Spirit Lake (16 page)

“His cousin Tim ran away, too. And of course Karen had no way of contacting me directly."

The teapot whistled, making her jump. She shoved the pot to the next burner and flicked off the heat. “But they found the boys?"

Like a lone wolf, Cole stepped further away from her. “They found them right away, fortunately. They were going to camp under a viaduct for the night, then hitch."

“To find you."

“Who knows. Maybe. If he doesn't hate me."

She watched him cling to the sink rim, the icy whiteness of his knuckles wrenching her heart. There was nothing worse than a lost child. “He knows only one thing. He loves you."

A muscle jumped at the corner of his eye.

“You doubt your son's love?” she asked, her heart swelling at the incredulity of the notion.

“I hate to think what would happen if Rojas..."

She went to him, smothering his icy hands against her stomach to warm him, but he trembled. “Your son is safe. You said so."

Reaching up, she pushed stray hair back off his furrowed brow, being careful of the ugly wound. She attempted a comforting smile. “Listen to me. You're going to win."

“Win what?” He turned and peered at his reflection in the window over the sink. “I don't know that man in the window anymore. I don't know me."

Scrutinizing their reflections, Laurel saw a shared weariness masking their faces, making them appear alike and ghoulishly older tonight, like some married couple, worrying about a child out too late. The thought stunned her, throwing a fright into her that she needed to tamp down. She couldn't afford this type of closeness with Cole.

“You're just tired,” she finally said.

“Maybe I could sneak back to Florida, see Tyler, retrace things."

She busied herself with taking clean bottles from the drainer and putting them away. “You can't go flying back to Florida right now. That would be the old Cole, acting reckless, and I won't have it."

He gripped one of her arms as if it were a lifeline. His eyes bore into hers, then softened. “Reckless?"

“It's true. The old Cole Wescott would leave right now, barrel right to Tyler in that old singular focus, leading Rojas right to your family's doorstep. You'd be killed and where would that leave your son? And damn you, if you really are that reckless underneath, I'll come after you myself. For the sake of your son."

Peering down at her with eyes gone wild with awakening, he released her arm as if to say, you're right. “But it's the old me who hopped the train."

“Who promised his brother a legacy for his son as well as your own. What's wrong with you? Stop taking the easy route. You don't have to be the ‘old’ you. Accept what you're doing and becoming, because believe me, you have no choice. Nobody runs for his life or hides out and remains the same."

“Is it why you changed? Is living out here alone, and becoming a mother to animals what I made you do?"

“Yes,” she confessed, her nerves darting like needles. “But don't make it sound so hideous. It's just the opposite. Life surrounds me. Yes, at first I wanted to be left alone. My father was in a rage. My mother was upset. Everyone was talking about you. In college I found I could hide from the prying eyes and the pity. But I should thank you because it forced me to make choices. I didn't have to stay in college. I didn't have to study animals and plants. I found I liked it. For me. I'm strong and I'm doing something lasting."

“But you're missing out on being loved yourself."

“I'm loved here,” she sniped, but her heart cried out.

Every fiber in her itched to tell him everything. Itched to tell him she longed to be loved in the way he'd loved her one summer. Fully, completely, in wild abandon that tickled, smelled of clover, came and went softly on the wings of the wind, and returned to stay. Cole would not stay this time either.

He had a child.

She did not, and she could not deny the jealousy tugging at her. It gnawed at her, unbidden in her belly, a secret pain devouring her like some mad disease that sooner or later would consume her with fire and send her running through the woods for relief, and the relief would never come.

Heaving back her shoulders, she said, “I'm not going husband hunting just to fill a gap in my life as you see it. That would be like buying any old chair just to fill a corner in a room and I'm not that kind of person who worries about what other people think."

“Noble of you. Maybe they'll build that fountain you talked about after you meet your maker, and they'll put up a comfortable plaque saying, ‘dedicated to the extinct Hastings family.’”

A chill spiked through her. “You lost your right to show such disdain the day you left and never looked back. Dresden and Spirit Lake have been good to my mother and me. This place has been constant, there for me, like you promised to be but never were. This is home."

