While She Was Sleeping... (4 page)

“Hell, yeah.”

She studied him, intrigued by his vehemence. “So if you came home and found Emma all over another man you’d go nuts?”

“The fur would be flying.”

Melanie blew her bangs out of her eyes; they flew up and came right back down again. “That’s what I thought.”

“Look, you are a beautiful, smart, incredible woman, and there’s no way you’ll let yourself be dragged into anything permanent with a real creep. This is just a…phase or something.”

“I hope so.” She put her purse in her file cabinet drawer, took another sip of the rich, sweet coffee and powered on her computer. “I can just see me sixty years from now chasing motorcycle gangs in my wheelchair.”

“Well…” He grinned lopsidedly. “You could, you know…try a wider range of nice guys. In case this one doesn’t work. Sawyer’s not the only nonloser around.”

“True.” She smiled at him. As usual he’d found a way to make her feel better. “You’re absolutely right, Edgar, thank you so much. I’m being ridiculously pessimistic. This is my first attempt at a new life, and I can’t expect to hit it right, boom, immediately. Though, I’ll tell you, I have not, by any means, no way, given up on Sawyer. I still bet we can get something good going.”

She scooted to the right again, leaned forward and kissed Edgar’s cheek, making him blush fiercely, which she got a kick out of. He was such a great friend, always seemed to know when she was upset, really listened when she talked to him, anticipated her needs, sometimes before she knew she needed anything. Like the coffee this morning. If he wasn’t already involved with Emma, Melanie would try to set him up with one of her friends. Jenny maybe, who was dating that weird sculptor who was horrible to her. Melanie would think she should match
herself
up with Edgar if she felt anything but friendly toward him. Sad to say, once again, when faced with a great guy, Melanie had absolutely no interest.

If she couldn’t get herself to fall at least a little bit in love with an incredible man like Sawyer, she was very much afraid she was doomed.

S
AWYER OPENED
his eyes warily…and breathed a sigh of relief. His ceiling fan rotated silently above his bed. This was good. He was home, exactly where he was supposed to be. Even better, he remembered getting here, high-tailing it away from Betsy Ross Place when sweet Melanie and her complete-opposite sister shut themselves away to male-bash, and driving across town to Whitefish Bay on Milwaukee’s northeast side, where he fell into bed. Now, his mind was sharp, he felt decently well rested, and he was alone in bed, though he definitely wouldn’t have minded waking up next to the Sleeping Beauty version of Alana again.

Having seen her in action awake, however, he had a feeling his stay at Melanie’s would go more smoothly if big sister relocated to Florida sooner rather than later. Judging by Melanie’s shocked reaction, Alana’s visit was a surprise detour. Maybe he’d delay moving in until she was gone.

He’d think about it.

A big yawn, a stretch, and Sawyer let his body relax again, blissfully. He sure as hell did not miss having to get up at 6:00 a.m., rush to work out, shower, shave, put on a suit and fight traffic to be downtown at the office by eight. Nor did he miss the long hours, the pressure, the office politics or the
bad coffee. At the same time, the driving sense of purpose had been invigorating. In his world now, it was summertime and the living was always easy. An adjustment, more than he’d expected. Sometimes it felt too easy. Certainly his three brothers and his father were disgusted with his choice to quit his job and take some slow-down time to reevaluate his life. The Kern family never slowed down. Much more honorable to drive oneself into an early grave than give up chasing the almighty dollar. The irony was that the family, descended from the world’s third-largest brewing company, Dalton Brewing, had plenty of money already.

Until this year, he’d bought into the family ethic in actions if not in his heart, given up his passion for cabinetry and gone to law school, gotten a Good Job in the Right Firm, same as his engineer, investment banker and doctor brothers, ignoring how he loathed every minute. Heart-attack symptoms last winter landed him in the hospital with a diagnosis of acute stress. Instead of jumping back on the horse, Sawyer promised himself he’d take six months off guilt-free to repair his exhausted body and brain before he committed to the next phase of his life, whatever that would entail.
Not
going back to practicing law.

He sighed. In the meantime, being the black sheep of the family had kept him busy enough, volunteering for Habitat for Humanity and indulging in woodworking again—both on his own in his basement shop and teaching classes through the rec department—visiting museums, reading, making time for concerts, nights out with friends, travel…indulging all the interests he hadn’t had time for when his whole world consisted of an office during the day and this bed at night.

He rolled to sitting, glad when his stomach stayed steady and his head stayed clear, though it still throbbed. His cell rang on the clunky bedside table he made in junior high school, which he was replacing with one he’d half finished.

His brother. “Hey, Finn.”

“Good, you survived the night.”

“Apparently.” He cut off a yawn. “What the hell did I drink, and is Phil in jail yet?”

“Police are involved. Yeah, Phil is strongly suspected.”

