The Sweetness of Honey (A Hope Springs Novel) (5 page)

“So crack it open. Pull it apart. Show me what’s inside.” When she filled her mouth with eggs instead of answering, he pressed. “Or were you hoping to scare me off with that declaration?”

Of course, the idea that she was hoping to scare him off came with all sorts of implications he hadn’t meant to make, but rather than retract his question, he let her stew. And finished off his biscuit while she finished off her eggs.

Once she’d swallowed the rest of her tea, she rushed forward. “When I was fifteen, a friend of Dakota’s and Tennessee’s attacked me,” she said, then added, “assaulted me,” then finally told him the truth. “He tried to rape me.”

That didn’t scare him off, but he was horrified. No fifteen-year-old girl should have that experience. No girl of any age. No woman ever. “I’m sorry. That had to have been terrifying.”

A curious look passed over her face, as if she’d never had anyone ask about her fear. “It was, but I played volleyball and probably had more upper-body strength than he did. And I had my brothers. He wasn’t a very big guy.”

She’d fought off the bastard. Good for her. “Apparently he thought so.”

“What he thought . . .” She shook her head, and when she reached for her empty tea, her hand was shaking, too. “We had a bit of a history. Nothing too carnal, but enough of one that it wasn’t hard for him to assume his attention was invited.”

Without thinking, Oliver covered her hand with his own, feeling the ice of her fingers as he gestured to their waitress for two more cups of tea. When he looked back, Indiana’s face had paled to the color of her bloodless fingertips, and it was all he could do not to move beside her and offer her his warmth.

Instead, he released her, and after a moment she put both her hands in her lap, waiting silently for their drink refills. Once they arrived, and as he dunked his tea bag into his water, he said, “Sex isn’t about assumptions. It’s about the mutual decision to share that particular pleasure. Whatever had happened between you and this boy prior to the assault is moot.”

For a strangely long moment, she held his gaze, studying his eyes as if surprised he would make such an observation. He couldn’t imagine why she would be; it was an obvious one to make. But then she finally said, “Thank you,” and he wondered if no one else had ever put the same two and two together, letting her off the hook for a wrongly placed self-blame.

Then, because he knew enough of the history, he prodded her on by asking, “I’m assuming your brother went after him?”

“He did,” she said, adding sugar to her tea. “With a baseball bat. And after Robby had already left the house.”

Making Dakota’s actions premeditated, and the bat a deadly weapon. “Was there a trial?”

“There was supposed to be, but his lawyer made a deal because it’s what Dakota wanted.”

Huh. “And Robby got off with nothing?”

Nodding, she brought her cup to her mouth, holding it with hands that had steadied. “Dakota didn’t want to put me through testifying. I told him I would. His lawyer told him my doing so would most likely help reduce his sentence. But he said no.”

“So the deal was Dakota’s call.”

She sipped, swallowed, then held his gaze as she said, “He didn’t want me to have to spend two more years in school as the girl Robby Hunt had tried to rape.”

And to make sure it didn’t happen, her brother had chosen to do three years in the state pen. This part Oliver hadn’t known. This part had him wondering about Dakota Keller, the man he was now, and why, after the sacrifice he’d made for his sister, he’d disappeared from her life.

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

“I saw him the day of his release, except I didn’t know it was him.” She set down her cup and returned to her breakfast. “He’d changed so much. He’d gone in at eighteen, and was almost twenty-two when he came out. He wasn’t any taller, but he’d filled out so much that it seemed like he was. Tennessee and I were waiting for him, and he got into a cab before we knew he was the man with the crew cut and big buff body. I’m pretty sure he knew we were there. I’d written him that we would be. But I guess he’d already decided to take off on his own.”

Interesting. “Did you visit him? While he was incarcerated?”

Another nod. “Not as often as I wanted to. Huntsville’s a bit of a drive, and the first year, Tennessee and I were both in school. Weekends were the only times we could get away, and sometimes we had tournaments or games.”

“And your parents?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” she said, her voice tinged with what he wanted to call contempt. “They were out of town so often. I’m sure they visited when they could.”

Or when it wasn’t inconvenient, Oliver mused, never having met the Kellers but having no trouble drawing a mental picture based on what he’d learned. “Did he write back?”

“He did.”

“But no clue that he wasn’t coming home?”

“Not a one. He and Tennessee had planned to go into business together once they were both out of school.”

“Construction,” he said, though he knew.

“It’s nothing I would’ve expected from either of them; they were both such jocks. Managing a sports bar, or a gym, yeah. But Tennessee loves it.” Her fork stilled, and she smiled softly. “I like to think Dakota found a way to do what he wanted to do, too.”

Oliver spent a moment with his food, wondering if Indiana was prepared should this search not go her way. “If he came back, do you think he’d go into business with Ten?”

