Keeping Her Safe Read online

  Slightly relieved, he walked to the edge and looked over. But when he realized the terraced rose garden he’d noticed earlier provided convenient steps almost to deck level, he groaned aloud. How in the hell was he supposed to protect DJ and Marissa in this environment? He might as well open the door and invite Galloway inside.

  He stood for a moment, battling frustration and calculating his options. His chances of keeping anyone safe in this house weren’t high. Retracing his steps, he slipped back inside and locked the door behind him.

  He listened for a few seconds to make sure nobody had come back into the house, then he stepped out of Marissa’s room and into what had to be DJ’s bedroom.

  He paused on the threshold and looked around. If someone had asked him, he wouldn’t have predicted DJ Woodward slept in a room like this. He couldn’t have said what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been this. The room looked comfortable. Feminine, but not overly so. Certainly nothing like the bedroom Adam had shared with Victoria.

  Victoria had favored pastels and flowers everywhere. Pink, lavender, blue and yellow had covered every chair and draped both windows. He’d felt almost claustrophobic in that bedroom, and he’d often wondered whether he truly belonged there. With every year that passed, the feeling had grown, until he realized what Victoria seemed to have known all along—they didn’t belong together.

  DJ’s room was the opposite of Victoria’s. It held a queen-size bed covered with old-fashioned quilts like the ones his grandmother had made. A lacy white ruffle dusted the floor, a woman’s robe lay across the foot of the bed and the air held a pleasant musky scent he’d already noticed on DJ.

  On either side of the bed, tables made of dark, gleaming wood held brass lamps shaded in soft teal. Across the room by the sliding door, an easy chair and ottoman provided a comfortable-looking place to sit. A stack of books on a nearby table told him what she did when she sat there. She’d tossed a pair of jeans across the back of the chair and abandoned a pair of shoes in front of the closet. Tiny shoes compared to Adam’s feet. Delicate. Nothing like the boots he’d noticed earlier.

  He felt like a voyeur standing here, gawking at her things. But he had a job to do. If Galloway was an ex-husband or old boyfriend, or even an unhappy employee, he’d probably strike this room first.

  Adam started across the room toward the glass door. But before he’d gone even halfway, he heard a voice behind him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Thinking frantically, he wheeled around to face Marissa. She stood just inside the room with her tiny brows knit, her mouth drawn into a frown and her hands propped on her hips.

  He managed what he hoped looked like an innocent smile. “I’m looking for a telephone.”

  Her scowl deepened. “You’re not allowed to use the one in my mommy’s bedroom. You have to use the one in the kitchen.” Pointing the way, she stood back as if she expected him to leave.

  Still smiling, he started back across the room. “Oh. Thanks. I’ll go there.”

  But as he neared the door, Marissa seemed to change her mind. She firmed her stance and glared up at him. She showed no fear, and Adam didn’t know whether to admire her for it or to worry.

  “Who said you could go in my mommy’s bedroom?” she demanded. “She doesn’t like people to play in there.”

  “I wasn’t playing,” he said honestly. “I got lost, I guess.”

  She crossed her small arms across her chest and glared up at him. “How can you get lost in my house? I don’t.”

  She looked so serious, he couldn’t keep from smiling. “I haven’t ever been here before.”

  “You’re a big man. You’re not s’posed to get lost.”

  He hunkered down to face her. “Really? I didn’t know that. Nobody ever told me big men can’t get lost.” Trying to look thoughtful, he rubbed his chin. “Do you suppose I’ll be in trouble?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “What will happen to me if I am?”

  “You’ll get grounded.”

  He frowned and worked up an expression of horror. “I will? For how long?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a year.”

  He bit back a smile and shook his head. “A whole year? Are you sure?”

  She studied him for a long moment, then smiled. “You’re funny.”

  “I am?” Adam didn’t have to pretend surprise at that. His relationship with his brothers’ children had always been a little stilted. He didn’t think any of them would classify him as even slightly amusing.

