The Sweetness of Honey (A Hope Springs Novel)

by Alison Kent

  “My first choice was to put them away in my kitchen, but yours will work just as well.”

  Indiana followed a laughing Luna through the great room, where tables bearing goodies sat beside tables bearing drinks, and a long buffet-style setup of every taco fixing known to man butted up against a margarita machine. The smells of chili powder and cumin and onions and warm corn tortilla shells had her staying to fill her plate.

  While there, she was swept into conversation with Luna’s mother about the impending arrival of her second child twenty-eight years after her first, then with Luna’s father about sheep farming and providing the wool Luna used in her Patchwork Moon scarves.

  Mitch Pepper joined them shortly, and Dolly showed up soon after. She shooed Indiana along, insisting she spend time with those her own age and not waste it on her elders. That had the other three loudly objecting, and Indiana laughing as she walked away.

  She spoke to people she had come to know well and to those with whom she’d only just become acquainted. She ate too many cookies on top of too many tacos and begged off a second dance after Morris Dexter, an old classmate of Kaylie’s, talked her into a first.

  Before she circled back to the margarita machine, Angelo stopped her and introduced her to one of the board members who served the Caffey-Gatlin Academy with Luna and Oliver. Still drinkless, she talked with Manny Balleza, Dakota’s former parole officer, and met the most recent parolee he’d sent to work for Tennessee.

  Kaylie, ignoring Indiana’s playful insistence that she needed alcohol, showed her off as family to a young woman who’d lived in the big blue Victorian three of the years Kaylie was there in foster care, but she’d done so too quickly for Indiana to catch her name. Cindy maybe? Then she turned and found herself facing Will.

  He was wearing the same uniform of skinny black jeans and long-sleeved black tee he always did, though instead of work boots he wore slip-on Vans sporting glow-in-the-dark bones. His concession to the holiday, she supposed, though the fact that he owned said shoes . . .

  She thought back to the last time she’d seen him, the kiss that preceded what had seemed like a regretful good-bye, his telling her to be safe as she drove, but to never be sorry. She was still working out what he’d meant by that, because he couldn’t know the things she was sorry for, her regret over ruining her brothers’ lives . . . Could he?

  “So tell me,” she said, after tucking away her past to give him a thorough appraisal. “What does it say about a man that he wears a costume every day?”

  “Indiana,” he said, ignoring her heavily loaded question. “Long time no see. Long time no talk to.” He leaned down, his lips just brushing her ear. “Long time no kiss.”

  “Shh.” Wolves. He’d definitely been raised by wolves. She took a step back. His cheek trailed along hers as he straightened, and she shivered from the feel of his whiskers on her skin. “It hasn’t been that long.”

  “It’s been three days.”

  “It’s barely been two and a half,” she said, stepping closer to give another couple room to pass. He smelled like autumn, woodsy and spiced. “It was well into Tuesday morning when we got back to Hope Springs.”

  “Feels like three years to me, and I know what three years feels like.”

  If she hadn’t known him as well as she did, she might’ve fallen for his sympathy bid. “Yes, but time also drags when you’re not staying busy.”

  He frowned as he looked away. “How would you know how busy I am?”

  She reached up and, holding his chin, turned him back to face her. “I haven’t heard a word from you about the cottage. Is that because you haven’t thought more about it? Or because you forgot to charge your phone?”

  “Ouch,” he said, as she let him go. “That’s some sting you’ve got there.”

  He was right. This was a party. Wrong time and place to talk business. “It’s extra sharp because it hasn’t yet been dulled by a margarita.”

  “Would you like me to get you one?”

  “The biggest one you can find,” she said, and watched him go. Once he was lost to the crowd, she took a deep breath, then took in the partygoers, the conversation, the laughter, the music, the overwhelming joy filtering through the room.