Her smile faded. “I don’t even know who he is now, or what he might like. It’s been ten years. He could’ve gone back to school, become a doctor, left the states to work in Darfur.”

“Do you ever wonder if that’s on purpose? That he doesn’t want you to know where he is, what he’s doing, rather than just having moved on?”

“I wonder about it all the time, but I don’t care. I need to know for me. And I need to apologize.”

That had Oliver frowning. “I don’t think he’d want an apology.”

“Why do you say that?” she asked, frowning, too, and wary.

“What do you have to apologize for?”

“The assault—”

“The assault wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, but—”

“I don’t think you do know. You want to take blame for what this friend of your brothers’ did. To apologize for being a part of it.” And listen to him, talking about blame, and brothers. As if he weren’t weighed down with the same. “But you were a victim. And I’m sure Dakota knows that. Apologizing . . . It might be a better idea to thank him instead. Make sure he knows how much you appreciate what he did. Especially with what it cost him.”

“That’s assuming I’m able to find him,” she said, when he’d feared she would tell him to stop butting in. “And that Tennessee and I don’t have a big falling out over the whole thing.”

“I’m going to guess Ten’s lack of support isn’t just about his doing things his way. That maybe he’s got more than a little bit of guilt of his own.”

“Kaylie told me that he regretted letting Dakota go after Robby. That he didn’t do it himself. He was younger, and Dakota was known for his swing . . .”

“Under the circumstances, the premeditation, Ten could easily have been tried as an adult.”

She nodded. “He’s got a lot of resentment toward our parents, too. They were taken in by Robby’s tales of a hard home life.”

“He didn’t have one?”

“He had parents who disciplined him, who set curfews and rules. Who expected him to do chores. Our parents didn’t do any of the above. And he liked that. A lot.”

That, as well as access to a young girl with, no doubt, a healthy curiosity. And with that thought it was time to change the subject. He sliced up his sausage, then asked, “What’s next with the house? And the property?”

“I don’t even know anymore. Tennessee thinks it’s ridiculous for me to consider moving to Hope Springs when my farm is in Buda. Even though, how many people drive from here into Austin every day? That’s another fifteen miles. And since I’ll be busy getting the annex up and running, I might only need to make the trip three times a week.”

Sounded reasonable. “Did you tell him that?”

“Not yet, but I will. And I’ve promised Kaylie I’ll tell him about hiring the PI.” She placed her used napkin in the center of her plate. “I was just thinking. Life wasn’t so complicated before Kaylie moved back to Hope Springs.”

“How’s that?”

“She hired Tennessee to do the renovations to the house and the conversion for the café. And when she decided to put in a garden, Tennessee called me.” She reached for her wallet and began sorting through bills. “That’s what brought him back into my life. And I don’t think a day’s gone by since then that we haven’t argued about something, most of it stupid.”

Life might not’ve been so complicated, he mused, pulling cash from his pocket to cover both of their meals and the tip, shaking his head when she offered to pay her share, but he was quite sure the real truth was that she wouldn’t change a thing.

This he knew because he’d gladly give a limb to have Oscar whole again.

CHAPTER FIVE

Y
ou want to gut the whole thing?”

Three days after his initial visit to Indy’s new digs, Will was standing beside her in the tiny front room of the cottage that, even empty, smelled of the man who’d lived here at least a half century: mothballs, of course, because Hiram Glass had been of the age where chemical pesticides were all the rage.

But the sickly sweet scent of naphthalene hung beneath others: cigar smoke, strong coffee, licorice, Old Spice. Musty books bound in aging leather. Onions and grease from ground beef. Bourbon. Beer. The twenty-pound tomcat who’d sprawled at the end of the driveway and twitched his tail at passersby, though he had spent enough time inside to leave his mark.

Funny to think of a man being defined by his odors, which had Will wanting to lift an arm to sniff his pit.

Indy caught him with his elbow up and frowned. “Can you give me one good reason not to?”

Since he’d already been thinking about handing her a match . . . He shoved both hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. “Depends what your plans are for the building. Storage? Office space? A caretaker’s cottage? A rental for income? Unless you’re going to be the one living here.”

“Maybe,” she said, her mouth pursed sideways. “Eventually.”

Women and their prerogative. “What does that mean?” he asked, and she gave him a withering look.

“It means maybe. Eventually.”

Right. How like him to miss the obvious. “You’re thinking of moving to Hope Springs?”

Rather than answer, she went on walking through the rooms. Kitchen to bathroom to bedrooms, and then again in reverse. He stayed near the front door because the layout of the house kept her in his sight.

He supposed he could see her living here; she was just one person, and didn’t seem the type to need a lot of room for a lot of things. He liked that about her. It rather reminded him of himself. Doing away with all but the necessities. Knowing the differences between need and want. Getting by simply, austerely, free of clutter and other burdens.

