The Sweetness of Honey (A Hope Springs Novel) (18 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T
he new year, fresh with its starting-over, clean-slate, what-
happened-in-the-past-stays-in-the-past promises, was, so far, sucking as badly as the old. And not just the most recent old, but all of the olds Indiana had told good-bye since she was fifteen. At least
her
year was sucking, all two weeks. It didn’t help that she’d put on five pounds since Christmas, and all of it cake.

Two Owls Café was thriving. The work on the Caffey-Gatlin Academy was almost complete. Same with Luna and Angelo’s barn renovation. Those Keller Construction projects had been well under way before she’d hired her brother to remodel her cottage and erect the greenhouses for the annex on Three Wishes Road. Of course they came before hers.

But now the rain was mucking up everything. The part of the property cleared had yet to be filled and leveled, and resembled a series of tar pits; clumps of the gooey mud clung to her boots from her earlier walk around the site. The thought of Hiram seeing what she’d done to the place where he’d lived . . . No, he hadn’t kept the place in pristine condition, but it had been his home. In its current incarnation, it wasn’t even fit for the bees.

Any day now they’d be packing their bags and flying the coop, er, hive.

She didn’t have time for this. She wasn’t in a big hurry, but she
was
busy with her farm in Buda, and spring wouldn’t be delayed. So why was she spending so much time fretting over a tiny little cottage, and an annex that was less about heirloom vegetables than it was about being closer to Kaylie and Tennessee?

Why, too, was it so hard for her to come out and admit that particular truth? Couldn’t she just tell her brother and sister-in-law that she was tired of being alone? That she loved them dearly and wanted to be close? After so many years on her own, she wanted more? Shared holidays and quick cups of coffee and shopping trips and a smile and a wave when they passed on the street?

And nothing was happening with her search for Dakota either. Or at least, not happening the way she wanted it to. Kaylie’s investigator delivered regular reports, but those reports did nothing but depress her further. Her brother had worked for six months in Seattle, but left no forwarding address. He’d been in Portland, in Boise, in Missoula, Montana.

He’d fished for salmon. He’d built houses. He’d felled trees. He’d roasted coffee beans and even pulled espressos as a barista. He’d wrangled cattle. Dakota. The high school baseball star who’d loved him some muscle cars. On horseback. Wrangling cattle. Some things really did need to be seen to be believed.

She wanted to know where he was now. She needed to know. She ached with it. She had to make sure he was okay, that she hadn’t ruined his life, because for thirteen years she’d been unable to get beyond the certainty that she had. That he hated her for what she’d done. Even though he didn’t know what she’d done. Nobody did.

But she knew.

“You’re all wet.”

She looked up from where she was sitting on the back steps outside the cottage’s kitchen door. Will’s appearance wasn’t surprising, though she hadn’t heard him arrive. “Thanks,” she said. “I wasn’t aware.”

“You’re also muddy.”

She glanced down at the goop stuck to the vamps of her boots. “Again. The obvious. I appreciate having it pointed out.”

He crossed his ankles and dropped down to sit beside her.

Company loving misery? “And now you’re all wet and also muddy.”

“I’ve been worse,” he said, and shrugged, leaning back on his elbows.

Worse. Oh, good. They could talk about him instead of her having to examine even more of her life. “Are you ever going to tell me about it? Prison?”

“Probably not.” He straightened his long legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles. “It’s one of those things no one else needs to know.”

“Yeah,” she said, because he’d come closer than she liked to reading her mind about her past with Robby.

“I do wonder sometimes what in the hell I was thinking.”

“I doubt you’re the only one to eve
r feel that way,” she said, deflecting whatever questions he might ask by adding, “I had no idea this acreage was in such bad shape. I should’ve done more research, but I jumped because . . .”

He let his head fall to the side, his hair falling, too, and looked at her. “Because the mountain wouldn’t come to Muhammad.”

