nothing there, and hasn’t been since high school.”

“I know it. I wanted to say how I know it, so you know. Patti, she’s making noises like there was something, but I know better. Plenty of other people know better, too.”

“Okay then. We’re cool?”

“Sure. I want to apologize to the lady-the new lady? It’s Naomi, right? But she doesn’t know me, so I didn’t want to go up there and scare her or anything.”

“You don’t have to worry about it, Chip. You don’t have to apologize to anybody.”

“I feel bad about it, all of it. Anyway.” He put those ham-hock hands in his pockets, gazed out at nothing special. “You don’t know where she is, do you?”

“Naomi?”

“No, not her, not Naomi. Marla.”

“Sorry, no.”

“She’s not at her place, the place she has now, and doesn’t answer the phone. Patti said she got mad at her last night, because Patti said she was embarrassed and all. She just took off-and she’d been drinking.”

“Was she driving?”

“Seems Patti was, but it’s not a far walk back to the place she has now. She didn’t go to work today at the market either. They’re that pissed at her now.”

Hungover, mortified, mad, probably in bed with the covers over her head.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“If you see her, maybe you can give me a call, so I know she’s okay and just in one of her moods.”

“I can do that.”

“I’ll let you go. Maybe if you see the lady-Naomi… If you see her, you could tell her I’m sorry about the trouble.”

“I’ll do that. You take it easy.”

“It’s the best way to take it.” Chip smiled a little, then climbed into his truck.

Since it was close, and he was running a bit late now, Xander got into his own truck and drove to Rinaldo’s.

She was already there, sitting in a booth, looking over the menu. He slid in across from her. “Sorry. I got into a thing just as I was leaving.”

“That’s all right. I was just trying to decide if I’d have room for this calamari starter.”

“I’ll split it with you, then you would.”

“Then I would.” She set the menu aside. “Busy place on Saturday night.”

“Always has been. You look good.”

“Better than I did a few hours ago?”

“You always look good. Hi, Maxie.”

The waitress, young and fresh with doe eyes and sunny blonde hair streaked with a pretty shade of lavender, pulled out a pad. “Hi, Xander. Hi,” she said to Naomi. “Can I get you some drinks?”

“A glass of chianti, thanks, and some ice water on the side.”

“You got it. Xan?”

“Yuengling. How’s that hatchback running?”

“It gets me where I’m going and back, thanks to you. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

“I guess you get a lot of people where they’re going and back.”

“It’s what I do. Listen, if a big, lumbering sort of guy comes up to your place-”

“What? What guy?”

Xander waved a hand. “Harmless guy. Chip. He’s Marla’s ex. He came by just as I was leaving.”

As she straightened, Naomi’s shoulder blades went to iron. “If he’s mad about last night, he should be mad at who started it.”

“It’s not that. He’s a nice guy-too nice most of the time. He wanted to apologize for her. He said he wanted to apologize to you, too, but he was afraid he’d scare you if he just showed up.”

“Oh. It’s not his fault. What’s a nice guy who’d apologize for something that’s not his fault doing with someone like her?”

“It’s impossible to love and be wise.”

“Who said that?”

“Francis Bacon. Anyway, I told him I’d tell you he was sorry.”

Maxie brought their drinks and took their order.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad, coming out, Naomi thought. The place was noisy, but in a good, happy way. And the calamari would’ve met with Harry’s approval.

“I hear you met Loo.”

“I did?”

“At the bar last night. The bartender.”

“Is that Loo?” Sharp-looking brunette with sexy magenta streaks. “I expected her to be older, sort of businesslike, sitting in some back office with ledgers.”

“Loo likes to keep her hand in. She liked you.”

She caught a bright peal of laughter, noted that the comfortably built brunette behind the counter let out another as she rang up an order.

“That’s flattering, since we talked over the bar for about two minutes.”

“She knows what she knows, as she likes to say.”

“She mentioned her ex-husband used to be the groundskeeper when my house was a B-and-B.”

“Right, the stoner. He’s long gone. But it reminds me I could give you a hand with some of the heavy yard work. Kevin said you didn’t want to hire a landscaper, at least not yet, but if you decide otherwise, you might talk to Lelo.”

“From the band?”

“His family runs the local nursery. He’s actually pretty good at the whole lawn-and-garden thing.”

“And having a stoner is tradition up there?”

After a gesture with his beer, he took a drink. “A former stoner in Lelo’s case. You can size him up tomorrow for yourself.”

