A Husband of Her Own (Dundee, Idaho #2)(25)
Author: Brenda Novak

“I left it in my ashtray when I took that last load of small stuff you didn’t want rolling around in the back of Randy’s truck. I’ll give it to you when I leave.”

“What if you forget?”

“You’ve got another one, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, but that isn’t any reason to lose my duplicate.”

“I’m tired. And it’s not going anywhere.”

“Anyway,” she continued, “I can handle the boxes. Randy will only need to help me with my bedroom furniture.”

“Good thing we’ve only just become friends,” he said. “If we were old friends, I’d have to come back.”

Good thing was right, Rebecca thought. Despite their agreement, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be even casual friends with Josh Hill. He unsettled her, made her think about possibilities she was better off not thinking about—possibilities that weren’t very reassuring for someone who was engaged. But she had to admit he’d been a godsend tonight.

As she started cooking, he settled on a movie that sounded a lot like Terminator. He’d offered to help her in the kitchen but she’d declined. She felt indebted after all the work he’d done and hoped to relieve at least some of that sense of obligation. She certainly couldn’t walk around town feeling beholden to Josh Hill. It wasn’t natural.

The macaroni and cheese took Rebecca longer than she’d thought it would. By the time she’d boiled the noodles, added the Velveeta, brown sugar, milk and seasonings and taken the garlic bread from the oven, twenty minutes had disappeared. Josh hadn’t spoken for a while, but she could hear Arnold Schwarzenegger’s relentless pursuit of Linda Hamilton. Soon she and Josh would eat, she’d thank him, and that’d be the end of entertaining him. As before, they’d occasionally pass on the street, nod and that would be that.

“Dinner’s ready,” she said, setting everything on the counter that separated the dining area from the kitchen, since she no longer had a table.

He didn’t respond, so she filled a plate and carried it over. She figured there wasn’t any need to make him move. He already had the only seat in the house. “Josh?”

Again no response.

Rebecca leaned closer so she could see his face in the flickering light of the television. Sure enough, his eyes were closed. He’d fallen asleep.

“Josh.” She shook his arm. “Are you still hungry? Do you want to eat?”

His eyes fluttered open and he mumbled something unintelligible, then dropped off again.

Now what? She couldn’t let him sleep in Delaney’s recliner. His truck was parked in front of her house. If he stayed, it would be all over town in the morning that they’d had an affair. Maybe her father deserved that for pushing them together, but she didn’t think Buddy would be especially happy about it.

Of course, she was moving in with Booker. Rumors were bound to rage about the two of them. But Buddy was the reason she’d had to come up with other living arrangements in the first place, which made it okay. More importantly, Rebecca didn’t want to have sex with Booker.

Josh was a different story entirely.

Putting his plate on the floor, she shook him harder. “Josh, you’d better wake up. You wouldn’t want Mary thinking you spent the night with me, would you?”

“Stop it,” he growled and knocked her hands away. She doubted he even knew who she was, but she definitely got the point that he didn’t want to be bothered.

“Well, damn,” she said. “What am I going to do now?”

She stepped back and stared at him for another few seconds before coming to a decision. She’d just move his truck. She’d seen him drop his keys on the counter earlier, when they were struggling to drag Delaney’s old bed outside. She might not be able to remove him from her living room, but she could certainly remove his truck from in front of her house.

Problem solved. Until morning. She wasn’t sure what it would feel like to face Josh Hill upon waking. But she was too tired to deal with that prospect right now. Maybe she’d wake up and he’d be gone—provided he was smart enough to figure out she’d moved his truck and that it hadn’t been stolen.

Before going out, she picked at the macaroni and cheese she’d made, polished off two pieces of garlic bread, cleaned the dishes and put the extra food away, thinking he might wake up after he’d had a little nap. But he didn’t.

“Josh?” she said again as she left the kitchen, just to be sure.

He didn’t answer, so she scooped his keys off the counter and parked his truck in a far corner of the trailer park.

He was still sleeping like the dead when she returned. Taking one of the blankets from her bed, she threw it over him and turned off the television. Then she showered, towel-dried her hair, pulled on a big T-shirt and fell into bed.

SHE’D POISONED HIM. That had to be it, Josh thought. He’d never felt sicker in his life, even that time she’d duped him with the laxative. Chills wracked his entire body, he could hardly open his eyes for the pain lancing through his head, and nausea roiled in his stomach. She must’ve put something in his food again—but he didn’t remember eating anything before falling asleep.

“Rebecca?” he called.

No answer.

The house was completely dark. She’d been kind enough to provide him with a quilt, but it wasn’t nearly enough to keep him warm. Not right now. He longed for some Tylenol, a hot water bottle, a big feather comforter and his own bed. He had to get home.

Except he didn’t think he was capable of driving.

Forcing himself up and out of the recliner, he stumbled around the unfamiliar living room, searching for his keys. He could have sworn he’d left them on the counter, but he patted the top of it for a full five minutes without finding anything. Finally he sought a switch on the wall and flooded the room with light.

He winced against the sudden brightness and put his head down so he wouldn’t pass out from dizziness. When he could look up, he found his keys next to the telephone. Dragging them off the counter, he used the wall to keep himself upright until he could stumble to the front door. But when he gazed outside, he could only stare in silent wonder. The road was empty; his truck was gone.

“Dammit, Rebecca,” he muttered, sliding down the wall. He didn’t have the energy to shut the door, even though the air was far colder outside than in.

He was shivering uncontrollably by the time he heard some noise coming from the back of the house.