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"My father made that dresser and the bed. He also made the dresser and bed in my room."
She turned to look at the headboard on the bed; it was an old wooden door with wrought iron accents. "He was very talented."
Swallowing in rapid succession, she watched as he composed himself before saying anything. He simply turned and stepped from the room.
Following him out and deciding to change the subject, she asked, "Where may I do a little laundry? I'd like to get the smoky smell from my clothing, so I don't stink up the house."
"It's in the basement. Follow me." She followed him to the staircase just off the living room, down the steps, and into a finished lower level decorated the same as the upstairs. Opening the door to the left, they stepped into the laundry room, which was more than she expected. Front load washer and dryer sat on wooden pedestals with cabinets that matched the kitchen. A folding area stood along one wall with cabinets underneath.
"Help yourself to whatever you need. The laundry soap and fabric softener are under there." He pointed to one of the cabinets. "I'll get us something to eat for lunch while you situate yourself."
"You don't have to do that, Ford. I don't want—”
"We have to eat, and you need to start your laundry. It's fine." He turned to leave, and her heart thumped in her chest almost painfully. He was a kind man. Sad. Strong. Sexy. Everything a lucky woman could want. This was going to be hard staying here with him and not getting too close.
Chapter12
Rummaging through the cupboards to find something to scrounge up for dinner, he tried relaxing his jaw. If he kept it clamped tightly like he was doing now, he'd end up with lockjaw or arthritis or something equally awful. But he was irritated that he was here in this house; he’d sworn he wouldn't come back until it was his completely—lock, stock, and barrel. The trouble was, when he tried to think of a safe place to keep Megan, this was the first place that came to mind. He knew it was safe; he'd built it with safety in mind. In his line of work, it wasn't uncommon for some of the people he had to locate to have angry family members or associates, and he didn't want to be taken unawares. Which reminded him—walking to the desk in the corner of the living room, he unlocked the top drawer. Lifting the lid on the laptop he kept in there, he waited for it to wake up, logged in, and pulled up his security system. Turning all the cameras on and monitoring the entire property via closed circuit monitors, he went back to the kitchen to finish looking for something to eat. Tomorrow he'd have to see if Emmy could bring some food up here.
A few cans of soup, some crackers, and some cans of peaches would be lunch—pretty bleak. Maybe he'd call Emmy to bring supper up. Turning, he spied the wine rack. Aah, things were looking up. Selecting a nice, full bodied red sangria, he set it on the counter as he pulled a pan from the drawer below the stove to heat the soup in. Setting to the task of pulling bowls and spoons from their respective spaces, he set their eating places at the counter. Wiping the dust from the wineglasses, he set them in front of the bowls and opened the shallow drawer that held the wine opener.
Popping the cork from the top, Megan entered the kitchen, a soft smile on her face. "How long have you lived here?"
"About eleven years."
She walked to the French doors and looked out over the scenery. "But you don't live here now?"
"No."
"Why?"
"It's a long story." He poured their glasses of wine. "It's also temporary."
She turned toward him, crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him. "Where do you live since you're not living here?"
He took a deep breath. Figures she'd want to know all about him. He didn't usually share much of his life. Still too much up in the air.
"I have a little cottage down the mountain by my sister's house. I stay there when I'm not working."
He watched her move toward him. The sun streaming through the French doors perfectly outlined her body in those sexy jeans and pink T-shirt. Purely sexy from head to toe. He'd bet she didn't even know it. Her full breasts jiggled as she walked, and his mouth went dry. It'd been far too long. Unfortunately, he hadn't thought this through completely. Staying here with her just might be harder than he thought.
"So, you work so much you have a house in the mountains you don't want to live in because it's a long story, so you stay in the cabin down by your sister. And then you go to work. Is that about right?"
"About."
She chuckled. "Well, I don't know how I'm going to get any peace here what with you talking so much and all."
Turning to the stove, he stirred the soup, twisted the knob on the stove to turn the burner off and filled both of their bowls.
"Vegetable soup and crackers and wine. It's not much, but it's all I have. I'll call Emmy to bring up some food later. I also have some meat in the freezer downstairs that I can thaw if Emmy's busy."
He sat next to her at the counter, and they began eating in silence. Or so he thought.
"What does Emmy do for a living?"
"She's a defense attorney. A damn good one too."
"Is your whole family involved with criminals?"