He limped out of the kitchen.

She chased after him.

He crossed the wide, open room to stare into the fire. “It's been one hell of a night. Laugh, cry, fight. We never used to fight."

Her heart took a right-angle turn his way. “Maybe we should have. It was a movie back then, too."

“Trouble is,” he harumphed, “I believe in the values. You do, too."

She lurched. “I believe in the tranquillity here."

“Dresden would be a great place for Tyler. It'll never come to pass because of me. You see, I don't have the power to make choices with my life like you did. It's out of my hands because of Rojas."

“Don't allow pity to be your guide,” she said, coming to stand at the back of the sofa. She rearranged the pillows mindlessly. “I think it was the reason I almost married—"

Cole whirled around, his angry look scalding her to silence. “You mean you were going to marry a man you never loved? Then why did you plant flowers on his grave the other night?"

Her insides turned dank and drafty as an ancient cave. “You followed me?"

“When I saw you leave the cabin so late, I was concerned."

“Stay out of my life."

“You ordered me here tonight, remember? House arrest."

Escaping him to put a bottle of formula in the microwave, she punched hard at the timer buttons. A thunderclap made her shoulders flinch. “You always had to be right. Grow up."

“Am I right? About Kipp O'Donnell?” he asked, coming into the kitchen.

She shuddered, not daring to look at him. “Don't, Cole. It's been ten years since he died. Of course I must have loved him."

“Must have?"

Thunder rolled torrents of rain against the windows. “Please, Cole. I'm not in the mood. I was supposed to feed my animals at ten or so and now it's past midnight."

He let go a gusty sigh from behind her. “What have you convinced yourself about me all these years? You could have tried to stay in touch with me, too, but you didn't. Was I ... a trophy boyfriend?"

Turning to him, the violent need swirling in his hawkish gaze startled her.

“A trophy?” she mused, but her throat clutched. “Yes. I loved you so much then that I wanted the whole world to see you with me. Maybe it's just a girl thing."

“Nothing could replace the way it felt back then to have you in my arms. Maybe that's just a guy thing. Trouble is, I've never outgrown the need."

Old feelings for him welled up inside her. Budding. Hot. Forbidden yet bursting to be free of the cave, to find light.

Cole's eyes burned into her like liquid fire. Laurel rushed to him, flinging her arms around him and pressing her head to his chest. His heartbeat pounded strong and fast.

Was she falling in love with him all over again? Her head said “no,” but her heart still had that window open to him.

Eager to extricate herself from him, she grabbed the bottle from the microwave too fast. It slipped to the floor with a crash, milky formula splashing in a puddle. Before she could stop him, Cole reached down, nicking his thumb.

His blood pooling in the milk, Cole swore, “Damn Rojas. Both of us with nerves shot because of him."

The icy knot clawing her stomach agreed. She would not have a life back until Rojas—and Cole—were gone. “I'll get a bandage."

She rushed from the kitchen, wishing she could run forever. Just like Cole had done to her years ago?

She focused on finding the bandages. Cuts she could deal with, not heartbreak.

Chapter 9

COLE NEEDED THE short respite alone in the kitchen while she hunted up a bandage. He was worried about her, and his son and Karen and his nephew Tim, but did he need to unload it all on her shoulders tonight? After she was daring enough—kind enough—to spring him from jail and invite him into the cabin?

It bothered him that he couldn't tell her that John hoped she'd do that very thing. If she got harmed because of this crazy plan of his and John's, a planned hatched with an old drunk....

He thought about the attic, old days of summer ... making love to erase all else. Love? No. Try sex, man, pure and simple. Feel your reaction to her? Don't you listen? She just got done explaining you were fooled back then. You thought she loved you and it all started from some ambition of hers to have a trophy on her arm. Hmm. Sounds like some of the reasons you dated a few women along the way since Laurel. So why does it frustrate you so much to have the shoe on the other foot?

Because the attic tryst had been special.

Making love with her had come naturally, as if they'd never been apart. Obviously it hadn't meant as much to Laurel.

