The Comfort of Favorite Things (A Hope Springs Novel) (17 page)

“Well?”

He had to wait for Manny to climb onto the extra stool, adjust his jacket, and find the words. “What do you know about the black woman who works at the coffee shop? Becca, I think?”

“Not much,” he said, then for no reason he understood added a small white lie. “No more than I know about any of the women working there.”

Manny looked off toward the back of the barn as he said, “You do know they don’t just work there, right? That they’ve got something else connecting them?”

Dakota thought for a minute. If anyone else had asked, he probably wouldn’t have answered. The women had found each other and what they needed to feel safe. That included privacy.

But this was Manny. And Dakota couldn’t think of anything he’d ever held back from the man who’d drawn him as an assignment. Then gone above and beyond to keep him off the grid.

He waited for Manny to look at him again, then offered a vague response. “You figure that out for yourself, or Becca tell you?”

Manny snorted. “Becca’s not that forthcoming.”

At that, Dakota laughed. “Give it some time. She may surprise you.”

But Manny wasn’t that patient. “Back to my original question. What do you know about her?”

Dakota thought about the conversation he’d had with Becca York the morning after she’d clotheslined him. He might trust Manny with
his
life, but this was Becca’s life. Becca’s damage. And so he said, “She’s strong as hell.”

Manny frowned. “Physically? Or is that some code or metaphor or something?”

Dakota slapped at a piece of paper threatening to blow off the table. “Before we’d even been introduced she tried to choke me to death.”

This time it was Manny who laughed. “I would love to have seen that.”

“Have you talked to her? Tried to find out what you want to know from the source?”

“Yeah,” Manny said, crossing his arms as he nodded. “She’s a little bit defensive.”

“A little?” Dakota sputtered out the question, glad he didn’t have a mouth full of coffee.

Manny shrugged. “Be interesting to see how many customers she runs off the first day.”

“I gotta figure Thea knows what she’s doing.” Or if she didn’t, that she was ready for any backlash.

Manny scratched at the side of his hand as he searched for the words. “I’d almost hazard a guess she’s playing amateur psychologist.”

“How so?” Dakota asked, frowning.

“Putting someone who doesn’t like people right in front of them.”

Hmm. “Becca’s just making the coffee.”

“You ever see a Starbucks customer whose order gets bungled? The barista’s the one who gets shit on.”

Dakota thought again about what Becca had told him, then thought about what Manny had just said. “That connection you were asking about. You know they all live together, too, right?”

Manny’s huff said he hadn’t. “I do now.”

“It’s Thea’s house, but Becca and Ellie, the baker, and another woman who’s got two kids live there.”

That had Manny frowning. “Thea footing all the bills?”

“She says she’s not, but none of them is working yet, so . . .” Dakota shrugged. “She said Becca and Ellie are keeping track of the hours they’re at the shop, but someone’s got to be putting food on the table in the meantime.”

Manny nodded, slapped his hands to his thighs. “That’s all I needed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dakota asked.

But Manny was done talking. “How go the plans to leave?”

He shrugged. “I’ll set them in stone once I have the money to do so. I’d borrow it from you but I can tell by the way you dress that you’re broke as a joke.”

Manny looked down at his white shirt and navy Dockers and brown-suede oxfords. “What’s wrong with the way I dress?”

“Nothing. If you’re a parole officer.”

“Very funny,” Manny said, hopping off the stool.

“You going already? You just got here,” Dakota said, miming glancing at a watch.

“I got what I came for, and a helping of abuse on top of it. I get that in the day to day. Don’t need to take it from friends.”

“Manny, Manny, Manny. Since when have we ever been friends?”

“Watch it, Keller,” Manny said, pointing a finger. “I know more of your secrets than anyone.”

Dakota huffed as Manny walked out of the barn. He’d let the other man think it was true.

