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She used a wet piece of toilet paper to clean her face as best as she could and then brushed the white dust from her hair. She sighed. Without a shower and a vat of makeup, this would have to do.
Scarlett went to the window at the end of the hall and looked outside where Haddie was still lying on her belly on a blanket, her elbows propped up, a pile of books next to her. Scarlett knocked on the glass, not really expecting Haddie to be able to hear her, and was surprised when she looked up, waving at her mother. Scarlett smiled, waving back and watching as Haddie looked away, focusing on her book.
That was one thing they shared in common. Both she and Haddie could get lost in books for hours. Sometimes they spent entire Sundays in their PJs, lazing under blankets and reading.
Scarlett went back to her scraping for a while but was too distracted, listening to every small bang and clatter from where Deputy West was working below, so after about twenty minutes, she put down her scraper yet again and headed toward the kitchen. She made a pitcher of lemonade and popped open a Tupperware container of the chocolate chip cookies she’d made earlier that day and put several on a plate.
She wrapped a couple of cookies in a napkin, poured a plastic cup of lemonade, and went out the back door to take the treats to Haddie.
“I thought you could use some sustenance,” Scarlett said when she’d made it to where Haddie lay, dropping onto her knees next to her daughter, placing the lemonade on a flat square of grass and the cookies on the blanket.
“Thank you, Mommy.” Haddie reached for a cookie. “What does sustabance mean?”
“Sustenance. It means a source of nourishment. I know how easy it is to forget to eat when you’re involved in a good story.” She nodded to the open hardcover on the blanket in front of her daughter. “How are you liking Charlotte’s Web?”
“I love it. Templeton’s very selfish, but he makes me giggle too.”
Scarlett grinned, picturing the childlike reaction to a funny fictional character. “Who is that again? It’s been a while. The rat, right? The one who’ll only help Charlotte for food?”
Haddie nodded, her expression growing thoughtful before she glanced into the woods. “Yes, that’s him,” she murmured, looking back at her book. “He’ll help Charlotte for food.”
Scarlett stood. “Bring the blanket and the cup and napkin in when you’re done reading, okay?”
Haddie nodded, already immersed back in the tale of friendship and farm life.
She made her way to the front entry where the deputy was putting tools back in the red toolbox on the floor. The shiny, aged brass door lock set glinted from the dull, patchy wood. The deputy glanced up. “All set,” he said, straightening.
“It looks great. Thank you.”
He closed the door and engaged the deadbolt, then unlatched it, using the handle to pull it open. “There are two locks, nice and sturdy. No one’s going to get through this front door without a battering ram.”
Scarlett let out a breath. “I doubt anyone will go to that much trouble for the use of a crash pad and place to get high.”
“You’d be surprised,” he murmured. “Anyway, better safe than sorry. From what I remember, the back door lock is still in working order, and the French doors all have crémone bolts. Those are old, but still strong. You should go around and make sure all the lower-level windows are locked and get them inspected as soon as possible.”
She nodded, though to her, he seemed overly concerned about the safety of a stranger. Then again, maybe that came with the job. Safety was his business after all. Perhaps it was part of his nature too. She was having a difficult time getting a read on the man.
“I’ve got lemonade made if you’re still up for a glass.”
He followed her to the kitchen and washed his hands, and then at her suggestion, they went out to the gazebo behind the house where she poured the lemonade and offered him a cookie.
He thanked her and took a big bite of the cookie, chewing, swallowing, and then nodding toward Haddie, lying at the edge of the woods in the distance. “That’s your daughter there?”
Scarlett took a sip of lemonade and then nodded. “Haddie. She’s seven going on seventy-seven.” She breathed out a smile.
He glanced at her and then down at the hand sitting on the wood-chipped Gazebo bench. “You’re divorced? From her father?” He appeared almost confused for a moment and then grimaced. “Shit. I mean, darn it. I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”
A feeling not unlike affection twisted through her. He was handsome, yes, but he was not one of the smooth charmers she was used to. She’d thought him surly and rude the day before, but today, now that he’d let his guard down, she was getting this sense of . . . awkwardness, as though his social skills were unpolished. Not because he was impolite but because he didn’t have much practice using them. He was . . . unexpected.