“Maybe I will.” More, maybe she’d just have to. “I wanted to deal with it myself, but so far I’ve managed to hack away the worst, plant a couple of pots and some kitchen herbs.”

“No landscaping in New York?”

“Not like this. We’ve got a pretty back courtyard garden, simple and easy to maintain. And that’s mostly Seth anyway. So maybe I’ll think about getting some help with it.”

“We could barter some labor for the photo shoot.”

“Hmm. Let’s see how the shoot goes. That could work all around.”

“Why don’t you come by, take a look at the garage?”

“I’ve got to get back for the dog.” Ace in the hole, she reminded herself.

“Ten minutes won’t matter. It’s basically on the way. You take a look tonight, get that sense you wanted.”

It would help, she thought. And she still had the dog for her ace in the hole. No matter how tempting, she couldn’t end up in Xander’s bed-not with a dog pining away at home.

“All right. Let’s do that.”

Of course, night had fallen so she couldn’t judge the light, but she could get a sense of the space, a feel for what she’d have to work with if she shot in their practice area.

Floodlights popped on as she pulled around back behind Xander.

She saw now he had the bays locked and secured with some sort of keypad alarm as well as the motion lights.

“I hadn’t thought about the security you’d need.”

“A lot of tools, cars, car parts, and sometimes the band equipment.”

He opened the bay door and hit the lights.

A good-sized space, she mused, stepping in. The place smelled of oil, and the concrete floor was stained with it. It held a lift, bright orange. She scanned tools: compressors, grease guns, hydraulic jacks, rolly boards, a couple of enormous tool chests-one black, one red.

Yes, she could make this work.

“Where do you set up?”

“Pretty much like we do onstage. If the weather’s good, and we start early enough, we set up outside on the pad. It’s nice.”

Maybe, but she wanted them inside, with those clashing colors, those big, bulky tools.

“I’m going to want your motorcycle in here.”

“For the shoot?”

“Yeah, maybe. I want to try that.”

And parts, she thought. An old engine would be great, maybe a broken windshield-all those spiderwebs. A steering wheel. Tires.

Yes, she could make this work.

She stepped back out, looked at the space, walked back in, studied it.

“Okay, I want some wardrobe choices-things you’re all comfortable in, but like I said, not just black. Get some ball caps, bandannas. Cowboy hat, maybe a duster. Leather. Definitely leather.”

“Okay.”

She heard the doubt in his voice and smiled. “Trust me. You’re going to like what I do here.”

But it was a big garage, and maybe there were other possibilities.

“What’s in the next bay?”

“The love of my life.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. Do you want to see her?”

“Absolutely.”

He went out, left the first bay open in case she wasn’t done, opened the next. Hit the light.

He’d heard her gasp like that before, he realized. When he’d been inside her.

“This is yours?”

“It is now.”

“You have a sixty-seven GTO convertible, in factory red.”

He stood in reverent silence for ten full seconds. “I think you have to marry me now. You’re the first woman besides Loo who’s seen her and known what she is. I’m pretty sure we’re engaged.”

“It’s beautiful.” She moved closer, skimmed her fingertips lightly over the hood. “Absolutely pristine. Did you restore it?”

“Maintain’s more like it. My grandfather bought her right off the showroom floor, treated her like a baby. The mechanic gene skipped my father, so Grandpa showed me the ropes, and when I turned twenty-one, he gave her to me.”

She reached for the door, glanced at him. “Can I?”

“Sure.”

She opened it, brushed her hand over the seat. “It still smells new. That’s some detailing. Oh, it has the push-button radio.”

“My dad talked about getting an eight-track put in, in his day. My grandfather nearly disinherited him.”

“Well, it’s blasphemy, isn’t it? Your grandfather would be pleased at how well you’ve kept it.”

“He is.”

“Oh, he’s alive?”

“And well, and living with my grandmother-well, stepgrandmother technically, but they’ve been married close to forty years-in Florida. Sanibel Island.”

“Gorgeous place.”

“How do you know about classic cars?”

“I only know some. I did a shoot-one of my first on my own. A friend of a friend of Harry’s and Seth’s.”

She circled the car as she spoke. It really was absolutely perfect. And if Xander maintained it, she imagined it ran just as beautifully.

“He had classic cars and wanted photos of them,” she continued, “inside and out. I was so nervous about the shoot, especially since I didn’t know anything about cars, especially classic cars. I got a list of the cars he had, studied them-actually had Mason quiz me. And one of them was a sixty-seven GTO-not the convertible-but factory red, like this. A beauty.”

