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“I guess you’re here to make sure I’m not a basket case, ready to go off the deep end around Tara.”
“Something like that.”
Matt appreciated the fact that the guy didn’t try to hedge. Matt wanted to assure Sanchez that he was only a little burned out, not some crazy on the brink of exploding, but his training had taught him the less said the better.
“What do you think? Am I safe?”
“You’d better be.” Sanchez studied him intensely before adding, “I just thought you should know that.”
The message was crystal clear. Where Rafe Sanchez and Tara were involved? It was a definite possibility, one that he didn’t particularly like. He didn’t need someone checking up on him, making certain he was treating the girlfriend all right.
“Don’t worry. I’m probably in more danger from her than she is from me,” Matt muttered darkly. To his surprise, the deputy actually cracked a smile.
“Maybe so.” He gave Matt another long look, but it wasn’t so intense now. “You know, if you have any problems—”
“Yeah.” Matt didn’t let him finish. He didn’t need anyone else in his business. “I’ll let you know.”
Another faint smile. “Thanks for your time.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Matt replied with quiet irony.
The deputy let himself out of the house. Matt waited until he heard the front gate bang shut, then headed back to the shower.
“YOU’RE LATE,” Luke said as Matt sat across the table from him fifteen minutes later.
“You look well entertained,” Matt responded, nodding at Becky, who sauntered away. He reached for the beer Luke had ordered for him. He’d told Luke the night before that he didn’t like having a beer with dinner when Luke couldn’t, but the older man had insisted, saying he wanted to live vicariously. “Deputy Sanchez stopped by to check me out.”
“He probably heard that you and Tara had trouble last night.”
Matt’s eyebrows went up. “Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“We—” Matt’s mouth twitched “—had a misunderstanding.”
“Involving Eddie Johnson.”
Matt tipped the top of his beer toward Luke in silent agreement. The old man probably knew as much or more about the encounter than Matt did. “We made up. I spent the afternoon at her place working on the porch. It’s practically done.”
“Good. I’m hoping to be able to come out tomorrow and take a look, see if there’s anything I can do.”
Matt gently set his bottle down as he tried to come up with a way to say this without getting Luke’s dander up. Finally he just said it. “Maybe you should take it easy a while longer. You know…let the medication take effect?” He didn’t want his friend to hurt himself, but he didn’t want to insult him, either. Thin line there.
“Maybe,” Luke replied after a lengthy silence. He pulled the tea bag out of his cup and squeezed the last bit of moisture out of it. “How’re you sleeping?”
Matt raised his eyes to meet Luke’s. He hadn’t told Luke about his insomnia, but he supposed that his exhaustion had to show.
“I know stress,” Luke said as he put the tea bag aside. “I saw action similar to yours while I was in the service. I was only twenty.” Luke shook his head. “You gotta experience it to understand it.”
That was an understatement.
“How’d you get past it?” Matt shifted back in his chair, not certain he wanted to explore this.
“Time. Change of scenery. More time.”
Luke let the comment sit for a bit as he stirred sugar into his tea. “When I heard from my brother how things had been going for you—your dad…the standoff—I had a feeling. Thought maybe you should get away for a while, and since I needed help…” His mouth quirked up at the corner. “But you’ve figured that out. Time and a new place. It helps. Some.”
After an uncomfortable silence, Matt said, “I appreciate it.” He didn’t necessarily think the change of scenery would provide a wonder cure, but it couldn’t hurt. And the time away would recharge him, help him get ready for the next stage of battle. He gave Luke a half smile and a gentle warning. “I don’t know I’ll be as talkative as the last time you helped me out.”
Luke nodded his understanding.
The last time, Matt had been an unhappy kid, working for his stepdad, Luke’s brother, building apartments while on vacation from college. Torn. His mom had been pushing him to study engineering, education, law—anything but criminal justice. She hadn’t wanted him to become a cop like his biological father.
Matt, however, had been fascinated by law enforcement. And hungry for approval from the man he’d only seen a week or so every summer after his parents’ divorce.
Luke had been his crew’s boss, and he’d also been the only person who simply listened to Matt without offering an opinion, the only guy who just let him talk.
