After work on Sunday, Zoya parked in the drive but didn't go inside. Roman's truck wasn't there, so he'd probably gone into town to find another fuck buddy. Instead, she took a sketch pad and hurried to the treehouse. Still fuming about the invasion of privacy, for dinner, she'd let him fend for himself.

Multiplying her monthly payment was his way of telling her he knew she had money. Or, it might be the other way. He didn't know about the stash and by increasing her expense, hoped she'd look for something cheaper. Her brain hurt from thinking about it. Paranoia either way. Even though she'd never gotten the photos in the can mixed up, it was a possibility. If Dad were here, he'd say not to read so much into things. He'd flash the smile he reserved just for her and use all those clichés he loved to spout. It is what it is. Don't make a chicken out of a feather. She'd always hated when he did that, but now longed to hear the comfort of those corny platitudes. A tear trickled down her cheek; She wiped it away and inhaled deeply, then released a slow, steady breath. Crying won't change anything.

The sun began to set and a veil of deep purple draped the top of the forest like a new bride. Zoya loved this time of day when everything hushed and settled. Trees whispered their secrets, and the wind gathered the world's wishes and carried them to the heavens.

She'd stalled long enough. Closing her tablet, she stuck the pencil behind her ear and climbed down the ladder. Even from this distance, the fragrant aroma of essential oils permeated the air. Just like every night, Mariana was making soap. Zoya wished there was something she could do to help her friend get her products into the right hands. She'd convinced her to get a website, and that was a start. Once she got the packaging designs finished and Mariana got them photographed, she'd be able to establish an online presence, and one step closer to her dream of having her own garage.

As she emerged from the woods, Zoya didn't expect to see Roman's truck, but it was there. So was his Harley. Sunday nights must not be prime time for picking up women—unless he attended the prayer meeting, and he didn't seem the type.

No sound came from inside the house, so she entered quietly. It was only eight o'clock, but perhaps the previous two nights of wild sex had caught up with him and he'd turned in early. She went to tend the cats, then to the kitchen. A box of crackers sat on the counter while a dirty bowl and spoon cluttered the sink. On the stove, a pan and empty can. He'd made his own meal but left the cleanup.

On the back porch, a shadow got her attention. Roman. Her breath caught. Even with his back to her, his action was clear. He stood at the railing, peeing. Ugh.

He finished, zipped, and started toward his chair, but caught her staring. Her face burned. She twirled, grabbed the cracker box, and rushed to the pantry as he came inside. She looked at the pantry in disarray. It shouldn't be like this, so out of order. Her cheeks flamed hotter. She grasped a can in each hand and spun on him. "This is not right! This is not right!" She moved things around, clanking containers as she rearranged them.

He came to stand behind her. "What the hell?"

"Chili goes after chicken noodle!" She shoved her shoulder into his chest as she put it in place. What was wrong with him? She gritted her teeth. Any idiot could see the order. Fruit. Soup. Vegetable. "You're messing up everything!"

"Well, fuck me. Didn't know I had to alphabetize. You've got too many goddamn rules. Don't feed the cats. Don't get fucking crumbs on the floor. Dry the dishrag." He moved away and set the whiskey bottle he'd been holding down with a thud. "There were nothing but rules in prison. I'm done following rules. Live with it or leave."

She wanted to say more, but he'd been drinking. Not a good time to argue. For all she knew, he could be a mean drunk. She'd heard that term on The Catch. Alcohol sometimes brought out the worst, and she didn't want to risk it. She stormed past him to her room. It reminded her of her dad toward the end. Marion would drink and drink and even raised a hand to hit Zoya once. She could still feel the burning slap across her cheek sometimes.

For the next two hours, Zoya put the final touches on the mural, then stepped back and admired the results. Clouds as fluffy as cotton candy floated across an aqua sky while a pair of birds circled overhead. Twisting vines climbed the wall of the weathered shed where stalks of pink hollyhocks rose above a mass of zinnias.

Miss Charamel stood in the garden, hands on hips, cats at her feet. Everything the old lady loved. Zoya suspected that was the reason she and Charamel got along so well. Simple things made her happy.

By the time she cleaned her brushes and got ready for bed, it was almost midnight. She'd heard Roman go into his room an hour ago. She slid the laptop onto her thighs, brought up the Breaux Bridge Daily classifieds, and scrolled to the rental property. If she found a place as secluded as this, she'd leave. Only seven house listings. One by one, she ruled them out. Too big. Bad location. Too expensive.

She snapped the lid closed and flopped back onto the bed. No. She had to stay here. This was where Dad wanted her to live. He and Charamel had an agreement. No matter what, Zoya wasn't leaving.

The next morning, Roman waited until he heard his unwelcome houseguest drive away before coming from his bedroom. The girl was nuts. He'd never seen anyone get so bent out of shape about chili in the wrong place. The fact she had the damn pantry alphabetized was crazy enough, but to go ballistic was another matter.

Later today, the construction men would arrive and if a can being out-of-order drove her into a fit, having strangers in the house should make her run away screaming. He turned on the coffeemaker. Next to it sat a saucer with two biscuits covered with plastic wrap and a note.

Sorry I yelled at you.

Damn kid. If the pantry incident riled her, his next action was liable to give her a stroke. He felt a little bad about yelling at her. As fucked up as it was, and it probably was, part of him enjoyed riling her up. She was feisty when provoked.

