Indigo Lake Page 4

  He followed her gaze as another flame shot into the black sky a mile to the left of them. “You’re right,” he said. “Something or someone is burning the barn. If it catches grass, it might spread to Kirkland land. I’ll call him.”

  A half mile away, another flame shot up.

  “Another barn,” Lucas shouted. “This is no accident.”

  She reached for her car door, but just before she stepped in she heard him say, “I’ll find you when this is over. It’s time you and I had a talk, Lauren. Until then, stay away from the fires.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “HELLO, DARLIN’,” SHERIFF Dan Brigman said into his cell phone as he drove toward the Collins ranch. “I know I’m calling early, but I’m headed out to a barn fire and might not get a chance to call before you go to sleep.”

  “Anything bad?” Brandi’s voice came through, making him miss her ten times more than he had a minute ago.

  “No. You know nothing ever happens around here. How was your flight to Nashville?”

  “I started missing you before I got off the plane. I slept part of the way and had this great dream about you.”

  Dan smiled. He loved his wife’s sexy low voice. “Tell me about it tomorrow night. I don’t want to be driving and accidently miss a word.” He couldn’t stop thinking how beautiful she’d looked when she left this morning. “I miss you. Wish I could have gone with you this time. I know it’s only a few weeks, but it’ll seem like an eternity here without you.”

  “I know. I feel the same, but I’ll be working most of the time. The band is already here. They’ll watch out for me. We’ll start rehearsals tomorrow. I’ll be home before you know it.”

  “I’ll be waiting. Better say good-night. I’m almost to the ranch. I can see the barn burning even before I pull off.”

  “Night,” she whispered, then added, “Be careful.”

  He drove the last mile thinking of his wife and not some fire in a barn on a ranch no one cared about. The owner had been gone for years, and his son ran the place like it was his own ATM. Dan had heard that the foreman, along with a few dozen cowboys, had all been fired yesterday.

  Brandi, his wife, was three states away trying to get some sleep. How could he miss a woman so much who’d only been gone a few hours? When this duty was over Dan knew he’d be tempted to go home and call her again. Just to say good-night one more time.

  He’d married her late into his forties. They might never make it to dance at their fiftieth anniversary party. He’d just have to love her in double time for the rest of his life to catch up.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ONE BY ONE, Dakota turned on the lights in the beautiful old stucco home on Indigo Lake that her grandparents had built in the twenties. The day had exhausted her. She’d spent most of her time talking to people who didn’t know what they wanted in a house. Window-shoppers were just part of the job; they didn’t seem to realize that she didn’t make money if they didn’t buy.

  Once in a while, when everything went wrong, she wanted to scream all the way to heaven. “I can’t take it anymore. Not one more step. Not one more ounce of worry. Not one more day of people wasting my time. I’m not strong enough to carry the load.”

  But she had to be. There was no one else.

  Just as she reached for the light in the kitchen, a gentle voice whispered from the shadows. “About time you got home, little sister.”

  Dakota forced a smile as she flipped on the light. “Sorry I’m late.” Being home before dark was a rule she’d agreed to years ago. Not that Maria would ever complain.

  “Did you get all the canning supplies?” Maria moved toward her, gliding one hand slowly over the counter. “I thought I heard someone else on the porch.”

  “Yes to both.” Dakota tried to sound lighthearted but today seemed stormy everywhere. “I got everything you ordered. Even picked up extra jars while they’re on sale. Wes, at the store, helped me load them. If that man gets any quieter he’ll be a mute.” She followed her sister toward the porch. “And, you’re not going to believe it, Maria, but there’s another Hamilton alive.”

  “You saw one?” Her sister turned back so quickly her dark, curly hair floated like a cape around her shoulders.

  “Not only saw, I loaned him our pickup.” Dakota had already concluded that that decision probably hadn’t been a bright move. First, he was a Hamilton. Second, he was a stranger. Third, he was a biker. Maybe she should have thought twice about being neighborly. The only thing the guy lacked was a prison shirt hand-painted with Looking for My Next Victim.

