No One but You--A Novel Read online

  “I’ve been tried. I was found not guilty.”

  “That won’t matter,” Gavin muttered, showing his complete agreement with his brother. “Not to him.”

  Dawson scratched his neck. “She applied. She was qualified and close by and needed the money. I didn’t see why her ex should have any say in the matter.”

  Elijah looked less than comfortable. “Don’t mess with Sly, man. He can be a real ass.”

  Dawson was finding that out. “He’s not going to tell me who I can and can’t hire. That’s not fair to me or her.”

  Gavin cleared his throat. “I applaud your fighting spirit. And I can see why you’d feel that way. So would I. But I’ve seen that dude in action. Like Eli said, he’s a real prick—a prick on a power trip.”

  “Most cops are,” Dawson joked. “At least the ones I’ve met.”

  Eli dipped his head as if to say he could understand. “I’m sure you haven’t seen the best side of law enforcement. Everyone on the Silver Springs force is convinced you’re guilty. But you’ve been through enough. I’d hate to see you wind up in trouble again.”

  “So what are you suggesting?” Dawson asked. “That I fire her and let him starve her out? Allow him to force her to come back to him because she has no other way of feeding her child?”

  “Jayden is his child, too,” Gavin said. “Sly won’t let him go hungry.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Dawson argued. “He seems to care more about himself than his son—or his desperate-to-be-rid-of-him wife.” He thought of how frightened Sadie had been this morning that someone would see him coming out of her house. Sure, she was concerned about what her landlady would think, but she was more afraid that Sly would find out. “She hasn’t said much, but everything she has told me suggests he’s not playing fair.”

  Eli leaned around his brother, checking to be sure Sadie had gone into the house and wasn’t standing off in the shade somewhere, listening. “I don’t know him that well, to tell you the truth. You might be right. But Sly’s a snake, a jealous snake. A few weeks ago, Sadie must’ve found someone to watch her kid, because I saw her at the bar. Sly was there, too, and stared daggers at anyone who dared approach her. He made it very clear he still considered her to be his property and wouldn’t put up with interlopers. So...watch your back.”

  “I’m not interested in her romantically.” What Dawson had been feeling since last night called him a liar, but he hadn’t intended their relationship to be anything other than employer/employee and wasn’t going to let it move in that direction.

  “The reality doesn’t matter,” Eli said. “He’ll perceive you as a threat and give you grief over anything he can.”

  “I asked her to dance when we saw her the night Eli’s talking about,” Gavin said. “I felt sorry for her sitting off by herself, you know? And, just for that, he almost started a fight with me right there in the bar.”

  Dawson slapped his jeans to get the dust off. “Yeah. I’ve seen a bit of that kind of behavior.”

  Eli’s eyes widened. “Already? When did she start working for you?”

  “Just a few days ago. But the beginning of anything is always the hardest.”

  “You think he’ll settle down and let it go,” Gavin said.

  Dawson settled his cap back on his head as he looked up at them again. “Once he gets used to the idea. What else can he do?”

  Eli made a clicking sound with his mouth. “I don’t like what comes to mind.”

  “Legally,” Dawson stressed. “He’s a cop, right?”

  “The fact that he’s a cop makes it worse, not better,” Gavin said.

  “Who’s going to hold him in check?” Eli agreed.

  Dawson turned to stare at the fields he’d been working so hard to cultivate. He’d hate to see all his effort wasted. He had to stay focused. And yet...he couldn’t abandon a woman who was being bullied. “I guess I will, if necessary,” he said as he turned back.

  “Don’t do anything.” Elijah’s voice grew firm. “If he comes over, call one of us. He’ll be less likely to act out with a witness around. You can’t let it come down to his word against yours.”

  “Sure thing,” Dawson said. But he knew if Sly came out, there’d be no time to invite the Turners.

  He waved as they left. Then he pivoted and saw Sadie’s face at the window, looking out at him. He wanted to go in and talk to her, to see how she was doing.

