Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1) (2 page)

“Whoa, hold on now. Won’t you let me help you?” he asked, eyeing her with concern.

Her face hardened. “No! I need my parents.”

He answered slowly. “I know. But like I said, they’re not here.”

She shot him a teary glance. “Then where are they?”

He slid his hand into his jeans pocket and rocked on his heels, not sure how to tell her. He had so many questions. So much to tell her. Where had she been for the past two years? Was she kidnapped like they originally thought? Or did she run away, like the cops began to think, when the investigators had seemed to give up hope.

He watched her face turn a chalkier shade of gray, then realized he hadn’t answered her. “Um. I’m sorry. They’re in New York City.”

She seemed disappointed, but the panic left her ravaged face. “Oh. A vacation? They used to love going to shows in the city.”

He stalled, scuffing the carpet with one well-worn boot. “Not exactly.”

Distrust filled her eyes. “What, then?”

“Um. Your mom isn’t well. They went to a clinic. It’s a special place where they’re doing experimental studies. You know, a research hospital. It’s called Sloan-Kettering.”

Her eyes searched his, already flooding with tears as if she knew the answer. “Research for
what
?”

He hesitated, then blurted it out. “Cancer. I’m sorry, Portia. But they’re hoping the new meds will—”

Her eyes rolled. She crumpled to the ground before he could catch her.

***

Portia woke in her own bed, in the lacy pink bedroom of her dreams.

She opened one eye, taking in the filmy curtains blowing softly in the window, the white bureau with blue, red, and yellow horse show ribbons fluttering on the mirror. Cupcake slept on the bed next to a big chocolate Labrador retriever.

“Boomer?” she croaked. The dog lifted his head, flapped his tail on the bedspread, and squirmed closer to lick her hand enthusiastically.

A voice came from the doorway. “He’s been staying at my house. Would have been too lonely all by himself, y’ know?”

In a flash, it all came back to her.

She was home. Home in her own soft bed, in her safe, pink bedroom. Home, at her family’s Vermont horse farm, with the beautiful Green Mountains all around. It wasn’t a dream this time. It was real.

In the next second, the awful truth stabbed her and she bolted upright. “My mother. I have to see her. How can I…”

Boone sailed across the room in three long strides. “Whoa, there. Doc’s coming out first. We’ve got to make sure you’re okay before you go gallivanting off to New York.”

“I'm fine,” she lied. She felt horrible. Weak and wobbly, she could barely sit up. “I think I just need food.”

His face darkened. “When’s the last time you ate?”

She frowned, as if trying to remember. “Um. I think yesterday.”

“Crap. I’ll be right back.” Turning, he disappeared into the hall.

She heard noises in the kitchen below. While she lay under the comforter trying to collect her thoughts, the phone rang.

Boone’s deep voice reverberated from the first floor, but she couldn’t make out every word. He hung up quickly, and within minutes, appeared in the doorway with a tray of steaming soup and crackers.

“There isn’t much in the cupboards,” he said apologetically. “Just some Campbell’s soup and a box of Saltines. Hope you like chicken ’n stars.”

“I have so many questions,” she said. “My mother. This place. The horses. What’s happened in the last two years? And what about my sister? Is she still in school? Is she okay? She was such a mess back then.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Whoa. Hold on, let me set this tray down first.” He laid the tray on the night table. “Can I help you sit up?”

She froze inside, suddenly reminded of
him
and his ministrations after he’d hurt her. “No. I’ve got it.” With a huge effort, she scooted up on the pillows.

“Blow on it, it’s hot,” he said. He stepped back and grimaced. “God, you’d think I could come up with something more original than that.” He sank into the chair in the corner. “Sorry. I want to answer all your questions, in order, but I have so many of my own, they’re jamming up my brain, y’ know?”

She nodded and bit into a cracker.

He leaned back and looked toward the ceiling. “You already know about your mother. She’s getting the best care in the country, and there’s hope for her yet.”

Portia felt her knotted stomach relax, just a little.

Boone continued. “Grace is okay.” He frowned when he mentioned her little sister’s name.

Portia figured it was because Grace had given her family such trouble.

Drugs. Court. Rehab. More drugs. More rehab.

Life had been tough with Grace.

But Boone had been there for her family when her sister had fallen apart, when she’d even dragged criminals into their lives. Portia had been away in college when they dealt with the worst of it, but her mother told her Boone helped her father take Grace up to the rehab clinic—three times. They’d finally gotten the rebellious girl to a point where she agreed to stay clean and study art, her favorite subject, at the University of Vermont. Portia wondered if she’d kept with it.

 “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

B
oone 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.