Page 43 of Grit
“Oh, I don’t know.” Melissa hooked a hand in her pocket. “My grandpa used to tell me that some men’s faces could only be improved by a fist.”
Stu cracked a smile. “Well, Leigh wasn’t too pleased with me.”
“I imagine not.” She took a deep breath of cold evening air. “Stu, I think we’re good.”
He waited, hands still folded on the table. “You sure, Miz Rhodes?”
“I told you to call me Melissa.” She held out a hand. “And yeah. You keep everything up-front with me and we’re good. I’m gonna let you get back to sleep because we’re gonna have to move the herd across the creek tomorrow and the water’s still running. I want to start early.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Stu shook her hand. “I don’t want you to be mad at Mr. Nakamura though. He’s right. I should have told you from the beginning.”
She grimaced. “That may be, but Cary needs to learn to mind his business. This isn’t the first time he’s pulled something like this.”
“I suppose.” Stu stood. “But I reckon he thinks you and your familyarehis business.”
That brought her up short. “Did he tell you that?”
The corner of Stu’s mouth turned up. “Not in those words.”
What did that mean? For a plainspoken guy, Stu could be cagey.
“I’ll figure out how to deal with Cary,” Melissa said.
How? She had no idea. She’d probably be up half the night thinking about it.
Come to think of it, if she wasn’t going to get any sleep, Cary didn’t need any either.
Chapter Ten
When Cary moved backinto his mother’s house after his dad died, he converted the back bedroom into a suite with a separate door, washroom, and small dining area. He might have been fine living with his mom as an adult, but she didn’t need to know when he came and went. And he definitely didn’t need to share a bathroom at age forty.
Most days he was grateful for the separate entrance. But when Melissa decided to come knocking at ten thirty, he wished she had to use the front door.
Because she was too polite to use the front door, and then he could sleep.
Cary rubbed his eyes and stared at the ceiling. She wasn’t banging, but the knock wasn’t soft either. He’d heard her truck just as he was drifting off to sleep and knew the knock was coming even though he’d turned out the lights.
He sat up in bed and swung his legs over the side. He walked barefoot to the door and swung it open. “Hey, Missy.”
She glared at him. “I need to talk to you.”
“Yeah, I bet.” He pointed to the rack by the door. “Shoes.”
He hadn’t been raised by Rumi and Gordon Nakamura to let any disgusting boots or street shoes into his home. Melissa had been over to the house enough times that she didn’t bitch about it. She pulled off her boots as Cary went back to the bedside table and grabbed a glass to get some water.
“I’d offer you something to drink,” he said, his voice rough, “but you banged on my door after ten o’clock, so fuck it.”
“You know why I’m here.”
“Yep.” He downed the glass of water in one long gulp and set it back on the table. “And? It couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?”
“No.” She put her hands on her hips. “If I have to sit up thinking about you interfering in my life and what the hell I’m going to do about it, then you don’t get to sleep either.”
He scratched his chin. “I don’t really get that, but okay.”
“Why did you…?” She glanced at his chest. “Can you put a shirt on please?”
The night was warm and he was wearing a pair of basketball shorts and nothing else. Cary glanced down at his bare chest. “No.”