  Rather than wander and visit, she stayed where she was and waited for Will, speaking when spoken to, waving back when someone across the room caught her eye. Sharing quick hugs with the more demonstrative of her friends and soaking in all the fun. And it was fun.

  There was no second-guessing the plans she’d set in motion for the cottage, no wondering if ordering larger greenhouses for the annex would’ve been the way to go. No worrying about either of her brothers, though the second the thought crossed her mind, she started, because it had been that way with her ever since Tennessee had reached out in March.

  He was here; they’d touched base briefly before Kaylie had called him away, but Indiana couldn’t help thinking about Dakota and dropping the man he’d be now into the holiday season. Had he married? Did he have children? Was he out with them tonight trick-or-treating? Had he dressed up, too, because it made them laugh?

  Ugh. She was so angry with herself for causing this rift. She needed to set it right. To somehow make up for all the missed Halloweens before the next one rolled around. A year away, but it would be here all too soon. Thankfully, before she grew completely maudlin, Will returned, a margarita in one hand, a beer in the other.

  “What did you mean when you told me not to ever be sorry?” she asked, as she took her drink.

  “Just that,” he said, holding her gaze as he lifted the longneck to his mouth. “Do what you do, and don’t regret it.”

  She considered him over the rim of the glass as she sipped. “You weren’t referring to a particular event in my past?”

  “Do I know the events of your past?”

  Not from her, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t put Google to use and gone looking. Days into knowing him, and curious as to what had brought him to work with her brother, she’d googled him. She hadn’t found a single news article. Her past, on the other hand, at least the part Dakota had played, was easily searchable.

  “Do you?” she asked.

  He shrugged, stepped out of the way and closer to her when Mitch walked through with another brazier of refried beans. “Only what you’ve told me and what Ten has let slip.”

  “Tennessee would never let anything slip,” Indiana said.

  “Then obviously I know nothing,” he said, but she swore this time when he lifted his beer, his hand trembled. Because of what he did know? Because of past events of his own?

  Because he was hiding the truth? “So telling me not to be sorry . . .”

  “How about this,” he said, spinning to back her into the nearest wall and blocking the room from her sight. “Regrets aren’t worth wasting time on, because no amount of wishing away what’s happened is going to change a thing.”

  Her heart slamming hard enough to choke her, she asked, “Are you talking about me now, or about you?”

  “Who cares who I’m talking about.” He was breathing hard, his eyes wide, his nostrils close to flaring. “You. Me. It’s all the same.”

  “Will . . .”

  Surely her curiosity hadn’t set him off. And it wasn’t that he frightened her; even with all she didn’t know about him, she knew him well enough not to be afraid. But this way he had of flipping switches, hot to cold, black to white . . . She couldn’t help but wonder if this was his natural intensity, or if this was due to his time served.

  Saying nothing more, she let the moment pass. His breathing leveled, and he stepped back, giving her room to move, bowing his head and softly saying, “I’m sorry.”

  “I shouldn’t have brought it up. Not here. Not tonight.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, the fight gone out of him, his whole frame going limp as he
leaned against the wall. “Not when. Not where. Not anything.”

  She didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t meant to ruin his evening, though had a feeling anything she’d brought up in conversation would’ve produced the same result. This was who Will was, and whether prison’s doing or that of his DNA, she couldn’t imagine he’d ever change. And that was something it was best she come to realize now rather than later.

  “I think I’m going to head home.” He drained the bottle in his hand as he pushed to stand straight. “You need another drink before I go?”

  “I’m good, thanks,” she said, though after their encounter, she was just about ready for a second. “But if you feel like stopping by the cottage tomorrow, I’ll be there.”

  His grin, as he walked away, was equal parts apology and touché. Watching him go, and suddenly exhausted, she did her best to put their confrontation out of her mind, then made her way upstairs. She walked through the media room, then onto the balcony, finding it empty, which pleased her to no end. Seeing couples and friends and family members enjoying the evening had her missing Dakota fiercely.

