Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1) (6 page)

She was a mess.

And it was all
his
fault.

Her darkening mood was broken when the kitchen door opened and both dogs bounded outside, raced to the barn, and leapt on her, madly licking her hands. The expressions of joy on their faces made her smile, and she dried her tears with the back of her hand, trying to stay standing under their assault.

“Oh, you sweet pups. Look at you. Cupcake, this is Mirage.”

The big horse lowered his head, snorted, and tossed his mane, as if to show his superiority.

Boone leaned down to pat Cupcake. “You’re right, this little scruffy critter hasn’t met him yet.” He loosed a wide smile. “She isn’t your usual farm dog, Portia. More of a lap dog, I think.”

Portia felt a smile tug at her lips. “I know. I always loved the big dogs, like Boomer, here.” She knelt down to give both dogs hugs. “But she is the best pal a girl could ever wish for.”

As if to milk the situation, Cupcake stood on her hind legs and turned in a circle, both paws in begging position.

Portia felt something tickling her throat, and with surprise, realized it was the beginning of a laugh. “I think she was a circus dog in her past life.”

She jumped when Boone bellowed and slapped his thigh. “She’s a corker, that one.”

She tensed, then stopped the stupid emotions and forced a smile. “You think so?”

He nodded. “Absolutely. I was just picturing her in a little pink tutu, jumping through hoops.”

Portia felt another layer of darkness crack and peel away, and for a moment she actually felt…what was it? Happy? Pleased?

It was a foreign sensation, but she relished it.

Her father crouched down beside her and patted Cupcake, who nuzzled his hand. “Yep. She may not look it, but I think she’ll be a fine farm dog. She’s got spirit, that’s for sure.”

Cupcake barked, then noticed the orange cat jumping down from the loft. With legs flying, she tackled the startled feline and began to sniff her from head to tail.

“Riley might not take to that dog-slobbering,” Boone chuckled.

The cat swiped at Cupcake, causing her to yelp and back away.

“She’ll learn,” Dirk said, leaning down to scoop the cat into his arms. “Riley won’t take much guff from anyone.”

Portia raised a hand to stroke the cat. “I don’t know this one, Dad.”

“He’s one of Buttermilk’s kittens. Remember her?”

She smiled. “Of course.”

“She’s around here somewhere,” Boone said. “She’s still the boss.”

Portia glanced down the aisle. “Can I see the rest of my horses now?”

Boone stepped aside and swept an arm before him. “Thought you’d never ask. Let’s go hunt up some of your old favorites.”

Chapter 12

A
fter spending an hour meeting and greeting her old friends and learning the names of some of the new foals, Portia left the men to talk farm business on the porch. Exhausted, she shuffled back inside where she found Grace and her mother cuddled together on the couch.

The aroma of baking cornbread filled the air, and in that one swift moment of recognition, she knew she was really truly home.

Cornbread. Warm, buttery, crumbling in her fingers. She almost melted with the idea of it.

Leaning against the kitchen doorway, she watched Grace laughingly play with her mother’s hair. A stab of jealousy pricked her. There was a new closeness between her mom and sister, one that hadn’t been there before.

When had
that
happened? Since the wedding?

Portia had always been the “good” girl, and even had suspected she was her mother’s favorite. But now she felt so removed from everything, so distant. Sure, she got some welcoming hugs when she came home, but it felt like everyone was tiptoeing around her because of what happened.

Of course they were. She still hadn’t told them. She’d have to face it before long.

Dread grew in her stomach.

To talk about it…oh, God. Even to
think
about it, made her nauseated.

Grace trilled a laugh. “I like it. It grew in real nice, Mom. I think you have a little more curl than you used to.”

Daisy reached up to pat her short gray hair. “I’m so glad to be done with that danged chemo.”

Portia glanced up at the ceiling, wondering at the footsteps overhead. In a flash she realized it must be Anderson walking around upstairs in the guest bedroom, opening and closing drawers and closet doors.

He’s too good to Grace, bringing in the suitcases, putting away their clothes.
An uncharitable thought hit her.
She doesn’t deserve such a nice guy.

