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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
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
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.