  There was so much time between them, time and distance and words needing to be said. It was her need, and it was desperate, and she had to accept that it might not be his. That Tennessee might be right: Dakota didn’t want to be found. Dealing with that, accepting that . . .

  She didn’t know if she could do either. And she didn’t know why all of these feelings—the loneliness, the guilt, the regret she promised herself she’d never mention to Will—were suddenly coming to a head.

  She’d been fine on her own all this time. Or as fine as anyone who’d sent their brother to prison could be. She thought she was living with the separation. Waves of anger and sadness came and went, but until Tennessee had reached out, nothing had stayed.

  The things she was feeling now . . . They had taken root, and they lived with her, growing inside of her, squeezing when she least expected to feel so choked. It floored her every time, leaving her dizzy and weak and forgetful. And she knew this wasn’t a healthy way to live.

  Then there was the fact that both of the men she was interested in were here. And, yes. She was interested. No matter what she’d said to Kaylie and Luna about having no time for a relationship. That much was true, but it didn’t keep her from wanting to explore the difference a man might make.

  Uh-huh. Wasn’t that what had gotten her into trouble all those years ago? Hadn’t her curiosity about a man, a boy, been the very reason Dakota had ended up behind bars? Hadn’t she learned her lesson? Getting involved with a man, with two men, with three or ten . . . The number wasn’t the issue.

  She had no filter when it came to letting things go too far. Except she didn’t believe that. Maybe as a teen, growing up in a home where parenting had not been a priority . . . But even in those days she’d known right from wrong, though it hadn’t exactly done her—or Dakota—any good, had it?

  “It looked like you might be having a party for one. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “A pity party for one,” she said, her pulse quickening, hating that anyone had seen her, but more so that it had been Oliver to catch her nursing this mood she was having more and more trouble sloughing off.

  He leaned his elbows on the railing beside her, then narrowed his gaze and stared across the street in the same direction she’d been staring. “Are you not happy with the progress on the annex? I saw the heavy equipment—clearing the space for the greenhouses, I guess?”

  “I am.” Though she wouldn’t be completely happy until it was done.

  “And the cottage?”

  “That’s going more slowly, but well enough, too.”

  “Did you miss out on a cupcake?”

  “No,” she said, and found a smile lightly teasing her mouth. “I’m just not happy about the lack of progress with other things.”

  “Anything I can help with?”

  She shook her head. “Can you make time move faster?”

  He was silent for a long moment, weighing what she’d said. She was struck with the sense that he wanted to fix what she couldn’t, but all he said was, “I don’t mean to pry.”

  “I don’t mind. It’s the thing with my brother, Dakota.”

  “Right. You were going to hire Kaylie’s investigator.”

  “We’re meeting next week.” She shrugged, stared into her drink. “He’s in demand. It’s the holidays. I need to ask Santa to stuff my stocking with patience.”

  Oliver was silent for a moment, his margarita glass empty. When Angelo popped out with a tray asking if they’d like another, Indiana shook her head, no longer feeling the need, but Oliver switched his empty for a full.

  “I always get oranges in mine,” he said after Angelo was gone.

  “Oranges?” she asked, having to backtrack to their conversation. His stocking, yes. Not his margarita.

  He laughed, thumbing at the salt on the rim of his glass. The gesture had Indiana swallowing, even when she knew he was unaware of the sensual motion. “Not valley oranges. Or navels or Valencias. Blood oranges. Imported from Italy or Spain.”

  “Fancy schmancy,” she said, teasing him. She couldn’t imagine growing up living the life he had.

  “Half the time they weren’t even any good. I’d much rather have had a Ruby Red grapefruit, but our parents, our mother really, wanted us to broaden our horizons. Texas fruit wasn’t good enough.”

  Strangely, having never met Merrilee Gatlin, Indiana had heard enough rumors that she wasn’t surprised by Oliver’s tale. “Sometimes it’s not,” she said. “I’ve bought plenty of boxes of valley oranges from FFA fund-raisers, only to use most in the garbage disposal as air fresheners.”

