No One But You (Silver Springs #2)(31)

8


Sadie fed Jayden, played with him and read to him. Then she put him to bed and continued her study of Dawson’s case in the living room. But she couldn’t comprehend what she read. She was too preoccupied—too anxious. She hadn’t heard from Sly since their encounter on the highway, and she knew he wouldn’t let that go. She’d dared to take a stand against him. He was probably planning his revenge right now, thinking up some way to hurt her.

Or he could be out at the farm, causing trouble for Dawson...

She almost called her boss again, but it was growing late and she hoped he was getting some sleep. He couldn’t keep working the hours he’d been working otherwise, and she knew how important it was that he get the farm producing again.

After reading the same article twice, and still feeling as if she’d missed most of the information she was hoping to retain, she set her computer aside and got up to pace around the room. She was so tired of worrying about Sly. She almost couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t overshadow everything else. Why wouldn’t he let her go? What good was having her come back if she didn’t love him? And how could he even pretend to love her? A man didn’t treat a woman he cared about the way Sly treated her. That had been the problem from the beginning.

So what did he have in store for her?

She went over to peer through the slats of the blinds that covered the front window. She didn’t see Sly’s car, didn’t notice headlights down the drive or movement about the yard. But that didn’t mean anything. Tucked away as her house was, she wouldn’t see anything. He could still be out there.

Would they have another argument, one in which she’d have to cajole and appease Sly for Jayden’s sake?

She wouldn’t sleep with him again, no matter what. She couldn’t. She lost a piece of herself every time she succumbed. But it wasn’t fair that Jayden should be awakened and frightened by such angry voices as he’d heard in the past. Sadie didn’t want that kind of emotional, upsetting life for him—or herself. Why was she the only parent he had who cared about that sort of thing? Sly did exactly as he wanted, fought dirty if that was what it required to win, while she was handicapped by trying to protect their son.

“When will it all be over?” she grumbled.

For a brief moment, she allowed herself to fantasize about packing up and slipping away in the middle of the night—going someplace where Sly would never be able to find them. She could start over, build a new life and try to forget.

But how far would her rattletrap El Camino take them? What if it broke down in the very next town? And how would she find a place to live, when she had no money, no resources? Besides, they couldn’t have a good quality of life if she was always looking over her shoulder. If Sly ever did find her, he’d have a compelling reason to sue her for custody—and would likely win.

Although she cherished the dream of escape, that was all it was—a dream. She was stuck in Silver Springs, had no choice except to try to cope with the man she’d grown to dislike so immensely.

With a sigh, she checked her phone again. Should she text him? She wanted to know how worried she should be. She could be driving herself mad for no reason. What if he’d cooled off—or had something pressing at work? An emergency of some sort? If she knew there was no danger, she could relax and get some sleep so that she’d be able to handle whatever happened tomorrow. But...hearing from her could also start something new.

With a sigh, she tossed her phone aside. She wished Maude were awake and out in her yard, so they could chat. It was times like these that she missed her parents, especially her mother. She needed to hear someone else’s voice. As the night stretched on, she felt so alone, so inadequate.

But wishing for Maude was silly. Her landlady couldn’t help her. It wasn’t even fair to ask.

*

Although Dawson told himself not to worry about Sadie, a sense of foreboding hung over him for the rest of the evening. She’d sounded so upset; he doubted she would’ve gotten that way unless she felt there was good reason.

He showered and called Angela as he did most every night. Then he tried to sleep—Lord knew he was tired—but every creak or thump had him up, checking the windows, the doors, the driveway or his phone in case Sadie tried to reach out for help. He’d seen the face of tragedy, knew the worst could and sometimes did happen, which made it almost impossible to sleep. The blood from his parents’ murders was still down the hall, the scene he’d encountered when he found them forever etched in his mind.

Finally, at two in the morning, he texted Sadie: You okay?

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he didn’t hear back. Silence could mean she was sleeping; it could also mean that she wasn’t okay...

As the minutes dragged on without a reply, he decided to go into town, since he couldn’t sleep, anyway. He had her address; it was on the résumé she’d submitted. He’d drive by her place to see if everything appeared normal. Maybe that would give him some peace of mind. He understood that Sly could also target him. She obviously thought the chances of that were good. But Dawson had a feeling he’d direct his displeasure at her first. He was used to tormenting Sadie, felt entitled because she “belonged” to him in some way. Sly would also see her as a much easier, more predictable target.

Almost every muscle in his body complained as Dawson dressed, scooped his keys off the dresser and descended the stairs. He’d been sore in one place or another since he got home from jail and put in his first hard day of work. Just when one muscle group stopped complaining, he’d do something a little different and antagonize another, which was okay during the day. He could compensate for it, overcome it, when he was moving around. At night those muscles stiffened up, so his back ached and his thighs burned.