Immediately, guilt struck her.

Just because I suffered doesn’t mean my sister shouldn’t be happy.

She shifted against the cool paint of the doorframe.
What’s wrong with me? Why am I so mean now?

She sighed, realizing she had a lot of family history to overcome. All the pain Grace had put her family through with the drugs and court and rehab…it was still there. She hadn’t seen her sister recover, or even apologize. She hadn’t had two years to forgive and forget. It all felt so fresh. But it wasn’t fresh. She had simply stagnated, pulled out of life by the bastard who took her. Put on a shelf to dance to his needs, while the rest of life went on and on without her.

And then of course, there was that weird display earlier, where Grace flirted with Boone right in front of everyone.

How do I feel about that?

She let her mind free up a bit, but one wandering thought wouldn’t go away.

I’m jealous.

Jealous? Why?

You ninny, you were jealous of Grace and Boone.

After all, Boone was
her
friend,
her
riding pal,
her
childhood crush.

Sure, she shrank from him in the beginning. He was just so
big
now, so different. But inside, he was the same old Boone. Gentle. Caring. Funny.

Wasn’t he?

She faced the thought full on. She
had
been jealous of Grace flirting with Boone. She felt possessive of him, although she wasn’t ready to have him touch her or get too close. She didn’t know if she’d ever let any man come within a foot of her now, except her father and Doc—and maybe Anderson. There was something about Anderson that put her at ease. Maybe it was the kindness filling his eyes, the gentle smile on his lips? Either way, she liked him already.

But Boone was all male, so big and muscled and…such a cowboy.

Her mother turned, suddenly noticing her in the doorway.

“Honey, come inside.” She patted the seat next to her. “Sit with us.”

Portia walked over and sat on the other side of her mother, leaning into her embrace. “Hi, again, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetie.”

Grace smiled at her from the other side, and when her eyes shifted to a quizzical glance, Portia was afraid she was going to ask her again about what happened.

She braced herself.

Before her sister could ask the dreaded question, the sound of tires on crunching gravel filled the air.

Portia stiffened. “Oh my God.”

Daisy frowned. “Honey? What’s wrong?”

Portia scrambled to her feet, her heart hammering hard beneath her ribs. She broke into a cold sweat and ran to the window, but couldn’t see the car. “It’s
him
. Oh, God. He’s here.” She hurried toward the cellar stairs. “No, no, no!”

Jerking open the old wooden door, she flipped on the switch and stumbled down the rickety stairs, fell at the bottom, then got up and raced for the small room at the end of the dirt floor cellar. The cold storage room stood waiting, its flaked blue-painted door ajar.

Quickly, she eased herself through the crack and pulled on the overhead light.

The smell of rotting turnips hit her full force. With a shock, she realized the storage room had been deserted last year, and the few remaining vegetables had been left to wither and rot.

Uncaring, she pushed the door shut behind her and shoved a large garbage can full of sand behind it, using every ounce of her waning strength. Trembling all over, she headed for the far corner and sank against the rough stone wall, ignoring the nasty cut on her knee that seeped blood through her pajama pants.

Sobs escaped her, slow at first, then they built to a wailing crescendo. Shoulders shaking, heart pounding, she cried so hard she was sure
he’d
hear her. Trying to muffle the sound, she pressed her mouth into her sleeve, pushing so hard she bruised the inside of her lip against her teeth.

NO. NO. NO. NO. NO!

Help me, dear God. Please help me.

Footsteps descended the stairway and she panicked once again.

Someone’s coming.

Oh, no. Please. No.

“Portia?”

The voice outside sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t relax. Not yet. He could be tricking her, like he used to.

Someone pushed open the door a crack, shoving the sand bucket a few inches toward her.

Realizing with a start that her mouth was free, that no tape held her sounds captive, she screamed, long and loud. The shuddering sounds echoed through the damp stone room.

Chapter 13

“
I
t’s just me, sweetheart. It’s Dad.”

