He congratulated himself for being strong and not jumping her. It hadn’t been easy to resist her when he’d known she’d just as soon slit his throat as speak to him, but now that he had a sliver of doubt about her feelings toward him—a faint hope that she might feel even a tenth of the desire he did—it was going to be impossible.
CHAPTER FIVE
Lana’s landlord, Mr. Simmons, showed up just before Lana left for work. Caleb stayed behind to deal with her broken door rather than leave her apartment open and unguarded.
Mr. Simmons was a potbelied man in his sixties with a ring of white hair orbiting the back of his bald head. He greeted Caleb with a firm handshake and a smile. “Good to see Lana’s found herself a man.”
Caleb saw no point in correcting Mr. Simmons. “Been a long time for her, huh?”
Mr. Simmons went around to the back of his truck and began loosening the ropes that held Lana’s new door in place. “I’m not the kind to snoop, but I try to keep an eye on the little lady, seeing as how she’s al alone out here. I’ve never seen her with a man before you.”
A fierce little spurt of satisfaction made Caleb smile. He hopped up into the back of the truck and finished freeing the door. “It’s good to know someone’s been watching out for her.”
Mr. Simmons shook his white head. “She doesn’t make it easy, that’s for sure. I keep teling her she should move back home with her folks again until she’s wel enough to be on her own.”
Caleb lifted the pre-hung door out of the truck and eased it onto the ground. “What do you mean? She seems healthy enough to me.”
“Oh, her body is fine, I’m talking about the rest of her.” Mr. Simmons tapped his temple. “The poor girl needs therapy. I’ve seen the same kind of thing in a couple of my buddies who fought in ’Nam. I don’t know a lot about what happened to her, but I know it had to have been bad.”
Caleb turned away before Mr. Simmons could see the look of anger he felt on his face. The idea of Lana suffering the same way war veterans did made a lot of sense.
Too much for his peace of mind. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re the one who broke down the door trying to get to her. I figure you heard the screams.”
Helpless rage clenched his gut at the reminder of those screams. He picked up the heavy door by himself, needing a physical outlet to vent some of his anger. “I did.”
Mr. Simmons nodded and folowed Caleb with a toolbox in hand. “It’s why I had to move her out to this empty building. She was in one of the units I’d just renovated, but her neighbors kept complaining about the noise. We had the cops out here six times in three weeks. I tried to get her to go back home, or to get some help, but she refused, so I put her out here in this building that I’ve emptied so it can be renovated next. Once the renovation is done, though . . .”
“She’l have to leave.”
Mr. Simmons nodded. “I hate to kick the girl out, but I have to make a living. I’ve already put off the renovation longer than I should have, trying to give her some time to heal, but apparently it hasn’t helped.”
Caleb set the new door against the outside wal of Lana’s apartment and surveyed the old one lying in pieces. “No, it hasn’t.”
“You planning on moving in with her, maybe? Maybe it’s nosy of me to ask, but I figure that if she’s got someone there at night, maybe her nightmares wouldn’t be so bad.
”
The idea of being able to help Lana with something as simple as his presence was a strong lure, but Caleb knew it was just wishful thinking. Even if she did let him into her life in such an intimate way, chances were his presence would just make things worse by reminding her of what had happened.
Then again, she had quieted last night when he’d held her. Maybe the old man wasn’t completely wrong. “Lana’s a bit independent,” said Caleb.
Mr. Simmons let out a bark of laughter that made the shirt over his potbely gape open around the buttons. “That’s like saying the sun’s a bit bright.”
“I guess you do know her pretty wel, huh?”
Mr. Simmons puled out a crowbar and went to work puling the frame off the doorway. “About as wel as anyone, I suppose. She doesn’t have a lot of people in her life, from what I’ve seen. Her folks go to church with me, and her father worries about her something fierce. He’s told me a little bit about what she’s gone through, but I don’t think even he knows the whole story.”
“She’s trying to protect him from the truth,” said Caleb before he thought better. Instinctively, he knew it was true. Lana was not the type of woman to dump her problems onto her friends and family. She’d shoulder the burden herself rather than bring them down with her.
Caleb wondered if she’d even told them enough to alow them to help her.
“Hel of a thing for a father, though—to want to help your little girl, but not know how,” said Mr. Simmons.
Caleb needed to know how much Lana had shared with her family. Maybe that was the key to finding out if she was hiding something or if she was in danger. “How much do you know about what happened to her?”
Mr. Simmons lowered the crowbar and ripped off a section of molding with his rough hands. “Just what her father told me one night after a few beers. She went to Armenia with some do-good group that was hoping to help out there. She was supposed to teach art classes to kids or something. I’m not exactly sure. Something went wrong, and she was taken hostage by a terrorist group. They held her and a bunch of other Americans for three days, beat her up pretty bad, but she was the lucky one. The others al died.”