Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1)

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  Mirage trotted to the water tub and sloshed his big head back and forth in the water, spraying some over the fence onto Boone’s chest.

  “See?” He pointed to Mirage. “He wants his treats, too.”

  As if to prove the point, Mirage moved closer to the fence and stomped a hoof three times.

  “Okay, okay.” Boone ducked through the fence and gave Mirage his carrots.

  Just as he finished checking all the gates and making certain the place was secure, Dirk waved to him from the porch. “Morning, Boone.”

  Boone waved back. “Morning, Dirk.”

  “Come in for breakfast.”

  Boone’s stomach growled and he smiled. “On my way.”

  Chapter 9

  Daisy heard the footsteps first. She bounded up from her chair and met Portia at the bottom of the stairs. “Baby! You’re up.”

  Portia leaned into her mother’s hug. “Is Dad cooking bacon?”

  Daisy nodded. “He is. Scrambled eggs. Blueberry pancakes. The works. He just can’t stop cooking, he’s so glad to be back home.” She kissed her daughter’s cheeks and forehead with loud “mwah!” sounds, over and over again, letting go only when she heard Portia’s stomach growl.

  “Morning, princess.” Dirk turned from the stove where he flipped pancakes with a large spatula. “Hungry?”

  Daisy glanced at her husband and smiled. She loved the way he acted as if this were any old morning. As if they’d done this every day of their lives. As if Portia hadn’t just come home from God knew what horrors.

  If anyone could bring their daughter back to health, it was Dirk, with his quiet, unassuming ways.

  Portia settled in a seat next to Daisy, and looked up as Boone entered from the back door.

  “Morning, all.” Boone eased into the room and went to the cupboard to take down a few cups. “Anyone else want coffee?”

  Portia nodded with a weak, “Please.”

  As if he lived there—and Daisy realized he probably felt as if he did after the last six months—he poured a cup for Portia and himself, then glanced at Portia again. “You still like cream and sugar?”

  The frail girl nodded again. “Uh huh.”

  Daisy watched Boone go about the task of pouring the coffee and milk, adding and stirring sugar. The boy who’d grown up next door had matured into a rugged, good-looking man. With a heaving heart, she realized how very much they owed this good neighbor. She and Dirk would never be able to pay him back. But she also knew he’d never expect or want to be compensated. He’d just taken over the farm because that’s what good neighbors do. She sighed, smiling so wide at her daughter she felt her face would break.

  She’s home.

  My baby’s really home.

  Her heart fluttered a little, and she realized she hadn’t felt such joy since long before Portia disappeared. Oh, there was a tingle of happiness when she saw Grace finally married to Anderson. But even that was so tainted by Portia’s absence, it had been bittersweet.

  Dirk uncovered the hot eggs and slid huge portions onto four plates, laid bacon beside each with tongs, and tossed two pancakes next to the eggs, dealing them out like cards. Next, he walked around the table like an experienced waiter, deftly filling their orange juice glasses.

  “Hope you’re all hungry. There’s more where this came from.”

  Daisy looked at her husband in awe. It suddenly struck her. When had he become so self-sufficient and helpful in the kitchen?

  Thinking back, she realized it was when Portia disappeared. She’d gone berserk for a while, not eating, acting crazy with grief and panic. And Dirk had stepped up and done it all. Horses. The haying. Meals. Laundry. The bills.

  He’d taken such good care of her.

  But who’d taken care of him?

  She felt a stab of guilt.

  No one.

  Yet, he’d continued with his solid, comforting presence. He’d been there at her side, tending to her needs. He’d been her rock.

  She watched her daughter bend over her plate and inhale the food. Another stab of worry hit her.

  Hadn’t she eaten at all? She was skin and bones, and it was obvious she’d been deprived of food. Would she get sick eating so much with a shrunken stomach?

  She started to say something about it, but before she could, Portia stopped, looked at her father, and teared up.

  “What’s wrong, honey? Don’t you like it?” Dirk said.

  A small sob escaped the girl, but she stifled it. “No, it’s just…”

  Daisy’s heart constricted, and she put an arm around her shoulder. “Oh, honey. We know. It’s so good to have you home again.”

  Portia straightened, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Dirk made a motion with his hand as if shooing away a fly. “No worries any more, darling. You’re home. You’re safe.”

  A car door opened and closed out in the yard.

  Portia froze and looked nervously toward the window. “I hope so.”

  “You’re with family now, honey,” Dirk continued. “And if you have reason to think there’s danger, you let us know.” He smiled at her, though his eyes darted to the window and back. “When you’re ready.”