  She giggled. “You’re very funny.”

  Unbelievably touched, he tapped her chin with one finger. “Thank you. Now, suppose you tell me what you’re doing back inside.”

  Her smile faded, her eyes widened and a look of sheer horror crossed her face. “I have to go potty!” she cried. Pivoting away, she raced into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

  Laughing softly, Adam watched until she’d disappeared. But the instant the door closed, his expression sobered. He straightened and hurried to the kitchen, cursing Chuck, his assignment, Thomas Dodge and his rotten luck the whole way.

  Whether or not Marissa told DJ about finding him in her bedroom, he’d had a close call. Too close. If he had another slipup like that one, he’d expose his cover.

  He’d have to watch himself in the future. Keep a better eye on the little girl. He couldn’t afford a mistake.

  DJ ROLLED OVER IN bed and slapped the snooze button on her alarm clock. It couldn’t be time to get up. Not already.

  She squinted at the clock. Six o’clock. Groaning, she fell back on her pillow and closed her eyes. She’d sleep just ten more minutes. Then she’d get up and fix breakfast for Marissa.

  She covered her eyes with the crook of her elbow and tried to slip back to sleep, but her mind began to tally the day’s responsibilities, and yesterday’s accomplishments began to take their toll.

  Every muscle in her body ached, and her eyes burned with fatigue. She’d worked later than usual the night before, stacking fertilizer, shelving insecticides and moving late-season stock to a more convenient spot for the sale scheduled to begin in a fewshort hours.

  She needed rest. A day off. Downtime. But she wouldn’t get it today. If the advertising gods decided to smile on her, she’d be too busy to even think.

  Forcing herself to sit up, she began to stretch, but when her muscles screamed in protest, she moaned softly and lowered her arms to her sides. How would she make it through the day? She couldn’t even move.

  She shoved her fingers through her hair and rubbed her face with her hands. Either her imagination was working overtime or she was hungrier than she’d thought. She almost believed she could smell fresh coffee. In fact, she could have sworn she heard the gurgle of the coffeemaker. Still bleary-eyed, she reached for her bathrobe.

  Somehow, reality forced its way through her sleepfogged brain. She stopped moving and stared at the door. Adam. He was in her kitchen, and he’d made coffee. Some part of her wanted to be angry. The more rational part blessed him and hoped he’d made enough to share.

  She slipped on her robe, ran her fingers through her hair again and stepped into her slippers without even glancing at the mirror. Adam McAllister might be young and good-looking in his own sullen way, but she didn’t care what he thought of her.

  Stumbling slightly, she peeked into Marissa’s room and closed the door as she made her way toward the kitchen. Sure enough, Adam was there, with his back to the door as he worked on untwisting the coated wire on a loaf of bread. He turned and flashed a hint of a smile. “Good morning.”

  She mumbled something she hoped sounded like a greeting and leaned against the doorframe.

  He wore soft, faded jeans and a worn T-shirt. His feet were bare, and she could tell by the shadow of whiskers on his chin that he hadn’t shaved yet.

  He towered over her by at least a foot. His thick, dark hair brushed the tops of his ears and danced across his colla
r, and his slate-gray eyes looked as if they could reveal the answers to countless mysteries if only he would unshutter them for a moment.

  He trailed his gaze over her slowly, as if taking inventory of her puffy face, tousled hair and ratty bathrobe.

  She still didn’t care. “Please tell me you made a full pot of coffee.”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. Do you want some?”

  Nodding, she started toward the cupboard, but he waved her toward the table.

  “Sit down. I’ll get it. You don’t look awake.”

  She didn’t even think of arguing. Dropping into a chair, she propped her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands while she waited.

  He pulled two mugs from the cupboard and held them up for her approval. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Black.”

  After filling the cups, he crossed the room to place one in front of her. He leaned across the table and met her gaze steadily. He was much too close. “Do you want some toast?”

