Bayou Rouges: Dirty Part 5

Sawyer abruptly went into the kitchen. The little house had a b.u.t.ton 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 a.n.a.lysis. 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 ch.o.r.es. 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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sumed 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 embarra.s.sed. 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 gla.s.s 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 G.o.d 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 gla.s.s. He and his dog had their heads were focused on the steamed gla.s.s shower. Through the condensation he could make out her feminine curves, and then she opened the door, lifting her hand for the products. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed lightly against the gla.s.s, wiping away the acc.u.mulated steam and affording him a clear view of her beautiful flesh.

"Um . . ." he pointed as he pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sets 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s and delicate pink nipples. "You're hurt."

"The doctor said it was just a bruise."

He frowned. "Just a bruise." She held her arms in the air, shirt overhead. He gripped the hem and pulled it slowly down, kissing the bruise on her ribs before letting the soft cotton whisper over her skin. He took the comb, and then pulled her to sit on the bed where he started in on the process of raking the plastic teeth through her curls.

She let him care for her, and he was glad because he felt like he needed her redemption. She'd asked for something so simple, but his mind couldn't process anything but the need for work and cash so he'd let her down and left her alone. The comb settled on a knot in her hair and he gently pulled through it. No . . . she wasn't his responsibility but he didn't have to be inhumane. Truth told he'd pushed her away because he'd been attracted to her all along. There was no way he could act on his attraction, and what he sensed was also an attraction for her.

Once her hair had been combed they reclined on the bed. On his huge floor pillow, Liver was already asleep as evidenced by his light snores. On their sides, face to face, their positions mirrored one another-heads on pillows, hands extended beneath the soft down. They stared into one another's eyes, his chocolate mixing with her ice-blue, both longing for more.

"How are you feeling?"

"Much better now. Thanks."

He watched her eyelids become heavy. "You didn't want me to leave your side."

Slowly her lashes lifted. "I was anxious. But I'm okay now."

"Do I make you anxious?" He swiped a rogue curl from her face, putting it behind her ear.

"No. You comfort me."

He smiled. "You comfort me too." It was true. With her to care for he hadn't thought about all that troubled him-his father in prison, his sisters, his finances, his jobs.

"Sawyer?"

His eyes had closed. "Hmm?"

"What happens tomorrow?"

At her question his eyes slowly opened to stare into the crystal blue of hers. He wasn't thinking of the future at all because he didn't want to. He'd been enjoying the present entirely too much to think of what might lie beyond. He was confused. "What do you mean?"

Her fingers traced each of his brows, his temples, and then his chin. "I mean what will happen with this?" She gestured with her tracing finger between them.

He moved to his back. He couldn't think when he was looking into those pleading blue eyes.

"Don't you feel a connection between us?" Her upper body was propped up by her elbow, her head resting in her hand.

"I do. Trust me I do." He sighed.

"But . . ."

"But my life isn't my own."

"That's very cryptic. What does it mean?"

"Shh. You need to sleep." He pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head as if she were a child. It was what he did to his sisters when they couldn't sleep. In his arms she fell into a deep sleep within minutes. Sleep however eluded him as he listened to her even breaths and thought about his d.a.m.ned luck. He couldn't have her, so he resolved right then and there to set things back to the way they'd been before two forty-five on Wednesday afternoon. It was the only way for him to remain focused on raising his sisters and maintaining his finances and work.

From the bedside table his phone buzzed on the charger.

"h.e.l.lo," he whispered.

"Hey Murph, what time will you pick us up in the morning?"

He stood and walked out of the room, Liver following at his heels. "Can't Mrs. Roland take you to school?"