Safely Home (6 page)

He released his hold and raised his wrist. “Twelve minutes. Sure you don’t want us to wait?”

“What I want you to do is—”

Two fingers shushed her again as he bent close, so close she could see tiny dots of deeper brown flecking his more sienna eyes. “Be nice, okay? It’s Sunday.”

Something in his words, his touch, his expression, or maybe the trio combined made her realize he was right. She drew a light breath and nodded, scenting fresh soap on his fingers, liking the feel of them against her mouth. “Okay.”

His look deepened to awareness before he stepped back, turned and headed downstairs. Cress watched him go, her heart tripping faster, her breathing upgraded to match the pulse.

She was losing it. What on earth was she thinking? For just a moment,
Alex Westmore had looked—

Do Not Go There.
Crossing into her room, she heard the crunch of gravel as he backed toward the road. She shut the door with a bang and rifled her clothes, hunting for an appropriate outfit. Grabbing a skirt and sleeveless sweater, she slipped into them, irate.

Nothing about
Alex was appealing. Not his wavy dark hair or laughing eyes, not the easy way he wore designer clothes as though made for them, not the firm grip of thick, strong fingers holding her upright, cushioning her surprise.

She ran a comb through the wet tangle of hair, wasted two minutes with the blow dryer on high to initiate the drying process, then raced down the stairs, out the door and half-dove into her car. She got to church almost on time with wet hair, her skirt semi-twisted, and somewhat out of breath for having to walk an extra block-and-a-half because the small lot was chock-full, and still earned a look of displeasure from Gran.

Alex?

He acted as if he hadn’t a clue she was there, which suited her just fine.

Chapter Five

Alex
needed to steer clear of Cress Dietrich.

He came to that realization about the time he lightened his grip along the soft curve of her arms, oblivious to anything except the feel of her skin beneath his fingers, inhaling the essence of fruit-soaked soap. He wasn’t sure if the fruit/spice blend wafted from her hair or her skin, and for long moments, he didn’t care.

Dangerous. First because she was a cop, and Alex Westmore avoided cops for good reason.

Second, she was Gran’s helper, and he would no sooner risk spilling the beans on Gran’s financial situation than he would on his own mother, and getting too chummy with Cress might encourage him to do just that. No, he carried his weight for Norma Dietrich willingly. No way would he risk her embarrassment or censure.

Third, Cress was a full-fledged brat, tough and in-your-face, shoulders squared, butt tucked, ready to duke it out with whatever came her way. Tougher-than-nails women weren’t his cup of tea, not now, not ever. He liked quiescent women, soft, easy going. Pliable.

Didn’t he?

Obviously not if his reaction this morning was any indicator. He’d done his best to ignore her throughout the service and beyond, then threw himself into his work after a mid-day meal on the run, refusing Gran’s offer of pot roast.

And he loved pot roast. Especially with those little, round potatoes and long spears of carrot, all roasted in the meat juices. His belly rumbled thinking about it, but he put a firm clasp on both hungers and worked instead. Obviously his hormones were working overtime from lack of activity and his belly, well…

His gut liked food, plain and simple. Once Gran was through with her treatments and Cress long gone, he’d join Norma for Sunday dinners again. As long as the treatments gave her more time.

That sobering thought pushed
Alex to demanding answers about the proposed parkland. He wanted it done while Gran was still around to enjoy it. Toxicology screens on soil samples from various locations should give him a clearer picture of what was required to ready the ground for undisturbed recreational use. It was a gift he wanted to give Norma for being nice to a little kid whose dad made embarrassing his family a daily routine. Norma had gone out of her way for him, and did so with the subtlety and graciousness of a true Christian, never looking for payback or self-satisfaction. Her example taught him a valuable lesson: there was scant satisfaction in getting even. He realized that truth when he’d relieved two of the cops involved in his father’s death of their homes. He thought he’d feel vindicated.

The opposite held true. He’d hated himself for putting those families out on the street. Sure, it had been legal and above-board, but legal didn’t always mean right. He realized that too late.

Gran Dietrich’s example helped him see the error of his ways, selfless and strong despite her tough demeanor.

Like Cress?

Pushing the younger Dietrich firmly out of mind, Alex buried himself in facts and figures until he was tired enough to sleep without thinking of her. Remembering the feel of her skin, the sheen of her eyes. Wondering what it would be like to towel dry her hair for her, then…

No use. He pushed back from his desk, scowled at the empty coffee carafe, grabbed his light jacket and headed home where his trusty dog waited for a romp. Maybe walking the dog would soothe him. Or at least distract him.

