Indigo Lake
Indigo Lake
Jodi Thomas
Two families long divided by an ancient feud. Can a powerful love finally unite them?Blade Hamilton is the last of his line. He's never even heard of Crossroads, Texas, until he inherits land there. Riding in on his vintage Harley-Davidson, Blade finds a weathered ranch house, an empty prairie and a dark river that cuts a decisive path between the Hamiltons' land and that of their estranged neighbours.When Dakota helps a stranger on the roadside, she isn't prepared for the charisma of the man on the motorbike—or for the last name he bears: Hamilton—her family's sworn enemies, representing all she's been raised to loathe. The problem is, it looks like Blade is in town to stay, and there's something about his wolf-grey eyes she just can't ignore.Lauren Brigman feels adrift. Unhappy in work and unlucky in love, she knows she ought to be striving for more, but she's never truly at peace unless she's at home in Crossroads. If the wider world can't satisfy her, is home truly where her heart is?
Two families long divided by an ancient feud. Can a powerful love finally unite them?
Blade Hamilton is the last of his line. He’s never even heard of Crossroads, Texas, until he inherits land there. Riding in on his vintage Harley-Davidson, Blade finds a weathered ranch house, an empty prairie and a dark river that cuts a decisive path between the Hamiltons’ land and that of their estranged neighbors.
When Dakota helps a stranger on the roadside, she isn’t prepared for the charisma of the man on the motorbike—or for the last name he bears: Hamilton, of her family’s sworn enemies, representing all she’s been raised to loathe. The problem is, it looks like Blade is in town to stay, and there’s something about his wolf-gray eyes she just can’t ignore.
Lauren Brigman feels adrift. Unhappy in work and unlucky in love, she knows she ought to be striving for more, but she’s never truly at peace unless she’s at home in Crossroads. If the wider world can’t satisfy her, is home truly where her heart is?
Praise for New York Times bestselling author Jodi Thomas and her Ransom Canyon series
“Compelling and beautifully written, it is exactly the kind of heart-wrenching, emotional story one has come to expect from Jodi Thomas.”
—Debbie Macomber, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“You can count on Jodi Thomas to give you a satisfying and memorable read.”
—Catherine Anderson, New York Times bestselling author
“A fast pace and a truly delightful twist at the end.”
—RT Book Reviews on Sunrise Crossing
“[Sunrise Crossing] will warm any reader’s heart.”
—Publishers Weekly, A Best Book of 2016
“This tale will grab readers, who will fall in love with the main characters and be just as enamored of the others.”
—Library Journal, starred review, on Lone Heart Pass
“Thomas is a wonderful storyteller.”
—RT Book Reviews on Rustler’s Moon
“Western romance legend Thomas’s Ransom Canyon will warm readers with its huge heart and gentle souls.”
—Library Journal
“A pure joy to read.”
—RT Book Reviews on the Ransom Canyon series
Indigo Lake
Winter’s Camp(Bonus Story)
Jodi Thomas
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Sometimes people come into my life who leave me with a greater understanding of this life we all live, and two of them are:
Ernestine Wakefield—Born in 1926 in her grandparents’ home five miles east of Jayton, Texas, Ernestine was one of those rare people you meet for a moment and know if you talked longer, you would become best friends. I’ll always remember one line she wrote: “Bury me in boots and jeans because I’ll be heading into heaven two-stepping.” I smiled June 5, 2016, because I knew she was dancing.
Police officer Gerald E. “Jerry” Cline—My character Jerry Cline is named after this policeman who died EOW (End of Watch) February 24, 1983, in the line of duty in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I never met Jerry, but I saw the love in his wife’s eyes when she spoke of him one afternoon when we had lunch in Albuquerque. To all the men and women in blue, thank you for standing in harm’s way to keep us all safe.
Table of Contents
Cover (#u073941a0-9826-5e63-ad16-02b6ea728e09)
Back Cover Text (#u6c6f2634-f404-5dc7-a94d-c3ebecfafffa)
Praise (#u61b01d91-9a23-5f95-bcbe-8141bab841fe)
Title Page (#u1cb624ef-b5fa-5721-a59f-989ad5acf43e)
Indigo Lake (#uc0dd3761-f6a3-56fb-99ac-55e18e44583b)
PROLOGUE (#u995a6cbc-1098-5a33-9acf-082e7e00b00b)
CHAPTER ONE (#u1d4622bf-8266-5d32-8432-7972270c44f3)
CHAPTER TWO (#u73a69336-6263-5eb3-b157-8788a7832e35)
CHAPTER THREE (#u0716b0f7-1585-5482-9e16-20d719e679ad)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u20ccf3e8-7bfc-5977-9512-0d213f08934e)
CHAPTER FIVE (#uaa473524-da13-50fa-b64c-4c65e5bb5613)
CHAPTER SIX (#u4814d44e-7dd6-5c86-a42b-6ebb793161bd)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#u28890dd8-32c0-5a0f-b6ac-c80575b6f140)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#u7a645941-069c-5a3d-a71c-c789db423a48)
CHAPTER NINE (#ub350d20b-8029-573b-bddd-a66e1345e11b)
CHAPTER TEN (#ub6df4b80-070f-580f-b511-79912f8c37f3)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FORTY (#litres_trial_promo)
Winter’s Camp (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Indigo Lake (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
Jodi Thomas
PROLOGUE (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
The Ides of March, 2016
DEEP IN THE BACKCOUNTRY, where no paved roads cross and legends whisper through the tall buffalo grass, lies a lake fed by cold underground springs.
Indigo-colored water, dark and silent, moves over the pond where secrets hide just below the surface and an old curse lingers in silent ripples.
Two ranches border the shores. Two families who haven’t spoken for a hundred years.
A few of the old-timers claim the water is darker on Indigo Lake because of the blood washed away there.
Only tonight, one man stands listening, debating, wondering if breaking tradition will save him or kill him.
CHAPTER ONE (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
Last day of February, 2016
BLADE HAMILTON WALKED to the dark water’s edge and stared into Indigo Lake. He didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong anywhere. He’d wasted his time coming to this nothing of a place.
By birth, the land was his. You’re the last of your branch of the Hamilton line, the judge in Crossroads had said an hour ago when he’d handed over the deed to Hamilton Acres. Only, Blade had never heard of this old homestead before a week ago. He’d known nothing about his father or a dilapidated ranch that carried his last name.
He’d picked up the keys and a map from the sheriff in town and ridden out before dark on his vintage 1948 Harley-Davidson. He’d paid sixty thousand for the Harley, and Blade would bet it was worth more than his inherited land and house put together.
The last quarter mile had been dirt road, ending in an old bridge that groaned as he crossed onto what the judge had called the old Hamilton place.
A weathered two-story house stood a hundred yards off the road, like a sentinel blocking his entrance. Fifty or so years ago someone must have painted the homestead bright red, but the wood had weathered to a sangria color that almost matched the mud along the lake. Huge cottonwoods waded into the water with their bony-kneed roots and haunting skeleton forms still naked from winter.
Thanks to a stream with a wide-yet-shallow waterfall flooding the open land, small trees and bushes grew to his left like a wild miniature forest. The house sat on high ground where vines, now brown with winter, seemed to be crawling across the ground and almost covering the porch. Another few years and the vines would probably pull the place down.
Leaving the bike on dry ground beside a small barn, he moved slowly toward the house, his mind already mapping out the route back to Denver. He’d grown up in cities and the silence of the country made him uneasy.
Blade dropped his saddlebags on the porch and unlocked the door. He slowly walked into a museum of hard times.
Most of the windows downstairs were boarded, so he used a flashlight to navigate. Guns were racked on the walls and animal hides served as rugs. The place must have been furnished about the turn of the twentieth century and left to age. The smell of neglect hung in the moist air, and a thick layer of dirt rested over draped furniture.
Pictures showing four or maybe five generations hung in the stairwell. Faces stared back, resembling him so closely Blade had to take a second look. Ranchers on horseback, soldiers in uniforms, an oil field worker leaning from a rig, a fisherman next to an old Jeep, a man in a suit with a string tie. All were identified by tiny plates at the bottom of the frames.
Hamilton men, many of whom carried Blade as their first or middle name. His father, Henry Blade Hamilton, stared back from an army photo. Vietnam, Blade guessed. It must have been taken when he was Blade’s age, early thirties.
Until a week ago, he hadn’t known he’d been named after the man his mother left before he was born.
When he stopped by his mother’s place last week she’d simply handed him a huge envelope and announced, “Looks like it’s from your father’s side of the family.”
“I have a father’s side?” Blade grumbled, thinking this was a hell of a way to start his monthly visit with her.
She gave him that you’re-dumber-than-rocks look she’d perfected during his teen years and walked away.
Blade swore, claiming in a loud voice that he never should have bothered to stop by. She never wanted to talk to him, anyway. Or maybe he simply didn’t want to hear what she had to say. From childhood he’d convinced himself he’d been adopted from another planet, and his mother was the only female who’d take him in.
She also took in stray dogs and cats along with an occasional out-of-work drunk, so being adopted wouldn’t have made him feel special.
His mother’s answer to any questions about his other parent was simply the slamming of a door, so Blade had learned early not to ask. He swore his dear old mom hadn’t liked him since birth, and once he left home, she’d never asked where he lived or what he did. A few times when he’d dropped by to check on her, she’d even had the nerve to look like she’d forgotten him completely. He’d thought of introducing himself.
His mother might be surprised if she had kept up with him. He wasn’t the loser she’d always predicted he’d be. He’d finished college after the army and was doing quite well. Turned out he was good at solving puzzles, and as an agent for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives (the ATF), he got plenty of practice. He might be based out of Denver but as a special investigator, he traveled often.
Blade pushed thoughts of his mother aside as he climbed the stairs and looked out the old Hamilton house’s one unboarded window. The huge second-story window faced the open land of Hamilton Acres, its heavy leaded glass pieced together in almost a spiderweb shape. The image it showed seemed fractured. A broken world, pieced back together.
“Creepy,” he whispered aloud as he remembered how the sheriff of Crossroads had followed him out of the county offices, warning him to be careful.
Blade had taken the time to formally introduce himself, even shown the sheriff his federal badge. But Sheriff Brigman still had that worried look lawmen get when they think someone might be stepping into trouble over his head.
Blade grinned. He knew the look well by now. He saw it every time he parachuted behind the fire line or suited up with the bomb squad. He’d learned a long time ago that if you want answers, you have to go where the trouble started.
It wasn’t the adrenaline rush that made him step into danger or the belief that his skills would always save him. Blade was good at his job but it was the absence of fear that kept his hand steady. He didn’t think about tomorrow. He didn’t believe in it.
Living for today was all he thought about.
From this crow’s nest vantage point of the second-story window, he could see a brilliant sunset spreading across the western sky. One lonely windmill was all that marked any kind of civilization in that direction. From here he could almost believe that he could catch a glimpse of the future, or maybe the past.
For once, he’d found a land as alone as he felt. In an odd way, he sensed he could bond with this untamed landscape. Maybe it was because generations of his family had been buried here. Or maybe Blade just wanted, for once in his life, to feel like he belonged.
Hamilton land. His land. Roots Blade wouldn’t know how to handle after a life of drifting.
When he called to tell his mother he’d inherited a ranch in Texas, she’d laughed and said, “Sure you did. Better be heading out to buy some cowboy boots. I hear they don’t like biker boots in cattle country.”
“Don’t you want to go have a look with me? After all, you were married to Henry Blade Hamilton.” When she hadn’t answered, Blade added, “You do remember the name of the man who fathered me?”
“I called him Hank and I’ve been trying to forget him for thirty years.” She swore in her usual jumble of words that didn’t fit together. “It hasn’t been easy to block him from my mind when you turned out to look just like him.”
“Then go with me. He’s dead, so you’re not likely to have to face him. We’ll visit his grave and maybe you can bury the memory.”
“Not a chance. He’d said the place was worthless when we married. Nothing but tumbleweeds and wild plum bushes. Good for nothing. Turned out, so was he.”
“Was he a cowboy?” Blade asked.
“I don’t remember.” She ended the call without saying goodbye.
He didn’t call back or try to see her again. He packed a change of clothes, climbed on his Harley and rode down from Denver to explore a side of the family he never knew existed.
So far nothing about the place impressed him besides the sunset. The lake was dark, the land rocky, and the house looked like it belonged next to the Bates Motel. Obviously there was nothing worth stealing or someone would have dragged it off years ago. The lawyer told him over the phone that his father had died in New Orleans six months ago, and apparently old Hank hadn’t stepped foot on the ranch since he’d walked off the place at sixteen.
However, Henry Hamilton had paid the taxes every year and filed his will both with the lawyer in New Orleans and the county offices in Crossroads, Texas. Henry might never have contacted Blade, but for some reason he wanted his son to have the land.
As he walked back down the stairs, Blade noticed that not one woman’s picture hung on the wall. There had to have been wives, mothers to these guys, a grandmother or great-grandmother to him. Maybe none had stayed around long enough to do more than birth the next generation. From the dates and names on the frames, Blade traced his family tree.
He had his father’s and his grandfather’s dark hair, their gray eyes, their skin that never burned but always tanned. Their tall height and wide-at-the-shoulder build.
But nothing more. They were strangers.
All the other pictures were black-and-white, but if they’d been in color, he’d bet the traits would be the same.
Slowly, Blade moved from room to room. It looked like someone had just walked away from the place one day. Moth-eaten clothes hung in the closets, dishes were in the sink, rotting comforters and pillows were still on beds.
No electricity on, no water.
When he opened the back door, wild rosebushes barred his exit. Vines twisted and crawled up the house almost to the second floor. They were thorny and bare. When he twisted one branch to see if it was alive, a thorn sliced into his finger. It was indeed alive, and he felt like the plant was drinking his blood. Dropping the branch, he closed the door, thinking the roses could have the house for all he cared but would get no more of his blood.
As nightfall crept in, he moved out onto the old porch of the house. Boards creaked beneath his boots, but the place must have solid bones to still be standing.
He was tired and bothered that he had no memories of the man who’d fathered him. He should have pushed his mother for answers, but when he’d asked about the past, she always said that the time would come for talking.
Only, he had a feeling it never would. She’d married three times since he’d been born and each time, like a chameleon, she shifted and changed into someone he barely knew. She’d been a preacher’s wife in Kansas, married to an oil field worker who moved all over Oklahoma, and, for a few months, the wife of an out-of-work actor in California. Between marriages she’d waitressed some, sold cars once in Houston, and finally settled into selling homes in Denver. He doubted she even remembered what she was like thirty years ago when she’d given birth to him at eighteen.
Blade told himself he didn’t care. She had her life and it hadn’t included him for years. It hadn’t mattered to her if he dropped by once a month or once a year.
He moved out to the lake. It was time to get out of here. This wasn’t where he wanted to be after dark. Maybe he’d go back to town and find a hotel. Tomorrow, he’d take another look around, not searching for a thing to take away, but maybe he’d get a feeling about the man he’d been named after. Henry must have grown up here.
Blade could feel change in the air like he had a dozen times before in his life. His mother had wanted no roots and she’d raised a son without any until now.
Roots he didn’t want, he reminded himself again. He didn’t know anything about this land, these relatives. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. He had a feeling whatever stories this house held were sad ones.
Lightning flashed to the east and he saw another house across the lake. It was built low to the ground, almost blending into the landscape. Probably another abandoned home. More land that the next generation didn’t want.
He zipped up his leather jacket and walked to his bike. Let the coyotes and hawks have this place. Maybe one more circling of the land tomorrow and then he was leaving. When he got to Denver, he’d call the lawyer who contacted him about this inheritance and ask for a Realtor who’d sell the place. Land, house, and heritage. They could buy it all.
CHAPTER TWO (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
DAKOTA DAVIS TURNED OFF the county road, driving way faster than the speed limit. In five minutes the dirt road would be a river of mud. If she wanted to get home without all her supplies soaked, she’d better make the farm pickup fly.
A few minutes later, as she passed the old Hamilton place, she thought she was hallucinating. A man dressed in black was standing knee-deep in the muddy lake, looking like he was swearing at heaven.
For just a moment he reminded her of something her shichu, her grandmother, had said about a legend of the lake. Shichu said the last man to die in a battle over this land was a strong warrior, but he’d simply walked out to the middle of Indigo Lake until the water was over his head because he’d lost his will to live. Apache legends, tales of her people who fought and died over this land, were common, but this story was about the Hamiltons.
Shichu knew them all. Ancient tales and stories of battles fought near this quiet lake between neighbors who’d settled here over a hundred years ago. The Davis family and the Hamilton clan. Curses once screamed across the water now simply whispered in the trees lining its banks.
Grandmother said the land was damned and all who fought to keep it would die in water. Maybe that was why the last one, Henry Hamilton, stayed away, Dakota thought as she stared at the vision before her.
When the man in black turned to stare at her pickup, she had to remind herself she didn’t believe in ghosts. But the stranger looked exactly like the Hamilton men she’d seen in pictures at the museum near Crossroads. Tall, broad-shouldered, slim.
Only, all the Hamilton men were dead, even Henry, who she’d never seen. Folks in town said he was killed six months ago in a car crash somewhere in Louisiana. As far as anyone knew he hadn’t been back to the place for forty years, but the Franklin sisters whispered that the crash had pushed both his car and him off the highway into water.
The man standing in the lake looked very much alive and was waving for help. Curiosity got the better of her, and Dakota turned away from her farm and toward Hamilton Acres.
A heartbeat later she slammed on her brakes.
The bridge that usually stretched across a stream that fed the lake was now halfway in the water. There must have been an accident: what looked like the back wheel of a motorcycle spun in the lake as if trying to tread water.
Jumping from the truck, she yelled to the man, “You need help?”
“No,” he yelled back. “I’m fine. My bike just wanted to go for a swim.”
Dakota frowned, then turned around. “Oh, all right. Sorry to bother you.” She climbed back into the truck.
“Wait.” The man stormed out of the water. “I’m sorry. The bridge gave way as I was leaving. I just watched a classic 1948 Harley drown.”
“I can see that.” She thought of asking what he was doing on Hamilton Acres in the first place, but she had a feeling he belonged here. Black hair. Angry. Too noisy to be a ghost. “Why don’t you pull it out and dry it off?”
“It doesn’t work that way. I’d have to take it apart and rebuild. It will no longer be original, and parts cost more than the bike, if I can find them.”
Too much information. She didn’t have time to visit or cry over the loss of a motorcycle.
Her grandmother had told her once that the men of this ranch only had two possible traits: stubborn or crazy.
This one had both, plus he had the look of a Hamilton. She’d bet his eyes were that funny color gray of a wolf. “Anything else you want to educate me about motorcycles? I need to get these supplies home.”
“You wouldn’t want to help me pull my bike out?” he asked in a calmer tone.
“Nope. I don’t go on Hamilton land. There’s a curse. Anyone named Davis who steps foot on that land dies a violent death.” She didn’t add by a Hamilton bullet. Never give ideas to the insane.
“We all die sometime, lady.”
She stepped into her truck. “I’ll have to test the curse later. Good luck with your bike.” Thunder rolled over the land as if pushing her away. “I’m in a hurry.”
“Wait. I’m sorry. Let me try again. I’m Blade Hamilton and I’ve just lost a sixty-thousand-dollar bike in the mud. Forgive me for not caring about an old curse or your groceries.”
“You’re forgiven, Hamilton, but I’m not stepping on your land. The good news is that bike isn’t going anywhere. It will still be right there in the mud tomorrow, but if I get these supplies wet, we’ll lose a week’s income.”
Lightning flashed as if on cue. The blink of light showed off the skeleton trees dancing in the wind near the water. Dakota fought the urge to gun the engine. For as long as she could remember she’d always feared this land. It felt like Halloween night without a light.
The man didn’t seem to notice the weather or the creepiness of the place. Who knew—maybe Hamiltons were used to scary nights.
“Fine,” he said. “Any chance you’d rent me your truck? I just need it for ten minutes and I’ll pay you fifty.”
“Nope,” she said. “But I’ll loan it to you if you’ll help me get these supplies under cover before it rains.”
“Deal,” he said, and walked toward the passenger side of her old Ford.
“In the back, Hamilton,” she ordered. “I don’t want mud all over my seats.” She fought the urge to add or you near enough to strangle me. Her grandmother told her once that there was an old cemetery, way back on Davis land, where all the deaths were recorded on headstones. Died in childbirth. Death from cholera. Died in accident. Death by Hamilton.
Besides, she didn’t have time to clean all the property listings off her passenger seat. Her mobile office was always a mess. Four mornings a week, the farm truck was her business vehicle.
He swung up into the bed of the truck with the ease of a man who’d done it many times and she started backing up before he was seated. The sooner she was home safe, the better. She’d loan him the pickup and tell him to just leave the keys in it. He could cross the pasture and walk back to his place easily enough.
The road was bumpy between her land and his, but she flew toward home, not much caring if the man bounced out or not. Her people had always hated Hamiltons. They told stories about how mean they were and even though she’d been told they were all dead, she felt it her ancestral duty to hate this new one.
So, why was she loaning him her truck?
Dakota shook her head. It was the neighborly thing to do. Having a grandmother with Apache blood and an Irish grandfather had messed her up for life.
A guy she’d dated a few years back broke up with her because he said she had Apache skills with a knife and an Irish temper. She almost hit him for insulting both sides of her family, but then she would have proved his point. She’d told him this was the twenty-first century and she was a skilled chef like her sister, which wasn’t true, but it sounded good. He left before she cooked him anything and proved herself a liar, as well. She heard him mumbling something about being afraid to sleep beside her for fear he’d be carved and thin sliced if he snored. He’d called her hotheaded just before he gunned the engine and shot out of her life.
Dakota gripped the steering wheel, realizing the old boyfriend had been right. She did have a temper, but with a Hamilton riding in the back of her truck, now didn’t seem the time for self-analysis.
She could be nice. She’d loan Hamilton the truck, and when he brought it back she’d tell him to never step foot on Davis land again. Simple enough.
When she slid to a stop a few feet from the kitchen door of her place, she glanced back. He was still there and raindrops were spatting against her windshield.
She jumped out and ran to haul the boxes of supplies to the cover of the porch.
To his credit, he did his share to help. More than his share, actually, because he carried a double load with each trip.
The guy was strong and obviously well built. And a biker. Black leather jacket. Leather pants hugging his legs. Boots to his knees. His cowboy ancestors were probably rolling over in their graves.
In a few minutes they had the boxes on the covered porch and the rain started pouring down in sheets.
“We made it.” She laughed. “Thanks. No supplies got wet.”
“I’m glad I could help. I’m already soaked so the rain won’t bother me.”
She decided he didn’t sound like he meant it about how glad he was to help. Maybe it was the tone in his voice—it didn’t sound right without a Texas twang. She frowned at him, wondering what northern state he’d come from.
He looked down at her with his gray wolf eyes and added, “If you got wet, you might shrink and then you’d be about elf size.”
Dakota studied him a moment. No obvious signs of insanity. “You don’t have many friends, do you, Hamilton?” She tossed him her key. “Park the truck at the turnoff on my land. You won’t have as far to walk. Leave the keys in the glove box.”
“Aren’t you afraid someone will steal it?”
“Nope. Nobody but you.”
He nodded and disappeared into the downpour.
Dakota straightened to her five-foot-two height and frowned. “Sounds just like what a Hamilton would say,” she mumbled, thinking it was obvious the Hamiltons had been the ones to start the feud.
Elf size. No one had ever called her that.
CHAPTER THREE (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
LAUREN BRIGMAN STOOD in the shadows of hundred-year-old cottonwoods planted to slow the wind off the open plains. The lights of town were nothing more than a glow of tea candles in the distance.
The night’s breath rattled the dried leaves in the trees as it had a dozen years ago. She felt a hint of old fear creep over her as a memory circled in her mind.
Strange how you live thousands of days, thousands of nights but only a few live in your mind, in your heart, as clear as the moment they happened.
She stared at the home her high school friends had called the Gypsy House. An old woman who’d died there decades ago was almost a skeleton before anyone had come to check on her. After her passing, the house was left to rot and became the setting for ghost stories told around campfires.
Finally, the grandson of the old woman, Yancy Gray, moved to Crossroads and found himself drawn to the place. He’d discovered he owned the house and had completely remodeled it. Yancy had painted the outside a cream color with shutters the burnt orange of sunset’s last glow. He’d enlarged the second floor and landscaped beautifully.
Yet in Lauren’s mind, the house was still abandoned and rotting, as it looked when she was fifteen. She’d danced with death that night twelve years ago; they all had. Tim O’Grady, Reid Collins, Lucas Reyes, and her. Just four kids walking home, looking for something to do, hoping for an adventure they could brag about at school.
Three boys and her, the youngest, the only girl, all in their teens. Sometimes she felt as if they’d been bound together by fear and the lie they all kept after that night. She’d never be free of the memory. One day she’d be bent over with age, but she’d still come to this spot every year and remember what had happened.
Footsteps played a rapid tap on the wet pavement behind her as thunder rumbled above.
Lauren stepped farther into the shadows and watched. There was no mistaking Reid Collins’s quick, confident step. He might be twenty-eight now and rich, thanks to a trust fund from grandparents and a ranch a few miles from town, but there was still a bit of the little boy in him. Spoiled, arrogant, and handsome. Word was that he’d be running for mayor of Crossroads in the fall with his eye on the Texas State Senate in ten years, but Reid would never have her vote.
As far as she knew, he never finished college or anything else he’d started. Her father, the town’s sheriff, told Lauren a few months ago that the only way to kill an improvement project in the county was to put Reid in charge. He’d never get around to the planning meeting, much less completion.
The tapping of his boots stopped a few feet in front of the cottonwoods. “I know you’re in there, Lauren. That long, blond hair of yours glows in the dark. You might as well come out.” His laugh wasn’t quite real. Too polished, too practiced.
She slowly stepped onto the road. “I didn’t think you’d be in town, Reid. Did they run out of parties in the big city?” He didn’t look entirely sober, but she didn’t mention it. “Pop said they canceled the city council meeting because you had to be in Austin today.”
“I just got back. The Governors Balls are not what they used to be.” He smiled as if really looking at her for a change. “You know, Lauren, I miss our once-a-year dates from college. You were the only girl I took out now and then that I didn’t sleep with.” His gaze traveled down her long, slim body.
She didn’t miss him. Those dates had been torture. Putting up with his loud, self-centered fraternity brothers, trying to act like she was having a good time watching them brag. He’d said once that he liked having a tall blonde on his arm, like she was an accessory.
She and Reid were from the same town; their dads had been friends, so she’d gone out with Reid Collins a few times. She felt sure half the people in town wanted them to marry, but she’d never match with him. She loved learning almost as dearly as he loved partying.
“I was a perfect gentleman.” He bragged as he moved closer, almost nose to nose with her. “Never even made a pass.”
“You’re right, but I’m surprised you remembered I was there. Weren’t you engaged two or three times while you were at Tech?”
“Two. The third one was all in her head. Once I came home to run the ranch, I was so bored I almost married the first girl who came along. Big mistake. She’s still spreading trash about me.” He tried to loop his arm over her shoulder but she stepped away. “You’re looking good, Lauren. Aging well.”
“I’m twenty-seven, Reid, not exactly a centenarian.”
“I know, but you wouldn’t believe how some women change after college. I went to the planning meeting for my ten-year high school reunion and some of the kids I graduated with had slipped into middle age. I thought one girl must have sent her mother to the meeting.” He slurred a few of his words.
Lauren didn’t want to talk to Reid Collins, not ever, much less on the anniversary of the accident at the old Gypsy House. “I just came out to remember what happened twelve years ago. How about you?”
Collins looked around, as if he had no idea what she was talking about. As far as she knew, he’d never mentioned the night of the accident to any of the three who were with him. He’d simply taken credit for saving everyone that night. An account none of the others shared.
She smiled, wondering why they’d silently watched him play the hero. The school even had a pep rally for him, and the mayor had given him a key to the city. Lauren, Lucas and Tim remained silent and let the lie about that night stand, even though the truth wouldn’t hurt anyone now.
“I spotted your car at the truck stop and decided to walk off the long drive. Thought you might have wandered down this direction,” Reid said, a bit too loudly, almost as though he thought someone might be eavesdropping and he wanted them to hear him. “Strange we meet here at almost midnight. The people in this town are like ants. They disappear as soon as it gets dark.”
“Maybe they don’t disappear. Maybe you just don’t notice them.”
“You want to go for a drink?” he asked suddenly, as if the timer in his brain went off and it was time for another.
“No.” She didn’t bother with a reason.
He rocked on his heels and went back to their conversation. “I doubt anyone except you, Lauren, remembers that night we got trapped in the old Gypsy House. Ancient history. Four kids almost died when they ventured into an abandoned house. Why don’t you do an article in that little online paper of yours about it?”
“You really think no one remembers? Twelve years ago tonight was when Tim was crippled. He still limps a bit, so he’s not likely to forget.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. I was hurt too, you know.” Reid backed away a few feet, as though not wanting her to see him so clearly. “My ankle still gives me trouble when I play tennis.” He rushed on as if needing to change the subject. “My last stepmother put in a court and a pool at the ranch headquarters to make sure I exercise it regularly.”
“How are your father and his new bride?” Lauren had no idea if this was number five or six.
Reid shrugged. “I don’t know. They mostly travel. She hates the ranch so Dad bought her a town house in Dallas and she owns a vineyard outside of Paris, thanks to her last husband. Dad lucked out marrying this one. He plays golf and she shops while they’re in the States, and who knows what they do in Paris? I run the ranch, you know, have for years. It’s a real headache. Dad and I would both like to be rid of the place. He sold several pastures before he left town two years ago.”
She started walking and he fell into step. Neither mentioned the light rain.
“Why don’t you drive out some weekend? It’s only a few miles, but it might feel like a retreat after living in this town. We could talk about our college days, maybe watch a Tech game. I’ve got the whole fall season recorded. Man, I miss those days at Tech. The games, the parties, the carefree life.”