  And that was specifically why he averted his gaze and went right back to the field where he’d been working.

  * * *

  Because the diner had been slow, they’d cut her an hour early, giving Sadie time to swing by a small clothing boutique, where she’d purchased a new blouse. Perhaps it wasn’t wise to waste money in her current financial crisis. She could continue to get by without another top. But she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had something new. She was working two jobs right now, so she had more money coming in than since she’d left Sly, and it’d been fun to feel as though she had someone she wanted to impress. She hadn’t bothered with that type of thing in ages, had barely let herself look at the eligible men in the area.

  The sheer, sparkly fabric that covered a solid nude-colored tank underneath made her feel pretty, maybe even sexy in a subtle way, but Dawson had barely glanced at her when she arrived—and then he hadn’t come in. She stood at the window mired in disappointment as she watched him move away from her until he disappeared from view.

  “What did you expect?” she said aloud. She’d been a fool to buy a new blouse. Last night had been an anomaly. Dawson wasn’t interested in her. She’d be crazy to get involved with him even if he was. She had nothing but his word and her instincts to rely on when it came to the issue of his parents’ murder. And Sly would become even more insufferable if he thought he had competition. It was better to keep her relationship with Dawson professional—which she’d known all along, of course.

  Trying to shake off a sudden melancholy, she went up to his room to borrow an old T-shirt. She hadn’t worn her new blouse for more than an hour. If she took it off now, before she could spill or splash on it, she could possibly return it. And since she did Dawson’s laundry, and he never showed up at the house unless it was time to eat, she’d just change back before dinner and then wash and return his shirt to his closet with the next batch.

  His T-shirt nearly drowned her. She’d never weighed much, but the longer she’d lived with Sly, the harder it had been to keep any meat on her bones. He made her so anxious she didn’t care to eat. Sometimes she’d throw up if she did, and that problem was continuing now that they were separated and financial worries added to the other concerns that weighed so heavily. She never knew what to expect from him; he kept her constantly on edge, constantly wary.

  After folding her new blouse, she set it on the dresser and went about cleaning the room. She hadn’t made it upstairs before, so she figured it was time to dig in on the second story. Although she’d taken the dirty laundry from Dawson’s room, there was more, and the clean clothes she’d left on his bed before were now piled on the floor in a haphazard fashion because he hadn’t taken the time to put them away.

  “Good thing you got me,” she mumbled and changed his bedding, dusted, vacuumed and cleaned and straightened the closet and drawers. She also wiped down the lighting fixture and ceiling fan and scrubbed the window, which looked out onto the front yard and the highway beyond.

  While pausing there to rest for a moment, she saw a police cruiser go by. Whoever was behind the wheel didn’t slow down or turn in, but the sight of any cop car was enough to remind her of the panic she’d endured earlier when she thought Sly had noticed Dawson’s truck parked on her street. She hadn’t heard from her ex today—not while she was working at the diner and not after—so she’d begun to relax. But as the minutes ticked by with no word, she realiz
ed that could be foreboding. He always checked in, did whatever he could to remain in her thoughts and to encourage her to see him. She had no doubt that once he got her to come back to him, and was secure in the relationship, he’d treat her the same as before, but he swore that would never happen.

  Her hair was falling from the ponytail she’d pulled it into after changing into Dawson’s T-shirt, so she took a moment to put it up again. Then she went downstairs to retrieve her phone from the counter, where she’d left it.

  She’d received a text from Petra.

  Jayden took the news that he couldn’t come out to the farm pretty hard.

  I’m sorry, she wrote back. I didn’t mean to get his hopes up. She wasn’t the one who’d gotten his hopes up. Dawson had done that by agreeing to let him come to the farm, thereby putting the decision squarely on her shoulders. But she couldn’t tell Petra how the possibility had cropped up, didn’t want to draw Dawson into the conversation. She hoped Jayden hadn’t mentioned him, either.

