Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1) (19 page)

No way.

Is she honestly trying to make Boone want her?

Portia breathed out a long-held breath.
No. I’m thinking crazy thoughts.

Poor Anderson looked overwhelmed. He tried to slow her down, and gently disengage himself. When it seemed as if she were going to unbutton his shirt and have sex with him right on the family couch, he stood up abruptly, dumping her onto the cushions beside him. With slightly pink cheeks, he kissed her forehead, whispering, “Tonight, baby. Not in front of your whole family in the middle of the day.”

Grace’s eyes flared. “Hey!” She righted herself and stood, smoothing her pretty pink skirt over her hips. “That wasn’t very nice.”

Anderson gave her a dimpled smile, shrugged, and offered his hands palms out in an excuse. “Sorry, sweetie.”

Portia excused herself from Boone, who gallantly pretended not to watch the show Grace put on. She encircled her sister’s shoulders from behind the couch and leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Down, girl. What the hell’s gotten into you?”

Grace made a face and harrumphed like an old lady. “Geez. I was just glad to see him.”

“Well, be glad to see him in the bedroom. Tonight. You’re getting
that way
again.”

Grace stuck her tongue out. “So what?” She pouted and patted the couch. “Come sit with me. We can watch those Neanderthals from here.”

Portia skirted the couch and sank beside her sister, slipping an arm into hers. Leaning close to Grace, she said, “I’m worried about Mom.”

“I know, me too. She looked like a ghost this morning.”

“You noticed, too?” Portia tried to keep her voice low, so her father wouldn’t hear her. “Dad seemed a little worried when she went up for a nap so early in the morning.” She glanced up the stairs, wondering when her mother would wake. “We should bring her some lunch, maybe. What do you think?”

Grace nodded. “Good idea. How about chicken salad?”

Anderson had wandered over to talk with Dirk, Ned and Boone. Their low, urgent discussion included hand waving toward the mountains and grave expressions. Portia wondered if they were planning some sort of trap for Murphy, but then shook off her concerns.

We don’t know Murphy’s in the area. He could be in Timbuktu by now, for all we know.

Grace took out some cold chicken legs from last night’s supper, three stalks of celery, and a large jar of Miracle Whip. “Okay, Sweet Pea. Wanna chop?”

“Sure.” As if she hadn’t been gone for two whole years, Portia found the cutting board and her father’s favorite knife without even thinking about it, and settled at the table beside Grace, who rounded up the spices and a big bowl to mix everything in.

Grace reached for the bread and set it on the counter by the toaster, then sat beside Portia, who diligently chopped.

“Sorry about that scene on the couch.”

Portia rinsed the celery under the faucet, then sat down to cut it into small pieces the way her mother always did. “Hey. I know you’ve got some issues to work on. How ‘bout next time I see you acting up, I just dump a bucket of cold water on your head, Baby Cakes?”

Grace snorted a laugh. “Dear sister, how I’ve missed you.”

***

Dirk stood with his arms crossed, tossing around ideas about Murphy with the guys. Boone had come up with some good ideas for security, like installing wireless video cameras out by the barn and above all the doors to the house. Anderson thought some booby traps might come in handy, and they’d thought up a few good ones.

But he couldn’t get his mind off Daisy.

She’d looked too pale this morning, and hadn’t smiled as readily as yesterday.

Afraid to face the awful truth, he’d pushed it out of his mind, worrying instead about some crazy-ass demon lurking in the woods or hiding in the barn. He’d focused all his worry and attention on this immediate danger, and tried not to think about Daisy’s cancer.

But when she excused herself for a nap at ten in the morning, his heart had exploded with worry. She’d shushed him and waved him off, saying it was just all the excitement that had tired her out.

His gut told him that the experimental pills they gave her weren’t doing the same job as the IV they’d hooked her up to at the hospital.

Maybe the tablets weren’t as strong? Maybe there was a difference in how this new medicine worked when you just swallowed a few pills instead of getting it infused directly into your bloodstream?

He knew he had to call Dr. Kareem.

And he knew what they’d say.

Bring her back to New York City.

So, now he’d have to make an impossible decision.

