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“You heard me,” he replied.
Her jaw fell open. “You’re on the police force! Don’t tell me you’re saying that if I call for help from the Reed farm, no one will come...”
“Of course someone will come,” George said.
Pete nudged him. “But we can’t promise whoever it is will come real quick,” he added with a laugh.
Sadie glared at him. “You’re a self-righteous bastard, Pete Montgomery. Now I know why you get along so well with Sly.”
He sobered instantly. “Whoa! Sounds to me like you deserve whatever you might get!”
“And it sounds to me as if you’ve appointed yourself judge, jury and executioner—not only for Dawson Reed but for me, as well.”
“You’re the one putting yourself in a bad situation.” He shoved his coffee out of the way as he leaned forward. “The question is why? Do you and Dawson have something going on? Is he warming your bed at night now that he’s out of lockup?”
She shook her head. “You’re disgusting.”
“What?” He gestured as if he’d said nothing wrong. “You wouldn’t be the first to want to spread your legs for him. You should’ve seen the women on that jury, preening and making eyes at him whenever he walked into the courtroom. If not for them, he’d be in prison right now, awaiting an execution date. So next time you think he’s innocent because that damn jury handed down a ‘not guilty’ verdict, you might consider there were seven women on it.”
“Women can weigh evidence as well as men,” she snapped.
He nearly spilled George’s coffee when he shoved his water glass into it. “Don’t give me that feminist bullshit!”
“Pete, that’s enough,” George mumbled, looking around. “You’re going too far.”
People were starting to stare, but he didn’t seem to care about that. “She’s the one who won’t listen!” he responded.
“Thanks for your concern, but tell Sly I’ll make my own decisions,” she said.
Glenn Swank, down the bar, was growing impatient with her lack of attention. “Hey, Sadie! Are you going to bring my check sometime today or what?” he called out. “I gotta go to work!”
Sadie nodded to reassure him. “I’m coming.”
“Remember, you’re taking a big chance,” Pete growled as she hurried away. “Are you sure he’s worth it?”
* * *
Sadie was still livid when she reached the grocery store. Every time she thought about that visit at the diner from Pete and George, she wanted to go ballistic. How dare they say what they did! They had no right. They were just taking up for Sly. He’d sent his buddies over because she wouldn’t listen to him.
“Pricks,” she muttered.
“What’d you say, dear?”
Sadie turned to see the organist from her church standing behind her in the aisle and felt her face grow hot for cursing. “Nothing,” she muttered.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were talking to me.”
Fortunately, Mrs. Handley was partially deaf. “No. I was just...mumbling to myself.”
“Nowadays you never know what people are doing.” She shook her head in apparent exasperation. “What with those little devices—blue teeth or whatever they’re called—they have in their ears.”
“Bluetooth. People talk on Bluetooth.”
“That’s it.”
Sadie smiled, trying to relax. “How have you been?”
“Good, and you?”
“Busy.”
“Will I see you at church on Sunday?”
If Dawson didn’t murder her first. The idea that he might be dangerous had always been daunting. But now she knew the police would be slow to react if she called for help. Pete, George and Sly had all warned her not to take the job, so they felt justified in letting her go it alone. They meant to teach her a lesson, even though it could be a costly lesson indeed.
She’d almost told them she’d been forced to take the job because Sly was being so stingy with his child. It cost a lot more to take care of Jayden than the $250/month Sly was currently paying. That didn’t even cover his child care! But she knew that would only cause more problems. Sly would call her up and accuse her of trying to make him look bad in front of his friends, and they’d be headed toward yet another terrible argument.
“Yes. I’ll be there,” she told Mrs. Handley.
“I’m glad. I’ll see you then. Have a nice day, dear.”
“You, too.” Sadie wheeled her cart around to the next aisle and then the next, whizzing through the store, grabbing everything on her list. She needed to get started cleaning Dawson’s house so that she could accomplish something before it was time to go home.
Once she’d bought his food and supplies, she stuck the receipt in her purse and loaded the items in her car. Dawson owed her $189.03. She hoped he was good for it. She also hoped he’d like what she bought as far as groceries. She’d picked up a roast and some vegetables to put in her slow cooker, which she needed to pick up, since she hadn’t thought of using it when she put her vacuum in the back of the car earlier. After being out on the farm all day, she figured he could use a solid meat-and-potatoes kind of meal.