“Want to take a ride?”

“Oh. I would.” She sighed it. “I really would, but I have to get back for the dog.”

He recognized lust, and knew how to use it.

“How about this? We take a ride in it to your place. You leave your car here, I stay there. Tomorrow, we load your equipment in her, come back so you can do what you do.”

She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t. Shouldn’t sleep with him two nights in a row. It was the next thing to a commitment.

And the car shined under the garage lights, luring her.

Xander stood, hipshot and sexy, finishing her off.

“I can agree to that, but only if you put the top down.”

“Deal.”

Fifteen

There had been a time in his life when Xander had been more apt to fall into bed at five in the morning than stumble out of it. He really hoped that time wasn’t completely at an end.

But when part of the reward for early rising equaled pancakes-and not from a box mix like his mother made-he could see the benefit.

The bigger benefit sat beside him on the old glider smelling of summer while the stars went out.

“So those are the chairs and the table for out here.”

“They will be.”

Xander studied the old spring chairs. Even in the dark he could see the rust. “Why?”

“I’m going for a theme here, and they were a bargain. And because I have vision. I also dropped off a chest of drawers and a coffee table at Jenny’s. Cecil’s holding a couple more pieces I want her to look at.”

“He must love you, Slim.”

“I’m going to pay for this patio furniture, and more, with the pictures I took over there yesterday. I got one of his barn. God, the light was perfect, and the clouds-just a roll of gray. And I talked him into standing in the open barn doors, in those bib overalls he wears. He’s leaning on a pitchfork. He grumbled about it, but he liked doing it-and he signed the release in exchange for a print. Good deal all around. Then I- Wait!”

She jumped up, ran inside. Xander exchanged a look with the dog, shrugged, and went back to his pancakes as the first light bloomed at the edge of the world.

She ran back, with her camera and a bag.

“Stand over by the rail,” she ordered.

“What? No. I’m eating. It’s too dark for pictures anyway.”

“Do I tell you how to overhaul an engine? Come on, be a pal. Stand by the rail-with your coffee mug. Come on, come on, I don’t want to miss the light.”

“Isn’t any light,” he muttered, but rose and went to the rail.

“Call the dog over.”

Since otherwise Tag might take too personal an interest in the plate he’d left on the glider, Xander called the dog.

“Just drink your coffee, watch the sunrise. Pay no attention to me. Just look out-no, turn a little more to your right-and lose the scowl. It’s morning, you’ve got coffee and a dog. You just rolled out of bed after spending the night with a beautiful woman.”

“Well, that’s all true.”

“Feel it a little, that’s all. And watch the sun come up.”

He could do that, he supposed. It was a little strange doing it while she moved around him with the camera. But the dog, apparently used to it, leaned against his leg and looked out over the water with him.

It was a hell of a show, those first trickles of light, the promise of them, the slow blur of rose hitting the water. Then the shimmer of gold rising up, edging the clouds.

Plus she made damn good coffee in that fancy machine of hers.

He’d just enjoy it, ignore the way she muttered to herself, pawed through her bag for something.

–

Oh, it was perfect. He was perfect. Hardly more than a silhouette, the tall, sleep-rumpled, barefoot, sexy man with the loyal dog at his side, watching the new day whisper over the water.

Long legs, long arms, big hands, white coffee mug, dark stubble on a sharp profile at the break of dawn.

“Great. Great. Thanks. Done.”

He glanced back-and she couldn’t resist one more.

“Now done.”

“Okay.” He went back to the glider and his pancakes, and when she joined him, ignoring her own plate to view the shots, he held out a hand. “Let’s see.”

She didn’t give him the camera, but scooted closer, angled the screen, scrolled through.

He didn’t know how she got so much out of the light-or the lack of it-how she’d tossed him into relief, managed to make him look moody and content at the same time. Or how she’d managed to capture every shade of sunrise.

“You’re good.”

“Yes, I am. I’ll print out a release.”

“What are you going to do with them?”

Still scrolling, she stopped on one, did something that zoomed in on his profile. “I need to take a closer look at them on my computer, pick the one I think is best for the sexy, moody gallery print I have in mind, then work on it some. Pick another-probably the one where you started to turn, look back at me with the sunrise behind you-for a stock print. You’re going to end up on a book cover.”

“What?”

“I know what sells there,” she said. “One of these days, you can add yourself to your collection. That’s a good, and unexpected, morning’s work.”

She leaned over, kissed him-something she’d never done before. And stifled his instinct to object.

