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“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.
