CHAPTER FIVE

      ONE BY ONE, Dakota turned on the lights in the beautiful old stucco home on Indigo Lake that her grandparents had built in the twenties. The day had exhausted her. She’d spent most of her time talking to people who didn’t know what they wanted in a house. Window-shoppers were just part of the job; they didn’t seem to realize that she didn’t make money if they didn’t buy.

      Once in a while, when everything went wrong, she wanted to scream all the way to heaven. “I can’t take it anymore. Not one more step. Not one more ounce of worry. Not one more day of people wasting my time. I’m not strong enough to carry the load.”

      But she had to be. There was no one else.

      Just as she reached for the light in the kitchen, a gentle voice whispered from the shadows. “About time you got home, little sister.”

      Dakota forced a smile as she flipped on the light. “Sorry I’m late.” Being home before dark was a rule she’d agreed to years ago. Not that Maria would ever complain.

      “Did you get all the canning supplies?” Maria moved toward her, gliding one hand slowly over the counter. “I thought I heard someone else on the porch.”

      “Yes to both.” Dakota tried to sound lighthearted but today seemed stormy everywhere. “I got everything you ordered. Even picked up extra jars while they’re on sale. Wes, at the store, helped me load them. If that man gets any quieter he’ll be a mute.” She followed her sister toward the porch. “And, you’re not going to believe it, Maria, but there’s another Hamilton alive.”

      “You saw one?” Her sister turned back so quickly her dark, curly hair floated like a cape around her shoulders.

      “Not only saw, I loaned him our pickup.” Dakota had already concluded that that decision probably hadn’t been a bright move. First, he was a Hamilton. Second, he was a stranger. Third, he was a biker. Maybe she should have thought twice about being neighborly. The only thing the guy lacked was a prison shirt hand-painted with Looking for My Next Victim.

      “Let’s go kill him now and save some time.” Maria laughed as she slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry. That just came out. Killing Hamiltons must be deeply buried in my DNA.”

      Dakota didn’t want to admit she’d already thought of that. “It’s been a hundred years since the Hamilton-Davis feud began. Maybe we should do some research to see if anyone remembers what started it. Maybe Grandmother’s stories might just be that—stories.”

      “But he might remember the curse,” Maria whispered. “He could be across the lake plotting our deaths right now. Grandmother swore Hamiltons are trained from birth to kill any Davis that sets foot on their land.”

      “I don’t think he knows about that oath. He would have mentioned it if he had.” Dakota wasn’t sure Blade would care either way. He seemed more like the type who hated all folks in general, so why pick on Davises. “We’re probably safe.”

      When Maria’s sweet face wrinkled into a frown, Dakota added, “I did try to bounce him out of the pickup, but he hung on. Which was lucky, I guess, because he was still alive to help me get the supplies to the porch before it started raining.”

      Maria carried in boxes of canning jars. In the home she never tested her steps. She knew the pattern of the floor by heart. “Tell me all about him. Then we murder the guy just so we know the curse is broken.” She almost managed to sound serious. “Oh, and before we pay him a visit, tell me, was he good-looking? Tall? Old or young? Ugly with wolf eyes?”

      Dakota joined her sister in the work of organizing everything exactly as Maria needed: flour in the left bin, sugar in the tin on the counter, cinnamon on the right side of the first shelf. Everything had its exact place for Maria. “Wolf eyes, definitely. And tall, but mean looking. Not ugly. Young, I think; he was too muddy to tell. He was standing in the lake, covered in pond scum, when I met him. It didn’t really go with his skin.”

      Maria giggled, sounding much younger than her thirty-three years. “I have an idea. If he’s just homely, one of us should marry him before we murder him. Then we’ll get the land. Someone said there are plums growing all over that land. I could double or triple my plum jelly production.”

      “What good is a place we can’t step foot on? Remember what Grandmother said, Davises die when they walk over Hamilton land.”

      “I don’t believe Shichu. The older she gets the more stories rattle out of her brain.” Maria moved her fingers lightly over the jars, counting them. “How old is he? I’ll marry him. It wouldn’t matter to me if he’s ugly.”

      Dakota watched her beautiful sister, wondering how she could speak so lightly about being blind. Forcing all emotion from her voice, she answered, “Couldn’t tell much about looks, but he had a nice build. I have a feeling he’s meaner than a rattler though. He told me if I got wet I might shrink to elf size.”

      Maria, an inch taller than Dakota, reached in the kitchen drawer and drew her butcher knife. “That does it. We kill him tonight. No one insults my little sister.”

      Dakota laughed as the vision of them tromping down the muddy road with their only weapons, a big knife and baseball bat, flashed through her mind. “We can’t go tonight. It’s raining. We’ll both be elf size before we get to him and he’ll probably stomp on us with his biker boots.”

      “He’s a biker? Like Hells Angels or the Bandidos? Does he have those biker tattoos? You know, the kind that frighten any woman when she rips off his shirt in wild passion.”

      “I didn’t look but next time I’ll ask him to strip, then I’ll come home and describe them to you.” Dakota grinned, thinking she might like seeing Hamilton nude. Only for reference so she could report back to Maria, of course.

      Maria seemed lost in her own dream. “I’ll bet he has a wicked tattoo running across his chest. I listened to this romance novel last month where the hero was a biker. He had a skull and crossbones on his chest and said he was a pirate who stole hearts. The story was so hot it burned my ears.”

      Dakota shook her head. “We’ve got to cut down your subscription to audiobooks. How many books did you listen to this week?”

      “One nonfiction, one biography and only four or five romances.” Maria shrugged. “Sometimes I listen to the romances twice. I have a feeling if I could see, I’d be an untamed spirit rushing out to midnight affairs and romantic afternoons with men whose names I wouldn’t even bother to learn. I’d call them all ‘lover.’”

      “You’ve never done anything wild in your life, Maria.” Dakota couldn’t imagine her shy sister ever being brave enough to talk to a man, much less draw him into an afternoon of passion.

      “I know I haven’t gone crazy yet, but I’m making mental notes from the books. Once I find the right man, I’ve got a list of things to try. He’d better have stamina.”

      They both laughed and began preparing dinner.

      As Dakota worked on the wide, wood-block countertop that her grandmother had cooked meals on, the stress of the day slipped away. This house made of stucco and logs had withstood every storm that had come along for years, and it would withstand this one tonight.

      “So,” Maria said as she made the salad, “tell me about your day.”

      Dakota made a face but kept the worry out of her voice. “I swear being the only Realtor in a rapidly growing small town is like chasing bees in a tornado. One retired couple from Amarillo just wanted to move to Crossroads because it was so tiny. They said they were tired of the big city and fighting traffic on a street called Soncy. They claimed they’d