Indigo Lake. Jodi Thomas
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last night I’d dropped my saddlebags on the porch when I looked at the house. My clothes and camera survived the night.”
When he looked up at her, Dakota forced her gaze down at her food.
He ignored her as he walked past her stool and took his place at the bar. “All right if I finish breakfast, Chef Maria? Then, if Dakota is still speaking to me, I thought I’d catch a ride into town.”
Another favor?
She nodded, trying to decide what she was so mad about. That he’d spent the night? That he’d hit it off with Maria and not her? That he was good-looking and obviously knew it?
Maybe Maria’s first suggestion was right. They should have killed him the minute they found out a Hamilton was alive. He might not look dangerous, but he looked good enough to drive her crazy.
“Sure, she’ll take you in.” Maria smiled. “I’ll put a few loaves of cinnamon bread in a bag for you. If you want any more breakfast, eat up quick because she’ll be flying out of here any minute. She may be the only one in her office, but she thinks she has to open on time.”
As Maria poured his coffee, he glanced at Dakota and asked, “How does she do that?”
“She’s holding the cup. She feels the weight and the warmth as the cup fills,” Dakota said. “And she’s blind, not deaf. If you want to know something, ask her.” Her words came out hard, cold.
“Sorry,” he said to Maria, ignoring Dakota again. “I’ve never been around anyone blind. You’re a great cook.”
“For a blind person?” Maria added.
“No. For anyone.” Blade might not have experience, but he was a quick learner. “This is the best breakfast I’ve had in years. Most of the time I’m traveling and it’s fast food at an airport or continental breakfast at the hotel.”
“You travel lots?” Dakota asked.
“So much so I feel like I don’t have a home, just a place where I change clothes. When I found out about the place across the lake, I took some time off to investigate. I’ve never owned a square inch of land in my life.”
“Are you planning to stay?” Maria asked as she handed Dakota her bag with a tiny loaf of bread.
“No. I’ll sell it. I wouldn’t have any idea how to make a farm work.”
Dakota suddenly saw a light at the end of her dark tunnel. “I could list it and sell it for you. That’s what I do for a living.” All she had to do was put up with him for a few days, sell his place, and she just might make twice the commission she usually did.
“Sounds exciting, Hamilton,” Maria said. “Your job, I mean.”
He turned back to Maria. “It can be, but mostly it’s just paperwork or standing around waiting for something to happen. Not near as exciting as I thought it might be when I signed on.”
They were ignoring her again, Dakota thought. He hadn’t even answered her offer to sell his place.
Dakota thought of asking questions, but right now all she could think of was getting him out of their kitchen. The last thing Maria needed was a friend who’d be around for only a few days. After the accident, all of the friends her sister had had in Dallas melted away like ice cream left on a summer porch.
Maybe she didn’t believe in curses, but still, avoiding any Hamilton seemed to be a rational precaution.
The sheriff’s cruiser pulled up in her yard before she had time to push Blade out the door.
“Morning, ladies,” Sheriff Brigman shouted through the screen door without stepping foot on the porch. “Any chance a guy named Hamilton is here? He couldn’t have gone far. I saw his bike parked on his land.”
Blade hurried outside with the bag of bread in his hand. “I’m just finishing breakfast, Sheriff. What do you need?”
Dakota watched the two men talking but couldn’t make out what they were saying. If Hamilton already knew the sheriff, that could mean bad news. He could have lied about his job. He probably got that killer body in the prison gym. Maybe he had to check in with every sheriff in every county he passed through? He probably said he was ATF because that was who arrested him.
Maria had just joined her at the door when Blade picked up his boots and saddlebags off the corner of the porch and waved.
“Thanks,” was all he said before the sheriff backed the car away from the porch with Blade riding shotgun.
“Probably off to fight a forest fire,” Maria reasoned. “What a hero.”
“There’s not five trees standing together for a hundred miles,” Dakota said, pointing out the obvious.
Maria looked surprised. “Now you tell me.”
Both girls laughed.
“I have to go to work.” Dakota grabbed the old briefcase she’d bought at the secondhand store three years ago.
“Me too,” Maria added. “See you before dark, little sister.”
“See you before dark,” Dakota answered.
Halfway to town Dakota was still thinking of how Blade had looked in the hallway with nothing on but his jeans. Surely he could have pulled his shirt on before he stepped out. Then she realized something: he’d been showing off.
And not for Maria, but for her.
He’d probably deny it to his dying breath, but she’d grown up on a farm. She’d seen roosters. Maybe he came not just to look at his place but to con them. He’d said he wasn’t a liar, but probably every liar said that. It would be a waste of time to ask him if he was a serial killer.
She might as well go with believing he was telling the truth for now, but she planned to watch him. Maybe check out his funny biker saddlebags for weapons.
She smiled, planning to hold her cards close to her chest until she figured him out. If he was playing some kind of flirting game, maybe she should warn him that she didn’t know the rules.
He’d winked at her twice. That must mean something.
Maybe he had a twitch?
He’d kept her warm last night, but never touched her.
Or at least she didn’t think he had. Did she want him to? Just the thought made her warm.
Suddenly Dakota felt like she was just out of high school again and trying to figure out how guys think. She glanced in the rearview mirror. Cheeks flushed, eyes wide.
She wasn’t growing older. Not today.
BLADE HAMILTON DIDN’T KNOW a thing about farming or ranching or barn fires. All the way out to the Collins ranch, the sheriff talked about how he needed an expert fire investigator to have a look at it and it would be a week, maybe more, before he could get a fire marshal to this part of Texas.
Blade hated to bust the sheriff’s bubble, but Sheriff Brigman still didn’t have an expert on the kind of fire he was dealing with. He had studied arson fires and even worked a few bomb sites in the army. So, Blade kept quiet while the sheriff drove and hoped he had enough experience to fake it.
For the past five years he had worked fires set in wooded areas. That was different from this, and the only tool of his trade he had with him was his camera. But he’d known his enemy in the woods of northern Washington and the hills of California. The opponent hadn’t changed, just the location had. Blade began to collect facts about the land, and mentally started a list of questions.
When they turned off under a ten-foot gate with a Bar W brand, Blade had stopped listening to the sheriff and started trying to remember what he’d