Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1)

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  “Is she still in college?”

  “No. When you disappeared, she went nuts.”

  Portia almost stopped breathing. “I thought she hated me.”

  “Don’t think so. She helped us put posters all over town. Made phone calls. Went on the radio to appeal to whoever took you. The whole enchilada.”

  Portia suddenly remembered the newspaper clippings he had put up on his corkboard, showing the whole family and each of their appeals to the kidnapper. He’d collected them from all over, relishing the news coverage.

  “Did she go back to drugs?”

  “No. Your mother finally convinced her to return to school, even though it didn’t last.” Boone shifted on his chair. “It might be hard for you to imagine, but she’s married now. She met a professor who wanted to take care of her. Older guy. At first your folks were against him, but he sort of won them over. Happened really fast, too.”

  “She’s married?” A sense of loss filled her. There had been a wedding while she was gone. White dress. Flowers. Family and friends. And she’d missed it all.

  Anger built again in her gut. He’d taken that away from her. He’d taken it all away from her.

  “Yep, she’s a married lady now. Still struggling, goes to therapy twice a week, and occasionally she disappears for a few days, but she comes home again. Poor old Anderson has a hell of a time keeping her in line. But she’s better than when you knew her.”

  He stood and looked out the window. “Aside from dealing with your disappearance, everything’s been sort of okay. The horses are fine. But I think Mirage missed you.” He took a deep breath, and then turned to her, his clear gray eyes searching hers. “Now it’s your turn. What the hell happened to you, Portia?”

  Inside, she felt her throat freeze, her heart drummed against her chest. The words would barely come. “I can’t…I can’t talk about it. Not yet. I’m sorry.”

  He dropped back into the chair, stretching out his long legs and clasping his fingers over his stomach. A long, soft sigh escaped his lips. “It’s okay. You take your time.”

  She tore her eyes away from his and leaned over to take a sip of soup, swallowing several mouthfuls greedily now that it was cooler, then ate four more crackers and drained the water glass.

  “Is it okay? You want more?”

  She looked at him with weary eyes. “No. I’m good, thanks.” She pushed the tray back. “Who just called?”

  He gave her a crooked smile. “My brother. Dad’s prize cow just had her baby. Looks like it’s gonna be a nice one.”

  She relaxed. Not the police. Not him. “Did you tell your brother about me?”

  “Not yet. I thought you might need a bit of time before the whole village descends on you. Figured I ought to get your permission first.”

  Grateful, she smiled, for the first time. “Thank you.”

  As if called to duty, he suddenly stood. “I need to tell your father. What do you want me to tell him?”

  “I’ll call him,” she said, pushing back the dishes. But as much as she tried to sit up straighter and before she could ask for her father’s hotel number, against her best efforts to keep her eyes open, she felt herself being drawn into sleep. Within five minutes, she’d succumbed.

  Chapter 3

  Boone watched her sleep for half an hour. She seemed exhausted, completely wrung out. And she’d been hungry. Starving, really.

  Why?

  Where had she been? And where’d she get that old wreck of a truck with Wisconsin plates that she parked behind the barn? If she escaped from a kidnapper, wouldn’t she have gone to the cops?

  If not, why not?

  If she did, they should’ve arranged transport home. Right? Or at least to a hospital? Why hadn’t they fed her?

  And where the hell did she come across that little scruffy dog?

  Maybe he was all wet. Maybe Portia had just left home for some unfathomable reason. Maybe she’d been living on the road, hand-to-mouth, never enough to eat.

  He’d have to ask her again about the details, when she seemed calmer, when that scared, panicked look faded from her eyes. And maybe she’d tell it all to her folks. Why had he expected her to open up to him, anyway?

  Meanwhile, he needed to call the Lamonts. He leaned over to pet Boomer and Cupcake, checking to see that they still had water in the big stainless steel bowl he’d set in the corner. Earlier, Cupcake had drunk her fill, then settled on the bed beside Portia, as if she knew she were home.

