Frog Hollow (Witches of Sanctuary Book 1) (3 page)

Reid turns, and I instantly shrink back a step. He looms over my slight frame, emphasizing his height as he leans down to look callously into my eyes. “Do you know what showing up here will do to them? After all they’ve been through losing Fiona.”

My lips involuntarily tremble. “To who?”

“My mother.” He looks away from me again. “Your Aunt Jade, Abby, and Sadie. Your family, for Christ’s sake. They don’t need you gallivanting in and ruining what little peace they’ve found.”

My mouth falls open. “That isn’t fair.” I raise my voice to match his. “I didn’t come back for them.”

His teeth clench together as his eyes flash. “Exactly.”

He wants to say more—it’s etched clearly across his face—but for some reason he holds it back. His gaze darts away from me, his entire body recoiling in the opposite direction again. I don’t understand why he can’t look at me, or better yet, why he continues to force distance between us.

Then I remember the bikini.

He’s intentionally keeping his eyes pointed any direction other than at me. The asshole is trying to be a gentleman. He’s failing, but he’s trying.

The nerve of the noble bastard.

I allow the anger in my voice to subside a little. “I only want to find a part of my mother here.”

It’s too late. He’s already shut down. All emotion lost. Whatever he isn’t telling me dictates his actions now.

“Go back.”

Tears brim my eyes, and I hate him for it.

He takes a quick peek over his shoulder, then straight back to the door. “They don’t need you to make their life more complicated, okay?” His voice is stern but unsteady now. “Just go back.”

I don’t bother to wipe away the tears that leak down my cheeks. I want him to see them. I want him to witness the pain in them. “I’m not leaving.”

His hand slaps against the frame of the door as he leans against it, his broad shoulders flexing as he attempts to rein in his temper. “Yes, you will.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m some kind of disobedient child.”

He turns on me. “You’re leaving here tonight.”

I grab the flashlight from his hand and twirl it around. “Well, if you think you can make me—go ahead.”

He jumps back, slamming into the door behind him. He studies me, surely recognizing my desperation. Even an idiot knows you can’t win a fight when your adversary has nothing to lose. He considers his options. I take a threatening step forward until finally he lets out a defeated growl. “Fine, but stay away from them.” He eyes the light and scowls. “And stay away from me.”

I laugh. “Why the hell would I want to be around you? Because you’re such a bright ray of sunshine?”

I mean for my words to hurt him. I want to somehow make him share this pain inside me. He doesn’t flinch. In fact, he has absolutely no reaction at all. “Just stay away,” he says robotically, turning around.

He slings the door open and walks hastily through it and down the front steps. I follow him out, watching him leave as more tears well up in my eyes. “Don’t worry!” I yell at him, hoping he will turn around, that he won’t leave. He still hasn’t answered my questions.

He stalks across the yard and turns to go behind the house. It catches me off guard because I expected him to walk toward the road. I run back into the house, locating the closest window on the back side. His figure rushes across the grassy plain of the back yard.

I bite my lip, callously hoping he doesn’t see the lake and drowns. However, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I fumble around the house for my shoes. I grab the flashlight and throw myself out the back door and across the yard.

The grass is high, grazing my knees as I wade through it. I climb over a raised hillside and find myself staring at the moonlight gleaming off the body of water. The large lake weaves through the valley between the mountains, stretching out into the darkness until I can’t see the other side. The only way I know that it ends is the light from the house on the far bank. I run onto the dock that extends into the shimmering black water, catching my balance as it sways beneath me. I stand on the edge, looking out over the water toward the house. All the lights are on, but it’s too far in the distance to detect any further details about it.

To my dismay, I find myself smiling. “My family.”

Exhaustion bites at my knees, and I drop back onto the hard wood of the dock. Time passes in small waves, but I can’t make myself leave. I imagine rowing across the lake in a tiny boat and simply knocking on the door to say hello. Would they recognize me? Would these women be as abnormal as I am, or would they shun me too once they found out? Something inside of me tells me that won’t happen, but I keep repeating his words in my head.