“Are you going to start on that this morning?”

Now she zoomed in on the dog’s profile. “That and some other work.”

“Okay, I’ll get going on the yard.”

“The yard?” Distracted, she looked over at him. “My yard?”

“No, I thought I’d just drive around until I found one that appealed to me, and dig in. Yeah, your yard.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m up, and I like yard work.”

“Says the man without a yard.”

“Yeah, that’s a downside.” To Tag’s bitter disappointment, Xander polished off the pancakes. “But I give Kevin and Jenny a hand now and then. And Loo. Where are your tools?”

“I have a shovel, a fan rake, and this set of garden tools-you know, little spade, clippers, the fork thing.”

He sat for a moment. “And you expect to deal with that yard with a shovel, a rake?”

“So far. What else?”

“You need loppers, a wheelbarrow, you can use some of the empty drywall buckets around here, a pickax. You need both a fan rake and a garden rake, shears-”

“I need to make a list.”

“I’ll see what I can do with what you’ve got, and we’ll go from there.”

–

Since she’d planned on a full morning’s work, she settled down at her temporary station. He could play in the yard, she thought, though she imagined he’d get tired and bored with the sheer grunt work of it and come back in, nudge at her to knock off.

Have sex, take a ride, do something she didn’t have on her morning agenda.

That was the problem with having someone around. They so often wanted to do something you didn’t have time for.

She took care of some basics first, some bread-and-butter shots. Pleased with the barn studies, she uploaded them before spending time on the one she’d chosen of Cecil.

But since the pictures she’d just taken tugged at her, she shuffled back the other work she’d intended to finish and studied them-frame by frame-on the big screen.

She started on the last shot-the lucky, impulse shot where he’d been half turned toward her, with a half smile, good and cocky, on his face.

God, he was gorgeous. Not slick and polished-nothing slick or polished about him. It was all raw and rough, and only more so with that morning stubble, the ungroomed hair.

She went to work on the background first, burning in the clouds for a little more drama. Yeah, big drama for the backdrop-hot, sexy guy, half turned, looking over his shoulder at a lover.

No mistaking the half-cocked smile and smoky look aimed at anyone but a lover.

As a stock photo it would sell, and for years. In the short term, she calculated she’d sell dozens in under a week. For fun, and the mystery, she titled it Mister X.

Yes, an excellent morning’s work.

She fussed with it more, zooming in, refining small details, and then, satisfied, uploaded it to her site. Once that was done, she reviewed the two shots she’d come down to for the gallery.

She lost track of time. This work was more exacting, more detailed. She wanted to stress the moment where everything stilled between night and day, just the first hints of light, the drama still below the surface.

And the man, hardly more than a shadow, with the dog lightly leaning against him.

Bring out his eyes more, she decided, so the blue played hot.

She might do a second, she considered, black-and-white-with color pops. Yes, with his eyes boldly blue, and the growing light just as boldly red. The white mug.

She made a note of the number she wanted for that, went back to the first.

She toggled between the two, each time studying the previous work with a critical and fresher eye.

“They’re good. They’re really good,” she murmured, and sent both to the manager of the gallery for preview.

Then she sat back to study them both again.

“Really good.”

She rose, rolled her stiff shoulders, circled her head on her stiff neck-and reminded herself she’d vowed to do at least thirty minutes of yoga daily to keep loose.

“Starting tomorrow.”

The least she could do was go check on Xander, offer him something cold to drink. Make sure the dog had something, too, as Tag had opted to hang with Xander instead of sprawling beside her while she worked.

She went down, opened the front door.

She saw him, stripped to the waist, torso gleaming with sweat, throwing a stick-more like an entire branch-for the wild-eyed dog.

More sticks, more debris, filled a wheelbarrow. A large swatch of lawn sat patchy, bumpy, and clear of weeds, tangling brush, and the thorny vines that seemed to grow a foot every night.

She spotted a pile of rocks, a chain saw, an ax, a pickax, those drywall buckets, plastic tarps with piles of leaves and pine needles centered on them.

She said, “Holy crap,” and got Xander’s attention.

“Hey. We got a good start here.”

“A start? Where did all this come from?”

“The yard trash from the trashy yard. The tools? Tag and I rode into town, got the truck, stopped by the garden center and the hardware. I left the bills on the kitchen counter. There’s half a cold-cut sub in the fridge if you want it. We got hungry.”

Slowly she walked down, stepped on grass-pathetic grass, but still. “I never expected you to do all this.”

