Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1) (28 page)

Daisy laid her fork down and placed a napkin over her plate. “Well, it’s sad to think of a child being abused like that. But that doesn’t excuse his behavior. He’s still responsible for his actions. He murdered people, for goodness sakes.”

“Right you are.” Grace stood and started to collect the dirty dishes. “At least it’s over. We can rest easy again.”

Anderson looked at his watch. “I’ve got an online class to teach, guys.”

Portia glanced his way. “How much longer can you two stay with us?”

Grace answered for them. “I want to stay for the rest of the summer. We’ll go back home after Labor Day.” She smiled at Portia. “Long as that’s okay with everybody?”

Portia got up to help her clear. “You bet it’s okay. More than okay. Now, who wants coffee?”

Chapter 68

A
fter dinner, Boone helped Portia with the dishes. He watched her with slanted glances, his heart heavy.

It’s over. I’m going home.

No more seeing Portia every day.

No more watching her heal and learn to smile again.

No more bringing her cups of coffee or caring for her beloved horses.

It’s really over.

It went without saying that he was glad she was safe now, that there was no need to protect her anymore. But still…

She reached up to put a serving platter away, straining to make the top shelf, but she couldn’t quite reach.

“Here, let me help you.” Boone took the dish from her and easily slid it beneath the fancy dishes stored up high. His shoulder brushed hers and he felt fire run through him, just like it did any time she was near. “There you go.”

His shoulders slumped and he stood staring out the window to the fields beyond.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said, busying himself arranging the towel over the oven handle. “It’s just I guess I ought to pack up my stuff. Ned’s already gone home. I should get back to help with the chores. I’ve left my dad to handle all the work for long enough.”

Portia froze for a minute, but didn’t speak. “Of course. If you think that’s best.”

He glanced at her, but she was looking down. Did she feel it, too? Or was it just him?

“I wondered…” he began.

She raised her eyes to his. “About what?”

“Um. I was thinking maybe we could take a ride together? Now that everything’s calmed down, and we don’t need to worry every second. Just for old times sake. Before I get pulled back into my family farm.”

Almost before he finished his sentence she flashed a smile. “Yes. I’d love that.”

“Really?” His heart started to gallop in his chest. “You would?”

She glanced down at her shorts. “Let me change into jeans. Be down in a sec.”

“Okay.” He tried to stop the grin that spread over his face, but it was impossible. “I’ll go get the horses ready. You want to ride Mirage?”

“Of course.” She hopped up the stairs two at a time.

He watched until she disappeared, then turned and headed out to the barn.

***

Portia led the way on Mirage, winding up the wooded hill that gradually twisted and rose to the top of the mountain. Her stallion pranced and shied for the first fifteen minutes, then finally settled down and focused on the climb. Boone followed on a big chestnut gelding. Rusty was surefooted and dependable. He clopped slowly behind Mirage, his head two feet behind the stallion’s tail.

Halfway up the hill, Portia turned Mirage off the trail and started up a truck path that ended at a stone cliff. She stopped her horse a safe distance from the edge and tethered him to a bush. Boone followed her example.

 She glanced down at an aquamarine pool glistening below, and her heart nearly froze. There it was. No Bottom Pond. The bottomless hole that spiraled into the earth. She stood staring into the bright reflection of late afternoon sun on the water.

“That’s where they dumped the pickup,” she said, her voice low.

“I know.” Boone laced his fingers through hers and gently squeezed.

She glanced sideways at him; glad he’d taken her hand. It comforted her, made her feel safe. In the past, only her father could make her feel that way. But of course, this was different.

“That’s how it all started. Me, racing home in that old beat up truck with my little mutt beside me.”

“Seems like so long ago that I saw you coming up the driveway in a big cloud of dust,” he said.

She snorted a laugh. “Yeah. And when you found me inside, you didn’t even know who I was.”

“Go figure. You shocked the hell outta me.”

She leaned into him. “So much has changed.”

“You’ve changed.” He slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him.

She relaxed into him. He smelled so good, of pine shavings and…what was it? Cinnamon?

Portia raised her eyes to his. “I have. I’m better now.”