  Daisy repeated his words, running her hands over her daughter’s arm. “When you’re ready. Like Dad said.”

  Portia nodded, but didn’t say anything. She took another sip of coffee and began to eat again.

  When the food was gone and the conversation waned, Dirk stood to clear the table.

  Boone rose quickly. “No, sir. You relax. I’m on dish duty this morning. Spend time with Portia. Maybe she’ll be strong enough to take a tour around the barn. She hasn’t met—”

  Before he could finish, the kitchen door flew open.

  Grace stood wide-eyed and expectant in the morning light, her gaze fastened on her sister.

  Chapter 10

  Portia blinked, staring at her sister.

  Grace stood frozen in the doorway. She had grown from a gawky teenager into a curvaceous young woman, reminiscent of a Renoir beauty, with creamy skin and big eyes, long flowing honey-colored hair, with a trim waist and full hips.

  “Portia!” The girl broke the trance and stumbled toward her sister.

  Portia pushed back from the table and stood, meeting her weeping sister with surprise. The last time she’d seen her, Grace had said she hated her, and that she hoped Portia would just “disappear from the face of the earth.”

  Well, she got her wish.

  As if reading her mind, the young girl sobbed words full of remorse. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t want you to go away.”

  Portia couldn’t answer. Hot tears spilled from her eyes.

  Her little sister spoke so fast, the words tumbled over one another. “You’re skin and bones! What happened to you? Where were you? We searched and searched…”

  Again, the words froze on Portia’s lips, but she clung to her sister and listened while the girl wept and babbled on about all they’d been through, how they’d tried so hard to find her.

  Finally, with a deep gulping breath, Grace stopped and released her tight grip on Portia, turning slightly toward the sound of the kitchen door swinging open.

  A tall man in his early forties ducked inside, rolling two suitcases behind him. Brushing aside his sandy hair turning silver at the temples, he searched the room until his gaze fell on the two sisters, still holding tight to each other.

  “Anderson,” Dirk said. “Come on inside. I’d like you to meet my daughter, Portia.”

  The man her father called Anderson left the bags at the door and ambled forward, a quiet humility accompanying him. When he reached the girls, Grace slipped an arm around his waist and drew him close. “Honey, this is my sister, Portia. Portia, this is my husband, Anderson Rockwell.”

  When Anderson gently clasped her hand, Portia felt her initial panic dissipate. This was a gentle man, whose eyes spoke of past sorrows. She liked him immediately.

  “Anderson,” she said
. “Nice to meet you.”

  She noticed her mother’s relieved smile out of the corner of her eye.

  Relieved that she hadn’t screamed at the big man’s approach? Relieved she’d acted civil?

  Another layer of fear was shed, and she felt herself relax even more. “I’m so sorry I missed your wedding.” Turning to her sister, she touched her face. “You must’ve been a beautiful bride.”

  And then it hit her again. The great losses. The missed wedding. The wedding she was sure she’d never have, because she’d probably never get over this whole rotten mess.

  Boone nodded to Anderson and Grace from the sink, where he’d just started washing dishes. “Nice to see you two again.”

  To Portia’s surprise, Grace turned quickly toward Boone. “Oh! I didn’t know you were here! What a nice surprise.” She left her sister’s side and hurried to the sink. “How are things on your family’s farm? Are you managing to keep it all together?”

  The words were innocent, but the fluttering of her sister’s lashes and the way she canted her hips made Portia wonder about her intentions.

  Am I imagining it?

  Anderson didn’t acknowledge the overt flirtation. “We’re very glad to see you home again. Your sister’s been sick with worry. Never, ever gave up. She was just on the news last week, for the second anniversary of your disappearance, appealing for help. She made it her job, you know. To find you.”

  “Really?” Portia raised one eyebrow. “She used to hate me.”

  Anderson chuckled. “She’s grown up a bit since you left.”

  Really?

  Portia watched Grace giggle and walk her fingers up Boone’s arm. He shifted sideways, looking uncomfortable.

  Was she really acting like this in front of her husband? In front of the whole family?

  With a huge effort, Portia spoke, clearer and louder this time. “I want to see my horses.”

  ***

  Boone turned away from Grace, sliding the last of the dishes into the dishwasher. “I’ll do it,” he offered, glancing at Portia.

  Cripes, what the hell is Grace doing?

  He pulled away again. She’d have to get the point pretty soon.

  Sure, Grace had developed into a beautiful girl, gorgeous, even. But she was married. And the nice guy who’d rescued her from her past life with drugs stood not ten feet away.

  What is she thinking?

  She’d made passes at him before, when he and Dirk had driven her up to the rehab clinic. She’d sat on his lap in the truck and slung her arms around his neck when her father disappeared into the gas station to get coffee.