Sadie had the slow cooker in her car with the vacuum and a few other things she thought might be useful and was walking around to get behind the wheel when Maude called out to her from where she’d been standing yesterday. “Are you heading to the Reed farm?”
“Yeah, I’m off,” she said, turning to wave. She couldn’t help thinking Maude might be the last person she’d ever see alive. She almost implored her to look after Jayden if anything happened, but she knew, if she were to be murdered, Sly’s mother would step in and raise him. It wasn’t as if Marliss expected her beloved son to do much.
“Good luck,” Maude said. “I hope everything goes okay.”
Wading through so much disapproval was zapping Sadie’s strength. She felt like she needed a nap—she probably did, since she hadn’t been able to sleep last night—and yet she had a whole afternoon of menial labor ahead of her. “So do I,” she said and got in the car.
4 (#u0d64026d-af9d-56cd-a8bf-f8340880d0f3)
Dawson wasn’t entirely sure Sadie would show up. At one-forty, he still hadn’t heard from her. He kept pausing to gaze toward the highway, hoping to see her distinctive green-and-brown car. But there was no sign of her.
Had her ex-husband gotten hold of her? Convinced her not to work for a “murderer”?
The memory of how Officer Harris had tried to bully him at his own door made Dawson long to break his jaw. The dude deserved it. If Dawson had his guess, Harris wouldn’t be much of an opponent. He hid behind his badge and his gun, would have no clue how to handle himself in a fight where those things weren’t allowed and his position as an officer didn’t count for shit. But if Dawson wanted to bring his sister home and rebuild his life, he had to be careful. He couldn’t get in trouble, especially with a Silver Springs cop. The entire force was so sure that he’d gotten away with murder, the blowback would be severe, and he couldn’t afford to become a victim of police harassment right now. Law enforcement had done enough to destroy him.
At a quarter till two, he pulled out his cell phone again. He had his ringer turned on, in case she tried to reach him. He’d already checked his call history. But maybe something weird had happened and her call had inexplicably transferred straight to voice mail...
Nothing. No missed calls. No texts. He was dialing her number, figured he might as well face it if she had bad news, when he heard the sound of an engine and looked up to see her El Camino turn into the drive.
“Hallelujah,” he muttered and hung up before the call could go through.
She was out of the car and grabbing the handles of four bags of groceries by the time he could reach her.
“Hey,” he said.
She glanced over one shoulder. “Hi. Sorry I’m late. The diner was busier than usual, so they made me stay an extra half hour. Shopping took a bit longer than anticipated, too.”
“I’m not upset.” He was just glad she’d come. He tried to take the groceries from her, but she wouldn’t relinquish them.
“I’ve got these. Why don’t you grab the vacuum out of the back? And the slow cooker next to it,” she added as she headed to the house.
“Got it.” Her vacuum didn’t look like much. Neither did the slow cooker, or her car, for that matter. Even she looked a little beleaguered. He’d noticed the dark circles that underscored her hazel eyes when she interviewed with him, but they were more pronounced today, when she wasn’t wearing makeup and had her fine blond hair pulled into a ponytail. Now that she was in jeans and a Lolita’s Country Kitchen T-shirt, and not the blousy top and skirt she’d had on before, he could also tell she was thinner than he’d first thought.
Although he knew there were probably a lot of guys who’d find that waiflike look attractive, he wasn’t one of them. He liked his women with plenty of curves. But he hadn’t hired her for her looks. He only needed her to be reliable.
She was making room on the counter to stack the dirty dishes he’d left in the sink when he set the vacuum in the living room and put the slow cooker on the table.
“Sorry you’re starting at such a deficit,” he said, seeing the mess he’d created the past several days through fresh eyes. He’d thrown out everything that’d been broken—all the beer cans, cigarette butts and other trash teenagers and various vandals had left behind, as well. But he hadn’t been taking the time to clean up after himself. “Daylight hours are precious to me. I haven’t been able to waste them on housework.”
With the sink clear of dishes, she began running hot water. “I understand.”
He propped his hands on his hips as he gazed around. “So...you’re going to start in this part of the house?”
“As far as I’m concerned, the kitchen is always the best place to start. It’s the heart of the home, as they say. I’ll get this clean and organized so that we can make meals and...get around in here. It’ll take some time, though. I might have to tackle the other parts of the house tomorrow.”
“That’s fine.” Hungry, he began rummaging through the groceries to see what there might be to eat. “How much do I owe you for this stuff?”