  “Let’s go kill him now and save some time.” Maria laughed as she slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry. That just came out. Killing Hamiltons must be deeply buried in my DNA.”

  Dakota didn’t want to admit she’d already thought of that. “It’s been a hundred years since the Hamilton-Davis feud began. Maybe we should do some research to see if anyone remembers what started it. Maybe Grandmother’s stories might just be that—stories.”

  “But he might remember the curse,” Maria whispered. “He could be across the lake plotting our deaths right now. Grandmother swore Hamiltons are trained from birth to kill any Davis that sets foot on their land.”

  “I don’t think he knows about that oath. He would have mentioned it if he had.” Dakota wasn’t sure Blade would care either way. He seemed more like the type who hated all folks in general, so why pick on Davises. “We’re probably safe.”

  When Maria’s sweet face wrinkled into a frown, Dakota added, “I did try to bounce him out of the pickup, but he hung on. Which was lucky, I guess, because he was still alive to help me get the supplies to the porch before it started raining.”

  Maria carried in boxes of canning jars. In the home she never tested her steps. She knew the pattern of the floor by heart. “Tell me all about him. Then we murder the guy just so we know the curse is broken.” She almost managed to sound serious. “Oh, and before we pay him a visit, tell me, was he good-looking? Tall? Old or young? Ugly with wolf eyes?”

  Dakota joined her sister in the work of organizing everything exactly as Maria needed: flour in the left bin, sugar in the tin on the counter, cinnamon on the right side of the first shelf. Everything had its exact place for Maria. “Wolf eyes, definitely. And tall, but mean looking. Not ugly. Young, I think; he was too muddy to tell. He was standing in the lake, covered in pond scum, when I met him. It didn’t really go with his skin.”

  Maria giggled, sounding much younger than her thirty-three years. “I have an idea. If he’s just homely, one of us should marry him before we murder him. Then we’ll get the land. Someone said there are plums growing all over that land. I could double or triple my plum jelly production.”

  “What good is a place we can’t step foot on? Remember what Grandmother said, Davises die when they walk over Hamilton land.”

  “I don’t believe Shichu. The older she gets the more stories rattle out of her brain.” Maria moved her fingers lightly over the jars, counting them. “How old is he? I’ll marry him. It wouldn’t matter to me if he’s ugly.”

  Dakota watched her beautiful sister, wondering how she could speak so lightly about being blind. Forcing all emotion from her voice, she answered, “Couldn’t tell much about looks, but he had a nice build. I have a feeling he’s meaner than a rattler though. He told me if I got wet I might shrink to elf size.”

  Maria, an inch taller than Dakota, reached in the kitchen drawer and drew her butcher knife. “That does it. We kill him tonight. No one insults my little sister.”

  Dakota laughed as the vision of them tromping down the muddy road with their only weapons, a big knife and baseball bat, flashed through her mind. “We can’t go tonight. It’s raining. We’ll both be elf size before we get to him and he’ll probably stomp on us with his biker boots.”

 
“He’s a biker? Like Hells Angels or the Bandidos? Does he have those biker tattoos? You know, the kind that frighten any woman when she rips off his shirt in wild passion.”

  “I didn’t look but next time I’ll ask him to strip, then I’ll come home and describe them to you.” Dakota grinned, thinking she might like seeing Hamilton nude. Only for reference so she could report back to Maria, of course.

  Maria seemed lost in her own dream. “I’ll bet he has a wicked tattoo running across his chest. I listened to this romance novel last month where the hero was a biker. He had a skull and crossbones on his chest and said he was a pirate who stole hearts. The story was so hot it burned my ears.”

  Dakota shook her head. “We’ve got to cut down your subscription to audiobooks. How many books did you listen to this week?”