“Mom thinks it’s ‘lovely’ that I’m spending my vacation with you.” A corner of Matt’s mouth lifted. “I’d kind of appreciate it if she kept thinking that.”
He hadn’t given her any facts, except what was printed in the newspaper, and in the paper he’d come off looking pretty good. She didn’t know about the insomnia, the dreams, the lieutenant’s vendetta. Matt was thankful she lived almost seven hundred miles away.
“I wouldn’t dream of telling her otherwise,” Luke replied. “My brother would kill me if I upset your mom.”
“Thanks.” Matt didn’t want his mother upset. Again. She’d suffered enough trying to keep him out of law enforcement and, ironically, after all of the turmoil Matt never did develop the relationship he’d hoped for with his father, even after landing a job in the same PD. Their relationship had never felt like that of a father and son. It was more like that of two guys who worked together, two guys who didn’t have a lot in common. Later, after his dad had been killed, Matt and the rest of the department discovered his father had a good reason for not letting anyone into his life.
He wiped condensation off the bottle with one finger. “What’s Sanchez’s relationship with Tara?”
“I don’t know the particulars,” Luke replied, apparently amused by the abrupt change of topic. “But I think if you upset Tara, you’ll be dealing with Rafe.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Matt said dryly.
“It’d be easier if you just didn’t upset Tara.”
Matt shrugged. “Too late for that.”
Luke’s eyebrows drew together for a split second and then he burst out laughing. He was still smiling when he gestured Becky over and ordered up another round of Budweiser beer and Lipton tea—hold the sugar.
MATT CONNORS was MIA.
The table was set and his breakfast—or what was left of it—was shriveling up in the warming oven. They’d made a deal the day before and she’d agreed to give him meals in lieu of some pay. He’d seemed to like the idea, so she didn’t understand why he’d skip out on the first day.
She finally gave up waiting and started painting another bedroom, but every now and then she paced to the window, scanned the county road. Where was he?
It had been over two hours since she had fed Nicky and sent him to Reno with a shopping list almost as long as he was tall and instructions not to come back for at least two days. Nicky had spent six years of junior high and high school in Reno while Tara went to college, earning first her bachelor’s degree, then her master’s in English, and she knew he had friends to see and stuff to do before he headed south again. He’d already spent most of his short vacation scraping, sanding and painting. Enough was enough. Nicky was still a kid.
A sudden ominous thought struck her and she tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear as she laid down her brush and headed for the phone. Tara dialed the number to the Anderson house and tapped her foot as the phone rang. And rang.
Tara’s nerves started to hum. If Eddie and his numbskull buddies had hurt her carpenter in some kind of misguided attempt at revenge, she was going to—
“Yeah…?”
The voice on the phone was thick with sleep.
“Matt?” Tara said cautiously.
“Tara.” His voice was instantly alert. “What time…?” She heard fumbling and then he muttered an expletive. “Sorry…I overslept. Give me twenty. I’ll be right over.”
He hung up before she could reply. Fifteen minutes later he was at her door, his hair still damp from a shower. He hadn’t shaved and the dark stubble gave him an entirely different look. An incredibly sexy look.
Tara suddenly realized she was staring and stepped back, letting him in.
“So what’d you do last night?” she asked as she led the way to the kitchen. “Tie one on?”
“I was up late.”
He didn’t look so much hungover as exhausted, so she let the subject drop and tackled the matter at hand. “I’d like to get the porch finished and the gazebo fixed and painted, but…” She paused, studying him with a slight frown. “I need you to adjust the height of the new doors before you do that, so that I can stain them.”
She had bought several solid wood doors to replace damaged and missing ones in the house, only to find that while the doorframes were consistent in width, they were not consistent in height. In fact, some of the frames weren’t even true and it was going to take finagling to get the doors to hang and swing correctly. It wasn’t something she wanted to leave until the last minute.
“Show me what you got,” he said. She watched as he crossed the room to the porch door, thinking, in spite of herself, that he wore those worn-out Levi’s very well and wondering why she hadn’t noticed it before.
Until he’d taken on Eddie, she hadn’t realized his long lean body was almost solid muscle. That awareness was having a definite effect on the way she was looking at him now, so she was glad he didn’t have the ability to read minds when he glanced over his shoulder and caught her staring.
