“Late for what?” Bushing asked.
Oliver wanted to kick himself. He’d said too much, but his seniority made them too nervous to press. With a stiff glare from him, his young partners jumped into action and pushed the red-bearded man into their backseat. Once the door shut, Portman came back.
“Are there others, sir? Should we do a final sweep of the area?”
The red-bearded man jerked up, horrified. He really did have a wife and baby inside that house. The man had run to deflect Oliver, sacrificing himself to save his family. He stared at Oliver, pleading for mercy.
“No,” Oliver said. “He was alone. Thanks for taking him in.”
“Sure,” Portman said. “Uh…you should probably take care of that.”
“What?”
Portman motioned to Oliver’s head. “Branch to the forehead, sir?”
Oliver reached up and felt a warm, sticky liquid trailing down the side of his face. Blood. Great. He gingerly felt around to gauge the size of his wound. “A door, actually. Does it need stitches?”
Portman shrugged.
Just his luck. He was late to Carrie’s and bleeding to death. If Carrie had a phone, he could have called her. Then again, if it wasn’t for Bretton, he might not have made it to Carrie at all.
Oh, no!
Oliver whirled around, remembering Felix who still hadn’t emerged from the backyard.
“I’m missing a dog,” he said. “I’ll catch up later.”
He took off around the back of the house. Hopefully, the guy’s wife wouldn’t think he was coming back for her and drop another door on his head.
He found Felix on the back porch, whimpering. The dog’s hind leg was twisted awkwardly. Bretton rubbed his nose against Felix’s and whimpered along with him. And yet over the two dogs, Oliver heard a far more disturbing sound, a sound coming from inside.
A baby. Crying.
There was something distinct about the cry of a newborn, a tiny wail that wavered with pitch. That mother was probably frantic to silence her baby. Terrified. By duty, Oliver should have gone inside and taken both. He probably could have with little resistance.
As much as he needed the numbers to fill his quota, he couldn’t do it. But that didn’t alleviate his guilt. Not arresting her might as well be a death sentence since she and her baby would be on their own now to defend themselves, hunt for themselves, hide, and just plain survive.
The baby continued to wail.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the house. Then, careful to keep Felix’s broken leg steady, he picked up the dog and carried him to his car.
eleven
AMBER DIDN’T SHARE HER sister’s love of the outdoors. Just the opposite, which made planting days absolute torture. At least on harvest days, she got food. Today she would get muddy clothes, elephant-like skin, and broken, dirty, farmer-girl nails.
They had planted the early crops a few weeks ago. Those were a few rows over. This morning they were planting the rest, as in the entire garden which was large enough Carrie called it a field. Amber called it a mud pit. Beans, squash, corn, and who cared what else.
Because of the delay in planting, food stores were low, so several people left to hunt, including Braden. But others skipped out, too, for other reasons. Mariah had thrown up blood an hour ago, so May took her inside. Fair enough. But the others? Sasha said she couldn’t help because of the little boys, even though Carrie used to weed with Little Jeffrey and Jonah all the time. But was Amber allowed to make an excuse? No. All day long she would turn dirt. If she was lucky, she’d get to rake in dried goat manure, but that was only if she was lucky.
Of course, if she was truly lucky, a rock would flip up, hit her between the eyes, and incapacitate her for the rest of the day. Then Braden would have to kiss her forehead to make it better. Obviously her lips would be hurting, too. How could he resist that?
Carrie stopped digging. “What suddenly cheered you up?”
“Hey,” Amber said, “will you move your shovel over a bit? I’ll lean down.”
“Why?”
“I need you to flip up a rock and render me unconscious for the day.”
Carrie shook her head and sank her shovel into the next six inches of dirt. Only five thousand more to go. “Sometimes I wonder if we came from the same parents.”
Jada Dixon joined them with a handful of seeds. “Hey, Carrie, Rhonda said I should plant these two feet apart, but that doesn’t sound right. I thought last year we did three.”
