His Temporary Live-in Wife

She shoved both items into a grocery bag then washed her hands. Who could’ve taken the food? What else had they handled? It had to be someone who’d been in the house during the past two days. Who had she left unsupervised?

The drywall repairer had worked on Tuesday and part of yesterday, so it could have been him. And she’d left him alone when the washer and dryer were delivered yesterday. But the laundry room was just off the kitchen, so she would’ve seen him sneak into the kitchen. Several boxes of window treatments had arrived later in the day. The deliveryman hadn’t gone beyond the living room.

That left the painters. No one else had been in the house for long.

What could she do about it? She could call and complain to their boss, but anyone bold enough to steal would also lie. She had no proof, either. Now she would have to do an inventory and replace whatever else was missing.

Plus deal with the creepiness of the whole thing.

She carried the trash outside to put in the bin, but the bin was gone. Two bins, actually, trash and recycling. Then she noticed that the old drywall the workman had tossed outside was also gone.

Marcy followed the driveway to the front yard and spotted the bins. Next to them were the appliance cartons, broken down and stacked on the sidewalk, ready to be picked up. The trash container was filled with drywall scraps.

“We have so much trash today, don’t we, Lucy?” a woman said nearby.

Marcy saw the next-door neighbor try to muscle her trash bin to the curb and carry a toddler at the same time. Marcy rushed over.

“May I help?” she asked.

“Thank you.” She followed Marcy to the sidewalk. “Are you my new neighbor?”

“No, I’m just helping to get the house in order before the owner comes.” She put out her hand. “My name’s Marcy.”

“I’m Annie and this is Lucy. She’s two. Say hi, Luce.” The woman was tall and slender, probably in her early thirties, with straight blond hair to her shoulders. And no wedding ring.

The little girl lowered her chin but looked up flirtatiously, making Marcy laugh. “It’s very nice to meet you, Lucy, and Lucy’s mommy.”

“We’ve been looking forward to having the house occupied.” She glanced toward it. Her own place was more Victorian in design, as true to the era as Eric’s.

“I would feel the same. By any chance, did you haul my trash to the street? I got up this morning and found it done.”

“Wasn’t me, but we’ve got a block full of helpful neighbors. You’ll probably find out who did it sometime today. We’ll, we’re on our way to mommy-and-me swim class. I’ll talk to you later.”

Check, check, check, Marcy thought. Annie might be slightly on the young side, but she was the best candidate so far for Eric. Marcy would try to get more info on her later today. Of course, being next-door neighbors could be too complicated, especially if they dated then it didn’t work out.

When Marcy got back to the kitchen she stopped and stared. She hadn’t noticed earlier that the dishes had been done. There hadn’t been many, but the counter was clean. It shouldn’t have been.

Which meant someone had been inside the house. During the night. While she slept.

The doorbell rang, heralding the arrival of the window washers, who planned to be there for hours, as would the painters, finishing up two upstairs rooms. She welcomed the distraction. The moving company had called yesterday to say she could expect the van to arrive around ten. Marcy had contacted the interior designer, passing along that news.

Everyone should be gone by the time she headed to her regular weekend waitress job. Even being on her feet all night would seem like a vacation after this week.

On the other hand, her checkbook was going to be very happy, especially her tuition fund.

A couple hours later, one of the window washers pointed out a broken lock on a dining room window, not the one she’d had repaired, but the window next to it. She’d never noticed. It appeared locked, but actually wasn’t latching into anything, a section of the latch having been broken or cut away. The window slid up and down with little effort.

One more item for her to-do list. One more thing to worry about on her last day and night.

She examined the dining-room floor, looking for evidence that someone had broken in. Since she’d been watering the yard every day, it was muddy outside the window now. Anyone who climbed through the window would’ve had mud on their shoes. She found nothing, however.

How could she possibly come back here after her shift tonight? It would be well past midnight, and the house dark and empty, and easy to break into. Apparently had already been broken into. Would Eric be angry if she didn’t spend the night?

Probably, especially now that his personal belongings would be delivered.

Okay then. She would just have to stay awake. She had a cell phone and a can of pepper spray.

She could handle anything.