She huffed, unable to stifle a grin. “I’m assuming you mean Tennessee.”

“If you’d called me, I would’ve come.”

The words fell between them, tumbled around, bounced, and demanded their due. “This can’t happen, you know. I mean, I’d thought it might . . .”

“But you really didn’t want it to.”

Was he right? “I don’t know you. You won’t let me know you.”

“And Oliver Gatlin will.”

“It’s not about Oliver. Not really.” Except . . .

Hadn’t everything been about Oliver Gatlin since that first morning on Three Wishes Road? Or maybe even sooner. Since they’d brushed against each other at Luna and Angelo’s reception? Even that night there’d been something there. She’d gone home with it, the feel of his arm, his scent. The picture of him talking to Angelo and Harry Meadows.

“You can tell yourself that,” Will said, “but the truth would be along the lines of, ‘It’s all about Oliver. Really.
’
”

She hadn’t meant to fall in love with him. That family . . . She would never fit in, and she didn’t need Merrilee, with her pearls and her pumps and her handbag that had cost more than Indiana’s Camaro, to tell her that particular truth.

She’d bring Oliver the same trouble she’d caused Tennessee and Dakota. The same trouble she’d brought down on Robby Hunt. He was no innocent, but if she’d been content to be who she was at fifteen . . . If she hadn’t been swept up in the exotic unknown that had been T
hea Clark . . . She couldn’t hurt another man. She just couldn’t.

He’d told her to never be sorry . . . “Will—”

“Don’t. Just be honest,” he said, pulling his knees toward his chest, and sitting forward to drape his wrists over them. “If anything, be honest.”

He stared at the muck between his boots, his hair wet where it hung in thick hanks from his bowed head. Had someone been dishonest with him? Had he been the one who hadn’t been truthful? Was he being dishonest now, feigning this dejection that had her wanting to reach for him, to soothe him, when she knew her instincts were right?

Why couldn’t she take him at his word? Why was being forthcoming so difficult with him? “The day we met, at Kaylie’s place. Do you remember that?”

The corner of his mouth teased upward. “I was unloading some two-by-fours, I think. Had them on my shoulders and walked around the side of the house. There you were, talking to Kaylie and Ten. I think that was the first time you’d seen him in a while.”

“It was. I was pretty caught up in all that emotion.” And it rose in her now, the same rush of so many things she’d had no idea what to do with.

“But it didn’t keep you from noticing me.”

Noticing him. When did she not notice him? He walked through a door, he exited his truck, he appeared from around the side of a house unexpectedly. He was impossible not to notice, but his charisma wasn’t enough. He was off in a way she would never be able to deal with long-term. And she was too old for short-term to be an option.

She looked down at her lap, her skirt soaked nearly through, her thighs beneath the fabric of her tights covered with chill bumps, though she didn’t think she was cold. Wet, yes, but this was Texas, and January didn’t always require warm clothes. “You didn’t say much. With your mouth, anyway. But your eyes . . .”

“I’d been out maybe a week? First there was Kaylie and Luna. Then you.” He reached down and swiped his palm over the toe of one work boot, then swiped it across the walkway cement to clean off the gunk. “Keeping my mouth shut is probably what kept me out of trouble those days.”

“And now? You’ve been out, what?” She counted back to the previous March. “Ten months? What keeps you out of trouble now?”

She waited for the obvious response: he stayed out of trouble to keep from going back in. But he surprised her, saying instead, “I’m in more trouble now than you can imagine.”

“Will—”

And then he threw back his head and laughed, water from the leaves of the backyard trees, their limbs creating a canopy over the cottage, dripping onto his face, and him not seeming to care at all. As if the possibility of bark or bugs or waterlogged bees falling into his open mouth hadn’t occurred to him, when she couldn’t think about anything else.

Except what sort of mess he’d gotten himself into. “Can I do something? Can I help?”

“Trust me, Ms. Keller. You’ve done more than you can possibly know.”