“Nice.”

“Listen, Dad called me this morning.”

Sawyer rolled his eyes. Mom and Dad had moved to Arizona last year, which meant Dad had to exercise his manipulative control-freak tendencies long-distance, usually by calling Sawyer’s brothers instead of him. “How are they doing?”

“Head of the Dalton Foundation is leaving. Frank Bolliver.”

He rubbed his hand over his face. “That’s how they’re doing?”

“Dad thinks since you’re out of a job, you might want to consider taking this one.”

The old resentment leaped up, fresh and shiny new every time. “I’ll give that tons of thought.”

Finn chuckled. “Just the messenger.”

“Last week it was Tom telling me Dad’s golf buddy needed a partner in his firm. He doesn’t let up, huh.”

“In his own misguided way he’s trying to help. He thinks you’re lost at the moment.”

“What do you think?”

“Not my job to comment, man, but if you ask me, you’re spiraling downward big-time.”

“That’s what I thought.” Sawyer stood, went to the window, peered out through the single pane at kids riding sleek narrow scooters down the block. “You ever wish you’d done something with your music?”

“Come on, bud. There’s a time when you have to lose the rock-star dreams and grow up.”

“Right.” He laughed to himself for the idiotic impulse of sharing himself with his own brother. That wasn’t how the Kerns operated. “I’ll work on that.”

“Whoops, gotta answer this e-mail.
Some
of us still work for a living. I’ll let you know what I hear about Phil.”

“Yeah, have fun with that.” Sawyer tossed the phone on his bed in disgust. Sometimes he wondered how he was born into this family.

He trudged toward the bathroom to scrub off anything left of his hangover and to brush his teeth. Three steps into the hardwood hallway, he tripped over a colorful plastic toy and had to jam his hand on the wall to keep from falling. In the distance one of his nephews screeched in fury, another burst into loud tears, accompanied by yips from the dog Skittles, and yells of, “Shut up, Bobby, Uncle Sawyer’s still asleep.”

And there you had it. Episodes like this were why, during a painting session at Habitat for Humanity, when Melanie started talking about inviting “Fast Freddie” to be her roommate because she wanted to support his struggles to stay clean, Sawyer had told an immediate white lie and said he heard Freddie hooked up with an old girlfriend, but that Sawyer desperately needed a place to stay.

Maybe Freddie really had given up his meth addiction, but Sawyer wouldn’t bet on it. He didn’t like the idea of Melanie alone with a guy who could be wired out of his mind and reason at any time. Not counting last night, Sawyer’s mind and reason kept pretty close company. He’d be better for a naive idealist like Melanie. In fact, when he met her, he’d toyed with the idea that he could be
very
good for her, until his attraction faded naturally into brotherly affection. She was too childlike, emotions riding too close to the surface. Her sister…well, Sawyer would like to date her, but only if she stayed asleep the whole time.

A startling shout close by, seven-year-old Sam and six-year-old Jacob burst around the corner, aiming invisible weaponry. “Bew! Bew! You’re dead from our laser guns!”

Sawyer clutched his chest and slumped obligingly against the wall. He knew about being shot, stabbed and otherwise
relegated to dead-body status, having grown up with three older brothers. Even their dog, Dante, had been male. Another reason uptight, permanently outraged women were such a mystery to him. Seemed like they managed to complicate the simplest things—like Alana going ballistic in the face of a misunderstanding. Which was why he always dated women who were calm, in control, unshakeable in the face of chaos, like his mother. Or like his brother Mark’s wife, Maria, mother of the fearsome foursome taking over his house, while Mark tried to find the family new digs abroad. Maria could simultaneously carry on a conversation in the middle of a full-blown good-guy/bad-guy war, cook dinner and fold laundry without missing a beat.

Sawyer grinned at the kids, who were vigorously debating whether or not plasma slime was fatal to aliens, then went into the bathroom to find pain reliever for his headache, which had just gotten worse. Outside the door more yells, then feet pounding down the hallway accompanied by scrabbling paws and shrill barking, more noise than an assortment of sixty-pounders should be able to make. Sawyer grimaced and downed some extra-strength acetaminophen. He’d go along with his plans to move in with Melanie today, even if Dragon Lady was still there, spreading protective wings over her sister. Apparently she thought Melanie was unable to take care of herself.

Which, now that he thought about it, was one thing they had in common.

He showered quickly, stepped over and around and through kids and a hyper dachshund to pack a couple of suitcases and box his laptop and CD player, some books and CDs. All of which he loaded into his beloved red Mistubishi Lancer, declining Maria’s offer of help. She was busy in her enormous minivan, vacuuming the upholstery of crumbs and removing what looked like the contents of a McDonald’s restaurant trash Dumpster. Apparently the kids had consumed their weight
in chicken nuggets over the past two weeks; Maria was great about getting them out of the house so Sawyer could have a peaceful dinner once in a while. He’d noticed her having to shush the kids more often than he was sure she did at home, and had felt badly about the guilty apology in her brown eyes.