He—and Thea—knew otherwise.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T
hea was opening the boxes containing the bread baskets she’d ordered when Dakota came through Bread and Bean’s front door. She was lost in thought, caught up in the goings-on at Dragon Fire Hill.

And not just the changes to the structure she’d seen happening over the last few days, but the changes in the women living there. Their attitudes. Their demeanor. The way they moved when they walked. Their laughter, spontaneous and true. Boys running and playing as boys were meant to do.

The house no longer felt like a tomb.

They weren’t huge changes, and maybe Dakota, or even Lena Mining, who only knew the others peripherally, wouldn’t pick up on the smiles that had been coming easier to Frannie’s face, or the length she’d added to her apron strings, allowing James to scamper free outside when she hung sheets to dry.

Thea noticed because she’d been watching Frannie wind James close for months, and do so with pinched lips and a deep vee between her brows. Frannie, more than Becca or Ellie, had arrived at Thea’s withdrawn and fearful—with good reason. But she no longer appeared as if she might snap at the sound of a male voice or heavy footstep, which made breathing a lot easier for all.

But even Ellie had been singing more when in the kitchen kneading bread, her fingers like vise grips, her hands like hammers. And Becca. Well, Thea had caught her several times talking to one or another member of the crew from Keller Construction, answering questions, running small errands between rooms of the house. None of what was going on was flirting; it was simple adult conversation.

Thea had even walked in on one of the workers trying to save a pot of soup Becca had inadvertently oversalted. He’d even accepted when Becca had offered him a cup to go with the chips and sandwiches he’d packed for his own dinner. And the fact that Becca had made the gesture was nothing short of a miracle. Thea hadn’t minded a bit. Beans were a perfect comfort food and went a long way.

Dakota’s shadow fell across her then, and she reached for another of the boxes instead of looking up, ignoring the tremor in her fingers, her shortness of breath. Damn him for making her itch, and want things that were impossible, and wish her whole life had been different, and that they weren’t both so . . . ruined.

“Shouldn’t you hold off on getting that put together?” he asked. “You don’t want your bread baskets to have a half inch of construction dust in the bottom.”

She pulled another basket from the box, then from its protective plastic sleeve. “I’ll cover it all back up. I want to make sure everything arrived in good shape in case I need to make a return before we open.”

He took in the jumble of baskets surrounding her. “You have all of those custom-made?”

“Not made-to-order, but I did buy them through a place that makes everything by hand. They’re set up a lot like Bread and Bean. Sort of a . . . co-op,” she added, realizing she’d already said more than she’d meant to. “Everyone pitches in and the profits support all the members and their art.”

She looked up and met his gaze. He stood with his feet spread wide, his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, his gray T-shirt pulled tight over his shoulders and tighter around his upper arms. His hair appeared to have grown several inches since he’d come into the shop that first day. It couldn’t have, really. Not enough time had passed. But with his head tilted down, his hair fell forward, adding shadows to his already shadowed jaw. The scruff there had her itching to kiss him, to feel his cheek scratch hers.

And that’s what she was having trouble with. Accepting that this very imposing man was the boy she’d loved so desperately. She wasn’t desperate any longer, and she didn’t want to think about then when now was so very different. He wasn’t going to hurt her. She knew that, but too often she found herself conflating Todd’s insecurity-driven damage with Dakota’s that was authentic and earned in unspeakable ways.

“Co-op, huh? I guess that works.”

“What do you mean ‘that works’?” she asked, bristling.

He crossed his arms, the motion increasing the sense of his towering over her. “It works because it tells enough of the truth without revealing the parts that need to stay secret.”

Need to stay secret
. Not she needed to
keep
secret. He’d taken the onus off her as if he understood the sticky wicket surrounding Bread and Bean and the house on Dragon Fire Hill. But if he was digging for information, he wasn’t going to be getting any. “I was thinking it might be a good idea to go over the timing on the construction projects. I don’t want to fall behind on the shop because you’re tied up at the house.”

“I’m not assigned to the house, in case you haven’t noticed. Tennessee’s got that under control.”

