Читать книгу An Imperfect Match / Next Comes Love - Kimberly Van Meter - Страница 15

ANNABELLE had just snapped Honey into her car seat and slipped the key into the ignition when her old Ford Escort made a horrible racket that ended in a guttural wheeze.

“No, you will not do this to me,” Annabelle muttered, trying to turn the ignition again despite the ominous clicking it was making. “You were just given a clean bill of health last week after the oil change. There’s no reason for you to be acting like this,” she said, talking to the car as if it were a recalcitrant child rather than a machine that had just expired. She clenched her teeth and leaned into the steering wheel. “I do not accept this. You will turn over and we will drive home!”

Dean appeared beside her window with a puzzled expression. “Everything okay?”

“Yep. Just great,” she lied with a bright smile. “Just having a difference of opinion with my vehicle.”

“Come again?”

She shook her head and waved him on. “No worries. I’ll get this figured out. Go on home.”

But just as she feared, Dean wasn’t about to leave her without knowing she had reliable transportation, and, while that chivalrous routine was endearing, she really didn’t want him to feel obligated to stay. She glanced at her watch. Dana was working tonight. It was a five-mile walk from the office to her craptastic duplex and it was already getting dark. She considered her meager checking account balance and immediately discarded the thought of calling a tow truck.

“Annabelle, pop your hood.”

“No, it’s okay, really,” Annabelle called out, but Dean refused to budge and gestured impatiently. “Well, uh, okay. But I’m sure it’s nothing.”

The latch snapped and Dean propped the hood. Needing to feel useful, she grabbed the flashlight from her glove compartment and climbed out of the car to stand beside Dean as he inspected the engine. She peered into the coiled machinery and wondered if he knew what the heck he was doing. Thad hadn’t been much of a mechanic but he had always liked to pretend he was.

“Fan’s not broken and your battery cables are fine. But we’ll have it towed to Mountain Motors and see what Jonas can make of it.” He carefully closed the hood. “I’ll take you home. Go ahead and grab your stuff and I’ll get Honey.”

She wanted to decline politely, but that would really be stupid. There was no way she was going to walk five miles with a toddler who was a half hour away from becoming really cranky, not to mention, Annabelle wouldn’t be able to see two feet in front of her once she headed out of town. She might end up in a ditch or something. “Thanks,” Annabelle said, though it came out not at all grateful sounding. He didn’t call her on it and she was at least glad for that.

Honey gurgled with pleasure as Dean strapped her into the back of his king-cab monster diesel truck and then Annabelle hopped in, trying not to notice how comfortable his ride was in comparison to her own. Of course it was comfortable. It was practically brand-new, while hers was…not.

There was nothing wrong with her little Escort. It was her first car and she’d bought it with her own money. It probably just needed a tune-up. Everything would look better in the morning. The thought was very Scarlett O’Hara-esque of her, but sometimes that Southern belle had had the right of things.

“Where do you live?” Dean asked, pulling out of the driveway and onto the highway.

“Uh, just on the outskirts of town, in those duplexes off Morning Glory Road.”

He appeared troubled but didn’t comment. The first time she’d seen the duplex she’d nearly cried. But she’d lived in worse and with a little elbow grease, she’d rationalized that it could be very cozy.

As they pulled up to the duplex, Annabelle grimaced. Well, it was safe to say the duplex—despite her efforts—had never quite reached her aspirations.

She opened the passenger door and dropped to the ground from the dizzying height of the truck, then went to her front door to unlock it while Dean unbuckled Honey from her car seat. She accepted Honey from his arms while he unlatched the car seat from the truck. She tried taking the car seat, too, but he wouldn’t let her and simply followed her into the house.

She tried not to cringe when she caught him openly assessing her unit with a critical eye.

“Who’s your landlord?” he asked, his hands going to his hips as he stared at a crack in the ceiling. “Is this structurally sound?”

She laughed nervously, but she’d wondered that herself. “It’s fine. You’re paranoid. Thanks for the lift. I’m sure Dana can take us tomorrow.”

“No need. I’ll come get you. I have to come by this way anyway.”

“No, you don’t. You’re being ridiculous. I don’t need you to be my taxi. Dana can get us or maybe Sammy.”

There was a loud bang and Annabelle jumped. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have reacted like that, but having Dean in her space put her on edge. She felt him judging her and her humble home. This place was a palace compared to where she’d grown up. If he thought so poorly of her duplex what would he think of her background if he knew? She tried not to let it bother her, for who really cared what others thought? But knowing that Dean might harbor the slightest amount of pity toward her was enough to make her defensive.