She wiped her hands before getting the receipt out of her purse.
Once he saw the total, he pulled $200 out of his wallet. She tried to give him change, but he waved her off. From what he’d seen, she didn’t have much, either. “Consider it a very small bonus. Have you had lunch?”
She watched as he opened a loaf of bread. “I heated up some leftovers when I changed out of my uniform. Why? You haven’t eaten?”
“Not lunch.”
He was surprised when she took the package of ham he’d just picked up and started to shoo him out of the kitchen. “I’ll make you something and bring it out.”
She didn’t seem to expect a lot of hand-holding. He liked that about her. “Are you sure you don’t have any questions or...need some direction?”
“I’ve cleaned plenty of kitchens,” she said with a wry smile.
“Right. Thanks.” Dawson breathed a sigh of relief as he left the house. He hadn’t had a lot to go on when he hired her, but he was beginning to think he’d found the right person.
* * *
After Sadie made Dawson a sandwich, she cut up carrots and celery and added them to his plate along with a small puddle of ranch dressing. Then she carried it all out along with a thermos of coffee. The farm was nearly a hundred acres, big enough that it took her several minutes to find him, but she eventually spotted a lone man weeding and trimming artichoke plants in the far quadrant and figured that had to be him.
He removed the ball cap he was wearing and wiped away the sweat on his forehead as she approached. Maybe he was a murderer, but no one could say he wasn’t a hard worker, she thought. A glance at the field revealed that he’d done a lot to clean it up—a Herculean task for only one man. “Thanks,” he said simply.
“Happy to help. Will this be enough, or—”
“Plenty. I can’t overeat. Too much food will bog me down.”
“I’m getting the impression you need to eat more than you have been. How else will you keep up your strength?”
He was so intent on the sandwich, he didn’t look up. “Anger and determination make for pretty good fuel.”
“Even that can’t carry you forever.”
He met her gaze. “No.”
“So it’s a good thing I’m here.”
He said nothing, just took another bite of his sandwich.
“Do you intend to run this farm by yourself?” she asked.
“This year,” he replied when he’d swallowed. “Until I start making a profit, I don’t have much choice.”
“Once I get the house cleaned, I can help.”
“Outside?” This time he spoke as he chewed. “You’d be willing to do that?”
“Until your sister arrives, and I need to keep an eye on her, why not?”
“With all the hoops I have to jump through, there might be a few days where that’s a possibility,” he admitted.
“I don’t have your strength, but I’ll do what I can.” She lifted the thermos. “This is coffee, by the way. I figured you’d have water—”
“Yeah. I’ve got a jug over there.” He jerked his chin to indicate the edge of the field. “But—” he took the thermos “—where’d you get this? I don’t remember seeing one at the house. I looked.”
Sort of proud that she’d anticipated his need, she smiled. It was a small thing, of course, but she liked feeling successful at her job, especially because it was only the first day—typically the toughest. “I brought it from home. I didn’t know what you had and what you might need, so I put a few things in the car, in case.”
“What else did you bring?”
“Some spices and utensils. And a knife. I’m picky about my knives. They have to be really sharp.” He made her so nervous she’d spoken without thinking. Only after those words were out of her mouth did she realize she was talking about an item that could be used as a murder weapon to a man accused of killing his parents.
He paused with a carrot stick halfway to his mouth, as if he could guess her thoughts, but he let it go. “I see. That was thoughtful of you.”
She tried not to notice the way his T-shirt clung to his muscular torso. He looked good enough to be featured on one of those man-candy calendars, she thought. Sly had a nice body, too. He spent a lot of time in the gym to make sure of it. But he didn’t have the face that Dawson did. His skin was too pockmarked, his features too angular and harsh. The pull of attraction was something she hadn’t felt for anyone in a long time. Feeling it now proved a little disconcerting, considering what Dawson had supposedly done.
Embarrassed by her own reaction to him, she gestured to the field surrounding them, hoping to direct his attention elsewhere before he could recognize the romantic interest. “You’re getting a lot done.”
“You’d think it would go faster.”
“How long have you been at it?”
Yanking on the bill of his cap, he settled it back on his head. “Since the day I got home, nearly two weeks ago.”
That explained the sun-kissed color of his skin. “Then I’m especially impressed. You’ve made a lot of progress for such a short time.”
He squinted at the ground he’d covered. “Doesn’t feel like it. Not with so much yet to do.”
