Made to Be Broken (Nadia Stafford 2)

"Evelyn. Bothering you. Shouldn't have."

"She's concerned."

A grunt. He scratched his chin again. The conversation, such as it was, was over. I wanted to turn and walk out, made it forty-five degrees, then stopped.

"I have the room, Jack. It's a slow time of the year. One more guest wouldn't be a problem." I managed a small laugh. "Free housekeeping, if that's any incentive. And meals, of course. You've had Emma's cooking, and you know it's better than take-out pizza." I heard an edge of desperation creep into my voice and choked it back. "I'm just saying that the offer's genuine. Evelyn isn't twisting my arm."

"Nah."

He reached for the cigarette pack on the bedside table, as if I'd already left.

I made it as far as the door, hand on the knob.

"How's it going?" he asked.

I looked over my shoulder. "How's what going?"

A shrug. "Stuff. The lodge. The job. You. Things okay?"

"Everything's fine."

He nodded and struck a match. I waited five seconds. Then I left.

Chapter Eight

Self-delusion is grand, ain't it? I'd convinced myself I'd only wanted to see Jack, and make sure he was okay. Like when I'd started high school and told my mother I didn't expect a Santa stocking anymore. Of course I'd still wanted one. But if I'd expected my mother to get me anything she didn't need to, I'd been delusional.

I had continued to get stockings, but from my father, on the sly, so neither of us would have to deal with my mother's "you spoil her" tirades. I'd gotten them every year, even after I graduated from police college and moved to Toronto. Then the next year, there'd been no one to give it.

I hadn't seen my mother in three years. Or spoken to my brother in four. And now Jack... I was starting to sense a pattern. After Amy's death twenty years ago, my relationships with others had changed. I was still as sociable as ever, but it was like with my guests at the lodge. I gave generously; expected nothing; accepted nothing.

I'd say it's my personality. I'm a people-pleaser. But buried in that is the other side of the equation. If you take nothing, you owe nothing. Keep the account square.

Like Jack...

Only I would never let someone travel four hundred kilometers to help me out, then brush her off with a "nah."

As I backed out, a crack made my stomach drop as my foot smacked the brake. I twisted in my seat to look behind me. All was as clear as it had been when I'd shoulder-checked.

Another sharp rap, clearly now coming from the front end. I whipped around to see Jack, his open palm over the hood as he hobbled across the front of the truck, crutch under his arm.

He motioned for me to lower the window. I cranked it halfway down. He leaned against my door. Twenty seconds of silence passed.

"Yes, Jack?" I said finally.

"Could use a place. Lodge'd be good. I'll pay."

"You don't have to - "

"I want to."

"Oka

y." I rattled off the price. "That's a room, all activities, breakfast, dinner, snacks, and beverages. Lunch is available for ten more, eight for a picnic basket - "

"That's fine." If he caught the sarcasm in my recital, he gave no sign. "Probably be two weeks. That okay?"

I nodded.