While we’d argued from the time we were kids, our last argument was about money. When I suggested Sybil get a job to pay for the upkeep of the house in Bluebell Creek, I got a lengthy dressing down about how she’d put her life on hold to care for our dying grandfather while I enjoyed my fancy life in Boston.
For the last four years, Adler had played a significant role in the life my sister referred to as fancy. Decker’s questions about him had unnerved me. He’d excused himself to take a call, and when he came back, he’d immediately launched into what felt like an interrogation about my relationship with Adler. Granted, he’d behaved like an asshole when we were leaving the county building. Never, in the four years I’d known him, had he behaved as rudely as he did this morning. It was obvious Decker annoyed him, but that didn’t explain why Adler was rude to me, or so demanding. He was usually easy-going, eager to do whatever I wanted to do, even when it was nothing.
Still, out of all the questions Decker could’ve asked, why was the second one whether we were lovers?
I took several deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. The last twenty-four hours had been a nightmare. Just learning my sister was dead and having to look at her lifeless body was the worst thing I could imagine.
Finding out that Sybil believed someone was trying to kill her—did kill her, according to Decker—was more than I could wrap my head around. Adding Adler and his bizarre behavior into the mix was something I couldn’t begin to process.
I sat on the edge of the bed, wishing I had my guitar. Playing piano was my preference when I was feeling stressed, but my apartment wasn’t big enough for me to have one, not that I would’ve been able to afford a piano. There were practice rooms I could use at school, and at this time of year, they were mostly empty. Those days were over, though. The college wasn’t renewing my contract, which meant no more practice rooms, no more paychecks, and no more apartment in Boston. With my savings depleted, I needed to come up with a way to support myself, and I had to do it quickly.
I was about to change my clothes when I heard a knock at the door. I opened it and looked up into Decker’s piercing green eyes. I’d seen nothing but kindness and concern in them.
“I’m making dinner.”
“Thanks, but I’m really not hungry.”
“If you change your mind, you know where the kitchen is.” He walked back down the hallway, and I closed the door.
After getting more comfortable clothes out of my carry on and changing, I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes. Soon, the smells wafting from the kitchen made my stomach rumble. I had no idea what Decker was cooking, but it smelled heavenly.
He looked up when I came out to join him.
“It smells too good to resist,” I admitted.
“I made enough for two.”
“What is it?”
“Chile relleno,” he said, opening the oven door. “Hope you like spicy.”
“I love it.”
The man smiled again, and I felt it from my head to my toes. He was a typical cowboy. Not only was he a Wrangler-, pearl snap-, and boot-wearing man, he was built like someone who spent his days on the back of a horse—all hard edges and calloused hands. He talked like a cowboy, acted like a cowboy, and worse, looked like a cowboy. A real man—not someone who spent his life sleeping the days away or with his nose in a book. Although, there was a well-stocked bookcase in his living room.
He reminded me of my mother’s father. My grandfather had been gruff with the same cocky arrogance, but underneath it all, I’d known I could depend on him.
I felt the same way about Decker. It didn’t matter that as far as he was concerned, we’d just met, it was the feeling I got from him—he’d watch over and protect me. I could depend on Decker Ashford in a way I now knew I could never depend on Adler.
“I don’t know what you were thinking, but it was nice to see the glimmer of a smile on your face, however briefly.”
With his mention of it, I smiled again. He pulled the pan of steaming food out of the oven and set it on the counter.
“What can I do to help?”
“Plates are in the cabinet next to the oven, silverware in that drawer.”
While I collected the things he mentioned, Decker put two placemats on the counter and took two beers out of the refrigerator. He held one up. “You in?”
“Sure, thanks,” I answered, taking the bottle from his outstretched hand. When our fingers brushed, I shook my head.
“Why’d you shake your head?” he asked, spooning the chile into two bowls.
I took a deep breath, knowing that what I was about to say would likely lead to questions I didn’t want to answer. “I don’t like to be touched.”
He took a slight step back and raised his hands. “Whoa. I’ll be more careful not to touch you.”
“That isn’t why I shook my head.”