Free Masters of the Shadowlands 7 - This is who I am by Sinclair Cherise Page A

father’s farm and run what was left into the ground, Sam had built it back up. Reacquired all the pieces and expanded as well. “And a vegetable garden.” She had a faint dimple in her right cheek. He hadn’t noticed it before.
    “Kim said you had a place, but she didn’t know if it was a ranch or a farm.”
    So she’d talked about him with others. When his lips tilted up, her face pinkened.
    “Not much of a ranch with only a few horses and some cattle.” He frowned as another brown patch of wood was exposed by the scrubbing. Looked like hell. After pulling out his cell, he punched in Nolan King’s number.
    “King.”
    “Davies. Friend’s house got sprayed with graffiti. You got any of that special paint? Just need enough for the front.”
    “I don’t have any at the moment. The shit expires fast. Got more ordered for a downtown job, though. You can have some when it comes in.”
    “That’ll do.” Closing the phone, Sam noticed Linda’s confused expression. “Yeah?”
    “Why not get something from the paint store?”
    “They only have gloss coatings. With King’s industrial stuff, the spray paint will run right off—won’t even stick.”
    “Oh.” Her eyes lit up, and she grinned at him. “I’d love to see the jerk’s face if that happened.”
    He chuckled, pleased to have lifted her mood. In fact, it was disconcerting what he’d do to keep that light in her eyes.
    But as he turned his attention back to the last letter on the wall, his anger ignited again. Probably wouldn’t die down until he met the bastard artist up close and personal.
    * * * *
    Linda glanced at the kitchen table where Sam sat. The big, mean sadist had completed his assignment and neatly diced the vegetables. Should she be worried about how he got so skilled with a knife? “Very nice.” After scooping them into a bowl, she dumped the contents into the meat sauce simmering on the stove.
    His eyebrows went up.
    “Yes, I know most people don’t put veggies in their spaghetti sauce, but my children were fussy. I call it guerilla nutrition.”
    “Sneaky.” His smile was as slow as his words. He didn’t have a drawl exactly—he just took his time. And the smile didn’t last long, but for a moment it totally transformed his face.
    Not fair that he should look so appealing and comfortable in her kitchen. She spun back to the stove. After rinsing the noodles in the colander, she started creating the lasagna. It was a time-consuming dish, but she’d hoped to keep her hands busy and her mind occupied. Having Sam in her house was like inviting a grizzly bear in for a snack.
    And yet having him here was incredibly reassuring. He knew who she was, what she’d been through, and he still…liked her. Or maybe not. Maybe he just felt guilty.
    “Nice kitchen,” he commented. His gaze shifted from the cream-colored pine cupboards to the dark blue walls to the golden marble countertops. He frowned as he studied the woven basket holding oranges, a tall coiled basket filled with wooden spoons, and the potted herbs inside colorful twined baskets. When he spotted the box of reeds on the kitchen shelves, he asked, “You do the baskets yourself?”
    “Most of them.” After setting a platter of cheese and crackers on the table, she pointed to a hand-sized plaited basket that held a variety of stones. The shape had odd bulges, and the weaving looked as if she’d been intoxicated. “I started when I was in high school.”
    “You’ve improved.”
    “Why, thank you.” She grinned. “You know, you have a talent for being blunt without being quite rude.” He gave her a contemplative stare as if he’d never had a woman tease him. Then again, who in their right mind would tease a sadist?
    “Takes too much work to be rude.” He nodded at a pile of baskets in a corner. “You planning something for those?”
    She started the alternating layers of noodles, ricotta, mozzarella, and sauce. “I sell them at my store; otherwise I’d be