Carrie wiped her forehead. “We did, but I think we can move them closer together as long as we stay on top of watering. We’re going to try a new way to water better through the rows this year, so two feet should be fine.”
“If you say so.”
As Jada moved off, another smelly whiff of air caught Amber’s nose off guard. She nearly gagged.
Carrie bent down again. “I know you don’t like planting, Amber, but don’t you enjoy the fresh air at least?”
“Excuse me?” Amber pointed to the smelly milk goat. “What do you call that?”
“A blessing.”
Whatever.
They had lost one goat in the raid back in March. As soon as Butterscotch stopped giving milk, Braden’s family was out of a job, and Amber’s bland diet would drop another notch. But she wasn’t about to be sidetracked.
“I hate the cold—and don’t say it isn’t cold,” she said, “because my fingers are about to fall off. I hate the dirt, it’s ruining my nails. I hate digging. I hate seeds. I hate everything about planting. If I ever get my own house, I swear I will never have a vegetable garden, a flower garden, or anything else plant-ish. I’ll move to Arizona and have a yard full of dirt.”
By the time she finished, Carrie was laughing. “You and I couldn’t be more different.”
“Well, there’s the understatement of the…” Amber trailed off as a movement in the distance caught her eye.
She went up on tiptoes and broke into a grin. A few men strode out of the woods. Braden was up front, looking very masculine carrying whatever dead animal he’d shot. Very cave-man-kill-wildebeest. Greg and Terrell were next, hauling a large deer by its feet.
Carrie stood next to her. “Finally,” she whispered.
With summer around the corner, Braden spent more time outside, giving him a nice tan and sun-kissed hair. He looked like California personified.
Amber stretched up taller to see and be seen. Funny thing, Carrie did the same. The three men headed for the Trenton’s backyard where they would skin and gut the animals. Amber had to get out of digging before then. The smell of animal guts always made her feel faint. Then again, fainting might be less painful than a rock between the eyes.
“When did Braden start shaving?” Carrie asked.
“Saturday,” Amber said. “I told him his beard was itchy.”
Carrie turned slowly. “Just how much have you been kissing him?”
Amber sighed dreamily. “Not enough.”
“Amber, you two need to be careful. You can’t be—”
Amber held up a hand. “Please. I know more about men than you do.” As if Braden would let it go that far anyway. “Now I can’t decide if he looks better with or without a beard. What do you think?”
“Without.”
“Of course you do.” Amber grinned. “Greg doesn’t have a beard.”
Carrie shot her a dark look. “Neither does Oliver.”
“Ew. You just ruined it for me.”
Reaching up, Amber shook out her long, dark hair and waited for Braden to notice. She even put a hand on her hip to look more feminine in spite of the dirt caked everywhere.
“You know,” she said, “Greg’s the one who taught Braden to shave with a knife. Man, I wish I could have seen that.”
Sighing, Carrie went back to digging.
“By the way,” Amber added, “since Zach is grounded, can Braden go on the drive with us today?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I said so.”
Amber hated that reply more than planting days. “Whatever. I’m telling Braden he can come.”
“No, you won’t,” Carrie said. “Braden wasn’t invited.”
“Then I’ll ask Oliver if he can go.” Oliver didn’t like Amber—especially since that raid mishap, but he wouldn’t turn her down. Oliver never turned anyone down. “Oooh. Maybe he’ll teach me and Braden how to drive.”
“Amber,” Carrie said in the sternest voice she could manage. “Stop, or you won’t go either.”
Carrie needed to make better threats. She needed Amber on that drive more than Amber needed to go. Nobody wanted to be stuck alone with nerdy Oliver for that long—not even Carrie.
The other dirt diggers left to see what the men had killed. Amber stayed because Braden broke from the group and headed straight toward her. Her pulse quickened.
