long enough to know if it was going to be too difficult. The only thing he knew for sure was that he could no longer stand a necktie.
He unpacked the few things he had brought with him and put them in the drawers of an empty dresser. He’d left behind the clothes in storage. The one suit he’d pulled out to wear to his debriefings had shown him that not only did he hate neckties now, but his body had changed. He was leaner now, his muscles in different places and shapes.
So that left him with his undercover garb and little else. He supposed he needed to do some shopping. If he wanted, he could fit in here pretty quickly. That was his gift.
And his curse.
* * *
Corey listened to the sounds of the stranger upstairs. He’d been gone a long time, but now he was back. Unpacking? She thought she heard the dresser move a bit. Then the unmistakable sounds of the shower upstairs.
She was having a serious problem with herself. She had been close to rude with a stranger, in defiance of everything she believed to be right. Strangers were to be welcomed, and while keeping a reasonable distance at first was okay until you knew them, you shouldn’t be inhospitable. She’d come very close to that at the door, and now she was hiding in her bedroom as if her house had been invaded by some kind of freak.
She couldn’t help her reactions to men. Eighteen years ago, one had killed her mother before her very eyes when she was seven and they were living in Denver. She knew she’d been there because of police reports. She even knew some of the awful details, again because of police reports. The man had never been caught. There’d never been a clue to his identity.
So whoever he was, he probably still roamed the world somewhere, and her memory of the incident was a total blank. It was a mercy, she supposed, that she didn’t remember, and having been brought home to Conard County to live with her aunt and grandmother had given her stability and a loving home.
But she was still uneasy with men. Especially men she didn’t know. That uneasiness had prevented her from going to college, except for some classes she had lately taken here, and prevented her from ever leaving this area. She knew almost everyone by sight, and she needed that.
But still, the guy upstairs had done nothing wrong, and the more she thought about it, the more she believed that the last thing he needed was to be treated like a pariah. Simple kindness required better of her.
It wasn’t as if she needed to spend much time with him. Just some courtesy and an occasional smile. If there was one thing life had taught her, everyone had their own problems, and his, well, his might even be a private hell.
She noticed her knitting needles were clicking more rapidly than usual and that she’d stopped counting stitches at some point. Darn it, she was probably making a mess of this sweater. Sighing, she put the knitting on the bed and rose from her chair, wondering how she could handle this situation better. How she could make this man feel a little more welcome.
He must feel like a fish totally out of water. She could barely remember that feeling, she’d been ensconced here so long. She had to remember the days when the police had taken her to a social worker and then to a foster family, where she had waited for her grandmother to come. Had to remember how strange living here had seemed, how far from home it had felt.
A long time ago, but those feelings lived on. This man was no child, as she had been, but she had possibly found a point of connection with Austin. Fish out of water.
Gage had said that the man couldn’t pick up his old relationships just yet, and she wondered what that meant. Might someone dangerous still come after him? Bringing trouble right to her front door?
She caught herself as her old suspicions started to rise up. Enough. The past was past, a very old past. There were limits to how much she could allow it to run her life.
She heard him come downstairs. Biting her lip, she hesitated, then unlocked her bedroom door and stepped into the hallway. Light spilled from upstairs and out of the kitchen door. She made her steps a little noisier as she approached. Startling this man struck her as unwise.
He was facing her as she entered the room, and she could see the tension in him. Okay, he was not feeling safe. She froze on the threshold.
His body softened a little. He was wearing a black T-shirt and old jeans and walking barefoot. “I thought I’d make some coffee. Is that okay?”
“Of course it’s okay. Are you hungry, too?”
“I ate at the diner.” Then he gave her a crooked smile. “No tortillas.”
“No...” Then she got it and smiled. “No, no tortillas, but you can get them at the grocery. Want me to make the coffee?”
“I make it strong.”
“That’s the way I like it.” She gathered he wanted to do it himself, so she sat at the table.
All of a sudden he stuck his hand in his front pocket and put a folded stack of bills in front of her. “Rent,” he said, and went back to making coffee.
“Are you going to miss the tortillas?” she asked, seeking something friendly to say even as her nerves kept coiling tighter.
“Fresh ones? You bet. The beginning and end to every meal. Stacks of them. Usually corn. There was one little stand I frequented and sometimes I just stood there watching that woman’s hands fly. You wouldn’t believe how fast she could roll a ball of dough, flatten it into a near-perfect circle and toss it on the grill for just a short time. Hot and always delicious.”
“A real skill.”
“Definitely. And it wasn’t only her. I just happened to like her stand.” His face darkened a bit as he spoke. Then, “Cups?”
She rose and went to open the cupboard. As she did, she accidentally brushed against him and nearly froze as a sizzle ran along her nerve endings. It was a feeling so rare in her life that it astonished her. She leaped away like a startled rabbit.
“Something wrong?”
Only then did she realize she’d been staring into the cupboard too long, and that he’d stepped away from her. She grabbed two mugs at random, closed the cabinet, then handed him one.
“Nothing,” she managed to answer.
After he filled his mug, he remained standing as if he wondered whether she wanted him to go upstairs or remain. Be friendly, she ordered herself.
“Have a seat if you like,” she invited as she returned to her own with coffee. Just before she sat, she changed her mind and went to get out a tray of raspberry-and-cheese Danish and two plates. She offered him some.
“Thanks. That looks good.”
“It is. One of my friends finally fulfilled her dream of opening a bakery. It’s an awful lot of work, though. Up well before the birds and all that.”
Silence fell again. Apparently he wasn’t in a mood to talk, and she didn’t know what to say to him. Very awkward. Of course, she was used to hanging out with women at the shop or in the classes she hosted, but she knew most of them. Being confronted with a total stranger left her stymied. How in the world did you get past this when you came from such different worlds?
She
