It was obvious that the dog was a welcome guest. Eli himself? Maybe not so much.
“Is this about Eric?” Sara asked, once she’d shut the door. She moved to the counter, started building a pot of coffee. “He’s been weird tonight. Sort of jumpy.”
Anyone else would have served decaf at that hour, Eli supposed, but Sara was a writer and she ran on caffeine.
Eli stood, constitutionally incapable of sitting while a woman stood. “Yes,” he replied. “It’s sort of about Eric, and sort of not.”
Sara left the coffee maker for the sink, where she filled a bowl with water and set it down for Festus.
The dog lapped thirstily, then plunked down on the floor to wait out whatever human interaction was taking place.
Sara stood with her hands on her slender hips. She was a beautiful woman, strong, smart and successful, and yet again, Eli reflected that it was a real shame that she’d decided never to take a chance on another man. Zach Worth had single-handedly soured her on the whole male gender.
“If that boy is in trouble again, I swear I’ll lose my mind,” she said. Her gray eyes, weary with the lateness of the hour, flashed with conviction.
“Sara,” Eli said. “Sit down.”
He pulled back a chair for her, and she sat.
Eli took a seat across the table from her.
The coffee maker hummed and chortled on the counter.
“That might not be the worst idea you’ve ever had. Sending Eric away for a while.”
Sara paled slightly. Lowered her voice when she spoke again. “Oh, my God, Eli—is he in some kind of danger?”
“Yes,” Eli replied, because there was no sense in beating around the bush. If Freddie Lansing got an opportunity to hurt Eric or Hayley, he’d do it, not just because he wanted revenge for the events of last summer, but to get back at Eli for giving him a hard time tonight.
Sara got up, filled two cups before the coffee maker had finished its noisy work and brought them to the table.
“Tell me,” she said. “Tell me everything, Eli.”
So he did.
He told Sara about his exchange with Eric, back at Bailey’s, and the text the boy had shown him. Then he went on to describe the encounter with Freddie and his father, out at the Lansing place.
Sara sat in silence, stoic and pale. She was used to fending for herself, with what little help she would allow Eli to give her, but this development had obviously shaken her. And with good reason.
When he’d given his account, he took out his phone and played what he’d recorded during the confrontation with the Lansings.
Sara closed her eyes and swayed slightly, and Eli reached out to steady her. At the mention of Hayley, she winced.
“Listen to me,” Eli said gently, once the recording was over, “I’m going to do everything I can to keep Eric and Hayley safe, and anybody else he goes after, too, of course. The more I think about it, though, the less I think it’s a good idea to send either of the kids away from the Creek.”
Sara nodded bleakly, thrust the splayed fingers of one hand through her hair. Sighed. “If Eric and Hayley are away from Freddie, they’ll be away from us, too. And nobody can protect them the way we can.”
“I can think of one person who can,” Eli said, very quietly. He knew Hayley was at the slumber party over at Melba’s place, but Eric was home. He might be just out of sight, listening in.
Sara’s forehead crumpled slightly as she frowned. “Who?”
Eli considered his answer solemnly before he gave it.
“Dan Summers,” he said at long last.
Sara’s eyes widened. “Melba’s ex-husband?”
“Yep.”
“But he—they—”
“Whatever happened between Melba and Dan on a personal level is their business, Sara.” He paused, took a sip of his coffee. “He’s in security. I can’t be around 24/7, but he—or his crew—can.”
“Melba says—”
“Sara, I don’t give a rat’s ass what Melba says. Like I just said, that’s between the two of them.”
Sara narrowed her eyes. “She said he cheated on her.”
“Come on, Sara! I know that’s a sore spot with you, after Zach and all the asshat tricks he pulled, but that has nothing to do with Dan’s ability to keep Eric and Hayley safe until I can nail Freddie Lansing and, if necessary, his weasel of a father, too.”
Sara huffed, unwilling to back away from her point. “It says something about Dan’s honor,” she insisted.
“It might not even be true, Sara. Maybe it’s speculation on Melba’s part—have you ever considered that? And even if it is true, even if it’s gospel, it doesn’t mean Dan can’t protect a couple of kids from a piece of shit like Freddie Lansing.”
“Okay,” Sara said, drawing out the word. She still looked unconvinced.
“Listen, for all I know, Dan isn’t available—he might have previous commitments. But it’s worth it to ask him, don’t you think?”
“He’ll be expensive,” Sara mused.
“Yeah,” Eli said, with a semblance of a grin. “My guess is, he’s very expensive. But with some help from your alter ego, Luke Cantrell, not to mention the money you inherited from our grandparents, I’m pretty sure you can afford Dan’s going price, whatever it is.”
“Of course I wouldn’t cheap out on something like this,” Sara snapped. “We’re talking about my children here!”
“I didn’t think you would,” Eli told her gently. “I’m texting you Dan’s number right now. Call him in the morning.”
Sara braced her elbows on the tabletop and buried her face in her hands. “My God, Eli, I am so scared.”
“There’s a place out beyond scared,” Eli reminded her. “I’ll meet you there.”
This paraphrasing of one of Rumi’s poems was a sort of code between them. One of them, most likely Sara, had come across the verse and begun amending it to fit whatever challenge they happened to be facing at the time.
As kids, they’d used it often.
There’s a place beyond heartbreak...grief...disappointment. I’ll meet you there.
Sara lowered her hands, lifted her chin. Her steel-gray eyes were brimming with tears she was again too proud to shed.
“Right,” she said. “I’ll see you in the land of kick-ass and take names, little brother. Don’t be late.”