Chapter Seven
Dalton fixed a cup of coffee for Blakely, keeping close tabs on the conversation going on in the next room in case emotions escalated and he needed to intervene.
Blakely was doing a stellar job of bringing calm to the situation.
And he learned something else this morning.
For reasons he might never know or understand, Blakely Adamson would never trust him.
The reality shouldn’t cause a knot to form in his chest or a sense of dread to tighten around him like a vise.
What the hell? The weekend he’d spent with her had been filled with great conversation, humor and the best sex of his life.
He needed to let it go and move on because she was all business now. Her normal mode?
Easier said than done, buddy. Especially while he was standing in her kitchen, wanting to dig deeper to find out her secrets.
“Please think about what I said last night,” Greg said.
“It’s time to go,” Blakely stated as Bethany returned to the kitchen, looking like she’d just lost her best friend.
Had she?
“You think you know what your life is, and then someone pulls the rug out from underneath your feet,” she said, returning to her spot at the granite island. She looked over at Dalton as he set Blakely’s coffee mug down where she’d been sitting moments ago.
“Life can throw curveballs,” he agreed.
“People!” Bethany smacked the flat of her palm against the hard surface. “People can throw curveballs!”
“Yes, they can,” he agreed as she took in a couple of slow, deep breaths. He’d seen her sister do the same thing to calm fried nerves. Family trait? A change of subject was in order. “What about your father?”
“What about him?” she asked.
“Are you close?”
“He’s gone,” Bethany admitted. She went from white-hot anger to normal on her next exhale.
“He and my mother have been gone a long time. Car crash.” Those words resonated.
Too many lives were lost on Texas roadways.
I-45, the road connecting Galveston to Houston and on up to Dallas, takes more than its fair share of lives every year.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, drawing on as much compassion as he could muster.
Bethany tilted her head to one side. “Looks like you have personal experience. Have you lost someone you loved too?”
“Grandparents,” he stated with shame. He’d been in Galveston for work, not play, when he’d spent the weekend with Blakely.
He’d been waiting for word because a felon he was tracking was supposed to show up there.
Never did. But he couldn’t bill the weekend as a total loss.
Not when he’d met Blakely instead. Still, shame was a heavy cloud—he’d been having the best time of his life while his grandparents were in comas.
Had Blakely provided a much-needed escape from his life?
It had been the first time he’d felt anything but numb since hearing about the crash that nearly claimed his beloved grandparents’ lives.
Still might. “They were driving home and ended up in a single-vehicle accident that left them both in comas.”
“Now I’m the one who is sorry,” Bethany said with a frown. “Life is unpredictable. I mean, you think you know where it’s headed and that you have a handle on it all. Then, boom! Everything you know changes, and you have to decide what steps to take next.”
Dalton nodded.
“Forgive the directness of this question, but shouldn’t you be with your grandparents right now instead of here?” Bethany asked, then bit down on her bottom lip.
“I have a couple of siblings and three cousins to share the responsibility with,” he explained. “We set up a rotation based on who could take leave the fastest. My turn’s next.”
Bethany studied him. “How many of the five others have taken a turn?”
“Four,” he stated.
“And when you take leave, I’m guessing it’s at least a few days to a week,” she said. “Which means this has been going on for a long time.”
“Yes, it has.” Too long in his estimation. And then he tuned in to the sound of the door closing in the next room. A couple of beats later, Blakely reappeared in the kitchen and reclaimed her seat next to her sister.
“Tell me about the fight you two had,” Blakely said as she studied Dalton first and her sister second. It seemed to dawn on her that she might have interrupted them. “Everything okay in here?”
“Yes, of course,” Bethany said. “Dalton here was nice enough to offer to make me a cup of coffee.”
“That’s right,” Dalton said, appreciating the cover. He didn’t want to get into his personal life with Blakely right now. There was no need to get personal with her at all now that all her walls had come back up.
Besides, what did he have to offer Blakely other than great sex?
Not much.
A person like her deserved more than he could give. So he wouldn’t push the issue or attempt to break down those walls around her heart again.
He finished making the coffee, which wasn’t much more than setting a clean cup under the spout, loading a pod and pushing a button.
He had a French press at his apartment that he used on his days off.
There was something about the routine of loading fresh beans into his hand grinder, heating water and going through the rest of the steps that relaxed him.
On workdays, he grabbed a cup from the small coffee shop on the corner on his way into work.
On days he was traveling for an assignment, he did the same.
It was important to have a day-off ritual that signaled a change in the lineup.
Otherwise, the days ran together in a sea of sameness.
Damn. Wasn’t he getting philosophical?
“Here you go,” he said to Bethany, serving her a fresh cup of coffee. At this rate, he might change his job description to barista.
“What?” Blakely asked, studying him.
He shot a look to indicate he needed more information if he was going to answer her question.
“You just smiled,” she said. “And I wanted to know what put it there.”
“Internal joke,” he said.
“I could use a good laugh,” she continued.
“I doubt it would translate,” he said.
“Okay,” she said with a hint of disappointment in her tone. He should probably feel bad except that she wasn’t the only one who could keep things to herself. “How about food. Is anyone hungry?”
“I doubt I could eat,” Bethany said with a frown.
“What about something calm, like yogurt?” Blakely asked her sister, ever the protective one. The fact they were twins struck Dalton as odd since Blakely took on the role of older sister, and Bethany seemed content to be taken care of as the baby of the family.
“I’ll try,” Bethany conceded.
Blakely served her sister before turning to Dalton. “How about an omelet?”
He remembered the one she’d made for him in Galveston. His mouth watered at the thought of another. “Only if you’ll allow me to help.”