  He slipped out the door, pulling it closed. Downstairs, he dialed Dirk’s number.

  The phone rang once and Dirk’s no-nonsense voice answered. “Lamont here.”

  “Dirk? It’s Boone.”

  “Boone.” He hesitated. “I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t call last week. It’s been crazy here.”

  “No problem. Listen,” Boone said. “I have something important to tell you. Are you sitting down?”

  He could almost feel Dirk stiffen. “What is it? Are the horses okay?”

  “It’s Portia, Dirk.” He shifted the cell to his other ear and looked up the stairs, as if she might wake up. “She’s home.”

  Dirk’s phone must have clattered to the floor. Boone heard him cry out, then the sound of him scrambling to get it back to his ear.

  “Boone? Oh my God. Is she okay?”

  Boone tried to sound calm. “She’s alive. But she’s skin and bones and totally exhausted. She hasn’t told me much yet.” He glanced up the stairs again. “She wants to see you both. And I had to tell her why you were gone. I’m sorry.”

  Dirk expelled a long breath, and he choked out the words. “I can’t believe it. She’s really home? Did she tell you what happened?”

  “No. She hasn’t said much about it, like I said. Seems pretty messed up to me. You know, like whatever happened to her was bad, really bad.” He paused, waiting for Dirk, but the man didn’t say anything for a few beats. “You want me to get her on a plane down there when she’s fit to travel?”

  Dirk finally answered. “No. I’m bringing Daisy home tomorrow. She’s on this new medicine, and so far, she’s holding her own.”

  “Whoa. Excellent news,” Boone said. “Glad to hear it. And you three need to be together.”

  “Can I speak with her?”

  “She just fell asleep. Want me to wake her?”

  “No, let her rest. I’m going back up to the room to tell Daisy. She’s gonna go ballistic. It’ll be all I can do to keep her in bed ’til tomorrow.”

  They hung up and Boone headed for the door. There were chores to be done. His father and brother could manage the dairy farm while he helped out at Bittersweet Hollow, and the Lamont horses needed their stalls cleaned. Straightening his shoulders, he headed outside.

  ***

  Dirk flew up the hospital stairs two at a time, his heart hammering beneath his ribs. He burst into his wife’s hospital room, bending over to catch his breath. “Daisy, I…”

  Daisy sat on the edge of the bed, disconnected for the first time in months from multiple IV lines. Tomorrow’s hospital release looked like it might actually happen.

  Her eyes danced with worry. “Dirk?” She stiffened, turning toward him. “Honey? What is it?”

  Dirk caught his breath and went to her side, taking her hands in his. “Baby, listen. It’s gonna be a shock.”

  She huffed. “Don’t torture me. Just spit it out.”

  “Sorry.” He straightened and locked eyes with her. “It’s Portia. She’s home.”

  There wasn’t much color in her cheeks to start with, but now she drained to pale gray. “What? Portia?”

  “She’s alive, honey. And she’s home. Boone just called.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes, flooding her cheeks. “Oh my God. My baby. She’s alive?” She jumped up, wobbly and weak, flinging herself onto him. “I knew she would come home!”

  “I know,” he said, distantly aware that his own cheeks were soaked and his shoulders shook as they held each other.


  After a few minutes, they pulled themselves together, and the questions tumbled one after the other. Dirk tried to answer her rapid-fire inquiries, but realized he knew very little. “She didn’t tell Boone much. Guess she was exhausted, fell asleep right away. But we’ll call her later, okay?”

  “Call her?” Daisy snorted. “Sure we will. But we’re going home. Now.”

  Pride welled within him. He knew she’d react this way. Hell, he’d felt the same, wanted to rent a car and drive right up there, cancel all previous arrangements. But he tried to stay calm. “You know our flight’s arranged for morning, right? And the hospital plans to discharge you at ten o’clock?”

  “We’re leaving, I don’t care who we have to kiss to get out of here today. Change the flight. I don’t care what it costs. I want to see her. Tonight.”

