Page 41 of Show Me

“I’m fine. I’m probably making way too big of a deal about this. Aren’t people supposed to be excited about secret admirers? Isn’t it supposed to be romantic?”

Jake gives me a look that is pure cop. “You have someone leaving notes on your vehicle saying they’re watching you and having packages delivered to your house and delivering flowers to your work. Anonymously. That crosses a line. We aren’t in the movies.”

“Xavier said the same thing. About lines.” I look down at my hands. They’re right. But I’m grasping at straws here. I don’t want someone to push me out of my home or my job. I don’t have anywhere else to live, and I need my paycheck.

Emily’s brows lift. “You told him?”

“Not about the note on the windshield. But he was there when the mailman delivered the chocolates, and he saw the flowers this morning.” Grace’s baby swing comes to a stop. Her mouth puckers as if she’s about to cry, but she doesn’t. “He mentioned there’s an opening at his dad’s office.”

Jake nods. “That might not be a bad idea.”

Emily pushes the swing’s button, making it rock back and forth again. “At least until this stops.”

The word until settles in my chest like a stone. I didn’t think there would be an until. I thought it was just small-town weird.

I straighten my shoulders, forcing myself not to shudder. Lightning and thunder continue to snap and roll around us. “I don’t want to run.”

Jake’s voice softens. “Changing jobs isn’t running. It’s removing access.”

Emily nods. “You deserve to feel safe at work.”

I look around the room, at Grace’s tiny, socked feet kicking in the air, at Jake’s steady presence, at Emily’s unwavering concern. At people who don’t make me feel like I’m overreacting.

“I’ll think about it.”

Outside, the wind rattles the windows as rain pelts the windows. And for the first time since I saw the note under my wiper blade, the feeling of being watched begins to ease.

Chapter Twenty

Xavier

Several Days Later

Her back door is open, a brick propping it in place, the sound of a drill whining somewhere inside. Of course she left it open. Why wouldn’t she? The woman has a stubborn streak a mile wide.

I shake my head as I dodge around one of the puddles remaining from the storm a few nights ago. There was so much wind and rain that our phone has been ringing off the hook with insurance claims.

With my hand fisted and ready to smack against the wooden frame, I hear it. Soft squeaks. Low grunts. The rustle of straw.

I stop without knocking. She moved them. Squirt snorts when I open the door, wide enough to step inside. “You keeping her company when I’m not here?” Squirt snorts again in response. “Yeah, I know. She’s bullheaded.”

I follow the sounds to the corner of the room. The space has been cleared, straw spread across the boards in a rough, practical setup.

Delilah lies on her side, calm and steady, piglets clustered against her. As usual, Samson stands off to the side like a sentry, watching everything.

Squirt weaves through it all, quick and curious, nosing at anything that moves, circling the piglets like he’s not sure if he’s supposed to help or supervise.

I glance up to see Ruby standing in the doorway. “They look good.”

“They do. Adjusting better than I expected.” Squirt bumps her shin and darts back toward the piglets.

“Keeping busy.” I tip my head toward the white-and-black-spotted pig with the red bandana wrapped around its neck like a fashion statement.

“He thinks they’re his,” Ruby says dryly. “Or that he’s in charge. I haven’t figured out which.”

I lean against the doorframe, taking it in. The straw, the quiet sounds, the way Ruby moves around them without thinking.

“You leaving your back door open now?”