Sidearms and Songbirds (Hearts of Nashville Book 3) Page 7

  “That’s true, they don’t. The thing is, this is such a small community that statistically, our crime rates are very low.”

  “That’s one of the reasons why I chose this place. I didn’t realize that my coming here would throw off the ratio like it did.”

  Sam could tell that she was trying to make a joke, so he smiled, but her statement was pretty accurate—she’d brought in a problem that few people here knew how to deal with. And that shed a light on a larger problem—the community wasn’t educated like it should be. They should know how to respond to certain emergencies. Sure, they all knew how to stop, drop, and roll, but not every danger they faced was going to be a fire or an earthquake. He picked up his pen and made a note about some neighborhood safety classes they could start holding.

  “Is there anything else I can be doing? I mean, other than sitting around, waiting to see what might happen next?”

  Sam shook his head. “That’s what we’re all going to be doing, but staying alert as well. Try to live your life as normally as you can. There’s no reason to let this keep you from being who you are and doing the things you enjoy.”

  “I took Sophie out to ride a pony out at Quinn Dawson’s yesterday.”

  Sam grinned. “Did she love it?”

  “She really did. It was all she could talk about this morning while she was getting ready for school.” Carly paused. “So, you do know who Quinn Dawson is, right? Even though you don’t listen to the radio?”

  “Yes, I know who Quinn Dawson is.” Sam felt his neck getting a little warmer. She had every right to tease him—who lived this close to Nashville and didn’t keep up on the music scene? “And I have a confession. I went on the Internet last night and looked you up, and I downloaded your single.”

  “Oh?” She looked a little nervous. “What did you think?”

  He’d been blown away—her voice had a quality to it that spoke to something deep inside him and wouldn’t let go. He’d listened to her song over and over again, only turning it off when he went to bed. He couldn’t say all that, though—he was somewhat good at putting his foot in his mouth where emotions were involved. “It was fantastic,” he said instead. “I can’t wait to hear the whole album.”

  “I’m so glad you liked it. This has been the craziest experience of my whole life, and I still can’t believe it’s happening.” She picked up a lock of her hair that had tumbled forward on her shoulder. “They even made me get all these stripes for my promotion photos. Or highlights, whatever—they just look like stripes to me. And Julia made me go clothes shopping. If I had my way, I’d live in sweats, but she didn’t like that idea.”

  Sam looked down at the desk, then back up, feeling relieved and a little sheepish at the same time. He’d been pretty harsh with his initial assessment of her, criticizing her appearance and deciding she was shallow. There was nothing wrong with looking nice, and she could do whatever she wanted with her hair, but he’d chosen to make a judgment call, and he’d been wrong. It wasn’t without precedent—he’d been chased by a few women who cared more about their nails than anything else, and he hadn’t been impressed. That didn’t mean all well-groomed women were that way, though.

  He glanced at the clock. “Hey, I’m getting a little hungry. Would you like to have lunch with me? I only have time for a burger at the diner, but if that sounds good to you . . .”

  “I’d love a burger.”

  “Great. Let’s take two cars, if you don’t mind—I never know when I might get a call, and I’d hate to leave you stranded.”

  They walked out to the parking lot together, and she followed him to the diner. As he drove, he queued up her song and listened to it again. There were so many layers to this woman—so many things he wanted to explore.

  He got out of his car first and waited for her at the door. He smiled as he watched her—she checked her makeup in the rearview mirror before getting out, and put on a little more lip gloss. He now recognized that as insecurity and not self-centeredness, and with that understanding, it was actually pretty adorable. Hopefully, in time she’d move past the insecurity and settle into a comfortable place with herself—she deserved that.

  “I haven’t eaten here yet. What’s good?” she asked as she studied her menu.

  “I eat here a lot more than I should, and I can recommend almost everything. Just stay away from the chili,” he said.

  “Too spicy?”