Bring Daisy back to New York? Or stay home to protect his first-born child?

He couldn’t do both.

With a deep sigh, he nodded at something Boone just said, but he had no idea what he was agreeing to.

Chapter 44

P
ortia woke with a start at five the next morning. She hadn’t slept well; her night had been filled with screams.

In the endless nightmares she’d stood over her mother’s grave, sobbing, shaking, and collapsing into a dark, dirty hole in search of something that wasn’t there.

She slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb Gracie, who’d come in during the night to comfort her. Her sister lay on her pillow, hair strewn about in a messy tangle, lips drooping like a child. So innocent. And yet…

To her surprise, both dogs stayed asleep on the bed, their eyes closed, breathing softly.

Softly, she tiptoed into her parents’ room.

Daisy lay in Dirk’s arms, head nestled against his bare chest. In the pale light of dawn, she watched her mother’s chest rise and fall and listened to her father’s soft snoring. With love surging in her heart, she stood quietly in the doorway for a few more seconds, willing her mother to recover, to get some color in her cheeks today, to feel a bounce in her step.

The sound of a truck in the driveway made her freeze, heart pounding. She ran to the window and experienced a rush of relief when she saw it was Ned, who’d gone home last night to help his father with a difficult calf delivery. As promised, he came back at the crack of dawn.

She quickly showered and dressed into her comfortable, clean jeans and a white blouse, tossing on a gray hoodie to keep away the morning chill. Sliding into her old sneakers, she tied them in neat knots. Smiling, glad she wasn’t wearing 1950s white nurse shoes, she walked to the bathroom and ran a brush through her hair, pulling it back into one braid that hung down her back. It felt so darned good to wear what she wanted, when she wanted. And to be so clean, to enjoy fresh shampoo, to use her Oil of Olay soap. She smiled at herself in the mirror.

I won.

I survived. I beat him.

She wouldn’t let herself think of what might come next.

No.

Pushing away the worries, she glanced at the soft pinkish-orange slit of light on the horizon. Boone would be getting up soon from his makeshift bed on the couch, and she wanted to make coffee for him.

I want to make coffee for a man?

I never thought I’d feel that way again.

She actually chuckled and headed downstairs, descending carefully so as not to wake him with her footfalls.

He lay spread-eagled on his back on the couch, one foot over the back cushion and the other hanging over the armrest. The red and white apple quilt her grandmother had made lay draped over his chest, but his green boxers showed, with his long, lean legs stretching out forever.

Tempted to avert her eyes, she resisted the urge and looked. For a moment, she forgot the last two years and her newfound fears, and let herself admire his body from the safety of the alcove between the kitchen and living room.

He breathed steadily, deep and quiet, like one of her horses. His lips hung slack, and occasionally a soft snore escaped them.

Again, for just one second, she felt the desire to run her fingers over his mouth, his cheeks, his eyebrows.

Good old Boone.

Or was he a new Boone?

He’d been such an integral part of her childhood, she had trouble merging this rugged man with that tall, thoughtful boy who’d led her on such fun adventures on horseback.

One eye opened and he grinned at her. “You gonna make the coffee, or just stand there all morning?”

With a start, she jumped and almost fell over. “Boone!” She whispered his name with a hiss, but couldn’t help the slow smile that came after. “You scared me.”

“What time is it?”

“A little after five.”

“Thought so. I almost overslept.”

“I’ll make the coffee. You want a shower first?”

He sat up and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Yeah. I’ll hop into the downstairs bath. I think your mom washed my clothes yesterday and actually laid them out for me. Time to change, I’ve been wearing the same thing for two days.”

“Good idea, you don’t want those pants to start walking on their own.” Portia laughed and turned to the kitchen. “Okay. Coffee will be ready when you are.”

She busied herself in the kitchen, listening to the sounds of Ned opening the sliding barn doors. Out the window over the sink, she saw him tossing flakes of hay into the paddocks.

Both brothers astounded her. Ned had taken over where Boone left off, feeding the horses without even asking if Dirk needed a break. He just showed up and went to work.

Amazing.

She rinsed out the coffee carafe and smiled. This was almost like having two strong brothers in the family.