Eric had come to appreciate his GPS more than ever on his trip across America. Not only did he know where he was going and how to get there, he also easily found hotels, gas stations and restaurants.

But also because of the unit’s efficiency, he knew exactly how many hours of driving he had ahead of him. Which tonight prompted a big decision. It was ten o’clock. He was three hours out of Davis, California, his ultimate destination. He’d been on the road most of the day. Usually by now he was settled into a hotel room and asleep.

It’s only three hours. You could sleep in your own bed tonight.

But could he stay awake? Was it worth the exhaustion?

Yes. He would be home. He would be too restless if he went to a hotel now, anyway.

He dialed Marcy’s phone but only reached her voice mail. Maybe she’d already gone to bed. She’d had a long, busy day, he knew.

“Marcy, it’s Eric,” he said. “I just wanted to alert you that I’ll be arriving around 1:00 a.m. Didn’t want to catch you by surprise. When you get this message, please call me back. Thanks.”

A little under three hours later, he pulled into his driveway and parked in front of his detached garage, assuming Marcy’s car was inside it. The house was dark. She hadn’t returned his call, so he figured she was asleep.

Hesitant about giving her a shock, he approached the front door quietly, key in hand. He checked his phone in case she’d called back and he hadn’t heard it ring, but there weren’t any messages.

Should he call her again now, before he went inside, so that if she woke up she wouldn’t think he was an intruder? What if she kept a gun for protection?

He dialed, figuring it was better to startle her out of sleep than come face-to-face with her. They’d never seen each other. She could scream, wake the neighbors, get the police involved….

Still no answer. He hung up without leaving a message.

He slid his key into the lock, opened the door slowly. He didn’t turn on any lights, a streetlamp in front of his house and his porch light offering enough illumination to see where he was going.

His furniture was in place but boxes were stacked to one side. He walked down the hall and into the dining room, stopping cold when he saw one window partially open.

She’d gone to bed with the window open? What an idiotic—

A slight noise reached him. He spun around. Someone was nearby. Marcy? No, she wouldn’t tiptoe….

Was she all right?

He rushed from the room and down the hall in time to see someone reach the front door. Eric picked up speed. The person flung open the door and ran out … and crashed into someone—Marcy, Eric decided, hearing a woman yelp. Knocked to the ground, she’d slowed the intruder’s escape long enough for Eric to grab him and slam him against the side of the house, driving his shoulder into him to prevent him from going anywhere. A kid, Eric thought. A teenager, maybe only seventeen.

“Eric?” Marcy asked breathlessly, warily. She stood up and backed off at the same time. She was looking at him as if he was the bad guy.

The kid tried to wriggle away. Eric pushed him harder into the siding and grunted. “Yes, I’m Eric,” he said to Marcy, who looked nothing like he’d expected. He’d imagined her as young and petite. She was close to thirty, he decided, above average in height, with generous curves and long, wild, auburn hair.

She smiled a little, shaky but sassy, too. “Welcome to California.” She pointed at the boy. “That’s Dylan. He’s looking for work.”

“You know him? You invited him to stay in my house without asking me?”

“Of course not. I have no idea how he got inside.”

“Through the window you left open,” Eric said.

She frowned. “What window?”

“In the dining room. Wide open.”

“I didn’t, I promise you. The lock—”

“Let’s take this inside.” He would deal with her incompetence later. He didn’t want his new neighbors observing this scene as their introduction.

Eric maneuvered the teenager into the living room and onto a chair then stood over him. Marcy followed, turning on lights. The boy was tall and skinny, with dirty brown hair and eyes teeming with belligerence.

Great, Eric thought. Just what I needed tonight.

“Do you want me to call the police?” Marcy asked, leaning against the front door.

“Not yet. So. Dylan what?” Eric asked the kid.

He glared back silently.

“You’re telling me or you’re telling the cops. Which is it?”

A flash of hope sprang in his eyes. Eric had already come to some conclusions about him.

The boy remained silent. Eric reached for his cell phone.

“Anthony,” Dylan said in a rush.

Eric wondered if that was really his name. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Prove it.”

“I can’t.”

“Where do you live?”