  He grinned at that, the quirky little lift of his lips that showed off his dimples. “I suppose you’re right. Oscar never wanted . . .”

  The grin faded. His hand tightened on the glass he then brought to his mouth and halfway drained. The pain he lived with . . . At least her brother wasn’t trapped in his body, confined to bed, fed through tubes, unaware. She reached over and took hold of Oliver’s free hand, laced their fingers together, and squeezed.

  After a moment he squeezed back, and then they stood there, unspeaking, listening to the music and the chatter and the laughter swirling through the room behind them. She wasn’t sure what to think, sharing this intimacy, even a fairly simple one, with a man like Oliver Gatlin. Especially with the moment that had just passed between them not being simple at all.

  Strange that of all things they were both dealing with brothers. Not that her problems held a candle to his, but it was nice to be able to offer him a shoulder. Doing so left her feeling not quite so sorry for herself. She needed that. A lot. Especially now, after Will’s strange behavior that had her—unironically—ignoring his admonition and regretting how they’d left things.

  God, she was tired.

  “It’s late,” she finally said when it became clear Oliver was done talking, and freed her hand from his. “I should get going.”

  “Let me drive you home.”

  She shook her head. “You’re very sweet, but I’ve got my things in my car. I’m staying over at Kaylie’s and—”

  “Then let me drive you there. We’ll get your things, and Ten can bring you back for your car in the morning.”

  “If you’re sure,” she finally said, and when he nodded, she realized she wasn’t ready for her time with him to end.

  They said their good-byes separately, though she couldn’t imagine their leaving at the same time wasn’t obvious to everyone—not just to her brother, who scowled, or to Kaylie and Luna, who both grinned like fools. Indiana thought back to the advice her two friends had given her to see what the days ahead would bring from her admirers. Admirers. Ha. Was that what Will and Oliver were?

  She did feel rather like the heroine in a Jane Austen n
ovel, caught between two heroes equal parts brooding and enigmatic and handsome . . .

  Less than fifteen minutes later, Oliver pulled to a stop in Kaylie’s driveway behind her red Jeep. The house was dark, save for a light in the third-floor turret, though no doubt Magoo was waiting in the kitchen to see who had arrived.

  “Do you have a dog?” Indiana asked, because she wasn’t ready to go in.

  “Actually, I do. She was, or is, my mother’s dog, but she seems to prefer my company.”

  Funny. “What’s her name? Your dog?”

  “Susan,” he said, and Indiana started to laugh, only to have Oliver lean close and stop her.

  His kiss was nothing like Will’s, and that was the only thought she spared for the man who’d kissed her first. Oliver swept her away until she forgot where they were, why they were here, everything but his mouth pressed softly to hers, coaxing and gentle and so very insistent. Yet his urging never had her feeling uneasy at all.

  What she felt was cherished, treasured, and hungry for more than the front seat of his car allowed. Which meant it was a very good thing she hadn’t invited him in for a nightcap. O, that way madness lies. And madness she did not need; her life had known plenty.

  But something told her this rush of fluttering wings tickling her skin was a different sort of insanity. One she didn’t want to miss when it might never come again. And so she pulled him closer, and breathed him in, stunned by the desire rising so fiercely between them.

  This was a complication, this physical attraction to a man she’d already determined was out of her league. But he was here, and he wanted her. He wanted her. And his want was so controlled she couldn’t stand it. She ached to find a loose thread in his façade and pull until he unraveled, to see him come undone. To be there when he could no longer hold back and let go.

  Madness, she thought again, because she’d been here before, and his wanting her meant nothing, yet believing that diminished everything about this moment. And she wouldn’t allow herself to conflate the present with the past. She would enjoy this, every moment, every touch of his fingertips, his whiskered cheek, his tongue.