Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1) (3 page)

“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

P
ortia 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

D
oc 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 relaxed 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.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked. “I’ve brought you a lot of trouble.”

“No worries,” he said, his voice deep and gentle. “I’m just glad you’re home.”

“You’ve been taking care of our horses?” she asked, surprising herself with the attempt at conversation.

“Uh huh. And the hayfields, riding the fences, handling the brood mares who come to mate with Mirage. The usual.” He moved toward the chair the doctor had vacated. “Okay if I sit with you for a bit?”

She stiffened, then forced herself to relax.
For crying out loud, Portia, it’s just Boone.
“Okay.”

He settled beside her, his eyes on his hands. After a few seconds, he lifted his gaze to her. “You gonna be okay, Peaches?”

She almost winced at the near-intimate contact of his gaze, so personal, so warm, so…connected. She’d been connected to only one person for two, torturous years, and her instinct was to block him out, to pull back, to force herself into the cardboard cutout who felt nothing, responded to nothing, needed nothing.

But she sat up a little and forced herself to answer. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

Boone nodded, as if that were the answer he expected. “Understandable.”

The fact that he didn’t pressure her to spill the truth relaxed her. “What time are my folks coming?”

Boone twisted his wrist. “If the flight’s on time, they should be getting here around eight. About an hour from now.”

“Okay.” Time had ceased to mean much to her. She’d even been deprived of that. No clock. No television. Nothing but walls and ugly old furniture and locked doors. She’d learned to guess when dawn was approaching, when dusk would fall, but that had been about it.  

“You wanna eat something? My mother brought over a chicken pot pie. It’s in the oven.”

Her stomach lurched. She’d grown accustomed to hunger. Long periods of nothing. Then gorging on the fast food he’d bring her. “Okay. Maybe just a little bit. Did you tell her about me?”

He shuffled his feet, looking embarrassed. “Sorry. I kinda did.”

“That’s okay. I always loved your mother.” She tried to continue with the civil conversation, forcing the words from her mouth. “Thank her for me?”

“Sure. I told her not to say a word, though the secretary at the doc’s office knows now, and you know how Penny talks.” He made a face. “It might not be long before everyone knows you’re back.” He straightened, stretching his arms toward the ceiling and covering a yawn. “Sorry. Been up since four.”

She nodded, her eyes still on him.

“When you’re up to it, there will be lots of folks who want to welcome you home.”

She winced, and he noticed. He held his hand up as if to calm her. “Not now. Not ever, if you don’t want it. You call the shots.”

Gratefully, she nodded toward him with a faint smile. “Thank you.”

Chapter 6

A
fter eating a good portion of Mrs. Hawke’s chicken pot pie, Portia dragged herself to the bathroom and gratefully accepted Boone’s suggestion that she soak in a hot bath. He’d run the water for her, steaming and sudsy, and left a few towels on the chair by the tub before disappearing back out to the barn to see to the horses.

The flight from New York was delayed by half an hour, so she still had time to clean up a little and try to regain some semblance of control. Some semblance of normalcy.

Normal?
What is normal now?

Normal had become the bizarre and horrific life she’d led for the past two years. Normal was being petrified all day long. Normal was being restrained, often tied to the bed. Normal was giving in to a monster, to stay alive.

Stop it.

She found a pink disposable razor in the cupboard below the sink, placed it on the side of the tub, then lowered herself into the hot water and luxuriated in the feeling of smooth porcelain and suds. Sweet-smelling soap bubbles tickled her nose. She sighed, dunked under the water.

Warmth encircled her arms, legs, torso, and head. It felt so good. She popped out of the water again and stretched, reaching for the shampoo.

She’d missed amenities like this. Shampoo and conditioner. Oil of Olay bath wash. Soft fluffy towels.

The showers he’d forced her under had been swift and cold; the soap harsh. One big yellow bar for hair and body. Her hair hadn’t felt right the whole time she’d been with him.

Now she lathered and re-lathered, scrubbing fingertips against scalp as if she could rub away the memories of him. She turned on the water again. Using a cup from the side of the tub, she rinsed her hair clean for the first time in years, and then carefully shaved two years of fuzz from her legs and underarms. It took a long time, and she had to get up soaking wet and find another razor to finish the job properly, but it felt so good to feel smoothness beneath her fingertips.

Feeling better, she eased out of the tub, trying not to look down at her skeletal body. She wrapped her hair in a towel and dried off quickly, avoiding the mirrors. Feeling strangely privileged, she slipped into the pajamas Boone had found in her old dresser.

Mom kept all my stuff. She knew I’d come home some day.

She almost sobbed at the thought, but reminded herself one more time.
I am home.
Home.

After finding her old toothbrush in the cabinet, she squeezed out a dollop of Colgate and furiously cleaned her teeth until her gums hurt. She’d have to get to the dentist soon, because there were a few spots she feared had started to turn into cavities. He hadn’t exactly provided her with the world’s healthiest diet.

A commotion downstairs made her turn toward the window.