  “One nonfiction, one biography and only four or five romances.” Maria shrugged. “Sometimes I listen to the romances twice. I have a feeling if I could see, I’d be an untamed spirit rushing out to midnight affairs and romantic afternoons with men whose names I wouldn’t even bother to learn. I’d call them all ‘lover.’”

  “You’ve never done anything wild in your life, Maria.” Dakota couldn’t imagine her shy sister ever being brave enough to talk to a man, much less draw him into an afternoon of passion.

  “I know I haven’t gone crazy yet, but I’m making mental notes from the books. Once I find the right man, I’ve got a list of things to try. He’d better have stamina.”

  They both laughed and began preparing dinner.

  As Dakota worked on the wide, wood-block countertop that her grandmother had cooked meals on, the stress of the day slipped away. This house made of stucco and logs had withstood every storm that had come along for years, and it would withstand this one tonight.

  “So,” Maria said as she made the salad, “tell me about your day.”

  Dakota made a face but kept the worry out of her voice. “I swear being the only Realtor in a rapidly growing small town is like chasing bees in a tornado. One retired couple from Amarillo just wanted to move to Crossroads because it was so tiny. They said they were tired of the big city and fighting traffic on a street called Soncy. They claimed they’d love the quiet of a little community and the fact they could get so much house for their money here. But then he complained that there was no golf course or gym. She asked twice how far the nearest mall was.”

  “What did you show them?”

  “Not much. They hated the row of new garden homes going up by the museum—too small. The houses over by the school were bigger but too old, too many stairs, too plain. I showed them one three miles from town and he said it was ‘too far out.’ In the end, I think they were just daydreaming.”

  Maria smiled as she worked. “I know, it’s not fair,” she said. “You try so hard, but not everyone is serious.”

  “Right. I told them to think about building. Good news is they said they’d consider it. Bad news is I won’t make much money off the sale of a lot.”

  “Anyone else?”

  Dakota felt a little of the day’s tension leave her shoulders. “The mothers of a bride and groom were trying to pick out their newly married children’s home while the kids were on their honeymoon. I showed them everything in town and the mothers couldn’t agree. My guess is I’ll be showing the newlyweds the same houses next week.”

  They talked as they ate: Dakota about her work in town and what needed to be done on the farm every weekend before spring, and Maria about what fruit she planned to can tomorrow. Her business was growing, but another ten jars of jam sold next week wouldn’t be enough to pay the bills this month.

  As they finished supper, the rain finally stopped. Maria cleaned up and began setting her ingredients out for tomorrow. Dakota knew if the rain started again during the night, her sister would get up and create her delicious jams and jellies without the light. Since the accident that took her sight five years ago, Maria couldn’t sleep if it rained or stormed, so she worked at what she loved: cooking.

  Collecting her laptop, Dakota headed for the barn. Her day job might be over, but her studies were just beginning. If she ever planned to do what she loved, she had to work—rain or shine.

  CHAPTER SIX

  BLADE HAMILTON WORKED half the night trying to pull his bike out of the Texas mud. Indigo Lake seemed determined to keep it. Finally, with the help of an old rusty winch from the shack of a barn on his land, he managed to drag the Harley out of the lake and get it on solid ground.

  The night seemed to fight him as well, first with a chilling mist against his already wet clothes, and finally with shadows from the low clouds moving over the midnight land like creatures crawling toward him. Once, he looked up and swore he saw a figure, round as he was tall, glaring at him from behind a bare elm as if the intruder thought invisible leaves might hide him.

  Blade thought he could make out white teeth smiling. Then the wind whipped up and the stout body turned, as if rolling into the night. Blade kept glancing toward the lone elm, but the figure didn’t appear again. After cussing and yelling at it a few times, Blade calmed down and examined the damage to his bike.

  Forget the round figure. If he didn’t get this bike fixed he’d be here forever, and tonight it was far too dark to even predict how many hours or days it would take him. The way his luck was running, he’d probably have plenty of time to visit with the ghost.