  On other occasions, she’d plastered herself against him at every chance when she needed money for drugs, had even stalked him at his own farm once, waiting for him to come in from the fields. He’d never given her a penny, and she’d always stormed off, furious at him.

  He tried to forget that time when he’d almost succumbed to her ripe lips pushing eagerly into his. She’d ambushed him, reaching down and stroking him that one summer night, and he’d had to forcibly remove her hand from him, but not before his body had reacted to the sudden touch.

  He hadn’t been about to take advantage of a kid whose next fix depended on her seducing a dumb farmer.

  Since the wedding, she’d calmed down, according to Dirk’s reports. But he really hadn’t seen much of the little vixen since then. And now, here she was, reverting to her childish behavior in front of her husband and the Lamonts.

  Hell.

  He shook off Grace’s hand, which had somehow grabbed his again, and approached Portia.

  “May I?” he said, offering her his arm and gesturing toward the barn. “There are several horses who are very eager to see you again.”

  Portia paled when he approached, so he slowed and backed up a step. “You still want to go?”

  She forced a weak smile. “Uh huh. Long as no one cares that I’m in my pajamas.”

  Boone snorted a laugh. “I don’t think the horses will care.” He turned toward Dirk. “Maybe your dad would like to come with us?”

  Dirk jumped up, kissed the top of Daisy’s head, and smiled widely. “I’ve missed those critters way too much. Come on. Let’s go get reacquainted.”

  Chapter 11

  Boone wasn’t surprised when Portia had shrunk from him, and frankly had been almost relieved she didn’t scream in panic.

  When she faltered on the porch steps, her father grabbed her arm, and kept his hold on her until they reached the barn.

  Boone followed at a safe distance. Good thing she trusts somebody, he thought.

  Dirk Lamont was pretty good at hiding his feelings, but today glints of joy flashed from his eyes. The man couldn’t stop staring at his daughter’s face, and he touched her hand, shoulder, and back frequently, as if to assure himself she was actually there.

  After two tortured years, Boone didn’t blame him, not one bit.

  Impressed with the way the family held back asking the obvious questions, he found it hard not to burst out with “Where were you?” and “Who took you?” But he’d seen the panic in her eyes when Grace asked, and he’d pushed his own questions down, much as they begged to be blurted out.

  He watched father and daughter walking—no, it was more like shuffling—toward the barn. Portia looked so small and frail.

  She’d always been an open and honest girl. He’d admired that. But now she was changed, severely damaged.

  What in hell had happened to her?

  As they approached the barn, he came up beside them and noticed her eyes brighten, her step quicken. She stood a bit taller beside her father.

  “Where’s Mirage?” she asked, searching the paddock by the driveway.

  “He was outside a little while ago, but I saw him head for the barn, so I expect he’s eating breakfast in his stall,” Boone said. “I told him you were coming and he’s kind of excited to see you again.”

  Dirk flashed him a grateful smile, and opened the sliding barn door with a well-practiced shove. “Here we go. Let’s go say hello.”

  Dirk had been gone to that cancer center for so long, it must’ve killed him being away from his beloved farm and horses. Living in the city he hated, waiting for the woman he loved to respond to some new fangled treatment. Waiting for her to die?

  Thank God one of the meds had finally worked.

  Boone couldn’t believe they were actually home. He’d often pictured the worst. The phone call from the city, saying it was over. The funeral. The sadness that would permeate the farm forever.

  But it hadn’t gone down that way, and he thanked God as they walked across the rough floorboards toward the stalls.

  ***

  Portia’s heart swelled when Mirage’s big head turned toward her. He nickered softly, and swiveled away from his hayrack, ears pricked in her direction.

  “Hey, big fella.” She lifted a hand to stroke his forelock.

  The gentle stallion nosed her, pushing his soft muzzle against her neck.

  She reached up to hug him, and he stood still, letting her cry against his black coat. Running her fingers through his thick wavy mane, she inhaled the pungent but wonderful scent of horse, feeling his whiskers tickle her neck.

  Dirk and Boone spoke in low whispers about the farm, the mares, the fences. She knew they were being polite, turning away from her as she had her private moments with Mirage. For that, she was grateful.

  On the other hand, it was humiliating. Being such a wuss. Being so scared and crying all the time. She wanted badly to move past this new fragile creature she’d become.

  Problem was, she wasn’t sure where to begin.

  She felt no control over her own body anymore. It was as if the mechanism that used to make it walk and smile and talk had completely corroded. And the old “I won’t cry in front of people” filter had frayed and blown away in the wind.

  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.