The Drake House

Chapter 7

Nick entered the front door to Trisha Eaton's house and stopped short. And to think, he wasn't going to come. Three men stood in her living room - ªone with her over his shoulder. Her chestnut hair cascaded over her face as she squirmed. Long, shapely legs wrapped in black tights kicked playfully to be set free. This was a far cry from the woman he'd met earlier in the week.

And she was in color.

"Did I come at a bad time?" he questioned carefully, figuring he was out numbered.

"Oh, don't be silly." The lady who answered the door reached for his coat. "Let me take that. I'm Nancy. It's nice to meet you."

He passed her his coat without taking his eyes from Trisha. She was too striking to stop gawking at. He was too stunned to notice he was doing it. The hot pressure in his gut spread, familiar and unwanted.

Wayne stepped inside, handing Nancy his coat, and surveyed the situation. "Got yourself in a pickle, did you?" He chuckled and patted Nick on the back. "Don't worry, son. It's always like this around here."

Trisha blew her hair out of her face and attempted to look up. "Oh, thank God. Law enforcement's here. Wayne, tell this animal to put me down."

The guy holding her, not letting her budge from his shoulder, held out his free hand to Nick. "I'm Chuck, nice to meet you."

Nick shook his hand with raised eyebrows. "Nick Mackey."

An older gentleman held out his hand. "Eduardo. Nancy's my wife."

"Now that we all know each other," Trisha said impatiently, "can I get down?"

Chuck finally obliged and carefully set her down. When she swayed a little from the blood rushing from her head, Brad grabbed her arms at the same time everyone else reached for her. "Easy," he cooed.

"I'm fine, thanks," she said, obviously embarrassed.

Nick observed the interaction, thinking this Brad guy must be her husband. Aggravated by the swift disappointment, he turned to nod at Brad. "Nice to see you again." They'd met briefly in town Nick's first day and Brad ignored him outright.

"Yeah." Brad offered nothing more, still eyeing Trisha.

She pushed her hair out of her face only to display bright red cheeks. "I'm fine." Obviously trying her best not to appear irritated by Nick's presence, she smiled thinly at him. "I didn't think you were coming, Nick. Welcome to the zoo we call home."

The large fellow who called himself Chuck whispered something in her ear. The smile wiped from her face as she slapped him on the arm. It took her all of two seconds to grin again. "Go on! Get out, boys. Go have fun." Trisha turned to Brad with a stoic expression. "You don't drink tonight. You're driving. Take the van."

"Okay, boss." Chuck hooted. The others followed him out the front door.

"Why don't the rest of you head into the dining room? I'll get dinner." Nancy stepped out of the room.

Trisha turned to Wayne. "Did you find out anything regarding the note?"

Wayne shook his head. "Sorry, apple. No one's fessing up. Should it happen again, don't touch anything. I might be able to send it out for prints."

Nodding, she wrapped her arms around Wayne and kissed his cheek. "Come on, Nancy made pot roast."

Nick trotted silently behind them through a massive den and to the dining room. Throughout dinner, he learned Chuck and Eduardo worked for Trisha on the orchard, along with seven other men. Nancy was her cook and housekeeper. Though Trisha signed the paychecks, there was much more than that at Eaton's Orchard. They were family.

Most intriguing of all, he learned Trisha was not, in fact, married, and Brad worked for her as well - ªthough they must have a history of some kind. Brad was very territorial of her. His cop instincts told him to wave clear of that. The man in him saw it as a challenge. Nick supposed he was always up for a good challenge. At least he used to be.

Her home was cozy and inviting. The dining room was spacey enough to fit all the workmen at the table and, he assumed, by how secure they were, they did share meals together. The kitchen off of the dining room was huge, and though all the appliances were modern, she made them fit in well with the country d¨¦cor. He imagined Nancy and Trisha chatting over coffee late at night at the small table there.

He expected her living room would have the scent of cinnamon. Of course, he couldn't smell a damn thing, but her house seemed like the type of place that would always smell like something comforting. The large redbrick fireplace gave off a warm glow. She had mocha-colored wainscoting walls which he wondered if she antiqued herself. Deep, plush chairs in burgundy, cream, and forest green were placed throughout the room and accented by dark walnut tables. The hardwood floors looked original and in good shape under the area rug. Floor to ceiling bookshelves lined the wall where the stairs to the second floor began and were filled with a variety of materials ranging from fertilizing to mystery novels.

