No One But You

He heard her slap her hands together as she dusted them off. “That you don’t care what people think of you. That you don’t need them to accept you, approve of you—or even like you.”

“You’re my employee, not my shrink,” he grumbled. “Don’t try to psychoanalyze me.”

“I’m not. I’ve just been wondering why you wouldn’t paint over that immediately. Having it up there had to be painful and embarrassing—a horrible thing to see every time you pulled into your own driveway. Then, after working with you for two days, I decided on the reason I think you left it. So...will you do me the favor of telling me if I’m right?”

“No,” he said. “Let’s eat.”

* * *

Dawson paced in the dining area while Sadie was at the stove, dishing up the food. He was restless. Something about what happened outside had agitated him, but she wasn’t sure what. He had to be relieved that she’d painted over that red-lettered indictment. Now he didn’t have to. Although she didn’t know him well, she was convinced she was right about his reasoning, even if he wouldn’t come out and admit it. He was a proud man who didn’t like to be pushed around—the kind who would sacrifice almost anything for an ideal. The way he’d reacted to Sly, that he’d refused to cave in, told her as much.

She put his plate on the table before eyeing him speculatively. “What’s wrong?”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he pivoted and came back toward her. “I’m not sure this is going to work out, Sadie.”

“This.” She could tell by his voice that he wasn’t talking about dinner. “You mean the job.”

He stretched his neck. “Yeah.”

“Why?” She would’ve been worried that he was about to fire her. She’d been worried last night. But this...this didn’t feel like someone who really wanted to get rid of her. He liked her, liked what she cooked and the improvements she’d made to the house. She could tell. She also knew he’d be loath to search for someone else; he didn’t want to be bothered with that. He wanted to work and put his life right. So...what was the problem?

“It’s complicated,” he said as he came over to the table and sat down.

She studied him, trying to read his body language. She saw regret, reluctance, maybe even a little indecision. “You mean because of Sly, my ex.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Yeah. I guess.”

She brought her own plate over to the table and sat across from him. “Except that you’ve gotten beyond Sly’s opposition to my working here twice so far.”

He turned his fork over and over in his hand. “He could always come around again.”

“True. I warned you of that. And you texted me to be here at one.”

“Maybe I should’ve thought about it a little more carefully.”

“Because...”

He said nothing, just started shoveling spaghetti into his mouth.

“You’re upset that I covered up an ugly word some asshole painted on your house. Why?”

“You could’ve fallen off the roof.”

“But I didn’t. And now that it’s handled, I won’t go back up there. So...can we focus on the real problem?”

“This isn’t the best place for you, that’s all.”

He was wrestling with himself over something. “You told me I’d be safe.”

“You are safe. From me. Problem is...I can’t control anyone else.”

“Who do you need to control?”

He didn’t answer.

Pushing her plate away without touching her food, she waited as he polished off a meatball. “If I’m not around, how will you get your sister back?” she asked at length.

“I’ll have to hire someone else.”

“Then this is because I painted the front of the house.”

“No, it’s not. That’s ridiculous!”

“You’re uncomfortable because I did you a favor, and it wasn’t even that big of a deal. You’re so used to being judged and reviled, you no longer know what to do with human kindness.”

He swallowed, his gaze finally riveting on her face. “I know what to do with kindness. It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you.”

“Me.”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“How do you think all the people you care about—your friends and neighbors, your ex and his family—will react if they believe you’re taking my side? Befriending a man who—” he made quotations marks with his fingers “—killed his parents? They’ll start treating you like they do me. You’ll be an outcast. It can happen quickly, and once it does, you might not be able to turn it around—not in such a small town.”

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