clutched his chest and slumped obligingly against the wall. He knew about being shot, stabbed and otherwise relegated to dead-body status, having grown up with three older brothers. Even their dog, Dante, had been male. Another reason uptight, permanently outraged women were such a mystery to him. Seemed like they managed to complicate the simplest things—like Alana going ballistic in the face of a misunderstanding. Which was why he always dated women who were calm, in control, unshakeable in the face of chaos, like his mother. Or like his brother Mark’s wife, Maria, mother of the fearsome foursome taking over his house, while Mark tried to find the family new digs abroad. Maria could simultaneously carry on a conversation in the middle of a full-blown good-guy/bad-guy war, cook dinner and fold laundry without missing a beat.
Sawyer grinned at the kids, who were vigorously debating whether or not plasma slime was fatal to aliens, then went into the bathroom to find pain reliever for his headache, which had just gotten worse. Outside the door more yells, then feet pounding down the hallway accompanied by scrabbling paws and shrill barking, more noise than an assortment of sixty-pounders should be able to make. Sawyer grimaced and downed some extra-strength acetaminophen. He’d go along with his plans to move in with Melanie today, even if Dragon Lady was still there, spreading protective wings over her sister. Apparently she thought Melanie was unable to take care of herself.
Which, now that he thought about it, was one thing they had in common.
He showered quickly, stepped over and around and through kids and a hyper dachshund to pack a couple of suitcases and box his laptop and CD player, some books and CDs. All of which he loaded into his beloved red Mistubishi Lancer, declining Maria’s offer of help. She was busy in her enormous minivan, vacuuming the upholstery of crumbs and removing what looked like the contents of a McDonald’s restaurant trash Dumpster. Apparently the kids had consumed their weight in chicken nuggets over the past two weeks; Maria was great about getting them out of the house so Sawyer could have a peaceful dinner once in a while. He’d noticed her having to shush the kids more often than he was sure she did at home, and had felt badly about the guilty apology in her brown eyes.
They could all relax once he moved out. Sawyer could handle Alana.
He said goodbye to the boys, not that they noticed, still deeply involved in the finer points of annihilating each other, hugged Maria and drove west across town into Wauwatosa, then Washington Heights and Betsy Ross Place, where he found himself on edge looking for Alana’s silver Prius.
Still in the driveway. He expected to be disappointed and wasn’t. In fact, he found himself strangely exhilarated, looking forward to the challenge of tangling with her again—figuratively, at least.
He used his key to go through the side door into the kitchen and called her name a few times. No answer. In the bathroom? In the shower? Out on a walk? He grabbed his suitcases from the car and hoisted them up the beautiful dark wood staircase to the second floor and into the room where he’d spent the previous night.
Alana’s bag was still there. Which meant she still claimed the room Melanie said he could have because his large frame was more comfortable in a queen-size bed than one of the twins in the guest room.
More conflict. He’d do the gentlemanly thing and offer to sleep in the guest room, but it made more sense for him not to have to change rooms after she left.
He supposed if he tossed her things across the hall now, she’d pitch a fit that would deafen him.
“Oh. Um. Hi. Sawyer.”
Alana. He spun around, prepared for battle…and found himself reacting to her not as the shrieking shrew, but the way he’d reacted to her asleep in his bed. Her eyes were wide, anxious but not hostile. She looked slightly unsure of herself. Her rich, dark brown hair was damp—yes, she’d been in the shower—and curled gently around her face; he remembered its fragrance. She wore jeans and a clingy peach-colored sweater that reminded him forcefully of what lay underneath.
What was the point of that thought? She wasn’t merely not his type, she was his antitype.
“I, uh…” She looked down at his suitcases. “I thought maybe you’d changed your mind about living here.”
“Hoped I’d changed my mind?”
“Oh.” She laughed shortly. “No, of course not.”
“Liar.” He winked, thinking maybe he could charm her into not being a pain in his…move-in.
No acknowledgment of his humor. “I guess we got off to a…weird start.”
“I guess we did. Not all bad, though.” This time he managed a we-had-some-serious-fun smile.
Nothing.
She gestured to his suitcases. “You’re still planning to live with Melanie.”
Hadn’t they just settled that? He’d try humor one more time, then he was going to get annoyed. “Oh, no. Those hold my drug, alcohol and condom supply. I’m never without them.”
No response. He sighed. “Yes, I’m still moving in. I need this place.”
“So…” She sent him a direct, challenging stare. She’d make a great middle-school teacher. Or cop. Or judge, jury and executioner. “What happened at your old place? Why can’t you live there anymore?”
He folded his arms across his chest. Nobody expects The Alanish Inquisition. “It got too crowded.”
“Lots of roommates?” He saw the suspicion and disapproval in her eyes. This guy can’t even afford one eighth of an apartment. What a piece of work. She was probably picturing drugs, orgies and animal sacrifices. What in their identical upbringing could cause Melanie to trust too much and Alana not enough? He was more curious than he should be.
“No, it was the kids.” The boy in him who’d found ways to torment his brothers during the years he lacked their strength decided to see how far he could push before she was on to him. “Once you hit four, it gets pretty noisy.”
Her eyes shot open. “You left your children? Four of them?”
“Oh, they’re not mine. I’m living with my brother’s wife. I’m pretty sure the kids are his. Most of them anyway.”
She sputtered. “You…he…she…”
“So when I met Melanie and she had this place available, I jumped at the chance to ditch them all. I needed the quiet.”
“I see.” Her outrage was at full pitch. How could she swallow all this obvious bull, but refuse to acknowledge any truths he told her early this morning? “What…do you do?”
Sawyer shrugged. “Not much of anything these days. Just kind of casting my net around, enjoying a break.”
“Well. That must be…freeing.”
“Yeah, you know, sleeping late, doing whatever I want all day.”
“But you’re able to help my sister with the expenses of living here?” Tight lips, rigid body, frosty, frosty disapproval.
Sawyer would shiver, but he’d heated into truly brilliant creativity. “I can always hit up some of the rich, married women I service if I need cash.”
“You—”
“Alana.” He took a step toward her, hand held up. Enough.
“What?” She spoke through her teeth. “This is ridiculous.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m kidding about the married women. And my brother Mark was transferred to Germany; he’s there finding his family a house. Maria and the boys needed a place to stay because their place in Menomonee Falls sold sooner than they expected, so I said they could stay with me.”
“For God’s sake.” She lifted her chin. “You made it sound
like—”