She smiled. He hadn’t mentioned the classes. “You could invite Tim O’Grady and Lucas Reyes to come too. Maybe we could talk about the night the old house almost swallowed us.”
“Sure.” He dragged the one word out. “Only, come to think of it, I’m snowed under with work right now. We’ve got problems with some of the old cowhands on the spread that should have been fired years ago. My father always let them run the place, but I’m changing things, modernizing. Land’s good for more than running cattle.”
Lauren stopped listening to Reid’s excuses as she spotted a lean shadow of a man moving toward them. His head was down, his collar turned up to the wind as he limped along. There was no mistaking the shaggy red hair always in need of a cut or the dark auburn beard.
“Tim!” Lauren bolted toward him. “You’re home.”
The shadow man looked up and straightened. A moment later she was in his arms and he was swinging her around.
“I figured you’d be out here, L.” Tim held her tightly as only a lifelong friend can. “Did you have to return to the scene, like me? I figure once a year it’s okay to let the memory roll over me.”
She pulled away. “Reid came out too.”
“With you?” Tim whispered.
Lauren shook her head and Tim faced Reid. “Hello, Collins. Haven’t seen you in a while. Word is you don’t spend much more time on the ranch than your dad did. A Collins ranch without any Collinses. Maybe you should think of another name for the place.”
Reid offered his hand but his words were colder than the night air. “Good to see you, Tim. Still writing those little invisible books? Ebooks, right? Any money in fiction made of air?”
Tim turned back to Lauren as if he hadn’t seen Reid’s hand, but she could feel the tension between the two. They’d been best friends once, before the accident. High school football players, sixteen and invincible. She remembered they’d both had their football jackets on that night. Tim never played or wore the jacket again that she knew about.
“My books make more money than his invisible cattle, I’m guessing,” Tim whispered to Lauren.
Forcing down a laugh, she linked her arm around each man’s elbow and marched on toward town. The less time these two had to talk, the better.
It had been twelve years since they’d walked this road together. They’d grown up, they’d grown apart, but in many ways nothing had changed. Tim was still the dreamer, Reid was still full of himself, and she was still waiting to start her life.
As they neared town, she noticed all their cars were scattered around the parking lot of the fancy new truck stop with lights so bright Lauren was sure it could be seen from space. Years ago, the corner where two highways crossed had been only a little gas station/convenience store with a trailer park in back. Now the truck stop took over the block and never closed.
Tim’s old Jeep, the one he refused to trade off, was by the gas pumps. Reid’s Mercedes was parked on the side. Lauren’s old blue Explorer was near the front door. Next to Reid’s car was a rusty junker of a pickup with a man leaning against it, his boots propped up on Reid’s Mercedes’s fender.
“Lucas!” Reid jerked away from Lauren and stormed toward the lights of the truck stop. “I knew this was coming. Damn it, Reyes, get your boots off my car!” His order sounded hollow in the still air, with no one around to notice but the tall figure with his boots still on the Mercedes.
Lauren and Tim slowed, staying in the shadows between light circles. “What’s going on?” she whispered.
Tim laughed. “I’m not sure, but I think Lucas Reyes is about to finally beat the hell out of Reid Collins.”
“That’s impossible. Lucas is always reasonable.” She watched Reid running toward Lucas, his swearing firing in time to his footsteps. Reid was already out of control, but Lucas looked calm, driven, deadly. Something was wrong.
“You’ve got to stop this.” She tried to pull Tim along. With no one else at the station, Tim was her only hope.
“Stop it? Hell, I plan on watching the fight, then swear I didn’t see a thing. It’s about time someone straightened out a lie Reid’s been telling for twelve years. Maybe Lucas just got tired of him building on more lies. We all know he wasn’t the hero that night, L, but Reid keeps bragging like he saved us all. He even did an interview with Texas Monthly about it a few months ago.”
Lauren pulled Tim along. “No. This isn’t about the lie he told at the Gypsy House. This is something more.” Just from his stance she knew Lucas Reyes hadn’t come to talk.
Before her words died in the air, Reid stormed toward Lucas and ordered him again to get his boots off the Mercedes.
When Lucas didn’t move, Reid yelled names at him as if they were in high school and not in their late twenties.
Lucas, dressed in Western clothes and not the suit he wore into court, slowly stood and widened his stance as Reid reached him.
Reid pointed his finger at Lucas as cusswords flew in rapid fire.
Lucas raised a fist and swung.
Lauren and Tim froze, watching. The lawyer’s fist connected with the part-time rancher’s face. The sound echoed off the cloudy night as sharp as gunfire, then silence as Reid crumbled.
“Did you see that?” she whispered.
“Yep. He flattened the guy with one blow. I’m tempted to go over there and kick Reid for not putting up more of a fight.”
They were still ten feet away when Lucas pulled out, leaving one of the richest men in Crossroads—a city councilman, a playboy, a liar—spread out on the oil-spotted concrete.
Tim reached him first and shook Reid’s shoulder. “You all right, slugger?” Tim teased.
Reid groaned and rolled onto his side in the blood and dirt of the parking lot.
Tim finally offered his hand and pulled Reid to his feet.
“You two saw what that bastard just did?” Reid spit blood. “Damn it, I knocked my tooth loose when I hit the ground. I swear I’m filing charges. He may be a big-city lawyer, but he can’t assault me just because I fired his old man.”
Tim let go of him and Reid fell against his car, bloodying his nose again. Tim didn’t seem to care. “Reyes has been foreman at your ranch for years. The place would have never been a working ranch if he hadn’t been there while you and your dad were traveling all over the country.” Tim made a fist. “You fired him? That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, Reid.”
Lauren gripped Tim’s arm, fearing Reid was about to get hit again.
Reid didn’t notice. He was still spitting blood. “That’s why we’re so far behind the times. I had to get rid of all the deadwood around the place. I’ve got plans.”
He wiped his nose on his suit jacket. “Lucas is going to be so sorry he did this to me. I’ll file charges. He’ll lose his license to practice law. I’ve got you two as witnesses.”
Tim shook his head. “Sorry, Reid, I didn’t see a thing. I was trying to kiss Lauren. I think I might have heard a popping sound but I’m not sure.”
“What?” Reid swore. “I should have known I couldn’t depend on you.” He looked at Lauren. “At least Lauren is honest.”
Lauren straightened and did something she never did. She lied. “I was fighting off Tim. He’s been trying to kiss me since we were six. I’m sorry, I didn’t see anything but you lying by your car. I figured you were drunk again. I could swear to that if you want me to. I’ve seen you drunk enough times to know.”
Reid opened his car door, ignoring the blood dripping all over his white upholstery. “You two will be sorry. I can’t believe I ever thought of you as friends. The sooner I get out of this town, the better.”
They watched him drive away, and then Tim whispered, “You sorry, L?”
“Nope. How about you?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t see a thing. I would have really liked to help Reid out,” Tim said in mock-seriousness. “He’s been such a good friend of mine.” Lies dripped out of Tim’s mouth faster than blood dripped out of Reid’s.
“Yeah, me too.” She laughed as she tugged him toward her car. “How about we go check on Lucas.”
“You have any idea where he is?”
“I have an idea.”
* * *
LAUREN APPROACHED THE grassland of the Double K Ranch by the watery light of the midnight sky. She was on Kirkland land now. This was the first ranch established in this part of the country and still the biggest spread for a hundred miles around.
Staten Kirkland knew that years ago she and Lucas used to come out here to watch the stars. He probably wouldn’t be surprised that they still did. The Collins ranch, where Lucas’s dad had been foreman, bordered Kirkland’s. Lucas had grown up near here and he’d spent his college years cowboying for the Double K on weekends. He’d ridden both spreads when he’d been growing up and knew them well.
Lauren knew that if she had a chance of finding Lucas anywhere, it would be at this lonely spot where no lights from any town or ranch house could reach.
Parking her car on the county road, she pulled on her raincoat and climbed through the fence. As she neared the windmill, she didn’t see his car but she saw the outline of the old pickup he’d been driving in town.
She smiled. He might have been dumb enough to hit Reid Collins, but Lucas had enough sense not to drive his low BMW over dirt trails that didn’t even qualify to be called roads.
Slowly she walked toward the silhouette. She knew the moment he spotted her. He straightened and faced her. Lucas Reyes might be a lawyer now, but he fit here. He was a man who came from the land. He was as much a part of it as it was of him.
“Where’s that new BMW your mother told me you bought last month?”
“I traded it for the pickup. Told my dad to take it out for a spin.” Lucas’s voice was clear but his face was lost in the night. “Mom suggested a vacation might be nice. My father hasn’t taken more than a long weekend off in years.
“Where’s Tim?” the shadow asked when she was ten feet away.
“He didn’t believe you’d be out here. Tim said he’d bet you were at one of the bars. There’s only two but he said it would take until closing time for him to make a complete sweep of the places.”
Lucas huffed but didn’t comment.
She moved closer, not knowing what to say to a man she hadn’t seen in over a year but had been in her thoughts almost every day. They’d been close once, but now she felt she barely knew him. Maybe she never had. His dark good looks were still there, but the favoring of his Hispanic heritage was almost gone from his voice.
“Reid will probably sue me for hitting him, but I’m not sorry.”
“He might, if he had a witness.”
Lucas raised his head. “You two were standing right there. You must have seen it.”
“I wasn’t looking,” she answered. “Tim didn’t see anything, either.”
Lucas relaxed. “If I’m asked in court, I won’t lie. I did hit him.”
There it was, she thought, that bone-deep kind of honesty that she loved about Lucas. Since she’d known him, Lucas had always done the right thing for his family, his career, his parents. The only one he’d left out had been her. There wasn’t room for her in his life, not in high school or college or now.
“Reid wouldn’t ask. He’d figure you would just lie as he would.”
“You’re right. Gambling on people to be honest is a fool’s bet most of the time. I learned that in court.”
She pushed away thoughts of a love that had long ago died of starvation and tried to keep her mind on Lucas’s problem. “You didn’t tell anyone that Reid ran and didn’t save us that night at the Gypsy House. He convinced the whole town that he was a hero. Remember, they even had an assembly to honor him? I’d been too shy to speak up and Tim was home recovering, but you could have said something.”
“No one asked me what happened.” Lucas put his hands on her waist and lifted her onto the pickup’s open tailgate. “Everyone was listening to him. I didn’t lie. I just didn’t say anything.” He moved a foot away and leaned on the side of the truck.
Lauren smiled, liking being at eye level to him and sensing they were still as comfortable around each other as ever. In the darkness it almost seemed like they were teenagers again and not a big-city lawyer and a small-town newspaper editor. “Never argue with a lawyer, right?”
“And never believe a storyteller, right?” he added. “I’ve been reading your ‘Legends of the Plains’ articles online. I doubt all our ancestors were as brave as you painted them.”
They both laughed.
He raised his hand and brushed her cheek. “I’ve missed you, Lauren. I think of you often.”
When he leaned in to kiss her, she backed away. “We’re friends, Lucas, nothing more. That’s all it can be between us.” She almost added that her heart wouldn’t take another disappointment. They’d almost connected a dozen times over the years and it always ended with him walking away.
“Then why are you here?” His words came fast and cold. “I thought you came out to see me, but you’re looking for a story?”
Maybe she’d hurt his pride or maybe she’d simply reminded him that nothing more than friendship ever worked between them. The easy way they’d had with one another a moment ago was gone. She wanted it back, but she wasn’t brave enough to deal with him stepping closer again.
“I’m worried about you, that’s all,” she answered. “Did Reid really fire your father? He’s the best ranch foreman around.”
Lucas hesitated and she feared that he wouldn’t talk about it. Ranch folks usually kept their business close to the vest. Finally, his words came low. “Yes. Fired him yesterday morning and told him to be moved out before dawn tomorrow. After thirty years, my parents had forty-eight hours to load up.” His voice was dull, all emotion spent. “He also fired most of the hands. Told them to have their belongings out of the bunkhouse by dark. My folks had everything crammed in one of the cattle trucks by the time I drove in from Houston. They’re sleeping in town tonight with friends.”
“What about your brothers and sisters?”
“The youngest two are away at college. I don’t think Dad’s even told them yet. My two sisters are married and farm down by Brownfield. One brother joined the army last year. The girls drove in to help yesterday. All the cowhands on the place pitched in to help, but it was chaos. I heard Mom cried all day. I finally got them settled after dark and went looking for Reid.” He laughed without humor in his tone. “To tell the truth I didn’t think I’d find him. When I saw his car at the truck stop I didn’t have a plan.”
“Why did he do this all at once? What was the hurry?”
“They’ve been selling off pieces of the ranch for years. My dad wasn’t surprised. I think he saw it coming.” Lucas plowed his fingers through dark straight hair. “He said last Christmas that if they sold any more land there wouldn’t be enough pasture to switch cattle into.”
“I don’t think the people in town were aware of it shrinking.” Ranch folks might not talk, but town people did.
“One of the hands told me today that Reid hired a manager out of Fort Worth to come in and close the ranch down while he rushed over to Austin to go to a party. The manager brought in a crew, men who look like hired thugs, not cowhands. He’s selling off the cattle left on the place, and word is the horses are going tomorrow.”
“Do you think Reid’s father knows what he’s doing?”
“I don’t think he cares. Most of the good pastureland is already gone and who will want a big house in the middle of nowhere? But once the land’s gone, it’s gone. If I had the money, I’d be tempted to buy it and show Reid what a ranch like that could be. If profits were poured back into the operation it would really be something, but they’ve been bleeding it dry for years.”
This Lucas, Lauren understood. The planner. The kid who was born on a horse and loved the land. If he ever got the chance, he’d build a ranch just like he built a career in law.
Only ranches like the big ones in Texas were inherited, not bought.
She brushed Lucas’s hand. “You’re losing the place where you grew up.”
“Yeah, but it was never mine. My folks moved into the foreman’s house not long after they married, but it wasn’t theirs. The place where they raised their kids vanished in forty-eight hours.”
Lauren understood but didn’t know how to help. “The memories will be with you, Lucas. The love in that house lives on.”
“Right,” he answered quickly. “But I swear before I ever bring a child into this world, I’ll have a place that’s mine.”
Another hurdle, she thought. Lucas had to have everything right, everything in place before he’d allow himself to think about living his life. There would never be enough time for all his dreams...enough time for her in his life.
A light began to glow from the north, almost like the sun had decided to come up early in a new location.
They turned and watched it for a few heartbeats, then Lucas whispered, “Fire!” as if saying the word too loud would make it real. “It’s on the Bar W. Dad and the cowhands aren’t there to deal with it.”
Lauren stood watching in disbelief. The Bar W, Collins land. She knew little about ranches, but she knew fire in this open country could be deadly.
He grabbed her hand and they started running toward the front of the pickup.
“I’ll call 9-1-1,” she shouted as she climbed in the passenger side of his truck.
Lucas nodded and headed across the open pasture. “Where’s your car?”
“About half a mile back on the road.”
He was there before she could finish her call.
As she climbed out of the truck, Lucas yelled over the incoming storm, “Get out of here as fast as you can. I don’t think it will spread on this wet grass, but you don’t want to be caught in the middle of a grass fire.”
She watched the flames shooting high in the air. “It’s not a grass fire.” It was too big. Grass fires crawl along the ground. This was shooting thirty feet straight up.
He followed her gaze as another flame shot into the black sky a mile to the left of them. “You’re right,” he said. “Something or someone is burning the barn. If it catches grass, it might spread to Kirkland land. I’ll call him.”
A half mile away, another flame shot up.
“Another barn,” Lucas shouted. “This is no accident.”
She reached for her car door, but just before she stepped in she heard him say, “I’ll find you when this is over. It’s time you and I had a talk, Lauren. Until then, stay away from the fires.”
CHAPTER FOUR (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
“HELLO, DARLIN’,” SHERIFF Dan Brigman said into his cell phone as he drove toward the Collins ranch. “I know I’m calling early, but I’m headed out to a barn fire and might not get a chance to call before you go to sleep.”
“Anything bad?” Brandi’s voice came through, making him miss her ten times more than he had a minute ago.
“No. You know nothing ever happens around here. How was your flight to Nashville?”
“I started missing you before I got off the plane. I slept part of the way and had this great dream about you.”
Dan smiled. He loved his wife’s sexy low voice. “Tell me about it tomorrow night. I don’t want to be driving and accidently miss a word.” He couldn’t stop thinking how beautiful she’d looked when she left this morning. “I miss you. Wish I could have gone with you this time. I know it’s only a few weeks, but it’ll seem like an eternity here without you.”
“I know. I feel the same, but I’ll be working most of the time. The band is already here. They’ll watch out for me. We’ll start rehearsals tomorrow. I’ll be home before you know it.”
“I’ll be waiting. Better say good-night. I’m almost to the ranch. I can see the barn burning even before I pull off.”
“Night,” she whispered, then added, “Be careful.”
He drove the last mile thinking of his wife and not some fire in a barn on a ranch no one cared about. The owner had been gone for years, and his son ran the place like it was his own ATM. Dan had heard that the foreman, along with a few dozen cowboys, had all been fired yesterday.
Brandi, his wife, was three states away trying to get some sleep. How could he miss a woman so much who’d only been gone a few hours? When this duty was over Dan knew he’d be tempted to go home and call her again. Just to say good-night one more time.
He’d married her late into his forties. They might never make it to dance at their fiftieth anniversary party. He’d just have to love her in double time for the rest of his life to catch up.
CHAPTER FIVE (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
ONE BY ONE, Dakota turned on the lights in the beautiful old stucco home on Indigo Lake that her grandparents had built in the twenties. The day had exhausted her. She’d spent most of her time talking to people who didn’t know what they wanted in a house. Window-shoppers were just part of the job; they didn’t seem to realize that she didn’t make money if they didn’t buy.
Once in a while, when everything went wrong, she wanted to scream all the way to heaven. “I can’t take it anymore. Not one more step. Not one more ounce of worry. Not one more day of people wasting my time. I’m not strong enough to carry the load.”
But she had to be. There was no one else.
Just as she reached for the light in the kitchen, a gentle voice whispered from the shadows. “About time you got home, little sister.”
Dakota forced a smile as she flipped on the light. “Sorry I’m late.” Being home before dark was a rule she’d agreed to years ago. Not that Maria would ever complain.
“Did you get all the canning supplies?” Maria moved toward her, gliding one hand slowly over the counter. “I thought I heard someone else on the porch.”
“Yes to both.” Dakota tried to sound lighthearted but today seemed stormy everywhere. “I got everything you ordered. Even picked up extra jars while they’re on sale. Wes, at the store, helped me load them. If that man gets any quieter he’ll be a mute.” She followed her sister toward the porch. “And, you’re not going to believe it, Maria, but there’s another Hamilton alive.”
“You saw one?” Her sister turned back so quickly her dark, curly hair floated like a cape around her shoulders.
“Not only saw, I loaned him our pickup.” Dakota had already concluded that that decision probably hadn’t been a bright move. First, he was a Hamilton. Second, he was a stranger. Third, he was a biker. Maybe she should have thought twice about being neighborly. The only thing the guy lacked was a prison shirt hand-painted with Looking for My Next Victim.
“Let’s go kill him now and save some time.” Maria laughed as she slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry. That just came out. Killing Hamiltons must be deeply buried in my DNA.”
Dakota didn’t want to admit she’d already thought of that. “It’s been a hundred years since the Hamilton-Davis feud began. Maybe we should do some research to see if anyone remembers what started it. Maybe Grandmother’s stories might just be that—stories.”
“But he might remember the curse,” Maria whispered. “He could be across the lake plotting our deaths right now. Grandmother swore Hamiltons are trained from birth to kill any Davis that sets foot on their land.”
“I don’t think he knows about that oath. He would have mentioned it if he had.” Dakota wasn’t sure Blade would care either way. He seemed more like the type who hated all folks in general, so why pick on Davises. “We’re probably safe.”
When Maria’s sweet face wrinkled into a frown, Dakota added, “I did try to bounce him out of the pickup, but he hung on. Which was lucky, I guess, because he was still alive to help me get the supplies to the porch before it started raining.”
Maria carried in boxes of canning jars. In the home she never tested her steps. She knew the pattern of the floor by heart. “Tell me all about him. Then we murder the guy just so we know the curse is broken.” She almost managed to sound serious. “Oh, and before we pay him a visit, tell me, was he good-looking? Tall? Old or young? Ugly with wolf eyes?”
Dakota joined her sister in the work of organizing everything exactly as Maria needed: flour in the left bin, sugar in the tin on the counter, cinnamon on the right side of the first shelf. Everything had its exact place for Maria. “Wolf eyes, definitely. And tall, but mean looking. Not ugly. Young, I think; he was too muddy to tell. He was standing in the lake, covered in pond scum, when I met him. It didn’t really go with his skin.”
Maria giggled, sounding much younger than her thirty-three years. “I have an idea. If he’s just homely, one of us should marry him before we murder him. Then we’ll get the land. Someone said there are plums growing all over that land. I could double or triple my plum jelly production.”
“What good is a place we can’t step foot on? Remember what Grandmother said, Davises die when they walk over Hamilton land.”
“I don’t believe Shichu. The older she gets the more stories rattle out of her brain.” Maria moved her fingers lightly over the jars, counting them. “How old is he? I’ll marry him. It wouldn’t matter to me if he’s ugly.”
Dakota watched her beautiful sister, wondering how she could speak so lightly about being blind. Forcing all emotion from her voice, she answered, “Couldn’t tell much about looks, but he had a nice build. I have a feeling he’s meaner than a rattler though. He told me if I got wet I might shrink to elf size.”
Maria, an inch taller than Dakota, reached in the kitchen drawer and drew her butcher knife. “That does it. We kill him tonight. No one insults my little sister.”
Dakota laughed as the vision of them tromping down the muddy road with their only weapons, a big knife and baseball bat, flashed through her mind. “We can’t go tonight. It’s raining. We’ll both be elf size before we get to him and he’ll probably stomp on us with his biker boots.”
“He’s a biker? Like Hells Angels or the Bandidos? Does he have those biker tattoos? You know, the kind that frighten any woman when she rips off his shirt in wild passion.”
“I didn’t look but next time I’ll ask him to strip, then I’ll come home and describe them to you.” Dakota grinned, thinking she might like seeing Hamilton nude. Only for reference so she could report back to Maria, of course.
Maria seemed lost in her own dream. “I’ll bet he has a wicked tattoo running across his chest. I listened to this romance novel last month where the hero was a biker. He had a skull and crossbones on his chest and said he was a pirate who stole hearts. The story was so hot it burned my ears.”
Dakota shook her head. “We’ve got to cut down your subscription to audiobooks. How many books did you listen to this week?”
“One nonfiction, one biography and only four or five romances.” Maria shrugged. “Sometimes I listen to the romances twice. I have a feeling if I could see, I’d be an untamed spirit rushing out to midnight affairs and romantic afternoons with men whose names I wouldn’t even bother to learn. I’d call them all ‘lover.’”
“You’ve never done anything wild in your life, Maria.” Dakota couldn’t imagine her shy sister ever being brave enough to talk to a man, much less draw him into an afternoon of passion.
“I know I haven’t gone crazy yet, but I’m making mental notes from the books. Once I find the right man, I’ve got a list of things to try. He’d better have stamina.”
They both laughed and began preparing dinner.
As Dakota worked on the wide, wood-block countertop that her grandmother had cooked meals on, the stress of the day slipped away. This house made of stucco and logs had withstood every storm that had come along for years, and it would withstand this one tonight.
“So,” Maria said as she made the salad, “tell me about your day.”
Dakota made a face but kept the worry out of her voice. “I swear being the only Realtor in a rapidly growing small town is like chasing bees in a tornado. One retired couple from Amarillo just wanted to move to Crossroads because it was so tiny. They said they were tired of the big city and fighting traffic on a street called Soncy. They claimed they’d love the quiet of a little community and the fact they could get so much house for their money here. But then he complained that there was no golf course or gym. She asked twice how far the nearest mall was.”
“What did you show them?”
“Not much. They hated the row of new garden homes going up by the museum—too small. The houses over by the school were bigger but too old, too many stairs, too plain. I showed them one three miles from town and he said it was ‘too far out.’ In the end, I think they were just daydreaming.”
Maria smiled as she worked. “I know, it’s not fair,” she said. “You try so hard, but not everyone is serious.”
“Right. I told them to think about building. Good news is they said they’d consider it. Bad news is I won’t make much money off the sale of a lot.”
“Anyone else?”
Dakota felt a little of the day’s tension leave her shoulders. “The mothers of a bride and groom were trying to pick out their newly married children’s home while the kids were on their honeymoon. I showed them everything in town and the mothers couldn’t agree. My guess is I’ll be showing the newlyweds the same houses next week.”
They talked as they ate: Dakota about her work in town and what needed to be done on the farm every weekend before spring, and Maria about what fruit she planned to can tomorrow. Her business was growing, but another ten jars of jam sold next week wouldn’t be enough to pay the bills this month.
As they finished supper, the rain finally stopped. Maria cleaned up and began setting her ingredients out for tomorrow. Dakota knew if the rain started again during the night, her sister would get up and create her delicious jams and jellies without the light. Since the accident that took her sight five years ago, Maria couldn’t sleep if it rained or stormed, so she worked at what she loved: cooking.
Collecting her laptop, Dakota headed for the barn. Her day job might be over, but her studies were just beginning. If she ever planned to do what she loved, she had to work—rain or shine.
CHAPTER SIX (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
BLADE HAMILTON WORKED half the night trying to pull his bike out of the Texas mud. Indigo Lake seemed determined to keep it. Finally, with the help of an old rusty winch from the shack of a barn on his land, he managed to drag the Harley out of the lake and get it on solid ground.
The night seemed to fight him as well, first with a chilling mist against his already wet clothes, and finally with shadows from the low clouds moving over the midnight land like creatures crawling toward him. Once, he looked up and swore he saw a figure, round as he was tall, glaring at him from behind a bare elm as if the intruder thought invisible leaves might hide him.
Blade thought he could make out white teeth smiling. Then the wind whipped up and the stout body turned, as if rolling into the night. Blade kept glancing toward the lone elm, but the figure didn’t appear again. After cussing and yelling at it a few times, Blade calmed down and examined the damage to his bike.
Forget the round figure. If he didn’t get this bike fixed he’d be here forever, and tonight it was far too dark to even predict how many hours or days it would take him. The way his luck was running, he’d probably have plenty of time to visit with the ghost.
Exhausted, he climbed into the pickup he’d borrowed and drove back to Dakota’s place. Her house wasn’t far; he’d seen the lights there go out hours ago. But, thanks to the lake, the road circled around, making it seem miles away.
When he crossed onto her property, he noticed a few buildings besides the main house scattered over the rocky, uneven land. Barns, sheds, a short house that looked like it might have been the original dugout when the place was homesteaded.
Like she told him to, he parked the pickup at the beginning of the drive. Maybe she didn’t want it getting stuck in the mud, or maybe she’d planned to park it in one of the little barns scattered around the house. Only, he’d kept it so long she must have gone on to bed. He was too tired to care as he cut the engine and climbed out.
If he had a pen, he would have left a thank-you note. He’d probably run her battery down using the headlights as his only light source, and the driver’s seat was muddy, not to mention the bed where he’d climbed in and out of the truck several times.
Half the papers she had scattered across her front seat were now floating on the lake. He’d tried to collect them, but his efforts looked more like a first-grade art project than anything she might want to read.
He’d apologize for that also, he decided.
He was too tired to even bother trying to scrape off the mud tonight. He’d say he was sorry, or better yet offer to pay for a wash tomorrow, but tonight he’d promised to bring the old piece of junk back and he had. The ten minutes he’d said he wanted to borrow it had turned into three or four hours. She probably needed it in the morning to do whatever she did for a living.
From the way she was dressed he’d guess it wasn’t farming. Wool skirt six inches too long to be fashionable, navy blazer a bit too big for her tiny frame, and shoes practical but so ugly he wouldn’t suggest even giving them away. No clue what her job was, but one thing was obvious, she was making herself look older.
He grinned, thinking of how she’d ordered him to ride in the back. She could be the role model for the kind of woman he hated being around. Bossy, quick-tempered, superstitious, and short. But, he had to admit, she was kind of cute for an elf.
He decided to walk up to the house and leave the keys. No lights were on at her place or in the yard, but his eyes had adjusted to the darkness.
He’d just put the keys on the porch where she’d stacked the boxes.
Bad luck found him about the time he was within twenty feet of her house. The rain started again. The slow steady plopping around him sounded like a thousand tiny drummers. He’d been soaked for so long, Blade barely noticed he was dripping as he walked. Maybe this slow drizzle would wash the pickup off a little. If it didn’t, his only neighbor probably wouldn’t be speaking to him come dawn.
Ten feet from the house he saw the shadow of a woman appear on the porch. The watery moon didn’t show her clearly at first and he thought it was Dakota. Small build, hair tied back away from her face, a crochet shawl wrapped around her shoulders. He almost yelled a greeting, but something wasn’t right.
The woman let the shawl slip. She wore a white nightgown that gave the impression that she was floating.
Blade frowned. No wonder people around here believed in curses and spirits. He’d only been here one night and he’d already seen two.
He moved a few feet closer and the woman took shape. She was taller than he remembered Dakota being, and so thin she reminded him of a willow swaying in the night breeze. Only she was flesh and blood.
He studied her. She wasn’t Dakota. He could see that now, but the resemblance was there. A sister, maybe. This woman was a few years older and beautiful in a no-makeup, freshly scrubbed kind of way.
Six feet away. Five. The wet grass silenced his steps. She was looking right at him. Even in the night he couldn’t understand why he didn’t startle her.
Blade stopped. He wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want to frighten her, but if she hadn’t seen him yet, one word would surely do just that.
She closed her eyes and leaned her face out so the gentle rain could tap against her skin. Then she smiled and he knew...she was blind. She might not have seen him, but he had the feeling she observed more than most. She saw the night, the softness of the rain, the caress of the damp wind, the silent world after a storm. Tapping her fingers along the porch railing, she moved inside and disappeared as though she’d been nothing more than a vision, a will-o’-the-wisp, impossible to catch.