She waited for him to look up and smile at her, but his head stayed down, watching the ground. The closer he got, the lower his head hung, which bugged her. She had spent extra time that morning brushing out her dark hair until it glowed. The least he could do was notice. When he was within twenty feet, he still didn’t glance up. He just kept walking, holding that stupid, dead furball.
And that’s when she saw.
Braden wasn’t wearing his red bracelet.
She should have waved, hollered, or shouted a greeting, but the dejection washed over her.
Fifteen feet. Ten.
Not a flicker of his eyes.
Nothing.
As Braden walked past her—close enough she could have punched him—his crooked smile finally broke through.
“Heya, Gorgeous,” he whispered.
Pathetic what two little words could do to her. She melted into a smile—not that he noticed. The jerk still hadn’t so much as glanced in her direction, and he didn’t the rest of the way inside the house.
Amber threw her hands in the air. “Why does he do that to me? He knows I hate his games. One of these days, he’ll be chasing me and not the other way around.”
“He already does, or didn’t you notice how he took the long way around? By the way, don’t dig in this area,” Carrie said, kneeling next to a tomato plant she babied like it would sprout gold. She drew a large circle around the stem. “I’ll pull the weeds myself.”
Amber cared even less about digging than she had two minutes ago. She stared down at Braden’s footsteps in her newly turned soil and then at her red bracelet without a partner. Sometimes she wondered if he was just putting up with her until he met someone else—if he ever met someone else. Heat built behind her eyes as all the insecurities of a sixteen-year-old hit her full force. Not tall enough. Not pretty enough. Not anything enough.
Standing, Carrie put an arm around her. “Come on. Braden is crazy about you. Believe me, you could have it a lot worse. If you had eyes in the back of your head, you’d see him in May’s kitchen, staring at you right now.”
Amber spun around. Braden stood by the kitchen window all right, but he wasn’t looking at her. His head was turned, talking to Greg. Worse, he was laughing. Probably at her. Probably telling Greg about the ugly bracelet she’d given him.
“That’s it!” Amber said. “I can’t take it anymore. I’m done with Braden forever.”
“Enough, Amber.” Carrie’s expression turned hard. “Seriously. I’m sick of the drama. Get back to work before I double your chores.”
Amber turned. “Geez. What’s your problem?”
“I’m sick of you complaining about Braden, the garden, and all of it. The guy you love calls you gorgeous to your face and stares at you behind your back. Anytime you aren’t working, you’re with each other. What more could you want?”
“I don’t know. More.”
Carrie folded her arms. “Braden is as uncomplicated as it gets. Why can’t you just be happy?”
“Why can’t you?” Amber shot back. “Man, what has you all peeved today? I thought planting day was your favorite day of the year.”
Carrie’s shoulders fell. “It is. Sorry. I should be happy.”
Amber didn’t miss her glance back toward the window. Greg stood next to Braden, but the second he saw Amber, he moved out of sight.
Amber’s guy problems were suddenly forgotten.
“Oh my gosh. You love Greg. For real, though.” She’d teased Carrie about him before, but she thought it was just a passing crush. “But he doesn’t like you back.” Unlike Braden, Greg had even gone the long way around the garden. “And now you’re ready to bite my head off.”
Carrie’s blue eyes turned into unflattering slits. “You don’t know anything, so just stop.”
“Oh, come on,” Amber said, laughing. “I saw you stretch up tall so Greg would notice you. But it’s okay.” She put a hand on Carrie’s arm. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
Carrie yanked free. “You also promised never to bring up the subject again.” Her eyes darted around to see who was listening. Nobody was. They were too busy taking breaks with the return of the men.
“If it makes you feel better, I’d be in love with Greg, too. In fact, I’m in love with him for you. He’s amazing, super hot and smart. Plus the way he jumped in front of Jeff was—”
“If you don’t stop talking right now,” Carrie cut in, “you’re not going on the drive with Oliver today.”
“Man. You’ve got it bad.” Amber grinned. “Does Greg know?”
“I’m done.”
