Indigo Lake

by Jodi Thomas

  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.

  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 ma
y 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.