Blade couldn’t move. He felt like he’d seen a ghost, though his life had always been ordered by reason and logic. This whole part of the country made him feel like he’d stepped into another world, or maybe another dimension. He was the outsider here, and yet he didn’t feel as out of place as he thought he would. Somehow, deep down, a part of him belonged here. Blade dropped the pickup keys on the porch.
There was a kind of magic in the air. Dakota had spoken of a curse. In an isolated place like this, he could almost feel the past whispering as he walked around the house that looked like its walls were a foot thick. Before he reached the open field between his land and Dakota’s house, he passed a small place built low, almost into the earth. Smoke circled from the chimney, but no light shone from the windows. An old, white rocker on the porch moved gently in time to the wind.
He slowed his steps, not wanting to wake whoever lived in the little cabin. Twenty feet later he passed a huge winter garden now sleeping. Further on he spotted a shed made of roughly cut boards near a stand of low trees.
When he turned the corner to the barn’s side door, he caught a flicker of light.
Slowly, drawn like a moth, he moved toward the light and slipped through the opening into silent, warm air.
From the looks of it, most of the barn was used for storage. Farm tools, an old wagon, a tractor, all looked abandoned. Leftovers, too valuable to toss, too worthless to sell.
One corner near the back reminded him of a mad scientist’s study. Drawings of houses and floor plans were nailed to the wall—some old and curling at the edges, some new and more detailed than the originals.
Blade was so interested in the plans, he almost didn’t notice a woman sleeping in a multicolored blanket between the sides of an old wingback chair. She looked tiny, with only her face left uncovered and the rope of a dark braid spilling over the blanket. The old leather office chair seemed to be holding her, cuddling her in its arms.
Obviously, she’d been working at the bench of a desk. These were her plans, her drawings on the wall. He’d studied enough blueprints in his investigations to know what he was looking at. Not office buildings or compounds, but homes. Big beautiful homes where every inch of space was put to use, every detail refined.
He clicked Save on the laptop and powered her computer down. He’d bet Dakota had to be at work in a few hours and guessed she’d sleep better somewhere else.
Another brightly colored blanket was spread out on a mound of hay near the door. He was too tired to worry about what might be wrong with picking up a sleeping woman he barely knew. For once, Blade didn’t weigh his actions. He simply lifted her in his arms and carried her to the makeshift bed.
A big yellow cat complained when Blade shoved him off the blanket and knelt as he carefully laid her down. Dakota wiggled slightly, settling back into sleep.
He knew he should leave, but he didn’t have the energy to stand. He’d been up for two days and had spent most of the night digging in the mud. Exhausted, he almost didn’t notice that he was also wet and muddy. He wasn’t sure he had enough energy left to walk the mile back to his place. Not in the dark. Not in the rain.
Blade leaned back. He’d just rest a few minutes. It was warm and dry in here. He’d be long gone by dawn.
His head gently bumped her shoulder as he closed his eyes and breathed in. Before he exhaled, he was sound asleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
LAUREN WATCHED THE SUN coming up over the small lake community a few miles from Crossroads where she’d grown up. The light seemed to fight its way between the clouds in no more hurry to start the day than she was.
Rain had charged in waves during the night, making staying out at the fire site or sleeping impossible. The fact there had been a fire on the Collins ranch bothered her, but the possibility that Lucas would get involved worried her more. Reid and Lucas had never been friends and after Reid fired Lucas’s father, she was afraid they might be well on their way to becoming enemies.
Maybe that was why she’d come here to her father’s house last night. She needed to feel safe. Here, just as she had in childhood, all seemed right and fair with the world.
She had her own place above the small office she rented in town, but this house on the lake, Pop’s house, would always feel more like home. Sometimes she just needed to be here, if only for one night.
Since her father had remarried a few years ago, laughter and music always seemed to echo in the small rooms where she’d grown up. It had always been a safe place, but now it was a happy place, as well.
Last night she needed to feel as if she belonged somewhere. Her father had gone to the fire, and his bride was in Nashville for a few weeks recording songs she’d written in the lake house. Lauren could come home and no one would notice.
She admired her stepmother, Brandi. She’d followed her dream to be a singer, but she’d been smart enough to find Lauren’s father to marry. She’d proved to Lauren that a woman could have both.
Memories circled round, reminding Lauren of dreams she’d lost or given up without ever seeing how far they might take her. She hadn’t been brave like Brandi. She’d always been afraid to try.
The trouble with burying dreams is it leaves you hollow, she decided. But sometimes hollow is better than broken. She’d never been brave enough to risk losing. A brave sheriff’s daughter afraid to try.
Walking out onto the deck Pop had painted blue when they moved in over twenty years ago and never remembered to repaint, Lauren stared into the pale light, wishing she could feel its warmth. The whole world seemed cold and silent as darkness still held to the shadows of the empty house.
Brandi had hated leaving Pop, but he’d insisted she go. He had no doubt she loved him, but she loved music too.
They couldn’t seem to get enough of each other. Lauren had the feeling, thanks to Brandi’s income from songwriting and performing, that they could afford the biggest place in town, but they were happy here. The little lake house. The home Lauren’s mother had always called “the tiny house” and often complained about, even though she’d never lived in it. When Lauren’s mother left her dad and Crossroads, she’d left Lauren too.
Footsteps sounded on the boat dock just beyond the deck. Lauren turned and watched Tim stumbling up to the steps. His bad leg never seemed to take steps without a struggle.
Tim O’Grady had kept his parents’ old cabin on the lake as a vacation home, but he rarely dropped by. Tim had become a drifter in many ways. He traveled, lectured some, said he was doing research in cities all over the world. He told her about all the places he’d visited in long blogs he kept online, but she sensed he made up the people he said he met. Never any pictures of people, only places.
In her online newspaper, Lauren did a weekly post of Tim’s travels and book deals. He didn’t know or care that hundreds followed his career.
He smiled as he stepped into the yellow light of the one deck lamp. “I figured you’d be over here at your dad’s place, L.”
“You heard about the fires at Reid’s ranch?” She wrapped her sweater around herself and moved closer. “Fire department probably woke up half the town heading out a few hours ago.”
“I knew before then. When the volunteer firemen started getting calls on their cells, half the bar cleared out. Fire at the Bar W is big news. I dropped by the sheriff’s office to see what was going on, but Pearly didn’t know much and didn’t seem to appreciate me calling 9-1-1 to ask questions.”
He grinned. “Wish your pop’s wife would have been there taking calls like she sometimes does. She is one beautiful woman, but she barely talks to me, either. Mind telling me how a guy like your dad landed someone as classy as her?”
“I have the feeling Pop asks himself that every day. She’s grand. She makes him take a vacation twice a year and insists they eat right. When they married, I stopped worrying about him and passed the job to her.”
They sat down on a bench that faced the lake. Tim took her hand as if he wanted to hold on to something familiar, something real. “I feel out of the loop. There was a time I knew everyone in town. I knew about every call that came into the county offices. Hanging out at the sheriff’s office gave me ideas for my first three books. I thought I was in the center of the world back then.”
“Pop will be home soon. He’ll fill me in, then I’ll tell you everything.” Lauren patted his shoulder, knowing how he loved details. Tim saw life, his and everyone else’s, as simply an ongoing story. “Pearly told me two hay storage barns on the Collinses’ place went up. Both total losses. Since it was stormy last night, lightning could have set one but not likely two.”
“Agreed. Something’s going on out there.” Tim finished her thought.
“Something?” Lauren echoed.
“Anyone could have set them out of anger.” Tim thought out loud. “Plenty of people hate the Collins family. I know I do. Reid has a lot of good-time buddies, but he’s made his share of enemies too.”
“I know. Besides you hating him, there’s about thirty cowboys who lost their jobs yesterday. Lucas’s dad might even be suspected. He was the Bar W foreman forever. I can’t believe he was just kicked off land he’d worked for thirty years.”
Tim shook his head. “Don’t seem much like the cowboy way to set a fire. I wouldn’t put it past Reid to set them himself. Maybe collecting insurance money is faster than selling hay. Or maybe Lucas went a step further than taking a swing at Reid. I’ve never seen him so angry. He may be a lawyer, but that swing last night was personal. Reid hurt his family. I wouldn’t be surprised...”
“It wasn’t Lucas.” She interrupted Tim’s rant.
“Oh, yeah? You haven’t seen the guy in years and you think you know him?”
Tim’s words came fast, almost angry. “L, you always put him on a pedestal. Lucas the Great.”
“I know he didn’t set the fires because I was with him. We were on Kirkland land only a mile away. We saw the first one flame up and before we could call it in, another one went up.”
Tim stood up so fast she jumped. “Of course you were, L. Lying about seeing Lucas hit Reid is one thing, but giving him an alibi is another. One lie too many, maybe. How many times do you have to pay the guy back for saving you that night at the Gypsy House? He caught you. Kept you from falling. It was instinct. You don’t owe him anything.”
“No. I was with him. I found him out looking at the stars like I said I would. I’m not covering for him. I’m just telling the truth.”
Tim offered his hand and pulled her to her feet. “I’m sorry. I’m not sober enough to be reasonable or drunk enough not to care.” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “It’s good to be home. You’re the one person I miss when I wander.” He hugged harder. “You’re the last person I should yell at.”
She hugged him back. “I miss my best friend also,” she whispered.
He rubbed his chin against her hair. “No one’s hair feels or smells like yours. It smells like it looks, like sunshine on a spring day.”
She laughed. “That’s what you miss, my hair?”
“No. That’s not all. I miss laughing with you and talking like we used to. I think I’ve told you every secret I’ve ever had. How about we both get some sleep? It’s almost daylight. I’ll pick you up for dinner tonight. We’ll catch up.”
“It’s a date. I’d love to talk to you about my next book. I’m thinking of doing nonfiction. The Ghosts of West Texas. A friend of mine tells me there are places around here where spirits walk the land on moonless nights.”
He smiled. “I can’t wait to hear about it.” He kissed her forehead. “Get some sleep. I’ll be back.
“Or,” he laughed, letting her know he was joking, “we could sleep together and order takeout from bed.”
“Crossroads doesn’t have takeout.”
He nodded. “And we’re not sleeping together.”
“Right.” She almost added, been there, done that, but she didn’t want to bring up the past. She’d almost lost her best friend when she’d ended their short affair, if she could even call it that. Lauren wished they could both erase those few times when they were more than friends, less than lovers.
He turned and walked back the way he’d come, mumbling something to himself. At the dock, he waved and called, “See you later, alligator,” the same way he had all those years ago when they were kids.
“After a while, crocodile,” she said so low she doubted he heard her. Lauren watched him, thinking her life would be so simple if she loved Tim as more than a friend.
Only she didn’t.
Deciding it was too cold to stay out any longer, she walked toward the door that opened into her father’s study. She’d finish the night in her father’s recliner so she’d be there when he came home.
Just before she stepped inside, a lone truck turned off the highway and rattled down the steep incline to the lake.
For a moment she watched, hoping it was Pop, knowing the headlights were too close together for it to be his cruiser.
Without moving, she watched Lucas park and climb out of the old pickup. The new sports car his mother said he’d bought didn’t seem like it would fit him. The Lucas she knew was always more like a cowboy. He’d ridden full-out through college and law school, as if running across open land. He was determined, headstrong, driven, but he wasn’t the type who drove a sports car.
Or set a fire, she thought.
Lauren stepped into the light as he stormed up the steps.
When he was a few feet away, she could smell the scent of fire on his clothes. “What happened?”
He stopped suddenly and coughed as if clearing his lungs so he could breathe in clean air. “Both hay barns on the Collinses’ place are gone. By the time I got there the firemen were just watching them go up and making sure the fire didn’t spread. There was nothing anyone could do.”
“Lightning?”
He shook his head. “No one thinks so. The few cowboys packing up their gear didn’t help, and the guys Reid’s new manager brought in didn’t know where anything was. Someone might have saved them from a full burn when the fires first sparked, but no one stepped up. By the time the fire trucks got there, it was too late.”
He dug his fingers through hair that had looked styled earlier but now was windblown and wild. “It was like going to a midnight funeral. All the cowhands who’d worked on the Bar W for years just stood and watched. Memories were burning and we all knew the ranch would never be the same. A final bonfire to the death of what had once been a great ranch.”
She brushed his arm in comfort. “Pop says if ranches aren’t careful they follow the rule of three. The first generation builds it, the second enjoys it and the third destroys it. A hundred years from birth to death.”
Lucas’s rough hand covered hers. “Maybe so, but the owners don’t seem to realize how many lives are built around a ranch. I grew up there. The ranch was more than just where my dad worked, it was our home too.”
“Where was Reid tonight?” She hated to think he’d be dumb enough to set his own land on fire, but he might. Reid and his dad had been slicing off pieces of pastureland for a few years. Lucas might love the land, but Reid only cared about how much income it brought in.
“Someone said they found him at his house, passed out drunk. He must have gone there right after I hit him. The housekeeper said he came in cussing and trashing his office. She said he guzzled down all the liquor he could find, yelling about how he hated the ranch. She claimed he’d been in the headquarters all night.”
“Did you tell my pop you had a fight with Reid earlier?”
“I told him I took a swing at Reid, but it wasn’t much of a fight.
“The sheriff was at the first barn five minutes after I pulled up. The firemen had called him. Knowing your dad, he followed the first truck out.” Lucas paced in front of her, pent-up energy still building from the excitement. “He’s over at the main house talking, or trying to talk, to Reid now. I guess Reid had a right to set fire to his own property if the fire was set. It’s not illegal unless you claim it on insurance. But if he does file a claim on something he did, or if someone else set the fire, your dad will be dealing with a crime. He’ll know more after sunup.”
Lauren relaxed. No one would probably ever know what or who started the fires, but in a few hours everyone in town would be guessing. “Thanks for letting me know. I was about to put some coffee on. You want some?”
“No. I didn’t come here to post a report. I came here for this.” He closed the distance between them. His lips brushed her cheek before she had time to react.
“Am I still welcome this close?” he whispered. “If not, you’d better say so because I really need to kiss you.”
She thought of saying “always,” but couldn’t open her heart that far. She nodded slightly. One kiss for old time’s sake wouldn’t matter. He was the lover she never had but would miss forever. The almost was was sometimes far more painful than the had been that died.
His kiss was hard, almost painful, but she made no effort to pull away. Lauren couldn’t tell if this was a goodbye kiss or a hello kiss. Whatever it was, it was borne from need.
Slowly, like a man dying of thirst swallowing his first gulp, Lucas relaxed and the kiss softened, but his hold on her arms did not.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered when he finally broke the kiss. “I didn’t mean to come on so strong.” He wasn’t letting go, not this time. His grip on her arms would probably leave bruises. “I just had to do that.”
For once in her life, Lauren’s logical mind stopped thinking and she simply reacted. She’d wanted a kiss like this...full-out passion, no hesitation, nothing held back...and she’d wanted it from Lucas. “Do it again,” she ordered.
If her mind and body would have to endure withdrawal from him later, she might as well take a full hit now. “Kiss me like it matters, Lucas.”
And he did. Softer but with no less need.
She met his hunger. They were no longer children. Both knew what they wanted even if now wasn’t the time or place. She felt it then, a need they shared. A longing that would always bind them and one kiss, a hundred kisses wouldn’t quench the fire building between them.
He finally loosened his grip and let his hands slide down her arms until his fingers laced with hers. She leaned into him, absorbing his warmth. Feeling their bodies move against each other. Feeling his heart pound against hers.
When he broke the kiss, he smiled, kissed the top of her head and walked away.
Anger exploded in Lauren. She wasn’t the shy little sixteen-year-old he’d kissed once on her birthday or the freshman in college he’d lost control with for a brief moment under a midnight sky.
“Lucas.” His name came out as almost a curse. “You said you wanted to talk to me.”
He was off the steps heading to his truck. “I just wanted to hold you tonight. For a quiet woman you sure do say a lot with a kiss. We’ll have time for that later.” His words carried on the predawn wind, a promise whispered.
“Stay.” She’d learned that later never came for Lucas.
“I can’t. I have to get to my dad and tell him what’s going on.” He grinned at her. “We’ll get together later.”
“Don’t bet on it.” She stepped inside and slammed the door so hard everyone at the lake probably heard it. He’d walked away again. Just when she trusted him. Just when she wanted him. He’d put her last again. Never first. Never important.
In the silence of her father’s study she fought to keep from allowing a single tear to fall. “I don’t love you, Lucas Reyes. I never have and I never will. You can’t walk back into my life and mix me up again.” She’d been on this merry-go-round before and she wasn’t getting on it again.
Without another word or a single tear, she stormed into her old room and slammed the door. The whole lake house seemed to rattle in protest.
The room looked the same as it had when she’d left for college nine years ago. Organized. Plain. Solid. But she’d changed. She’d shifted and morphed into a stranger, even to herself. “I don’t love him,” she said to her reflection. “I never have.”
Tonight, lying apparently had become a habit.
CHAPTER EIGHT (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
THE SUN SLICED through the cracks in the boards along the east wall of the barn, waking Dakota.
She groaned. She’d fallen asleep without making it back to the house and her bed, again. What an idiot. Last night Dakota told herself she’d only work an hour. Just until the neighbor brought back her pickup.
But he hadn’t returned in an hour and the gentle rain must have lulled her to sleep. She’d dreamed of houses. The kind she would design one day. Beautiful homes that blended in with the canyons scattered about this part of the country. Her father died young, trying to farm rocky, uneven terrain, but her goal for the land was different.
She dreamed of someday building a secluded community near Indigo Lake. A place for people who worked from their homes or were retired. She could almost picture the winding streets and trails for walking and horseback riding, crossing through large parks and natural landscape. A place where people could see the sun rise and set over nature.
Her mind was working, memorizing last night’s plans like an artist tucks away sketches that would someday blend into a mural. She knew it was time to stop dreaming and get up, but her eyes refused to open. Just once she wished she could sleep a whole night or wake at dawn, then roll over and go back to dreaming.
But there was too much to do. If she planned to design homes instead of just trying to sell them, she had to study, and the only time she could study was at the end of the day—when her job was over, when Maria had her supplies, when all was right on the farm, when Grandmother had been checked on.
At least, for once, she hadn’t awakened cold. The wool blanket she’d spread out just in case she needed a short nap had kept her warm. She didn’t even remember climbing out of the chair and lying down, but she’d slept soundly for once.
Something moved along her back. Sam, the fattest cat in Texas, must be keeping her warm. He thought he had to come out with her to the barn every night, as if he considered himself a guard cat.
Her eyes flew open. Sam might be long, but he didn’t run the length of her body.
Dakota slowly rolled over and stared at her new neighbor, who was sleeping an inch away.
The Hamilton was back.
She sat up carefully. He was muddy from the top of his dark brown, curly hair to his leather boots laced with buckles. He had what must be a week’s worth of stubble along his square jaw and a bruise under his left eye. Probably given to him by the last stranger he’d curled up with.
It occurred to her that he might be some kind of pervert. Sneaking up on people and curling beside them when they were dreaming. She wasn’t sure that was a criminal offense, but it would definitely be a dangerous one.
She felt her clothes. All still buttoned. He hadn’t come to rape her apparently, just sleep beside her. Which wasn’t near as frightening she decided, so she’d consider letting him live.
She smiled, thinking that he was downright cute in a baby dragon kind of way. Big, well built and younger than she’d thought he might be last night when he’d been standing in water and growling like a bear.
Maybe he was like a cold-blooded snake who only crawled into the barn for warmth.
Grandmother’s stories about how mean the Hamiltons were came to mind. She said no one in the county crossed them for fear of being shot on a dark night. Wolf-gray eyes can see in the dark and they were all crack shots.
Grandmother would whisper that if you stole from their ranch, they’d find out and take back double. She even claimed she heard a rumor that the Hamilton men branded their women so they could never run off. That might explain why there were no pictures of Hamilton wives at the museum.
Dakota stared at the man beside her. His being cold-blooded and mean didn’t seem out of the question, but he hadn’t killed her, so she might give him the benefit of the doubt. Her mother told her once that Grandmother’s stories grew darker every year, and longer than bindweed on a fence post.
As carefully as she could, Dakota moved away, covering him with the blanket she’d been wrapped in all night. Picking up Sam, she silently left the barn. Maybe it would be better to let sleeping dogs lie. There was no telling what kind of mood he’d wake up in.
“Some guard cat you are,” she whispered as she scratched Sam’s head.
The old cat didn’t even have the sense to look guilty.
When she stepped in the shadowy kitchen, she wasn’t surprised to hear Maria making breakfast. Routine was Maria’s clock. She lived by it and so did Dakota. The reason she always had to be home before dark was Maria’s clock. The same time to do meals, to deliver her products to the grocery, to go to church, were her sister’s way of keeping in balance in her world of forever midnight.
“Morning,” Dakota managed as she walked past the kitchen on her way to the bathroom. “I fell asleep in the barn again.”
Maria held out a cup of coffee. “I figured that. I’ll have breakfast ready by the time you finish showering.”
Dakota stopped as she took the cup. “Better cook extra. That Hamilton who borrowed my truck is asleep in the barn.”
“Shichu will not like that.” Maria giggled as if she were three and not thirty-three. “Lucky she didn’t show up last night. The rain must have kept her from her normal wandering around the place.”
“We’re not telling Grandmother. I swear, she gets more Apache every year. She may have been born mixed, but the Irish seems to be bleeding out. The other day she came over wrapped in a blanket and wearing Grandpa’s old floppy hat. She’s starting to look like the short, squatty ghost of Sitting Bull. She’s also going back in time as she ages. I don’t think she knows what decade it is.”
“Probably not, but her senses are keen. She found a bushel of wild plums last week.” Maria raised her flour-covered palm as if swearing an oath. “And the old girl can probably smell a Hamilton. So tell me, did he just drop by to kill us in our sleep and decide to nap first?” Maria’s tone told Dakota that her sister thought the whole thing was a joke.
Dakota gulped down one swallow of hot coffee and came full awake. “I think he brought the truck back and decided to wait out the rain. He probably just fell asleep. Don’t let him frighten you when he comes to the door. I have a feeling when he wakes he’ll drop by to tell us he’s leaving.” She shrugged. “If he smells breakfast, we’ll probably have to feed him.”
“He won’t startle me. I’m sure I’ll hear him coming.” Maria lifted her butcher knife. “I’ll meet him at the door armed and ready. Or—” she set the knife down “—I’ll do the neighborly thing and invite him in for breakfast. Killing someone with a full stomach seems the right thing to do, and no man could possibly turn down my blueberry pancakes.”
Dakota shook her head. Maria’s life might be dull and ordinary, but in her mind she lived the great adventures she listened to in her books.
When they’d been kids, Maria often elaborated on Grandmother’s stories. She made the Hamiltons monsters with the smell of death on their breath. Or zombies who never stopped coming, no matter how many bullets hit their chests. Or aliens with nine long fingers on each hand, perfect for choking someone.
Now they laughed about the nightmares they’d had as children because of Maria’s imagination. Dakota smiled as she grabbed her robe and stepped into the tiny bathroom. She doubted any of the stories Grandmother or Maria told were based on an ounce of truth, but she’d count Blade Hamilton’s fingers the next time she saw him, just to be safe.
Twenty minutes later when Dakota walked back into the kitchen, tying a towel around her head, she could smell cinnamon bread in the oven and hear Maria’s laughter.
Maria wasn’t alone.
Blade, looking like a mud truck had run over him, was sitting at the counter drinking coffee and smiling at Maria.
“Have a seat, little sister. Breakfast is about to be served.” Maria waved her spatula toward Blade. “Mr. Hamilton will be joining us. I decided to let him live after he told me that he slept with you last night.”
Blade silently raised his hands in surrender, but Dakota didn’t miss the way his gray eyes moved down the thin robe now clinging to her wet skin.
“I was just planning on resting a few minutes before walking back to my land.” He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were a Boy Scout?” she snapped. “You’re probably lying.”
“Elf, I’ve been a Boy Scout all my life.”
“Don’t call me Elf.” She could feel deep anger climbing up her entire body.
“Don’t call me a liar, Dakota.” He said her name slowly.
Dakota frowned at him, fighting the urge to yell Go away. He must have hypnotized Maria, because she barely talked to the mailman, much less a stranger.
Maria carefully served her pancakes. “So, did you sleep with him, little sister?”
“I woke up and he was there.” Dakota knew Maria was already thinking up something romantic in her mind. Biker guy falls in love with pickup girl at first sight, in the dark, in the rain, covered in mud.
Dakota figured she’d be teased about this for months. She might as well play along. “I guess I’m guilty. I did sleep with him.”
“Well, we’ll keep him alive until we find out if you’re pregnant.” Maria reached for the coffeepot. “Do you have a job, Hamilton? We’ll need the child support.”
Dakota gave Blade her best go-to-hell look. He’d started this and he didn’t even try to look innocent.
He grinned as if she were teasing him. “I’ve got a job. After the army, I was hired as a special agent for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives.”
“Which one are you?” Maria asked, as if she thought he’d given her a multiple-choice question.
“Forest fires mostly. Occasionally explosives. We’re federal, so we go where needed. I parachuted in the army, so now and then, while the burn is still hot, I’ll go in and try to find where it started.
“But about the kid you might be carrying, Miss Maria—” he winked at Dakota as he changed the subject back to sleeping in the barn “—if I’m going to have to pay child support, I want to name the baby. If it’s a boy, of course. I don’t much care what you name her if it’s a girl. Girls don’t seem to stay around the Hamilton place.”
Both sisters let out a yelp, then laughed a moment later when they realized he was kidding.
Maria smiled and Dakota saw that her sister wasn’t afraid or shy around this man. Maybe she was comfortable in her own kitchen, or maybe she was simply playing a game from one of her romance novels. It really didn’t matter. Maria was happy and not just pretending to be.
“Tell me,” Maria said. “Are you tolerably handsome, Hamilton?”
Blade laughed. “I’m afraid not. My own mother couldn’t love me.” He shoveled food into his mouth as if he’d been starving.
“Then you’re not married?” Maria finally asked when his plate was almost empty.
“Nope.” Blade had the gall to wink at Dakota again, letting her know that he was enjoying the game as much as Maria was. “Women tend to run in the opposite direction. Men wearing badges don’t make that much money unless they carry life insurance, and until a few days ago I didn’t think I owned enough land to bury me on. I wouldn’t wish a husband who darts out the door every time there’s trouble in the air on any woman.”
Maria leaned on the counter and said, “Then you wouldn’t have any objection to marrying my sister since you’ve already slept with her and probably got her pregnant. In the interest of full disclosure, I might as well mention the fact that you’ve got plums on your land that might work for my business. I have to be thinking about what I’m getting out of this mating, you understand.”
Dakota fought down a scream. Maria and Mudman laughed as if they were old friends. Somehow, these two people who seemed to have nothing in common had become allies, and she felt a little left out. If Maria could see how close he looked to the villains Grandmother described, she might not talk to him, much less feed the guy.
“Now, Hamilton,” Maria said, pointing her spatula in his general direction. “I don’t want to be rude, but I can smell you from here. You’re welcome to use our shower if you like. I doubt the water works at your place, and from the odor about you, I’m guessing you’ve already tried bathing in the lake.”
“I’d like that very much. I’m afraid any hotel would take one look at me and put up the no-vacancy sign. But first, I’d like to borrow Dakota’s truck and go back to my place to get my only pair of clean clothes.” He stood. “I’ll finish this fine breakfast when I get back and help with the dishes.”
“We’d appreciate it, Hamilton,” Maria said. “You finish eating, but stay out of my kitchen. It’s off-limits. Understood?”
“Understood, General,” he answered.
Then without a word, he walked out the door.
Dakota gave up eating and decided she’d best finish dressing before Mudman returned. Hopefully, he’d get back before she had to be at work, but the last time he borrowed her truck for ten minutes he was gone half the night.
She thought of yelling at Maria for being so neighborly, but then again, Dakota had started it last night. Now she’d just have to put up with him for a few more minutes, and then hopefully they could go back to their quiet lives and forget a Hamilton lived across the lake.
Dakota quickly dressed in one of her three work outfits: milk-white blouse, dark blazer, modest A-line skirt made of the tartan plaid her grandfather wore to church every Sunday. He’d always said he wanted the Lord to know what clan he came from when he got to heaven.
She glanced in the mirror, realizing the outfit did little to flatter her. But for selling homes, she needed to look older than twenty-five. The clothes seemed to age her. She no longer felt like the baby of the Davis family. She’d had to take charge almost five years ago when her mother died and Maria was so badly hurt. At twenty she’d planned her mother’s funeral, watched over Grandmother, managed the farm, and slept each night beside Maria’s hospital bed. In a matter of days Dakota had aged into the head of the family.
As she combed her dark hair back and began to tie it up for the day, she listed everything she had to do. Sometimes when she felt like she was sleepwalking through her whole life, the list was all that kept her on the road. Pay the bills, fix the pickup, get Maria’s supplies, work at a job she hated, clean house, check on Grandmother, pay the bills, get Maria’s supplies. The list circled back around to the beginning, never ending in her mind.
Between Maria’s sale of jams and jellies and her occasional sale of a house or lot, they were getting by. Living on dreams and hopes. Having no idea what “someday” would look like.
Maybe if she ran fast enough, hard enough, long enough, maybe one day she would simply fly away. For an hour. For a day. Just one day of being free and then she’d come back to duty.
Only, as the years passed, she realized that might not happen. She’d simply age into the clothes if she didn’t keep fighting and learning and hoping.
As she stared into her bedroom mirror, she felt like she barely knew herself. She’d gone from being a kid just testing the world of college to being weighed down with responsibilities. She’d grow old and wrinkled without ever having lived if she wasn’t careful. She’d seen people who had done that and she understood them, but she swore she’d never be one. She had dreams and they’d come true even if she had to give up sleep every night.
When she walked back down the hallway from her room, the bathroom door was closed and she could hear the shower.
He was back. One more thing to worry about. Add that to her list.
She tried not to let thoughts of a nude man in their house concern her, but as soon as Dakota reached the kitchen, Maria whispered, “Did you open the door to see if he has tattoos?”