She was caught too off guard to find any sort of response.

“But yeah,” he said quickly. “If you want to do something, you can listen.”

“Okay,” she said, pulling her skirt over her knees and huddling in on herself.

“You’ve got a brother here who, I’ve got to say, is nuts about you moving to Hope Springs, even if he hasn’t told you.” He held up a hand when she started to interrupt. “And I know you want to find the one who walked out of your life, but don’t forget about Tennessee.”

“I would never forget about Tennessee.” She frowned. How could he even think that?

“Good. Now make sure he knows that,” he said, catching and holding her gaze. “Don’t let everything be about Dakota.”

“It’s not,” she said, but didn’t argue further because she couldn’t do so and know she wasn’t telling a lie.

He nodded. Whether he believed her or not . . . “That’s all. I just wanted to say it before I split.”

Splitting didn’t sound like he was headed to work. And then it hit her, her pulse blipping, though she shouldn’t have been surprised. “You’re leaving Hope Springs.”

“Eventually. Manny’s working on finding me another job. It’s time to move on.”

“Because you’re still bored?”
Please not because of me. Please.
“What about your loft?”

He shrugged as if he hadn’t counted on her question. “If I decide to come back, I’ll have a place to lay my weary head.”

“Will—”

“Do me a favor,” he said, his hands on his knees as he readied to stand. “Be nice to Gatlin. I think he needs it worse than I do.”

“We’re friends,” she said, because she was not going to talk about Oliver. “Just like you and I are friends.”

“No,” he said, his accompanying laugh sharp. “I don’t think so.”

“You can think what you like,” she said, and braced for his argument.

But he didn’t argue. He reached for her instead, pulling her to him, settling his mouth over hers, and urging her lips apart. She stiffened, her eyes open, shocking herself with her lack of response. Oh, how far she’d come with knowing herself and what she wanted.

Whom she wanted.

He was laughing to himself when he let her go and stood, looking down to where she sat, still stunned. “See? That’s how you kiss a friend. Remember that the next time you kiss Gatlin.”

Though Indiana had hoped to spend Valentine’s Day in Buda, away from the only man the day brought to mind, too much was happening on Three Wishes Road for her to abandon Hope Springs, which put her across the street from the Caffey-Gatlin Academy—where Oliver’s car was parked in the newly poured front lot.

Oh, she couldn’t avoid him forever. And she wasn’t even sure avoiding was what they’d been doing since Christmas, but a month and a half made for a really long silence. Especially between two people who purported to be friends. Friends had one another’s best interests at heart. Friends stayed in touch. Friends were whom one turned to in times of need, even if that need was as simple as a cup of coffee and a laugh.

Their friendship was one of the reasons she’d missed her brothers so much. Oh, they’d had the same garden-variety spats as most siblings eventually did, but she’d been able to count on both without fail. The failure had come later, her failure, her fault.

What she did know was that neither Thea nor Robby had been a true friend, but it had taken too long for her to realize that particular truth. Sad, really, when she’d lived with the two best examples of what friendship meant that she’d ever known.

Tennessee was better than anyone she knew at caring for others. Problem was, he wasn’t so good at caring for himself—much like she wasn’t so good at caring for herself. Much like Dakota hadn’t thought of himself at all when he’d picked up that baseball bat.

Huh. And she’d always wondered how many things they had in common . . .

Having parked and left her car, she headed for the front steps and climbed them to the porch. Two boxes sat at her door, both UPS deliveries. She picked up both, recognizing the one from Amazon as the latest Jo Nesbø novel she’d ordered, but the other . . . She pushed into the house, setting the boxes on the kitchen countertop.

Inside the white cardboard were two layers of Bubble Wrap, and inside the Bubble Wrap two layers of thin brown paper, like that from a grocery bag, but lightweight and imprinted with the logo of the sender—Lockets and Figs—with whom she was unfamiliar. Once she pulled that paper aside, she found the box.