“You’ve been serving up coffee,” she quipped. “Your job is done.” She motioned toward the spot where she’d been sitting moments ago. “Take a load off.”
“I’ll take a walk around the perimeter instead,” he said, thinking whatever he’d chased last night might have returned.
The reminder of them being in danger struck Blakely like a jab. She straightened her back and moved toward the fridge.
He had a few minutes before breakfast would be ready, so he headed out the back way to investigate the commotion from last night more thoroughly.
The sun was shining. Wind had enough of a chill to make him wish he’d worn a jacket.
He’d be fine. It would take more than cold temperatures to make him turn around. Jogging helped get his blood moving.
Deer tracks didn’t surprise him. He backtracked as best as he could.
Found human prints. Large. Men’s.
* * *
Blakely plated half of the omelet, placing it next to sliced tomato, then walked toward the back door. As she neared, it opened, and Dalton filled its frame. Her heart gave a traitorous flip at seeing him. The wild look in his eyes sent her pulse racing. “What’s out there?”
“Footprints,” he said. “It was too dark last night to easily pick them up, and I stomped all over a couple when I chased what I thought was a wild animal away from your backyard.”
Blakely brought her hand up to cover a gasp. “You didn’t mention it last night.”
“Didn’t see the need,” he said.
“Why wouldn’t investigators use their flashlights to check the area?”
“My guess is the attack was initially believed to be random,” he said. She’d sat on the bench through too many cases where a beat cop missed important evidence to dispute Dalton’s reasoning. Instead, she gave a slight nod.
“Come eat before the food gets cold.” Blakely never considered herself much of a cook.
She could follow a recipe okay. But she wasn’t exactly someone who “created” in the kitchen.
Most of the time, she ordered prepackaged meals from a service.
That way, all she had to do was toss it in the microwave, hit a button and, wa-la, dinner.
Omelets on the weekend were a good way to change things up.
Most of the time, she cooked them for brunch before curling up with a good book or hitting her playlist. Unless, of course, Chase was sleeping over. Then, the tent forts came out.
Speaking of Chase, she should probably go upstairs and check on him after breakfast.
Dalton sat down and picked up a fork. He stabbed the egg as he took a chunk out of the omelet and then ate it. Was he frustrated?
The man took his job seriously. Was that the only reason protecting her meant so much to him? Her heart wanted their weekend to mean more than casual sex, especially considering she didn’t normally go there, and a place down deep said that Dalton was special.
Blakely stood at the island as she ate, far too wound up to sit down.
She paced in between bites, considering how someone could have been lurking behind her home without her having the first clue.
She’d kept the blinds open so no one could sneak up on her.
She hadn’t considered how easy it would be to watch her from afar.
Last bite down, she checked her sister’s yogurt cup.
At least Bethany was able to finish it. Thank heaven for small miracles.
Blakely grabbed a banana and peeled it for her sister next as Chase bounded down the stairs.
Tufts of his hair stuck up at odd angles in the most adorable way.
That kid had her heart in his seven-year-old hands.
“Hey, buddy,” Blakely said as Bethany seemed momentarily lost in her own world. Marital trouble had to be the worst.
He made a beeline to his mother after locking on, mumbling something that sounded like, “I’m hungry.”
“Do you want eggs or waffles?” Blakely asked.
“Waffles,” he said, perking up considerably at the thought of a sugar rush.
“You got it, kiddo,” Blakely said before pulling his favorite brand out of the freezer and then popping a pair into the toaster next to the fridge.
Within minutes, Chase was happily perched in his mother’s lap while gobbling down the syrup-soaked treat. Blakely poured a glass of milk then set it next to his plate.
Bethany held on to Chase like he was about to disappear into thin air.
Her marriage must be in serious trouble.
Not once had her sister bailed on a date night with Greg.
The man had shown up looking like he needed a shower and a good shave.
And the dark circles underneath his eyes said he was either working too hard or worrying too much.
This wasn’t the time to pry into her sister’s marriage. Not with Chase in the room.
But Blakely was curious about what a marriage that looked perfect on the outside could possibly be facing. Whatever it was, it had to be bad to keep Bethany here. She hadn’t made a move to go home or even mentioned the possibility.
“Do you want me to pick up a few of your things from home so you can stay over a couple of nights?” Blakely asked, and then received a warning glare from Dalton. She shot him a look right back.
“I can do it,” he offered.
“No,” Bethany said. “I can borrow anything I need from Blakely.” Something between Bethany and Dalton had shifted this morning. A bond?
As strange as it sounded, even to her, they seemed a whole lot more comfortable around each other in a short amount of time. When she really thought about it, the change happened this morning, while she was at the front door with Greg.
“That a real gun?” Chase asked once he’d devoured breakfast. He was all big eyes and smiles now.
“Yes,” Dalton responded. “But it comes with great responsibility and isn’t meant for small hands.”
Chase sighed. “My hands have always been too small. That’s why I play soccer. Because I can never catch a football with these.” He held up his hands with a look of disappointment that would melt the most ice-encased heart.
“Hands grow just like every other body part,” Dalton reassured. His words resonated with her nephew, turning the frown into a contemplative nod.
A growing part of her liked the ease Dalton seemed to feel around the two most important people in Blakely’s life.
She gave herself a mental headshake before heading down that no-future trail.
She would never trust anyone of the opposite sex.
That had been stripped from her a long time ago along with her na?ve belief that all humans had good in them.
During that time in her life, she’d dreamed of becoming a social worker so she could roll up her sleeves and help people with their transformation.
Imagine the disappointment when she learned not everyone had redeeming qualities or wanted to be reformed. Blakely shook off the reverie.
Everyone she cared about was under one roof. Safe.
For now. Those two words haunted her.