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“Hey, Lind.” He gave her a smile that screamed familiarity right along with how he shortened her name.
Damned small town.
“Gant,” Lindy said.
She pulled back and I let her go, but I rested my hand on her shoulder.
Gant noticed the placement.
That’s right. She’s mine.
“You can go inside, but obviously you won’t be living there.” He glanced over his shoulder at the house for a moment, then back to Lindy. “They won’t turn the gas or electric back on until the tree’s removed and the wiring’s been inspected.”
“Right,” she replied.
“You got a place to stay?” he asked.
I wasn’t sure if he was offering his bed or ensuring she was settled somewhere. Either way, it didn’t matter. I took care of what was mine.
“With me,” I told him.
She looked at me with wide eyes because she hadn’t said yes. I was taking her options away and speaking for her, but… well, I didn’t give a shit.
“It’s safe to go in and get some stuff,” the guy continued. “Clothes and whatever you might need. We’ll board up that lower window that’s damaged to keep people out, but there’s not much we can do about the rest of the holes.”
“Mr. VanMeyer called his insurance company and mine is sending someone and said they’d connect with a tree service and contractors.”
“Good.” He tipped his head toward the house. “Go ahead in.”
I followed her through the front door. From the entry, it didn’t look like anything happened. The back of the house was where the extent of the damage became clear. The kitchen had a broken window, which was easily fixable, but there was a branch that came down through the ceiling and pierced the top of the stove.
Upstairs, there was a tree branch that poked through the ceiling in the hallway and another through the bathroom. It was Lindy’s bedroom that took the brunt. She stood in the doorway and stared. A big section of the exterior wall along with a large picture window were gone because the trunk of the tree was through it and across her bed. I could see where an offshoot branch went down into the kitchen.
“Holy shit,” I muttered. What if she’d been home? Asleep?
Lindy blinked, then started moving about. She went into her closet, which was unharmed, pulled out a bag, then started pulling clothes off hangers.
“I need clothes for work. Yoga. Toiletries. Bridget will want some things. I need to clean out the fridge as the food will spoil.” She paused and ran a hand over her face, then continued. “I need to make a list.”
“Slow down, sugar.” I reached out and took the bag from her. It was cloth and quilted or some shit with flowers on it.
“Slow down?” She set her hands on her slim hips. “You know what’s worse than telling a woman to slow down? To calm down.”
I bit my lip and tried not to smile, but it was really fucking hard.
“I had work to do tonight, Dex. A schedule. I’ve barely talked to Mr. VanMeyer.”
The lumberjack next door.
“I think Mr. VanMeyer’s been talked to. By the fire department. The police, most likely. The gas and electric guy. His wife, who should have told him to slow the fuck down with that chainsaw.”
She shifted her gaze from the mess to me. “He’s not married.”
“That’s not a surprise,” I said.
“I still need to make a list.”
It seemed that was something she did. That it helped her feel organized. In control. Especially now when she definitely wasn’t.