  “I can handle spicy. This stuff … let’s say I spent several hours in my bathroom that I wasn’t planning to spend.”

  She laughed. “All right, no chili.”

  They each ordered a hamburger, fries, and a soda. Sam noticed that she ordered extra onions and pickles, and that made him smile—he liked a little burger with his onions too.

  Her phone chimed with a text just as he was about to say something. She read it, grinned, and sent back a quick reply. The drinks arrived while she was typing, and Sam unwrapped straws for both of them.

  “That was my producer,” she said as she slid her phone back into her bag. “He wants me to come in Monday and listen to the final cut of my record before it heads off to production. Oh, my gosh—my record.” She put her hands over her mouth to stifle a squeal. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . this can’t be real. Every single day, I tell myself I’m going to wake up and find that it’s all been a dream.”

  “What does Sophie think about it?”

  Carly laughed. “She’s taking it a lot better than I am—she’s always believed in me with a confidence I wish I felt in myself. I don’t think she understands what it all means, though. I talked to her about the tour, and she’s thinking of it as being a long, boring bus ride. Which I’m sure it is, but she’ll be blown away by the concerts and everything else that’s going to happen. I mean, I’m blown away, and nothing’s really happened yet.” She sat back and took a sip of her Coke. “I’m sorry. You’ve heard me talk about this before—I don’t mean to bore you.”

  “You’re not boring me. You’re exploring something new, and it’s fun to see you experience it.”

  The waitress brought their food, and Sam bit into his burger. Piping hot, just how he liked it.

  “How do you feel about Barbies?”

  He paused, holding his burger in mid-air. “How do I feel about Barbies?”

  “Well, not you personally. I mean, how would you feel about a Barbie playdate? Sophie’s been begging me to have Tillie over, and I thought I could make dinner. You and I could watch a movie while the girls try on every single one of Barbie’s three thousand pairs of shoes.”

  Sam grinned. “Three thousand, huh?”

  “At least—or at least, it feels like it. My mother loves buying and sending Barbie clothes to Sophie—I swear she gets a package once a month.”

  “We’d love to come. When?”

  “Is tonight too soon? I don’t mean to hog all your time, but . . . I kind of like hogging all your time.” She held up a hand. “I promise—I won’t make you actually play with the Barbies.”

  “I’ll have you know, I learned how to French braid on a Barbie head. It’s trickier than it looks.”

  “You French braid Barbie hair?” She looked impressed. “My, my. What other talents have you got tucked away?”

  “Painting fingernails. And toenails.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. These are vital skills to have when you’re the single parent of a daughter. My child shouldn’t be the only one running around with unpainted toenails just because she’s only got a father.”

  Carly’s eyes softened. “You take such good care of her, Sam. I can see it written all over her.”

  He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments—I was actually trying to make a joke.”

  “I know that, but it’s true—she’s an amazing little girl, and it’s obvious how much you love her. Her self-confidence is inspirational, and the way she watches out for Sophie? She’s got the heart of a warrior.”

  “Yeah, that’
s Tillie. The fierce little lioness guarding the pride.” Sam chuckled. “What time should we come, and what can I bring?”

  “Five thirty, and garlic bread,” Carly replied. “Sophie will be so excited. We’ll need to wrap things up by eight because it’s a school day tomorrow, but that will give them some good time to play.”

  “And enough time for a movie,” he added. He was surprised at how much he was looking forward to it. Garlic bread and a movie might seem like simple things, but his heart rate had picked up a little bit.

  He finished his burger and had just started on his fries when his cell phone rang. “Chief, this is Rose. I’m sorry to tell you this, but your house has just been vandalized.”

  “On my way.” Sam slid out of the booth and grabbed some money out of his wallet while he spoke. “I’m sorry, Carly—gotta go. Call you later.” He tossed the money on the table and strode from the restaurant, pushing down his fury. He was used to vandalism—that was one of the crimes they did have in Cherry Creek—but his house? At least Tillie was at school and hadn’t been home at the time, but the thought that someone had stepped onto his property with intent to destroy roiled like lava through his veins.

