Free The Drake House by Kelly Moran Page A

in the room, no mementos. The walls were bare and lifeless, as if he didn’t matter to anyone at all. Suddenly saddened, she set aside the last two bags of clothes and began compiling garbage.
    She had a wonderful, loving family. Some were the men who worked the orchard—not for her, but with her. There were her parents, who without hesitation took in a stray three-year-old to raise as their own. Eduardo and Nancy, like an aunt and uncle more than staff, would do anything for her. And here she was, cleaning up the life of a man no one knew.
    Pitching the garbage bags out the window in order to not pass the stink to the rest of the home, she pondered if she could have done something more for Mike. After capping the whiskey bottle, she stripped the bed. No sense in keeping the sheets. Better off burning them.
    She was just about to mop the floor when she heard footsteps behind her.
    “You got most of it done,” Brad said.
    “Yeah,” she sighed and peered around. “I’ll need a bleach bath after this.”
    Instead of grinning, he grabbed a mop. “I’ll help.”
    “No,” she ordered immediately. “This is my fault, my mess. I’ll do it.”
    His eyes heated. “This is not your fault.” Then his tone softened. “The spring duties are done. You know it’ll be slow after this for a while. I’ll help.”
    “All right, thanks.” She gave in and went to edge around him for dusting supplies.
    He gripped her arm and hauled her to him in a fierce hug. Clenching her tight, she felt him tense and grasp her hair in an extremely rare display of helplessness. Pressing his cheek to the top of her head, he coarsely uttered, “You scared the shit out of me.”
    He’d been her constant and best friend since her parents first brought her home thirty years ago, and never in her recollection had he ever hugged her desperately and said anything of the sort. Guilt swamped her and threatened to take over. She leaned back and pressed her palms to his cheeks, rising on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his forehead. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
    She watched the moment ebb away as he cleared his throat. He stepped away from her.
    “You remember in fourth grade when that brat Alex was picking on Chuck for being overweight?” She was pleased to see his full grin return.
    “Yeah,’ he said. “You marched across the lunchroom and slapped him in front of the whole school, nearly got suspended.”
    “So I can handle myself and defend my own.”
    “I know. Just don’t do that ever again.”
    Breathing out a laugh, she hugged him again. “Yes, sir.”
    “Am I interrupting?” The voice she was growing to like and hate equally sounded behind her. Nick had a self-righteous frown on his face as he leaned against the doorway.
    Trisha smelled jealousy and stiffened her spine. “What can I do for you, Nick?”
    His eyes shifted to Brad then back to her. “We’ve got Mike Peltzer in lock-up. We want you to come back to the station.”
    “I’m going,” Brad said firmly.
    She placed a hand on his arm. “I’ve got this. Can you finish up here?”
    Brad glowered at Nick, and then looked at her. “If you want.”
    “I do.” She rose up on her toes and pecked his cheek to diffuse the anger there. “I’ll be back soon. Get Andrew or Chuck to help you if you need it. I’ll buy new sheets and a comforter while I’m in town.”
    “Fine.”
    Pushing past Nick, Trisha marched down the hallway. Without turning around, she barked at him, “Grab those bags, they come with us.”
    ****
    “This is not a good idea.”
    Trisha rose from where she was seated on Steve’s desk. “I, personally, do not care what you think, Nick.” She lifted an angered hand toward Steve, before he could retort, and glared at Wayne for him to agree.
    He nodded with a frown. “All right, apple, but Nick will be watching you. You be careful.”
    “Sheriff,” Nick ground out, “we cannot put an assault victim in the cage with the accuser. It’s not