That was one thing they shared in common. Both she and Haddie could get lost in books for hours. Sometimes they spent entire Sundays in their PJs, lazing under blankets and reading.
Scarlett went back to her scraping for a while but was too distracted, listening to every small bang and clatter from where Deputy West was working below, so after about twenty minutes, she put down her scraper yet again and headed toward the kitchen. She made a pitcher of lemonade and popped open a Tupperware container of the chocolate chip cookies she’d made earlier that day and put several on a plate.
She wrapped a couple of cookies in a napkin, poured a plastic cup of lemonade, and went out the back door to take the treats to Haddie.
“I thought you could use some sustenance,” Scarlett said when she’d made it to where Haddie lay, dropping onto her knees next to her daughter, placing the lemonade on a flat square of grass and the cookies on the blanket.
“Thank you, Mommy.” Haddie reached for a cookie. “What does sustabance mean?”
“Sustenance. It means a source of nourishment. I know how easy it is to forget to eat when you’re involved in a good story.” She nodded to the open hardcover on the blanket in front of her daughter. “How are you liking Charlotte’s Web?”
“I love it. Templeton’s very selfish, but he makes me giggle too.”
Scarlett grinned, picturing the childlike reaction to a funny fictional character. “Who is that again? It’s been a while. The rat, right? The one who’ll only help Charlotte for food?”
Haddie nodded, her expression growing thoughtful before she glanced into the woods. “Yes, that’s him,” she murmured, looking back at her book. “He’ll help Charlotte for food.”
Scarlett stood. “Bring the blanket and the cup and napkin in when you’re done reading, okay?”
Haddie nodded, already immersed back in the tale of friendship and farm life.
She made her way to the front entry where the deputy was putting tools back in the red toolbox on the floor. The shiny, aged brass door lock set glinted from the dull, patchy wood. The deputy glanced up. “All set,” he said, straightening.
“It looks great. Thank you.”
He closed the door and engaged the deadbolt, then unlatched it, using the handle to pull it open. “There are two locks, nice and sturdy. No one’s going to get through this front door without a battering ram.”
Scarlett let out a breath. “I doubt anyone will go to that much trouble for the use of a crash pad and place to get high.”
“You’d be surprised,” he murmured. “Anyway, better safe than sorry. From what I remember, the back door lock is still in working order, and the French doors all have crémone bolts. Those are old, but still strong. You should go around and make sure all the lower-level windows are locked and get them inspected as soon as possible.”
She nodded, though to her, he seemed overly concerned about the safety of a stranger. Then again, maybe that came with the job. Safety was his business after all. Perhaps it was part of his nature too. She was having a difficult time getting a read on the man.
“I’ve got lemonade made if you’re still up for a glass.”
He followed her to the kitchen and washed his hands, and then at her suggestion, they went out to the gazebo behind the house where she poured the lemonade and offered him a cookie.
He thanked her and took a big bite of the cookie, chewing, swallowing, and then nodding toward Haddie, lying at the edge of the woods in the distance. “That’s your daughter there?”
Scarlett took a sip of lemonade and then nodded. “Haddie. She’s seven going on seventy-seven.” She breathed out a smile.
He glanced at her and then down at the hand sitting on the wood-chipped Gazebo bench. “You’re divorced? From her father?” He appeared almost confused for a moment and then grimaced. “Shit. I mean, darn it. I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”
A feeling not unlike affection twisted through her. He was handsome, yes, but he was not one of the smooth charmers she was used to. She’d thought him surly and rude the day before, but today, now that he’d let his guard down, she was getting this sense of . . . awkwardness, as though his social skills were unpolished. Not because he was impolite but because he didn’t have much practice using them. He was . . . unexpected.
His uncertainty confounded her, especially considering his good looks. She figured good-looking men had plenty of opportunity to hone their charm. It was just a fact of life. Why hadn’t he? She glanced at his ring finger, noting he was unmarried.
“It’s okay,” she murmured. “I don’t mind the question. Haddie’s father and I were never married. He’s not in the picture.”
He studied her for a moment and then his gaze moved back to Haddie, an expression she didn’t know him well enough to read crossing his features and then disappearing. He held up the chocolate chip cookie. “These are really good.”
“Thanks. They’re Haddie’s favorite.”
For a moment they were both silent as he finished the cookie and took a long sip of lemonade, and she stared off in the distance, watching him from her peripheral vision. He was so close and she was so keenly aware of his presence. It made her feel twitchy, exposed somehow. She hadn’t found herself attracted to a man in a very long time. “So um, can I ask you something, Deputy?” She turned to face him.
“Sure,” he said, setting his glass down and leaning over to pluck a long blade of grass growing through the slats in the gazebo floor. “But call me Camden.”
Camden. “Okay. As long as you call me Scarlett.” She paused. “You said kids use the house for entertainment. What exactly did you mean by that?”
The deputy—Camden—glanced at the house and then away. He used both hands to fiddle with the blade of grass in his fingers, pausing for longer than felt comfortable as though he was taking the time to choose his words carefully. Was he worried about scaring her? Making her feel unsettled in her new home? He’d already done that by showing up and installing security . . . “There are stories about the house. You might already know some of them given that you can find them online.”
“Yeah,” she confirmed. “I looked up the house’s history. Spooky stuff.”
“The kids think so too. They set up dares . . . you know, ‘spend the night in the scary house and I’ll pay you a hundred bucks,’ that kind of thing.”
“Ah. The old sleep in the abandoned haunted mansion dare. A classic.”
His lip quirked. “I guess it’s a classic for a reason.”
“True.” She paused. “I read up on the Bancroft family. Tragic ending to that story.”
“Tragic beginning too, depending on whose point of view you’re telling it from.”
Tragic beginning? She hadn’t read about that. “What do you mean? I thought Hubert Bancroft made a fortune in fur trading and built this grand house.”
He shook his head, appearing suddenly regretful that he’d brought it up. “I’m not much of a storyteller,” he said haltingly, bending and twisting that blade of grass. “There’s probably . . . something online.” He slid his eyes away and his cheekbones tinged pink like a child who was telling a falsehood. But why would he?