  ***

  Carly finished her lunch, then counted the money Sam had thrown on the table. He’d paid for both their meals and a nice tip. A little too nice, actually. She wondered if she should pocket a couple of dollars and return it to him that night, but then she thought that might be invading his privacy, so she left it. She didn’t know how much he was used to tipping, and she shouldn’t assume he’d made a mistake. At any rate, she would have loved a customer like him back when she was waiting tables. She lived on her tips, and every penny counted.

  She had just climbed into her car when her phone rang. The caller ID said it was Sam.

  “Hey, Carly. Sorry for running out like that.”

  “It’s all right. You warned me it might happen.”

  “Yeah, I just wish I was wrong. Listen, could you do me a favor and take Tillie home with you after school? My house was vandalized, and I don’t want her to see it like this.”

  “What? Of course, but what happened?”

  “Spray paint, eggs . . . No broken windows or anything, but it’s going to take me a little while to clean it up.”

  “I’m so sorry. Any idea who did it?”

  “Probably teenagers. I’ll ask the neighbors in a bit. So, when you pick Tillie up, she’ll ask if she can use your phone to call me, and I’ll tell her that yes, she’s supposed to come home with you. That’s the system we’ve worked out. Well, the system for people she knows, that is. If it’s a stranger, there is no system—she’s supposed to scream and run.”

  “Sounds like a system to me,” Carly said with a laugh.

  “I guess it is. But anyway, don’t be surprised when she asks for your phone—it’s a handy way of weeding out the friends and the foes.”

  “All right. Take care, Sam.” Even though he was just cleaning up graffiti and wasn’t in danger at the moment, she was still worried about him. Crazy how she was already coming to care for him after such a short time.

  “Thanks, Carly. I’ll let you know when I’ll be there.”

  She said goodbye and hung up, then glanced at the clock to see that it was almost time to get the girls. She’d hit the grocery store on the way there—she wanted to make lasagna for dinner, and she was out of noodles. It had been a while since she’d made anything more complicated than spaghetti or chicken nuggets—it would be nice to put together a whole meal, and she’d get the girls to help her, too. Sophie loved to help in the kitchen.

  The girls were ecstatic to hear that Tillie would be coming over, but sure enough, she did ask to use Carly’s phone, and Carly grinned as she handed it over. That girl had a good head on her shoulders.

  “My daddy says yes, he asked you to pick me up, and he says I should have a good time and not talk your ear off,” she reported, handing the phone back to Carly.

  “Can ears really come off?” Sophie asked, her eyes wide.

  “No. That’s just something my daddy says when he thinks I’m talking too much.” Tillie rolled her eyes. “I have to talk so much when I have so much to say.”

  Carly chuckled. “Let’s go, girls—the Barbies are waiting, and plus, I need help making dinner. How do you feel about chocolate cake?”

  Tillie’s eyes grew even bigger than Sophie’s. “I love chocolate cake! This is the best day ever!”

  The girls jabbered all the way back to the house, and while they helped mix up the cake, and while they sprinkled cheese on the lasagna. Carly wasn’t used to having so much chattering around her house, but it was a happy sound, and she loved it. Sophie hadn’t had a close friend before, and seeing the way her little girl was interacting and communicating with someone her own age was heartwarming.

  Sam texted around five to say he’d be there at five thirty, and she smiled as she read his note. It was nice, cooking a meal and having someone come over to eat it. The thought came to her mind that it would be nice to cook for Sam every night when he got home from work, but she pushed that away. It had only been a few days since she’d told him she had no intention of getting involved with him and linking their two little girls together and becoming some sort of doting little housewife . . . and then she pushed that thought away.

  The truth was, she liked the idea of spending time with Sam and seeing where this might go. The attraction was there—no denying it. Their girls loved each other—that was obvious. Why was she being so stubborn? She had no reason to fight this. None whatsoever.