  Her nerves and hair tingled, as if he emitted some low-wave frequency only she could feel. She nodded. She didn’t seem capable of anything else. “Thanks.”

  “No trouble.” He stood quickly and moved away again.

  She drew in a deep breath, suddenly aware that she’d been holding it while he stood beside her. What on earth was wrong with her?

  As if he could feel her watching him, he glanced over his shoulder. “You’re up early.”

  “Actually, I’m running late.” She sipped coffee and studied him carefully, trying to decide if she found him attractive. Yes, she supposed she did, even though she didn’t want to.

  Marriage to Jeff had taught her a lesson—one she wouldn’t forget. Men were high-maintenance. They required too much. She’d only been able to maintain her marriage to Jeff as long as she had by giving up parts of herself, but she didn’t intend to do that again. Other than Marissa, she hadn’t gained enough to compensate for what she’d lost.

  Adam pulled open the refrigerator and rummaged inside. She wondered idly whether other women considered him good-looking, with all that dark hair and those eyes and the tuft of hair peeking over the neck of his T-shirt. Well, of course they did. He probably had a bevy of female fans with knees that lost their starch when they saw his photo on a book jacket Nevertheless, he seemed totally unaware of his appeal.

  He emerged from the refrigerator, holding aloft a tub of margarine. “What time do you usually go to work?”

  “I try to be in the store by seven. Obviously, I’m not going to make it today.”

  “You didn’t get home until after nine last night,” he said. “Do you always work that late?”

  She sipped again and forced herself to stop admiring him. “No. I’m usually home in time to fix dinner.”

  He nodded, but she could see him mentally filing away her answers, the same way her mother did. “Even that makes a long day.”

  “We’re having a huge sale today. If I’m lucky, we’ll do well enough to help catch up on a few things. Once the store is on its feet, I’ll be home a lot more.”

  To her surprise, he laughed bitterly as he placed a plate of toast in front of her. “There’s a fine line between investing enough time in your career to get it off the ground and giving it too much. That’s what my ex-wife says, anyway. But don’t ask me. I got it wrong.”

  DJ lowered her cup to the table. “She resented your writing?”

  An emotion she couldn’t read flashed across his face. “Yes.”

  “It can be consuming. At least, it is with Mom.” Just thinking about her mother brought a smile to her face. “You know how she is. She can get so far into a story, you wonder if she’ll ever touch base with reality again.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “I shouldn’t say that, though,” DJ added quickly. “I don’t know anything about how you work. I wouldn’t want to offend you.”

  “Yes,” he said again. “Well, don’t worry about it. I probably don’t work much like your mother.”

  She bit into the toast and chewed thoughtfully for a few seconds. She tried to remember details of the conversation with her mother about Adam, but if Christina had given her details, DJ didn’t remember them. “Which conference were you at when you met Mom? Was it Bouchercon? Malice Domestic?”

  He wedged half a piece of toast into his mouth and shrugged to indicate he couldn’t speak yet.

  DJ sipped again and became aware of the silence. Of the tiny crumbs of toast on his lips. Of his hands just inches from hers. She wondered, irrationally, whether his hands were smooth or callused. How one would feel against her cheek.

  The moment the thought formed, she forced it away and pushed to her feet. Oh, no. She was not going to let herself think like that. She hadn’t felt an attraction for any man in years, and she didn’t like feeling one now.

  Adam flicked crumbs from his lips with the tip of his tongue and looked as if he intended to speak.

  Without giving him a chance, she pointed to the wall clock and started toward the door. “Look at the time. I’ve really got to get moving. Thanks for the coffee.”

  He arched one eyebrow in surprise. “You’re welcome. Sure you don’t want more?”

  “No, thanks.” She glanced back at him, but she didn’t allow herself to look at his eyes or his smile. What had her mother been thinking when she’d sent him here? Did she know how attractive he was? Had she intended for DJ to fall for him?