Maybe.

*

“Boy, I called you!”

She hadn’t. He knew that, it wasn’t as if he had any place to go or anything to do that blocked the sound of her voice. He bit back words that might earn a smack and moved forward carefully. “Here I am.”

She grabbed his arm, her thin fingers pinching deep. “Mind, you come when I say come, and don’t be taking your own sweet time about it, either! Understand?”

He understood all right, but did she imagine she called him? Because she hadn’t said a word the whole morning. “Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s better. You run outside and fetch me some of those late beans on the tall stakes. And don’t be dilly dallying, neither. I’ve got things to do.”

He’d picked all the low beans a few days before. There was no way he could reach the higher ones. He’d already tried and failed. Maybe she’d forgotten. “I can’t reach the high ones, remember? I tried—”

A slap to his cheek closed his mouth right quick. The sting of her hand still packed a wallop, even if she didn’t move too fast on her feet.

Tears smarted.

He choked them back. He’d learned the hard way that crying only made things worse. He’d gone a long time being hungry to learn that lesson.

“Find a way. You expect me to put food on the table and do all the work myself? Get out there and do your work.” She leaned forward, eyes narrowed but gleaming with anger. “And don’t you be sassing me, Charlie. Not now. Not ever. Here.” She thrust a peck basket at him with unreasonable force, nearly knocking him off his feet, but he didn’t dare complain. He took the basket, bit back tears and moved to the door, heart heavy.

He’d pretend while he was out there. He’d pretend to be big and brave and strong and that he could go anywhere he wanted to go. He’d be free, he could drive a car or walk anyplace at all. And when people saw him they’d say, “Hey, Brian.”

And no one, no one at all would ever call him Charlie again.

*

“I
may need to kill her.”  Cress stared at Audra through the screened door mid-week and narrowed her gaze, hands clenched. “Or at least kill someone. And you happen to be right here. Which means—”

Audra laughed, swung the door wider and stepped back. “Rough day?”

“Rough day, rough month, rough…” She stopped, noting Audra’s look of appraisal. “Yeah. Rough day.”

“Mm hmm.” Audra led Cress into the antiquated kitchen tha
t could have stepped out of a black and white retro movie. “Sit. I’ll feed you. Ply you with alcohol. Then we’ll chat.”

Cress shook her head. “No drinking. I swore off that about two years back when a really good day turned into a
wretched night. Never again.”

“Oooo….” Audra gave a sage nod as she held up a pitcher of tea in one hand,
and a lemon in the other. “Sounds like a story worth telling.”

Cress faked a grin. “Some other time, perhaps. Right now I need a break from moth-balled clothes, dusty shelves, and endless haranguing about anything and everything including my clothes, job and lifestyle in general.”

Audra’s silence lent credence to Gran’s assessment. Seconds ticked by as she poured tea, sliced a lemon, and slid the sweet beverage in front of her sister. “Gran’s a smart old bird.”

“Translation: you agree.”

Audra made a face. “Does it matter, Cress? What Gran or I think?” She shook her head, glanced down to the table, then drew her gaze up, unhurried. “You’ve been here two weeks now. That’s more than we’ve seen you in nine years.”

“Yeah.”

Audra ran a finger around the condensation forming on the outside of her tumbler. Her action made rivulets of water flow along the glass surface, pooling against the protected finish of the old table. “It’s not hard to tell you’re troubled, Cress. Not for the people who love you.”

Cress tapped her leg for emphasis. “Chronic pain makes people grumpy. Pretty understandable.”

A faint smile brushed Audra’s lips before it nosedived into a frown. “Avoiding the issues is a no-win situation. They just look worse at the end of the day. Today might be a case in point.”

Two things Cress hated right now. One
, that her sister was right. James’s early morning voice mail left her dealing with convoluted questions culminating in witch-like behavior. Worse, she hated that Audra saw beyond Cress’s attempts to slough off her feelings by blaming a physical ailment. But was she ready to confide what she’d discovered about herself? That she was no better, no smarter, no stronger than those beleaguered women who sought refuge at the inner city shelters?

Sheaves of emotion tied her gut. What was wrong with her? What had she been thinking? That things would get better, improve as James moved up the ladder of police success?

She knew better. She was trained to know better, and that put her a leg up on most of society. The signs were there, growing more obvious the past year. Longer if she examined things more closely.