He'd dreaded returning to Dresden because he was afraid his need for Laurel would ball up inside him again. He had always liked protecting her, feeling part of something worthwhile, and damn but the woman was worthy. Of love. Of a man more together than he! He'd just have to get over it. Focus on his tough side. Keep Laurel out of danger and no more of this chitchat about feelings.

Blood dripped off his finger and onto the milk-splashed floor. Everything in his life was a mess, right down to Laurel's floor.

Then Laurel was there, wide-eyed and stoic as ever, blotting his thumb and bandaging it with swift efficiency.

He muttered, “Be nice if we could put something like that on fifteen years, huh?"

“A patch? It doesn't work for emotions, buddy,” she said, eyes steady on the task of securing the bandage. When she went to the table to check the syringes and bottles, he felt he'd been set adrift in the Arctic. “So what's your thought about Rojas?” she asked, and he knew it was a diversionary tactic. She hated talking about Rojas.

“I suppose I've got to come up with something."

The bottles clinked under her inspection. “What if he just chose to make you run forever? What if that's his cruel plan for you?"

The acid in his gut threatened to come up. He hadn't thought of that. Life would become focused on one thing—running. He'd never see his son again, never ... see Laurel again, never hear her voice, never feel her passion driving him toward relief, never feel her strong fingers patch his perpetual wounds.

A raw emptiness swept through him. “I can't run forever. I want to make a life for my son."

Her answer was to grab a towel to finish daubing milk from the floor, but he swore he spied her eyes grow shimmery instantly. Her long, red hair kept tumbling over her shoulders, threatening to dip into the milk. He walked over and gathered it in his fist. He noted she didn't try to pull away, and that relaxed him a little.

When she rose, even facing away from him couldn't hide a teardrop escaping the corner of her eye. He let go of her hair reluctantly, his heart pounding for her, wishing she'd not feel sorry for him or his son. He wished he hadn't brought this hurt to a woman so fine. It made him want to carry around a basket full of stones on his back, just to show how much he wanted to keep the burden solely his.

At the table he helped her pack the bottles and syringes in a basket for a trip to the shed. He admired her silent intensity.

“You really like doing this, don't you?"

Her brief smile was all he needed, but she said, “I've worked hard to get this far. It's been my dream to have this clinic."

“Who gets all this formula?"

“You're really interested in helping?"

He didn't care for the doubt clouding her eyes. “Of course. Remember the kittens we found in Johnsrud's barn? I held onto them while the vet put some gunk in their eyes."

She smiled and shook her head. “I'd forgotten. You'll meet Rusty the fox. He came from Johnsrud. Found him in a trap that didn't quite work. And I've got a new batch of baby bunnies."

“The fox doesn't see the bunnies as hors d'oerves?"

Her stricken look melted into another smile. “Never you mind the jokes. And take a couple of aspirin for that goose egg. They're in the cupboard by the sink."

She always seemed to be one step ahead of him, doctoring him and forgiving him. He admired her clear sense of herself, of knowing her direction and purpose.

“You think you could ever put up with me if I were healthy?"

This time, he didn't care for her ruminating scowl. “Not sure. It seems the only thing keeping us together is me doctoring your wounds."

“So I have a nurse fetish."

“I don't have that kind of license, so I guess that lets me off the hook."

Well. She certainly let that roll off her tongue too fast, he thought. Still, she was right. She deserved someone she didn't have to doctor all the time. She was intelligent, gifted really in what she could perform with animals and children. What could he do? Race a boat, spout drag quotients of waves under wind conditions, or bring old artifacts up from the deep. What did any of it matter when compared with what she did with her life?

“The bunnies,” she was explaining, while nuking another small bottle in the microwave, “need several feedings because they're so small. And special antibiotics. Rabbits have bacteria in their stomachs not found in other small mammals and it's always essential to check them often when you have sick ones like this to start with."

“I see.” He didn't at all. “What can I do?"

“We need a couple of towels and we're set."

We
. That little word sent his blood rushing to already pulsating points in his body. “We” sounded warm on a rainy night.