opened two beers without asking if he wanted one and sat down across from him. “Wedding band you didn’t try to hide. Socks that don’t match. No woman would let you out of the house like that.”
Micah stared at his socks. They looked like a matched pair to him. But, one might be more gray than black now that he studied them.
“And I sat on a coloring book in the back seat of your car so either you’ve got a kid, or you’re not quite as bright as I thought you might be. A boy, I’d guess, since girls usually don’t color Spider-Man.”
He smiled. “I made it too easy, Sherlock.” He cut into his steak. “Now for the big question: why did you invite me in? I could be a serial rapist for all you know.”
She laughed. “Not with those shoes.” She took a bite, then added, “I knew you were safe, first because you were a friend of the Rogers sisters. They’re not the types to hang around with dangerous men. Second, you turn red every time I get within waltzing distance. That doesn’t sound like a trait a rapist would have. You’re safe all right, Micah Parker. Safe as a crosswalk.”
Micah wished he could think of a funny comeback, but he was too busy eating. She’d cooked what he was sure must be the world’s best steak.
Randi picked at her food. Every time he raised his gaze from his plate, she watched him. He always turned away first. He didn’t want to think about what else she’d be able to guess about him.
After finishing his steak, Micah started on hers. She moved her plate toward him without comment. He stopped to take a drink of the longneck, then made himself slow down as he ate the rest of her breakfast. She probably thought he was homeless by the way he consumed food.
“I’m on a committee with the Rogers sisters. Though, I knew who they were. Everyone does.”
“The committee that got interrupted by a flying drill bit this morning?” She leaned closer.
Micah nodded. Clifton Creek didn’t need a paper. News spread faster than butter on lava.
“I heard a few of the oil guys talking about it, but I didn’t pay a lot of attention. When the sisters came in, they wanted to talk about everything but what frightened them.” She wrinkled her forehead. “One of the oilmen said there’d been a little interest in the Altman property as a drill site, but no oilman would send a drill bit as his calling card.”
Micah leaned forward and lowered his voice. “What kind of interest?”
Randi shrugged. “Just rumors. The men in the bar are always talking about where to drill next. Most of it’s speculation and guessing. Since the old house sets on a rise, it would be the prime spot to drill if anyone decided to test for oil below.” She studied him. “You think someone was trying to tell the committee something this morning? Or trying to hurt one of you?”
“It could have been an accident. Kids may have found the bit and thought it would be great for shattering windows.” He stacked the empty plates and stood. “Maybe they didn’t take the time to notice people were sitting at a table on the other side of the glass.”
She followed, sipping her beer as he scraped the dishes. “Maybe someone wanted to stop the committee. I don’t know who else serves on the panel with you, but the Rogers sisters must have been frightened half to death. They’re tough old birds, but I’m not sure they’ll be interested in going back into that house. To tell the truth I’m surprised it didn’t fall down around the committee this morning.”
Micah dried his hands. “It bothers me to think that someone could have been hurt. Really hurt.”
She put her hand on his shoulder. “It could’ve been you.” Her words were soft against his ear.
He took a long breath and for once in his life decided not to think, but to act. In half a turn his body brushed against hers and he lowered his mouth toward her lips.
She slowly molded against him, as smooth flowing as liquid passion. Then, when they were so close their breaths mingled, she smiled. A smile that told him she could read his thoughts.
“I think it’s time we call it a night,” she said as she stepped away.
She walked across the kitchen. “You know,” she said in that low voice of hers, “I was wrong about you, Mr. Parker. You’re not safe.”
He didn’t know if he should apologize or try again. It seemed a lifetime since he’d known the rules—if he’d ever known them.
He thought it best to say good-night. “Thanks for the steak.”
“Anytime,” she answered. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Parker.” The look she gave him said so much more.
“Nice to meet you,” he echoed, thinking she was a blast of fresh air in the cellar he’d been living in for years.
Ten
Lora Whitman folded her napkin and tried to give at least the appearance of paying attention to her mother. She should have pretended sleep longer and cut the time at the breakfast table in half. Working for her father was easy compared to having to live with her mother. Luckily, the house was big enough for Lora to have her own wing on the third floor with a study, a bedroom and a small workout area. Her mother rarely ventured into her rooms, claiming the stairs were too much for her.
“I can’t imagine how frightened you were, dear. I told everyone how you just couldn’t face talking about the accident yesterday. Not even to me.” Isadore Whitman finished her coffee. “Of course, you were so worried about that Professor Dickerson from the college who had a heart attack that you rode with the first car leaving for Wichita Falls to check on her.” Isadore stopped long enough to spread her lipstick just wider than her lip line. Her own private answer to BOTOX.
Trying to keep her voice calm, Lora corrected, “First, Mother, it wasn’t an accident. A ten-pound drill bit almost the size of a football isn’t something that just flies into a window. Second, Sidney Dickerson didn’t have a heart attack. We feared she had, but the hospital checked her out.”
Lora knew she was wasting her time. Isadore lived in a fairy-tale world. Oh, not with giants and dragons, but the kind of make-believe with parties and parades. In Isadore’s fairyland, streets could be named Candy Lane just because she bought the only house on the block and daughters grew up and married well. And never came back home to live.
“Morning, ladies.” Calvin Whitman’s booming voice entered the room a few seconds before he did. A large man, he leaned back a little more each year to accommodate his ever-expanding belly.
He patted Lora’s shoulder as he passed. “How’s my little girl feeling today?”
Lora nodded her hello. She’d always be her daddy’s little girl. Unlike Isadore, he hadn’t wanted to give her up to marriage and seemed happy to have her back home. In fact, Calvin would be happy if nothing ever changed in his world but next year’s Cadillac colors.
“I’m fine.” Lora stood. “I thought I’d go in early and see what landed on my desk yesterday while I was out.” She was never sure if she truly helped her father’s business, or as the boss he simply found work for her. In either case, she didn’t complain. Her ex-husband had served her with papers, cleaned out all their accounts and
