Sparked (31 page)

“Let’s see if your power works on water.”

“There’s no life force to pull from it. I can feel it.”

“Just do the same thing as the flask. See what happens.”

Again, he stared at her.

“What?”

“Too close,” he said.

She huffed but did as he asked—walking back to the spot under that useless tree.

“Farther,” he said.

“This is as far as I can go and still keep control,” she said. It was a lie—she could control it as long as she could see it, no matter the distance—but he didn’t need to know that just yet.

He scowled, but stopped protesting. Then he created another sphere, and tossed it into the glistening ball of water. 

This time, it did something entirely different. Instead of shattering, the water glowed in a glorious shift of colors. It seemed to undulate as it phased through bright pinks and deep blues and vivid purples—like the film strip of the Aurora Borealis that a touring speaker had shown at the library last year. It was mesmerizing.

Cora walked slowly forward. She wanted to get a better look.

“Stay back,” Clayton warned.

But it was so beautiful. She could sense it—the water was still there, under her control, but something had changed about it. Something had grown—but it wasn’t bad, it was good.

And how could they know for certain what would happen unless it was her? He was immune to it. 

She reached out a hand and touched it.

“Cora, no!”

Her hand slipped it into the center of the water. It glided through easily—no zap of electricity, no draining of energy, no shattering it to pieces. The water felt like it had always felt—but warmer, more alive.

Clayton’s arms were around her then, pulling her back. They felt so good—so warm and so strong. She wanted to melt into those arms, to return to the way things had been only days before. But almost as soon as he’d touched her, he pulled away.

“It didn’t hurt,” she said. “I could feel it. It was fine.”

“You promised me this would be on my terms.
My
terms, Cora.”

“I know, but—”

“I can’t—” he said. He was shaking. His voice had become ragged, torn. “I
won’t
let that happen to you again.”

Something in her stirred. Maybe she hadn’t fully understood what it had done to him—seeing her like that. She had been so focused on her own feelings of guilt that she hadn’t dwelt on it at all. She tried to picture what it would feel like if he was hurt, and she couldn’t imagine the pain it would cause. Even seeing him like this—so on edge, so tormented—made her heart ache. If staying away was what he needed, she’d do it. At least for now. She raised her palms and backed away.

“Okay. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

His breathing became more even with every step she took. Silence closed in between them. She could sense his indecision—his teetering on the edge of putting an end to this right then and there. And so she waited. She gave him space.

An owl hooted from the treetops. Clouds passed over the moon. The wind rustled the grass into a swirling mass—like long tendrils of hair blowing in the breeze. The trees moved with the wind too, kicking up the smell of pine needles and thick sap and wood wet with the summer dew. Finally, he spoke again.

“You have to promise to stay back.” He looked into her eyes, his own hazel eyes shifting like wheat in autumn from gray to amber to gray. “You have to promise to do what I say until I know it won’t hurt you. I mean it, Cora. You do something like that again and our deal is over.”

“I promise,” she said. Her voice was smaller this time, quiet. She meant what she said. She wouldn’t risk it again.

He nodded, then turned his attention back to the water. 

It was still shimmering, still glowing and phasing through colors—plumes of yellow and green and orange danced inside of it. But it had grown dimmer, as though whatever was fueling the light show had begun to fade.

Clayton touched it, dipping his hand in wrist-deep. Then he withdrew it and stepped back.

“Let it go, please,” he said.

She released her control of the water and it splashed to the ground. Clayton knelt over the spot.

“May I look, too?”

He nodded, and she joined him at his side.

The grass there was fine—like it had just been through a rainstorm, but otherwise unchanged. If anything, it was a bit taller, a bit stronger than its neighbors.

“So now you have two ways to dissipate the power,” Cora said. “Air and water. I know it’s not a solution for everything, but it’s a start.”

He looked over at her and gave her a smile. Well, it wasn’t a smile, really, but he had stopped frowning and his eyes were warm again.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s a start.”

