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I watch him leave, and find myself wanting to reach for him.
That small moment of closeness was a taste of everything I’ve missed my whole life.
And I want more.
CHAPTERSIX
Wade
I work longer at the job site than intended, and I itch to return to Presley.
She’ll probably get tired of waiting and decide to snoop through my dresser drawers.
Not that I would care if she snooped—what’s mine is hers, as far as I’m concerned. And to be honest, it’s kind of a turn-on to imagine her peeking through my things, trying to be all sneaky. Though I doubt women get excited to sniff men’s underwear.
Fuck, what’s wrong with me?
My one and only concern is her injury.
She’s a terrible patient and needs constant supervision.
After working on the rehab project, the first thing on my to-do list is calling Wyatt Mooney, the retired sheriff. His wife Lucy, a federal agent who just came out of retirement, will be very interested in hearing about this mess. One nice thing about this town is that everybody knows someone who can help with whatever you need.
Next, I phone my brother Buck to ask after Grace and the baby.
In the background, I hear the little one crying. Buck sounds tired, so I stop at Ruby’s Diner to grab some takeout at Buck and Grace’s house.
After that, I am waylaid by a problem with the re-routing of the upstairs plumbing at the Ingalls house, so I return to the job site to oversee that.
When I arrive at Presley’s apartment, I’m covered in sweat, dirt, and dust.
The first thing I notice is how insecure Presley’s place seems to be. Although the outside door has a keycode entry, and Presley gave me that code, Other tenants are letting in at least one or two people behind them as they move in and out of the building. There are too many people living there if so few of them care who walks in and out.
Presley’s apartment door looks like someone’s been messing with the deadlock because I see scratches around the door and the jamb.
Once inside, I search every room for signs of intruders or sketchy activity. This doesn’t take long because it’s a studio apartment.
I start making a mental list of everything in this place that’s not up to code: the stairs are too steep and not even, the windows are painted shut, and there’s no fire escape. After some more investigation, it looks like the wiring is fucked, and the plumbing is outdated. On top of all that, the radiator doesn’t work.
This place is unlivable. I wouldn’t let my dog stay here, and I don’t know how the city allows this place to house humans.
I grab an assload of clothes, shoving them into two duffel bags, and then I raid Presley’s bathroom, all the while memorizing her sizes and product preferences. One peek in the fridge is a bit frightening. Besides a wrapped biscuit sandwich, there’s nothing to eat here.
That clinches it. Presley lives with me now.
On the counter is a stack of mail, and I also go through that. Past due bills and junk, mostly.
I scoop up the necessary mail, along with everything else I think she might need, and head home.
On my way back to Gold Hill, I phone the fire inspector, whom I’ve gotten to know pretty well with all of the municipal hoops that Wood Brothers have had to jump through with our various projects in Fate.
“Yeah, we’re aware of the problems,” says the fire inspector. “A lot of these old apartment houses were grandfathered in before our codes were updated, so there’s not much I can do.”
Wow. I do not like this at all.
In Gold Hill, this would not be allowed. I guess Fate’s laws haven’t been able to keep up with the population growth in the last few years.
There’s not much I can do about that except for one thing.