With a shaky sigh of relief, Portia opened her eyes. “Daddy?”

Her father pushed the door open, knocking the sand over. He rolled the bucket aside and eased into the room, crouching beside her. “It’s okay. Nobody’s going to hurt you. I promise.”

A new torrent of sobs flowed from her. She clung to her father, rocking back and forth.

He stroked her hair, and held her tight. “You just breathe, now, princess. Just breathe.”

She caught a glimpse of Boone in the doorway, worry written on his handsome features.

His deep voice rumbled in the cold stone room. “Is she okay?”

Dirk nodded over Portia’s shoulder. “She will be. We just need a little time.”

“Okay, then. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

Portia hiccupped and coughed, then tried to regain control. She looked up suddenly. “Wait. Who drove into the yard?”

Her father didn’t answer straight away.

“Dad? Who was it?”

“I sent them away, but they’ll be back tomorrow. It’s Sheriff Dunne and Deputy Mills.”

Shrinking away from him, she shook her head. “I can’t talk to them.”

“I know. That’s why I asked them to come back.”

“What did they want?”

“Just to know what happened, sweetie. They’ve been following your case since the day you disappeared. They have reports to file, a case to close.”

“What did they say? Did they tell you anything new?”

“Like what?” he said, frowning.

She kept the words from coming out, but her brain poured through all the questions. 

Did you know he was dead, ma’am?

Did you kill him, ma’am?

Did you steal his money and truck, ma’am?

What did he do to you, ma’am?

She shuddered again. “Nothing.”

“Honey?” He tilted her chin up so she was forced to meet his eyes. “Do you want to see a doctor?”

“I’ve seen Doc,” she said.

“No, I mean a psychiatrist. Someone you can talk to. They might prescribe something to—”

“No drugs!” she yelled, instantly embarrassed at the volume of her voice. “I’m sorry, Dad. I don’t want to be drugged up. I just want to be home. With you, and Mom. And my animals.”

He stood, helping her straighten up beside him. “Okay, sweetie. If that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get.”

With a final hug, she leaned against him, her words muffled in his shirt. “Thank you.”

“We’ll worry about the Sheriff tomorrow, okay? Right now, let’s get you upstairs and comfortable. I don’t think I can take the smell of those old turnips one more minute.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Okay?”

She sighed, long and low. “Okay.”

Together they made their way toward the stairs and back up to the living room, where everyone busied themselves with something, generous in their intent not to embarrass her.

Her mother flipped through a magazine, pointing out fashions to Grace, who tried to seem interested, but kept shooting furtive glances at her older sister. Anderson sat quietly beside them on the couch, reading Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp, by Joan H. Young.

Boone ran a dishcloth over a glass carafe, then set it carefully into the coffee maker. “Anyone want another cup?” he asked.

Dirk helped Portia to the stairs. “I’ll have another when I come down, Boone. Thanks.” He turned to his wife. “You want to go upstairs with her, honey? I think she could use some Mom-time.”

Portia shot him a grateful smile, grateful that her father was so in tune with her needs.

Grace jumped up as if to join them, but to Portia’s relief, her father waved the girl away. “Just one at a time right now, sweetie. I think that’ll be best.” He gave the girl a conciliatory glance. “You two sisters can chat together later. Maybe we’ll play some Scrabble or something, huh?”

Grace stared after them, her expression pouty. “Okay. I guess.” She plopped back onto the couch next to Anderson. “I only came all the way from Albany to see her.”

Daisy chided her, climbing the stairs behind Portia and Dirk. “Now, honey. Give her time. You’ll be here for the whole weekend, right?”

To Portia, her sister’s response sounded like she had when she was a little girl.

“Yes, Mom. I know you’re right.”

Arm-in-arm, Portia and her mother ascended the stairs.

Chapter 14

D
aisy watched Portia flop onto the bed and roll sideways into a ball.  She slid onto the mattress behind her shaken daughter, wrapping her own weakened arms around her. “Oh, my sweet girl.”

She nodded thanks to her husband, who had been standing by the bed as if he didn’t know what else to do to help.