“No.” Dakota sat down at her now cold, still untouched, breakfast. “And before you start, nothing happened last night.”
Maria was busy wrapping tiny loaves of cinnamon bread. “I know that. I know you. But I can always hope. You haven’t had many dates lately. Maybe even a Hamilton would look good.”
Dakota almost said, Since the accident five years ago. Since the night Mom died and Maria lost her sight.
She’d never forget stepping out of Maria’s hospital room and looking around for her mother, needing her hug, even if she was twenty. That moment, reality hit her like a sledgehammer to the heart: she was alone. There would be no more hugs from Mom. Dakota had walked out of the hospital and sat in the dark parking lot, crying, for hours. Until no more tears came.
She’d never cried again. She worked to take care of Maria and keep things together. There was no time, no thought of dating.
Now, watching Maria, she remained silent. They talked about everything else, but not the accident. Not that day. Mom had flown over to Dallas to ride home with Maria for Christmas. The roads were bad. Maria had worked the late shift at her café and crawled into the back of the car to sleep. Mom was never good driving on snow.
Dakota should have been the one to go, but she’d wanted to relax at home after she got back from college. She’d fallen asleep before dark, before the ice storm moved across the plains.
The phone woke her hours later. The sheriff’s call. He’d been kind and honest, but she knew his call had changed her life forever.
She should have been in the car that day. She would have been the one driving. Maybe somehow she could have avoided the wreck on the icy highway. Then Mom would be alive, Maria would still be running her restaurant in Dallas, and she’d be... Dakota closed her eyes and let out a breath before she let her might have been settle in her thoughts.
She might be graduating from architecture school about now.
Maria broke into Dakota’s dark thoughts. “You need to get out on a date, little sister. Have some fun. Have an adventure. I’m fine here. I’ve got my work and my books. I’m happy.”
Dakota forced her tone to be light. “I’m happy too. And I’m doing fine. I slept with a biker last night, didn’t I? How much more excitement can I take?”
They both laughed as the bathroom door creaked open and steam filled the hallway. The man who stepped out was bare chested, with jeans riding low on his hips. He had a towel wrapped around his neck but his tanned chest and back sparkled with moisture. His hair was slicked back, reminding Dakota of a handsome pirate in one of Maria’s books.
“You mind if I finish dressing in the hallway?” he asked, staring straight at Dakota. “It’s so foggy in there I can’t see a thing.”
She couldn’t turn away, but managed to swallow a few times and whisper, “No tattoos.”
“Darn.” Maria looked disappointed. “I already had that picture in my mind. Since he hangs out around fires, do you see any scars?”
Dakota stared, not really knowing what to expect. She couldn’t have imagined a man who looked as good as the man standing before her. “Yes,” she whispered back, knowing that Blade could hear them. “No tattoos, but a few interesting scars.”
He didn’t react as he scrubbed his hair with the towel, then finger-combed it back into place with one deep plow. He pulled on a white T-shirt and then a collarless sweater of army green. “I left my boots on your porch. Got them covered in another layer of mud when I parked your pickup and jumped the stream to where my bike was. Luckily, last night I’d dropped my saddlebags on the porch when I looked at the house. My clothes and camera survived the night.”
When he looked up at her, Dakota forced her gaze down at her food.
He ignored her as he walked past her stool and took his place at the bar. “All right if I finish breakfast, Chef Maria? Then, if Dakota is still speaking to me, I thought I’d catch a ride into town.”
Another favor?
She nodded, trying to decide what she was so mad about. That he’d spent the night? That he’d hit it off with Maria and not her? That he was good-looking and obviously knew it?
Maybe Maria’s first suggestion was right. They should have killed him the minute they found out a Hamilton was alive. He might not look dangerous, but he looked good enough to drive her crazy.
“Sure, she’ll take you in.” Maria smiled. “I’ll put a few loaves of cinnamon bread in a bag for you. If you want any more breakfast, eat up quick because she’ll be flying out of here any minute. She may be the only one in her office, but she thinks she has to open on time.”
As Maria poured his coffee, he glanced at Dakota and asked, “How does she do that?”
“She’s holding the cup. She feels the weight and the warmth as the cup fills,” Dakota said. “And she’s blind, not deaf. If you want to know something, ask her.” Her words came out hard, cold.
“Sorry,” he said to Maria, ignoring Dakota again. “I’ve never been around anyone blind. You’re a great cook.”
“For a blind person?” Maria added.
“No. For anyone.” Blade might not have experience, but he was a quick learner. “This is the best breakfast I’ve had in years. Most of the time I’m traveling and it’s fast food at an airport or continental breakfast at the hotel.”
“You travel lots?” Dakota asked.
“So much so I feel like I don’t have a home, just a place where I change clothes. When I found out about the place across the lake, I took some time off to investigate. I’ve never owned a square inch of land in my life.”
“Are you planning to stay?” Maria asked as she handed Dakota her bag with a tiny loaf of bread.
“No. I’ll sell it. I wouldn’t have any idea how to make a farm work.”
Dakota suddenly saw a light at the end of her dark tunnel. “I could list it and sell it for you. That’s what I do for a living.” All she had to do was put up with him for a few days, sell his place, and she just might make twice the commission she usually did.
“Sounds exciting, Hamilton,” Maria said. “Your job, I mean.”
He turned back to Maria. “It can be, but mostly it’s just paperwork or standing around waiting for something to happen. Not near as exciting as I thought it might be when I signed on.”
They were ignoring her again, Dakota thought. He hadn’t even answered her offer to sell his place.
Dakota thought of asking questions, but right now all she could think of was getting him out of their kitchen. The last thing Maria needed was a friend who’d be around for only a few days. After the accident, all of the friends her sister had had in Dallas melted away like ice cream left on a summer porch.
Maybe she didn’t believe in curses, but still, avoiding any Hamilton seemed to be a rational precaution.
The sheriff’s cruiser pulled up in her yard before she had time to push Blade out the door.
“Morning, ladies,” Sheriff Brigman shouted through the screen door without stepping foot on the porch. “Any chance a guy named Hamilton is here? He couldn’t have gone far. I saw his bike parked on his land.”
Blade hurried outside with the bag of bread in his hand. “I’m just finishing breakfast, Sheriff. What do you need?”
Dakota watched the two men talking but couldn’t make out what they were saying. If Hamilton already knew the sheriff, that could mean bad news. He could have lied about his job. He probably got that killer body in the prison gym. Maybe he had to check in with every sheriff in every county he passed through? He probably said he was ATF because that was who arrested him.
Maria had just joined her at the door when Blade picked up his boots and saddlebags off the corner of the porch and waved.
“Thanks,” was all he said before the sheriff backed the car away from the porch with Blade riding shotgun.
“Probably off to fight a forest fire,” Maria reasoned. “What a hero.”
“There’s not five trees standing together for a hundred miles,” Dakota said, pointing out the obvious.
Maria looked surprised. “Now you tell me.”
Both girls laughed.
“I have to go to work.” Dakota grabbed the old briefcase she’d bought at the secondhand store three years ago.
“Me too,” Maria added. “See you before dark, little sister.”
“See you before dark,” Dakota answered.
Halfway to town Dakota was still thinking of how Blade had looked in the hallway with nothing on but his jeans. Surely he could have pulled his shirt on before he stepped out. Then she realized something: he’d been showing off.
And not for Maria, but for her.
He’d probably deny it to his dying breath, but she’d grown up on a farm. She’d seen roosters. Maybe he came not just to look at his place but to con them. He’d said he wasn’t a liar, but probably every liar said that. It would be a waste of time to ask him if he was a serial killer.
She might as well go with believing he was telling the truth for now, but she planned to watch him. Maybe check out his funny biker saddlebags for weapons.
She smiled, planning to hold her cards close to her chest until she figured him out. If he was playing some kind of flirting game, maybe she should warn him that she didn’t know the rules.
He’d winked at her twice. That must mean something.
Maybe he had a twitch?
He’d kept her warm last night, but never touched her.
Or at least she didn’t think he had. Did she want him to? Just the thought made her warm.
Suddenly Dakota felt like she was just out of high school again and trying to figure out how guys think. She glanced in the rearview mirror. Cheeks flushed, eyes wide.
She wasn’t growing older. Not today.
CHAPTER NINE (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
BLADE HAMILTON DIDN’T KNOW a thing about farming or ranching or barn fires. All the way out to the Collins ranch, the sheriff talked about how he needed an expert fire investigator to have a look at it and it would be a week, maybe more, before he could get a fire marshal to this part of Texas.
Blade hated to bust the sheriff’s bubble, but Sheriff Brigman still didn’t have an expert on the kind of fire he was dealing with. He had studied arson fires and even worked a few bomb sites in the army. So, Blade kept quiet while the sheriff drove and hoped he had enough experience to fake it.
For the past five years he had worked fires set in wooded areas. That was different from this, and the only tool of his trade he had with him was his camera. But he’d known his enemy in the woods of northern Washington and the hills of California. The opponent hadn’t changed, just the location had. Blade began to collect facts about the land, and mentally started a list of questions.
When they turned off under a ten-foot gate with a Bar W brand, Blade had stopped listening to the sheriff and started trying to remember what he’d learned over the past five years. The same rules should apply—well a few of them, anyway. He could help. If the sheriff wanted a special agent helping out, he had one.
The soaked ground had probably kept the whole ranch from being a disaster. Winter grass, if it had been dry, would burn fast and hot. There wouldn’t be much chance of stopping it except at roads or creeks. Barbed wire wouldn’t slow it down. And there probably weren’t enough men in the county to fight it on a dry night.
Last night the rain had given him hell, but it had stopped the fire on the Bar W from spreading.
“Who am I kidding?” Sheriff Brigman asked, pulling Blade back into the conversation. “No one will come out this far because a few barns burned down. I’d never get a fire marshal or the ATF agent here. Not unless we find a body in the ashes. If I hadn’t remembered meeting you, I’d be on my own. It’s lucky you’re here, Hamilton.”
“You might want to ask the Davis women about that.” Blade wished he’d been awake enough last night to remember one thing, but he was dead on his feet when he got to the barn and found Dakota sleeping in that old chair. “They mentioned Hamiltons tend to kill Davises, so they weren’t too happy when I showed up. Every now and then the youngest one looks at me like she’s checking to see if there’s a weapon in my hand.”
The sheriff laughed. “From what I heard, bullets flew in both directions back during the feud. Like most good Western stories, it started with stolen cattle and ended with a woman. Legend goes that the last man to die in the bloody battle that night killed himself. Walked right straight into Indigo Lake until the water covered his head. Only I’ve heard whispers of an even darker ending. No one really knows. There was not one man named Davis or Hamilton left alive to tell the story, and the women told them more to frighten the next generation than to be passing along history.”
Blade swore he felt his blood chill. What could be darker? One of his relatives, maybe even one on the staircase wall, had committed suicide? Blade decided he didn’t want to know the darker ending if suicide was the good choice.
He took a deep breath and thought of Dakota. She was the other half of the feud. Maybe, if she was still speaking to him later, he’d ask her about her family stories. Even in her very proper, very boring clothes, he saw the flash of a fighter in those dark eyes of hers and in the crimson glints in her hair. Maria had mentioned they’d come from strong warriors on both their Irish and Apache sides. Stubborn. Independent. Deadly.
Her hair, he almost said aloud. He remembered the smell of her hair when her head had rolled against his jaw as he carried her. It smelled of soap and rain and something else. She must have braided it as she studied. A loose braid, thick and dark with no clip or string tying off the end. The opposite of the tight bun she was wearing at breakfast.
Blade forced his mind back to the problem at hand. “You’re right. A fire marshal is not likely to come out, but I’m happy to help if I can. Why not? A good mystery while I’m on vacation will hold my interest.”
The sheriff was silent for a moment. “Thanks. I’ve got a few of the volunteer fire department standing guard at each barn. I told them to keep an eye out for any embers starting up again, but what I wanted them there for, in truth, was to make sure no one steps near. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a clue.”
“I’ll help if I can, but not as an official. Just doing you a favor.”
“That mean you’re not charging and I don’t have to fill out paperwork?”
“Right.”
“Good. The county doesn’t have any money to pay you, anyway.”
They drove a few miles before the sheriff asked, “You sleep last night in that old house on your land?”
“Nope.” Blade smiled, thinking of adding that he’d slept with Dakota, but in a small town, that might not go over well. “I slept in the Davis barn. They loaned me their pickup so I could get my bike out of the mud. After I take a look at the burn site, I thought I’d ask you for a favor. You know where I can rent a truck? If you’d give me a ride there, I’d have wheels again.”
“You’re staying around?” The sheriff sounded surprised.
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “For a few weeks, anyway.”
“I would have guessed you’d be out of here as fast as possible. The only way you’ll make money on that haunted house is to charge for tours on Halloween.”
Blade didn’t argue. “If I run now, the locals will think I’m afraid of an old curse on that land.”
“Some folks think ghosts haunt your land. You might want to keep an eye out. A few people around here think the accident that caused Maria’s blindness and killed her mother was linked to the curse. It happened where cars turn off the highway toward your place. Her car rolled to within a few feet of where your land starts. Indigo Lake holds the bones of many a story.” The sheriff pulled up to the first barn and the conversation turned to fire.
Blade was surprised how informed the sheriff was about burn sites, and within a few minutes they were agreeing on possibilities as they approached the first barn. The frame was still standing against the cloudy sky like a smoldering border around a disaster.
“We’re lucky both barns that burned were hay barns. The other ones on the property have expensive equipment in them.”
After they’d circled several times, Blade said, “If I was guessing, I’d say, from the burn patterns, that the fire started in the dead center of the barn and spread out.”
Brigman didn’t argue. He simply nodded.
Finding the cause would be a process of elimination like any crime scene. They’d rule out one reason after another for the burn until only one scenario made sense. Lightning might be a possibility, but lightning hitting two barns on a ranch that hadn’t had a lightning strike do damage in ten years was not likely.
Blade walked the perimeter of both barns, reading the story of how the fire happened. He talked with the tired firemen standing guard. What did they see? Any people around when they arrived? Any cars or trucks leaving the place that might have passed them when they were heading to the fire? What did the fire look like, smell like? What color was the smoke? How did the blaze react to water?
He asked the same questions of each man at the scene while he took pictures of tire tracks in the mud. There were too many footprints to tell which had come first. Plus whoever set the fires probably did so before the heavy rain started. Their tracks would have been washed away.
Over and over the cowboys mentioned that he should talk to Lucas Reyes. The owner and the ranch foreman might not have been at the fire, but Lucas was there. He’d be able to answer more questions.
The few hands from the ranch spoke of Lucas more with respect than accusation.
Blade moved to the edge of each burn, taking pictures, making educated guesses.
The sheriff left the second site to go get the owner. The guy claimed to be too drunk to remember hearing anything last night and, according to one of the firemen, Reid Collins hadn’t even been out at the sites this morning.
What kind of rancher doesn’t check his own ranch? Blade wondered as he continued his investigation alone. Looking for something different. Something new. Something that didn’t belong. Law enforcement often says that the average person committing a crime makes a dozen mistakes in a matter of seconds. Blade only had to find one.
At the back of the second burn site, he stopped to pull off his sweater and noticed a lone man on horseback, watching him from about thirty yards away. He was on open land and making no effort to hide.
Blade lowered his sunglasses and walked directly toward the rider. If the man had something to hide, he’d ride away, and Blade wanted to collect every detail to report. He snapped a few shots as he moved.
The stranger was tall, lean, and so thin his shirt flapped in the wind like a sail. He wore a tan shirt and trousers that were tucked into muddy boots. Conchos ran a dark line down the outside of his pants and a few others were shining off his saddle. His wide hat was worn low so that his entire face was shaded.
“Morning,” Blade said in greeting.
“Afternoon, kid,” the old man said. “You missed lunch an hour ago so it ain’t morning.”
Blade never remembered being called kid, even when he was one. He’d reached six feet in the sixth grade. He was close enough to the stranger to see a smile behind a tobacco-stained, gray mustache. “I ate a big breakfast at the Davis place. That Maria is a great cook. I may not be hungry till tomorrow.”
If he had any chance of getting this old guy to talk, Blade at least had to sound like a local. As a stranger, he doubted he’d have a chance, but as a friend of one of the farm families, he might learn something.
The old guy leaned on his saddle horn and looked down at Blade. “You sweet on one of them girls?”
This had nothing to do with the fire, but Blade played along. “I’m crazy about them both.”
The stranger laughed. “You sound like your daddy. He never could turn down a pretty girl. I cowboyed with your grandpa, boy, and he said your dad had a steady girlfriend from the first grade on.”
Blade forced himself not to react. “How could you know who I am or who my father was?”
“You look just like him, boy.”
“I’m not a boy or a kid.”
The cowboy spit a line of tobacco off to his left. “That you ain’t, but I am long past old and into being ancient. Name’s Fuller. Dice Fuller. Don’t mean no harm, Hamilton. Anyone under sixty is young to me. I may be thin, but like a tree, cut me open and you’ll find more than seventy rings.”
“None taken, old man, and the name’s Blade. I’m here investigating the burn site.”
“I think I could have figured that out.” He leaned down and lowered his voice. “I’ve been watching you. You’re here with the sheriff so I’m guessing you’re not just a sightseer.”
“Right. I’ve got a badge that says special agent for the ATF, but I’m here unofficially. Just trying to help out.” Blade moved closer. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the fires, would you?”
His answer came too slow to be true. “I’m just looking for my friend. He’s in trouble, I reckon. We was both rounding up the last of the cattle yesterday and got separated. I stayed around the bunkhouse until long after dark talking to the cook while she packed up. LeRoy never came in. His pickup and trailer are still parked at headquarters so I’m thinking he got thrown in the dark. There’s canyons around here a man could tumble into and not even the coyotes would find him.”
“Maybe he worked all night, or left with a friend.”
“He’s been known to drink all night, but if LeRoy worked he would have come in by dark and switched mounts. We’re used to pushing ourselves, but he wouldn’t push a horse. Something’s wrong. I can feel it in the wind. Might have nothing to do with the fires. Or maybe it does.”
Blade knew Fuller had to be the first cowboy he questioned when they got down to paperwork. If anybody saw anything, it would be this old guy. Only, Blade knew Fuller’s type. He wouldn’t be in any hurry to give up more than the facts.
“I’m walking around looking for what happened here. You wouldn’t want to walk with me?” Blade began developing that rapport he’d need. “If you’ve worked this spread, Mr. Fuller, you’ll spot something wrong or out of place before I do.”
The stranger thought about it a minute, then slowly climbed down from his horse. “I’m happy to talk to you about the ranch, Hamilton. I don’t know what happened here, but we all know there’s trouble on this spread. Something is going on. How’s a cattle ranch going to run without cattle? And—” he lowered his voice “—how do two barns half a mile apart catch fire within minutes of each other?”
Blade nodded. “You said ‘we’? Who else?”
“The cowhands. Those of us left, anyway. All the single hands headed up north last night. They heard an outfit near Denver is hiring. Those married will try to hold out until spring. Then they’ll hire on as day workers till they find another steady job.”
“You know who might have had a reason to set these barns on fire?” Blade asked, before the old guy told him everyone’s work history. “Because we both know it wasn’t an accident.”
“I know it weren’t no accident, Agent Hamilton.” Fuller smiled as he addressed Blade with respect. “But what I don’t know is if it was a crime.” The cowboy pulled off his hat and scratched his head. “If it was breaking the law, I’ve got a duty to report it. If it’s not, it ain’t none of my business. One thing you learn working big spreads. There’s some things you see and some things you forget to see.”
Blade knew he’d be wasting his time pushing. He offered his hand. “I’m glad to meet you, Dice Fuller. Hoping we have some time while I’m here to talk about my grandfather. I’d love to learn what he and my dad were like. Until last week I didn’t know much more than my father’s name.” He paused, then added, “But first, we’ve got a fire to figure out.”
Dice’s grip was strong. “You can count on me, son. I’ll help if I can.”
They walked toward what had once been a thirty-foot-high barn, still smoking in places. The old man seemed to respect the fact that Blade didn’t push him with questions. As they moved around the still-hot barn, Blade did most of the talking.
He told Dice that he’d worked a few arson fires, most in national forests, and handled several bomb alerts, but this was unknown territory for him. An isolated barn on private property. No witnesses. No reason.
“We all specialize at the bureau, but we’re federal so we go where needed. I guess that’s what I love about the job. Like this fire. If it was a crime, I think the why may be as important as the how.”
Dice seemed interested and even offered bits about how the hay was stacked and how most of it was probably a few years old. “Not worth much,” he said.
He also told how little was used last year or even the year before. Most of the supply in the barns was old because Collins sold off more and more cattle every year.
Half an hour later when the sheriff returned without the owner, Dice seemed to think he was part of the investigation team. They began listing all the scenarios: frustrated employee of the ranch, angry at being fired, rode through the rain, setting the two fires to make a point. With the rain there was a good chance the grass wouldn’t catch. Maybe once he saw the fire he got scared and bolted.
Next possibility: Collins set the fires or ordered someone to. No crime unless he claims insurance.
There was always the possibility of kids playing around, looking for excitement, maybe smoking pot. They could have decided to start a fire for warmth and it got out of hand. But that only explained one fire.
About the time Dice ran out of ideas, a four-wheeler pulled up. The man who climbed out didn’t look like he belonged on a ranch, but the sheriff introduced him as the owner, Reid Collins.
Collins must have crossed someone last night. His left eye was almost swollen closed and was several shades of blue. His right eye was bloodshot.
When Blade looked over at Dice he thought he could see anger building up behind the old guy’s watery blue eyes. Collins might have been his boss, but there was hatred in Dice’s stare. If all the hands felt that way about Collins, no amount of questioning would probably help find who set the fires.
Blade watched Reid Collins closely. His movements were slow for a man still in his twenties. He wore deck shoes and stepped carefully through the tall grass. Blade had no idea what Reid was on, or if he was simply hungover, but one thing was obvious: the landowner didn’t care about the damage to his barns. Half the time he showed no hint of even keeping up with the conversation.
They moved to the other site. Reid followed the sheriff’s cruiser in his four-wheeler, then reluctantly walked with the others, obviously thinking this outing was an entire waste of his time. As the embers cooled, they circled the skeleton of the barn, looking again for any clues.
When Blade turned toward the back left corner of the barn at a spot where he suspected the last fire had been set, he almost gagged. Earlier he hadn’t been able to get within ten feet, but now it had cooled some and a terrible odor drifted around him.
The air had turned putrid with a smell so bad that once you smelled it, you never forgot. It drifted into your mouth and seemed to decay there, leaving a taste almost as bad as the smell.
Dice was a few feet behind him and froze in midstep. He tugged his bandanna up over his nose. “Double damn,” he whispered. “There ain’t but one thing that smells like that.”
It was a smell like no other in the world. So terrible Blade felt his throat close up trying to keep the odor from his lungs. He’d encountered it in the army a few times and at several burn sites.
Human flesh burning. The odor of burned hair. Blood boiling to the point that it gives off a heavy, acrid odor so thick you swear you can taste it all the way to your gut.
The sheriff was several feet behind, busy writing notes. He looked up suddenly and Blade knew Brigman recognized the odor.
Reid Collins bumped into the sheriff, then yelled, “Damn! What is that smell?”
No one answered him. Brigman stepped forward and knelt in the pile of ashes spilling out of what had been the barn.
He brushed away ashes with his pencil and a hand rolled out of the rubble, its flesh burned away, its boney fingers stretching out as if for help. A gust of wind circled ashes exposing more bone.
Blade clicked a picture. The skeletal hand was curled up, with bits of charred muscle still attached to the bone.
Brigman stood. “Looks like he must have been trapped.”
“The smoke probably got to him before he could fight his way out the back.” Blade hated the smell, but he did his job. He clicked shots.
“No!” Reid yelled. “No! This isn’t happening. Maybe it’s an animal or an old skeleton buried in the barn years ago. Someone did not die in this fire last night.” The owner seemed to think yelling would make his words true.
Brigman shook his head. “Look closer, Reid. Someone did die. Looks like the fire caught him just before he reached the back door.” He noticed a padlock on burned wood that could have been the rear door to the barn. “Maybe he ran for the back door and found it locked. He was trapped by the fire.”
Reid glanced over the sheriff’s shoulder, gagged, and stumbled backward.
Blade and the sheriff moved in closer, trying to see something, anything, that might give them a clue.
“We’re dealing with a crime scene now,” Blade whispered.
“Shut the ranch down.” The sheriff’s voice bore no hesitation.
They both knew what had to be done. Blade offered, “I’ll help stand guard until the state troopers get here, Sheriff. We don’t want anyone trying to cover this up.”
Both men walked toward the sheriff’s car. “I’ll call it in.” Dan’s voice hinted at how tired he was already, and his day wasn’t close to over. “We may have a murder here. Unless he was the one setting the fires and got caught in the last one.”
“Not likely. I want to go back to the other site with equipment as soon as it cools. This was the only lock on any door that I saw,” Blade said. “He might have been sleeping it off in the barn, or maybe riding the land and spotted the arsonist setting the fire.”
Blade turned to Dice. “What do you think? How many cowhands were out riding last night?”
“Half a dozen, maybe more, but all the hands knew this barn had locks on it, front and back. Collins put them on six months ago. I figured it was to keep drifters out, but he said it was because as soon as the hay was gone he planned to store cars in there.”
“Did he store cars?”
Dice shook his head. “Not that I ever saw, but he did keep this one barn locked.”
Blade pushed. “You didn’t think that was strange?”
Dice grinned. “I’m a cowboy. I’m not paid to think beyond cow level.”
He pointed with his thumb. “We got a new problem.”
“What’s that?” Brigman said as he opened his car door and tugged out his radio.
Dice pointed back in the direction he’d come. “Boss man fainted.”
All three looked back at Reid lying spread-eagle in the mud halfway between the rubble of the barn and the cars.
“What do I do, Sheriff?” Dice tugged off his hat and started worrying the brim. “Officially, I don’t work for him since the night of the fire, and if he ain’t breathing I’m sure not giving him mouth-to-mouth with all that throw-up on his face.”
Brigman looked like a man who had his hands full. “Check to see if he’s breathing. If he is, leave him. He looks like he could use some sun.”
When Dice walked off, Brigman moved to the trunk of his car and pulled out a box. “You got a weapon, Hamilton?”
“I do. I carry a Glock 17 and my badge in my saddlebags. They’re in the back seat of your cruiser.”
“Then strap on a weapon.” He pulled another badge from the box. “I’m also deputizing you.” The sheriff glanced at his watch. “I don’t know what we’re facing but as of 1:45 p.m., I want you working for the county. We’ll finish up here and by four I’ll have men coming in to question. I’m going to need your help.”
Blade slipped the badge in his pocket and reached for his saddlebags. “This mean I’m getting paid?”
“Nope, but if you don’t want the job my next recruit is Dice.”
They both looked back at Dice slowly walking around Reid Collins like the ranch owner was a half-dead snake.
Blade knew he was cornered. “I’ll take the job.”
CHAPTER TEN (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
LAUREN SAT IN her tiny office in what everyone called the strip mall. Three ten-by-twelve offices with small loft apartments above and a parking lot out front for eight cars. She’d opened a site for online news called ChatAroundCrossroads after she moved back from Dallas. She planned to sell ads on her webpage for income in the morning and work on her writing in the afternoon.
Only, everyone read the news, but no one bought ads, so she was forced to take editing jobs to pay the bills. Still, broke in her hometown among friends and family was better than being broke in Dallas alone.
Lauren had always thought her real money would come from writing. Short stories, poems, articles. After all, every English teacher she had in college told her she could write.
But they hadn’t told her what to write.
So far everything she tried only dribbled in small change. But last month she’d had a new idea. Dakota Davis, in the office next door, had told her scary tales about her neighbor’s place and she’d pitched the idea to Texas Monthly. They said they’d consider it.
Lauren didn’t believe any of the stories, but that might be something people would read. A feud over cattle. A gunfight over love. And a ghost who walked the land by Indigo Lake.
From there she could write other stories. Ransom Canyon was full of legends and stories.
She stared out the glass door, thinking she’d managed to get nowhere with her writing career in her five years since college, so she might as well try this road. There was good money in magazine writing if she could just make herself write. At the rate she was going she’d die of old age with her obituary only half-written.
But if she wrote about legends and curses people passed down, she might build a name for herself. She could do a series of shorts and eventually put them together in a book. The people around here knew her, trusted her. They’d open up to her.
Tapping her pencil against her forehead, she decided if she stepped into nonfiction, she’d check her facts, make it almost like a historical account. Somewhere back in the history of this area must be a real event that started the stories.
“Write, write, write,” she mumbled to herself as her fingers danced across the keyboard too lightly to produce words. She had to work, or go back to wondering why Lucas had kissed her last night like he was leaving for the front lines.
Lucas reminded her of a recurring dream that never ended. Part love story, part nightmare. She sometimes told herself he was the reason she never made up her mind about anything.
Maybe this was just puppy love that hung around ten years too long. But the truth was, she hadn’t met anyone she wanted to move on with.
Sometimes hanging on to a maybe was enough to last awhile. She’d let go of the dream of her and Lucas so slowly it had drifted out of sight before she realized it was gone. Even when he’d kissed her last night, she hadn’t allowed hope to crawl into her heart again.
She glared through the glass door at the antiques store across the street, which usually looked abandoned except on Saturdays. Maybe the town had evacuated and had forgotten to tell her. Zombies were probably roaming the streets looking for fresh brains, and here she was worrying about an almost-love she couldn’t get over.
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Jodi Thomas
Two families long divided by an ancient feud. Can a powerful love finally unite them?Blade Hamilton is the last of his line. He's never even heard of Crossroads, Texas, until he inherits land there. Riding in on his vintage Harley-Davidson, Blade finds a weathered ranch house, an empty prairie and a dark river that cuts a decisive path between the Hamiltons' land and that of their estranged neighbours.When Dakota helps a stranger on the roadside, she isn't prepared for the charisma of the man on the motorbike—or for the last name he bears: Hamilton—her family's sworn enemies, representing all she's been raised to loathe. The problem is, it looks like Blade is in town to stay, and there's something about his wolf-grey eyes she just can't ignore.Lauren Brigman feels adrift. Unhappy in work and unlucky in love, she knows she ought to be striving for more, but she's never truly at peace unless she's at home in Crossroads. If the wider world can't satisfy her, is home truly where her heart is?
