Midnight Rhythms. Karen Van Der Zee
could think about it. She glanced away. “I really didn’t mean to…uh—”
“Neither did I,” he said smoothly. “Breakfast? I’ll do the honors.”
Cool as a cucumber, he was; she had to admire that. She shook her head. “I’ve got to run. I’m late.”
“You’re out of gas,” he reminded her.
She closed her eyes and sighed. “I know.” She poured herself some coffee. “I’m going to take Susan’s car to get some gas, put it in mine, bring back hers, walk back to mine and leave.”
“Much too complicated,” he stated in a no-nonsense tone. “I’ll come with you. That’ll save you the hike back to your car.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Of course I don’t have to.” He put a piece of wholegrain bread in the toaster. “But I will.”
It would be a big help, of course, yet his take-charge attitude irritated her.
“Why?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you always so suspicious?”
She shrugged and sipped the coffee. It was wonderful, very strong and flavorful. “When it comes to men, yes.” Her words surprised her—she wasn’t normally so confrontational with strangers, yet this man had an odd effect on her equilibrium. And she felt defensive about her idiotic move of practically fainting in his arms last night and the embarrassing result.
“Sorry to hear that.” He reached for his cup. “Did you have a bad experience for which all men will pay for ever and ever?”
She stared at him, feeling an odd quiver of fear. Had he guessed? Could he tell?
She thought of Jason, who’d left her stranded with a newborn baby. They’d married right out of high school and Jason had wanted nothing more than for them to have a baby right away. Yet four months after Kevin was born he’d had enough of fatherhood, packed up and left. Three days later he’d died in a construction accident, leaving her a widow at nineteen with a tiny baby to care for. She couldn’t believe what had happened to her, to him. How could he have left her and the baby he’d said he wanted so much? He’d planned and saved, saying he made enough money as a construction worker for them to afford a baby; really, there was no need to wait until she’d finished college and had a job, too. It had taken a long time before she’d ever understood Jason’s true motivation for wanting a baby, and it hadn’t really had anything to do with fatherhood. It’d had everything to do with sabotaging her education because he’d felt threatened by her ambition. Not that he would have ever owned up to such a feeling of inadequacy.
Things had not been what they seemed. Jason had had a side to him she hadn’t known. It terrified her to realize how foolish and naïve she had been to allow herself to be manipulated by him, how little she had understood him, herself.
And here was David, asking if she’d had a bad experience as if he could see straight into her soul.
She took a sip of the hot coffee. “I’m just not terribly trusting,” she said, trying to sound casual about it. “That’s all.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Well, my motives for wanting to be helpful are based on the fact that I prefer peace over war. Since we’re going to be sharing this house and this kitchen, it appears to me that being able to get along is not a bad idea.” He smiled. “So, if you’ll find the keys to Susan’s car, we can get going and solve your little gas problem.”
Sometimes her imagination got in the way. It had been well-applied when Kevin was little and she’d spent hours telling him fantastic tales she’d just made up on the spot, wild stories and adventures he had loved hearing. Her active imagination was not necessarily a blessing now, but there it was. What if this guy wasn’t who he said he was? What if he was a sophisticated, clever con man? What if he took off in Susan’s car? What if he emptied out the house after she’d gone to work? She grew suddenly hot and cold with trepidation. She had taken on responsibility for her friend’s house and possessions. Shouldn’t she do something?
“Do you have some form of identification?” she heard herself ask. “I was so tired last night I couldn’t see straight.” He probably was not used to having his identity, or his command questioned, but if it made him angry then so be it.
His mouth quirked, or maybe she imagined it. Without comment he whipped a leather wallet out of his back pocket and produced a driver’s license.
David Colin McMillan, it said. And even on the picture he was drop-dead gorgeous. Nobody looked good on a driver’s license mugshot.
“So, where’s your car?” she asked, aware her body was tense. It wasn’t easy questioning this big, intimidating man now that she was in full control of her faculties. “I didn’t see one in the drive when I came home last night.”
“Don’t have one.”
She handed him back his license. “You don’t have a car? How did you get here?”
“I was dropped off.” He put the license back in his wallet and fished the toast out of the toaster.
“But what are you going to do without a car?”
“I’ll be using Susan’s until I get myself one.”
She didn’t like the sound of this. How could he not have a car? Who in this day and age could get around without a car unless they lived in a big city? This was the boon-docks. It was miles and miles from town. No buses, no trains, no public transportation of any sort.
Maybe he didn’t have a car because he had just been released from prison. Or had escaped. Just because he was Andrew’s cousin it didn’t mean he wasn’t a criminal. What a nightmare.
Oh, please, a more rational part of her said, get a grip.
He gave her a sideways glance. “Relax, Sam.” There was no escaping the humor in his voice and it annoyed her.
“I am relaxed,” she said tightly.
“Right. Like a violin string. I don’t have a car because I’ve just returned from living overseas for three years.”
Good story, she thought. Just substitute jail for overseas and there you go.
Oh, stop it! she said to herself.
“I want to talk to Susan before we leave,” she said, trying to sound assertive. “Just a moment, please.” She went into Andrew’s office, found the number they’d left her, and dialed. Somewhere in Turkey the phone rang and rang. No one answered. She replaced the receiver with a bang, frustrated and angry. Now what was she supposed to do?
Oh, to hell with it, she muttered to herself, taking Susan’s car keys from the desk drawer. She found David in the kitchen making a sandwich out of two pieces of toast with cheese. “Let’s go,” she said, the smell of toast making her feel suddenly ravenously hungry.
“Here,” he said, handing her the toast sandwich. “You can eat it in the car.”
She took the proffered food. “Thank you.” She marched out of the kitchen into the garage with him right behind her. She tossed him the keys. “You can drive.”
“Thank you,” he said dryly. “Did you talk to Susan?”
“No. No one answered the phone. I thought they were in a hotel. Don’t these desk people pick up the phone when it rings?”
“Not necessarily, no,” he said dryly.
He opened the door for her, like a true gentleman, and she disposed of her book bag on the back seat and slid into the passenger seat. She took a big bite from the toast. The cheese was melting and it tasted delicious. Sharp cheddar, she noted. She liked strong flavors—and apparently he did, too, because he must have bought the cheese.
“Why the book bag?” he asked as he sat down, pushed the remote