  Dirk straightened, knowing it would be tough to get Daisy released from the hospital, collect all the experimental meds, and arrange flights within the next few hours. But he would do it, for Portia. She needed them. And they needed her. His mind raced with thoughts of seeing his daughter again. Alive.

  Alive!

  He hadn’t realized how deep the fear had penetrated, how low his hopes had fallen. He kept thinking that she would certainly have contacted them if she were alive. Wouldn’t she? The idea had taken hold too deeply, entrenched in his subconscious. He realized with a start he’d almost lost all hope before this call. Almost.

  “I’ll do my best,” he said, grinning and kissing her wet cheeks. “You call Grace while I work on it, okay?”

  The sisters had fought like she-cats growing up, but when Portia disappeared, Grace went through hell. He thought that her sister’s reappearance and her mother’s sudden improvement with the new experimental meds just might be enough to bring her out of her depression.

  With resolve, he collared Daisy’s oncologist, Dr. Kareem, in the hallway, and began to beg. Come hell or high water, he would bring Daisy home as soon as humanly possible.

  Chapter 4

  Portia woke on her side with Boomer pressed behind her legs and Cupcake snuggled in her arms. She made a purring sound, yawned, and stretched.

  Nobody stood over the bed, leering at her. Her legs were free from bonds.

  She rubbed her tender ankles absentmindedly, although the sores had started to heal two days ago, when she’d broken free, when she’d left him, unmoving on the cabin porch.

  The sun had just dropped behind the Green Mountains, and she wondered what time it was. Her stomach rolled with hunger.

  A distant whinny thrilled her, filling her with an urgent desire to race out to the barn, throw her arms around Mirage’s neck, and head to the hills for a ride. But the weakness running through her arms and legs was palpable; she felt shaky, exhausted. She realized it was a miracle she’d even made it home in one piece.

  She needed to forget. Really forget. But it was hard to push him away, the memories bubbled beneath the surface of her consciousness, always nudging, always threatening to burst free and paralyze her.

  She shook her head.

  Don’t think about him.

  The kitchen door downstairs opened and closed. Water ran in the sink and she heard the clinking of a teakettle being filled and set on the stove.

  Portia sat up in bed, her head swimming.

  How had she even made it here? Sheer willpower? Probably the two cups of coffee and burger she’d had before she headed for the road.

  She felt debilitated, damaged. Needy.

  I want my parents.

  My parents.

  My mom.

  My mother has cancer.

  A wave of fear and worry burbled into her throat, and a raw sob escaped her just as Boone stuck his head in the doorway.

  She tried to bite back the cry, but it didn’t work, spewing forth in a harsh wave.

  Boone hurried to her side, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he sat on the chair he pulled up to the bed, one hand on the bedspread beside her—near—but not touching her hand.

  “I’m…I’m sorry,” she said, wailing. “It just hit me. My mom…has cancer?” Guilt slid through her. She should have escaped sooner. She should have—

  “Portia, listen. She’s coming home tonight. They’re on a plane. Your dad called an hour ago. They’re coming home.”

  He reached out to pat her hand, but she shrank back from him.

  He tried again, his voice even gentler now. “Your folks are coming home, Peaches. Home. And your mom’s doing better. The new meds are helping.”

  Peaches? Why is this stranger using my childhood nickname?

  She sat and rocked, heart pounding, trying to figure it out.

  Stop it!

  It’s just Boone, all grown up. No need to be scared.

  But she couldn’t push the raw fear from her chest, or open her arms for the hug she needed so desperately. She shifted back against the pillows and tried to force a smile, stuttering her words. “She’s…she’s coming home?”

  “They’re on their way now.” With a sigh of relief, the big man hoisted himself to his feet and grinned, standing over her. “Well, then. Things are looking up, right?”

  Inside, she trembled. His shadow fell over her, and this presence, this monstrous big form near her made her want to scream.

  She could scream now.

  Yes.

  Her mouth was free.

  She let it out.