Two families long divided by an ancient feud. Can a powerful love finally unite them?
Blade Hamilton is the last of his line. He’s never even heard of Crossroads, Texas, until he inherits land there. Riding in on his vintage Harley-Davidson, Blade finds a weathered ranch house, an empty prairie and a dark river that cuts a decisive path between the Hamiltons’ land and that of their estranged neighbors.
When Dakota helps a stranger on the roadside, she isn’t prepared for the charisma of the man on the motorbike—or for the last name he bears: Hamilton, of her family’s sworn enemies, representing all she’s been raised to loathe. The problem is, it looks like Blade is in town to stay, and there’s something about his wolf-gray eyes she just can’t ignore.
Lauren Brigman feels adrift. Unhappy in work and unlucky in love, she knows she ought to be striving for more, but she’s never truly at peace unless she’s at home in Crossroads. If the wider world can’t satisfy her, is home truly where her heart is?
Praise for New York Times bestselling author Jodi Thomas and her Ransom Canyon series
“Compelling and beautifully written, it is exactly the kind of heart-wrenching, emotional story one has come to expect from Jodi Thomas.”
—Debbie Macomber, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“You can count on Jodi Thomas to give you a satisfying and memorable read.”
—Catherine Anderson, New York Times bestselling author
“A fast pace and a truly delightful twist at the end.”
—RT Book Reviews on Sunrise Crossing
“[Sunrise Crossing] will warm any reader’s heart.”
—Publishers Weekly, A Best Book of 2016
“This tale will grab readers, who will fall in love with the main characters and be just as enamored of the others.”
—Library Journal, starred review, on Lone Heart Pass
“Thomas is a wonderful storyteller.”
—RT Book Reviews on Rustler’s Moon
“Western romance legend Thomas’s Ransom Canyon will warm readers with its huge heart and gentle souls.”
—Library Journal
“A pure joy to read.”
—RT Book Reviews on the Ransom Canyon series
Indigo Lake
Winter’s Camp(Bonus Story)
Jodi Thomas
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Sometimes people come into my life who leave me with a greater understanding of this life we all live, and two of them are:
Ernestine Wakefield—Born in 1926 in her grandparents’ home five miles east of Jayton, Texas, Ernestine was one of those rare people you meet for a moment and know if you talked longer, you would become best friends. I’ll always remember one line she wrote: “Bury me in boots and jeans because I’ll be heading into heaven two-stepping.” I smiled June 5, 2016, because I knew she was dancing.
Police officer Gerald E. “Jerry” Cline—My character Jerry Cline is named after this policeman who died EOW (End of Watch) February 24, 1983, in the line of duty in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I never met Jerry, but I saw the love in his wife’s eyes when she spoke of him one afternoon when we had lunch in Albuquerque. To all the men and women in blue, thank you for standing in harm’s way to keep us all safe.
Table of Contents
Cover (#u073941a0-9826-5e63-ad16-02b6ea728e09)
Back Cover Text (#u6c6f2634-f404-5dc7-a94d-c3ebecfafffa)
Praise (#u61b01d91-9a23-5f95-bcbe-8141bab841fe)
Title Page (#u1cb624ef-b5fa-5721-a59f-989ad5acf43e)
Indigo Lake (#uc0dd3761-f6a3-56fb-99ac-55e18e44583b)
PROLOGUE (#u995a6cbc-1098-5a33-9acf-082e7e00b00b)
CHAPTER ONE (#u1d4622bf-8266-5d32-8432-7972270c44f3)
CHAPTER TWO (#u73a69336-6263-5eb3-b157-8788a7832e35)
CHAPTER THREE (#u0716b0f7-1585-5482-9e16-20d719e679ad)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u20ccf3e8-7bfc-5977-9512-0d213f08934e)
CHAPTER FIVE (#uaa473524-da13-50fa-b64c-4c65e5bb5613)
CHAPTER SIX (#u4814d44e-7dd6-5c86-a42b-6ebb793161bd)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#u28890dd8-32c0-5a0f-b6ac-c80575b6f140)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#u7a645941-069c-5a3d-a71c-c789db423a48)
CHAPTER NINE (#ub350d20b-8029-573b-bddd-a66e1345e11b)
CHAPTER TEN (#ub6df4b80-070f-580f-b511-79912f8c37f3)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FORTY (#litres_trial_promo)
Winter’s Camp (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Indigo Lake (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
Jodi Thomas
PROLOGUE (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
The Ides of March, 2016
DEEP IN THE BACKCOUNTRY, where no paved roads cross and legends whisper through the tall buffalo grass, lies a lake fed by cold underground springs.
Indigo-colored water, dark and silent, moves over the pond where secrets hide just below the surface and an old curse lingers in silent ripples.
Two ranches border the shores. Two families who haven’t spoken for a hundred years.
A few of the old-timers claim the water is darker on Indigo Lake because of the blood washed away there.
Only tonight, one man stands listening, debating, wondering if breaking tradition will save him or kill him.
CHAPTER ONE (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
Last day of February, 2016
BLADE HAMILTON WALKED to the dark water’s edge and stared into Indigo Lake. He didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong anywhere. He’d wasted his time coming to this nothing of a place.
By birth, the land was his. You’re the last of your branch of the Hamilton line, the judge in Crossroads had said an hour ago when he’d handed over the deed to Hamilton Acres. Only, Blade had never heard of this old homestead before a week ago. He’d known nothing about his father or a dilapidated ranch that carried his last name.
He’d picked up the keys and a map from the sheriff in town and ridden out before dark on his vintage 1948 Harley-Davidson. He’d paid sixty thousand for the Harley, and Blade would bet it was worth more than his inherited land and house put together.
The last quarter mile had been dirt road, ending in an old bridge that groaned as he crossed onto what the judge had called the old Hamilton place.
A weathered two-story house stood a hundred yards off the road, like a sentinel blocking his entrance. Fifty or so years ago someone must have painted the homestead bright red, but the wood had weathered to a sangria color that almost matched the mud along the lake. Huge cottonwoods waded into the water with their bony-kneed roots and haunting skeleton forms still naked from winter.
Thanks to a stream with a wide-yet-shallow waterfall flooding the open land, small trees and bushes grew to his left like a wild miniature forest. The house sat on high ground where vines, now brown with winter, seemed to be crawling across the ground and almost covering the porch. Another few years and the vines would probably pull the place down.
Leaving the bike on dry ground beside a small barn, he moved slowly toward the house, his mind already mapping out the route back to Denver. He’d grown up in cities and the silence of the country made him uneasy.
Blade dropped his saddlebags on the porch and unlocked the door. He slowly walked into a museum of hard times.
Most of the windows downstairs were boarded, so he used a flashlight to navigate. Guns were racked on the walls and animal hides served as rugs. The place must have been furnished about the turn of the twentieth century and left to age. The smell of neglect hung in the moist air, and a thick layer of dirt rested over draped furniture.
Pictures showing four or maybe five generations hung in the stairwell. Faces stared back, resembling him so closely Blade had to take a second look. Ranchers on horseback, soldiers in uniforms, an oil field worker leaning from a rig, a fisherman next to an old Jeep, a man in a suit with a string tie. All were identified by tiny plates at the bottom of the frames.
Hamilton men, many of whom carried Blade as their first or middle name. His father, Henry Blade Hamilton, stared back from an army photo. Vietnam, Blade guessed. It must have been taken when he was Blade’s age, early thirties.
Until a week ago, he hadn’t known he’d been named after the man his mother left before he was born.
When he stopped by his mother’s place last week she’d simply handed him a huge envelope and announced, “Looks like it’s from your father’s side of the family.”
“I have a father’s side?” Blade grumbled, thinking this was a hell of a way to start his monthly visit with her.
She gave him that you’re-dumber-than-rocks look she’d perfected during his teen years and walked away.
Blade swore, claiming in a loud voice that he never should have bothered to stop by. She never wanted to talk to him, anyway. Or maybe he simply didn’t want to hear what she had to say. From childhood he’d convinced himself he’d been adopted from another planet, and his mother was the only female who’d take him in.
She also took in stray dogs and cats along with an occasional out-of-work drunk, so being adopted wouldn’t have made him feel special.
His mother’s answer to any questions about his other parent was simply the slamming of a door, so Blade had learned early not to ask. He swore his dear old mom hadn’t liked him since birth, and once he left home, she’d never asked where he lived or what he did. A few times when he’d dropped by to check on her, she’d even had the nerve to look like she’d forgotten him completely. He’d thought of introducing himself.
His mother might be surprised if she had kept up with him. He wasn’t the loser she’d always predicted he’d be. He’d finished college after the army and was doing quite well. Turned out he was good at solving puzzles, and as an agent for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives (the ATF), he got plenty of practice. He might be based out of Denver but as a special investigator, he traveled often.
Blade pushed thoughts of his mother aside as he climbed the stairs and looked out the old Hamilton house’s one unboarded window. The huge second-story window faced the open land of Hamilton Acres, its heavy leaded glass pieced together in almost a spiderweb shape. The image it showed seemed fractured. A broken world, pieced back together.
“Creepy,” he whispered aloud as he remembered how the sheriff of Crossroads had followed him out of the county offices, warning him to be careful.
Blade had taken the time to formally introduce himself, even shown the sheriff his federal badge. But Sheriff Brigman still had that worried look lawmen get when they think someone might be stepping into trouble over his head.
Blade grinned. He knew the look well by now. He saw it every time he parachuted behind the fire line or suited up with the bomb squad. He’d learned a long time ago that if you want answers, you have to go where the trouble started.
It wasn’t the adrenaline rush that made him step into danger or the belief that his skills would always save him. Blade was good at his job but it was the absence of fear that kept his hand steady. He didn’t think about tomorrow. He didn’t believe in it.
Living for today was all he thought about.
From this crow’s nest vantage point of the second-story window, he could see a brilliant sunset spreading across the western sky. One lonely windmill was all that marked any kind of civilization in that direction. From here he could almost believe that he could catch a glimpse of the future, or maybe the past.
For once, he’d found a land as alone as he felt. In an odd way, he sensed he could bond with this untamed landscape. Maybe it was because generations of his family had been buried here. Or maybe Blade just wanted, for once in his life, to feel like he belonged.
Hamilton land. His land. Roots Blade wouldn’t know how to handle after a life of drifting.
When he called to tell his mother he’d inherited a ranch in Texas, she’d laughed and said, “Sure you did. Better be heading out to buy some cowboy boots. I hear they don’t like biker boots in cattle country.”
“Don’t you want to go have a look with me? After all, you were married to Henry Blade Hamilton.” When she hadn’t answered, Blade added, “You do remember the name of the man who fathered me?”
“I called him Hank and I’ve been trying to forget him for thirty years.” She swore in her usual jumble of words that didn’t fit together. “It hasn’t been easy to block him from my mind when you turned out to look just like him.”
“Then go with me. He’s dead, so you’re not likely to have to face him. We’ll visit his grave and maybe you can bury the memory.”
“Not a chance. He’d said the place was worthless when we married. Nothing but tumbleweeds and wild plum bushes. Good for nothing. Turned out, so was he.”
“Was he a cowboy?” Blade asked.
“I don’t remember.” She ended the call without saying goodbye.
He didn’t call back or try to see her again. He packed a change of clothes, climbed on his Harley and rode down from Denver to explore a side of the family he never knew existed.
So far nothing about the place impressed him besides the sunset. The lake was dark, the land rocky, and the house looked like it belonged next to the Bates Motel. Obviously there was nothing worth stealing or someone would have dragged it off years ago. The lawyer told him over the phone that his father had died in New Orleans six months ago, and apparently old Hank hadn’t stepped foot on the ranch since he’d walked off the place at sixteen.
However, Henry Hamilton had paid the taxes every year and filed his will both with the lawyer in New Orleans and the county offices in Crossroads, Texas. Henry might never have contacted Blade, but for some reason he wanted his son to have the land.
As he walked back down the stairs, Blade noticed that not one woman’s picture hung on the wall. There had to have been wives, mothers to these guys, a grandmother or great-grandmother to him. Maybe none had stayed around long enough to do more than birth the next generation. From the dates and names on the frames, Blade traced his family tree.
He had his father’s and his grandfather’s dark hair, their gray eyes, their skin that never burned but always tanned. Their tall height and wide-at-the-shoulder build.
But nothing more. They were strangers.
All the other pictures were black-and-white, but if they’d been in color, he’d bet the traits would be the same.
Slowly, Blade moved from room to room. It looked like someone had just walked away from the place one day. Moth-eaten clothes hung in the closets, dishes were in the sink, rotting comforters and pillows were still on beds.
No electricity on, no water.
When he opened the back door, wild rosebushes barred his exit. Vines twisted and crawled up the house almost to the second floor. They were thorny and bare. When he twisted one branch to see if it was alive, a thorn sliced into his finger. It was indeed alive, and he felt like the plant was drinking his blood. Dropping the branch, he closed the door, thinking the roses could have the house for all he cared but would get no more of his blood.
As nightfall crept in, he moved out onto the old porch of the house. Boards creaked beneath his boots, but the place must have solid bones to still be standing.
He was tired and bothered that he had no memories of the man who’d fathered him. He should have pushed his mother for answers, but when he’d asked about the past, she always said that the time would come for talking.
Only, he had a feeling it never would. She’d married three times since he’d been born and each time, like a chameleon, she shifted and changed into someone he barely knew. She’d been a preacher’s wife in Kansas, married to an oil field worker who moved all over Oklahoma, and, for a few months, the wife of an out-of-work actor in California. Between marriages she’d waitressed some, sold cars once in Houston, and finally settled into selling homes in Denver. He doubted she even remembered what she was like thirty years ago when she’d given birth to him at eighteen.
Blade told himself he didn’t care. She had her life and it hadn’t included him for years. It hadn’t mattered to her if he dropped by once a month or once a year.
He moved out to the lake. It was time to get out of here. This wasn’t where he wanted to be after dark. Maybe he’d go back to town and find a hotel. Tomorrow, he’d take another look around, not searching for a thing to take away, but maybe he’d get a feeling about the man he’d been named after. Henry must have grown up here.
Blade could feel change in the air like he had a dozen times before in his life. His mother had wanted no roots and she’d raised a son without any until now.
Roots he didn’t want, he reminded himself again. He didn’t know anything about this land, these relatives. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. He had a feeling whatever stories this house held were sad ones.
Lightning flashed to the east and he saw another house across the lake. It was built low to the ground, almost blending into the landscape. Probably another abandoned home. More land that the next generation didn’t want.
He zipped up his leather jacket and walked to his bike. Let the coyotes and hawks have this place. Maybe one more circling of the land tomorrow and then he was leaving. When he got to Denver, he’d call the lawyer who contacted him about this inheritance and ask for a Realtor who’d sell the place. Land, house, and heritage. They could buy it all.
CHAPTER TWO (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
DAKOTA DAVIS TURNED OFF the county road, driving way faster than the speed limit. In five minutes the dirt road would be a river of mud. If she wanted to get home without all her supplies soaked, she’d better make the farm pickup fly.
A few minutes later, as she passed the old Hamilton place, she thought she was hallucinating. A man dressed in black was standing knee-deep in the muddy lake, looking like he was swearing at heaven.
For just a moment he reminded her of something her shichu, her grandmother, had said about a legend of the lake. Shichu said the last man to die in a battle over this land was a strong warrior, but he’d simply walked out to the middle of Indigo Lake until the water was over his head because he’d lost his will to live. Apache legends, tales of her people who fought and died over this land, were common, but this story was about the Hamiltons.
Shichu knew them all. Ancient tales and stories of battles fought near this quiet lake between neighbors who’d settled here over a hundred years ago. The Davis family and the Hamilton clan. Curses once screamed across the water now simply whispered in the trees lining its banks.
Grandmother said the land was damned and all who fought to keep it would die in water. Maybe that was why the last one, Henry Hamilton, stayed away, Dakota thought as she stared at the vision before her.
When the man in black turned to stare at her pickup, she had to remind herself she didn’t believe in ghosts. But the stranger looked exactly like the Hamilton men she’d seen in pictures at the museum near Crossroads. Tall, broad-shouldered, slim.
Only, all the Hamilton men were dead, even Henry, who she’d never seen. Folks in town said he was killed six months ago in a car crash somewhere in Louisiana. As far as anyone knew he hadn’t been back to the place for forty years, but the Franklin sisters whispered that the crash had pushed both his car and him off the highway into water.
The man standing in the lake looked very much alive and was waving for help. Curiosity got the better of her, and Dakota turned away from her farm and toward Hamilton Acres.
A heartbeat later she slammed on her brakes.
The bridge that usually stretched across a stream that fed the lake was now halfway in the water. There must have been an accident: what looked like the back wheel of a motorcycle spun in the lake as if trying to tread water.
Jumping from the truck, she yelled to the man, “You need help?”
“No,” he yelled back. “I’m fine. My bike just wanted to go for a swim.”
Dakota frowned, then turned around. “Oh, all right. Sorry to bother you.” She climbed back into the truck.
“Wait.” The man stormed out of the water. “I’m sorry. The bridge gave way as I was leaving. I just watched a classic 1948 Harley drown.”
“I can see that.” She thought of asking what he was doing on Hamilton Acres in the first place, but she had a feeling he belonged here. Black hair. Angry. Too noisy to be a ghost. “Why don’t you pull it out and dry it off?”
“It doesn’t work that way. I’d have to take it apart and rebuild. It will no longer be original, and parts cost more than the bike, if I can find them.”
Too much information. She didn’t have time to visit or cry over the loss of a motorcycle.
Her grandmother had told her once that the men of this ranch only had two possible traits: stubborn or crazy.
This one had both, plus he had the look of a Hamilton. She’d bet his eyes were that funny color gray of a wolf. “Anything else you want to educate me about motorcycles? I need to get these supplies home.”
“You wouldn’t want to help me pull my bike out?” he asked in a calmer tone.
“Nope. I don’t go on Hamilton land. There’s a curse. Anyone named Davis who steps foot on that land dies a violent death.” She didn’t add by a Hamilton bullet. Never give ideas to the insane.
“We all die sometime, lady.”
She stepped into her truck. “I’ll have to test the curse later. Good luck with your bike.” Thunder rolled over the land as if pushing her away. “I’m in a hurry.”
“Wait. I’m sorry. Let me try again. I’m Blade Hamilton and I’ve just lost a sixty-thousand-dollar bike in the mud. Forgive me for not caring about an old curse or your groceries.”
“You’re forgiven, Hamilton, but I’m not stepping on your land. The good news is that bike isn’t going anywhere. It will still be right there in the mud tomorrow, but if I get these supplies wet, we’ll lose a week’s income.”
Lightning flashed as if on cue. The blink of light showed off the skeleton trees dancing in the wind near the water. Dakota fought the urge to gun the engine. For as long as she could remember she’d always feared this land. It felt like Halloween night without a light.
The man didn’t seem to notice the weather or the creepiness of the place. Who knew—maybe Hamiltons were used to scary nights.
“Fine,” he said. “Any chance you’d rent me your truck? I just need it for ten minutes and I’ll pay you fifty.”
“Nope,” she said. “But I’ll loan it to you if you’ll help me get these supplies under cover before it rains.”
“Deal,” he said, and walked toward the passenger side of her old Ford.
“In the back, Hamilton,” she ordered. “I don’t want mud all over my seats.” She fought the urge to add or you near enough to strangle me. Her grandmother told her once that there was an old cemetery, way back on Davis land, where all the deaths were recorded on headstones. Died in childbirth. Death from cholera. Died in accident. Death by Hamilton.
Besides, she didn’t have time to clean all the property listings off her passenger seat. Her mobile office was always a mess. Four mornings a week, the farm truck was her business vehicle.
He swung up into the bed of the truck with the ease of a man who’d done it many times and she started backing up before he was seated. The sooner she was home safe, the better. She’d loan him the pickup and tell him to just leave the keys in it. He could cross the pasture and walk back to his place easily enough.
The road was bumpy between her land and his, but she flew toward home, not much caring if the man bounced out or not. Her people had always hated Hamiltons. They told stories about how mean they were and even though she’d been told they were all dead, she felt it her ancestral duty to hate this new one.
So, why was she loaning him her truck?
Dakota shook her head. It was the neighborly thing to do. Having a grandmother with Apache blood and an Irish grandfather had messed her up for life.
A guy she’d dated a few years back broke up with her because he said she had Apache skills with a knife and an Irish temper. She almost hit him for insulting both sides of her family, but then she would have proved his point. She’d told him this was the twenty-first century and she was a skilled chef like her sister, which wasn’t true, but it sounded good. He left before she cooked him anything and proved herself a liar, as well. She heard him mumbling something about being afraid to sleep beside her for fear he’d be carved and thin sliced if he snored. He’d called her hotheaded just before he gunned the engine and shot out of her life.
Dakota gripped the steering wheel, realizing the old boyfriend had been right. She did have a temper, but with a Hamilton riding in the back of her truck, now didn’t seem the time for self-analysis.
She could be nice. She’d loan Hamilton the truck, and when he brought it back she’d tell him to never step foot on Davis land again. Simple enough.
When she slid to a stop a few feet from the kitchen door of her place, she glanced back. He was still there and raindrops were spatting against her windshield.
She jumped out and ran to haul the boxes of supplies to the cover of the porch.
To his credit, he did his share to help. More than his share, actually, because he carried a double load with each trip.
The guy was strong and obviously well built. And a biker. Black leather jacket. Leather pants hugging his legs. Boots to his knees. His cowboy ancestors were probably rolling over in their graves.
In a few minutes they had the boxes on the covered porch and the rain started pouring down in sheets.
“We made it.” She laughed. “Thanks. No supplies got wet.”
“I’m glad I could help. I’m already soaked so the rain won’t bother me.”
She decided he didn’t sound like he meant it about how glad he was to help. Maybe it was the tone in his voice—it didn’t sound right without a Texas twang. She frowned at him, wondering what northern state he’d come from.
He looked down at her with his gray wolf eyes and added, “If you got wet, you might shrink and then you’d be about elf size.”
Dakota studied him a moment. No obvious signs of insanity. “You don’t have many friends, do you, Hamilton?” She tossed him her key. “Park the truck at the turnoff on my land. You won’t have as far to walk. Leave the keys in the glove box.”
“Aren’t you afraid someone will steal it?”
“Nope. Nobody but you.”
He nodded and disappeared into the downpour.
Dakota straightened to her five-foot-two height and frowned. “Sounds just like what a Hamilton would say,” she mumbled, thinking it was obvious the Hamiltons had been the ones to start the feud.
Elf size. No one had ever called her that.
CHAPTER THREE (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
LAUREN BRIGMAN STOOD in the shadows of hundred-year-old cottonwoods planted to slow the wind off the open plains. The lights of town were nothing more than a glow of tea candles in the distance.
The night’s breath rattled the dried leaves in the trees as it had a dozen years ago. She felt a hint of old fear creep over her as a memory circled in her mind.
Strange how you live thousands of days, thousands of nights but only a few live in your mind, in your heart, as clear as the moment they happened.
She stared at the home her high school friends had called the Gypsy House. An old woman who’d died there decades ago was almost a skeleton before anyone had come to check on her. After her passing, the house was left to rot and became the setting for ghost stories told around campfires.
Finally, the grandson of the old woman, Yancy Gray, moved to Crossroads and found himself drawn to the place. He’d discovered he owned the house and had completely remodeled it. Yancy had painted the outside a cream color with shutters the burnt orange of sunset’s last glow. He’d enlarged the second floor and landscaped beautifully.
Yet in Lauren’s mind, the house was still abandoned and rotting, as it looked when she was fifteen. She’d danced with death that night twelve years ago; they all had. Tim O’Grady, Reid Collins, Lucas Reyes, and her. Just four kids walking home, looking for something to do, hoping for an adventure they could brag about at school.
Three boys and her, the youngest, the only girl, all in their teens. Sometimes she felt as if they’d been bound together by fear and the lie they all kept after that night. She’d never be free of the memory. One day she’d be bent over with age, but she’d still come to this spot every year and remember what had happened.
Footsteps played a rapid tap on the wet pavement behind her as thunder rumbled above.
Lauren stepped farther into the shadows and watched. There was no mistaking Reid Collins’s quick, confident step. He might be twenty-eight now and rich, thanks to a trust fund from grandparents and a ranch a few miles from town, but there was still a bit of the little boy in him. Spoiled, arrogant, and handsome. Word was that he’d be running for mayor of Crossroads in the fall with his eye on the Texas State Senate in ten years, but Reid would never have her vote.
As far as she knew, he never finished college or anything else he’d started. Her father, the town’s sheriff, told Lauren a few months ago that the only way to kill an improvement project in the county was to put Reid in charge. He’d never get around to the planning meeting, much less completion.
The tapping of his boots stopped a few feet in front of the cottonwoods. “I know you’re in there, Lauren. That long, blond hair of yours glows in the dark. You might as well come out.” His laugh wasn’t quite real. Too polished, too practiced.
She slowly stepped onto the road. “I didn’t think you’d be in town, Reid. Did they run out of parties in the big city?” He didn’t look entirely sober, but she didn’t mention it. “Pop said they canceled the city council meeting because you had to be in Austin today.”
“I just got back. The Governors Balls are not what they used to be.” He smiled as if really looking at her for a change. “You know, Lauren, I miss our once-a-year dates from college. You were the only girl I took out now and then that I didn’t sleep with.” His gaze traveled down her long, slim body.
She didn’t miss him. Those dates had been torture. Putting up with his loud, self-centered fraternity brothers, trying to act like she was having a good time watching them brag. He’d said once that he liked having a tall blonde on his arm, like she was an accessory.
She and Reid were from the same town; their dads had been friends, so she’d gone out with Reid Collins a few times. She felt sure half the people in town wanted them to marry, but she’d never match with him. She loved learning almost as dearly as he loved partying.
“I was a perfect gentleman.” He bragged as he moved closer, almost nose to nose with her. “Never even made a pass.”
“You’re right, but I’m surprised you remembered I was there. Weren’t you engaged two or three times while you were at Tech?”
“Two. The third one was all in her head. Once I came home to run the ranch, I was so bored I almost married the first girl who came along. Big mistake. She’s still spreading trash about me.” He tried to loop his arm over her shoulder but she stepped away. “You’re looking good, Lauren. Aging well.”
“I’m twenty-seven, Reid, not exactly a centenarian.”
“I know, but you wouldn’t believe how some women change after college. I went to the planning meeting for my ten-year high school reunion and some of the kids I graduated with had slipped into middle age. I thought one girl must have sent her mother to the meeting.” He slurred a few of his words.
Lauren didn’t want to talk to Reid Collins, not ever, much less on the anniversary of the accident at the old Gypsy House. “I just came out to remember what happened twelve years ago. How about you?”
Collins looked around, as if he had no idea what she was talking about. As far as she knew, he’d never mentioned the night of the accident to any of the three who were with him. He’d simply taken credit for saving everyone that night. An account none of the others shared.
She smiled, wondering why they’d silently watched him play the hero. The school even had a pep rally for him, and the mayor had given him a key to the city. Lauren, Lucas and Tim remained silent and let the lie about that night stand, even though the truth wouldn’t hurt anyone now.
“I spotted your car at the truck stop and decided to walk off the long drive. Thought you might have wandered down this direction,” Reid said, a bit too loudly, almost as though he thought someone might be eavesdropping and he wanted them to hear him. “Strange we meet here at almost midnight. The people in this town are like ants. They disappear as soon as it gets dark.”
“Maybe they don’t disappear. Maybe you just don’t notice them.”
“You want to go for a drink?” he asked suddenly, as if the timer in his brain went off and it was time for another.
“No.” She didn’t bother with a reason.
He rocked on his heels and went back to their conversation. “I doubt anyone except you, Lauren, remembers that night we got trapped in the old Gypsy House. Ancient history. Four kids almost died when they ventured into an abandoned house. Why don’t you do an article in that little online paper of yours about it?”
“You really think no one remembers? Twelve years ago tonight was when Tim was crippled. He still limps a bit, so he’s not likely to forget.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. I was hurt too, you know.” Reid backed away a few feet, as though not wanting her to see him so clearly. “My ankle still gives me trouble when I play tennis.” He rushed on as if needing to change the subject. “My last stepmother put in a court and a pool at the ranch headquarters to make sure I exercise it regularly.”
“How are your father and his new bride?” Lauren had no idea if this was number five or six.
Reid shrugged. “I don’t know. They mostly travel. She hates the ranch so Dad bought her a town house in Dallas and she owns a vineyard outside of Paris, thanks to her last husband. Dad lucked out marrying this one. He plays golf and she shops while they’re in the States, and who knows what they do in Paris? I run the ranch, you know, have for years. It’s a real headache. Dad and I would both like to be rid of the place. He sold several pastures before he left town two years ago.”
She started walking and he fell into step. Neither mentioned the light rain.
“Why don’t you drive out some weekend? It’s only a few miles, but it might feel like a retreat after living in this town. We could talk about our college days, maybe watch a Tech game. I’ve got the whole fall season recorded. Man, I miss those days at Tech. The games, the parties, the carefree life.”
She smiled. He hadn’t mentioned the classes. “You could invite Tim O’Grady and Lucas Reyes to come too. Maybe we could talk about the night the old house almost swallowed us.”
“Sure.” He dragged the one word out. “Only, come to think of it, I’m snowed under with work right now. We’ve got problems with some of the old cowhands on the spread that should have been fired years ago. My father always let them run the place, but I’m changing things, modernizing. Land’s good for more than running cattle.”
Lauren stopped listening to Reid’s excuses as she spotted a lean shadow of a man moving toward them. His head was down, his collar turned up to the wind as he limped along. There was no mistaking the shaggy red hair always in need of a cut or the dark auburn beard.
