A flash of sunlight hit the bottom metal of a boot, and he saw an inscription on the sole.
He lowered his finger away from the safety. He knew that boot and its inscription: fuck off in flowing script. He considered keeping the gun up, because Lord knew this woman was dangerous. “Damn it, Delia.”
“Hello, handsome,” she drawled, not moving off the musty old couch so he could see the rest of her. “Took you a little longer than I expected.”
*
Delia’s heart hammered in her chest. It was a lie. She hadn’t been expecting Caleb at all. She thought she’d been so careful.
Despite the thunderstorm of fear and nerves inside her, she remained still, except for her foot, tapping absently in the air. She had been bred to weather every unexpected confrontation with a mask of calm and poise.
Besides, she’d known this could happen. It wasn’t ideal, but she had a backup plan. She wouldn’t be trespassing if she didn’t have a backup plan. She wouldn’t be Delia Rogers if she didn’t have a backup plan.
“Who is she?” a voice whispered.
A female voice.
That had Delia moving. A woman could put a wrench in her backup plan. She pushed into a sitting position, scooping her hair out of her eyes.
Oh, Caleb. Handsome boys who turned into handsome men simply weren’t fair. His hair was still golden and wavy, whiskers glinting almost red in the sun. His shoulders were broader, but his hips were still narrow. Even under the heavy winter coat, she could tell he packed a lot of strength in that lean frame. Adulthood and bad choices had given his face character. The sharp swoop to his square jaw was covered in appealing stubble, his nose was slightly crooked, and she remembered the day that slash had been put in his eyebrow.
He still had a mouth made for sin and muscles made for work. Too bad she knew the history underneath.
And she would use it if it came to that. Use all those feelings she’d denied herself since…well, since.
The silence hung between them, glittering with ghosts and secrets, and Caleb made no bones about scowling his distaste.
She’d heard it through the grapevine: Caleb Shaw had gone straight. She hadn’t thought much of it at first. The people in their old ne’er-do-well clan ended up one of three ways: getting their act together, dead in a ditch, or where she very well might be headed if she couldn’t figure her way out of this mess.
Jail.
Panic welled up in her chest, making it hard to pretend, but panic had been a constant companion since she could remember, so it didn’t show. It was her little secret.
“Who’s she?” Delia jutted her chin toward the brunette standing halfway behind Caleb, like he was protecting her.
Something uncomfortable twisted in Delia’s stomach, but she wouldn’t let it lodge there. If Caleb had a woman, that might complicate things, but it certainly wouldn’t stand in her way. She wasn’t going to jail for what Eddie had done, and she’d use whatever and whoever she had in her arsenal to make sure of it. That’s what had kept her from being dead in a ditch for twenty-some years.
That and Caleb’s fists one particularly unpleasant night, but that had also caused half of the trouble she was in right now, so it seemed to even itself out.
“She’s none of your business,” Caleb replied, standing even more in front of the woman.
Delia wanted to sneer. She looked more girl than woman. In fact, she looked like…
Delia couldn’t put her finger on it, but it didn’t matter. As far as Delia was concerned, the girl was a speed bump, and speed bumps were meant to be flown over.
Caleb turned his head to the girl, still keeping her out of Delia’s gaze, as though just glancing at Delia would be trouble. His voice was low, nothing more than a rumbled whisper, though Delia could make out the words go home. Good. Send the little girl away so they could have an adult conversation.
Now Delia had to figure out what to say. She hadn’t expected to have to use the backup plan so quickly, but it was there, fuzzy formed in her brain. Luckily she was used to thinking on the fly.
After a few hushed exchanges, the girl finally exited the cabin and Delia was left with Caleb. Alone. She forced her mouth to curl in a languid smile, the kind meant to allure, entice, remind.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded in a gravelly voice. That was new. She remembered the barely banked anger in his eyes, but not that steely note to his voice.
“How long’s it been, honey? Four years?”
“Not long enough, sweets.”
He’d never liked pet names, which was why she’d always used them with him. He’d respond sarcastically, but when a woman lived with a dearth of pet names, she didn’t care how the men around her said them.
Sweets was like a little bright pop of sugary candy. Delia could pretend for weeks on that sweets.
“Who’s the girl?”
Caleb brought the door shut with a loud snap. “She’s none of your business.”