They stood. The sky was beginning to lighten. They’d been there all night. Soon the sun would raise its bright halo into the sky and a new day would begin.

“Let’s get you home,” Clayton said. 

She followed him back to the stream, staying as close as she could. She could feel the energy between them—feel how little distance separated his hand from reaching out for hers as they walked back toward the road. She was certain he wanted it too—wanted to touch her the way she wanted to touch him. 

For the moment, that was enough.

“Have fun?” Butch asked as she walked through the door. The sun was just barely up. It appeared that, like her, he hadn’t gone to bed yet. His clothes were rumpled and he was nursing a beer at the kitchen table. Cora couldn’t tell if he was mad, or tired, or just bored. 

“Where have you been?”

“With some friends,” she said. 

“What friends? You don’t have friends.”

“You don’t know everything about my life, Butch.”

“So what were you doing with these friends?”

“Camping.”

“Is that so?” he said. “Then why are you home so early?”

“You want breakfast, don’t you?” Cora went straight to the Frigidaire and pulled out the eggs. Food was usually a good defense against Butch. If his mouth was full, he couldn’t speak.

He got up from the table and sauntered over to her as she lit the range and put butter in the frying pan.

“So sick the other night that you had to sneak off to the doctor. Then last night you’re out camping with friends. That’s a pretty fast recovery.”

“I was in good hands,” she said, cracking an egg into the sizzling pan.

“Who were you with last night?” he asked.

“I told you, I was out with friends.”

“Who?”

She knew she had to come up with something, so she reached for the only name she could muster. “June Powell.”

“June Powell? Pretty girl?”

“Yes,” she said.

“No. June Powell wouldn’t be friends with you. She’s one of them.”

“Ask her yourself.”

“Maybe I will. And maybe she’d tell me that she did see you last night. But I wouldn’t believe her, either.”

Cora sighed. He was probably just bored—just trying to goad her to amuse himself. She wouldn’t give in to it.

“Doesn’t she work at the bank with your boyfriend?”

“I told you. He’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

“You really think he ever was? You’re such a sap, Cora. Sometimes I actually feel sorry for you.”

“So which is it, Butch? Am I a sap or was I sneaking out with him last night?”

Quick as a flash, he had the pan off the burner and into the air. The raw egg splatted onto the stove top as hot grease spattered all over—flicking Cora’s arms in flaming little sting marks.

“Ow!”

“Don’t you talk to me like that,” he said, holding the hot pan above his head. “You show me respect.”

He would use it against her. She could see it in his eyes. There was something there, something rotten that had been brewing for a long time—maybe their whole lives.

But hadn’t she and Butch been close once, before their mother died? Before their father got his hooks into him? She tried to remember the good parts of him—how he used to tell her jokes, how he used to laugh. She hadn’t heard him laugh in years, at least not the way he used to. His laughter always felt more like a sneer these days. She peered into his eyes and hoped the part of him that could laugh for real was still in there. But all she saw was hate.

“Put the pan down,” she said. “Please.”

He was fuming. Like always, his temper went from wet match to bonfire with no in-between. But something behind his eyes relaxed at her calm tone. Slowly, he placed the pan back down on the flame curling from the stove.

She let out the breath she’d been holding and switched off the burner with trembling fingers.

“You better not be seeing him behind my back, Cora.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, you better not.”

He turned around, ready to walk out of the room. But she had one more question. She tried to keep her voice light as she asked it.

“What’s your problem with them, Butch? Why do you even care?” He had hated them—not just Clayton, but all of Clayton’s friends—for so long she couldn’t even remember, but she didn’t know why. It seemed out of proportion with plain old jealousy, out of proportion with a tired feud that had never really involved them in the first place. It was more. 

“I got my reasons.”

“Tell me?”

But instead of telling her anything—instead of opening up—he turned around and slapped her across the face. 

It stung, but she was more shocked than truly hurt.