“We had some fun with it. If I were you, I’d get rid of those foundation bushes.” He pulled a bandanna out of his back pocket and swiped the sweat off his face with it. “Lelo’d rip them out for you-or tell you if they’re worth saving.”

“Did I buy a chain saw?”

“No, that’s mine. You shouldn’t need one now that things are more under control. Once that Dumpster’s gone, you can figure out what you want to do over there.”

As he spoke, he threw the stick for Tag again. “I’d sure as hell plant myself a good tree.”

“I… I thought maybe I’d plant one of those weepers. A cherry or… whatever.”

“That’d be good.” He pulled off thick work gloves.

“Xander, how long- What time is it?” She dug for her phone to check, realized she didn’t have it.

He pulled out his own. “It’s about one.”

“In the afternoon?”

“It ain’t morning, baby.” Laughing, he kissed her. “Where do you go when you work?”

“I just never expected you to… You worked hours. Thank you, so much.”

“It’s just yard work, but you’re welcome. I need to get cleaned up so we can get going. If you still want those book pictures.”

“Yes, I do-and yes, you do. You’re all sweaty.” Stepping closer, she trained a finger down his chest. “And pretty dirty. You look… hot and thirsty.”

Since the look in her eyes invited it, he hauled her against him. “Now you’re sweaty and dirty, too.”

“Then I guess we both need a shower.”

–

He took her under cool water, running hard, soap-slick hands over her. Eager, avid, her mouth met his so he swallowed those gasps and moans as he took her higher.

When he pinned her against the wall, drove into her, her fingers dived into his hair, clutched there. Her eyes clung to his as, with lips close, their breath tangled.

The green of her eyes went opaque as she peaked, as she said his name as he’d wanted her to say it.

But he held back, denied himself that quick release, slowed the rhythm until her head lolled back.

She could feel nothing but pleasure, all so ripe, so full it should burst. But it only spread, engulfed her like warm, wet velvet.

The tiles, cool on her back, his body hot, pressed to her, in her. The air so thick that breathing it in, letting it go, was a moan. She tried to hold on, to give back, but felt as soft and pliable as wax in sunlight. His lips toyed with hers, conquering by torment rather than force.

She said his name again as her eyes closed.

“No, no, look at me. Open your eyes and see me, Naomi.”

“I see you. Yes. God.”

“A little more. A little more until there’s nothing left. I’m going to take more.”

“Yes.”

He took more, kept them both swaying on that high wire between need and release, until it built beyond the bearing, until he let the wire snap beneath the weight.

–

Because she felt a little drunk, Naomi took great care packing her equipment. He’d taken her beyond her own boundaries of control, and somehow she’d allowed it. She’d need time and space to decide, to understand, what that meant.

And now wasn’t the time, not when everything in her felt so soft and vulnerable. When she could still feel his hands on her.

She packed her tripod, a camera bag, a case, a light stand, diffuser.

He walked in, smelling of her soap. “All that?”

“Better to have everything than leave behind the one thing you realize you need.”

She started to swing on a backpack.

“I’ve got it. Christ, does everything include bricks?” He picked up her tripod case, the light stand, started out.

As she picked up the rest, Tag barked as if dragons burned down the gates.

“Car’s coming,” Xander called back. “I’ve got it.”

“He’s got it,” she murmured. “That’s the problem. Why am I mostly okay that he’s got it?”

“Easy, killer,” Xander told the dog, and opened the front door. He recognized the official vehicle just pulling up beside his truck, and the chief of police behind the wheel.

“Relax, he’s one of the good guys.” Xander stepped off the porch, carted the equipment to his truck. “Hey, Chief.”

“Xander. Is that the stray I heard about?”

“Yeah. That’s Tag.”

“Hey there, Tag.”

Chief of police Sam Winston, a toughly built man with a smooth face the color of walnuts and a Waves cap on his close-cropped hair (the high school football team where his son stood as quarterback), crouched down.

Tag, nervous, crept close enough to sniff.

“He’s a good-looking dog.”

“Now, he is.”

Tag accepted the head scrub, then immediately ran back to Naomi when she came out.

“Ma’am.” Sam tapped the brim of his cap. “I’m Sam Winston, chief of police.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure about that. I’ve been meaning to come up, introduce myself. It’s good someone’s back on the bluff, and from what I hear-and can see for myself-you’re giving the old girl a face-lift. She needed one. You got Kevin Banner and his crew on it, I hear.”

“Yes.”

“You couldn’t do better. Looks like I caught you two on the way out.”