  He’s fine now, came her response. I was just surprised by how badly he wanted to go. Usually he gets over disappointment much quicker.

  I’ll bring him here when I can, she wrote but had no idea when that might be. It depended on Sly and how he behaved in the next few days—whether he calmed down or continued to cause trouble.

  She checked her missed calls and her voice mails. Nothing from him so far. Where was he today?

  Relieved that she hadn’t heard from him—and nervous at the same time—she turned on her music and poured herself a cup of coffee. She was about to carry her phone upstairs so she could listen while she cleaned Angela’s room when the sack she’d brought, which was on the counter with the coffeemaker, reminded her that she’d purchased a piece of Lolita’s homemade apple pie for Dawson.

  She decided she’d change back into her blouse and take it out to him in an hour or so, but before she could go back upstairs, she heard a noise directly behind her and nearly jumped out of her skin.

  “Whoa! Take it easy! It’s me,” Dawson said when she screamed and whirled around like she was about to be attacked.

  She pressed a hand to her chest in an effort to slow her galloping heartbeat. “Sorry. I...I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Probably because of the music. I wasn’t being quiet and certainly didn’t mean to startle you. I just ran out of water.” He lifted his thermos, but then his eyes lowered to her chest and she watched as the fact that she was wearing his shirt registered.

  “I apologize for...for appropriating your clothes for my own use. I—” She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t feel comfortable telling him she’d worn a blouse to work she couldn’t actually work in.

  “It’s fine,” he said before she could even come up with an excuse.

  “Thanks. I’ll wash it, of course. I planned to put it through the laundry. It’s not as if...well—”

  “How much do you weigh?” he asked, cutting her off.

  She blinked in surprise. “A hundred and twenty pounds.”

  He tilted his head, giving her a look that indicated he didn’t believe her.

  “Okay, I only weigh about a hundred and eight, maybe a hundred and five. But...I’m trying to eat enough to build back up.”

  “Why isn’t it working?”

  She cleared her throat. “I guess I’m a high-strung person. Turns out nervous energy can really amp up metabolism,” she added with a humorless chuckle.

  “You look like a teenage girl.”

  She felt her smile slip from her face. She’d bought a new blouse, hoping to please him. She’d thought he’d liked what he saw—last night, anyway. This let her know that he didn’t find her attractive after all. She could tell by the censure in his tone.

  “Yeah, I...I’ve struggled with my weight for a few years now.” She turned away to hide the fact that his comment had stung—because that was an unreasonable reaction. She was too thin. She had no business fantasizing about him, anyway.

  Fortunately, she spotted the sack she’d brought with her, which gave her a way to divert his attention. “I brought you a piece of pie,” she mumbled and handed it to him. Then she escaped from the kitchen before he could react.

  11

  Dawson dropped the sack to his side without even looking in it and closed his eyes as he heard Sadie’s feet on the stairs behind him. What had possessed him to say such a thing? He hadn’t intended to hurt her. He’d simply been trying to remind himself that he wasn’t attracted to her, to shove that between them in hopes it would help him keep his thoughts where they should be. Lord knew he had to do something to gain control over his libido. He’d just dumped out the rest of his water under the flimsy excuse that it was getting too warm to drink so that he could come inside and see her!

  He pictured the expression on her face as she’d whirled around to grab the sack with the pie. She’d looked crestfallen, as if he’d struck her for no reason.

  Shit... It was coming upon her in his T-shirt, he decided. After last night, he’d liked the sight of that a little too much.

  He considered following her upstairs to apologize. With Sly in her life, she’d probably had about all she could take of unkind men. But he could hardly explain what had caused him to act as he had—that he wanted her and was simply trying to find, or even build up, some flaw he could focus on that’d make him want her a little less.