And still she’d stayed. Tried to work things out. Made excuses.

She couldn’t forgive herself for the latter. The excuses. The lies. The cover up. How one small fib led to another, until it all came to a violent head in early summer.

Audra’s hand covered hers. “When you’re ready, I’m here.”

Was it her sister’s touch that filled Cress’s eyes, or the words? Cress had no idea. A long blink sent a tear down her right cheek, then another. Audra gripped her hand with more pressure, then slid out of her chair to offer a hug. “It’ll be okay, Cress. Promise.”

Would it? Cress wasn’t nearly as certain. Her mind’s eye graphed the pattern she’d created, one that stood in direct conflict with the Cress she showed the world. Tough. Acerbic. Smart.

Audra’s hug felt good. Cress returned the embrace, wishing there’d been more time to stay close with her younger sisters. Wishing…

She heaved a sigh, grabbed a napkin, sat back and mopped her eyes. “
Rough time of the month. Hormonal.”

Audra’s look didn’t buy it, but she let Cress’s assertion slide. “Life as a woman. So. Come outside. Meet the crew.”

Cress glanced around. “No guests?”

“Two coming in later,
but I’ve already cleaned the rooms and gotten things ready. Grab one of those leftover muffins from this morning and tell me what you think. Come on.” She gave Cress’s free hand a tug. “Down your tea and pet something live and furry. You’ll feel better.”

Cress was pretty sure that wouldn’t be the case, but she let herself be led outside, a fruit-studded muffin in one hand while Audra clutched the other. The rear of the
gracious colonial overlooked a pastoral setting. An L-shaped red barn, tall and sun-bleached, provided a cornerstone for the far edge of a barnyard that housed whatever leftover critters people didn’t want. Audra stopped by two sheep first. One stood quiet and still, letting Audra’s hands stroke her curly head, while the other shied away. “This is Belle. And this,” she pointed to the farther ruminant, “is Beast.”

A gri
n touched Cress’s lips. “Theme-park-oriented mutton. Excellent. So that’s a male?” She waved her hand toward the more skittish one.

“A ram. This one’s a ewe.”

“And Sesame Street has been brought to you today by the number two. And the letter K.”

Audra laughed. “How am
I supposed to know whether or not you’re familiar with the terms? It’s not like you’re farm-sympathetic.”

“That’s not true.” Cress shook her head. “I loved Grandpa’s farm. Loved going there and helping out, taking care of the horses
and the cows. We had some great times there, Audra.”

“Yeah, we did. Tommy Russell?”

The memory of chasing down Tommy Russell and locking him in the old shed until he promised to never bother Kiera again dispelled more of the shadows. Cress’s smile deepened. “And Mrs. Herlihy’s girdle?”

Audra’s mouth gaped. “Could you even imagine an undergarment that big and that useless?”

Cress laughed out loud, relaxing. Without thinking, she lay her hand atop Belle’s thick, wooly head. “Poor old woman. I bet that thing cost a pretty penny and we stole it. Used it for battle techniques.”

“I sent her money.”

Cress angled her head, surprised. “You did?”

Audra nodded. “A few years back, once I was grown up and had a brain. And a conscience.”

Cress met her sister’s look. “So did I.”

Audra frowned. “How much?”

“Fifty.”

“Crap.” Audra glared at the ground, scrubbing her toe against caked, ruddy soil. “I only sent twenty-five. Think between us we covered it?”

Cress’s lips quirked. “I don’t know. There was enough elastic in that thing to catapult a small planet into orbit.”

“Amen.”

“This way.” Audra switched gears as she tugged her left. “Come meet the horses.”

“I really should get back.” Cress eyed her watch, then the horses. Deciding, she headed into the paddock with Audra. “Horses are expensive,” noted Cress. “How do you finance that?”

“Rescue groups.” Audra led the way across the grass with a casual hand toward the ground. “Mind the droppings.”

“Great. Horse dung. My favorite.” Drawing near, three horses stepped forward, heads nodding as though bidding them good day. One hung back, edging right, trying to look inconspicuous. Something about his manner caught Cress’s interest. “Who’s the shy guy?”

“Brandywood. He’s new. And he is shy, but I think he’ll come around. He needs lots of attention right now, though, and I don’t really have the time to baby him the way he deserves, not with guests booked almost every day for the fall season.”

“Rid
eable?”

Audra nodded. “He was a racer who brought in over three-hundred-fifty thousand on the circuit.”