  Exhausted, he climbed into the pickup he’d borrowed and drove back to Dakota’s place. Her house wasn’t far; he’d seen the lights there go out hours ago. But, thanks to the lake, the road circled around, making it seem miles away.

  When he crossed onto her property, he noticed a few buildings besides the main house scattered over the rocky, uneven land. Barns, sheds, a short house that looked like it might have been the original dugout when the place was homesteaded.

  Like she told him to, he parked the pickup at the beginning of the drive. Maybe she didn’t want it getting stuck in the mud, or maybe she’d planned to park it in one of the little barns scattered around the house. Only, he’d kept it so long she must have gone on to bed. He was too tired to care as he cut the engine and climbed out.

  If he had a pen, he would have left a thank-you note. He’d probably run her battery down using the headlights as his only light source, and the driver’s seat was muddy, not to mention the bed where he’d climbed in and out of the truck several times.

  Half the papers she had scattered across her front seat were now floating on the lake. He’d tried to collect them, but his efforts looked more like a first-grade art project than anything she might want to read.

  He’d apologize for that also, he decided.

  He was too tired to even bother trying to scrape off the mud tonight. He’d say he was sorry, or better yet offer to pay for a wash tomorrow, but tonight he’d promised to bring the old piece of junk back and he had. The ten minutes he’d said he wanted to borrow it had turned into three or four hours. She probably needed it in the morning to do whatever she did for a living.

  From the way she was dressed he’d guess it wasn’t farming. Wool skirt six inches too long to be fashionable, navy blazer a bit too big for her tiny frame, and shoes practical but so ugly he wouldn’t suggest even giving them away. No clue what her job was, but one thing was obvious, she was making herself look older.

  He grinned, thinking of how she’d ordered him to ride in the back. She could be the role model for the kind of woman he hated being around. Bossy, quick-tempered, superstitious, and short. But, he had to admit, she was kind of cute for an elf.

  He decided to walk up to the house and leave the keys. No lights were on at her place or in the yard, but his eyes had adjusted to the darkness.

  He’d just put the keys on the porch where she’d stacked the boxes.

  Bad luck found him about the time he was w
ithin twenty feet of her house. The rain started again. The slow steady plopping around him sounded like a thousand tiny drummers. He’d been soaked for so long, Blade barely noticed he was dripping as he walked. Maybe this slow drizzle would wash the pickup off a little. If it didn’t, his only neighbor probably wouldn’t be speaking to him come dawn.

  Ten feet from the house he saw the shadow of a woman appear on the porch. The watery moon didn’t show her clearly at first and he thought it was Dakota. Small build, hair tied back away from her face, a crochet shawl wrapped around her shoulders. He almost yelled a greeting, but something wasn’t right.

  The woman let the shawl slip. She wore a white nightgown that gave the impression that she was floating.

  Blade frowned. No wonder people around here believed in curses and spirits. He’d only been here one night and he’d already seen two.

  He moved a few feet closer and the woman took shape. She was taller than he remembered Dakota being, and so thin she reminded him of a willow swaying in the night breeze. Only she was flesh and blood.

  He studied her. She wasn’t Dakota. He could see that now, but the resemblance was there. A sister, maybe. This woman was a few years older and beautiful in a no-makeup, freshly scrubbed kind of way.

  Six feet away. Five. The wet grass silenced his steps. She was looking right at him. Even in the night he couldn’t understand why he didn’t startle her.

  Blade stopped. He wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want to frighten her, but if she hadn’t seen him yet, one word would surely do just that.

  She closed her eyes and leaned her face out so the gentle rain could tap against her skin. Then she smiled and he knew...she was blind. She might not have seen him, but he had the feeling she observed more than most. She saw the night, the softness of the rain, the caress of the damp wind, the silent world after a storm. Tapping her fingers along the porch railing, she moved inside and disappeared as though she’d been nothing more than a vision, a will-o’-the-wisp, impossible to catch.