  No apology, he told himself. He needed to stay put. Better to let that little snippet of conversation go and simply be more polite in the future. But it didn’t make him feel any better that the pie was so delicious, some of the best he’d ever tasted. What’d made her think to bring him a piece?

  He liked her. She seemed nice, and he hadn’t had enough nice people in his life.

  “I don’t remember Lolita serving pie like this when I lived here before,” he called up the stairs. He was hoping to hear a few words from Sadie, achieve some assurance that they could just move on, but she didn’t answer.

  When he finished, he put the empty plate in the sink and went up to make sure she wasn’t crying. His bedroom was already spotless. He poked his head in there before he found her wearing her own blouse again while cleaning Angela’s room. “I’m not sure if you heard me, but I said the pie was really good.” He stopped short of entering the room, preferred to stand in the doorway. “Thanks for bringing it.”

  “You’re welcome.” She kept her face averted and continued working so he couldn’t get a bead on what she was feeling.

  He leaned against the doorjamb. “Tasted homemade.”

  “It was.” She still had her back to him, was busy putting clean linens on the bed.

  He didn’t have anything else to say, and he needed to get back to work, but he was reluctant to go. “What’s for dinner tonight?”

  “I was planning to make beef Stroganoff. Do you like that?”

  This achieved a glance, but he couldn’t hold her gaze. “Don’t know that I’ve ever had it.”

  “It’s good. Noodles, ground beef and mushrooms in a delicious gravy.”

  “Sounds good. Anyway, I trust you. I’ve enjoyed everything you’ve served so far.”

  Once the bed was made, she straightened—and finally faced him. “Are you hungry now?”

  She hadn’t been crying, but something had changed. She was no longer open to him, had the same guarded look in her eyes she’d had when they first met and she’d been so frightened of who and what he might be.

  “Not yet,” he said. “That pie was delicious, though.”

  “Do you want me to go get you some more?”

  She obviously couldn’t figure out why he was inside talking to her and not out working, like usual—had no idea that he felt terrible for insulting her. “Not today. Maybe another time.”

  “Okay.”

&nb
sp; “How much do I owe you for this piece?” She’d had to spend some money to get it for him, hadn’t she?

  She bent to plug in the vacuum. “Nothing. Wasn’t much.”

  When he didn’t leave, she hesitated. “Is there something else?”

  “No.” Resigned, he shoved off the lintel so he could go but stopped immediately. “Just so you know, I didn’t mind that you were wearing my shirt. I have a lot of old T-shirts. You can borrow one whenever.”

  “That’s okay. I have this. I just...didn’t want to get it dirty.”

  “I can see why. It’s pretty.”

  “Thanks,” she said, but curtly and in such an off-handed tone that he could tell she’d deemed the compliment insincere. She believed what he’d told her earlier—that she looked like a teenager and was therefore unattractive to him—and had slammed the door on future signals that might contradict that statement.

  “What I said about your weight a few minutes ago was...rude,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  She lifted a hand. “I’m not offended. I know I’m too skinny.”

  He offered her an apologetic smile. “I wouldn’t go that far. You’re on the thin side, but you have gorgeous legs.”

  “Thanks.”

  He’d meant what he said, but this compliment met with the same disbelief that’d caused the demise of the first.

  “Have you heard from Sly?” he asked.

  She gathered a handful of the electrical cord in anticipation of starting to vacuum. “Not yet. But I’m sure he’ll call or text me soon. He never stays away for long. Why?”

  “I don’t want him to cause you any trouble.”

  “He’s my problem. I’ll take care of...whatever happens.”

  He was afraid she wouldn’t be able to take care of it. How could a 105-pound woman ever fend off a man Sly’s size? Dawson hadn’t weighed 105 pounds since elementary school... “Hopefully, he’s not as bad as he seems.”

  “Like most people, he’s got his good points.” She would’ve been hard-pressed to come up with what those were, given how she’d been feeling about him lately. Fortunately, Dawson didn’t ask.