Page 26 of Traces Of You
Having her walk out of his life a second time wasn’t an option he wanted to accept.
He couldn’t let her know he felt that way. The last thing she needed was another controlling man in her life.
“Then we’ll make sure we can get you there,” he said. “The place looks great.”
There wasn’t a speck of dust that he could see. The smell of lemons hit him hard now that he wasn’t focusing on the fact Reenie might have left him or that she was sick.
“Elbow grease will do that. I like things clean and organized.”
“Me too.”
“Do I have time to take a shower? Your mother dropped off sheets and towels and a few other necessities for me earlier.”
“Go ahead.” He’d try not to think of her in the next room naked.
She walked out of the living room, into the bedroom, he heard the drawer open and close, then she came out with a change of clothes in her hands and moved to the bathroom.
When the water was running, he looked around to see if there was anything personal of Reenie’s out.
The kitchen had everything in it that Clay used when he’d stayed here over the years when he was on leave.
Ford had lived here for a stint when he’d come back from college. It gave him his space that cost nothing.
He popped his head into the bedroom and looked around, but there wasn’t anything to see.
The bed was made, and there was a laptop plugged in next to it. As much as he wanted to look at it, he was positive he wouldn’t get far without knowing a password.
He walked in and opened the closet door. There were some clothes hanging, so that told him she was planning on staying for the moment.
When Reenie came out a few minutes later with damp hair, he realized she probably didn’t have a hair dryer.
“Why don’t you make a list of the items you need and I’ll pick them up tonight? A hair dryer for one.”
A slow smile filled her face. “I’ve been making one. I can order stuff and have it delivered here, right?”
“Don’t use your name,” he said. “Put it in my mother’s name. You’re using prepaid credit cards, right?”
“Yes. No paper trails. Cash or them.”
He nodded his head. “That’s good. We’ll talk more at dinner. My mother made a big roast. Hope you’re hungry. There will be plenty.”
“I’m starving,” she said. “I ate lunch, but I’m positive I burned through it cleaning. I’m going to sleep like a rock tonight. I hope.”
“I hope you do too.”
At least one of them would.
7
GETTING IMMERSED
She’d come a long way from the twelve-year-old having a family dinner with Ford’s family.
It’d only been a handful of times. Mostly when she was here with him, it was lunch on the weekends in this kitchen that had changed little other than some paint and new appliances.
The butcher block counters were the same, only years more of usage added to them.
The scent of cooked meat filled her nostrils when she came in the back door and looked around.