She’d noticed. Every night when she’d gone home. Six or eight men, two trucks, neither one of them his. “About that,” she said, setting the basket in her lap. “Why were you the one to do the initial walk-through?”

“I thought it would go easier for your . . . roommates if the first person they saw was someone they knew.” He shrugged as if his thoughtfulness was nothing when it was everything. “The two who’d already met me anyway. I’m not sure any of this is going to go easy for Frannie.”

“You might be surprised,” Thea told him. “She’s still cautious, of course, but she’s actually coming out of her shell a bit. And she’s given up some of the helicopter parenting, too.”

The smile that came then nearly melted her. “I’ll bet James likes that.”

“He’s having the best time watching everyone work. One of the men, Frank, I think, brought him a little box with plastic tools. He carries his
flat
screwdriver everywhere,” she said with a laugh. “Frannie said he’s even sleeping with it. Of course, Robert thinks anything that’s James’s is his, too, so there have been a lot of lessons lately in sharing and respecting the property of others.”

“You ever sorry you didn’t have kids?” he asked after a moment and out of the blue.

Gee, thanks. “I do have a few good years left in me, you know.”

“Sorry. That didn’t come out right.” He dragged over her folding chair from her makeshift desk and spun it around to straddle it. “It’s just that I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how badly parents can fuck up their kids and not even know it.”

Okay. This was new. And interesting. And obviously coming from a very personal place. “You were thinking about it because . . . of your own parents?”

“Tennessee and I were talking about them the other day,” he said, his arms crossed on the chair back, his gaze cast down. “Did you know they haven’t come home to see Georgia May since she was born? Their only grandchild, and they can’t even be bothered to send more than a congratulatory postcard, which, by the way, was all about the children they’re caring for in some storm-ravaged Laotian village.”

That sucked. “I guess Tennessee can’t be too happy about that.”

He snorted, then slammed a hand against the chair back. “What is wrong with them? They shit on the three of us growing up, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but . . . a baby. The first Keller grandchild. It’s like they don’t have a clue what it means to be a family.”

“They aren’t the only ones, you know,” she said, slipping the basket back into its sleeve. “I’m pretty sure you met my mother.”

He nodded. “You two still in touch?”

Because he knew not to ask if they were still close. They never had been. “I haven’t heard from her in probably ten years. I don’t even know where she is. The minute I left home, so did she. As if she’d been waiting for me to find someone else to live with so she could get on with her life.”

He shook his head. “I always hated that for you. Sometimes I wondered if she even liked you.”

“She didn’t. I reminded her too much of him. My father.”

“And what about him? Still no contact?”

She shook her head, old bitterness leaving a bad taste in her mouth. “I’m surprised she didn’t just drop me off at some fire station and be done with it. She never wanted me. She made that very clear. Though I guess she needed a whipping boy. Or girl. Someone, me, to blame for the big fat mistake she made, me, that cost her a pretty hefty inheritance from her parents.”

“Runs in the family then, does it?”

“Cutting off your kid? Yeah. But not the part about getting pregnant.” She thought about all the condoms they’d used, how they’d joked about a subscription service, or buying by the case. “I heard for years how I’d ruined her life. No way was I going to let a baby ruin mine.”

Time ticked by, the word
ruin
hanging in the air, Dakota finally saying, “So you let me do it instead. At least for other men, wasn’t that what you said? Which I guess could be one and the same. I mean, if you had your heart set on a relationship and it was true.”

“I didn’t let you,” she said, sighing heavily. “It just happened.”

“I’m good with being a whipping boy,” he said, and Thea finally looked up.

She held his gaze, searching for . . . something, anything, she didn’t know. A truth, maybe. “You and I wouldn’t have had that last night together if she’d given a shit about me.”

“I’m not sure that makes what you went through living with her worth it,” he said, his tone gruff and regretful.

