A Bridge Unbroken (A Miller's Creek Novel) (16 page)

Matt? Chance bristled. They'd discussed him? He marched over to where Dakota sat, hands fisted. "You mean to tell me that you talked to Matt about me? About us?"

She shrunk back a little. "Yeah. Isn't that why you showed up at his house on Sunday?"

"Matt Tyler is my best friend." He ground the words out between clenched teeth. "What exactly did you tell him?"

Her face paled considerably. "I didn't give him all the intimate details, if that's what you mean."

Chance did a palm plant on his forehead and stared up at the ceiling. How embarrassing! He half-sat, half-fell, to a crossed-leg sitting position on the floor, his head in his hands, Daisy immediately in his lap, licking his face. Except for the pounding rain and the slurping dog, the room grew deathly quiet. After a few minutes of chasing away his anger and humiliation, Chance looked up.

Dakota's eyes were large and round. Fearful. She said nothing, obviously waiting for him to initiate the inevitable.

"Would you mind explaining why in the world you decided to air a very personal problem to my best friend?" He gave himself a mental pat on the back. Somehow he'd managed to speak rather than shout.

She swallowed, her lips taut. "I didn't know he was your best friend, Chance. I just knew he offered free counseling."

A pounding headache built in intensity behind his skull. He closed his eyes and massaged his forehead. "You'd talk with a total stranger rather than talk to me?"

"First of all, I tried talking to you. But trying to get through that thick skull of yours is like trying to nail Jell-O to a tree." Her green eyes now shot sparks. Finally the Dakota he was used to had showed up. "In spite of my attempts to talk things out, you were determined to accuse me for something that was every bit as much your fault as it was mine. I didn't go to their house to specifically talk about what happened between us. I went to get some insight on how to work with someone bent on destroying me." Tears spilled on to her cheeks, and she buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook with heart-breaking sobs.

"Hey." He scooted to the couch, moved to a sitting position beside her, and placed a hand on her back. Every fiber of his being longed to cradle her in his arms, but he couldn't. Not without losing himself. "Please don't cry. It's okay."

A long minute passed, but finally she controlled her tears and looked up at him. "I didn't mean to make you angry. I just needed someone to talk to." Her wistful tone and mournful look just about did him in.

Poor thing. She had no one. "You couldn't have made a better choice than Matt. He'll keep what you said in confidence."

The words seemed to bring relief, but she didn't speak. Then her face contorted in horror, her gaze fixed over his left shoulder. "Oh no, you don't, Daisy, stop!"

He jerked his head around. Daisy stood in the corner of the room, back legs splayed, a steady stream splashing against the newly-varnished floors.

* * *

Pressure built inside Dakota and threatened to explode all over the place. She'd just redone those floors, and now one corner was coated with dog urine. Past time for both Chance and the dog to go. One for obvious reasons, the other because she couldn't trust the crazy way her heart was responding to Chance's unexpected kindness. Yes, Matt's suggestion had worked, but she hadn't been at all prepared for the way it would affect her.

"Sorry, Dakota. I'll clean it up. You have any paper towels?"

She shook her head in disgust, her gaze on the yellow puddle. "No, but I've got some old rags." Dakota hurried to the kitchen, snatched up a couple of old t-shirt rags she'd brought at a thrift store, and grabbed the trash can on her way back. "Tell me again why you brought that mutt out here."

"Daisy's not a mutt. She's a full-blooded German Shepherd and trained by a friend. By nature, Shepherds are very protective. I'll feel better knowing you're not out here alone."

Oh, so now he was concerned about her safety. "This coming from the man who hasn't been here in days."

Chance took the rag from her outstretched hand and sopped up the mess.

"And if you think you're leaving that dog out here with me, you are sadly mistaken."

He didn't respond, but deposited the soiled rag in the trash can she held out at arm's length. "I need to wash my hands."

"You'll have to use the bathroom sink. The kitchen's all torn up."