After he finished breakfast, he retrieved the animal carriers he'd bought in Breaux Bridge. Once he had the felines in the boxes, he loaded them along with the remaining food and litter, then headed to the shelter.

An hour later, back at home, the first delivery truck arrived followed by carpenters and the plumber. As soon as Roman alerted the concrete company the frame was ready, they'd come.

By noon, evidence of the renovation was everywhere. Pipes protruded from framework and while he waited for the concrete company, Roman constructed the outdoor shower he'd planned. In March, early morning and evening temperatures were still chilly but not so much he couldn't tolerate it.

This way, he wouldn't have to swap rooms with the girl. One worker had commented about the mural and how real it looked. A little too real for Roman. He wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep in a room with Charamel staring at him all night.

At five o'clock, the crew called it a day and so did Roman. His back ached like a son of a bitch, but he didn't care. It felt good to have his mind focused on the future instead of the past. He pulled out the Jack Daniel's along with a glass from the cupboard and headed outside. He held the whiskey up to the light, then filled the tumbler. The bottle was almost empty, so he'd need to make another trip to town.

Since the slab needed to cure for a week before construction resumed, he'd use that time to select the interior furnishings. He'd noticed a sign at the building supply store offering decorating services. Tomorrow, he'd go back and talk to someone about that.

Zoya blew out a breath of relief. Lumber piled at the end of the house, but no men were in sight. She got out, walked to the stack and surveyed the changes. According to the new foundation, square footage would double in size. Protruding pipes located the bathroom, and it was a big one with what looked to be a place for a tub and separate shower. Surely they'd finish the project in a month. After that, Roman would have his space and she'd have hers so maybe he wouldn't be so adamant about her leaving.

Inside, she saw him sitting out back, drinking and wondered what he thought about when he was out there. Whatever it was caused him to drink too much. She went to release The Golden Girls, but when she opened the door, they were gone. Had he already let them out? She searched under her bed. With the construction ruckus the pets would have hidden or if a door had been left open, ran away. Then she remembered what Roman had said about getting rid of them.

She flew to the back porch. "Where are the cats?"

He didn't look at her, just spoke over his shoulder. "Gone."

"What do you mean... gone?"

"They're not coming back."

"Did you kill them?" She crossed her arms over her chest, defensive.

That got his attention. He turned to face her. "Are you serious? I took them to the no kill shelter. They'll go to good homes."

"Okay. Dinner will be ready in about an hour."

***

Okay? That was it? She had nothing more to say? Damn girl confused him. Went crazy over a can out of place, but no emotion about the cats. Weird.

He turned his chair to watch her as she moved around the kitchen. She didn't look out of place like he'd thought before. She knew where to find everything. Frying pan from the oven drawer. Dishes from the right-hand cupboard. Glasses on the second shelf. She fit seamlessly within his house, like she belonged there - as if she was always there. It was pretty easy for him to imagine her there. He shook his head. Where the hell did that come from? He wanted her gone.

A knot formed in his throat as her words rang in his ears. Did you kill them? What kind of monster did she think he was? Well, he was a monster. At least he had been, but he'd left all that behind him. Still the words bit deep like a metal trap. He shook the notion away and drained his glass, then the bottle. Not near enough to numb him, but it would have to do.

After dinner, he gave the new shower a try. Not bad. The water was like ice, but the pressure was good. A few cold showers might do him some good. Help keep his libido in check. He could always call Yasmin again, but he'd already tired of her. Plus, she was nice, and he didn't want to give her the wrong impression. Like he wanted a steady relationship, and he didn't. And with his aching back, better to have the whole bed to himself tonight.

He threw the covers back, fluffed his pillow, then sank into the down mattress. Within a few minutes, he'd gone to sleep.

An odd sound echoed down the hallway. Zoya sat up straight. Roman didn't have a woman tonight, so the noise had to come from him. She listened. Nothing. She drew a deep breath and pushed the laptop aside, switched off the lamp, and then slid down into the bed. Just as she drifted off, another screech. This time louder.

She sprang and rushed into the hall. Hearing nothing, she tiptoed farther down and pressed her ear to his door. Muffled sounds came from inside, then three snorts as if he was fighting with someone.

"Terrance! Terrance!"

Her heart hammered. She burst through the door as Roman sat up, covered his face with his hands, and sobbed. She froze. She should back away, he'd not seen her, but he was crying so hard there had to be something wrong. The only man she'd seen weep like this was her dad at Mom's funeral.

Maybe Roman was grieving. Zoya knew sometimes people didn't mourn until much later. Dad died years ago, and she still experienced sorrow every time she thought of him. She wondered if that sadness would ever go away.

She moved to the bed and knelt. "Roman? Are you okay?"

He jerked his hands away and glared at her. Even in the dim light, she saw the fire in his eyes and it frightened her. She fell sideways and caught herself on one arm, then kicked her legs out straight.

"Get out! Get the fuck out!"

Her legs had gone numb. She couldn't stand, so she pushed with her feet, propelled with her hands, scooting on her rear to the doorway. Once in the hall, she rolled to all fours, crawled to her bedroom, slammed the door, and locked it. Hugging knees to her chest, she struggled for breath. Finally coming to her feet, she scurried to the side table and grabbed her flashlight. She jerked the blanket off the bed, crawled out the window, then ran down the path that led to the treehouse.

Yikes. How do you think he's going to react now?

TEASER: "I'd never hurt you."