Almost.

Then again, Anderson made three. Three big brothers.

She would have liked to have had brothers to look up to, to defend her in high school, to teach her how to fish or hunt. Dirk hadn’t been much of a fisherman or hunter, but he had taught her how to handle a rifle.  

Boone emerged with wet hair, rubbing it with a towel. “Is Ned here already?”

On cue, the kitchen door opened and Ned burst inside. His eyes flicked to Boone, filled with dread. “I…uh…I think you need to come outside and see something.”

Boone’s face tightened, and Portia set the carafe into the coffee maker and flicked on the switch, watching silent messages shoot back and forth between the brothers.

Boone dashed toward the door. “Stay here.”

Portia frowned and followed the brothers to the top of the porch steps. “No. I want to know what’s going on. Are my horses okay?”

Ned had grabbed the rifles from the kitchen, and tossed Boone’s to him. “Um. Yeah. They’re okay.”

Boone stopped, turning to her. “I thought I told you—”

“I’m not waiting inside,” she said. Boomer and Cupcake appeared at her side, following them outside as if ready for a romp in the fields.

 “Cripes, Portia.” He took her arm and hurried after Ned to the far side of the barn. Boone was barefoot, and his feet had already turned dusty.

Ned stopped and looked up, then glanced toward the woods.

Portia froze, staring at the spray-painted words scrawled on her barn.

Hey, Sugar. Miss me?

“I…” Her throat tightened and she wobbled in place, but she didn’t faint or slump to the ground. Murphy could be watching, and damn it, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She steeled herself and touched Boone’s hand. “It’s him.”

“Okay. This has gone far enough.” Boone grabbed her and dragged her toward the house, frowning at Ned. “You should have told me. She shouldn’t be outside. He could be watching.”

A distant rumble of thunder made Boone jump. Fat raindrops began to pelt him, and where the water hit the ground, puffs of dust bloomed upward.

A shot rang out and pinged the ground near his bare feet. “Shit!” He lifted Portia in his arms and barreled toward the house, flying up the porch steps.

A bullet zinged past her ear and lodged in the side of the house.

They ducked inside the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind them, already dripping from the rain that had turned heavy. Thunder boomed again in the distance.

Boone grabbed the phone and began to lock all the doors and windows, pulling down shades and closing curtains. “I’m calling Sheriff Dunne. We need reinforcements.”

Portia slumped onto the couch, her heart pounding. “Are you going to tell him the whole story?”

“Not everything.” Boone said. “But he needs to know that we’ve identified Murphy, where he comes from, and what he’s after. He can’t help us if we don’t give the facts.”

Portia nodded. “Okay. Do what you have to do.”

Chapter 45

D
irk stumbled down the stairs, rubbing his eyes and feeling dazed. The thunder had woken him, almost sounding like gunfire, and he glanced outside to see a black wall of water pouring onto the land. Lightning arced across the dark sky, which looked more like night than morning.

He’d been up most of the night with Daisy, who was restless, weak, and going downhill fast. He needed to call Dr. Kareem at the clinic, but he wouldn’t be able to reach his office until nine, when they opened. He lurched unsteadily toward the kitchen, longing for a strong cup of coffee. “What’s going on?”

His daughter sat stiffly on the couch, all color drained from her cheeks. Boone and Ned carried their guns and ran around checking locks on the doors. Boone held the portable phone to his ear, speaking into the receiver with forceful confidence.

Speaking about an intruder.

About Murphy.

Heart banging beneath his ribs, Dirk ran to join them and pulled back the kitchen window curtain to look outside.

Boone jerked him back. “No! He’s out there. He shot at us already.”

“What?”

“Sheriff Dunne’s on his way with reinforcements.”

Dirk stiffened. “We need to get Anderson down here.”

Ned nodded and ran toward the stairs. “I’m on it.”

Boone paced, talking fast. “Listen, Dirk. I told the Sheriff most of what we learned up at Devil’s Lake, but I didn’t mention the truck. I didn’t want to give them an excuse to arrest any of us for stealing or hiding stolen property. Even though it was probably already stolen by Murphy before Portia took it.”