  It didn’t matter, DJ decided. She had a good life—her own life. She worked hard. She took care of her daughter and she’d finally healed enough to put Jeff and her marriage behind her.

  She didn’t need a man in her life, and she certainly didn’t have room for one. Christina could play games if she wanted—DJ didn’t have to play along.

  But would Adam? DJ stole another glance at him. He seemed oblivious, and not at all the type to welcome Christina Prescott’s interference in his personal life.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned away again and forced herself to think about the day ahead. But Adam’s early-morning image kept popping.into her mind as she showered, and the deep rumble of his voice seemed to follow her as she dressed.

  No doubt about it, she would have to watch herself around him in the future.

  DJ WALKED SLOWLY as she led her elderly customer through the rows of potted perennials. “What about lupine? It would look good in an old-fashioned garden, and it will grow well in the kind of light you’re describing.” She struggled to sound patient, but she’d been working all day, and the fatigue that had plagued her since early morning now threatened to get the best of her.

  The man studied the flower for several seconds, then shook his head, just as he’d done over two dozen other varieties. “It’s not what I want.”

  “As I told you earlier, I can special-order the bleeding hearts if you’d like.”

  “I don’t want to wait.”

  “I could have them for you in two days. Maybe even by tomorrow.”

  But the old man shook his head again. “If you don’t have them, you don’t have them. I’ll try somewhere else.”

  DJ forced a smile. “If you don’t find them, please give us a call and we’ll place that order for you.”

  The old man turned away without even bothering to thank her for her time. She rubbed her forehead and tried to push away the dull headache that had grown steadily worse since morning.

  She scanned the tree lot, looking for an empty area where she could hide for ten minutes. But before she could even manage that, Ramon Cordoba broke into her thoughts.

  “Hey, DJ,” he shouted from the doorway of the nursery. “Ed Hansen’s on the phone for you.”

  She tried not to groan aloud. She considered asking Ramon to take a message, but Ed represented one of her major suppliers, and she’d been trying to reach him for days.

  She rubbed the back of her neck and shouted back. “Ask him to hold on for just a minute.”

  Ramon gave her a thumbs-up, and
turned back into the store.

  “Don’t let him hang up,” she called after him. It was unnecessary, really. Ramon was one of her best employees and she relied heavily on him. She lived in fear that he’d quit working for her after he graduated from college in the summer.

  Pushing aside a wave of depression, she reminded herself not to think about losing Ramon. She had other fires to put out first.

  She walked to the end of the raised bed of flowers and turned on the spigot. Filling her hands with water, she splashed her face and decided to get two more Tylenol from her office after she dealt with the elusive Mr. Hansen.

  Inside, she slid into the checkout stand beside Heather Robbins and squeezed herself into an out-of-the-way corner before snagging the receiver. “Hello, Ed.”

  “Is that you, DJ?” Ed’s gravelly voice cut through the store’s background noise.

  “Yes.”

  “I was about to hang up.”

  Ed started every conversation the same say—with DJ on the defensive. But she refused to rise to his bait today. “I’ve been calling for two days. I’m sure you know why.”

  “Two days?” Ed sounded shocked. “I only got one message. When did you call?”

  DJ refused to let him distract her. “I need those snowblowers you’ve back-ordered, Ed. I’ve got a preseason sale scheduled for next weekend.”

  “You don’t have the blowers yet?” Ed tried to sound shocked and dismayed, but DJ didn’t fall for the pretense. He knew everything about every order from all of his customers almost before the order was placed.

  “No, I don’t.”

  He sighed heavily. “I wish you’d let me know sooner. I don’t have any left in stock.”

  DJ’s stomach lurched. “I did let you know sooner.”

  “When?”

  “Wednesday. I talked to your secretary on Wednesday afternoon. She gave you my message Wednesday afternoon.”

  “No, she didn’t.”