“What was that?” he growled, moving past her to peer out the small kitchen window. “Are your neighbors rowdy? Have they given you any trouble?”

Annabelle sighed. It was sweet, really, that he was worried. But her neighbors were nothing compared to the riff-raff she was used to putting up with. Hell, she could handle those yahoos next door with her eyes closed. “Dean, everything’s fine. Thank you. I appreciate your concern but it’s unnecessary.”

He paused and for a wild moment Annabelle wondered if he was going to grab Honey and her, toss them both back into the truck and burn rubber out of there. No doubt that’s what he wanted to do. Dana had all but said the same thing when she’d first seen the place, but Annabelle was determined to make things better on her own.

He must’ve read that in her eyes for he backed down—grudgingly. With one caveat. “I’m picking you up. Be ready at 8:00 a.m.”

And then he closed the door behind him with instructions to use the dead bolt when he was gone.

She slid the dead bolt into place and shut the thin drapes across the kitchen window to create some semblance of privacy before making Honey and herself a quick bite to eat.

After a shower, she put Honey to bed, doublechecking the window latches before she turned off the light, and then she took a seat by the window to stare into the night.

The duplex was squalid—not even three passes with a rented steam cleaner could get the carpets completely clean—but the view was beautiful. From the ridge above Emmett’s Mill, the lights of downtown twinkled like stars and the moon illuminated the dark sky with a soft glow.

A sigh escaped her as her thoughts returned to Dean. He wasn’t a man of many words, but that was okay. Sammy seemed to do most of the talking for everyone. But Annabelle appreciated a man who spent less time talking and more time working. Her mom had been a sucker for sweet talkers. Poor Mom. Always looking for a knight in shining armor to rescue her from the way her life had turned out.

Stop it. Shaking off her melancholy, Annabelle reached for her mail and started to sift through it. She was still receiving the previous tenant’s mail but the landlord hadn’t much cared. They had left in the middle of the night, skipping out on the last month’s rent. So Annabelle had had to pay two months in advance. Tossing the misdirected mail in a growing pile to return to the post office, she got to the last envelope in her small stack and slid it open, barely registering the label from the district attorney’s office in Hinkley.

Unfolding the letter, she scanned the contents and her heart began to thunder uncomfortably in her chest as three simple words scared the living hell out of her.

Out on parole.

The phone rang, jangling her nerves. She rose on unsteady feet to answer it.

“Hello?”

Nothing. But Annabelle could hear someone breathing. Damn kids. She gripped the phone tighter and said, “This is juvenile. Do your parents know—”

“Bitch!” And then the line went dead.

Annabelle drew back in startled silence. Swallowing, she glanced out the front window before hanging up the receiver. Kids, she thought shakily. With a mean streak.

Suppressing a shiver, she double-checked the flimsy lock on the front door but still felt exposed. Forcing a short laugh, she told herself she was overreacting, but her gaze strayed to the letter on the coffee table and her heart beat painfully against everything she was trying to convince herself of.

A prank call. No big deal. She could handle it.

DEAN ARRIVED at Annabelle’s place a little early, but he hadn’t slept well the night before and found himself up earlier than usual. Downing a quick cup of coffee and burning his taste buds in the process, he made the short drive to Annabelle’s and then wondered if he should wait outside or knock on the door.

After a minute of arguing with himself on the merits of waiting or knocking, in the end, he went to the front door and tapped on it hesitantly.

A few moments later, Annabelle peered around the door frame clutching a towel, and he cursed his impatience. He should’ve waited in the truck.

“Are you early?” Annabelle asked, biting her lip. “Or am I late?”

“I’m sorry, Annabelle. I’m early. I’ll just wait in the truck until you’re ready.” He turned to leave, positive he felt the tips of his ears reddening when she called after him.

“It’s okay. I was running a bit behind anyway. I overslept. Why don’t you come in and keep an eye on Honey for me while I take a quick shower? It’ll be much faster if I don’t have to take her with me. She likes to play with the shampoo when I’m not looking.”

“Uh…okay,” he said, though his Adam’s apple bobbed uncomfortably in his throat as he dutifully tried to avoid the imagery jumping to his overactive imagination. Annabelle with her lush curves and creamy skin—naked. The blood rushed from his ears to his groin and he almost did an about-face. But then he saw Annabelle grab Honey from her crib as the toddler rubbed at her eyes, smiling sleepily when she spotted him, and his heart warmed in a pleasant way. The kid was too darn cute. A person would have to be made of stone not to like Honey Nichols.

