Stepping inside his kitchen, he quickly did a perimeter check and recon from room to room. Satisfied everything was safe, he motioned Betsy to go inside as he walked to the truck and grabbed her tote bag.
He followed her back into the kitchen and locked up behind them, then swept his arm in a circle of the room. “There’s all kinds of food and drink, so you make yourself at home while you’re here. May not be exactly what you’re used to, but you won’t starve.”
“Don’t worry about me. I can make a meal out of anything.” She followed him as he started down the hall. “Once I unpack my tote, all I need is place to take a bath and sleep.”
“Here you go.” He tossed the tote onto the chair by his bed.
She glanced around, then tilted her head as she focused her look on his eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Uh…this is your bedroom. Where do I sleep?”
He raised his hands in self-defense. Evidently, he needed to explain reasons for his actions before they happened. “You will sleep here. I will sleep in the living room. And tomorrow we’ll figure this whole arrangement out.”
“Why can’t I just sleep in one of the other bedrooms?”
“Go on. Look.” Knowing the other two bedrooms were filled with everything from doors to lumber to almost anything else he needed to get this house back in shape to sell, he nodded toward the closed doors in the hall.
“Okay. I will.” She headed toward the closest door. “I’ve known how to make my bed since I was four years old. And I must say I’m— Oh. My. Gosh!"
Quickly, he stripped the sheets from his bed and grabbed a clean set of sheets from the chest of drawers. He was just shaking out the fitted one when she walked back in and stood on the other side of the bed.
He raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Which of those bedrooms should I put your pillow in?”
“You think you’re so funny.” She grabbed the other side of the sheet and together they made the bed. “It’s cold outside, so I understand why you keep the remodeling materials stored in there. But I do have a question. Why did you keep those doors up, but didn’t do the same for your own room?”
“Ump! Good question. I’ll let you know when I come up with that answer.” He tossed the pillow in her direction. “Now, if you’ll finish the pillow-in-pillowcase saga, I’ll get the doors put up in here.”
She’d barely finished the pillows while he had already hung the door between the hall and bedroom and was installing the handle and lock. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Won’t take but a second. Then I’ll do the bathroom door. You go ahead and unpack your tote. See what all your sister and Joanie sent you. In fact”—he opened one of the drawers in the chest and then pointed to the nightstand on the left side of the bed—“there’s some empty spaces there for you to put things.”
“Thanks. Do you mind if I set a few things in the bath? Hang a few things in the closet?”
A slight twinge ricocheted from his brain to his chest. His gut clenched. He’d heard those questions from a few other women in his lifetime, and for a second his body had automatically reacted like it always had. Say no. Shut down the relationship. Move on.
But this was different. This was a job. Nothing more than a protective situation. Helping the police. Investigating a crime. Keeping someone safe. He’d done this before. Might last a week. Maybe two. Nothing more. Just a job. He was just helping an old friend. An old friend who?—
Who was he kidding? This was Betsy. This was his future. His life. His home. His freedom. This was his choice. Would her choice be the same as his? Would she see the future and take a chance…just like him?
For now, though, he smiled as he walked to the closet and swiped his few clothes hanging there down to one end. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
Reaching into the closet she grabbed a few empty hangers from next to his clothes. “You travel light. But that looks like a nice suit.”
He fingered the material. “Yeah. The first suit I ever owned was the one my dad bought for me to wear to my mom’s funeral. Now that he’s not doing so well, I figured I should buy one for whenever his time comes.”
“That’s nice, Cain. Real nice.”
“When my mom’s cancer got worse, she had fewer and fewer good days. One of the last times she and I had a coherent conversation, she told me she figured my dad and I would butt heads someday. Made me promise to always stay in touch with him when I grew up. Said I’d understand when I got older and had seen more of life.” Cain tried to pull the rickety closet doors closed, but one wheel came off the track. “Damn it, I need to fix the closet, too.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get it done.” She touched his arm. “You’ve been a little busy watching out for a lot of people, too.”
“Now, most times I visit my dad, he doesn’t recognize me.” Cain sighed. “Funny thing though, even on those days, he always tells me to make sure his son Cain has food in the house and money for school lunch. Guess Mom was right, I’m still seeing life in new ways all the time.”
Swiping his palm down his face, he went across the hall and came back with the door for the ensuite bathroom. He hated getting caught in memory conversations. “I’ll get this door up, but they’ve given me the wrong knob and lock. I’ll stop by the hardware store tomorrow.”
While he worked on hanging the door, she started unpacking her tote. After putting a couple of things away, she suddenly stopped. Rezipped her bag. “I’ll finish this later.”
“Problem?”
She kicked off her boots and sat on the bed as she leaned back against the headboard. “Let’s just say Marcy and Joanie have some interesting ideas about what I might need while I’m at your house.”
