His Temporary Live-in Wife

She sighed. “Would you also like one?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Oh, no. I’m here to serve,” she muttered as she strode into the kitchen, although “marched” might be a more accurate description.

Eric pulled a chair close to Dylan and sat. “Tell me about living here. How’d you do that?”

“Opened the window. Climbed in.”

Eric dug for patience. “Be more specific.”

“I saw the place was empty. I needed a place to stay.”

“Did you break the window?”

“It was already broken.” He finally made eye contact, although only briefly. “I broke the lock on the other window so I could get back in, in case someone fixed the glass.”

“How long did you stay here?”

He shrugged.

“Days? Weeks? Months?”

“When I needed to.”

Eric waited, his gaze steady. Silence usually brought discomfort and therefore answers, but this kid handled empty silences well.

“Go wash your hands before we eat.” He reckoned the boy was hungry enough not to climb out the window. “I think you know where the bathroom is.”

Dylan had perfected the teenage saunter. He didn’t act scared or nervous, but Eric figured he was plenty of both.

Eric joined Marcy in the kitchen, planting himself where he could see if Dylan tried to escape. She glanced at Eric then returned to fixing what looked to be turkey sandwiches and chips.

“The boy’s cleaning up,” he said.

“I could hear your conversation.”

“Need help?”

“No, thanks.”

She went silent but he noted how stiff-backed she was. “You don’t approve of me not phoning the police.”

“At first I thought you should, but now that I know he’s been my secret helper, I’d be more hesitant to turn him in. He seems desperate, and not all bad.”

“Don’t be too quick to make that kind of decision. He’s no innocent.”

“He’s no hardened criminal, either.”

Her hair had fallen along the side of her face, hiding her expression, but also giving him a moment for a longer glimpse of her.

Dylan’s comment about her not looking as if she missed meals wasn’t accurate. She was just curvy, very curvy, top and bottom, but with a small waist, proportionately. A perfect hourglass. She wore a low-cut T-shirt with the word “Score” blazoned across it, and skin-tight jeans. Too many questions came to mind. He was trying not to jump to conclusions as much as he had in the past.

“Where were you tonight?” he asked.

“I wait tables at a sports bar on Friday and Saturday nights.” She faced him. “I didn’t know the window lock was broken until today when the window washer pointed it out. As you’ll see for yourself, it’s not immediately evident. I made arrangements for it to be repaired, but the guy couldn’t come until tomorrow. Today.”

“You should’ve offered a bonus to come today. If you’d called me about it, I would’ve told you to do that. You should know that about me by now.”

“Apparently money solves all your problems,” she murmured.

Annoyed at her tone, he came up beside her so that Dylan wouldn’t overhear any more of their conversation. “Most of the time, yes. You didn’t turn down the extra pay I offered.”

“True.” After a minute, she said, “What are you going to do about him?”

“I haven’t decided, but he needs to learn there are consequences for his actions.”

Dylan stepped into the room then. He swallowed as he eyed the sandwiches. He also looked ready to take flight.

“I know all about consequences,” Dylan said, looking as if the world was one big heavy weight on his shoulders.

Eric saw Marcy become a puddle of sympathy. He figured the kid had learned survival techniques, one of them being to figure out who might be the softest touch. He would probably zero in on Marcy now, because she’d played her hand already. He knew she cared about what happened to him.

“What would you like to drink?” she asked.

“Milk. If you’ve got it.”

“I think by now you know what she’s got,” Eric said. “You’re not eating?” he asked Marcy as she passed their plates to them.

“I ate at work.”

His long day of driving, followed by all he’d been met with here, combined to deliver him a one-two punch of exhaustion. He wasn’t even hungry anymore. He just needed sleep. And no problems to deal with for at least ten hours.

So much for starting fresh somewhere else. Welcome to California, indeed.

“You can sleep in the living room,” he said to Dylan, deciding that if he hadn’t taken anything other than food the last five days, he wasn’t likely to do so now. “I expect you to be here when I get up in the morning, even if that’s not until noon.”

Dylan said nothing. He just ate, taking big bites, devouring the sandwich.

Eric glanced at Marcy when Dylan refused to answer.

“What? You plan on ordering me, too?” she asked, challenge and humor in her eyes.

“Where have you been sleeping?”

“On a cot in your bedroom. Your furniture was set up today, and your bed is made, by the way. I’ll just move into one of the spare bedrooms for the night. I’m sure we’ll have business to discuss in the morning. Good night.”

She was a lot more lively in person than on the phone, and she wasn’t acting much like an employee. Not that he minded, except that his perceptions of her were all wrong, and that usually wasn’t the case.