“Look who’s here,” Annabelle said, pressing a kiss to Honey’s wild hair. “Mama’s going to take a quick shower. Can you sit with Dean for a minute? I won’t be long. I promise.”

Honey didn’t even hesitate but went straight into Dean’s arms. Annabelle’s expression faltered, surprise at Honey’s reaction evident in her eyes. She met Dean’s gaze with a puzzled smile. “She must really like you. I’ve never seen her so open with anyone. Not even her da—” Annabelle stopped, plainly disturbed by how much information she was sharing. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“Take your time,” Dean said, holding Honey against his chest and walking the perimeter of the small duplex as Annabelle disappeared. The bathroom door closed and Dean busied himself with studying her unit.

Despite Annabelle’s attempts at livening up the place with a few pictures here and there and a vibrant handmade afghan draped across the top of the faded sofa, the duplex maintained a stale atmosphere that spoke of the countless inhabitants before her who hadn’t cared as much as she did for their living conditions. Apparently, upkeep wasn’t the landlord’s top priority. Peering out the window, he realized it didn’t have a screen. Drawing away, his mouth formed a tight line as his blood pressure rose. Window screens were required in residential rentals. He wondered who owned the property and how hard it might be to find out. His cell phone was in his hand before he realized what he was doing. Seconds before he got more involved than he wanted to be, he came to his senses and snapped the phone shut. He glanced at Honey with a light smile. “Let’s get your seat in the truck, kiddo. We can wait for your mom there.”

It was only a few minutes later that Annabelle appeared at the front door, locking it before making her way to the truck gingerly on spindly heels, wearing another of her short skirts that showed off a lean pair of smooth pale legs. Dean groaned and looked away. He didn’t know how he was supposed to keep his mind in neutral when she kept shoving it into overdrive. She had to know that she was driving him crazy with those flashes of cleavage peeking out from behind that flimsy V-necked blouse and those impossibly short skirts that rode up her legs.

Dean swallowed with difficulty but managed to keep his attention on the road with ruthless determination.

“You need screens on those windows,” he said, startling her with his gruff tone. “It’s dangerous with a baby in the house.”

“I know. That’s why I keep the windows closed on that side.”

“That’s no solution. Who’s your landlord?”

Annabelle sighed. “I don’t know. I go through a property management company, Grafton Realty. Besides, I’ve called the manager and he told me that the owner isn’t interested in replacing the screens because the tenants keep ripping them out. He said if I want screens I have to buy them.”

Dean balked. “That’s bullshit.”

She shrugged as if she was used to this sort of thing. “It’s not that big a deal. We just work around it.”

“Honey could fall. This isn’t something that can be ignored, Annabelle.” He earned a sharp look, but he didn’t care. He already hated the idea of Honey and Annabelle living in that place because of the neighbors on the other side. They looked a little rough.

“It’s not your concern. Thank you, anyway,” Annabelle replied curtly, sending him the clear message that she didn’t like to be treated like a pet project. “Besides, with the weather turning soon, I won’t have much need for open windows anyway.”

“There are liability issues,” he argued. “It’s not as simple as you just choosing not to open your windows. And then there’s also the issue of the landlord refusing to provide the basics of his responsibilities to his tenant. My dad used to own plenty of rental properties. Trust me, I know all the work that goes into owning them. When I was growing up, my brothers and I spent many of our weekends helping Dad do repairs. Your landlord is a bad one,” he finished.

“Be that as it may, I don’t need you poking your nose into my business. Bad landlords have a tendency to kick out their troublemaker tenants, if you catch my drift.”

“That would be a blessing,” Dean muttered.

“Not for Honey and me. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a shortage of rentals in Emmett’s Mill. We were lucky to find this place.”

Dean opened his mouth, ready to argue some more just for the sake of keeping his mind occupied, but she had a valid point. He thought of his expansive home and the two spare bedrooms gathering dust, but before he could continue in that direction, he shook himself loose of that particular brand of crazy. Annabelle and Honey could not move in with him and Brandon. For one, Brandon would declare a mutiny and two, it was just plain stupid.

Focus on what you can fix, Dean told himself. Like window screens and broken cars.

Yeah, Halvorsen…stick to those.