“Tim!” Lauren bolted toward him. “You’re home.”
The shadow man looked up and straightened. A moment later she was in his arms and he was swinging her around.
“I figured you’d be out here, L.” Tim held her tightly as only a lifelong friend can. “Did you have to return to the scene, like me? I figure once a year it’s okay to let the memory roll over me.”
She pulled away. “Reid came out too.”
“With you?” Tim whispered.
Lauren shook her head and Tim faced Reid. “Hello, Collins. Haven’t seen you in a while. Word is you don’t spend much more time on the ranch than your dad did. A Collins ranch without any Collinses. Maybe you should think of another name for the place.”
Reid offered his hand but his words were colder than the night air. “Good to see you, Tim. Still writing those little invisible books? Ebooks, right? Any money in fiction made of air?”
Tim turned back to Lauren as if he hadn’t seen Reid’s hand, but she could feel the tension between the two. They’d been best friends once, before the accident. High school football players, sixteen and invincible. She remembered they’d both had their football jackets on that night. Tim never played or wore the jacket again that she knew about.
“My books make more money than his invisible cattle, I’m guessing,” Tim whispered to Lauren.
Forcing down a laugh, she linked her arm around each man’s elbow and marched on toward town. The less time these two had to talk, the better.
It had been twelve years since they’d walked this road together. They’d grown up, they’d grown apart, but in many ways nothing had changed. Tim was still the dreamer, Reid was still full of himself, and she was still waiting to start her life.
As they neared town, she noticed all their cars were scattered around the parking lot of the fancy new truck stop with lights so bright Lauren was sure it could be seen from space. Years ago, the corner where two highways crossed had been only a little gas station/convenience store with a trailer park in back. Now the truck stop took over the block and never closed.
Tim’s old Jeep, the one he refused to trade off, was by the gas pumps. Reid’s Mercedes was parked on the side. Lauren’s old blue Explorer was near the front door. Next to Reid’s car was a rusty junker of a pickup with a man leaning against it, his boots propped up on Reid’s Mercedes’s fender.
“Lucas!” Reid jerked away from Lauren and stormed toward the lights of the truck stop. “I knew this was coming. Damn it, Reyes, get your boots off my car!” His order sounded hollow in the still air, with no one around to notice but the tall figure with his boots still on the Mercedes.
Lauren and Tim slowed, staying in the shadows between light circles. “What’s going on?” she whispered.
Tim laughed. “I’m not sure, but I think Lucas Reyes is about to finally beat the hell out of Reid Collins.”
“That’s impossible. Lucas is always reasonable.” She watched Reid running toward Lucas, his swearing firing in time to his footsteps. Reid was already out of control, but Lucas looked calm, driven, deadly. Something was wrong.
“You’ve got to stop this.” She tried to pull Tim along. With no one else at the station, Tim was her only hope.
“Stop it? Hell, I plan on watching the fight, then swear I didn’t see a thing. It’s about time someone straightened out a lie Reid’s been telling for twelve years. Maybe Lucas just got tired of him building on more lies. We all know he wasn’t the hero that night, L, but Reid keeps bragging like he saved us all. He even did an interview with Texas Monthly about it a few months ago.”
Lauren pulled Tim along. “No. This isn’t about the lie he told at the Gypsy House. This is something more.” Just from his stance she knew Lucas Reyes hadn’t come to talk.
Before her words died in the air, Reid stormed toward Lucas and ordered him again to get his boots off the Mercedes.
When Lucas didn’t move, Reid yelled names at him as if they were in high school and not in their late twenties.
Lucas, dressed in Western clothes and not the suit he wore into court, slowly stood and widened his stance as Reid reached him.
Reid pointed his finger at Lucas as cusswords flew in rapid fire.
Lucas raised a fist and swung.
Lauren and Tim froze, watching. The lawyer’s fist connected with the part-time rancher’s face. The sound echoed off the cloudy night as sharp as gunfire, then silence as Reid crumbled.
“Did you see that?” she whispered.
“Yep. He flattened the guy with one blow. I’m tempted to go over there and kick Reid for not putting up more of a fight.”
They were still ten feet away when Lucas pulled out, leaving one of the richest men in Crossroads—a city councilman, a playboy, a liar—spread out on the oil-spotted concrete.
Tim reached him first and shook Reid’s shoulder. “You all right, slugger?” Tim teased.
Reid groaned and rolled onto his side in the blood and dirt of the parking lot.
Tim finally offered his hand and pulled Reid to his feet.
“You two saw what that bastard just did?” Reid spit blood. “Damn it, I knocked my tooth loose when I hit the ground. I swear I’m filing charges. He may be a big-city lawyer, but he can’t assault me just because I fired his old man.”
Tim let go of him and Reid fell against his car, bloodying his nose again. Tim didn’t seem to care. “Reyes has been foreman at your ranch for years. The place would have never been a working ranch if he hadn’t been there while you and your dad were traveling all over the country.” Tim made a fist. “You fired him? That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, Reid.”
Lauren gripped Tim’s arm, fearing Reid was about to get hit again.
Reid didn’t notice. He was still spitting blood. “That’s why we’re so far behind the times. I had to get rid of all the deadwood around the place. I’ve got plans.”
He wiped his nose on his suit jacket. “Lucas is going to be so sorry he did this to me. I’ll file charges. He’ll lose his license to practice law. I’ve got you two as witnesses.”
Tim shook his head. “Sorry, Reid, I didn’t see a thing. I was trying to kiss Lauren. I think I might have heard a popping sound but I’m not sure.”
“What?” Reid swore. “I should have known I couldn’t depend on you.” He looked at Lauren. “At least Lauren is honest.”
Lauren straightened and did something she never did. She lied. “I was fighting off Tim. He’s been trying to kiss me since we were six. I’m sorry, I didn’t see anything but you lying by your car. I figured you were drunk again. I could swear to that if you want me to. I’ve seen you drunk enough times to know.”
Reid opened his car door, ignoring the blood dripping all over his white upholstery. “You two will be sorry. I can’t believe I ever thought of you as friends. The sooner I get out of this town, the better.”
They watched him drive away, and then Tim whispered, “You sorry, L?”
“Nope. How about you?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t see a thing. I would have really liked to help Reid out,” Tim said in mock-seriousness. “He’s been such a good friend of mine.” Lies dripped out of Tim’s mouth faster than blood dripped out of Reid’s.
“Yeah, me too.” She laughed as she tugged him toward her car. “How about we go check on Lucas.”
“You have any idea where he is?”
“I have an idea.”
* * *
LAUREN APPROACHED THE grassland of the Double K Ranch by the watery light of the midnight sky. She was on Kirkland land now. This was the first ranch established in this part of the country and still the biggest spread for a hundred miles around.
Staten Kirkland knew that years ago she and Lucas used to come out here to watch the stars. He probably wouldn’t be surprised that they still did. The Collins ranch, where Lucas’s dad had been foreman, bordered Kirkland’s. Lucas had grown up near here and he’d spent his college years cowboying for the Double K on weekends. He’d ridden both spreads when he’d been growing up and knew them well.
Lauren knew that if she had a chance of finding Lucas anywhere, it would be at this lonely spot where no lights from any town or ranch house could reach.
Parking her car on the county road, she pulled on her raincoat and climbed through the fence. As she neared the windmill, she didn’t see his car but she saw the outline of the old pickup he’d been driving in town.
She smiled. He might have been dumb enough to hit Reid Collins, but Lucas had enough sense not to drive his low BMW over dirt trails that didn’t even qualify to be called roads.
Slowly she walked toward the silhouette. She knew the moment he spotted her. He straightened and faced her. Lucas Reyes might be a lawyer now, but he fit here. He was a man who came from the land. He was as much a part of it as it was of him.
“Where’s that new BMW your mother told me you bought last month?”
“I traded it for the pickup. Told my dad to take it out for a spin.” Lucas’s voice was clear but his face was lost in the night. “Mom suggested a vacation might be nice. My father hasn’t taken more than a long weekend off in years.
“Where’s Tim?” the shadow asked when she was ten feet away.
“He didn’t believe you’d be out here. Tim said he’d bet you were at one of the bars. There’s only two but he said it would take until closing time for him to make a complete sweep of the places.”
Lucas huffed but didn’t comment.
She moved closer, not knowing what to say to a man she hadn’t seen in over a year but had been in her thoughts almost every day. They’d been close once, but now she felt she barely knew him. Maybe she never had. His dark good looks were still there, but the favoring of his Hispanic heritage was almost gone from his voice.
“Reid will probably sue me for hitting him, but I’m not sorry.”
“He might, if he had a witness.”
Lucas raised his head. “You two were standing right there. You must have seen it.”
“I wasn’t looking,” she answered. “Tim didn’t see anything, either.”
Lucas relaxed. “If I’m asked in court, I won’t lie. I did hit him.”
There it was, she thought, that bone-deep kind of honesty that she loved about Lucas. Since she’d known him, Lucas had always done the right thing for his family, his career, his parents. The only one he’d left out had been her. There wasn’t room for her in his life, not in high school or college or now.
“Reid wouldn’t ask. He’d figure you would just lie as he would.”
“You’re right. Gambling on people to be honest is a fool’s bet most of the time. I learned that in court.”
She pushed away thoughts of a love that had long ago died of starvation and tried to keep her mind on Lucas’s problem. “You didn’t tell anyone that Reid ran and didn’t save us that night at the Gypsy House. He convinced the whole town that he was a hero. Remember, they even had an assembly to honor him? I’d been too shy to speak up and Tim was home recovering, but you could have said something.”
“No one asked me what happened.” Lucas put his hands on her waist and lifted her onto the pickup’s open tailgate. “Everyone was listening to him. I didn’t lie. I just didn’t say anything.” He moved a foot away and leaned on the side of the truck.
Lauren smiled, liking being at eye level to him and sensing they were still as comfortable around each other as ever. In the darkness it almost seemed like they were teenagers again and not a big-city lawyer and a small-town newspaper editor. “Never argue with a lawyer, right?”
“And never believe a storyteller, right?” he added. “I’ve been reading your ‘Legends of the Plains’ articles online. I doubt all our ancestors were as brave as you painted them.”
They both laughed.
He raised his hand and brushed her cheek. “I’ve missed you, Lauren. I think of you often.”
When he leaned in to kiss her, she backed away. “We’re friends, Lucas, nothing more. That’s all it can be between us.” She almost added that her heart wouldn’t take another disappointment. They’d almost connected a dozen times over the years and it always ended with him walking away.
“Then why are you here?” His words came fast and cold. “I thought you came out to see me, but you’re looking for a story?”
Maybe she’d hurt his pride or maybe she’d simply reminded him that nothing more than friendship ever worked between them. The easy way they’d had with one another a moment ago was gone. She wanted it back, but she wasn’t brave enough to deal with him stepping closer again.
“I’m worried about you, that’s all,” she answered. “Did Reid really fire your father? He’s the best ranch foreman around.”
Lucas hesitated and she feared that he wouldn’t talk about it. Ranch folks usually kept their business close to the vest. Finally, his words came low. “Yes. Fired him yesterday morning and told him to be moved out before dawn tomorrow. After thirty years, my parents had forty-eight hours to load up.” His voice was dull, all emotion spent. “He also fired most of the hands. Told them to have their belongings out of the bunkhouse by dark. My folks had everything crammed in one of the cattle trucks by the time I drove in from Houston. They’re sleeping in town tonight with friends.”
“What about your brothers and sisters?”
“The youngest two are away at college. I don’t think Dad’s even told them yet. My two sisters are married and farm down by Brownfield. One brother joined the army last year. The girls drove in to help yesterday. All the cowhands on the place pitched in to help, but it was chaos. I heard Mom cried all day. I finally got them settled after dark and went looking for Reid.” He laughed without humor in his tone. “To tell the truth I didn’t think I’d find him. When I saw his car at the truck stop I didn’t have a plan.”
“Why did he do this all at once? What was the hurry?”
“They’ve been selling off pieces of the ranch for years. My dad wasn’t surprised. I think he saw it coming.” Lucas plowed his fingers through dark straight hair. “He said last Christmas that if they sold any more land there wouldn’t be enough pasture to switch cattle into.”
“I don’t think the people in town were aware of it shrinking.” Ranch folks might not talk, but town people did.
“One of the hands told me today that Reid hired a manager out of Fort Worth to come in and close the ranch down while he rushed over to Austin to go to a party. The manager brought in a crew, men who look like hired thugs, not cowhands. He’s selling off the cattle left on the place, and word is the horses are going tomorrow.”
“Do you think Reid’s father knows what he’s doing?”
“I don’t think he cares. Most of the good pastureland is already gone and who will want a big house in the middle of nowhere? But once the land’s gone, it’s gone. If I had the money, I’d be tempted to buy it and show Reid what a ranch like that could be. If profits were poured back into the operation it would really be something, but they’ve been bleeding it dry for years.”
This Lucas, Lauren understood. The planner. The kid who was born on a horse and loved the land. If he ever got the chance, he’d build a ranch just like he built a career in law.
Only ranches like the big ones in Texas were inherited, not bought.
She brushed Lucas’s hand. “You’re losing the place where you grew up.”
“Yeah, but it was never mine. My folks moved into the foreman’s house not long after they married, but it wasn’t theirs. The place where they raised their kids vanished in forty-eight hours.”
Lauren understood but didn’t know how to help. “The memories will be with you, Lucas. The love in that house lives on.”
“Right,” he answered quickly. “But I swear before I ever bring a child into this world, I’ll have a place that’s mine.”
Another hurdle, she thought. Lucas had to have everything right, everything in place before he’d allow himself to think about living his life. There would never be enough time for all his dreams...enough time for her in his life.
A light began to glow from the north, almost like the sun had decided to come up early in a new location.
They turned and watched it for a few heartbeats, then Lucas whispered, “Fire!” as if saying the word too loud would make it real. “It’s on the Bar W. Dad and the cowhands aren’t there to deal with it.”
Lauren stood watching in disbelief. The Bar W, Collins land. She knew little about ranches, but she knew fire in this open country could be deadly.
He grabbed her hand and they started running toward the front of the pickup.
“I’ll call 9-1-1,” she shouted as she climbed in the passenger side of his truck.
Lucas nodded and headed across the open pasture. “Where’s your car?”
“About half a mile back on the road.”
He was there before she could finish her call.
As she climbed out of the truck, Lucas yelled over the incoming storm, “Get out of here as fast as you can. I don’t think it will spread on this wet grass, but you don’t want to be caught in the middle of a grass fire.”
She watched the flames shooting high in the air. “It’s not a grass fire.” It was too big. Grass fires crawl along the ground. This was shooting thirty feet straight up.
He followed her gaze as another flame shot into the black sky a mile to the left of them. “You’re right,” he said. “Something or someone is burning the barn. If it catches grass, it might spread to Kirkland land. I’ll call him.”
A half mile away, another flame shot up.
“Another barn,” Lucas shouted. “This is no accident.”
She reached for her car door, but just before she stepped in she heard him say, “I’ll find you when this is over. It’s time you and I had a talk, Lauren. Until then, stay away from the fires.”
CHAPTER FOUR (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
“HELLO, DARLIN’,” SHERIFF Dan Brigman said into his cell phone as he drove toward the Collins ranch. “I know I’m calling early, but I’m headed out to a barn fire and might not get a chance to call before you go to sleep.”
“Anything bad?” Brandi’s voice came through, making him miss her ten times more than he had a minute ago.
“No. You know nothing ever happens around here. How was your flight to Nashville?”
“I started missing you before I got off the plane. I slept part of the way and had this great dream about you.”
Dan smiled. He loved his wife’s sexy low voice. “Tell me about it tomorrow night. I don’t want to be driving and accidently miss a word.” He couldn’t stop thinking how beautiful she’d looked when she left this morning. “I miss you. Wish I could have gone with you this time. I know it’s only a few weeks, but it’ll seem like an eternity here without you.”
“I know. I feel the same, but I’ll be working most of the time. The band is already here. They’ll watch out for me. We’ll start rehearsals tomorrow. I’ll be home before you know it.”
“I’ll be waiting. Better say good-night. I’m almost to the ranch. I can see the barn burning even before I pull off.”
“Night,” she whispered, then added, “Be careful.”
He drove the last mile thinking of his wife and not some fire in a barn on a ranch no one cared about. The owner had been gone for years, and his son ran the place like it was his own ATM. Dan had heard that the foreman, along with a few dozen cowboys, had all been fired yesterday.
Brandi, his wife, was three states away trying to get some sleep. How could he miss a woman so much who’d only been gone a few hours? When this duty was over Dan knew he’d be tempted to go home and call her again. Just to say good-night one more time.
He’d married her late into his forties. They might never make it to dance at their fiftieth anniversary party. He’d just have to love her in double time for the rest of his life to catch up.
CHAPTER FIVE (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
ONE BY ONE, Dakota turned on the lights in the beautiful old stucco home on Indigo Lake that her grandparents had built in the twenties. The day had exhausted her. She’d spent most of her time talking to people who didn’t know what they wanted in a house. Window-shoppers were just part of the job; they didn’t seem to realize that she didn’t make money if they didn’t buy.
Once in a while, when everything went wrong, she wanted to scream all the way to heaven. “I can’t take it anymore. Not one more step. Not one more ounce of worry. Not one more day of people wasting my time. I’m not strong enough to carry the load.”
But she had to be. There was no one else.
Just as she reached for the light in the kitchen, a gentle voice whispered from the shadows. “About time you got home, little sister.”
Dakota forced a smile as she flipped on the light. “Sorry I’m late.” Being home before dark was a rule she’d agreed to years ago. Not that Maria would ever complain.
“Did you get all the canning supplies?” Maria moved toward her, gliding one hand slowly over the counter. “I thought I heard someone else on the porch.”
“Yes to both.” Dakota tried to sound lighthearted but today seemed stormy everywhere. “I got everything you ordered. Even picked up extra jars while they’re on sale. Wes, at the store, helped me load them. If that man gets any quieter he’ll be a mute.” She followed her sister toward the porch. “And, you’re not going to believe it, Maria, but there’s another Hamilton alive.”
“You saw one?” Her sister turned back so quickly her dark, curly hair floated like a cape around her shoulders.
“Not only saw, I loaned him our pickup.” Dakota had already concluded that that decision probably hadn’t been a bright move. First, he was a Hamilton. Second, he was a stranger. Third, he was a biker. Maybe she should have thought twice about being neighborly. The only thing the guy lacked was a prison shirt hand-painted with Looking for My Next Victim.
“Let’s go kill him now and save some time.” Maria laughed as she slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry. That just came out. Killing Hamiltons must be deeply buried in my DNA.”
Dakota didn’t want to admit she’d already thought of that. “It’s been a hundred years since the Hamilton-Davis feud began. Maybe we should do some research to see if anyone remembers what started it. Maybe Grandmother’s stories might just be that—stories.”
“But he might remember the curse,” Maria whispered. “He could be across the lake plotting our deaths right now. Grandmother swore Hamiltons are trained from birth to kill any Davis that sets foot on their land.”
“I don’t think he knows about that oath. He would have mentioned it if he had.” Dakota wasn’t sure Blade would care either way. He seemed more like the type who hated all folks in general, so why pick on Davises. “We’re probably safe.”
When Maria’s sweet face wrinkled into a frown, Dakota added, “I did try to bounce him out of the pickup, but he hung on. Which was lucky, I guess, because he was still alive to help me get the supplies to the porch before it started raining.”
Maria carried in boxes of canning jars. In the home she never tested her steps. She knew the pattern of the floor by heart. “Tell me all about him. Then we murder the guy just so we know the curse is broken.” She almost managed to sound serious. “Oh, and before we pay him a visit, tell me, was he good-looking? Tall? Old or young? Ugly with wolf eyes?”
Dakota joined her sister in the work of organizing everything exactly as Maria needed: flour in the left bin, sugar in the tin on the counter, cinnamon on the right side of the first shelf. Everything had its exact place for Maria. “Wolf eyes, definitely. And tall, but mean looking. Not ugly. Young, I think; he was too muddy to tell. He was standing in the lake, covered in pond scum, when I met him. It didn’t really go with his skin.”
Maria giggled, sounding much younger than her thirty-three years. “I have an idea. If he’s just homely, one of us should marry him before we murder him. Then we’ll get the land. Someone said there are plums growing all over that land. I could double or triple my plum jelly production.”
“What good is a place we can’t step foot on? Remember what Grandmother said, Davises die when they walk over Hamilton land.”
“I don’t believe Shichu. The older she gets the more stories rattle out of her brain.” Maria moved her fingers lightly over the jars, counting them. “How old is he? I’ll marry him. It wouldn’t matter to me if he’s ugly.”
Dakota watched her beautiful sister, wondering how she could speak so lightly about being blind. Forcing all emotion from her voice, she answered, “Couldn’t tell much about looks, but he had a nice build. I have a feeling he’s meaner than a rattler though. He told me if I got wet I might shrink to elf size.”
Maria, an inch taller than Dakota, reached in the kitchen drawer and drew her butcher knife. “That does it. We kill him tonight. No one insults my little sister.”
Dakota laughed as the vision of them tromping down the muddy road with their only weapons, a big knife and baseball bat, flashed through her mind. “We can’t go tonight. It’s raining. We’ll both be elf size before we get to him and he’ll probably stomp on us with his biker boots.”
“He’s a biker? Like Hells Angels or the Bandidos? Does he have those biker tattoos? You know, the kind that frighten any woman when she rips off his shirt in wild passion.”
“I didn’t look but next time I’ll ask him to strip, then I’ll come home and describe them to you.” Dakota grinned, thinking she might like seeing Hamilton nude. Only for reference so she could report back to Maria, of course.
Maria seemed lost in her own dream. “I’ll bet he has a wicked tattoo running across his chest. I listened to this romance novel last month where the hero was a biker. He had a skull and crossbones on his chest and said he was a pirate who stole hearts. The story was so hot it burned my ears.”
Dakota shook her head. “We’ve got to cut down your subscription to audiobooks. How many books did you listen to this week?”
“One nonfiction, one biography and only four or five romances.” Maria shrugged. “Sometimes I listen to the romances twice. I have a feeling if I could see, I’d be an untamed spirit rushing out to midnight affairs and romantic afternoons with men whose names I wouldn’t even bother to learn. I’d call them all ‘lover.’”
“You’ve never done anything wild in your life, Maria.” Dakota couldn’t imagine her shy sister ever being brave enough to talk to a man, much less draw him into an afternoon of passion.
“I know I haven’t gone crazy yet, but I’m making mental notes from the books. Once I find the right man, I’ve got a list of things to try. He’d better have stamina.”
They both laughed and began preparing dinner.
As Dakota worked on the wide, wood-block countertop that her grandmother had cooked meals on, the stress of the day slipped away. This house made of stucco and logs had withstood every storm that had come along for years, and it would withstand this one tonight.
“So,” Maria said as she made the salad, “tell me about your day.”
Dakota made a face but kept the worry out of her voice. “I swear being the only Realtor in a rapidly growing small town is like chasing bees in a tornado. One retired couple from Amarillo just wanted to move to Crossroads because it was so tiny. They said they were tired of the big city and fighting traffic on a street called Soncy. They claimed they’d love the quiet of a little community and the fact they could get so much house for their money here. But then he complained that there was no golf course or gym. She asked twice how far the nearest mall was.”
“What did you show them?”
“Not much. They hated the row of new garden homes going up by the museum—too small. The houses over by the school were bigger but too old, too many stairs, too plain. I showed them one three miles from town and he said it was ‘too far out.’ In the end, I think they were just daydreaming.”
Maria smiled as she worked. “I know, it’s not fair,” she said. “You try so hard, but not everyone is serious.”
“Right. I told them to think about building. Good news is they said they’d consider it. Bad news is I won’t make much money off the sale of a lot.”
“Anyone else?”
Dakota felt a little of the day’s tension leave her shoulders. “The mothers of a bride and groom were trying to pick out their newly married children’s home while the kids were on their honeymoon. I showed them everything in town and the mothers couldn’t agree. My guess is I’ll be showing the newlyweds the same houses next week.”
They talked as they ate: Dakota about her work in town and what needed to be done on the farm every weekend before spring, and Maria about what fruit she planned to can tomorrow. Her business was growing, but another ten jars of jam sold next week wouldn’t be enough to pay the bills this month.
As they finished supper, the rain finally stopped. Maria cleaned up and began setting her ingredients out for tomorrow. Dakota knew if the rain started again during the night, her sister would get up and create her delicious jams and jellies without the light. Since the accident that took her sight five years ago, Maria couldn’t sleep if it rained or stormed, so she worked at what she loved: cooking.
Collecting her laptop, Dakota headed for the barn. Her day job might be over, but her studies were just beginning. If she ever planned to do what she loved, she had to work—rain or shine.
CHAPTER SIX (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
BLADE HAMILTON WORKED half the night trying to pull his bike out of the Texas mud. Indigo Lake seemed determined to keep it. Finally, with the help of an old rusty winch from the shack of a barn on his land, he managed to drag the Harley out of the lake and get it on solid ground.
The night seemed to fight him as well, first with a chilling mist against his already wet clothes, and finally with shadows from the low clouds moving over the midnight land like creatures crawling toward him. Once, he looked up and swore he saw a figure, round as he was tall, glaring at him from behind a bare elm as if the intruder thought invisible leaves might hide him.
Blade thought he could make out white teeth smiling. Then the wind whipped up and the stout body turned, as if rolling into the night. Blade kept glancing toward the lone elm, but the figure didn’t appear again. After cussing and yelling at it a few times, Blade calmed down and examined the damage to his bike.
Forget the round figure. If he didn’t get this bike fixed he’d be here forever, and tonight it was far too dark to even predict how many hours or days it would take him. The way his luck was running, he’d probably have plenty of time to visit with the ghost.
Exhausted, he climbed into the pickup he’d borrowed and drove back to Dakota’s place. Her house wasn’t far; he’d seen the lights there go out hours ago. But, thanks to the lake, the road circled around, making it seem miles away.
When he crossed onto her property, he noticed a few buildings besides the main house scattered over the rocky, uneven land. Barns, sheds, a short house that looked like it might have been the original dugout when the place was homesteaded.
Like she told him to, he parked the pickup at the beginning of the drive. Maybe she didn’t want it getting stuck in the mud, or maybe she’d planned to park it in one of the little barns scattered around the house. Only, he’d kept it so long she must have gone on to bed. He was too tired to care as he cut the engine and climbed out.
If he had a pen, he would have left a thank-you note. He’d probably run her battery down using the headlights as his only light source, and the driver’s seat was muddy, not to mention the bed where he’d climbed in and out of the truck several times.
Half the papers she had scattered across her front seat were now floating on the lake. He’d tried to collect them, but his efforts looked more like a first-grade art project than anything she might want to read.
He’d apologize for that also, he decided.
He was too tired to even bother trying to scrape off the mud tonight. He’d say he was sorry, or better yet offer to pay for a wash tomorrow, but tonight he’d promised to bring the old piece of junk back and he had. The ten minutes he’d said he wanted to borrow it had turned into three or four hours. She probably needed it in the morning to do whatever she did for a living.
From the way she was dressed he’d guess it wasn’t farming. Wool skirt six inches too long to be fashionable, navy blazer a bit too big for her tiny frame, and shoes practical but so ugly he wouldn’t suggest even giving them away. No clue what her job was, but one thing was obvious, she was making herself look older.
He grinned, thinking of how she’d ordered him to ride in the back. She could be the role model for the kind of woman he hated being around. Bossy, quick-tempered, superstitious, and short. But, he had to admit, she was kind of cute for an elf.
He decided to walk up to the house and leave the keys. No lights were on at her place or in the yard, but his eyes had adjusted to the darkness.
He’d just put the keys on the porch where she’d stacked the boxes.
Bad luck found him about the time he was within twenty feet of her house. The rain started again. The slow steady plopping around him sounded like a thousand tiny drummers. He’d been soaked for so long, Blade barely noticed he was dripping as he walked. Maybe this slow drizzle would wash the pickup off a little. If it didn’t, his only neighbor probably wouldn’t be speaking to him come dawn.
Ten feet from the house he saw the shadow of a woman appear on the porch. The watery moon didn’t show her clearly at first and he thought it was Dakota. Small build, hair tied back away from her face, a crochet shawl wrapped around her shoulders. He almost yelled a greeting, but something wasn’t right.
The woman let the shawl slip. She wore a white nightgown that gave the impression that she was floating.
Blade frowned. No wonder people around here believed in curses and spirits. He’d only been here one night and he’d already seen two.
He moved a few feet closer and the woman took shape. She was taller than he remembered Dakota being, and so thin she reminded him of a willow swaying in the night breeze. Only she was flesh and blood.
He studied her. She wasn’t Dakota. He could see that now, but the resemblance was there. A sister, maybe. This woman was a few years older and beautiful in a no-makeup, freshly scrubbed kind of way.
Six feet away. Five. The wet grass silenced his steps. She was looking right at him. Even in the night he couldn’t understand why he didn’t startle her.
Blade stopped. He wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want to frighten her, but if she hadn’t seen him yet, one word would surely do just that.
She closed her eyes and leaned her face out so the gentle rain could tap against her skin. Then she smiled and he knew...she was blind. She might not have seen him, but he had the feeling she observed more than most. She saw the night, the softness of the rain, the caress of the damp wind, the silent world after a storm. Tapping her fingers along the porch railing, she moved inside and disappeared as though she’d been nothing more than a vision, a will-o’-the-wisp, impossible to catch.
Blade couldn’t move. He felt like he’d seen a ghost, though his life had always been ordered by reason and logic. This whole part of the country made him feel like he’d stepped into another world, or maybe another dimension. He was the outsider here, and yet he didn’t feel as out of place as he thought he would. Somehow, deep down, a part of him belonged here. Blade dropped the pickup keys on the porch.