They could all relax once he moved out. Sawyer could handle Alana.

He said goodbye to the boys, not that they noticed, still deeply involved in the finer points of annihilating each other, hugged Maria and drove west across town into Wauwatosa, then Washington Heights and Betsy Ross Place, where he found himself on edge looking for Alana’s silver Prius.

Still in the driveway. He expected to be disappointed and wasn’t. In fact, he found himself strangely exhilarated, looking forward to the challenge of tangling with her again—figuratively, at least.

He used his key to go through the side door into the kitchen and called her name a few times. No answer. In the bathroom? In the shower? Out on a walk? He grabbed his suitcases from the car and hoisted them up the beautiful dark wood staircase to the second floor and into the room where he’d spent the previous night.

Alana’s bag was still there. Which meant she still claimed the room Melanie said he could have because his large frame was more comfortable in a queen-size bed than one of the twins in the guest room.

More conflict. He’d do the gentlemanly thing and offer to sleep in the guest room, but it made more sense for him not to have to change rooms after she left.

He supposed if he tossed her things across the hall now, she’d pitch a fit that would deafen him.

“Oh. Um. Hi. Sawyer.”

Alana. He spun around, prepared for battle…and found himself reacting to her not as the shrieking shrew, but the
way he’d reacted to her asleep in his bed. Her eyes were wide, anxious but not hostile. She looked slightly unsure of herself. Her rich, dark brown hair was damp—yes, she’d been in the shower—and curled gently around her face; he remembered its fragrance. She wore jeans and a clingy peach-colored sweater that reminded him forcefully of what lay underneath.

What was the point of that thought? She wasn’t merely not his type, she was his antitype.

“I, uh…” She looked down at his suitcases. “I thought maybe you’d changed your mind about living here.”

“
Hoped
I’d changed my mind?”

“Oh.” She laughed shortly. “No, of course not.”

“Liar.” He winked, thinking maybe he could charm her into not being a pain in his…move-in.

No acknowledgment of his humor. “I guess we got off to a…weird start.”

“I guess we did. Not all bad, though.” This time he managed a we-had-some-serious-fun smile.

Nothing.

She gestured to his suitcases. “You’re still planning to live with Melanie.”

Hadn’t they just settled that? He’d try humor one more time, then he was going to get annoyed. “Oh, no. Those hold my drug, alcohol and condom supply. I’m never without them.”

No response. He sighed. “Yes, I’m still moving in. I need this place.”

“So…” She sent him a direct, challenging stare. She’d make a great middle-school teacher. Or cop. Or judge, jury and executioner. “What happened at your old place? Why can’t you live there anymore?”

He folded his arms across his chest.
Nobody expects The Alanish Inquisition.
“It got too crowded.”

“Lots of roommates?” He saw the suspicion and disapproval in her eyes.
This guy can’t even afford one eighth of an apartment.
What a piece of work. She was probably picturing
drugs, orgies and animal sacrifices. What in their identical upbringing could cause Melanie to trust too much and Alana not enough? He was more curious than he should be.

“No, it was the kids.” The boy in him who’d found ways to torment his brothers during the years he lacked their strength decided to see how far he could push before she was on to him. “Once you hit four, it gets pretty noisy.”

Her eyes shot open. “You left your children?
Four
of them?”

“Oh, they’re not mine. I’m living with my brother’s wife. I’m
pretty
sure the kids are his. Most of them anyway.”

She sputtered. “You…he…she…”

“So when I met Melanie and she had this place available, I jumped at the chance to ditch them all. I needed the quiet.”

“I see.” Her outrage was at full pitch. How could she swallow all this obvious bull, but refuse to acknowledge any truths he told her early this morning? “What…do you do?”

Sawyer shrugged. “Not much of anything these days. Just kind of casting my net around, enjoying a break.”

“Well. That must be…freeing.”

“Yeah, you know, sleeping late, doing whatever I want all day.”

“But you’re able to help my sister with the expenses of living here?” Tight lips, rigid body, frosty, frosty disapproval.

Sawyer would shiver, but he’d heated into truly brilliant creativity. “I can always hit up some of the rich, married women I service if I need cash.”

“You—”

“Alana.” He took a step toward her, hand held up. Enough.

“What?” She spoke through her teeth.

“This is ridiculous.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m kidding about the married women. And my brother Mark was transferred to Germany; he’s there finding his
family a house. Maria and the boys needed a place to stay because their place in Menomonee Falls sold sooner than they expected, so I said they could stay with me.”

“For God’s sake.” She lifted her chin. “You made it sound like—”