It wasn’t his business, but from what little he’d gleaned from her broken explanation to the sheriff, Stace was in sore need—
Of a Daddy, his brain interjected.
—of help, he finished sternly, as much for himself as for her. He didn’t know a damn thing about her, although he supposed he’d be able to pick up a few things if he interviewed her. Obviously, she wasn’t suited for the job. She was renting her aunt’s house so, just as obviously, she didn’t want a live-in position, and having someone there at night was definitely one of the things he was looking forward to. He loved his Pops, but from the moment Brock had made the decision to hire someone, having that person become a live-in companion so he could re-enter the dating pool had been chief among his reasons. And from the moment of that decision’s conception, the person he’d envisioned hiring had been single, without children, older than Stace Malone—frankly, taller than she was too, and strong enough to pick his dad up off the floor in case he fell again.
No, Stace Malone was definitely not suited to the job Brock was offering, but he knew a lot of folks around town, and once they were closer to spring, there’d be a hundred of help-wanted signs in the shop windows downtown. What little bit of “downtown” that Myrtle Creek had, especially once the spring-to-fall tourist season ended. Everything was winding down now. People were tightening their belts, living off their summer savings. No one would be hiring until probably spring, not even the town’s only gas station, which did a brisk business no matter what season it was. Still, the owner, Travis, ran the business with just himself and his teenaged son and he wasn’t known to hire outside the family, no matter what the season.
This was really one of the worst times for anyone to try to move to Myrtle Creek.
But that wasn’t his problem. His problem was finding a suitable companion for his elderly father so he could leave when he needed to tend their cattle. He’d already brought them down out of the mountain canyons to their wintering place in the ten-acre paddock out behind the house, where they had a barn to keep them warm, and bales upon bales of grass ready to supplement their grazing. At least until the real snow came, burying this whole place under a deep blanket of white, at temperatures that wouldn’t melt until spring.
Gone were the days when he and Pops rode up into the mountains together, their numbers bolstered by hired hands, intent on driving a herd of a couple hundred head or more from paddock to grazing range, and back again. These days their herd numbered around forty, which was just enough to supplement his tour guide income, and which, as he’d number-crunched prior to advertising for a live-in companion, was just enough to pay for that too.
He glanced out the other window, looking at the log cabin nestled among the evergreens next door. The shades were drawn and her front door closed. He couldn’t see any part of her, but that uncomfortable tension in his gut combined with her absence let him know just how well-aware she was of how much she’d screwed up.
Not that it was her fault.
She’d been taken advantage of by an entire company full of people he’d love to see in jail.
This wasn’t his fight, but she’d come to Myrtle Creek. On season or off, anyone living here within shouting distance of a neighbor, had someone else involved in their problems.
Catching movement from the side of his eye, he turned to watch the squad car behind him, backing up in the mud toturn around in Stace’s driveway. He left slowly, probably looking back at them in the rearview mirror the whole time and with every intention of placing a call to Maggie once he got back at the station. Depending on who else was there, Brock gave it until supper time before at least half of the permanent residents of Myrtle Creek knew as much as he did about Stace Malone. Those who actually minded their own business wouldn’t get filled in until church on Sunday.
It’d been a long time since he’d driven anything as big as this. Shifting into forward gear, he applied steadily increasing pressure on the gas until the truck began to move. It slipped, throwing mud twice, but even with flat tires, he got it up onto the grass of his yard, horizontal to his own house before he shifted into reverse and, just as slowly as before, backed towards her porch. The deflated tires actually helped him keep the big rig moving. He’d be fixing ruts for a week at least, but he successfully avoided running over the apple tree his mother had Pops plant on the day he was born. That he stopped close enough to her porch to unload directly onto it and yet without taking out her steps was also a point of pride he’d savor later on tonight. For now, though…
Shutting off the truck, he shouldered the door open and climbed down. What little bit of snow and ice on the blades of grass beneath his boots crunched with every step he took as he rounded to the back and swung the heavy doors open. Glancing up the porch steps, he climbed into the back, giving her as much time as he could to get herself together before he intruded on her privacy.
Going through her things, he shoved the scattering of boxes that must have been shifting and sliding the entire time they’d been driving, from the back of the truck into neat stacks near the open door. The longer he was back there, the more his temper hiked and spiked and bubbled up under his skin until it wasall he could do to just keep quiet about it. Apart from the crib and bulky toys, a child’s potty, and two large framed pictures, boxes were about all she had, and they were all of them small or medium-sized.
She didn’t have so much as a beanbag chair, or an area rug. Maybe she had blankets and coats and other such wintering stuff packed in some of these medium-sized boxes, but the only thing he saw as far as bedding for Stace was an army green sleeping bag, properly rolled up, and a clear plastic storage bag with two pillows and a quilt folded up inside.
It took him ten minutes to rearrange everything up by the doors, and then only because he took his time. She had twenty-two boxes total, four black garbage bags of clothes, linens, a clear bag with maybe more bedding in it, and a smattering of loose toys too big to fit in a closed medium box. He had more than this when he moved back home after he finished college.
With nothing left to do, he hung out in the back of the truck, hoping she’d come out on her own, but she didn’t.
Rubbing his face, he hopped down, climbed the wooden porch steps and knocked on the door.
There was no sound from within. He waited longer than he usually would before deciding to knock again.
It was when he raised his knuckles to knock again that he heard the sniffle coming through the crack under the door.
He looked down, as if he could see her through the wood, wondering if she was sitting on the other side, practically at his feet.
He listened as a shuffle of feet and a heavy sigh sounded through the wooden door. The door knob rattled loosely when she opened up a crack and peeked out at him.
Her eyes were definitely red rimmed and watery. She didn’t say anything. She just looked at him.
She was such a tiny thing, not much bigger than her baby when compared to him. Well, that was a slight exaggeration, but still…
“If you want to open up, I’ll bring your things in,” he offered.
“I can do it myself,” she said sadly.
Propping his shoulder against the threshold, he hooked his thumbs in his back jeans pockets and promptly stuffed that errant instinct to raise an eyebrow and invoke his Daddy tone as he said, “Of course you can. But you don’t have to. In Myrtle Creek, that’s what neighbors are for.”
Her brow furrowed as she watched him, but after only a moment, she reluctantly opened the door. When she did, he got his first look inside. The house was utterly empty, apart from the curtains on the windows and two decorative logs that belonged in a gas fireplace.
“Okay,” she sighed, venturing out onto the porch.
