No One But You. Brenda Novak

Those eyes of his...

      No wonder the women on the jury had been blamed for his exoneration.

      She cleared her throat. “I won.”

      He took another bite, then nodded. “I’m not surprised.”

      Maybe he didn’t think it was a stupid comment. Tough to tell. She ventured a smile. “I’m glad you like them.”

      “How are things at the house?”

      “Good. I’m working on the downstairs. I should get most of it done today. But...”

      When she paused, he glanced up from the plate. “What?”

      “I noticed that you have a new washer and dryer.”

      “Someone filled the other ones with dirt and who knows what else. I wasn’t going to mess with trying to clean them out.”

      “That wasn’t right. I’m sorry.”

      “They were old, needed to be replaced, anyway.”

      “Still.”

      He reached for the milk and took a long swig. “We all have our problems, remember?”

      “That was a pretty dumb thing for me to say.”

      His eyebrows slid up.

      “I was nervous when I made that comment. I feel terrible about what you’ve been through.”

      He studied her as if weighing her sincerity. “Thanks,” he said at length.

      She accepted the glass of milk so he could finish the cookies. “Anyway, I was wondering if I could do some of my own laundry while I’m here. I have a small stackable set at my house, but there’s something wrong with the washer. It’s not getting our clothes clean.”

      “Of course. Do as much laundry as you’d like.”

      “I appreciate that.” She’d brought her and Jayden’s dirty clothes with her, in case. Now she could get the bag out of her car. “Where will I find your hamper? I’ll wash your stuff while I do mine.”

      “There’s a pile of clothes in the corner of my bedroom. I’ve been meaning to buy a hamper. Haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

      “I can get one when I’m in town sometime, if you’d like.”

      “Sure. That’d be great.” Finished with the cookies, he downed the rest of the milk and handed the dishes back to her. “Those were delicious.”

      Perhaps it was a simple thing, but she was happy she’d managed to please him. “I’m glad.”

      She was on her way to the house when he called out to her.

      “How’d it go with your ex last night?”

      She shaded her face as she turned back. “Better than expected. He knew he had no business coming over here, that I was angry with him for doing that, so he was trying to be charming.”

      “Charming means he has hope.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “He’s still trying to win you back.”

      “Yes.”

      “Is that a possibility?”

      “Not if I can help it. That’s why I’m here.”

      He scratched up under his hat. “He didn’t give you any grief about working for me?”

      From the moment she’d let him know about the appointment. But she couldn’t repeat most of what Sly had said. “A little. He asked me to go down to the police station with him so I could talk to the detective on your case.”

      A muscle moved in Dawson’s jaw. “And? Did you agree?”

      “No.”

      “Because...”

      “I already know what they’re going to say.”

      * * *

      Sadie wasn’t in the house. Dawson could smell dinner simmering in that old Crock-Pot she’d brought over, but she didn’t answer when he called her name. He found a receipt she’d left on the counter. Apparently, he owed her another $78.08 for supplies from the hardware store, so he left a $100 bill beside it. There was no note to indicate she’d left, though, nothing else.

      He checked the front window to see if her El Camino was still in the drive. It was. And when he went to the laundry room off the back porch, he saw a stack of little boys’ clothes folded on top of the dryer he’d missed when he came in.

      So where was she?

      “Sadie?” He moved back toward the front of the house.

      No answer.

      While in the kitchen again, he removed the lid on the slow cooker to see what she’d made for dinner and found some giant meatballs bathed in tomato sauce. A bowl of plain pasta sat on the counter with tin foil over the top. Garlic bread that looked and smelled as if it’d just been pulled from the oven waited nearby.

      He’d been served plenty of spaghetti in jail, but he could tell this meal wasn’t going to be anything like that tasteless mess.

      He cut off a chunk of meatball so he could taste it. “Damn, that’s good,” he muttered.

      Thinking she might’ve decided to clean his room or Angela’s, he went upstairs. She’d made great strides on the first floor. He liked the lemon smell of the furniture polish and the astringent scent of the disinfectant. But, from what he could see, the only thing she’d done upstairs was his laundry. His clothes, folded as neatly as her son’s, waited on the bed.

      On the way back down, he paused in front of his parents’ bedroom. He doubted she’d go in there—hoped she wouldn’t—and was relieved when he tried the handle. Locked, as usual. She wasn’t in any of the bathrooms, either. She wasn’t anywhere in the house.

      Had she gone outside, looking for him?

      “Sadie?” He let the screen door slam as he went out back. “Sadie, where are you?”

      “Here!”

      At last, he got a response. He followed her voice around to the front, where he found her on the roof, painting over the graffiti on the house.

      “How’d you get up there?” He squinted to see her clearly in the fading light.

      She gestured to the far side of the porch. “I climbed.”

      Using the railing and then the overhang. Whoever had defaced the house had probably gotten up the same way. He’d used that makeshift ladder to sneak out of the house when he was in high school, so he supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised. “You need to come down before you fall and break your leg or worse. The moss on those shingles can make them a lot slicker than you might expect.”

      “I’m being careful.”

      “I can cover that up myself. I just didn’t have the right paint.”

      “This isn’t a perfect match, but I took a chip from the lintel of the back door when I left last night, so it’s not bad. Better than leaving it as it was.”

      “I’ll finish up,” he insisted.

      “Don’t make me stop in the middle. I’m almost done. Why don’t you go eat? Dinner’s in the kitchen. No need to let it get cold.”

      Still a little nervous that she might come sliding off the porch and land on her back or head, he frowned as he watched. “I saw it, but I’m staying right here so I can help you down.”

      “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

      “Trust me. Climbing up is a lot easier than coming down.” He’d almost broken his own neck on occasion—and that was before he’d