Midnight Rhythms

And here was David, asking if she’d had a bad experience as if he could see straight into her soul.

She took a sip of the hot coffee. “I’m just not terribly trusting,” she said, trying to sound casual about it. “That’s all.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Well, my motives for wanting to be helpful are based on the fact that I prefer peace over war. Since we’re going to be sharing this house and this kitchen, it appears to me that being able to get along is not a bad idea.” He smiled. “So, if you’ll find the keys to Susan’s car, we can get going and solve your little gas problem.”

Sometimes her imagination got in the way. It had been well-applied when Kevin was little and she’d spent hours telling him fantastic tales she’d just made up on the spot, wild stories and adventures he had loved hearing. Her active imagination was not necessarily a blessing now, but there it was. What if this guy wasn’t who he said he was? What if he was a sophisticated, clever con man? What if he took off in Susan’s car? What if he emptied out the house after she’d gone to work? She grew suddenly hot and cold with trepidation. She had taken on responsibility for her friend’s house and possessions. Shouldn’t she do something?

“Do you have some form of identification?” she heard herself ask. “I was so tired last night I couldn’t see straight.” He probably was not used to having his identity, or his command questioned, but if it made him angry then so be it.

His mouth quirked, or maybe she imagined it. Without comment he whipped a leather wallet out of his back pocket and produced a driver’s license.

David Colin McMillan, it said. And even on the picture he was drop-dead gorgeous. Nobody looked good on a driver’s license mugshot.

“So, where’s your car?” she asked, aware her body was tense. It wasn’t easy questioning this big, intimidating man now that she was in full control of her faculties. “I didn’t see one in the drive when I came home last night.”

“Don’t have one.”

She handed him back his license. “You don’t have a car? How did you get here?”

“I was dropped off.” He put the license back in his wallet and fished the toast out of the toaster.

“But what are you going to do without a car?”

“I’ll be using Susan’s until I get myself one.”

She didn’t like the sound of this. How could he not have a car? Who in this day and age could get around without a car unless they lived in a big city? This was the boon-docks. It was miles and miles from town. No buses, no trains, no public transportation of any sort.

Maybe he didn’t have a car because he had just been released from prison. Or had escaped. Just because he was Andrew’s cousin it didn’t mean he wasn’t a criminal. What a nightmare.

Oh, please, a more rational part of her said, get a grip.

He gave her a sideways glance. “Relax, Sam.” There was no escaping the humor in his voice and it annoyed her.

“I am relaxed,” she said tightly.

“Right. Like a violin string. I don’t have a car because I’ve just returned from living overseas for three years.”

Good story, she thought. Just substitute jail for overseas and there you go.

Oh, stop it! she said to herself.

“I want to talk to Susan before we leave,” she said, trying to sound assertive. “Just a moment, please.” She went into Andrew’s office, found the number they’d left her, and dialed. Somewhere in Turkey the phone rang and rang. No one answered. She replaced the receiver with a bang, frustrated and angry. Now what was she supposed to do?

Oh, to hell with it, she muttered to herself, taking Susan’s car keys from the desk drawer. She found David in the kitchen making a sandwich out of two pieces of toast with cheese. “Let’s go,” she said, the smell of toast making her feel suddenly ravenously hungry.

“Here,” he said, handing her the toast sandwich. “You can eat it in the car.”

She took the proffered food. “Thank you.” She marched out of the kitchen into the garage with him right behind her. She tossed him the keys. “You can drive.”

“Thank you,” he said dryly. “Did you talk to Susan?”

“No. No one answered the phone. I thought they were in a hotel. Don’t these desk people pick up the phone when it rings?”

“Not necessarily, no,” he said dryly.

He opened the door for her, like a true gentleman, and she disposed of her book bag on the back seat and slid into the passenger seat. She took a big bite from the toast. The cheese was melting and it tasted delicious. Sharp cheddar, she noted. She liked strong flavors—and apparently he did, too, because he must have bought the cheese.

“Why the book bag?” he asked as he sat down, pushed the remote control to open the garage doors and started the engine. “If I may ask.”

With her mouth full of food, it took a moment before she could answer. “I’m going to night school. I don’t have time to come home after work, so I bring my stuff.”

He eased the car out of the garage and down the drive, the door closing behind them automatically. “What are you studying?”

“Business administration.”

He nodded. “Very practical, very marketable,” he commented, his voice level.

She didn’t know why his comment put her on the defensive. He was echoing her own opinion, so why did she feel this way? What was wrong with being practical? With learning skills that were marketable?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Not that it was where she’d dreamed of being, long ago, when she was younger and freer. She’d wanted to be a kindergarten teacher, always. Instead she’d ended up in her grandfather’s furniture business.

Because of Jason.

No, because she’d allowed herself to be manipulated by Jason. A treacherous mixture of anger and regret sneaked up on her. She pushed the feeling aside impatiently and took another bite of the sandwich. It was nice of David to have made her this. Last night he had fed her, too. You do have a bit of a hungry look about you, he’d said. Well, next to his huge frame she didn’t amount to much, and it might be getting less. Her skirts had been a bit loose lately.

She had finished eating by the time they passed by her car, sitting forlornly by the road. It was a ghastly shade of green and was hard to miss. She’d bought it second-hand some years ago and in spite of its lurid color it had done her excellent service, for which she thanked the gods.

“That your car?” he inquired, as if there were much doubt. It was the only unattended vehicle they had passed.

She nodded.

“Interesting color,” he stated.

She gave him a suspicious look and caught the glint of amusement in his eyes. “All I care about is that it’s reliable and doesn’t break down on me every other week.”

“Very practical, aren’t you?”

“Something wrong with that?” she asked with a touch of hauteur, feeling the little defensive devil stirring in her again. She tried not to give it space.

“Certainly not.” He looked straight ahead at the road. “Where’s the gas station?”

“Take a right at the next intersection, then three miles down.”

She couldn’t help looking at his hands as they handled the steering wheel with competence. No rings. He was in his mid-thirties, she guessed, and she wondered if he was married, or had been married, and if he had kids, and why he was staying at the McMillans’ house. Didn’t he have a place to call home? The thoughts came automatically, and she was annoyed with herself for giving them room. She didn’t care about the answers. She didn’t even care why he was staying at the house, only that he was staying there. Because she didn’t want him there. It was disturbing her peace and reeked of trouble.

She had no time for trouble.