Go back.

Stay away.

I sigh into my hands before pushing myself off the ground. I look back one last time, mourning the life I could have had before walking up the path toward the house. The back door creaks as I open it, and somehow the house feels emptier. I lock up and clean the floor of blood in a zombie-like haze. I don’t even look at the time when I throw myself down onto the mattress.

All I ever wanted was answers. Acceptance. A family to call my own. I thought digging up my past would bring me those things, but maybe it’s time I focus on my future. I can build a life here. I can discover the limits to my abilities. Most importantly, I can do all those things without the help or even the polite hospitality of Reid Thomas.

Chapter 3

ROOSTER’S DINER

Hell hath no fury compared to the satanic red bumps plaguing my body when I wake the next morning. Everything from my waist down has been taken captive by a local disease Google laughingly calls chiggers.

I’m not laughing. Not even a little bit.

I spend the first two hours of my day sitting in a blotchy pink tub of calamine, the second painting over the fifty-two bumps with nail polish, and then finally concocting a home remedy I found on a blog consisting of grease and salt before lathering it over my body like a paste.

By three o’clock, I finally stop wallowing across my mattress like a flea-infested dog and come to two very logical conclusions. The first—never go gallivanting through high grass in a bikini. The second—don’t assault your neighbors, because karma really is an itchy pain in your ass.

Due to my internet frenzy this morning, my cell phone is officially dead. No electricity. No phone. I have no choice but to spend my day unraveling wire hangers and plotting how I can unite the high grass bugs under my power to serve my own evil purposes. When I start planning how I can use them as a protective barrier around the property for unwanted neighbors, I realize I should probably eat. A real dinner. A dinner I can’t eat out of a box with my hands.

I go upstairs and attempt to freshen up. A gallon jug shower and clean clothes does the trick. It’s a long drive to town, and the mountains block the low moon on the horizon. It’s peaceful. Lonely, but peaceful.

The deep curves twisting in and out of the valley make Main Street seem to pop out of thin air. I park a couple streets over from the crowd and follow the glow of the streetlamps. The streets are littered with people. Young couples push strollers while their children run along beside them. A group of teenagers cross the street, waving to the car that stops to let them pass. I turn around looking for Wally and Beaver Cleaver as if I’ve been plopped down in a page from 1955.

I spot other people sitting out on balconies of the old stone buildings, eating and laughing as the sound of music drifts from the open windows. I peer over my head, admiring the strings of white lights that hang from building to building, giving a soft glow against the retreating sun.

I follow the flow of people down the cobblestone sidewalks, admiring the easy atmosphere. The sleepy shops I’d seen during the day on my way through town are alive and vibrant now. In fact, an antique shop I pass has removed the glass from the windows. I hear the dinging of the cash register from outside. As I walk, I peek inside frilly dress shops and candy stores, promising myself I’ll come back when I am in the mood to browse.

I stand on the edge of the sidewalk, glancing back and forth, unsure of what direction to head first.

“Lost,
chérie
?”

I spin around, startled by the voice. It’s not every day you hear a perfect French accent. My second time around, I realize the voice came from above me. I step off the sidewalk and look up. Leaning against the balcony of the yellow stone building behind me is a guy. His smile is instant.

Beautiful.

Tussled raven hair compliments the black bow tie on his stark white dress shirt. I quickly glance away, thinking he isn’t talking to me. I know little of the French language but enough to know
chérie
is a term of endearment. The street is littered with people. He surely meant his sweet sentiment for someone else.

I turn back around, forcing my gaze on the busy street. A hint of laughter echoes above my head. “Now, Wilhelmina. Don’t be shy.”

I jerk around, my mouth already gaping.

Smirking now, the boy takes a long drink from the cherry-colored glass in his hand. “Rooster’s,” he says casually. “The place you’re looking for is Rooster’s Diner. It’s up the street.”

I eye him suspiciously. “How do you know what I’m looking for?”