“Better than ever. You’re relaxed, accomplished, and beautiful. The way you handled yourself this past week…it blew me away.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “I love being called accomplished. But beautiful?” she said. “Really?”

“Yes. Incredibly beautiful, inside and out. And Portia, I can’t stop thinking about you.” He let it all out in a torrent of words. “I…I don’t like being apart from you, Portia. I’m not…whole when I’m alone.” He locked eyes with her. “I want to be with you. Always.”

Portia took a deep breath. “It’s time we talked about it, then.”

“Okay.”

She saw a shadow cross his face. She’d made him worry, but she’d fix that.

She looked across The Hollow, below. “I wanted to thank you for being so patient with me when I came home. I was such a wreck. So scared. And you were amazing.”

“But?”

Pressing closer to his chest, she slipped her arms around his waist. “But nothing.”

“Oh, thank God.” He tilted her chin up and leaned down to place his lips on hers. Gently, he kissed her. When he pulled back, he looked relieved. “I thought you were going to say we could be good friends.”

She melted into his arms, her heart racing against his ribs. “Boone,” she said, lifting her lips for another kiss. “I’d love to be friends with you. And more.”

He pulled back a few inches, surprised. “You never said anything. All these years. I’ve been desperately in love with you since you were sixteen. But I thought…”

“I know. I wasn’t ready back then.” She combed her fingers through his hair. “But now…I am. I’m ready.”

Boone moaned. “Oh, God, Portia.” He pulled her tighter, kissing her deeper. When they stopped to breathe, he whispered hoarse words in her ear. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Heat raced through her, making her knees wobble. She slipped her arms around his neck. “Thank you for waiting,” she whispered.

He shrugged. “It was the thing to do, Peaches. You were so fragile. So afraid.”

“I know.” Her eyes misted over. “And I might have moments. You know. In the future.”

“No worries. I’ll be here for you.”

“Really?”

“Really. It doesn’t bother me. I know why it’s happening, and I’m proud of you. What you went through would have broken most women.”

She frowned. “I know. It broke me for a while.”

He kissed her again. “You not only survived, but you escaped that madman. You’re a strong woman. And I’m honored to know you.”

She fluttered little kisses over his face, kissing his nose, cheeks, and finally, his lips. “Thank you.”

He slid an arm beneath her knees and lifted her with one swift motion. “No thanks necessary. But I have one favor to ask.”

She thrilled to the feeling of him holding her. “And what’s that?”

Turning, he faced the valley, motioning with his head toward their farms that looked like toys in the greenery below. “I love this land. And I want to spend the rest of my life working the farms, with you by my side.”

She waited. Was he going to propose? Or ask her to live with him?

She felt him take a deep breath and let it out. “Portia. I don’t have any fancy ring or speech made up. But this is something I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time.”

“Yes?” Her heart beat faster.

“I’d like you to marry me. When you’re ready.”

Joy surged through her. She raised one hand to his fuzzy cheek, feeling the bristles of several days of stubble beneath her fingers. Smiling up at him, she kissed him softly.

“Well?” He laid his forehead against hers. “Was that an answer?”

She kissed him again. “It was.”

He almost seemed surprised. “You’ll marry me?”

“I will,” she said. “I’ll gladly marry you.”

“Well, then,” he said, carrying her toward a grassy spot. He gently laid her down, settling beside her. “We’ve got plans to make.”

She snuggled closer to him, inhaling his musky male scent. “We do indeed.” As if it were the most natural thing in the world, she laid her head against him and sighed with contentment, tracing patterns on his chest. “I don’t want to move from this spot.”

“Please don’t,” he said. “I might embarrass myself.”

She chuckled, knowing exactly what he meant. “Okay, big guy. But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for the wedding night.”

“You’re killing me,” he said. “But I’ll try.” A huge smile slid onto his lips. “So, wanna get married tomorrow?”

With a grin, she swatted him and pushed up to gaze into his clear eyes. “You’re terrible, Boone.”

“Is that a yes?”

“No, it’s not. But soon. We’ll set the date, and we’ll be man and wife before you know it.”