“Nowhere. Everywhere. Here, for a while. It got complicated once she—” he jerked his head toward Marcy “—moved in.”

“You ate my peanut butter,” she said.

He lifted his chin, gave her a dark look. “You don’t look like you’ve missed any meals.”

“Knock it off,” Eric said. “You want to save your hide, be respectful.”

Dylan looked at the floor.

“I gave you money, and this is how you repay me?” Marcy asked.

“I didn’t ask you for anything except a job, lady. And I did stuff— Never mind.”

“Are you hungry?” Eric asked, knowing the answer. They could sort this out when everyone calmed down.

“Wait,” Marcy said. “You did what stuff?” she asked Dylan. “Finish your sentence.”

He shrugged.

“It was you. You broke down the boxes and put them out for recycling. You put the trash out so the drywall could be hauled off. You even did the dishes!”

After a few seconds he nodded, not making eye contact.

Apparently there was a lot more to this kid than appeared on the surface. He hadn’t just stolen. “Marcy, would you please fix Dylan a sandwich or something,” Eric said. “Whatever you’ve got on hand.”

She sighed. “Would you also like one?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Oh, no. I’m here to serve,” she muttered as she strode into the kitchen, although “marched” might be a more accurate description.

Eric pulled a chair close to Dylan and sat. “Tell me about living here. How’d you do that?”

“Opened the window. Climbed in.”

Eric dug for patience. “Be more specific.”

“I saw the place was empty. I needed a place to stay.”

“Did you break the window?”

“It was already broken.” He finally made eye contact, although only briefly. “I broke the lock on the other window so I could get back in, in case someone fixed the glass.”

“How long did you stay here?”

He shrugged.

“Days? Weeks? Months?”

“When I needed to.”

Eric waited, his gaze steady. Silence usually brought discomfort and therefore answers, but this kid handled empty silences well.

“Go wash your hands before we eat.” He reckoned the boy was hungry enough not to climb out the window. “I think you know where the bathroom is.”

Dylan had perfected the teenage saunter. He didn’t act scared or nervous, but Eric figured he was plenty of both.

Eric joined Marcy in the kitchen, planting himself where he could see if Dylan tried to escape. She glanced at Eric then returned to fixing what looked to be turkey sandwiches and chips.

“The boy’s cleaning up,” he said.

“I could hear your conversation.”

“Need help?”

“No, thanks.”

She went silent but he noted how stiff-backed she was. “You don’t approve of me not phoning the police.”

“At first I thought you should, but now that I know he’s been my secret helper, I’d be more hesitant to turn him in. He seems desperate, and not all bad.”

“Don’t be too quick to make that kind of decision. He’s no innocent.”

“He’s no hardened criminal, either.”

Her hair had fallen along the side of her face, hiding her expression, but also giving him a moment for a longer glimpse of her.

Dylan’s comment about her not looking as if she missed meals wasn’t accurate. She was just curvy, very curvy, top and bottom, but with a small waist, proportionately. A perfect hourglass. She wore a low-cut T-shirt with the word “Score” blazoned across it, and skin-tight jeans. Too many questions came to mind. He was trying not to jump to conclusions as much as he had in the past.

“Where were you tonight?” he asked.

“I wait tables at a sports bar on Friday and Saturday nights.” She faced him. “I didn’t know the window lock was broken until today when the window washer pointed it out. As you’ll see for yourself, it’s not immediately evident. I made arrangements for it to be repaired, but the guy couldn’t come until tomorrow. Today.”

“You should’ve offered a bonus to come today. If you’d called me about it, I would’ve told you to do that. You should know that about me by now.”

“Apparently money solves all your problems,” she murmured.

Annoyed at her tone, he came up beside her so that Dylan wouldn’t overhear any more of their conversation. “Most of the time, yes. You didn’t turn down the extra pay I offered.”

“True.” After a minute, she said, “What are you going to do about him?”

“I haven’t decided, but he needs to learn there are consequences for his actions.”

Dylan stepped into the room then. He swallowed as he eyed the sandwiches. He also looked ready to take flight.

“I know all about consequences,” Dylan said, looking as if the world was one big heavy weight on his shoulders.