  ***

  Boone watched the girl shy away from him, like a skittish filly, unused to human hands stroking her fur. Her eyes had grown wide, as if he’d pointed his rifle at her and threatened to shoot. But he’d just delivered good news. Great news. Daisy’s getting better, and—

  When she opened her mouth and let out the scream, his jaw dropped.

  “Portia. It’s okay. It’s just me, Boone.”

  The sound pierced his soul, sounding almost feral, like a coyote in pain. But this poor young woman who lay before him was quite human.

  She pulled back again and buried her head under the covers, sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Listen, Peaches.” He stepped back. “I’m not going to hurt you. Please. Don’t be afraid. It’s just me. Your riding buddy. Remember?”

  The weeping slowed a bit.

  “Remember when we used to ride up to the gully? When Monty threw you and I had to bind your ankle with my shirt? Remember that?”

  She slowed. Sniffled. And peeked out of the covers. “Boone?” The name came out in a child’s voice. Uncertain. Shy. Soft.

  “Yes, hon. It’s me. Now don’t you worry. We’re gonna take good care of you. Doc’s on the way. He just had to close his clinic and finish up. Should be here soon to take a look at you. That okay with you?”

  Fear stamped her face, but she seemed to pull together and gave a quick nod, answering in a small voice. “I guess so.”

  Chapter 5

  Doc Hardy looked into the trembling girl’s eyes with his penlight. He’d approached her very carefully. She’d been crying, and according to Boone, she’d let out a huge scream when he stood over her bed. Portia was in advanced trauma, nearing psychosis, if his analysis was correct. She needed serious help, and he prayed for wisdom while pulling up a chair beside her.

  “Honey, do you remember when I used to be your doc? When you were little?”

  She nodded, still not speaking.

  “Well, good. We had some pretty exciting times, especially with all your broken bones. You were a real daredevil, I must say.” He chuckled, trying to get a response.

  There it was. A tiny flickering at the edges of her mouth. An almost-smile.

  “I remember,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

  “You’re thin, dear. You haven’t had enough to eat. You’ll need lots of tender, loving care.”

  She stared at him with big, frightened eyes, but she let him check her reflexes, gently tapping her knees and ankles. Boone said she hadn’t allowed him to touch her, but he figured his white hair and familiar old face might have relaxe
d her a bit.

  He took out his scope and leaned forward. “May I listen?”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  He warmed the metal first, gently laying it against the girl’s chest, sliding it inside her buttoned blouse. “Sounds good and strong.”

  Doc watched Boone hovering in the background. The poor guy seemed overwhelmed. He meant well, had a great big heart, and was a hard working farmer, but somehow Doc didn’t think he’d ever had to deal with a woman in trauma before.

  “You wanna talk about where you’ve been, honey?” Doc asked. “We sure were worried about you. The whole county’s been searching for you, you know.”

  She closed her eyes and shuddered. “No. I can’t. Not yet.”

  With a reassuring pat on her shoulder, he sat back. “No problem, you just take your time. If you want, I can arrange someone for you to talk to. There’s a gal who…”

  “No! No thank you.” She turned away, her mouth tight.

  “Okay, hon. Well, listen. I need to get home to my mutts. I’ve got seven now, all rescues. And they like their dinner on time.” He stood and zipped his bag shut. “You call me if you need me, okay?”

  ***

  Portia watched the doctor put his stethoscope back into his old-fashioned leather bag. He’d always reminded her of Abe Lincoln: tall, lanky, bearded, with kind eyes and wise words. But now his hair and beard were white.

  When had that happened? She hadn’t really needed to see him in the past decade, because she’d been pretty lucky with her health.

  He smiled and nodded to her. “I’ll be back tomorrow after I close up shop. That okay with you?”

  She wanted to say, “Yes. Please come back,” but no words flowed from her lips. She raised one hand and slowly wiggled two fingers. He lifted his hand in a half-salute and disappeared into the hallway.

  Boone stood looking out the window, his face drawn. A sense of guilt flooded her, surging through her heart, arms, and legs.