There was a kind of magic in the air. Dakota had spoken of a curse. In an isolated place like this, he could almost feel the past whispering as he walked around the house that looked like its walls were a foot thick. Before he reached the open field between his land and Dakota’s house, he passed a small place built low, almost into the earth. Smoke circled from the chimney, but no light shone from the windows. An old, white rocker on the porch moved gently in time to the wind.
He slowed his steps, not wanting to wake whoever lived in the little cabin. Twenty feet later he passed a huge winter garden now sleeping. Further on he spotted a shed made of roughly cut boards near a stand of low trees.
When he turned the corner to the barn’s side door, he caught a flicker of light.
Slowly, drawn like a moth, he moved toward the light and slipped through the opening into silent, warm air.
From the looks of it, most of the barn was used for storage. Farm tools, an old wagon, a tractor, all looked abandoned. Leftovers, too valuable to toss, too worthless to sell.
One corner near the back reminded him of a mad scientist’s study. Drawings of houses and floor plans were nailed to the wall—some old and curling at the edges, some new and more detailed than the originals.
Blade was so interested in the plans, he almost didn’t notice a woman sleeping in a multicolored blanket between the sides of an old wingback chair. She looked tiny, with only her face left uncovered and the rope of a dark braid spilling over the blanket. The old leather office chair seemed to be holding her, cuddling her in its arms.
Obviously, she’d been working at the bench of a desk. These were her plans, her drawings on the wall. He’d studied enough blueprints in his investigations to know what he was looking at. Not office buildings or compounds, but homes. Big beautiful homes where every inch of space was put to use, every detail refined.
He clicked Save on the laptop and powered her computer down. He’d bet Dakota had to be at work in a few hours and guessed she’d sleep better somewhere else.
Another brightly colored blanket was spread out on a mound of hay near the door. He was too tired to worry about what might be wrong with picking up a sleeping woman he barely knew. For once, Blade didn’t weigh his actions. He simply lifted her in his arms and carried her to the makeshift bed.
A big yellow cat complained when Blade shoved him off the blanket and knelt as he carefully laid her down. Dakota wiggled slightly, settling back into sleep.
He knew he should leave, but he didn’t have the energy to stand. He’d been up for two days and had spent most of the night digging in the mud. Exhausted, he almost didn’t notice that he was also wet and muddy. He wasn’t sure he had enough energy left to walk the mile back to his place. Not in the dark. Not in the rain.
Blade leaned back. He’d just rest a few minutes. It was warm and dry in here. He’d be long gone by dawn.
His head gently bumped her shoulder as he closed his eyes and breathed in. Before he exhaled, he was sound asleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
LAUREN WATCHED THE SUN coming up over the small lake community a few miles from Crossroads where she’d grown up. The light seemed to fight its way between the clouds in no more hurry to start the day than she was.
Rain had charged in waves during the night, making staying out at the fire site or sleeping impossible. The fact there had been a fire on the Collins ranch bothered her, but the possibility that Lucas would get involved worried her more. Reid and Lucas had never been friends and after Reid fired Lucas’s father, she was afraid they might be well on their way to becoming enemies.
Maybe that was why she’d come here to her father’s house last night. She needed to feel safe. Here, just as she had in childhood, all seemed right and fair with the world.
She had her own place above the small office she rented in town, but this house on the lake, Pop’s house, would always feel more like home. Sometimes she just needed to be here, if only for one night.
Since her father had remarried a few years ago, laughter and music always seemed to echo in the small rooms where she’d grown up. It had always been a safe place, but now it was a happy place, as well.
Last night she needed to feel as if she belonged somewhere. Her father had gone to the fire, and his bride was in Nashville for a few weeks recording songs she’d written in the lake house. Lauren could come home and no one would notice.
She admired her stepmother, Brandi. She’d followed her dream to be a singer, but she’d been smart enough to find Lauren’s father to marry. She’d proved to Lauren that a woman could have both.
Memories circled round, reminding Lauren of dreams she’d lost or given up without ever seeing how far they might take her. She hadn’t been brave like Brandi. She’d always been afraid to try.
The trouble with burying dreams is it leaves you hollow, she decided. But sometimes hollow is better than broken. She’d never been brave enough to risk losing. A brave sheriff’s daughter afraid to try.
Walking out onto the deck Pop had painted blue when they moved in over twenty years ago and never remembered to repaint, Lauren stared into the pale light, wishing she could feel its warmth. The whole world seemed cold and silent as darkness still held to the shadows of the empty house.
Brandi had hated leaving Pop, but he’d insisted she go. He had no doubt she loved him, but she loved music too.
They couldn’t seem to get enough of each other. Lauren had the feeling, thanks to Brandi’s income from songwriting and performing, that they could afford the biggest place in town, but they were happy here. The little lake house. The home Lauren’s mother had always called “the tiny house” and often complained about, even though she’d never lived in it. When Lauren’s mother left her dad and Crossroads, she’d left Lauren too.
Footsteps sounded on the boat dock just beyond the deck. Lauren turned and watched Tim stumbling up to the steps. His bad leg never seemed to take steps without a struggle.
Tim O’Grady had kept his parents’ old cabin on the lake as a vacation home, but he rarely dropped by. Tim had become a drifter in many ways. He traveled, lectured some, said he was doing research in cities all over the world. He told her about all the places he’d visited in long blogs he kept online, but she sensed he made up the people he said he met. Never any pictures of people, only places.
In her online newspaper, Lauren did a weekly post of Tim’s travels and book deals. He didn’t know or care that hundreds followed his career.
He smiled as he stepped into the yellow light of the one deck lamp. “I figured you’d be over here at your dad’s place, L.”
“You heard about the fires at Reid’s ranch?” She wrapped her sweater around herself and moved closer. “Fire department probably woke up half the town heading out a few hours ago.”
“I knew before then. When the volunteer firemen started getting calls on their cells, half the bar cleared out. Fire at the Bar W is big news. I dropped by the sheriff’s office to see what was going on, but Pearly didn’t know much and didn’t seem to appreciate me calling 9-1-1 to ask questions.”
He grinned. “Wish your pop’s wife would have been there taking calls like she sometimes does. She is one beautiful woman, but she barely talks to me, either. Mind telling me how a guy like your dad landed someone as classy as her?”
“I have the feeling Pop asks himself that every day. She’s grand. She makes him take a vacation twice a year and insists they eat right. When they married, I stopped worrying about him and passed the job to her.”
They sat down on a bench that faced the lake. Tim took her hand as if he wanted to hold on to something familiar, something real. “I feel out of the loop. There was a time I knew everyone in town. I knew about every call that came into the county offices. Hanging out at the sheriff’s office gave me ideas for my first three books. I thought I was in the center of the world back then.”
“Pop will be home soon. He’ll fill me in, then I’ll tell you everything.” Lauren patted his shoulder, knowing how he loved details. Tim saw life, his and everyone else’s, as simply an ongoing story. “Pearly told me two hay storage barns on the Collinses’ place went up. Both total losses. Since it was stormy last night, lightning could have set one but not likely two.”
“Agreed. Something’s going on out there.” Tim finished her thought.
“Something?” Lauren echoed.
“Anyone could have set them out of anger.” Tim thought out loud. “Plenty of people hate the Collins family. I know I do. Reid has a lot of good-time buddies, but he’s made his share of enemies too.”
“I know. Besides you hating him, there’s about thirty cowboys who lost their jobs yesterday. Lucas’s dad might even be suspected. He was the Bar W foreman forever. I can’t believe he was just kicked off land he’d worked for thirty years.”
Tim shook his head. “Don’t seem much like the cowboy way to set a fire. I wouldn’t put it past Reid to set them himself. Maybe collecting insurance money is faster than selling hay. Or maybe Lucas went a step further than taking a swing at Reid. I’ve never seen him so angry. He may be a lawyer, but that swing last night was personal. Reid hurt his family. I wouldn’t be surprised...”
“It wasn’t Lucas.” She interrupted Tim’s rant.
“Oh, yeah? You haven’t seen the guy in years and you think you know him?”
Tim’s words came fast, almost angry. “L, you always put him on a pedestal. Lucas the Great.”
“I know he didn’t set the fires because I was with him. We were on Kirkland land only a mile away. We saw the first one flame up and before we could call it in, another one went up.”
Tim stood up so fast she jumped. “Of course you were, L. Lying about seeing Lucas hit Reid is one thing, but giving him an alibi is another. One lie too many, maybe. How many times do you have to pay the guy back for saving you that night at the Gypsy House? He caught you. Kept you from falling. It was instinct. You don’t owe him anything.”
“No. I was with him. I found him out looking at the stars like I said I would. I’m not covering for him. I’m just telling the truth.”
Tim offered his hand and pulled her to her feet. “I’m sorry. I’m not sober enough to be reasonable or drunk enough not to care.” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “It’s good to be home. You’re the one person I miss when I wander.” He hugged harder. “You’re the last person I should yell at.”
She hugged him back. “I miss my best friend also,” she whispered.
He rubbed his chin against her hair. “No one’s hair feels or smells like yours. It smells like it looks, like sunshine on a spring day.”
She laughed. “That’s what you miss, my hair?”
“No. That’s not all. I miss laughing with you and talking like we used to. I think I’ve told you every secret I’ve ever had. How about we both get some sleep? It’s almost daylight. I’ll pick you up for dinner tonight. We’ll catch up.”
“It’s a date. I’d love to talk to you about my next book. I’m thinking of doing nonfiction. The Ghosts of West Texas. A friend of mine tells me there are places around here where spirits walk the land on moonless nights.”
He smiled. “I can’t wait to hear about it.” He kissed her forehead. “Get some sleep. I’ll be back.
“Or,” he laughed, letting her know he was joking, “we could sleep together and order takeout from bed.”
“Crossroads doesn’t have takeout.”
He nodded. “And we’re not sleeping together.”
“Right.” She almost added, been there, done that, but she didn’t want to bring up the past. She’d almost lost her best friend when she’d ended their short affair, if she could even call it that. Lauren wished they could both erase those few times when they were more than friends, less than lovers.
He turned and walked back the way he’d come, mumbling something to himself. At the dock, he waved and called, “See you later, alligator,” the same way he had all those years ago when they were kids.
“After a while, crocodile,” she said so low she doubted he heard her. Lauren watched him, thinking her life would be so simple if she loved Tim as more than a friend.
Only she didn’t.
Deciding it was too cold to stay out any longer, she walked toward the door that opened into her father’s study. She’d finish the night in her father’s recliner so she’d be there when he came home.
Just before she stepped inside, a lone truck turned off the highway and rattled down the steep incline to the lake.
For a moment she watched, hoping it was Pop, knowing the headlights were too close together for it to be his cruiser.
Without moving, she watched Lucas park and climb out of the old pickup. The new sports car his mother said he’d bought didn’t seem like it would fit him. The Lucas she knew was always more like a cowboy. He’d ridden full-out through college and law school, as if running across open land. He was determined, headstrong, driven, but he wasn’t the type who drove a sports car.
Or set a fire, she thought.
Lauren stepped into the light as he stormed up the steps.
When he was a few feet away, she could smell the scent of fire on his clothes. “What happened?”
He stopped suddenly and coughed as if clearing his lungs so he could breathe in clean air. “Both hay barns on the Collinses’ place are gone. By the time I got there the firemen were just watching them go up and making sure the fire didn’t spread. There was nothing anyone could do.”
“Lightning?”
He shook his head. “No one thinks so. The few cowboys packing up their gear didn’t help, and the guys Reid’s new manager brought in didn’t know where anything was. Someone might have saved them from a full burn when the fires first sparked, but no one stepped up. By the time the fire trucks got there, it was too late.”
He dug his fingers through hair that had looked styled earlier but now was windblown and wild. “It was like going to a midnight funeral. All the cowhands who’d worked on the Bar W for years just stood and watched. Memories were burning and we all knew the ranch would never be the same. A final bonfire to the death of what had once been a great ranch.”
She brushed his arm in comfort. “Pop says if ranches aren’t careful they follow the rule of three. The first generation builds it, the second enjoys it and the third destroys it. A hundred years from birth to death.”
Lucas’s rough hand covered hers. “Maybe so, but the owners don’t seem to realize how many lives are built around a ranch. I grew up there. The ranch was more than just where my dad worked, it was our home too.”
“Where was Reid tonight?” She hated to think he’d be dumb enough to set his own land on fire, but he might. Reid and his dad had been slicing off pieces of pastureland for a few years. Lucas might love the land, but Reid only cared about how much income it brought in.
“Someone said they found him at his house, passed out drunk. He must have gone there right after I hit him. The housekeeper said he came in cussing and trashing his office. She said he guzzled down all the liquor he could find, yelling about how he hated the ranch. She claimed he’d been in the headquarters all night.”
“Did you tell my pop you had a fight with Reid earlier?”
“I told him I took a swing at Reid, but it wasn’t much of a fight.
“The sheriff was at the first barn five minutes after I pulled up. The firemen had called him. Knowing your dad, he followed the first truck out.” Lucas paced in front of her, pent-up energy still building from the excitement. “He’s over at the main house talking, or trying to talk, to Reid now. I guess Reid had a right to set fire to his own property if the fire was set. It’s not illegal unless you claim it on insurance. But if he does file a claim on something he did, or if someone else set the fire, your dad will be dealing with a crime. He’ll know more after sunup.”
Lauren relaxed. No one would probably ever know what or who started the fires, but in a few hours everyone in town would be guessing. “Thanks for letting me know. I was about to put some coffee on. You want some?”
“No. I didn’t come here to post a report. I came here for this.” He closed the distance between them. His lips brushed her cheek before she had time to react.
“Am I still welcome this close?” he whispered. “If not, you’d better say so because I really need to kiss you.”
She thought of saying “always,” but couldn’t open her heart that far. She nodded slightly. One kiss for old time’s sake wouldn’t matter. He was the lover she never had but would miss forever. The almost was was sometimes far more painful than the had been that died.
His kiss was hard, almost painful, but she made no effort to pull away. Lauren couldn’t tell if this was a goodbye kiss or a hello kiss. Whatever it was, it was borne from need.
Slowly, like a man dying of thirst swallowing his first gulp, Lucas relaxed and the kiss softened, but his hold on her arms did not.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered when he finally broke the kiss. “I didn’t mean to come on so strong.” He wasn’t letting go, not this time. His grip on her arms would probably leave bruises. “I just had to do that.”
For once in her life, Lauren’s logical mind stopped thinking and she simply reacted. She’d wanted a kiss like this...full-out passion, no hesitation, nothing held back...and she’d wanted it from Lucas. “Do it again,” she ordered.
If her mind and body would have to endure withdrawal from him later, she might as well take a full hit now. “Kiss me like it matters, Lucas.”
And he did. Softer but with no less need.
She met his hunger. They were no longer children. Both knew what they wanted even if now wasn’t the time or place. She felt it then, a need they shared. A longing that would always bind them and one kiss, a hundred kisses wouldn’t quench the fire building between them.
He finally loosened his grip and let his hands slide down her arms until his fingers laced with hers. She leaned into him, absorbing his warmth. Feeling their bodies move against each other. Feeling his heart pound against hers.
When he broke the kiss, he smiled, kissed the top of her head and walked away.
Anger exploded in Lauren. She wasn’t the shy little sixteen-year-old he’d kissed once on her birthday or the freshman in college he’d lost control with for a brief moment under a midnight sky.
“Lucas.” His name came out as almost a curse. “You said you wanted to talk to me.”
He was off the steps heading to his truck. “I just wanted to hold you tonight. For a quiet woman you sure do say a lot with a kiss. We’ll have time for that later.” His words carried on the predawn wind, a promise whispered.
“Stay.” She’d learned that later never came for Lucas.
“I can’t. I have to get to my dad and tell him what’s going on.” He grinned at her. “We’ll get together later.”
“Don’t bet on it.” She stepped inside and slammed the door so hard everyone at the lake probably heard it. He’d walked away again. Just when she trusted him. Just when she wanted him. He’d put her last again. Never first. Never important.
In the silence of her father’s study she fought to keep from allowing a single tear to fall. “I don’t love you, Lucas Reyes. I never have and I never will. You can’t walk back into my life and mix me up again.” She’d been on this merry-go-round before and she wasn’t getting on it again.
Without another word or a single tear, she stormed into her old room and slammed the door. The whole lake house seemed to rattle in protest.
The room looked the same as it had when she’d left for college nine years ago. Organized. Plain. Solid. But she’d changed. She’d shifted and morphed into a stranger, even to herself. “I don’t love him,” she said to her reflection. “I never have.”
Tonight, lying apparently had become a habit.
CHAPTER EIGHT (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
THE SUN SLICED through the cracks in the boards along the east wall of the barn, waking Dakota.
She groaned. She’d fallen asleep without making it back to the house and her bed, again. What an idiot. Last night Dakota told herself she’d only work an hour. Just until the neighbor brought back her pickup.
But he hadn’t returned in an hour and the gentle rain must have lulled her to sleep. She’d dreamed of houses. The kind she would design one day. Beautiful homes that blended in with the canyons scattered about this part of the country. Her father died young, trying to farm rocky, uneven terrain, but her goal for the land was different.
She dreamed of someday building a secluded community near Indigo Lake. A place for people who worked from their homes or were retired. She could almost picture the winding streets and trails for walking and horseback riding, crossing through large parks and natural landscape. A place where people could see the sun rise and set over nature.
Her mind was working, memorizing last night’s plans like an artist tucks away sketches that would someday blend into a mural. She knew it was time to stop dreaming and get up, but her eyes refused to open. Just once she wished she could sleep a whole night or wake at dawn, then roll over and go back to dreaming.
But there was too much to do. If she planned to design homes instead of just trying to sell them, she had to study, and the only time she could study was at the end of the day—when her job was over, when Maria had her supplies, when all was right on the farm, when Grandmother had been checked on.
At least, for once, she hadn’t awakened cold. The wool blanket she’d spread out just in case she needed a short nap had kept her warm. She didn’t even remember climbing out of the chair and lying down, but she’d slept soundly for once.
Something moved along her back. Sam, the fattest cat in Texas, must be keeping her warm. He thought he had to come out with her to the barn every night, as if he considered himself a guard cat.
Her eyes flew open. Sam might be long, but he didn’t run the length of her body.
Dakota slowly rolled over and stared at her new neighbor, who was sleeping an inch away.
The Hamilton was back.
She sat up carefully. He was muddy from the top of his dark brown, curly hair to his leather boots laced with buckles. He had what must be a week’s worth of stubble along his square jaw and a bruise under his left eye. Probably given to him by the last stranger he’d curled up with.
It occurred to her that he might be some kind of pervert. Sneaking up on people and curling beside them when they were dreaming. She wasn’t sure that was a criminal offense, but it would definitely be a dangerous one.
She felt her clothes. All still buttoned. He hadn’t come to rape her apparently, just sleep beside her. Which wasn’t near as frightening she decided, so she’d consider letting him live.
She smiled, thinking that he was downright cute in a baby dragon kind of way. Big, well built and younger than she’d thought he might be last night when he’d been standing in water and growling like a bear.
Maybe he was like a cold-blooded snake who only crawled into the barn for warmth.
Grandmother’s stories about how mean the Hamiltons were came to mind. She said no one in the county crossed them for fear of being shot on a dark night. Wolf-gray eyes can see in the dark and they were all crack shots.
Grandmother would whisper that if you stole from their ranch, they’d find out and take back double. She even claimed she heard a rumor that the Hamilton men branded their women so they could never run off. That might explain why there were no pictures of Hamilton wives at the museum.
Dakota stared at the man beside her. His being cold-blooded and mean didn’t seem out of the question, but he hadn’t killed her, so she might give him the benefit of the doubt. Her mother told her once that Grandmother’s stories grew darker every year, and longer than bindweed on a fence post.
As carefully as she could, Dakota moved away, covering him with the blanket she’d been wrapped in all night. Picking up Sam, she silently left the barn. Maybe it would be better to let sleeping dogs lie. There was no telling what kind of mood he’d wake up in.
“Some guard cat you are,” she whispered as she scratched Sam’s head.
The old cat didn’t even have the sense to look guilty.
When she stepped in the shadowy kitchen, she wasn’t surprised to hear Maria making breakfast. Routine was Maria’s clock. She lived by it and so did Dakota. The reason she always had to be home before dark was Maria’s clock. The same time to do meals, to deliver her products to the grocery, to go to church, were her sister’s way of keeping in balance in her world of forever midnight.
“Morning,” Dakota managed as she walked past the kitchen on her way to the bathroom. “I fell asleep in the barn again.”
Maria held out a cup of coffee. “I figured that. I’ll have breakfast ready by the time you finish showering.”
Dakota stopped as she took the cup. “Better cook extra. That Hamilton who borrowed my truck is asleep in the barn.”
“Shichu will not like that.” Maria giggled as if she were three and not thirty-three. “Lucky she didn’t show up last night. The rain must have kept her from her normal wandering around the place.”
“We’re not telling Grandmother. I swear, she gets more Apache every year. She may have been born mixed, but the Irish seems to be bleeding out. The other day she came over wrapped in a blanket and wearing Grandpa’s old floppy hat. She’s starting to look like the short, squatty ghost of Sitting Bull. She’s also going back in time as she ages. I don’t think she knows what decade it is.”
“Probably not, but her senses are keen. She found a bushel of wild plums last week.” Maria raised her flour-covered palm as if swearing an oath. “And the old girl can probably smell a Hamilton. So tell me, did he just drop by to kill us in our sleep and decide to nap first?” Maria’s tone told Dakota that her sister thought the whole thing was a joke.
Dakota gulped down one swallow of hot coffee and came full awake. “I think he brought the truck back and decided to wait out the rain. He probably just fell asleep. Don’t let him frighten you when he comes to the door. I have a feeling when he wakes he’ll drop by to tell us he’s leaving.” She shrugged. “If he smells breakfast, we’ll probably have to feed him.”
“He won’t startle me. I’m sure I’ll hear him coming.” Maria lifted her butcher knife. “I’ll meet him at the door armed and ready. Or—” she set the knife down “—I’ll do the neighborly thing and invite him in for breakfast. Killing someone with a full stomach seems the right thing to do, and no man could possibly turn down my blueberry pancakes.”
Dakota shook her head. Maria’s life might be dull and ordinary, but in her mind she lived the great adventures she listened to in her books.
When they’d been kids, Maria often elaborated on Grandmother’s stories. She made the Hamiltons monsters with the smell of death on their breath. Or zombies who never stopped coming, no matter how many bullets hit their chests. Or aliens with nine long fingers on each hand, perfect for choking someone.
Now they laughed about the nightmares they’d had as children because of Maria’s imagination. Dakota smiled as she grabbed her robe and stepped into the tiny bathroom. She doubted any of the stories Grandmother or Maria told were based on an ounce of truth, but she’d count Blade Hamilton’s fingers the next time she saw him, just to be safe.
Twenty minutes later when Dakota walked back into the kitchen, tying a towel around her head, she could smell cinnamon bread in the oven and hear Maria’s laughter.
Maria wasn’t alone.
Blade, looking like a mud truck had run over him, was sitting at the counter drinking coffee and smiling at Maria.
“Have a seat, little sister. Breakfast is about to be served.” Maria waved her spatula toward Blade. “Mr. Hamilton will be joining us. I decided to let him live after he told me that he slept with you last night.”
Blade silently raised his hands in surrender, but Dakota didn’t miss the way his gray eyes moved down the thin robe now clinging to her wet skin.
“I was just planning on resting a few minutes before walking back to my land.” He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were a Boy Scout?” she snapped. “You’re probably lying.”
“Elf, I’ve been a Boy Scout all my life.”
“Don’t call me Elf.” She could feel deep anger climbing up her entire body.
“Don’t call me a liar, Dakota.” He said her name slowly.
Dakota frowned at him, fighting the urge to yell Go away. He must have hypnotized Maria, because she barely talked to the mailman, much less a stranger.
Maria carefully served her pancakes. “So, did you sleep with him, little sister?”
“I woke up and he was there.” Dakota knew Maria was already thinking up something romantic in her mind. Biker guy falls in love with pickup girl at first sight, in the dark, in the rain, covered in mud.
Dakota figured she’d be teased about this for months. She might as well play along. “I guess I’m guilty. I did sleep with him.”
“Well, we’ll keep him alive until we find out if you’re pregnant.” Maria reached for the coffeepot. “Do you have a job, Hamilton? We’ll need the child support.”
Dakota gave Blade her best go-to-hell look. He’d started this and he didn’t even try to look innocent.
He grinned as if she were teasing him. “I’ve got a job. After the army, I was hired as a special agent for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives.”
“Which one are you?” Maria asked, as if she thought he’d given her a multiple-choice question.
“Forest fires mostly. Occasionally explosives. We’re federal, so we go where needed. I parachuted in the army, so now and then, while the burn is still hot, I’ll go in and try to find where it started.
“But about the kid you might be carrying, Miss Maria—” he winked at Dakota as he changed the subject back to sleeping in the barn “—if I’m going to have to pay child support, I want to name the baby. If it’s a boy, of course. I don’t much care what you name her if it’s a girl. Girls don’t seem to stay around the Hamilton place.”
Both sisters let out a yelp, then laughed a moment later when they realized he was kidding.
Maria smiled and Dakota saw that her sister wasn’t afraid or shy around this man. Maybe she was comfortable in her own kitchen, or maybe she was simply playing a game from one of her romance novels. It really didn’t matter. Maria was happy and not just pretending to be.
“Tell me,” Maria said. “Are you tolerably handsome, Hamilton?”
Blade laughed. “I’m afraid not. My own mother couldn’t love me.” He shoveled food into his mouth as if he’d been starving.
“Then you’re not married?” Maria finally asked when his plate was almost empty.
“Nope.” Blade had the gall to wink at Dakota again, letting her know that he was enjoying the game as much as Maria was. “Women tend to run in the opposite direction. Men wearing badges don’t make that much money unless they carry life insurance, and until a few days ago I didn’t think I owned enough land to bury me on. I wouldn’t wish a husband who darts out the door every time there’s trouble in the air on any woman.”
Maria leaned on the counter and said, “Then you wouldn’t have any objection to marrying my sister since you’ve already slept with her and probably got her pregnant. In the interest of full disclosure, I might as well mention the fact that you’ve got plums on your land that might work for my business. I have to be thinking about what I’m getting out of this mating, you understand.”
Dakota fought down a scream. Maria and Mudman laughed as if they were old friends. Somehow, these two people who seemed to have nothing in common had become allies, and she felt a little left out. If Maria could see how close he looked to the villains Grandmother described, she might not talk to him, much less feed the guy.
“Now, Hamilton,” Maria said, pointing her spatula in his general direction. “I don’t want to be rude, but I can smell you from here. You’re welcome to use our shower if you like. I doubt the water works at your place, and from the odor about you, I’m guessing you’ve already tried bathing in the lake.”
“I’d like that very much. I’m afraid any hotel would take one look at me and put up the no-vacancy sign. But first, I’d like to borrow Dakota’s truck and go back to my place to get my only pair of clean clothes.” He stood. “I’ll finish this fine breakfast when I get back and help with the dishes.”
“We’d appreciate it, Hamilton,” Maria said. “You finish eating, but stay out of my kitchen. It’s off-limits. Understood?”
“Understood, General,” he answered.
Then without a word, he walked out the door.
Dakota gave up eating and decided she’d best finish dressing before Mudman returned. Hopefully, he’d get back before she had to be at work, but the last time he borrowed her truck for ten minutes he was gone half the night.
She thought of yelling at Maria for being so neighborly, but then again, Dakota had started it last night. Now she’d just have to put up with him for a few more minutes, and then hopefully they could go back to their quiet lives and forget a Hamilton lived across the lake.
Dakota quickly dressed in one of her three work outfits: milk-white blouse, dark blazer, modest A-line skirt made of the tartan plaid her grandfather wore to church every Sunday. He’d always said he wanted the Lord to know what clan he came from when he got to heaven.
She glanced in the mirror, realizing the outfit did little to flatter her. But for selling homes, she needed to look older than twenty-five. The clothes seemed to age her. She no longer felt like the baby of the Davis family. She’d had to take charge almost five years ago when her mother died and Maria was so badly hurt. At twenty she’d planned her mother’s funeral, watched over Grandmother, managed the farm, and slept each night beside Maria’s hospital bed. In a matter of days Dakota had aged into the head of the family.
As she combed her dark hair back and began to tie it up for the day, she listed everything she had to do. Sometimes when she felt like she was sleepwalking through her whole life, the list was all that kept her on the road. Pay the bills, fix the pickup, get Maria’s supplies, work at a job she hated, clean house, check on Grandmother, pay the bills, get Maria’s supplies. The list circled back around to the beginning, never ending in her mind.
Between Maria’s sale of jams and jellies and her occasional sale of a house or lot, they were getting by. Living on dreams and hopes. Having no idea what “someday” would look like.
Maybe if she ran fast enough, hard enough, long enough, maybe one day she would simply fly away. For an hour. For a day. Just one day of being free and then she’d come back to duty.
Only, as the years passed, she realized that might not happen. She’d simply age into the clothes if she didn’t keep fighting and learning and hoping.
As she stared into her bedroom mirror, she felt like she barely knew herself. She’d gone from being a kid just testing the world of college to being weighed down with responsibilities. She’d grow old and wrinkled without ever having lived if she wasn’t careful. She’d seen people who had done that and she understood them, but she swore she’d never be one. She had dreams and they’d come true even if she had to give up sleep every night.
When she walked back down the hallway from her room, the bathroom door was closed and she could hear the shower.
He was back. One more thing to worry about. Add that to her list.
She tried not to let thoughts of a nude man in their house concern her, but as soon as Dakota reached the kitchen, Maria whispered, “Did you open the door to see if he has tattoos?”
“No.” Dakota sat down at her now cold, still untouched, breakfast. “And before you start, nothing happened last night.”
Maria was busy wrapping tiny loaves of cinnamon bread. “I know that. I know you. But I can always hope. You haven’t had many dates lately. Maybe even a Hamilton would look good.”
Dakota almost said, Since the accident five years ago. Since the night Mom died and Maria lost her sight.