“Naomi’s going to take some pictures of the band.”

“Is that so?” Sam hooked his thumbs in his thick Sam Browne belt, gave a little nod. “I bet they’ll be good ones. I don’t want to keep you, and it saves me time to find you both here. It’s about Marla Roth.”

“If she’s trying to push an assault charge, I’ll push back. Again,” Naomi said.

“I can’t say if she’d go there. We can’t seem to find her.”

“Still?” Xander put in, turned back from stowing the equipment.

“Nobody’s seen or heard from her, the way it looks, since Friday night. Not long after your scuffle with her, Ms. Carson.”

“If she’s still pissed about that, she could’ve taken off for a few days,” Xander began.

Worn boots planted, Sam gave the bill of his cap a little flick up. “Her car’s at her house, and she isn’t. Chip finally broke in the back door this morning, then came back to see me. She didn’t go in to work yesterday, isn’t answering her phone. She could be in a snit, and it’s most likely she is, but Chip’s worried sick, and I need to look into it. Now, the story I’m getting is she went at you at Loo’s on Friday night.”

Missing could mean anything, Naomi assured herself. Missing didn’t mean an old root cellar in the deep woods. More often, much more often, it just meant a person had gone somewhere no one had looked yet.

“Ms. Carson?” Sam prompted.

“Sorry, yes. That’s right. She knocked into me a couple of times, then shoved me a couple of times.”

“And you clocked her one?”

“No, I didn’t hit her. I took her wrist, gave it a twist-leverage, pressure point, so she went down. So she stopped shoving me.”

“Then what?”

“Then I left. It was annoying and embarrassing, so I left and came home.”

“By yourself.”

“Yes, I came home alone.”

“About what time do you think that was?”

“About ten thirty.” Just doing his job, Naomi reminded herself, and took a deep breath. “I let the dog out, walked around with him for a while. I was angry and upset, and couldn’t concentrate on work.”

“And I got here about twelve thirty.” Though Xander leaned negligently back on his truck, irritation edged his voice. “The dog got us up just after five, and I left about seven thirty, maybe a little before. Come on, Chief.”

“Xander, I’ve got to ask. Patti’s been screeching about Ms. Carson attacking Marla-she’s the only one with that take,” he added before Xander could speak. “And even she’s backed off that mark. But the fact is, Marla stormed out of Loo’s in a temper about twenty minutes after Ms. Carson, and as far as I can determine, that’s the last anyone saw her.”

Sam huffed out a breath, petted the dog, who now apparently found him delightful. “Did either of you see her with anybody, somebody she might’ve taken it into her head to go off with?”

“She was sitting with Patti.” Xander shrugged. “I try not to notice Marla too much.”

“I saw her at her table, with her friend, earlier in the evening.” Tense now, Naomi rubbed her neck. “I was sitting with Kevin and Jenny. I really wasn’t paying attention to her, until Jenny and I got up to dance and she… I don’t even know her.”

“I understand that, I do, and I don’t want you to worry about this. She probably went off with somebody she met at the bar, to lick her wounds and get Chip worked up.”

Naomi shook her head. “A woman who’s pissed off and upset? She’s going to talk to her girlfriend.”

“They had a bit of a falling-out after the incident.”

“Regardless. Even if she called this Patti to argue, or at least send her a bitchy text.”

“We’ll be looking into it. I’m not going to keep you, but I’d like to come back sometime, see what you’re doing inside.”

“Yes, sure.”

“You have a good day. I’ll be seeing you around, Xander.”

Naomi’s insides twisted as Sam got back in his cruiser.

“Will he really look?”

“Yeah, of course. He’s the chief.”

“Has anyone else ever gone missing?”

“Not that I know of, and I would. Hey.” Xander put a hand on her arm. “Marla’s the type who looks for trouble, likes to cause it. It’s just the way she is. The chief will do his job. Don’t worry about this.”

He was right, of course. Marla was a troublemaker and had very likely hooked up with some guy for the weekend to boost her wounded ego.

Not every woman who went off that way ended up raped and murdered. It had never happened here before, Naomi reminded herself. Hadn’t she checked into just that after she’d fallen for the house?

Low crime rate, even lower violent-crime rate. A safe place. A quiet place.

Marla would probably show up before nightfall, pleased she’d worried her ex-husband, her friend, had the police out looking for her.

She put it out of her mind, as much as she could, as Xander pulled away from the house in the truck, with the dog riding with his head out the window and his ears flying in the breeze.