  Chapter Ten

  Sam coiled up the high-pressure water hose and put it away, then went inside his house and climbed in a hot shower. His fury had died down, but he was still irked. His home was a place of refuge, a haven where he tucked his daughter into bed at the end of the day and promised her she’d be safe. He well knew how Carly felt about Mick being on her front steps—no one should ever intrude on someone else’s home.

  He toweled off and dressed, then checked the time and sent a quick text to Carly to let her know when he’d be there. He’d just finished pulling on his shoes when he heard a rap at the door.

  “None of the neighbors saw anything,” Deputy Gray reported. “Was your home security system tripped?”

  “No. I think I have the sensors set too close to the house—I should set the perimeter farther out.”

  “So, the spray paint was used from back aways?”

  “Power nozzle of some kind. There was a disbursement pattern—it splattered because of that distance.”

  Deputy Gray nodded. “What should we do next?”

  “Keep analyzing those traffic cams. It’s a shame we don’t have one on this street, but we’ll do the best we can with the footage from the cross streets.”

  “Will do.”

  Sam thought about asking them to patrol the area, but vandals usually hit their targets and moved on, so he didn’t think the manpower was justified. Instead, he locked up the house and climbed into his car, thinking about what he’d found when he’d gotten the call.

  Easily twelve dozen eggs had been thrown at the front of his house. Deputy Harding had gone to the three different grocery stores in town to ask if anyone had made a large egg purchase that day, but it seemed that no one had walked out with more than two or three dozen at a time. That made Sam wonder if the culprit went to a couple of different stores to avoid suspicion, and that made Sam wonder just what they were dealing with. Vandalism was usually a spur-of-the-moment thing and wasn’t so well thought out.

  Then his mind moved on to the spray paint. Vandals typically used spray paint to spell out a message. There had been no message—it was just lines and loops and squiggles meant to cause damage. Thankfully, Sam had access to some cleaning chemicals that took off the spray paint without doing too much damage to the house, but he’d probably still end up repainting.

  And then there was the question of the security system. None
of the sensors had been tripped. Yes, that was explained by the vandal standing farther back, but how had he known to do that? Again, that sounded like a planned action, not spur of the moment.

  Sam started the engine and backed down the driveway, his brain still churning. Vandals usually acted out of anger, and anger usually simmered down after a few minutes or hours. They simply didn’t take the time to map out someone’s property and figure out the sensors for the security system and avoid them. He’d called the company to make sure everything was still functioning as it should, and they reported that from their end, it looked perfect. But it wasn’t perfect if it allowed this kind of crazy thing to happen. In fact, it was the mail carrier who had seen the graffiti and called the station—as far as the security company went, everything was still hunky-dory.

  Sam remembered the French bread at the last minute and pulled into the store parking lot, hoping they’d have what he needed. He was in luck—they’d just put out a fresh batch, and the loaf he chose was still slightly warm. The aroma made his mouth water. As he walked up to the check-out, he passed by a display of flowers, and he paused. As nice as warm bread was, he wanted to bring Carly something more—she’d been through so much lately, and he found himself wanting to make everything better for her. A bunch of flowers didn’t have that kind of magic, but it would show her that he cared.

  He’d just pulled into Carly’s driveway when his phone buzzed with a call from Deputy Gray. “Chief, the traffic cams from noon to one o’clock show four cars that arrived in your area and then left it within fifteen minutes, which is about how long we think it would have taken to vandalize your plates. We’re running checks on those cars now.”

  “Thanks, Gray,” Sam said before hanging up. It was such a long shot—there was a street heading out the other side of the neighborhood that didn’t have a traffic cam, and the vandal could have entered and exited that way. Maybe he should just let it go. Was he wasting manpower on something that was actually somewhat minor? It wasn’t minor to him, but was he showing himself preferential treatment?