Dirty (5 page)

             
“Did you build it?” She adjusted a forest green window shutter.

             
“I designed and cut the boards for it, but Riley painted and pieced them together.”

             
Courtney pulled the house apart to reveal the inside where darling little pieces of antique furniture were spread around. “When I was a little girl I had a Strawberry Shortcake dollhouse. It smelled like strawberries. There was a skylight in the shape of a big strawberry that lit up the inside. I must have spent hundreds of hours in front of that little house. If I’d had this one I would have never slept. This”—she pointed to the house atop the table—“is magnificent.”

             
“Would you like a soda?”

             
“I’ll take a Coke if you’ve got it.”

             
Courtney arranged the round rug in the living room of the tabletop house, and then she situated the seating around the fireplace. “That’s better.”

             
Behind her she heard the scrape of a chair being pulled across the floor. Sawyer brought two chairs up behind her and sat in one. She took the other and her soda. “Thank you.”

             
The worry lines on his forehead seemed deeper than she’d remembered. “Are you sure you don’t need that medicine? I could run out and get it for you.”

             
“No, but thank you. And thanks for coming after me. I don’t know . . . I’d started to get panicked when I passed out in the woods. If you hadn’t come”—she sighed heavily and he placed his arm around her.

             
“I should have gone with you.” Pain laced his dark gaze as it burrowed into hers.
             

             
“Stop saying that.”

             
His eyes took in her hospital gown and messy hair. “Would you like to take a shower or a bath?”

             
“That’d be nice. After dinner?”

             
“Such as it is.”

             
“I told you I like pizza and popsicles.”
             
“He hit you?” His eyes narrowed with his frown.

             
“No.” Her hand covered the bruise. “I uh . . . I was trying to get away from him, but I was against the wall.”

             
Sawyer abruptly went into the kitchen. The little house had a button near the door and she pressed it. To her delight it pinged. He returned and gently pressed a cool towel to the bruise on her face. It felt good, immediately relieving her headache. His eyes still held worry.

             
“Sawyer, I got away. I guess maybe you didn’t know that, but I did.”

             
“You mean he didn’t . . .”

             
“No, he didn’t. I got away.”

             
His sigh held relief. “I was so worried I thought . . . I’m glad you got away. I told Sergeant Lewis about the pieces of dress I found. She took them for analysis. How much do you know about Eric Houseman?”

             
“I don’t know much. Samantha may know more.”

             
“The other realtor?”

             
“Yeah, she’d shown him some houses when he first started looking.” She adjusted the cool towel against her face, realizing there were pebble shaped little ice cubes in it. 

             
“How did you get involved?”

             
“Sam’s son got sick when she’d had a showing scheduled so I took it.” The towel unfolded and ice fell to the floor.

             
“You said you were uncomfortable. Did something happen before?” He took the towel and folded it neatly into a square, righting the mess she’d made.

             
“When I was showing him the custom closet he came in close behind me and I think he was smelling me. That was weird by itself, but then his hands enclosed around my upper arms and I started to freak, but his phone rang, and then we abruptly left.” She shrugged. “I just thought he was a weird guy. He must have thought I would welcome his advances. I look like that kind of a girl I guess.”

             
He pressed the towel to her face and grimaced. “A—you don’t look like a
woman
who deserves to be treated roughly. B—no woman does.”

             
The buzzer went off alerting them to the status of the pizza. He left her to see to their dinner. She heard a can opener and then Sawyer whistled. In a few moments Liver entered through his personal entrance and swiftly trotted to the kitchen. “Dinner, old boy.”

             
When Sawyer returned from the kitchen he had a placemat and a pizza, along with a little salad he’d made of tomatoes and lettuce. “Pizza a la Sawyer. Don’t get too excited.”

             
“I love pizza a la Sawyer!”

             
“The only explanation is that you’ve developed Florence Nightingale syndrome.”

             
“Is that the only explanation?” Courtney hummed.

             
“For a girl who makes a lunch of expensive wine and cheeses . . . yes. It’s the only explanation.”

             
She frowned. His words stung. Evidently he thought she was the high maintenance type—demanding and tedious. It really wasn’t fair. He didn’t know her. Her father raised them all to dig in and get dirty, and to know what hard labor was by experiencing it. They’d built decks, coops, repaired fences, and helped erect stables. Family affairs her father called them. They may have had help, but Britton David’s children also had chores. Hers included cleaning out the stables, watering and feeding the chickens, and brushing the horses. She’d start on the work as soon as she got off the school bus.

             
“You’re not eating.” He pointed at the pizza.

             
She lifted the pepperoni pizza to her mouth and took a large bite. At that moment she realized how hungry she was. “Mmm, it’s good.” He passed her the soda she’d been nursing earlier. “Where’s yours?”

             
“They heat faster if you cook them one at a time.”

