“Is that necessary?” I ask. My sympathetic eyes land on the man who seems to have been given a bum job. Sure, it’s not cold, but waiting outside the house all night sounds like it will be pretty boring. Or, hopefully.
“Curtis is a prospect who wants his patch.” Dusty raises an eyebrow at the man beside him who sends a nod and an easy smile my way, then disappears out the doorway.
“This the couch?” Dusty gives the far-too-short-for-his-body piece of furniture a disdainful look.
“We moved in here and it was already furnished. No choice of mine.” I wonder why I’m offering what sounds like an apology. “There is a spare bedroom—”
“I’m not here to sleep, woman,” he snaps. “Fuckin’ poor bodyguard I’d make if I were napping on the job. The couch will do fine for me.”
“There’s beer in the fridge, man,” Dan offers.
“Oh, and cookies in the cupboard.” I bite my lip. “There’s not much else I’m afraid.” I’ve found teenagers may grow into men but that doesn’t mean they lose their habits of emptying the fridge and pantry of all its contents. The only stuff left are things that need cooking.
“Not here to sleep or to eat, but a beer would be good. Thanks.” Dusty tilts his head as though to question where he should be heading. Dan interprets his unspoken query and leads him into the kitchen.
I wonder whether I should offer to take one out to the prospect, but then decide they can sort themselves out. When Dan comes back into the room, he’s already deep in conversation with Dusty. A wave of exhaustion comes over me. I’ve been on edge since noticing I’d picked up a stalker, but Lost taking it seriously, stopping the man and now sending Dusty and Curtis to watch over us has taken the burden from me. I realise I’m starting to crash as the adrenaline fades away. I become aware that my head is pounding, and I want nothing more than to rest it on a pillow.
Interrupting their conversation briefly, I tell them I’m going to bed, then with heavy feeling limbs go through my normal nighttime routine. When at last I slide under the covers, my brain won’t switch off, going over and over the events of the evening, and again more what-ifs come to mind.
What if I hadn’t been so vigilant? What if I hadn’t noticed the man? It had been Lost’s insistence on me keeping aware of my surroundings that had put my senses on high alert. Had I not been pre-warned, I might not have taken so much notice of my surroundings nor the people around. If I hadn’t been looking, I probably wouldn’t have realised I was seeing the same man over and over again. If I’d ignored my first thought that it was a coincidence and I was overreacting, I’d never have called for help.
Even at the time I thought I was imagining things, my palms had become sweaty and my nape had tingled when I’d seen himyet again, and the only thought in my head was to speak to Lost.
From Lost’s reaction, I was right to, and as it turned out, I hadn’t been seeing things that weren’t there. If I had, there wouldn’t be two Satan’s Devils protecting the house right now.
My brain hasn’t got the message that I’m tired. Despite the comfort of the bed, instead of letting me sleep, it’s whirring with worry instead.
Is Dan right? Should he move on? Should I go with him? What happens if I return to Pueblo? Why had I made contact with Beth?The most important and mystifying of them all,why was I followed today and by whom?It had to be someone working for Alder, but why? Does he have proof Dan’s alive? It would be him he’d be after, not me.He was using me to lead him to Dan.
Could someone else be targeting me for God knows what reason?
I can’t think who. No, it has to be Alder. But surely, finding me in that mall must have been coincidence. When I’d left the house, even I didn’t really have a destination in mind. I’d gone out after Dan left for work as these four walls were becoming oppressive and decided to while away a few hours doing some late afternoon shopping instead. It was even a mall I hadn’t been to before, not a haunt I often frequent.
I’m scared how easily I’d been found and can’t think how anyone knew how to locate me.
Finally, I must drop off as I wake to the sounds of banging, clattering and loud voices. There’s also the aroma of bacon coming through my bedroom door. Feeling like death warmed over, I sit, rub tired bleary eyes, then reach for my robe. One thing about being a woman in my mid-fifties, I don’t have to give a damn about doing much more than running a brush through my bed hair. I’ve a house full of young men, no one I need to impress. No one who’s going to care if I’m wearing makeup or not.
Sliding my feet into my worn, comfy slippers—the ones with the cat’s face on them, complete with ears and whiskers, which Dan had bought me out of his first wages as a joke—I open the door and step out.
When I enter the kitchen, I immediately want to make a retreat, hastily rethinking my decision not to hide that I look like I’ve just fallen out of bed when my eyes fall on the one man I didn’t expect to see flipping bacon on the stove.Lost.
Jeez. I don’t know exactly how old he is. The grey in his hair suggests he has to be middle-aged, but the view he’s presenting with his back to me is more mouth-watering than what he’s cooking. The way his ass flexes as he moves this way and that has even my what I thought were non-existent hormones running rampant.
“Morning, Mom.” Dan nods as he catches sight of me, showing no reaction at all. Well, he’s my son and is used to my morning apparel.
Dusty eyes me up, then down, then gives me a polite, “Hi, Patsy. Sleep well?” as if I’m no interest to him one way or another.
Lost though. Lost turns and looks straight at me. When his eyes peruse my body, parts of me come alive which I’d thought dead. I mean, there’s a handsome man in my kitchen, cooking breakfast at my stove. I feel my cheeks glow red under his examination and a tingling starts inside me as his eyes leave my face, travel down my body then fall on my feet covered by my favourite slippers. It’s then the bastard smirks. “Nice.” He nods downward.
Suppressing the instinct to run back to my room and dress more appropriately in my tightest jeans and best fitting top, I pull my pink fluffy robe tighter around me, and ask through gritted teeth, “Want some help?”
“Nah, I got it. You just take a seat. Dust, why don’t you get our host some coffee?”
Host? Pretty damn sure with that title, I should be the one cooking. But I sit, still half asleep, wondering what rabbit hole I’ve fallen into as Lost continues to work the stove. As he moves his attention between one pan and another, I begrudgingly admit, he actually seems to know what he’s doing.
When Lost serves up the food, Dusty takes two loaded plates and disappears out of the room leaving just the three of us.
Lost must have raided my fridge and freezer I realise when a heaped plate of bacon, eggs and hash browns is placed in front of me. I frown down at it.
