Chapter 9

When I clocked out for the day, my thoughts were spinning. I saw visions of grieving family members, mystery drug dealers, and Lindsey. I didn't know how to help her. If she remained stubborn and wouldn't accept my offer of a place to stay, what was going to happen to her? I knew that I shouldn't worry. She had been coping just fine before she met me, but since our handful of interactions, I had begun to feel protective of her.

My mind wandered back to a picture of her in her pajamas, arms wrapped around her stomach, standing up to me. No woman with that much spunk should lose her home. There had to be something I could do, some way I could make this work.

Maybe I could dig into the landlord's background a bit, bring him up on some charges. I was sure Lindsey wasn't his first victim, and in who knew how many shady deals, he must have done something illegal. I tabled that idea for the moment. I wasn't sure how an investigation was going to help Lindsey now. And for all my philanthropic thoughts, I wasn't willing to give up my claim on the cabin. I needed a place to live too.

When I got back to the hotel, my phone rang, and Dillon's name flashed across the screen. "Hello?" I answered.

"Hey," Dillon said.

"Did you want to grab a bite?"

"No, Macy brought home takeout," he said. "Listen, she's getting pretty close with that hairdresser who rented the cabin you're buying."

"Oh." I sat down. Was this going to be one of those "my wife wanted me to call you" conversations? I'd had my share of those back when I had been married. I was still married, I corrected myself, just not actively.

"Yeah," Dillon continued, clearly under duress. "Macy was wondering if you might reconsider the purchase."

I laughed. I could picture Dillon sitting in his own cabin, his wife watching him make the call. My heart went out to him, as a dude, but I wasn't going to capitulate.

"I offered her the opportunity to stay," I said. "She turned me down."

"Well, maybe you can try again?" Dillon suggested. "The girl's all broken up."

"Alright," I agreed. "I'll try again."

"Thanks, man!" Dillon brightened considerably. I could see him already checking that off the long list of requirements for marital sex.

"Glad to help," I said and hung up.

The next day, I found Lindsey at work. She was busy with a client and didn't see me come in. I was treated to a full view of her figure, tucked away inside modest, professional clothes. Ava, the other hairdresser, was clad in blue jeans and a shimmery top, but Lindsey, she had put thought into her wardrobe. She was wearing slacks and a blouse, the apron that hugged her hips the only nod to her profession. Without that, she might look like a teacher or a businesswoman.

Lindsey looked up to see who had walked through the door. She flinched, and I wondered if I would be treated to another lecture. How dare I attempt to purchase property in a beautiful, remote location? I must be some kind of monster. Then her jaw muscles relaxed, and she flashed a shy smile.

She leaned forward over her client's shoulder and said, "Will you excuse me for a moment?" Walking over, she placed the scissors in her pocket and looked up at me.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi."

"How are you?"

She shrugged.

"Um…" This seemed to be going better than I had thought it would. I took a chance. "Would you like to have lunch?"

She smiled. "Sure."

I was shocked. Not only had she agreed to spend time with me, but she had actually smiled. What had happened to my irate little fireball who'd tossed beer in my face?

"Should I come back?" I asked.

"No, if you just want to have a seat, I'll be done in a few minutes," she said.

I nodded, wandering back to the waiting area. There was a selection of ladies' magazines to flip through. I picked one up and browsed through the pictures of celebrities in gowns. Crazy. These women spent so much time doing their hair, applying makeup, and choosing the right shoes, it was a wonder they had any time left over to take photographs.

"See anything you like?" Lindsey said, standing over me.

I looked up to see her client waving goodbye before sweeping out the door. Lindsey had gathered her purse and removed her apron. Suddenly, she looked a few tax brackets beyond my reach. I showed her one of the photos.

"Do you think you could make my hair look like this?" The woman in the picture had a flowing mane of strawberry hair.

Lindsey laughed. "I could, but I don't think it would suit you."

I put the magazine down and stood up. "Well, that's disappointing to hear."

We walked over to the diner and found a booth. She slid in, and I watched the curve of her ass press into the cushioned seat. I sat down opposite before my eyes could cause my groin to stir.

"Has something changed?" I asked her.

"No." She picked up the menu. "Has something changed with you?"

"No."

She put the menu down in disappointment. "I thought you asked me here to reconsider."

