Page 1 of Gray’s Surrender

CHAPTER 1

GRAY

Meg is barefoot in my kitchen.

That’s the first problem I register when I come through the side door an hour earlier than she expects me. The second is the loose knot at the back of her head. Dark hair slips over one shoulder while she reaches into the highest cupboard for a coffee mug. The third problem is that Ruby is across the road at Mrs. Lawson’s, which means Meg and I are alone. I stop inside the door and close it, barely making a noise. But Meg looks over. Her hand stays inside the open cupboard.

“You’re early.”

“North-road check wrapped early.”

One eyebrow rises. “Which check?”

I set my helmet on the table and drop my keys into the dish beside the door. “The one I stretched longer than it needed to be.” Her mouth curves because she has noticed. I’ve spent four days making certain I’m home for breakfast, dinner and every part of Ruby’s routine that belongs to me. I’ve also found four days’ worth of reasons not to walk into a room where Megan Donnelly might be alone.

Monday, I rode the south line twice. Tuesday, I stayed after church while Cash counted money that didn’t need me watching. Yesterday, I took a message to a brother near the county line even though Wilder was already headed that way. Meg had texted that Ruby was in bed and she’d wait until I got home. Avoiding my daughter would make me a poor father, and I’m not that. But avoiding Tank’s younger sister makes me a man with some survival instinct left.

Meg takes down the mug and pours coffee from the pot. “Kingdom Come has needed a suspicious amount of your attention this week.”

“Club business doesn’t keep office hours, you know that.”

“Only since Monday?”

“Bad week.”

She leans against the counter and takes a drink from the mug. Her loose green shirt slides over one hip and denim shorts leave most of her legs bare. At thirty, Meg looks nothing like the nineteen-year-old who used to wait at the edge of the compound garage for Tank to finish whatever Kane’s father, King, had sent him to do. She had a sharp mouth and enough stubbornness to make grown men step carefully.

The stubbornness stayed; everything else changed while I was busy teaching myself not to look.

“Ruby’s at Mrs. Lawson’s?” I ask.

“Of course, where else? She wanted to show her the beetle she found by the back step. I was informed it has an unusually shiny back.”

“It does.”

Meg glances toward the window. “You’ve seen it?”

“Ruby showed me before I left.”

Meg has been in my house for four days, and not once has she treated me like a man who needs help remembering what his daughter eats or when she takes her allergy medicine. She asks where things are. She follows the routines Ruby knows. Competence shouldn’t be attractive, but on Meg it is.

The summer reading program at Ruby’s school closed for two weeks after a pipe burst over three classrooms. Mrs. Lawson could cover part of the gap. I could take Ruby to the compound for some of it, but church, armed men and whatever business rolls through the gates aren’t childcare and I don’t want her to see that side of what I am. Tank mentioned the problem to Meg. She called me herself and offered.

She’s got a permanent post at Ransom Elementary beginning in the fall, a rental near Main Street and more free time this month than she expects to have again. She made it clear Tank hadn’t volunteered her. For some reason, she wanted me to know that. I said yes because Ruby already knew her a little and because I trusted Meg. I didn’t account for what it would do to me to find her things in my house.

Her sandals wait beneath a chair. A canvas bag full of school stuff sits beside Ruby’s backpack. Her keys are on the countertop near the sink, including the square-edged brass key to the rental she signed for before Tank could inspect every lock, much to his annoyance. Meg follows my gaze. “If you’re about to organize my belongings into a more defensible formation, I should warn you that I know exactly where everything is.”

“Your keys are near the sink.”

“Sharp eyes.”

“Easy grab through the window, you know.”

She looks at the window, then back to me. “I’ll move them.” No argument. No joke about my paranoia. She reaches for the keys, but I catch the ring first. Her fingers close over mine, and the contact is small without feeling that way. Her skin is warm on mine. I turn the ring once and place it in her palm, but she doesn’t pull away.

“Do you always file everything in a room as safe or dangerous?” she asks.

“Mostly.”