“Do you want your breakfast?” she inquired innocently.
“What kind of shape is it in?”
Tara grimaced.
“I think I’ll hold off until lunch.”
Tara was impressed that he didn’t expect her to cook another meal for him. She led the way to the prefab metal shop where the doors had been stacked. The shop had a woodstove and a cement floor and was, all in all, a comfortable place to work. Her aunt Laura had been an artisan who specialized in pottery and soap-making, but she had done a little of everything and had collected quite an assortment of woodworking tools.
Matt went immediately to the table saw, inspected it, then moved on to the tools hanging on the pegboards lining the wall.
“Find what you’ll need?”
“Yeah.” He shoved his hands in his back pockets. Tara’s eyes automatically followed.
She had to stop doing that.
“The doors each have a sticky tab on them, telling where they’ll be hung and the measurements of the frame,” she said briskly. “I’ll be wallpapering the parlor. Lunch is at noon.”
Matt Connors nodded. He reached for a saw and Tara headed for the door, glad to have made an escape before he caught her gawking at his butt again.
CHAPTER FOUR
IT WAS FUNNY HOW wallpapering always seemed like such a good idea until she was actually doing it—and hanging paper in an old house that had spent almost a century settling only added to the fun. At least she knew enough now, after that first horrendous experience in her own bathroom, to avoid stripes.
Tara soaked and folded the first strip of vintage rose paper into a book, then hung the plumb bob and drew her reference line. Classic rock played on the radio and she hummed under her breath as she positioned her stepladder and tackled the first strip, applying it to the wall, then smoothing it from the top down to the newly stained and varnished wainscoting.
“One down,” she murmured as she stood back to view the colors.
“How many to go?”
Tara jumped at the unexpected voice.
“How long have you been there?” she demanded. She shouldn’t have left the front door propped open, but she’d never had trouble with vermin before.
“You really do need to work on your manners, Tara.”
“Speaking of which, you should knock before you slither into someone’s house.”
Ryan tilted his blond head back, looking down his nose at her, his perfect lips curved into a perfect smile. Perfectly nasty, that is. Tara gave him her best smirk in return. It made her shudder to think how she’d once been taken in by this guy. Used and discarded. And the kicker was that most of the populace of Night Sky still bought into Ryan’s charismatic golden boy facade. They assumed that any trouble between her and Ryan had to be her fault. She was a Sullivan, he was a Somers.
But Tara wouldn’t let him upset her, because that was exactly what he wanted to do.
“Filed any restraining orders lately, Ryan?”
That hit the mark. His eyes narrowed, but his voice was smooth as he said, “Again, that manners thing, Tara.”
“Why are you here?”
“Why do you think?”
“To harass me?” Tara suggested, her eyebrows going up.
Ryan regarded her for a long moment. “Now why,” he finally asked in a much too quiet voice, “would I want to harass you? What possible reason could I have?”
He moved another step closer, so that he was only inches away—so close that Tara could feel the warmth from his body, smell his expensive aftershave. And suddenly it was all she could do to hold her ground. Memories, sharp and painful, flooded her.
She hadn’t expected the reaction and it threw her, but she fought to pull herself back together. Ryan had no idea how traumatic their physical encounter had been to her. He was so egotistical that he’d actually thought that she’d want to do it again.
Through sheer willpower, Tara forced herself to look Ryan in the eye. And then she noted with some satisfaction that she had left a pretty good bump on his once classic nose.
“Oh, yeah. That’s right,” Ryan said sarcastically. “I remember now. Your lies. My job.”
“I had nothing to do with you losing your job,” she said bluntly. And it was true. She’d had nothing to do with his being fired from his cushy job with the accounting firm in Elko, where he’d hoped to become a partner. Jack had. But Ryan didn’t know that and she wasn’t going to tell him.
“You’re a liar, Tara.”
Tara simply shifted her weight as she waited to see what was coming next. She didn’t have to wait long.
“Actually I’m here because of the crass attempts you’ve been making to embarrass my father in public.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, I think you remember raving in the bank about my father trying to steal your house.”
