Page 7 of Something Like Shelter

“Sure. We’ll be here,” she said, waving to the baby.

“If you want, I can grab the samples so we can get something ordered for the tile.”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” she agreed.

“I’ll be right back.”

The only problem was… in the five minutes it took me to turn the water back on to the house, grab everything from my van, and walk back upstairs, Willa had climbed on the bed and passed out with her daughter.

There was no way in hell I was waking up someone as tired as her, so I crept back out of the room and down the stairs.

The dining table was empty, so I went ahead and laid everything out for her there to browse when she’d gotten some sleep.

But from that angle, I got a good view right into the kitchen. And that overflowing sink.

It was wrong.

Borderline creepy as hell, even. To move around someone’s space when they weren’t aware, to touch their things without permission.

That didn’t stop me from walking over to unload and restack the dishwasher, from putting in the packet of cleaner and setting it to run.

Maybe she’d be mad.

Maybe she’d even fire me.

But at least she’d have a dish when she reached for one.

With that, I found myself doing a quick sweep—making sure the burners were off and the fridge was closed, things a scatterbrained, exhausted new mom might miss—and made my way to the door, making sure it was locked before I closed it.

Then I went ahead and didn’t analyze the way some part of me wanted to go back into that house and take care of the two girls inside.

Because what the hell was that about?

CHAPTER THREE

Willa

I woke up completely disoriented.

I had no idea where I was, what day it was, or what time it was.

Adelaide.

My stomach swooped; my heart fluttered.

But there was a little coo that had me pushing up from where I’d fallen, curled up on my side in a tight, protective ball, on my own bed. Then there she was, just eight inches away from me, big eyes looking up at the ceiling fan as it circled, content as a clam.

The whooshing in my ears didn’t lessen, and it took an absurd amount of time to realize it wasn’t my own blood rushing through my head; it was the fans.

The fans Owen had brought and left.

Owen!

I was supposed to be looking at samples.

But I knew from the weight in my breasts and the wetness soaking through that more time had passed than should have.

I turned, glancing at my nightstand to see my alarm clock.