The sound of his boots clomped down the hallway, then picked up speed and volume as his footsteps grew closer again. His head appeared in the doorway. "You finished the bathroom."

Why did he look so surprised? Had he expected her to sit back on her hands, bemoaning the fact that she didn't have a man to help her? "Yeah well, the work must go on, with or without you."

"How'd you get the old bathtub out?"

"One lousy piece at a time."

"And the new one in?"

"The guys who delivered it put it in place, and then I called the plumber."

His expression darkened. "You hired a plumber?"

A sigh burst from her lungs. "I didn't feel comfortable doing the plumbing work. It made more sense to hire that work out."

"And how much did that cost me?"

Oh, yay. The accusing tone was back. "Not a penny, thank you. I paid for it myself."

His face took on the same hang-dog look she'd seen a few minutes earlier.

Her heart quickened its pace. Hmm, maybe it was better if she had the accusing Chance back, instead of this unfamiliar guy with apology in his clear blue-gray eyes.

"I'll pay you back, Dakota. How much do I owe you?" His tone was respectful and sincere.

She waved a hand and turned away, bothered by her body's Benedict-Arnold-response to this new and improved Chance. "Nothing. Now would you go wash your hands? The thought of you standing there with dog pee on them is grossing me out."

Chance laughed and disappeared. A few minutes later he returned, hands held in the air for her inspection "All clean." He continued his trek until he towered over her, something unfamiliar in his eyes.

Admiration?

"You do good work, Dakota Kelly. That bathroom looks like a million bucks."

A warm glow spread throughout her, like a flower warmed by the summer sun. "Thanks. I'm ecstatic about how it turned out. The tile that's behind the vanity was on sale. Doesn't it look great?"

He nodded. "Better than great. And the floors look amazing, too. That laminate you installed in the bathroom perfectly matches the wood floors. Mind if I take a look at the kitchen?"

"Be my guest." Dakota stood and followed him.

"Whoa." Chance spun in a slow circle, his eyes taking in the demolition. "When you said all torn up, you meant it."

The walls and ceilings were down to bare studs, and she'd ripped out the old linoleum to reveal the subfloor. All accomplished through her raging fury, spurred on by Chance's absence.

Now his gaze focused on her, his voice soft and low. "Between finishing the bathroom and tearing out the old kitchen, you've been one busy lady. Had time for writing?"

"A little." Little was the perfect word. Mark Twain would be proud. It was as though someone had stuffed all her words in a bottle and corked it tight. At some point, she had to find her muse and drag her back, kicking and screaming, if need be. Then she had to find some way to buy Chance's half of the house once this project was over. If not she'd be forced to sell and use her half of the proceeds to start over somewhere else. Based on her confused emotions at the moment, that might be a better idea anyway.

Chance peered around the room once more. "Well, I have some groceries in the truck, just in case you were amenable to me fixing you dinner, but I guess that's out of the question now." He turned his head to stare into her eyes. "You can't live on Fritos and bean dip. Want to join me at my house for dinner?"

Mesmerized by the lights dancing within those bottomless pools of his, one word tumbled from her lips. "Sure." What? How had that happened?

A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Good. Daisy and I'll wait in the living room while you get your shoes on."

All the way up the stairs, Dakota gave herself several internal kicks and punches. What had possessed her to say yes to his offer? It certainly wasn't the food, because right now her stomach turned somersaults, leaving a queasy, uneasy feeling in its wake. A few minutes later, her resolve reinforced to keep an emotional distance between them, she returned to the room.

Chance stood by the bookshelf she'd fabricated from a few old pieces of lumber and some cinder blocks. He held one of her books in his hands, but looked up as she entered. "I see you like A.K. Aston's books, too. Great writer."