“I told you to show me some respect. And that starts with mouthing off.” She watched his fist clench and unclench as though he was considering hitting her again. “You’re trash, Cora, and I’ve had enough of your snooty attitude. If you’re not careful, you’re gonna get yourself kicked out. It’s high time Bethany’s started earning her keep around here anyway.”

She couldn’t say anything. Words had disappeared, replaced by images—her worst fears flickering through her mind.

She could take it. But what would happen if he hurt Bethany? Her father wouldn’t put a stop to it. Maybe she could protect Bethany now, but this would only get worse as Bethany grew up, grew bolder—no matter if she was in the house to protect her or not. She could see that now. Clayton had been right. She had to figure out a way to get her away from Huck and Butch, and she had to do it soon. 

“And if I find out that you are seeing him, Cora? So help me God. I’ll kill him and I’ll kill you. Don’t think I won’t.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Clayton

“Thanks for meeting me,” Cora said, walking out onto one of the old, abandoned docks on Lake Perseverance, the moonlight washing her in a soft glow. 

Clayton had met her there in his speedboat. The motor purred as he shut it off. Tonight they were headed out to the island for more practice. Cora had insisted on it before leaving him at the campsite this morning.

“I’m glad you came,” she said.

“I made a promise, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.” She smiled and the moonlight seemed to dim by comparison. She had her hair down tonight, full around her face, and she was wearing a faded red cardigan that clung to her figure. It was buttoned up all the way to her neck.

He wondered if she was just cold, or if she was trying to look less appealing in order to make it easier on him. If so, it wasn’t working. The sweater hugged every one of her delicious curves and was just a little bit too tight—the buttons straining slightly across her breasts. He wanted to rip the buttons off with his teeth. It was almost sexier than seeing her completely naked. Almost.

God, he wanted her. It had been too long without her touch. Last night had given him hope—not a lot, he wasn’t a fool—but between that and seeing her here like this he could feel his need for her rise. That was out of the question, of course. He couldn’t risk it. 

He tried to regain his focus. Tonight wasn’t going to be easy.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said. He took her hand to help her into the boat, then dropped it as soon as she had her balance. 

There were only two seats in the slick mahogany machine. It had been made for speed, not capacity. He expected her to sit down, but she didn’t. She wanted to stand, just like him. He gunned the engine and the boat sped away from shore. She laughed that throaty, full laugh that was too damn sexy for her own good and held on tight as he took the boat to speed. 

He liked that she wasn’t afraid of the vessel. Of course she didn’t know yet how fast it went—he was only kissing the boat’s real strength—but he suspected it would delight her nearly as much as it delighted him. He wished he could just drive her around in the boat all night—watching her hair whip behind her like that, watching the stars dance in those eyes—but he had to remind himself that tonight wasn’t for pleasure. In fact, he didn’t know if they ever would have a night solely for pleasure ever again.

They made it to the island faster than he wanted, and he tied the boat to the dock.

“That’s quite a boat,” she said.

“One of the best,” he said. He didn’t mean to sound like a pompous ass, but it was hard to conceal the pride he had in it. He wanted to share it with her. “Shall we get to it?”

She nodded and led the way farther into the island. He felt better when he could see her ahead of him. But he felt worse too. The bright moonlight did nothing to hide the soft curve of her behind in that skirt. He’d heard some of the ladies refer to it as a pencil skirt, but there was nothing pencil-shaped about Cora in that skirt. The way it curved around her backside was a clear promise of all that was underneath. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her as her hips swayed up the path.

He was so transfixed by the tantalizing movement that he nearly ran into her when she stopped. He cursed himself. He had to be more careful.

“How about here?” she asked.

He looked around. They had made it to the far side of the island, the side that fronted Desolation. Everything facing the mountain was rock, an outcropping that dropped about ten feet to the water below. The waters here were full of rocks too, so boats couldn’t come ashore. They’d have plenty of warning if anyone else visited the island. And there was a patch of trees with a flat enough area to have a bit of room to maneuver. It wasn’t a lot of space, but it would do.