He twists the glass around in his hand and takes another drink. “Oh, just call it a hunch.”

I open my mouth to speak, to ask him how he knows my name, but he strolls off, still laughing. “Hey!” I jump on my tiptoes, but he doesn’t return.

The balcony is empty. I try the glass door to the building, but it’s locked. Of course it’s locked. As I find the sign, I realize it’s the entrance to the bank. How could some random stranger hanging out after hours at the bank possibly know my name?

He must know Reid.

Annoyed, I slowly make my way up the street.

Not even a block north, I spot a window with a giant blue rooster painted on it. I hesitate. The stranger knew if he mentioned it, I would find this place. I sneak a quick look inside. The familiarity of every restaurant that has ever been stares back at me. Why was this one different? I pull the heavy wooden door open to the sound of people chattering.

The place is busy. The young girl working the hostess stand runs back and forth, calling out names off her notepad. I wait at the stand for her to return from taking a family of three to their table. I haven’t even sat down, but I already know I like the place. It isn’t one of those fancy restaurants where you feel you have to dress up. It’s casual with its dim lighting and rustic furniture. The art on the wall is impressive, not something you find in your upscale snobby art gallery. It’s all local folk art.

The girl finally returns, dashing a smile despite her frantic appearance. Her brown, curly hair is stuck out in all directions, only to be pushed out of her face by a canary yellow headband. “How many?” she asks, pen ready.

I glance around, deciding what I should do, but then my stomach growls. A girl has to eat. It might as well be here.

“Just me, I’m afraid.” I lean in closer so she can hear me over the noise of the crowd. “Can I eat at the bar? I’d sure hate to take a table all to myself on such a busy night.”

She glances over her shoulder, following my eyes to the dining area behind her. There are only a few tables open, and each of them could fit a family of six. “Sure, sure.” She waves for me to follow her.

Straight off to the left is a small bar made from rusted tin and driftwood. I have difficulty sifting through the people to follow her. Everyone around seems to be watching the TV mounted above it, as indicated by the synchronized yells of triumph and disappointment. The girl leads me down to the end of the bar and points to an open seat. I quickly take it as she motions for the bartender. “She’s eating at the bar tonight,” she yells at the lady pouring drinks. “Treat her right.”

The bartender gives her a quick nod, and the girl vanishes. I look around, not knowing what else to do, and then I see a white napkin slip under my arm. “You look like you need a drink to go with that dinner.”

I do a double take as I reposition the napkin. The woman doesn’t possess any of the qualities I normally associate with a bartender. She’s older, early fifties, I’d guess, and wears glasses that look like something from the eighties. However, her hair is cut in an exotic crop pattern, giving her a more contemporary look. Her smile is amazing, to the point I find myself grinning back at her. I guess a good personality is all you need to serve drinks. “Just the food and water for now.”

She hands me a menu and returns with a glass of ice water. She shoots me a wink. “The water is on the house.”

After ordering, I find myself people watching, which turns out to be very enlightening. It’s funny how close, but completely different, two places in the same restaurant can be. A young family sits not ten feet away, the toddler climbing in and out of his seat, while the parents talk casually over their food. It’s like there is some kind of invisible force field separating the bar from everything else. Maybe people in this town only see what they want to see. Hopefully that means no one will see me, or at least the real me.

I turn my head reflexively as the bell over the door rings. I notice how the girl immediately perks up at the sound and runs by me with her notepad in hand. It’s an older couple with two teenagers who they probably dragged out for a family night. The boy dips down to catch a glimpse of the game over the bar while the girl types rapidly on her cell phone. A sting of jealousy hits me as I watch the kids walk to their table, the boredom evident on their faces. What I wouldn’t give to have a boring family dinner.

I jump into the bar, banging my knee against the wood paneling as I direct my eyes back to the door. Standing at the hostess stand with his hands in the pockets of his ripped jeans and a large, protruding knot peeking out from under his messy hair is none other than Mister Sunshine himself.