Eric saw Marcy become a puddle of sympathy. He figured the kid had learned survival techniques, one of them being to figure out who might be the softest touch. He would probably zero in on Marcy now, because she’d played her hand already. He knew she cared about what happened to him.

“What would you like to drink?” she asked.

“Milk. If you’ve got it.”

“I think by now you know what she’s got,” Eric said. “You’re not eating?” he asked Marcy as she passed their plates to them.

“I ate at work.”

His long day of driving, followed by all he’d been met with here, combined to deliver him a one-two punch of exhaustion. He wasn’t even hungry anymore. He just needed sleep. And no problems to deal with for at least ten hours.

So much for starting fresh somewhere else. Welcome to California, indeed.

“You can sleep in the living room,” he said to Dylan, deciding that if he hadn’t taken anything other than food the last five days, he wasn’t likely to do so now. “I expect you to be here when I get up in the morning, even if that’s not until noon.”

Dylan said nothing. He just ate, taking big bites, devouring the sandwich.

Eric glanced at Marcy when Dylan refused to answer.

“What? You plan on ordering me, too?” she asked, challenge and humor in her eyes.

“Where have you been sleeping?”

“On a cot in your bedroom. Your furniture was set up today, and your bed is made, by the way. I’ll just move into one of the spare bedrooms for the night. I’m sure we’ll have business to discuss in the morning. Good night.”

She was a lot more lively in person than on the phone, and she wasn’t acting much like an employee. Not that he minded, except that his perceptions of her were all wrong, and that usually wasn’t the case.

He watched Dylan eat. Eric had seen what could happen to teenagers on the streets of New York. Things might not be as dire in the university town of Davis, but everyone deserved better than being reduced to scrounge for food and shelter. And everyone he knew who’d gotten involved with a homeless person had gotten bitten in some way.

He wanted to trust his instincts about the kid, but he knew he should keep his guard up. “Want another sandwich?” he asked.

“She made chocolate-chip cookies today, but I’m guessing they’re for you,” Dylan said, pointing to a plastic container on the counter.

Eric leaned back in his chair, grabbed it and set it in front of the boy. Dylan didn’t hesitate. He yanked the top off and pulled out a handful. Eric went to the refrigerator to get the milk again, deciding to give up asking questions. The kid would talk when he was ready.

After a few minutes Marcy materialized in the doorway. “I made up a bed for Dylan on the sofa,” she said, then disappeared as quickly and quietly as she’d come.

They rinsed their plates in the kitchen sink then walked into the living room. The sofa looked welcoming. Because it was a normal hot August night, she hadn’t added a blanket, only sheets, but she’d turned down the top sheet invitingly and put a chocolate mint on his pillow.

Eric smiled at that. She may not trust Dylan being there, and she may even harbor resentment for his sneaking into the house under her watch, but she still recognized he could use a little comfort.

“Are you gonna call the cops?” Dylan asked, scuffing his toe against the hardwood floor.

He was too tired to deal with it. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.” He dragged his hands down his face.

Dylan sprang into action, making a quick side step around Eric, running to the door. He was already to the front sidewalk by the time Eric made it to the porch.

He should’ve anticipated that, but he’d figured Dylan would be grateful for the food and the offer of a place to sleep, although Eric had fully expected him to leave before sunrise.

Eric locked the door, then climbed the stairs. He could probably find something to wedge into the window jam, making it impossible to open, but he didn’t bother. If Dylan changed his mind, he would have a way in.

When Eric reached the second floor, he didn’t see a light on under either guest-room door, so he didn’t know which room she’d taken. His bedroom door was open, however, and a lamp on. He stepped over the threshold. His quilt was folded at the foot of the bed, leaving only sheets for him, too. The house was warm even with the air conditioner on.

And there was a mint on his pillow.

Even though she was wary of having Dylan in the house, and had borne the brunt of his own anger for the window lock not being fixed, she’d turned his room into a retreat for him.

He dug out shorts and a T-shirt from his suitcase and climbed into bed. The sheets felt crisp and smelled fresh, as did his room. He’d had housecleaners all his adult life, but that’s all they did—clean house.

Marcy had already made him a home.

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