An Imperfect Match / Next Comes Love. Kimberly Van Meter

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