She didn’t want him to have any regrets. “If that night helped you get through, then yeah. Growing up with her for a mother was worth it completely.”

His eyes softened. “We’re getting kinda deep here, Clark.”

“Seems to happen every time we talk about the past.”

“Probably why we agreed early on that we wouldn’t. Should’ve stuck to that I guess.”

“Stupid, really, to think it wouldn’t keep coming up since it’s a known quantity and neither one of us has a handle on the present,” she said, then wanted to bite back the words when he cocked his head inquisitively.

“I thought you had everything figured out, your house, your business . . .”

She allowed herself the briefest of smiles. “I do all my flailing in private.”

“I think I’m disappointed,” he said, and she laughed.

“Be glad you weren’t around a couple of years ago.”

“Okay, now I’m really curious,” he said, standing to turn the chair around and settling back down as if for a show. “I mean, we’re already talking about the past . . .”

“Trust me.” She tossed the basket back into the box. “You don’t want to hear
this
part.”

“The part with your ex?”

She hated him doing that. Hated it. “Stop digging. And stop reading my mind.”

“What was his name?”

She closed her eyes. “Todd.”

“Did he hurt you?” he asked.

She’d never realized a tone of voice could be both soft and mean. “Not physically,” she said, looking at him. “Well, once or twice. But nothing like what Ellie or Becca suffered.” She thought about Ellie’s burn scars, about the whip tracks across Becca’s back.

“Their abuse being worse doesn’t make yours okay.”

“I didn’t say it did.” Ugh. This more than anything she did not want to explain, but since it was Dakota asking . . . She stretched out her legs, pointing her toes before drawing herself into a ball and hugging her knees close. “Todd was well-off. Very well-off. He thought having money meant he was right about everything. That he was entitled to get his way no matter what anyone else wanted. He wasn’t so . . . insistent when we first got together. It escalated over time.”

“How long were you together?”

“Six years.”

“What did he do to you?”

“I’m not going to talk about that.” There were some things she would rather Dakota not know.

“Where is he now?”

“Honestly? I have no idea.” This was the part she was least comfortable sharing. The part she’d never told another soul. “He was on a trip with some friends. His idea of friends. More like sycophantic hangers-on. It was some adventure thing. Hiking. Rafting. There was an accident. Two of them made it out. Two did not. When search and rescue went back, they couldn’t find them. I only learned about this later from the news. He’d barely been out the door before I emptied his safe and the bank account I had access to. Then with the help of some contacts I’d made, I went underground to make sure he never found me.”

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, rubbing at his wrist with his thumb. “The authorities didn’t connect you to the money?”

She shook her head, still amazed she hadn’t been found out. “No one would’ve known about the cash he kept in the safe, or the jewelry he’d bought me. And since the money from the account was withdrawn before he’d had time to get on the plane, it could easily be assumed he took it with him.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About three years.”

He let that sink in, then said, “And when you came up for air, you thought you’d go into the underground business.”

“It’s more complicated than that”—
so
much more complicated—“but that’s the gist.”

Frowning, he thought for a minute, then asked, “Is it safe for you to be using your own name?”

“He didn’t know me as Clark. No one did,” she said, her chin propped on her knees. “Not the bank. Not the people I was working with when I met him and before he insisted I quit my job. Our friends were his, not mine. He basically locked me away.”

“Shit, Thea,” he said, collapsing back in the chair, lacing his hand on top of his head, shaking it. His expression broadcast as much disbelief as it did anything.

He didn’t ask for more, but she wanted him to understand that she hadn’t just given up. “He was . . . persuasive. And it took a while before I realized what he was doing. By then I had no way to fight back. No job. No money of my own. No car. I lived in luxury, but I was still a prisoner.”

“Why weren’t you going by Clark?”

“I dropped my mother’s name after high school. Todd only ever knew me as Thea Bateman. Which is just as well.”

“Why’s that?”

She swallowed hard. It was silly, but . . . “I like you being the one to call me Clark.”