She’d never forget stepping out of Maria’s hospital room and looking around for her mother, needing her hug, even if she was twenty. That moment, reality hit her like a sledgehammer to the heart: she was alone. There would be no more hugs from Mom. Dakota had walked out of the hospital and sat in the dark parking lot, crying, for hours. Until no more tears came.
She’d never cried again. She worked to take care of Maria and keep things together. There was no time, no thought of dating.
Now, watching Maria, she remained silent. They talked about everything else, but not the accident. Not that day. Mom had flown over to Dallas to ride home with Maria for Christmas. The roads were bad. Maria had worked the late shift at her café and crawled into the back of the car to sleep. Mom was never good driving on snow.
Dakota should have been the one to go, but she’d wanted to relax at home after she got back from college. She’d fallen asleep before dark, before the ice storm moved across the plains.
The phone woke her hours later. The sheriff’s call. He’d been kind and honest, but she knew his call had changed her life forever.
She should have been in the car that day. She would have been the one driving. Maybe somehow she could have avoided the wreck on the icy highway. Then Mom would be alive, Maria would still be running her restaurant in Dallas, and she’d be... Dakota closed her eyes and let out a breath before she let her might have been settle in her thoughts.
She might be graduating from architecture school about now.
Maria broke into Dakota’s dark thoughts. “You need to get out on a date, little sister. Have some fun. Have an adventure. I’m fine here. I’ve got my work and my books. I’m happy.”
Dakota forced her tone to be light. “I’m happy too. And I’m doing fine. I slept with a biker last night, didn’t I? How much more excitement can I take?”
They both laughed as the bathroom door creaked open and steam filled the hallway. The man who stepped out was bare chested, with jeans riding low on his hips. He had a towel wrapped around his neck but his tanned chest and back sparkled with moisture. His hair was slicked back, reminding Dakota of a handsome pirate in one of Maria’s books.
“You mind if I finish dressing in the hallway?” he asked, staring straight at Dakota. “It’s so foggy in there I can’t see a thing.”
She couldn’t turn away, but managed to swallow a few times and whisper, “No tattoos.”
“Darn.” Maria looked disappointed. “I already had that picture in my mind. Since he hangs out around fires, do you see any scars?”
Dakota stared, not really knowing what to expect. She couldn’t have imagined a man who looked as good as the man standing before her. “Yes,” she whispered back, knowing that Blade could hear them. “No tattoos, but a few interesting scars.”
He didn’t react as he scrubbed his hair with the towel, then finger-combed it back into place with one deep plow. He pulled on a white T-shirt and then a collarless sweater of army green. “I left my boots on your porch. Got them covered in another layer of mud when I parked your pickup and jumped the stream to where my bike was. Luckily, last night I’d dropped my saddlebags on the porch when I looked at the house. My clothes and camera survived the night.”
When he looked up at her, Dakota forced her gaze down at her food.
He ignored her as he walked past her stool and took his place at the bar. “All right if I finish breakfast, Chef Maria? Then, if Dakota is still speaking to me, I thought I’d catch a ride into town.”
Another favor?
She nodded, trying to decide what she was so mad about. That he’d spent the night? That he’d hit it off with Maria and not her? That he was good-looking and obviously knew it?
Maybe Maria’s first suggestion was right. They should have killed him the minute they found out a Hamilton was alive. He might not look dangerous, but he looked good enough to drive her crazy.
“Sure, she’ll take you in.” Maria smiled. “I’ll put a few loaves of cinnamon bread in a bag for you. If you want any more breakfast, eat up quick because she’ll be flying out of here any minute. She may be the only one in her office, but she thinks she has to open on time.”
As Maria poured his coffee, he glanced at Dakota and asked, “How does she do that?”
“She’s holding the cup. She feels the weight and the warmth as the cup fills,” Dakota said. “And she’s blind, not deaf. If you want to know something, ask her.” Her words came out hard, cold.
“Sorry,” he said to Maria, ignoring Dakota again. “I’ve never been around anyone blind. You’re a great cook.”
“For a blind person?” Maria added.
“No. For anyone.” Blade might not have experience, but he was a quick learner. “This is the best breakfast I’ve had in years. Most of the time I’m traveling and it’s fast food at an airport or continental breakfast at the hotel.”
“You travel lots?” Dakota asked.
“So much so I feel like I don’t have a home, just a place where I change clothes. When I found out about the place across the lake, I took some time off to investigate. I’ve never owned a square inch of land in my life.”
“Are you planning to stay?” Maria asked as she handed Dakota her bag with a tiny loaf of bread.
“No. I’ll sell it. I wouldn’t have any idea how to make a farm work.”
Dakota suddenly saw a light at the end of her dark tunnel. “I could list it and sell it for you. That’s what I do for a living.” All she had to do was put up with him for a few days, sell his place, and she just might make twice the commission she usually did.
“Sounds exciting, Hamilton,” Maria said. “Your job, I mean.”
He turned back to Maria. “It can be, but mostly it’s just paperwork or standing around waiting for something to happen. Not near as exciting as I thought it might be when I signed on.”
They were ignoring her again, Dakota thought. He hadn’t even answered her offer to sell his place.
Dakota thought of asking questions, but right now all she could think of was getting him out of their kitchen. The last thing Maria needed was a friend who’d be around for only a few days. After the accident, all of the friends her sister had had in Dallas melted away like ice cream left on a summer porch.
Maybe she didn’t believe in curses, but still, avoiding any Hamilton seemed to be a rational precaution.
The sheriff’s cruiser pulled up in her yard before she had time to push Blade out the door.
“Morning, ladies,” Sheriff Brigman shouted through the screen door without stepping foot on the porch. “Any chance a guy named Hamilton is here? He couldn’t have gone far. I saw his bike parked on his land.”
Blade hurried outside with the bag of bread in his hand. “I’m just finishing breakfast, Sheriff. What do you need?”
Dakota watched the two men talking but couldn’t make out what they were saying. If Hamilton already knew the sheriff, that could mean bad news. He could have lied about his job. He probably got that killer body in the prison gym. Maybe he had to check in with every sheriff in every county he passed through? He probably said he was ATF because that was who arrested him.
Maria had just joined her at the door when Blade picked up his boots and saddlebags off the corner of the porch and waved.
“Thanks,” was all he said before the sheriff backed the car away from the porch with Blade riding shotgun.
“Probably off to fight a forest fire,” Maria reasoned. “What a hero.”
“There’s not five trees standing together for a hundred miles,” Dakota said, pointing out the obvious.
Maria looked surprised. “Now you tell me.”
Both girls laughed.
“I have to go to work.” Dakota grabbed the old briefcase she’d bought at the secondhand store three years ago.
“Me too,” Maria added. “See you before dark, little sister.”
“See you before dark,” Dakota answered.
Halfway to town Dakota was still thinking of how Blade had looked in the hallway with nothing on but his jeans. Surely he could have pulled his shirt on before he stepped out. Then she realized something: he’d been showing off.
And not for Maria, but for her.
He’d probably deny it to his dying breath, but she’d grown up on a farm. She’d seen roosters. Maybe he came not just to look at his place but to con them. He’d said he wasn’t a liar, but probably every liar said that. It would be a waste of time to ask him if he was a serial killer.
She might as well go with believing he was telling the truth for now, but she planned to watch him. Maybe check out his funny biker saddlebags for weapons.
She smiled, planning to hold her cards close to her chest until she figured him out. If he was playing some kind of flirting game, maybe she should warn him that she didn’t know the rules.
He’d winked at her twice. That must mean something.
Maybe he had a twitch?
He’d kept her warm last night, but never touched her.
Or at least she didn’t think he had. Did she want him to? Just the thought made her warm.
Suddenly Dakota felt like she was just out of high school again and trying to figure out how guys think. She glanced in the rearview mirror. Cheeks flushed, eyes wide.
She wasn’t growing older. Not today.
CHAPTER NINE (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
BLADE HAMILTON DIDN’T KNOW a thing about farming or ranching or barn fires. All the way out to the Collins ranch, the sheriff talked about how he needed an expert fire investigator to have a look at it and it would be a week, maybe more, before he could get a fire marshal to this part of Texas.
Blade hated to bust the sheriff’s bubble, but Sheriff Brigman still didn’t have an expert on the kind of fire he was dealing with. He had studied arson fires and even worked a few bomb sites in the army. So, Blade kept quiet while the sheriff drove and hoped he had enough experience to fake it.
For the past five years he had worked fires set in wooded areas. That was different from this, and the only tool of his trade he had with him was his camera. But he’d known his enemy in the woods of northern Washington and the hills of California. The opponent hadn’t changed, just the location had. Blade began to collect facts about the land, and mentally started a list of questions.
When they turned off under a ten-foot gate with a Bar W brand, Blade had stopped listening to the sheriff and started trying to remember what he’d learned over the past five years. The same rules should apply—well a few of them, anyway. He could help. If the sheriff wanted a special agent helping out, he had one.
The soaked ground had probably kept the whole ranch from being a disaster. Winter grass, if it had been dry, would burn fast and hot. There wouldn’t be much chance of stopping it except at roads or creeks. Barbed wire wouldn’t slow it down. And there probably weren’t enough men in the county to fight it on a dry night.
Last night the rain had given him hell, but it had stopped the fire on the Bar W from spreading.
“Who am I kidding?” Sheriff Brigman asked, pulling Blade back into the conversation. “No one will come out this far because a few barns burned down. I’d never get a fire marshal or the ATF agent here. Not unless we find a body in the ashes. If I hadn’t remembered meeting you, I’d be on my own. It’s lucky you’re here, Hamilton.”
“You might want to ask the Davis women about that.” Blade wished he’d been awake enough last night to remember one thing, but he was dead on his feet when he got to the barn and found Dakota sleeping in that old chair. “They mentioned Hamiltons tend to kill Davises, so they weren’t too happy when I showed up. Every now and then the youngest one looks at me like she’s checking to see if there’s a weapon in my hand.”
The sheriff laughed. “From what I heard, bullets flew in both directions back during the feud. Like most good Western stories, it started with stolen cattle and ended with a woman. Legend goes that the last man to die in the bloody battle that night killed himself. Walked right straight into Indigo Lake until the water covered his head. Only I’ve heard whispers of an even darker ending. No one really knows. There was not one man named Davis or Hamilton left alive to tell the story, and the women told them more to frighten the next generation than to be passing along history.”
Blade swore he felt his blood chill. What could be darker? One of his relatives, maybe even one on the staircase wall, had committed suicide? Blade decided he didn’t want to know the darker ending if suicide was the good choice.
He took a deep breath and thought of Dakota. She was the other half of the feud. Maybe, if she was still speaking to him later, he’d ask her about her family stories. Even in her very proper, very boring clothes, he saw the flash of a fighter in those dark eyes of hers and in the crimson glints in her hair. Maria had mentioned they’d come from strong warriors on both their Irish and Apache sides. Stubborn. Independent. Deadly.
Her hair, he almost said aloud. He remembered the smell of her hair when her head had rolled against his jaw as he carried her. It smelled of soap and rain and something else. She must have braided it as she studied. A loose braid, thick and dark with no clip or string tying off the end. The opposite of the tight bun she was wearing at breakfast.
Blade forced his mind back to the problem at hand. “You’re right. A fire marshal is not likely to come out, but I’m happy to help if I can. Why not? A good mystery while I’m on vacation will hold my interest.”
The sheriff was silent for a moment. “Thanks. I’ve got a few of the volunteer fire department standing guard at each barn. I told them to keep an eye out for any embers starting up again, but what I wanted them there for, in truth, was to make sure no one steps near. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a clue.”
“I’ll help if I can, but not as an official. Just doing you a favor.”
“That mean you’re not charging and I don’t have to fill out paperwork?”
“Right.”
“Good. The county doesn’t have any money to pay you, anyway.”
They drove a few miles before the sheriff asked, “You sleep last night in that old house on your land?”
“Nope.” Blade smiled, thinking of adding that he’d slept with Dakota, but in a small town, that might not go over well. “I slept in the Davis barn. They loaned me their pickup so I could get my bike out of the mud. After I take a look at the burn site, I thought I’d ask you for a favor. You know where I can rent a truck? If you’d give me a ride there, I’d have wheels again.”
“You’re staying around?” The sheriff sounded surprised.
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “For a few weeks, anyway.”
“I would have guessed you’d be out of here as fast as possible. The only way you’ll make money on that haunted house is to charge for tours on Halloween.”
Blade didn’t argue. “If I run now, the locals will think I’m afraid of an old curse on that land.”
“Some folks think ghosts haunt your land. You might want to keep an eye out. A few people around here think the accident that caused Maria’s blindness and killed her mother was linked to the curse. It happened where cars turn off the highway toward your place. Her car rolled to within a few feet of where your land starts. Indigo Lake holds the bones of many a story.” The sheriff pulled up to the first barn and the conversation turned to fire.
Blade was surprised how informed the sheriff was about burn sites, and within a few minutes they were agreeing on possibilities as they approached the first barn. The frame was still standing against the cloudy sky like a smoldering border around a disaster.
“We’re lucky both barns that burned were hay barns. The other ones on the property have expensive equipment in them.”
After they’d circled several times, Blade said, “If I was guessing, I’d say, from the burn patterns, that the fire started in the dead center of the barn and spread out.”
Brigman didn’t argue. He simply nodded.
Finding the cause would be a process of elimination like any crime scene. They’d rule out one reason after another for the burn until only one scenario made sense. Lightning might be a possibility, but lightning hitting two barns on a ranch that hadn’t had a lightning strike do damage in ten years was not likely.
Blade walked the perimeter of both barns, reading the story of how the fire happened. He talked with the tired firemen standing guard. What did they see? Any people around when they arrived? Any cars or trucks leaving the place that might have passed them when they were heading to the fire? What did the fire look like, smell like? What color was the smoke? How did the blaze react to water?
He asked the same questions of each man at the scene while he took pictures of tire tracks in the mud. There were too many footprints to tell which had come first. Plus whoever set the fires probably did so before the heavy rain started. Their tracks would have been washed away.
Over and over the cowboys mentioned that he should talk to Lucas Reyes. The owner and the ranch foreman might not have been at the fire, but Lucas was there. He’d be able to answer more questions.
The few hands from the ranch spoke of Lucas more with respect than accusation.
Blade moved to the edge of each burn, taking pictures, making educated guesses.
The sheriff left the second site to go get the owner. The guy claimed to be too drunk to remember hearing anything last night and, according to one of the firemen, Reid Collins hadn’t even been out at the sites this morning.
What kind of rancher doesn’t check his own ranch? Blade wondered as he continued his investigation alone. Looking for something different. Something new. Something that didn’t belong. Law enforcement often says that the average person committing a crime makes a dozen mistakes in a matter of seconds. Blade only had to find one.
At the back of the second burn site, he stopped to pull off his sweater and noticed a lone man on horseback, watching him from about thirty yards away. He was on open land and making no effort to hide.
Blade lowered his sunglasses and walked directly toward the rider. If the man had something to hide, he’d ride away, and Blade wanted to collect every detail to report. He snapped a few shots as he moved.
The stranger was tall, lean, and so thin his shirt flapped in the wind like a sail. He wore a tan shirt and trousers that were tucked into muddy boots. Conchos ran a dark line down the outside of his pants and a few others were shining off his saddle. His wide hat was worn low so that his entire face was shaded.
“Morning,” Blade said in greeting.
“Afternoon, kid,” the old man said. “You missed lunch an hour ago so it ain’t morning.”
Blade never remembered being called kid, even when he was one. He’d reached six feet in the sixth grade. He was close enough to the stranger to see a smile behind a tobacco-stained, gray mustache. “I ate a big breakfast at the Davis place. That Maria is a great cook. I may not be hungry till tomorrow.”
If he had any chance of getting this old guy to talk, Blade at least had to sound like a local. As a stranger, he doubted he’d have a chance, but as a friend of one of the farm families, he might learn something.
The old guy leaned on his saddle horn and looked down at Blade. “You sweet on one of them girls?”
This had nothing to do with the fire, but Blade played along. “I’m crazy about them both.”
The stranger laughed. “You sound like your daddy. He never could turn down a pretty girl. I cowboyed with your grandpa, boy, and he said your dad had a steady girlfriend from the first grade on.”
Blade forced himself not to react. “How could you know who I am or who my father was?”
“You look just like him, boy.”
“I’m not a boy or a kid.”
The cowboy spit a line of tobacco off to his left. “That you ain’t, but I am long past old and into being ancient. Name’s Fuller. Dice Fuller. Don’t mean no harm, Hamilton. Anyone under sixty is young to me. I may be thin, but like a tree, cut me open and you’ll find more than seventy rings.”
“None taken, old man, and the name’s Blade. I’m here investigating the burn site.”
“I think I could have figured that out.” He leaned down and lowered his voice. “I’ve been watching you. You’re here with the sheriff so I’m guessing you’re not just a sightseer.”
“Right. I’ve got a badge that says special agent for the ATF, but I’m here unofficially. Just trying to help out.” Blade moved closer. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the fires, would you?”
His answer came too slow to be true. “I’m just looking for my friend. He’s in trouble, I reckon. We was both rounding up the last of the cattle yesterday and got separated. I stayed around the bunkhouse until long after dark talking to the cook while she packed up. LeRoy never came in. His pickup and trailer are still parked at headquarters so I’m thinking he got thrown in the dark. There’s canyons around here a man could tumble into and not even the coyotes would find him.”
“Maybe he worked all night, or left with a friend.”
“He’s been known to drink all night, but if LeRoy worked he would have come in by dark and switched mounts. We’re used to pushing ourselves, but he wouldn’t push a horse. Something’s wrong. I can feel it in the wind. Might have nothing to do with the fires. Or maybe it does.”
Blade knew Fuller had to be the first cowboy he questioned when they got down to paperwork. If anybody saw anything, it would be this old guy. Only, Blade knew Fuller’s type. He wouldn’t be in any hurry to give up more than the facts.
“I’m walking around looking for what happened here. You wouldn’t want to walk with me?” Blade began developing that rapport he’d need. “If you’ve worked this spread, Mr. Fuller, you’ll spot something wrong or out of place before I do.”
The stranger thought about it a minute, then slowly climbed down from his horse. “I’m happy to talk to you about the ranch, Hamilton. I don’t know what happened here, but we all know there’s trouble on this spread. Something is going on. How’s a cattle ranch going to run without cattle? And—” he lowered his voice “—how do two barns half a mile apart catch fire within minutes of each other?”
Blade nodded. “You said ‘we’? Who else?”
“The cowhands. Those of us left, anyway. All the single hands headed up north last night. They heard an outfit near Denver is hiring. Those married will try to hold out until spring. Then they’ll hire on as day workers till they find another steady job.”
“You know who might have had a reason to set these barns on fire?” Blade asked, before the old guy told him everyone’s work history. “Because we both know it wasn’t an accident.”
“I know it weren’t no accident, Agent Hamilton.” Fuller smiled as he addressed Blade with respect. “But what I don’t know is if it was a crime.” The cowboy pulled off his hat and scratched his head. “If it was breaking the law, I’ve got a duty to report it. If it’s not, it ain’t none of my business. One thing you learn working big spreads. There’s some things you see and some things you forget to see.”
Blade knew he’d be wasting his time pushing. He offered his hand. “I’m glad to meet you, Dice Fuller. Hoping we have some time while I’m here to talk about my grandfather. I’d love to learn what he and my dad were like. Until last week I didn’t know much more than my father’s name.” He paused, then added, “But first, we’ve got a fire to figure out.”
Dice’s grip was strong. “You can count on me, son. I’ll help if I can.”
They walked toward what had once been a thirty-foot-high barn, still smoking in places. The old man seemed to respect the fact that Blade didn’t push him with questions. As they moved around the still-hot barn, Blade did most of the talking.
He told Dice that he’d worked a few arson fires, most in national forests, and handled several bomb alerts, but this was unknown territory for him. An isolated barn on private property. No witnesses. No reason.
“We all specialize at the bureau, but we’re federal so we go where needed. I guess that’s what I love about the job. Like this fire. If it was a crime, I think the why may be as important as the how.”
Dice seemed interested and even offered bits about how the hay was stacked and how most of it was probably a few years old. “Not worth much,” he said.
He also told how little was used last year or even the year before. Most of the supply in the barns was old because Collins sold off more and more cattle every year.
Half an hour later when the sheriff returned without the owner, Dice seemed to think he was part of the investigation team. They began listing all the scenarios: frustrated employee of the ranch, angry at being fired, rode through the rain, setting the two fires to make a point. With the rain there was a good chance the grass wouldn’t catch. Maybe once he saw the fire he got scared and bolted.
Next possibility: Collins set the fires or ordered someone to. No crime unless he claims insurance.
There was always the possibility of kids playing around, looking for excitement, maybe smoking pot. They could have decided to start a fire for warmth and it got out of hand. But that only explained one fire.
About the time Dice ran out of ideas, a four-wheeler pulled up. The man who climbed out didn’t look like he belonged on a ranch, but the sheriff introduced him as the owner, Reid Collins.
Collins must have crossed someone last night. His left eye was almost swollen closed and was several shades of blue. His right eye was bloodshot.
When Blade looked over at Dice he thought he could see anger building up behind the old guy’s watery blue eyes. Collins might have been his boss, but there was hatred in Dice’s stare. If all the hands felt that way about Collins, no amount of questioning would probably help find who set the fires.
Blade watched Reid Collins closely. His movements were slow for a man still in his twenties. He wore deck shoes and stepped carefully through the tall grass. Blade had no idea what Reid was on, or if he was simply hungover, but one thing was obvious: the landowner didn’t care about the damage to his barns. Half the time he showed no hint of even keeping up with the conversation.
They moved to the other site. Reid followed the sheriff’s cruiser in his four-wheeler, then reluctantly walked with the others, obviously thinking this outing was an entire waste of his time. As the embers cooled, they circled the skeleton of the barn, looking again for any clues.
When Blade turned toward the back left corner of the barn at a spot where he suspected the last fire had been set, he almost gagged. Earlier he hadn’t been able to get within ten feet, but now it had cooled some and a terrible odor drifted around him.
The air had turned putrid with a smell so bad that once you smelled it, you never forgot. It drifted into your mouth and seemed to decay there, leaving a taste almost as bad as the smell.
Dice was a few feet behind him and froze in midstep. He tugged his bandanna up over his nose. “Double damn,” he whispered. “There ain’t but one thing that smells like that.”
It was a smell like no other in the world. So terrible Blade felt his throat close up trying to keep the odor from his lungs. He’d encountered it in the army a few times and at several burn sites.
Human flesh burning. The odor of burned hair. Blood boiling to the point that it gives off a heavy, acrid odor so thick you swear you can taste it all the way to your gut.
The sheriff was several feet behind, busy writing notes. He looked up suddenly and Blade knew Brigman recognized the odor.
Reid Collins bumped into the sheriff, then yelled, “Damn! What is that smell?”
No one answered him. Brigman stepped forward and knelt in the pile of ashes spilling out of what had been the barn.
He brushed away ashes with his pencil and a hand rolled out of the rubble, its flesh burned away, its boney fingers stretching out as if for help. A gust of wind circled ashes exposing more bone.
Blade clicked a picture. The skeletal hand was curled up, with bits of charred muscle still attached to the bone.
Brigman stood. “Looks like he must have been trapped.”
“The smoke probably got to him before he could fight his way out the back.” Blade hated the smell, but he did his job. He clicked shots.
“No!” Reid yelled. “No! This isn’t happening. Maybe it’s an animal or an old skeleton buried in the barn years ago. Someone did not die in this fire last night.” The owner seemed to think yelling would make his words true.
Brigman shook his head. “Look closer, Reid. Someone did die. Looks like the fire caught him just before he reached the back door.” He noticed a padlock on burned wood that could have been the rear door to the barn. “Maybe he ran for the back door and found it locked. He was trapped by the fire.”
Reid glanced over the sheriff’s shoulder, gagged, and stumbled backward.
Blade and the sheriff moved in closer, trying to see something, anything, that might give them a clue.
“We’re dealing with a crime scene now,” Blade whispered.
“Shut the ranch down.” The sheriff’s voice bore no hesitation.
They both knew what had to be done. Blade offered, “I’ll help stand guard until the state troopers get here, Sheriff. We don’t want anyone trying to cover this up.”
Both men walked toward the sheriff’s car. “I’ll call it in.” Dan’s voice hinted at how tired he was already, and his day wasn’t close to over. “We may have a murder here. Unless he was the one setting the fires and got caught in the last one.”
“Not likely. I want to go back to the other site with equipment as soon as it cools. This was the only lock on any door that I saw,” Blade said. “He might have been sleeping it off in the barn, or maybe riding the land and spotted the arsonist setting the fire.”
Blade turned to Dice. “What do you think? How many cowhands were out riding last night?”
“Half a dozen, maybe more, but all the hands knew this barn had locks on it, front and back. Collins put them on six months ago. I figured it was to keep drifters out, but he said it was because as soon as the hay was gone he planned to store cars in there.”
“Did he store cars?”
Dice shook his head. “Not that I ever saw, but he did keep this one barn locked.”
Blade pushed. “You didn’t think that was strange?”
Dice grinned. “I’m a cowboy. I’m not paid to think beyond cow level.”
He pointed with his thumb. “We got a new problem.”
“What’s that?” Brigman said as he opened his car door and tugged out his radio.
Dice pointed back in the direction he’d come. “Boss man fainted.”
All three looked back at Reid lying spread-eagle in the mud halfway between the rubble of the barn and the cars.
“What do I do, Sheriff?” Dice tugged off his hat and started worrying the brim. “Officially, I don’t work for him since the night of the fire, and if he ain’t breathing I’m sure not giving him mouth-to-mouth with all that throw-up on his face.”
Brigman looked like a man who had his hands full. “Check to see if he’s breathing. If he is, leave him. He looks like he could use some sun.”
When Dice walked off, Brigman moved to the trunk of his car and pulled out a box. “You got a weapon, Hamilton?”
“I do. I carry a Glock 17 and my badge in my saddlebags. They’re in the back seat of your cruiser.”
“Then strap on a weapon.” He pulled another badge from the box. “I’m also deputizing you.” The sheriff glanced at his watch. “I don’t know what we’re facing but as of 1:45 p.m., I want you working for the county. We’ll finish up here and by four I’ll have men coming in to question. I’m going to need your help.”
Blade slipped the badge in his pocket and reached for his saddlebags. “This mean I’m getting paid?”
“Nope, but if you don’t want the job my next recruit is Dice.”
They both looked back at Dice slowly walking around Reid Collins like the ranch owner was a half-dead snake.
Blade knew he was cornered. “I’ll take the job.”
CHAPTER TEN (#u4587fbbb-578e-5caf-9983-b50a9319798e)
LAUREN SAT IN her tiny office in what everyone called the strip mall. Three ten-by-twelve offices with small loft apartments above and a parking lot out front for eight cars. She’d opened a site for online news called ChatAroundCrossroads after she moved back from Dallas. She planned to sell ads on her webpage for income in the morning and work on her writing in the afternoon.
Only, everyone read the news, but no one bought ads, so she was forced to take editing jobs to pay the bills. Still, broke in her hometown among friends and family was better than being broke in Dallas alone.
Lauren had always thought her real money would come from writing. Short stories, poems, articles. After all, every English teacher she had in college told her she could write.
But they hadn’t told her what to write.
So far everything she tried only dribbled in small change. But last month she’d had a new idea. Dakota Davis, in the office next door, had told her scary tales about her neighbor’s place and she’d pitched the idea to Texas Monthly. They said they’d consider it.
Lauren didn’t believe any of the stories, but that might be something people would read. A feud over cattle. A gunfight over love. And a ghost who walked the land by Indigo Lake.
From there she could write other stories. Ransom Canyon was full of legends and stories.
She stared out the glass door, thinking she’d managed to get nowhere with her writing career in her five years since college, so she might as well try this road. There was good money in magazine writing if she could just make herself write. At the rate she was going she’d die of old age with her obituary only half-written.
But if she wrote about legends and curses people passed down, she might build a name for herself. She could do a series of shorts and eventually put them together in a book. The people around here knew her, trusted her. They’d open up to her.
Tapping her pencil against her forehead, she decided if she stepped into nonfiction, she’d check her facts, make it almost like a historical account. Somewhere back in the history of this area must be a real event that started the stories.
“Write, write, write,” she mumbled to herself as her fingers danced across the keyboard too lightly to produce words. She had to work, or go back to wondering why Lucas had kissed her last night like he was leaving for the front lines.
Lucas reminded her of a recurring dream that never ended. Part love story, part nightmare. She sometimes told herself he was the reason she never made up her mind about anything.
Maybe this was just puppy love that hung around ten years too long. But the truth was, she hadn’t met anyone she wanted to move on with.
Sometimes hanging on to a maybe was enough to last awhile. She’d let go of the dream of her and Lucas so slowly it had drifted out of sight before she realized it was gone. Even when he’d kissed her last night, she hadn’t allowed hope to crawl into her heart again.
She glared through the glass door at the antiques store across the street, which usually looked abandoned except on Saturdays. Maybe the town had evacuated and had forgotten to tell her. Zombies were probably roaming the streets looking for fresh brains, and here she was worrying about an almost-love she couldn’t get over.
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Jodi Thomas
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Two families long divided by an ancient feud. Can a powerful love finally unite them?Blade Hamilton is the last of his line. He′s never even heard of Crossroads, Texas, until he inherits land there. Riding in on his vintage Harley-Davidson, Blade finds a weathered ranch house, an empty prairie and a dark river that cuts a decisive path between the Hamiltons′ land and that of their estranged neighbours.When Dakota helps a stranger on the roadside, she isn′t prepared for the charisma of the man on the motorbike—or for the last name he bears: Hamilton—her family′s sworn enemies, representing all she′s been raised to loathe. The problem is, it looks like Blade is in town to stay, and there′s something about his wolf-grey eyes she just can′t ignore.Lauren Brigman feels adrift. Unhappy in work and unlucky in love, she knows she ought to be striving for more, but she′s never truly at peace unless she′s at home in Crossroads. If the wider world can′t satisfy her, is home truly where her heart is?