             
She wiped her mouth with the napkin he’d laid out with the placemat. “I would have waited.”

             
He shook his head. “You need to eat.”

             
She forked some salad and brought it to her mouth. He’d dressed it with lemon and olive oil—her favorite. She smiled at the familiarity.

             
“What?”

             
“This is how I dress my salad . . . lemon and olive oil.”

             
“Clara taught me that trick. She also gave me the fancy bottle of olive oil on my counter. It’s the only reason there is anything green in the house.”

             
“Not fond of salads?”

             
He smoothed an eyebrow with his finger. “I am. I’m just not a very good cook.”

             
“Oh, you seem to do all right.” She took a sip of soda.

             
She’d eaten half her pizza by the time Sawyer retrieved his—sans salad—and they finished their dinner, enjoying casual banter as they did so.

             
After dinner he asked, “Do you prefer a shower or a bath?”

             
She looked at him quizzically.

             
He grinned. “I only ask because there are two bathrooms. One with a bath, the other with a shower.”

             
“I could go for a hot shower.”

             
“Follow me.”

             
She complied, and Liver also followed.

             
He led her through a narrow hallway and into what she assumed to be his room as jeans and boxers were strewn in a chair in the corner and on the floor. He immediately began picking up the dirty items that littered the carpet. “I uh . . . wasn’t expecting a beautiful blonde or I would’ve picked up.”

             
“
Beautiful
blonde?”

             
“You mean you didn’t know?” He seemed embarrassed. It was hard to tell with his skin so bronze, but she thought maybe his color had risen as well.

             
“I didn’t know you thought so.”

             
“Of course I do. Have to be blind not to.”

             
He led her to a bathroom, and then leaned in to turn on the shower. She sat on the toilet lid while the water warmed. As if he knew she needed a friend, Liver rested his head on her legs. She delicately patted him.

             
“You’ll need shampoo.”

             
“I’ll just use yours.”

             
“I use body wash for everything.” He swept his index finger from his head to his toes and her eyes followed.

             
Everything.
She’d like to wash his everything. His tan biceps bulged in his threadbare T-shirt and she swallowed thickly as his brown eyes bore into hers, echoing her sentiments.

             
He moved abruptly toward the door. “Won’t you just stay while I shower? I won’t take long I promise. I don’t want to be alone.”

             
“I was going to grab some shampoo for you.”

             
“Oh.” Her eyes filled with tears that she couldn’t blink away.

             
“Hey.” He grasped his fingers around hers. “Just gotta run to the other bathroom to get it.”

             
“I don’t need any.”

             
“Don’t be silly. I’ve got conditioner and a comb—the works. Would you like to follow me?” He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes, where concern was still etched.

             
She shook her head and smiled at his attentiveness. He nodded toward the shower, “It’s ready.” And then he was gone and she felt so alone.

             
The steam filled the bathroom and she was only too happy to rid herself of the hospital gown. Liver closely watched the stranger in his home. Naked, she walked toward the shower, noticing for the first time that it was an enclosed shower with a glass door. He’d see her nudity, but the hot steam beckoned and she was pulled toward it.

             
Standing under the raining water caused her muscles to loosen and she sighed away the anxiety of the past seven hours as she thanked God for a hard-working man named Sawyer.

***

             
“I also found tropical scented body wash if you’d rather smell like pineapple than Old Spice, but it’s”—his words and all thoughts arrested when he saw her silhouette through the glass. He and his dog had their heads were focused on the steamed glass shower. Through the condensation he could make out her feminine curves, and then she opened the door, lifting her hand for the products. Her breasts pressed lightly against the glass, wiping away the accumulated steam and affording him a clear view of her beautiful flesh.

             
“Um . . .” he pointed as he passed her the bottles. “I can see your uh . . .”

             
“Shy?” She reached for the shampoo. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. In fact you must get a lot of action if you keep these products on hand.” She giggled.

             
“They’re my sisters'.”

             
He couldn’t stop staring. She was mesmerizing. When she turned her body he saw her other feminine assets through the little window she’d made.

             
Stop staring, Sawyer!

             
She’d need clothes, but given the curves he’d seen and the fact that he didn’t think Jess had yet to develop any, he decided on a pair of his athletic shorts and a T-shirt.

             
When she padded out of the bathroom in a towel, her skin silky and pink, his throat went dry. Clearing it he said, “I pulled out these clothes for you.” He gestured to the bed where he’d laid them out.

             
“Thank you.” She slid the shorts on under the towel and then, with her back to him, she dropped the towel to don the shirt.

             
Watching her muscles work as she raised her arms, he saw the bruising on her upper arm and across her ribs. “Hey,” not thinking he walked toward her and placed his palm delicately on her ribs. When she turned toward him his vision was graced with fleshy breasts and delicate pink nipples. “You’re hurt.”

             
“The doctor said it was just a bruise.”