Safely Home by Ruth Logan Herne Page A

rumbled thinking about it, but he put a firm clasp on both hungers and worked instead. Obviously his hormones were working overtime from lack of activity and his belly, well…
    His gut liked food, plain and simple. Once Gran was through with her treatments and Cress long gone, he’d join Norma for Sunday dinners again. As long as the treatments gave her more time.
    That sobering thought pushed Alex to demanding answers about the proposed parkland. He wanted it done while Gran was still around to enjoy it. Toxicology screens on soil samples from various locations should give him a clearer picture of what was required to ready the ground for undisturbed recreational use. It was a gift he wanted to give Norma for being nice to a little kid whose dad made embarrassing his family a daily routine. Norma had gone out of her way for him, and did so with the subtlety and graciousness of a true Christian, never looking for payback or self-satisfaction. Her example taught him a valuable lesson: there was scant satisfaction in getting even. He realized that truth when he’d relieved two of the cops involved in his father’s death of their homes. He thought he’d feel vindicated.
    The opposite held true. He’d hated himself for putting those families out on the street. Sure, it had been legal and above-board, but legal didn’t always mean right. He realized that too late.
    Gran Dietrich’s example helped him see the error of his ways, selfless and strong despite her tough demeanor.
    Like Cress?
    Pushing the younger Dietrich firmly out of mind, Alex buried himself in facts and figures until he was tired enough to sleep without thinking of her. Remembering the feel of her skin, the sheen of her eyes. Wondering what it would be like to towel dry her hair for her, then…
    No use. He pushed back from his desk, scowled at the empty coffee carafe, grabbed his light jacket and headed home where his trusty dog waited for a romp. Maybe walking the dog would soothe him. Or at least distract him.
    Maybe.
    *
    “Boy, I called you!”
    She hadn’t. He knew that, it wasn’t as if he had any place to go or anything to do that blocked the sound of her voice. He bit back words that might earn a smack and moved forward carefully. “Here I am.”
    She grabbed his arm, her thin fingers pinching deep. “Mind, you come when I say come, and don’t be taking your own sweet time about it, either! Understand?”
    He understood all right, but did she imagine she called him? Because she hadn’t said a word the whole morning. “Yes, ma’am.”
    “That’s better. You run outside and fetch me some of those late beans on the tall stakes. And don’t be dilly dallying, neither. I’ve got things to do.”
    He’d picked all the low beans a few days before. There was no way he could reach the higher ones. He’d already tried and failed. Maybe she’d forgotten. “I can’t reach the high ones, remember? I tried—”
    A slap to his cheek closed his mouth right quick. The sting of her hand still packed a wallop, even if she didn’t move too fast on her feet.
    Tears smarted.
    He choked them back. He’d learned the hard way that crying only made things worse. He’d gone a long time being hungry to learn that lesson.
    “Find a way. You expect me to put food on the table and do all the work myself? Get out there and do your work.” She leaned forward, eyes narrowed but gleaming with anger. “And don’t you be sassing me, Charlie. Not now. Not ever. Here.” She thrust a peck basket at him with unreasonable force, nearly knocking him off his feet, but he didn’t dare complain. He took the basket, bit back tears and moved to the door, heart heavy.
    He’d pretend while he was out there. He’d pretend to be big and brave and strong and that he could go anywhere he wanted to go. He’d be free, he could drive a car or walk anyplace at all. And when people saw him they’d say, “Hey, Brian.”
    And no one, no one at all would ever call him Charlie