He sat on the blue and cream plaid print couch and reached for the coffee Nancy held for him, amazed by the fact he could see color. Perhaps the flicker at the station hadn't been a fluke. "Thanks."

"Dinner was delicious, Nancy." Wayne rubbed his jolly belly. "I must come more often."

"Come any time you want, old man." Trisha offered a fond and relaxed smile, her eyes warm. She kicked off her black clog shoes and curled up in the burgundy chair with her coffee.

The firelight brought out all the glorious red highlights in her hair. Nick turned to Nancy sitting beside him. "Dinner was delicious, thank you." Though he couldn't taste anything, he'd assume it was great.

She smiled and patted his knee. "Anytime." Her gaze nailed Trisha. "That's the last cup of coffee for you, chica."

Trisha rolled her eyes in what Nick learned was a common gesture and replied, "Yes, ma'am."

Wayne's brows furrowed in concern, but to Nick it radiated politeness more than it did anxiety. "Are you still not sleeping?"

Before she could open her mouth to respond, Nancy was piping up, her voice firm. "Oh, she sleeps all right. If she's not waking up screaming, she's walking around in a daze." Nancy then whipped Nick an apologetic look as if just remembering he was there.

Trisha rubbed her forehead, completely embarrassed if her red cheeks were any indication. So, she was a private person. She didn't want others seeing her flaws. He could relate to that.

"Nick, let's go for a walk." Trisha rose. "I'll show you the grounds while they discuss my not so interesting sleep patterns."

Unsure why, as the last thing he wanted was to be alone with her, he obliged and stood. Setting his coffee down on the table, he grabbed their coats from near the front door and followed her out the back way through the kitchen.

He walked silently with her behind the house. She had a maze of flower beds strategically placed throughout the yard. Some tulips and daffodils were poking up through the ground between soon-to-be flowering bushes, and he imagined in summer how beautiful her gardens must be. Wrought iron benches with ivy patterns lined the walkway with stepping stones and small solar-powered lanterns to show the way. The woman had impeccable taste.

The whole orchard was nothing short of magnificent. To be polite, Nick had asked Steve about the place before coming tonight. Forty-year-old trees bloomed Redfree apples, medium-sized and bright red in color. The Eaton's staked their reputation on being fresh and hand-picked, a family business for over thirty-five years. Their product was distributed all over parts of the Midwest.

She pointed straight ahead. "Those two buildings over there are the staff quarters. Nancy and Eduardo stay with me, but the rest live back there."

Once through the garden, she veered them to the right. "That's the shed where most of the equipment is stored. It's a long way to walk back there so we'll just head to the orchard."

He continued to follow in her wake, impressed. "How many acres do you have?"

She peered over and smiled in his direction, causing his stomach to clench. He realized she hadn't smiled at him unless out of sarcasm. He kinda liked it.

No, no, no. And there it came. The swift rush of pain that always followed a moment of pleasure. There hadn't been many things he took pleasure in since the accident, but the brutal sting, like clockwork, reminded him he didn't have a right to happiness.

He swallowed and took a deep breath. Trisha hadn't seemed to notice.

"I have a little over eighty acres, including the houses and orchard." Her voice rose with evident pride. Her tone was inviting when she wasn't mad at him. Like hot cocoa on a frigid day.

"You should smile more often," he claimed quietly, glancing ahead at the orchard approaching.

She halted abruptly and tilted her head as if contemplating how to respond. "I smile all the time." No hint of irritation now.

Clearing his throat, he said, "I meant at me. You should smile like that more often at me."

He couldn't believe he said it. There was a very long awkward silence as she studied him, brown eyes widened. Talk about feeling like an i***t. Finally, she let out a laugh, smooth and rich from someone so small. She wove her arm through his affectionately like he'd seen her do with Wayne and kept walking. "Give me a reason to and I just might."

"I'll take it into consideration," he mumbled. He already had. From the first moment he walked into her house tonight, he'd been considering her. Before really, but why argue semantics?

"The orchard covers the entire west area of the grounds. I don't have walking shoes on or I'd show you more."

"That's all right. Where's the Drake house?"