Carrie dropped her shovel. Turning, she started out of the garden, past the early crops, past May’s well and Butterscotch. Shocked, Amber watched her go.
When it was clear that Carrie wasn’t turning back, she shouted, “Carrie, wait. I’m just teasing. Come back!”
Carrie kept walking. Out of the garden. Out of the yard.
“Carrie?”
But Carrie didn’t stop. She just left. She walked out of May’s backyard on planting day.
Her favorite day of the year.
* * * * *
Oliver’s nerves were fried.
He’d cleaned up some since the attack. Thankfully the laceration above his brow was on his left side facing the car window so Carrie might not notice. It was too early to bruise much, but his head throbbed like mad.
He had dropped Felix and Bretton off with Trainer Jerry so they could recover. If only his troubles had ended there, he might have enjoyed the rest of his day. But when he had come back around the front office, Ashlee handed him a large envelope to deliver to one of the local citizens. One look at the name, and Oliver had felt ill ever since.
As if that wasn’t enough, he couldn’t get that illegal man’s wife out of his head. He’d dreamed up every face for that woman, ending with Carrie’s. That could be her someday with Greg’s—or anyone’s—baby, and Oliver had just destroyed her life.
By the time he made it to the Logan Pond subdivision, Oliver could hardly think straight.
Mrs. Dixon and her twins strolled down the sidewalk. The boys waved excitedly at Oliver because they weren’t old enough to realize who he was.
Or what he was about to do.
twelve
GREG HEARD OLIVER’S CAR heading to pick up Carrie. He stopped digging as a pang of jealousy shot through him, though for more than the obvious reason. He missed the pull and speed of his old Ford—of any car. The ability to decide one minute he was hungry and be home with pizza and a Coke ten minutes later.
Pizza…
His stomach growled. He knew better than to think of old food.
Grabbing his shovel, he went back to working on the Dixon’s well. The well behind Carrie’s house hadn’t taken this long. Of course, Carrie hadn’t complained about the location and made him start over. He’d also had more help. Some guys offered to help after the hunt today, but Greg turned them down. He wanted to be alone.
Carrie and Oliver’s first real date.
Hopefully after this one, it would get easier.
A few minutes later, he saw a movement. A tall guy in uniform came striding around the side of the Dixon’s house.
“There you are,” Oliver said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Greg’s temper flared. “Why? Did Carrie send you?” No matter how much she might want him to join the drive, he had vowed to stay away from her. Four days and holding strong.
“No. I have something for you,” Oliver said.
“Oh.”
Greg’s muscles relaxed, but only for a second. Then he remembered the other beef he had with the patrolman. “What makes you think you can keep Carrie safe today? Just because you—Whoa!” he said, interrupting himself as he got his first good look at Oliver. “What happened to your face?” Oliver had a huge gash over his left eye which was already swelling to something ugly. That wound was fresh, plus the other scratches on the side of his face. “Did you run face-first into a tree or somethin’?”
Oliver reached up and tenderly touched his wound. “A door, actually. Bad day.”
“No kiddin’.” Shaking it off, Greg resumed his tirade. “What makes you think you can keep Carrie safe on this drive? The chance of her gettin’ arrested isn’t worth seeing some stupid trees. Not in a million years.”
“I have it all worked out.”
“With fake travel papers? As if that’ll work.”
Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not stupid, Greg. Give me a little credit.”
That pulled Greg up short. “Not travel papers? Then how?”
Swallowing, Oliver looked away. “None of your business.”
Greg stared at him, piecing more together than he wanted to. “You got Carrie papers, fake citizenship papers? Just for some drive?”
“Yes. No. Not exactly. Aren’t you…?” Oliver fidgeted with his green uniform. “Aren’t you coming with us?”
It took Greg a moment to answer. “No.”
The red gash over Oliver’s brow rose, but Greg was too distracted. Oliver had forged fake citizenship for Carrie. Or…maybe the papers weren’t fake. Was it possible…?
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 49