I rub my knee under the table, wincing as I try to slump down on my stool. I’m already annoyed with the inconvenience of small town life. I thought surely it would be years before I had any awkward run-ins with random men.

I straighten up as the bartender appears in front of me holding my dinner. She looks at me for a second, eyeing my odd posture. “Are you okay?” She sets the plate in front of me.

“Dandy.” Reid passes by in my peripheral vision. A spark of something feral runs down my spine. I scoot to the edge of my seat to escape it. I don’t dare turn around until I know he’s seated.

I eat my cheeseburger and fries with haste, glancing over my shoulder every couple of seconds. He sits off to my right at a table with three other people. I’m shocked to find out he has friends.

The girl across from him is easiest to see. Her copper hair is highlighted with streaks of purple and pink through the front. She looks like Reid. Identical noses. They have to be related. That would explain her obligation to hang out with him.

The girl leans under the arm of the boy next to her. He’s stocky. His muscles bulge through his t-shirt, but his face holds a boyish charm. His hair is honey-blond and falls in wild curls around his eyes that are squinted in laughter as he kisses the girl on the cheek.

It takes some maneuvering for me to see the girl sitting on the other side. I think maybe she is Reid’s girlfriend, but they sit apart from each other, lacking the obvious PDA of the other two.

She looks exceptionally intelligent.

Her black hair hangs in waves accented by an array of braids that are held together by a beaded band. She listens quietly while the other girl gallantly tells a story.

“Interested?”

I spin around to find the bartender grinning at me.

“In what?” I absently twirl a fry in my ketchup.

She nods behind me, but I don’t have to turn around to know who she means. “He’s single, you know? I could introduce you.” She gives me a wiggly eyebrow to go with her suggestive tone.

“No,” I sputter out, accidentally banging my knee on the board again. “That is not necessary.”

The bartender laughs, adjusting her glasses. “Just thought I’d offer.”

I turn back to look over my shoulder. Reid smiles at the girl across the table as she fervently continues her story. When he isn’t scowling at you, he could be kind of cute, in that bronze-skinned, super hot guy kind of way, which as of yesterday is totally not my type. I scrunch up my nose and turn back around. “So you know them?”

The bartender leans against the counter, her eyes dancing. “What do you want to know?”

“They look familiar.” I draw circles across my plate in my leftover salt.

Her smile curls into a smirk. “Reid Thomas,” she says, pointing to him. “Cuter than a pound full of lost puppies and sweeter than his momma’s apple pie.”

I raise a questioning eye at her. Maybe we aren’t talking about the same person. “Do you get paid for that kind of advertisement?”

She laughs, straightening her glasses. “He’s my nephew. His twin sister, Abner, is my niece.”

I turn back around, appraising the girl with streaked hair. It’s true. They can definitely pass as twins. She really must feel obligated to hang out with him. “Abner,” I repeat, trying to make myself remember the odd name.

“Yeah, but I’d call her Abby if I were you,” she says. “Only her momma gets by with calling her otherwise.”

I make the mental note before nodding toward them. “And the others?”

She seems completely delighted that I asked. “The curly headed blond is Abby’s boyfriend, Grady Bradshaw.”

“And the other girl?”

“Miss free love and peace? That’s our Sadie.”

I look at the black-haired girl again, and this time I see the frown. “She looks upset about something.”

“Ezekiel Prescott’s fault, no doubt.” There is a tightness to bartender’s voice as she says the name. “Her boyfriend doesn’t eat here.”

I nod, because I can tell by the gruff tone of her voice that it’s better to let the topic go. I don’t need involved in anyone’s relationship drama. Yet my eyes go back to them. Abby. Sadie. I repeat the names over in my head like I might forget them. Or maybe it’s because I still can’t believe they are real. Did the boy on the balcony know they’d be here?

The bartender watches me, so I force myself to turn around to my food. She leans over the bar as I take the last bite of my cheeseburger. “May I ask you what your name might be?”