“Mmm,” he said. “I like the sound of that. You and me, together forever.” He lifted her lips to his and kissed her deeply.

“Together forever,” she said. And she kissed him back.

- The End -

What’s Next?

If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review on Amazon.com. You might also like
Devil’s Creek
, book 2 in the Bittersweet Hollow series. In this novel, you’ll learn about why Anderson’s eyes looked so haunted, and you’ll live through Grace’s story. ;o)

If you appreciate the style of these books, please check out my other books at
http://www.lazarbooks.com
.

Aaron Paul Lazar

DEVIL’S CREEK

Chapter 1

The itch was back.

Grace stepped out of the tub onto a fluffy pink rug and reached for a towel from the rack, slowly drying herself in front of a full-length mirror. She plugged in the hair dryer and blew her honey-colored hair dry, admiring its luster and bounce. Batting her big blue eyes, she stared at the perfect reflection.

With a giggle, she imagined meeting the stranger tonight. “Why, yes. I’d love a drink. Are you buying?”

Turning to see herself from the back, she nodded approval. She hated to brag, even to herself, but her body still resembled those girls Renoir painted so well. She admired herself openly. High breasts. Firm butt. Rounded hips. Soft, creamy skin. At twenty-six, she had no wrinkles. At least not yet.

She smiled at herself, then powdered and primped and preened, all the while feeling
the want
grow inside her. She needed to find someone new. Someone big, muscled, and very male. The more hair on his chest, stubble on his chin, and leather on his body, the better.

Just for a few days, of course. Then she’d return to Anderson, as always.

The itch grew. From the inside out, starting in her belly, it spread to her whole body and she felt the tiny whispered thought turn to a roar.

 It’s time.
It’s time. It’s time.

She had laid out her white slacks and a purple sweater last night, because she was due at the bookstore in an hour. So, the adventure would have to start after work. She pursed her lips and made a kissy face at the mirror. “Hang tight. We’ll have fun later.”

Anderson poked his head in the bathroom door. “What’s that, sweetie?”

Grace stiffened. “Oh. Nothing, baby. Just thinking out loud.”

“I’ll be late tonight. Remember?” He eyed her with obvious longing and clumsily buttoned his Oxford shirt, tucking it into his Dockers.

She snorted. “Right. That staff meeting thingie?”

“Sort of. It’s the final session to discuss scholarships for candidates we really want in the program. You know. The stars. The triple threat kids who can sing, dance, and act. Gotta lure them in somehow.”

“Okay.” She hadn’t paid attention lately. She couldn’t. She just wanted… someone new.

Since they’d moved back to Vermont to be closer to her parents, Dirk and Daisy Lamont, and her sister and new husband, Portia and Boone Hawke, Anderson’s job had been a pain. His new job as Dean of the Theater Arts School at The University of Vermont was a lot more demanding than when he was a simple professor. She’d liked the old job much better. Now he had more meetings, more responsibility.

“Want me to bring home Chinese?” he asked, sliding his arms around her waist and kissing her forehead. “That way you don’t have to cook.”

Her culinary skills weren’t much to brag about, she knew that. “Okay. What time do you think you’ll be back?”

“Probably seven-thirty.” He reached up to caress her cheek. “You are absolutely gorgeous. Do you know that?”

“Thanks, baby.” She knew. How could she not? She beamed a smile at him and suddenly pulled him down to kiss him, thrusting her tongue against his. Her hand ran lower, brushing the front of his slacks.

He gasped, and backed up a step. “Gracie.” He voice turned husky. “Cripes. You know I’ve gotta leave in ten minutes.”

“Can’t you be late this morning?” She turned on the charm now, eyes wide and lashes fluttering, then leaned forward, pressing her breasts against him. “Let’s have a quickie.”

He groaned when she stroked him again.

He flicked his wrist to check his watch, then lifted her in one swift motion to the counter beside the sink. “Baby. You’re killing me.”

She quickly unbuckled and unzipped his pants, and in seconds, drew him inside her. She imagined a dark man this time, covered in tattoos. He’d just approached her from the alley behind the bar, and had pushed her up against the wall.