Running Blind Read online

  Spencer moved to relieve her of the corn bread muffins, but Zeke forestalled him; the bowl was too big and heavy for the kid to handle with just one hand. Carlin said, “Thanks,” without looking at him.

  “No problem.”

  She handled the pitcher of tea with the practiced ease of a seasoned waitress, which she was. Working at The Pie Hole would have broken her in, fast. If only she’d picked up some of Kat’s cooking skills, too, then he’d really lucked out.

  Because he’d said he liked tuna casserole, and because he was the boss, he nutted up and dipped himself a big helping.

  There was rice. Rice was okay; he was neutral on it. There were some mixed vegetables. He liked vegetables, so that was a plus. There was tuna. And, as she’d promised, there was a lot of cheese. He dipped his fork into the steaming hot mixture and, trying not to show how wary he felt, carried it to his mouth.

  He should have let it cool a little beforehand, but he felt such massive relief he was barely aware of the heat.

  “Damn,” he said in surprise. “It’s good!”

  Chapter Nine

  CARLIN WAS SO exhausted, she expected to fall asleep the minute her head hit the pillow, but that didn’t happen. Her mind was spinning, and she couldn’t get comfortable, even though the bed in her room—her rooms, she had her own little mini-suite—was the most comfortable she’d been able to call her own in so long she couldn’t even remember. It was a vast improvement over the futon at Kat’s place, though she was definitely fond of both Kat and the attic room.

  The doors were locked, but, damn it, this house would be too easy to break into. A broken or cut window, and anyone could reach in and unlock a door. Not easily, unless they had freakishly long arms, but with a tool of some kind it was definitely possible. She calmed herself by making plans to talk to a locksmith in the morning, and by reminding herself that there was no way Brad could find her here. Even if he did, there were two locked doors between her and the outside world—either of the doors to the outside world and the crappy lock on her bedroom door—and the locks on her windows were a lot more reassuring than the ones on the doors. She’d also placed a chair under the doorknob to her room. Someone might be able to get in, but by God they wouldn’t sneak up on her.

  And there really was a butcher knife tucked into the top drawer of the bedside table. Just in case.

  She’d learned to sleep through fear; learned that sleep was necessary for survival and she only hampered herself if she went too long without it. In truth she was as safe here—safer—than she’d been anywhere else for a very long time.

  Nice, soft bed; butcher knife; isolated from the outside world.

  Carlin stared up at the ceiling. It was Zeke Decker who was keeping her awake, damn him—Zeke Decker and her damn hormones. As she lay there in the dark, she tried to reason with herself. He was good-looking, in a rough-hewn, totally masculine way, and she’d been forced to spend several hours in his company. Add to that the fact that she’d been without any male attention for, well, years.

  The thought made her pause. Had it been that long? Even before Brad had come along and screwed everything up, she hadn’t exactly had an active love life. Her friends had always said she was too picky, but she really didn’t think it was out of bounds to have standards when it came to allowing a man into one’s bed and body.

  Maybe her current state was the simple matter of her biological clock kicking into gear, and Zeke just happened to be the closest appropriate male. She’d read about the biology of attraction, analyzed it. Men liked women with big breasts because that meant they could feed all the babies. Women, on a cellular level, went for a man who could take care of the saber-tooth tiger that was trying to get into their cave. When it came to simple genetics, Zeke was rather caveman like. He hadn’t yet grunted at her, but she was certain he would, sooner or later.

  Logic was her friend. So why didn’t it help? When she closed her eyes, a part of her wished like hell that she wasn’t alone in this comfortable bed. After months of running, of separating herself from others, of not being touched at all, she craved the weight of a man, the pleasure of his mouth on her body, the release that would come …

  Yeah, this was going to help her sleep.

  Carlin closed her eyes, rolled onto her side, and took a long, deep breath. Maybe she should just stop fighting it and arguing with herself, and deal with reality. So, she had the hots for her boss. It wasn’t as if she could act on the attraction. The tingles and the butterfly stomach and the twitches in a place she’d thought would be twitch-free forever should serve as a reminder that her life wasn’t over. He’d tried, but Brad hadn’t taken everything from her. On the other hand, because of him she couldn’t act on the attraction, and she hoped he burned in hell.

  She burrowed under the covers and imagined Zeke lying in the bed with her, that tall, hard-muscled body stretched out beside hers. She imagined until she could almost feel the heat of the body that wasn’t there, until she could almost feel the dip of the bed where he didn’t lie.

  And finally, gently, she imagined herself into a deep, dream-filled sleep.

  SHE HAD NEVER realized that men who engaged in physical labor all day had such hearty appetites. It made sense, but Carlin felt as if it would be impossible to prepare too much food for this bunch. If people working regular jobs ate this much, they’d be humongous, but Zeke and the other hands regularly put away twice as much food as she’d initially expected.

  Leftovers would not be an option.

  Nine men had plowed their way through a mountain of scrambled eggs, pounds of bacon, and an entire loaf of bread, toasted, in a matter of minutes. Carlin had stood back and watched them eat as they talked about the morning chores. It was rather like watching a swarm of locusts descend.

  But, dang. As she’d watched them eat, an unexpected feeling had come over her. She was needed. In the most basic of ways, of course, and it wasn’t as if she were doing a job no one else could do, but it was nice to be needed for a change.

  After they’d had breakfast and tromped out to go to work, she had the house to herself for a few hours. All the men—Zeke included—had literally eaten and run. Even Spencer had declared he needed a pain pill and a nap in the recliner where he’d been sleeping since getting hurt. She could take a breather now. The dishwasher was running, the washer and dryer were both working hard—she wondered if it would be possible to catch up on the laundry in a month or so—and the locksmith was scheduled to arrive between one and three in the afternoon. Carlin made herself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table with a selection of cookbooks she’d found on a shelf in the dining room. There were quite a few, but she’d chosen the three that looked the most well used. Then she leafed through, looking for pages that were marked by breaks in the spine or splatters of food on the pages. Those would be the favorite recipes, the dishes that had been prepared in this house again and again, right? It made sense to her.

  Chili; beef stew; stroganoff; corn bread dressed up with corn and onions; biscuits; chocolate cake; apple pie.

  Like she’d attempt to compete with Kat in the pie department. She might tackle a cobbler, but an actual latticetop pie? No way. If Zeke wanted a pie, she’d order one from Kat.

  Over the hum of the appliances, she heard the knocking on the back door. The pain pill must not have knocked Spencer out for very long! This time she wouldn’t make him stand there and wait. She jumped up, and rushed to unlock the door.

  Just her luck. It wasn’t Spencer who stood there, but Zeke, scowling at her through the glass. She supposed it was too late to turn around, take a sip of coffee, and head this way again, taking her time.

  “Didn’t find your key, I see,” she said as she opened the door.

  “Found it,” he said through clenched teeth. “Left it in my room this morning.”

  “Early-onset Alzheimer’s?”

  He glared down at her. “I happen to think I shouldn’t need a key to get into my own damn house in the