LITMIR.BIZ

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imagined seeing him in the future, out in the yard or on the road, and giving him a polite wave. She wasn’t sure they could get to a polite wave from “Will you take me to bed?” Especially with just a plateful of cookies. But she’d already made them. She figured it was worth a try.

      Dear Rod, she wrote. Then she made a face at the words. “Dear” sounded both too familiar and old-fashioned. Unfortunately, “Rod” without the “Dear” didn’t seem right, either.

      After throwing that note away, she started over and skipped the salutation completely:

      I wasn’t myself last night. I’m sorry. Please accept these cookies as my apology and know I will never cross that line again.

      Sincerely,

      Your neighbor—who is cringing at her behavior but promises she’s not as bad as you must think.

      She didn’t allow herself to analyze what she’d written or change it again. She slipped the card into its envelope, grabbed the cookies and a roll of tape and hurried over to the stairs that led up to the deck outside his bedroom. She couldn’t go to the front door and ring the bell, or his brothers would know she was leaving him something. If he had to explain, she was afraid of what he might say.

      “With any luck, he’ll forgive me, and we’ll just go on as if it never happened,” she mumbled and put the foil-covered plate on the railing.

      As she searched for a place to tape the note, she saw that he hadn’t closed his door all the way. He didn’t seem to take much care when it came to protecting his personal property, but she could understand why he might not be too concerned. There wasn’t a lot of crime in Whiskey Creek; that was one of the reasons she’d moved there. Also, for the most part, everyone knew everyone else, which would make a man like Rod an unlikely victim.

      He was an idiot to pick a fight with Rod Amos. That was what one of the paramedics had said.

      Since she had such easy access to his room, India wished she could put the cookies on his bed or dresser, so she wouldn’t have to worry about ants, rodents or other animals finding them before he did. But entering his house wasn’t a serious consideration until she heard someone outside, around the front.

      “You’ll have to drive over later,” a male voice called out. “I’m late as it is.”

      Damn! She was afraid she was about to be spotted...

      “It won’t take me long to shower,” a female voice responded. “Rod’s hand is jacked up. Mack texted me that he doesn’t think Rod’ll be able to work, but Mack will be at the shop in an hour or so.”

      “We’ll manage. See you there,” came the response.

      An engine started. India had to do something or whoever was driving that car would see her the moment he backed up, and she definitely didn’t want to be caught lurking outside Rod’s door.

      Snatching up her cookies, she stepped into the room.

      “Hey, keep it down!” someone shouted, this time from inside the house instead of at the door. “What do you think this is? I’m trying to sleep!”

      That was a woman, too, but not the woman India had already heard, a fact that became more apparent when the first woman snapped an equally irritated response. “Yeah, well, some of us have to work.”

      Half expecting an argument to flare up, India held her breath. Neither woman seemed to be in a good mood. But nothing else happened. The younger one must’ve gotten in the shower so she could go to work, because everything fell silent.

      “Thank goodness,” India whispered. She thought she could leave now, but she couldn’t help taking a look at Rod’s room while she was there.

      He had a big bed, which he hadn’t made. His torn and bloody clothes from last night lay on the floor, along with some cleats and a football. Other than that, the place was clean. It was even sort of decorated, which came as a surprise. Twenty or more baseball caps lined the dresser, and a collection of grilles and hubcaps from old cars hung all over the walls.

      India was tempted to throw away the clothes he’d left—they couldn’t be saved—and straighten the bedding. She supposed it was the mother in her...

      Actually, if she was being honest, it had nothing to do with the mother in her. She liked him enough to want to touch the things that were most personal to him...

      A door opening and shutting somewhere else in the house reminded her that she needed to get out.

      She set her cookies on the railing, where she’d put them before, taped the note beside the foil-covered plate and hurried down the steps and across the lawn.

      Once she reached her screened-in porch, she knew she was safe. But then she turned to give the cookies and note a final glance and realized she’d left his door open a little wider than she’d found it. She hated that he might guess she’d invaded his private space—especially since she had—but she wasn’t going over to correct it. In the future, she planned to keep her distance from Rod Amos and anything or anyone associated with him.

      Now she needed to figure out a way to approach her in-laws about getting her daughter home, so she could bring some normalcy back into her life, or the loneliness that dogged her every step would completely destroy her.

      Before she could commit herself to that course of action, however, she had to call the detective who was handling her late husband’s case.

       4

      “Are you going to get it x-rayed?” Dylan asked, his voice sounding a bit tinny through Bluetooth.

      Rod glanced at his swollen hand. He’d been driving with his left; it hurt too much to use his right. But at least he’d found his phone, way off, under a bush. The fact that it had traveled so far from the point of impact showed how hard he’d come down, which made him angry all over again. “I think I’ll give it a few days. See how it feels.”

      Mack frowned at him from the passenger seat. He, too, had been telling Rod to stop by the hospital—and now that Dylan was starting in on him, Rod wasn’t sure he’d be able to refuse. He loved and respected his oldest brother more than anyone in the world. Dylan was more of a father to him than their own father had ever been.

      “I’d rather you got to a doctor right away,” Dylan said.

      Mack, who could hear everything, since Rod’s Bluetooth worked as a speakerphone, smirked at him. He knew how hard it was to say no to Dylan. They all had the same problem—except maybe Aaron. Although Aaron and Dylan got along now, they’d fought like crazy over the years, probably because they were closest in age and too damn much alike.

      “What will it hurt to wait?” Rod asked.

      “I need you at the shop,” Dylan replied. “If it’s broken, let’s get it fixed so you can use it as soon as possible.”

      Rod rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

      When Mack laughed to see him crumble so easily, Rod sent his younger brother a look that said he’d better not provoke him any further, and Mack, of course, ignored that and slugged Rod in the arm.

      “Want me to meet you over there?” That came from Dylan before Rod could slug Mack in return, an interruption that was well-timed. Since he couldn’t use his right hand, it would’ve been too awkward to reach across his body with his left.

      “You kidding?” Rod said. “It’s Saturday. You’re needed at the shop. Besides, I’m a big boy. I can handle seeing a doctor on my own. I’ll drop Mack off first, so you’ll at least have his help.”

      “Thanks.”

      “I’ll check on Liam while I’m at the hospital,” Rod went on. “See how bad off he is.” As angry as he was that this guy wouldn’t leave Natasha alone at the bar, not to mention everything the bastard had done afterward, Rod didn’t

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