Wanting Something More. Kathy Love
frustrated, she fought the urge to scream.
Nate knew he was being annoyingly obtuse. But he couldn’t resist aggravating her a little. He’d been worried about her, and he didn’t really care for worrying. That was one of the things he wished had stayed the same as before the attack. Being apathetic had been—well, less worrying.
If she had just agreed to let him drive her to one of her sisters’, or here, he’d have been in bed already. Instead, he’d been driving all over Millbrook in a raging snowstorm, looking for her vehicle in a ditch somewhere.
He’d gone to her sisters’ houses first. But when he hadn’t seen her car, he’d gone back to Gory Boar Road to make sure she wasn’t stuck somewhere, and he’d somehow missed her. He should have thought of coming here, but he’d never considered that she’d come here instead of staying with one of her sisters.
He watched Marty. She looked as if she was ready to grab the album from his hand and pummel him to death with it. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. And behind her fierce scowl and tightly crossed arms, he got the feeling she was very tense and very wary.
Nate supposed she should be. He was a virtual stranger standing in her house in the dead of night, uninvited. At least by her.
“Listen, Ellie and Mason gave me a key and told me if I was ever working late and need a place to crash, to stay here,” he explained.
She studied him for a moment, then tightened her arms around herself a bit more.
Nate could tell she didn’t believe him.
“Why would you need a place to stay?” she asked, suspicion clear in her voice. “Does your girlfriend kick you out or something?”
He smiled. Was she fishing around trying to see if he was single? “No. No girlfriend.”
She looked unimpressed and not surprised.
Nope, no fishing there.
“It’s nothing so dramatic,” he said, shifting his weight slightly. She stepped back as if she expected him to pounce. He remained still. “I live on a dirt road, and when the weather’s bad, I sometimes have a problem making it in. Tonight would be impossible.”
She regarded him again, her wide, dark eyes scanning his face. Finally she nodded. “Okay.”
He smiled again, somehow relieved that she believed him. Again, old Nathaniel wouldn’t have cared. Old Nathaniel would already be in bed. With her, if at all possible.
Not that the new Nate wouldn’t like that too. Now, he just had enough sense to know she wasn’t interested. And likely wasn’t going to be anytime soon.
“So you’re okay with me staying?”
Marty shrugged, the gesture as indifferent as he’d once been. “I don’t really have an option, do I? Like you said, it’s too cold to sleep in your car.”
“Oh, if it were only a few degrees warmer, huh?” He offered her another smile and received a cold stare in return.
He lost the grin, then sighed. “Okay, well, I’m sorry I woke you. I had intended to sneak in and sneak back out in the morning without disturbing you.” He paused, waiting for a response.
She continued to watch him with those distrustful eyes.
“I hope you can get back to sleep all right.” He leaned forward to hand back the album, even though he still wasn’t positive she wouldn’t hit him with it.
She hesitated, then reached forward and practically snatched the record out of his hand. She stared at him, the album clutched in both hands. Just when he felt like maybe she expected him to say something more, she nodded slightly. “Good night,” she said woodenly and half walked, half backed into her room.
Nate frowned as he watched her disappear inside, soundly closing the door behind her. He knew she didn’t like him, but he hadn’t expected her to actually seem frightened of him. Especially after he explained why he was there.
After all, chauvinist pig or not—and he liked to think he was not, now—he was still the chief of police. That had to be slightly better than the average intruder.
He turned and limped toward the bedroom at the end of the hall when he heard a scraping sound and the doorknob to Marty’s room rattle.
She was barring her door.
He shook his head. Was she really that afraid of him, or was Marty Stepp nervous around all men? He actually hoped it was just him; he didn’t like to think what would have had to happen to her to make her wary of all men.
He stepped inside the bedroom that he’d always used when he’d stayed here and clicked on the bedside light. The room was cozy, with an antique wrought-iron bed covered with a thick quilt nestled under the eaves. He liked this room.
But even as he stretched out onto the soft mattress and nearly groaned at the weariness in his bones, he knew he wouldn’t sleep. Another side effect from his attack. If he could get a couple of hours a night, he was doing well.
He reached over and turned off the light. The wind had really picked up. The tall oak tree outside the window cast eerie shadows on the walls. The chill and dampness in the air still caused his knee to throb.
It should have felt good to have someone else in the house with him on a night like this. Just to know there was another living soul there. Maybe even help him sleep. But it didn’t feel better. It just made him realize how alone he really was.
Reaching his hand up to his face, he touched his finger to the scar that started at his temple and curved around his eye to his cheekbone. He knew it was still red and puckered, and there were faint lines where the stitches had been. He touched the mark for a moment longer, then folded his hand behind his head and stared at the ceiling.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 3
Marty awoke to singing. A male voice, muffled, distant.
She lifted her head from her pillow and squinted around, disoriented. Pale blue wallpaper with darker blue flowers and a faded picture of Michael J. Fox greeted her. That’s right, she was in her room. Home.
Then she saw the chair wedged under the doorknob, and she remembered that she and Michael J. were not alone. Nathaniel Peck was here, and apparently singing.
She let her head fall back onto the pillow and considered cocooning herself in her quilt and trying to sleep until her unwanted guest left.
Then she sighed. This was stupid. She had to go to the bathroom, and she was starving. Plus, this was her house; why was she hiding?
She rose and struggled with the chair, trying to remove it quietly. Now, in the broad daylight, with the sunshine beaming off the snow outside her window, she felt a bit stupid for barricading the door. She really hated it when her nerves got the best of her. And her nerves seemed to be in control a lot lately.
With purposeful calmness, she tugged open the door and stepped out into the hallway. The singing was louder but still distant. Nathaniel wasn’t upstairs.
She listened for a moment. He actually had a nice voice. Low and a little raspy. Beneath the soothing sound of his voice, she could tell he was moving around. She heard the occasional scrape of a drawer opening, the swish of metal on metal.
What was he doing? Singing his way off with the family silver? Okay, there was no family silver, but Grammy’s Green Stamp flatware was still pretty valuable, to her anyway.
The bathroom forgotten, she headed down the stairs, ready to defend her grandmother’s cutlery. But once she got to the kitchen doorway, she didn’t charge in. Instead she stopped, motionless, listening and watching.
He stood in front of the stove, waving a fork like a drumstick as he belted out the chorus to “Ready for Love” by Bad Company. The soft material of his faded gray T-shirt