Didn’t remind him at all of the woman who’d put his life in storage while he was on hold behind bars. The woman he’d thought for a while he’d like to spend the rest of his years with.

Until he hadn’t.

“Why would you move?” he asked, because it was a lot easier to talk about Indiana’s screwed-up life than to think about his own. “To be closer to Kaylie and Ten?”

She was back in the living room now, casing the perimeter and measuring it with boot-heel-to-boot-toe steps. One wall, another, a third, the fourth, and she was at the door. “I like it here. I like the community. The location. The people.”

Except she still hadn’t answered his question about being near her brother. “All the people?”

“All that I’ve met, yes.” She pushed aside the yellowed lace curtain and peered through the door’s driveway-facing window. “I’m sure there are others I won’t like as much, but that’s not a reflection on Hope Springs.”

“You know I don’t plan to stay here,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning a shoulder against the wall.

“Did I say anything about moving here for you?”

“I’m people.”

“I suppose you are.”

“You’re being all cryptic again.”

Brow arched, she glanced over. “I’m pretty sure it was Luna who told me you said you’d been raised by wolves.”

He gave a snort, amused. To this day he had no idea where that had come from, but yeah. He’d popped off with the explanation to keep from talking to Luna about who he was, where he’d been.

He didn’t want to talk to anyone about where he’d been.

And that included Indy Keller. “Raised by. I’m not actually an animal.”

“I guess that depends on how you define animal,” she said and straightened, letting the curtain fall.

The words hung between them, tense and still, the air humming as if she’d loosed a hive of bees inside the tiny enclosure. He hadn’t intended his use of the word
animal
as a come-on. He hadn’t been trying to flirt.

But the implication was there, in her comment as well as in his, so he seized the moment and said, “Would you like to go to Austin? Get dinner? Go to a club? See a show?”

Her frown was playful, as was the curious cock of her head. But the way she crossed her arms told the truth of things. She wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at—or what she was getting into. “Will Bowman. Are you asking me out on a date?”

He didn’t know if he could give her an answer. He hadn’t been thinking that far ahead. “I’ve got tickets to see the Decemberists. I’m asking if you’d like to grab a bite to eat and go with.”

“When?”

“Tonight, actually.”

“I don’t know—”

“Don’t know if it’s a good idea? Because it’s probably not. It’s short notice. It’s late in the day. Your brother wouldn’t approve,” he said, unsure which of them he was trying to talk out of it. He should’ve kept his mouth shut.

She sputtered as if she found
his
objections to
his
invitation ridiculous. “I hardly need Tennessee’s permission for what I do. I have a mind of my own.”

All right, then. “Show’s at ten,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets again, his shoulders hunched again, this time against what he feared was a very bad idea. “We’ll need to leave at seven to eat. I have reservations at Qui.”

Her expression was a curious mix of excitement and apprehension. “You have reservations, but you’re just now asking me to go?”

It wasn’t that complicated. “I was going to eat alone if you didn’t. Or . . . whoever didn’t.”

“Okay . . .” She drew out the word as if using the time to weigh the possibility of his having ulterior motives. “But I need to know if we’re two friends getting away from the everyday grind, or if it’s a date.”

“What does it matter?” It was all the same to him.

But apparently not to her. She rocked from the toes of her boots to the heels as she considered him. “A date means different hair and makeup. Different clothes. Different . . . expectations.”

His gut tightened. “You don’t want to date me, Indiana.”

She stopped rocking. “And you don’t want to forget that mind-of-my-own thing, Will.”

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said, and watched her bristle.

“What exactly are you warning me about?” she asked, her chin coming up. “That you’re not a nice man? That I’m going to regret saying yes?”

“That’s what you got out of what I said?” Though he couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t so good with words—choosing them, using them, even if he’d get some argument about that from people he’d known in the past.

She reached up to clear her flyaway hair from her face, exasperated, or confused, or maybe just tired of dealing with his brand of crap. “If you want me to get something else, you’ll need to spell it out.”

He went for straightforward. “You know where I spent the last three years. I’m not up on social niceties.”

The look she gave him seemed nothing but a stand-in for rolling her eyes. “I’m pretty sure social niceties are the same now as they were before you went to prison.”

“I’m out of practice, then,” he said, and shrugged.

“Practice on me. Tonight.”

Oh, he wished she hadn’t said that. He wasn’t ready to hear any woman say that. “Meet me at my place. We can take your car.”

“We can?”

“Unless you want to take my Keller Construction truck.”

“That’s the only vehicle you have?”

He had another. In storage. One day he’d get it out. Start it up. Hit the road and vanish. “I like your Camaro.”