I shook my head.

"Did Dillon talk to you?"

"He did," I responded.

"And…?"

"And the offer of renting a bedroom still stands," I answered.

The waitress came over to take our drink order.

"I'll have a coffee, black," I said.

"I'll have an iced tea," she said. I half expected her to stand up and read me the riot act, but she sat calmly and chanced a look into my eyes. "I thought about it."

I nodded when she paused, encouraging her to go on.

"I really don't have a lot of options."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said honestly.

"My old apartment isn't available anymore, and I can't afford a two bedroom," she said. "Ava offered to let me come live with her, but she has a studio."

"So, that's out," I agreed.

"I have to be out by tomorrow, and I just don't have anywhere else to go." She sighed.

"Then don't go," I told her. "I'm not kicking you out."

"If we're going to be roommates, we should talk about things like trash and dishes," she straightened, all business.

I nodded, though I couldn't care less. "Let's talk about rooms."

"Obviously, I get the big bedroom because my stuff is already in there," she said. I marveled at the fact that she could go from homeless beggar to queen of the mansion in sixty seconds flat.

"Hang on." I raised a finger. "The bigger bedroom is mine."

She stared at me. "But my stuff is already in there."

"Then move your stuff," I said.

"Okay…" She took a breath. "Then I get both of the other bedrooms."

I shook my head. "I need an office."

"Well, I need a place to practice new hairstyles." She rearranged that tight ass on the seat cushion.

"Practice at work," I said.

"I work at work," she snapped. "I practice at home."

"Who are you going to practice on?" I allowed myself to be distracted.

"I have wigs," she said defensively.

The waitress brought our drinks and took our lunch orders. There was still enough civility between us to share a meal.

"What if we split the third room?" I suggested when we were alone again.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Like, I could have a desk and a computer in there, and you would have your wigs," I elaborated.

She considered that and finally nodded. "What about food and cleaning and stuff?"

"Like I said, I work a lot," I explained. "We don't have to eat together."

She blushed. "I wasn't…" She fiddled with the paper straw wrapper, looking down at her hands. "I didn't mean that we would be…" She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

"Okay." I swallowed. The tension had just shot up at the mention of family dinners. Were we both imagining some kind of domestic bliss, where one or the other of us cooked and we sat down to enjoy it together? Sure, I wanted to get into her pants, but I wasn't suggesting that we get married. "I was thinking we could split the refrigerator. And I would get the top shelf and you could take the bottom shelf, or something like that."

"Good," she agreed readily. "I do like to cook, so you could help yourself to leftovers if you want." She glanced up at me casually.

"Okay." I nodded. Homemade leftovers sounded really good.

We finished our lunch in some semblance of civility. Our conversation was polite but awkward. Every time I thought we had things ironed out, one of us would stumble across a too-intimate subject and the tension would flare up. She only picked at her salad, while I ate only half of my sandwich. I knew from experience that the best way to conquer this type of anxiety was to just kiss her. But that was out of the question now that we were going to be roommates. It was a shame that the most beautiful girl in this town was going to be both out of bounds and close to my bedroom. I decided I must be crazy.

When I got back to work, I put in a few hours on the drug case. I was getting nowhere fast, and everyone knew it. The chief swung by my desk to ask for an update. I laid on a layer of bullshit about going back to the drawing board and reinterviewing witnesses, but he could tell that the case was going cold. At least we hadn't had another overdose recently, so maybe I had spooked the culprit.

I stared at the desk phone after my boss had left, thinking about Lindsey. After a moment's hesitation, I put in a call to her idiot landlord, my soon-to-be seller. He answered the phone tepidly, having no idea who was on the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Hey, this is Jason White," I said.

"Hi," he said again. "The tenant should be out by tomorrow. I can get a crew in to clean it, and we can go to closing next Monday."

"I've come to an arrangement with the tenant. She doesn't have to move."

"Fine, whatever. As long as she's not my problem," he said.

"She's not anyone's ‘problem,'" I snapped. "You should have some more respect for your tenants. They're people too."

"Whatever," he yawned.

"It's not my business," I began, feeling rage in the pit of my stomach, "but if you keep hustling and cheating, you're gonna get caught."

"I haven't done anything illegal," the landlord said.

"Whatever." I hung up.