The warm feeling returned, spreading through her insides like a Texas wildfire. How about that? Chance Johnson liked her books.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

K
rater climbed into the deer stand and took his position beside the high-range directional microphone. His new toy easily picked up sounds across the pasture. Surrounded by the cedar, live oak, and wild fruit trees which bordered this part of the creek, the stand was practically invisible. Even if it weren't, no one in this part of the country would question an average-looking man dressed in camouflage clothing climbing into a deer stand.

He brought binoculars to his eyes and adjusted the depth until he focused in on Amy. A contented smile settled on his thick lips. With her hair back to its original red color, she barely resembled the woman in online photos and the pictures he'd snapped without her knowledge. It really mattered very little whether her hair was blond or red. All he cared about was putting the plan into action that would finally make her his.

Laughter rang out from across the field that separated them. He quickly shifted the binoculars, his smile replaced by steel-cold anger. So her friend was back again today, was he? Krater mentally checked off the facts he'd acquired about Chance Johnson. A nurse with a reputation for helping people in distress and medical emergencies, his face had been severely scarred by an accident which claimed the lives of his parents. After that, he'd lived with his ailing grandfather until he passed, currently working at the hospital and spending every spare minute out at the farm with Amy. He pinched his lips together. Well, he'd do whatever he had to do to keep the man otherwise occupied.

Krater watched the two for several more minutes as they engaged in their childish horseplay. Their laughter quadrupled as a chase ensued and ended with shrieks of laughter. The lanky nurse slipped in the mud, and their game of tag came to a halt. Amy doubled over in laughter, then made her way to his side, a hand extended. A second later, her slight scream sounded as she fell to the muddy ground beside him.

A sudden movement caught Krater's attention. From the direction of the house a German Shepherd bounded, barking, growling, teeth bared. Chance brought an arm up to protect his face, while Amy bolted to her feet, yelling at the top of her lungs. "No, Daisy. Stop!" She yanked hard on the dog's collar, which allowed Chance the opportunity to stand. Hmm, fear in her voice, which proved she cared for Chance a little too much for his liking.

"Well, at least I know she does what she's supposed to do." Chance still sat in the mud, his knees drawn to his chest.

Amy continued to scold. "Bad dog, Daisy, bad dog."

"Don't get onto her. She thought I was hurting you. It's her job to protect you." Now the man rose to his feet.

Amy petted the dog, who sat obediently at her feet. "I made sure to push the storm door shut all the way when we left the house. How did she get out?"

The tall Texan strode to the end of his pickup and looked toward the house. "Uh, you're not gonna like this too much."

The comment forced Amy to a run. She slowed as she surveyed the damage. "Just great. Now we need to replace the screen door, too." She placed both hands on her hips.

Oh, she was going to be so much fun once he claimed her as is. Krater brought the binoculars down slowly, his lips puckered in thoughtful pose, his eyes narrowed, his left hand cupping his now-scraggly chin. Somewhere in the tangle of miscellaneous facts he knew about Chance Johnson lay at least one piece of information he could use against them both. It was just a matter of finding it. At some point in the past, Amy had to have known Chance Johnson for his grandfather to put such an odd inclusion in his will. Maybe that was his answer. Now to come up with a plan to dispose of the dog.

Krater climbed from the deer stand, careful not to slip in the heavy rubber galoshes he'd worn, and slogged his way back toward the hideaway. This unusually wet weather could be a problem, especially if more rain came. Already the creek that lay between his location and Amy was swollen and flooded. Impassable, thanks to the almost washed-out bridge. In addition, the low-lying pasture land on either side of the creek was muddy, slick, and difficult to traverse. With every step, his boots gathered more mud. By the time he reached his place, the boots weighed considerably more than they had when he'd left a half hour earlier.

He sat on a rock near the entrance and removed the boots, doing all he could to avoid a layer of mud beneath his recently-manicured nails. Leaving the boots near the front entrance, but hidden behind a tree, Krater carefully followed his regular protocol and checked the door. Good. No signs of tampering with his lead wires. No one had inadvertently--or purposefully, for that matter--stumbled upon his lair while he was away.