“Fine,” she said, and he swore she barely stopped herself from grumbling the words. “I’ll see you then.”

She’d said yes to Will because of how much she’d enjoyed Oliver’s company, yet Oliver hadn’t asked her out and Will had. It was logic that made no sense in any world but hers, where this absolutely ridiculous need she had to be wanted continued to rear its ugly head.

Then again, she couldn’t help but wonder if, away from Hope Spring and their shared social circle and their client/contractor relationship, she and Will might find there was more to their friendship than either had realized. That, and not the illogical rest, was what she’d told herself to keep in mind; for most of the evening, she had.

Except going out with Will had her feeling disloyal to Oliver, even though Oliver hadn’t indicated any interest in seeing her again. He’d fallen silent while driving away from Malina’s, and when she’d exited his car on Three Wishes Road, their good-bye had been awkward, both lost in thought.

That left her curious to know if he’d come with her to breakfast because he’d been unable to find a way out, her invitation being so sudden, and him being too polite to lie his way out of accepting. Of course, all of that was her projecting. He might very well have wanted to come. And then regretted it.

Look at their conversation. When she’d asked him if he wanted to hear about Dakota, he hadn’t exactly jumped for joy. “Only if you want to share it.” Even she knew that wasn’t a yes. And her assault? Really? What man would want to hear such a thing on a first date? Except breakfast had not been a date. And Dakota would have no story—no incarceration, no life spent as a convicted felon—if the assault had not happened.

In fact, Indiana’s expansion into Hope Springs, Tennessee’s
Keller Construction
lacking the word
brothers
, and Dakota’s ongoing absence were all tied to that night in the kitchen with Robby Hunt. Except those events had been set in motion long before. And she’d been the one to do the setting.

She and Oliver had been two friends sharing a meal. It was that simple. She’d needed to get the weight of the last few days off her chest. Her missing Dakota had been worse than usual since her decision to hire Kaylie’s PI and her acceptance that there were no guarantees of success. She’d wanted a willing, impartial ear. For some reason, Oliver had offered one, and all she’d been able to think about since was telling him more.

And not even things about her brother, but her life, and his. Movies and books and TV and food. Travel. Her greenhouse annex. Her Buda farm. She’d wanted to ask what he did for the Caffey-Gatlin Academy. What he did, period, because she had no idea how he spent his time, made his money. If he even needed to make money, being a Gatlin and all.

And then it hit her. Before tonight’s date with Will, and as well as she’d thought she’d known him—they’d been friends for months, after all—she’d only scratched his surface, too. Which had her wondering what exactly she’d been feeling about him before now. She enjoyed his company, of course, and he wasn’t the least bit hard on the eyes, all lanky and gaunt and haunted. He was quick-witted and clever, too clever at times, fox-like clever, and a complete pro at deflecting her questions. But none of that had given her the insight she’d gained over the hours they’d spent at dinner.

There was something about him, sitting beside her now as they drove through the wee hours into a very quiet Hope Springs, that had her thinking back to Dakota and his last girlfriend, Thea Clark. The clandestine nature of their relationship. The secrets.
Forbidden
was the word that came to mind, though why her spending a night out in Austin with Will should fall into that category . . .

They’d talked nonstop, their food growing cold, their drinks, too. They’d talked so long, in fact, that they never made it to the Decemberists’ show. Indiana didn’t mind; Will fascinated her with the things he knew, obscure things, things she wouldn’t have thought worth knowing until hearing him go on in such depth. Literature. Science. The economy. Pop culture. He knew as much about
Assassin’s Creed
as he did Vladimir Bartol’s
Alamut
. As much about Sheldon Cooper as Niels Bohr.

They’d talked about her cottage, her property, her bees, Will always asking questions, learning more about her than she had about him. Still, she’d learned enough to make her more curious than ever about who he was and where he’d come from, why he’d settled in Hope Springs after being released from prison.

Why he’d gone to prison in the first place . . .

And then, after chatting themselves silly, they’d made the drive home from Austin in silence, save for “Calamity Song,” “This Is Why We Fight,” and the rest of the Decemberists’
The King Is Dead
album, making good use of her car’s sound system. Yet rather than being awkward, the calm of the trip lulled her into feeling comfortably numb. She was tired from talking, from listening, from absorbing, and imagined Will was, too.

But a part of her was simply exhausted from his intensity. He’d been on all night, the air around him buzzing. Energy had poured off him, and been so bright, she’d felt as if she could reach out and grab it, could harness it and use it for fuel.

It was the first time she’d ever seen him so animated, and she wondered if he’d been putting on a show, or reacting to being with her, or if he’d simply been having fun. But she also wondered if the spirited conversationalist was the man he’d been before prison, and the sulky emo mask he usually wore some kind of self-defense.