The Beautiful Daughters (3 page)

“Barrel race? As in horses? Like in the rodeo?”

She nodded. “In high school I had a friend whose dad was a bull rider. One summer we trained on her horse and signed up to barrel ride during the county fair.”

“How'd you do?”

Adri shrugged. “There were only three of us. I got second place.”

“Okay.” Caleb rubbed his chin as he digested this tidbit of information. “My dad designed all of my tattoos. He's an artist.”

“Wow.” Adri considered the colorful landscape of his arms with new appreciation. There was a ship and a storm cloud so real in cast and hue that she could almost smell the rain. An exquisite bird. A word in a language she didn't recognize. Stretching out a single finger, Adri almost touched the shaft of a sharp-tipped arrow that ran the length of his forearm. When she realized what she was doing, she balled her hand into a fist and crammed it in her pocket. “He's very talented.”

“Thanks. Your turn.”

She had to think for a moment. “I grew up on a farm.”

“I grew up in the city.”

“I have a twin brother.”

Caleb's eyes widened. “Fraternal or identical?”

“Identical twins can't be a different gender,” Adri laughed.

“I mean, does he look like you?”

“We're more like polar opposites.”

“Cool,” Caleb said with a smile. “I'd like to meet him.”

The line was dwindling and the security guards seemed to be increasingly uncomfortable with the tattooed white man who refused to leave Adri's side. “You'd better go,” she said, nodding at two armed guards who were talking furiously and motioning to Caleb.

“One more thing,” he said. “Tell me one more thing about you and I'll walk away. I promise.”

“I'll be back in a week, Caleb. We can continue your ridiculous trivia then.”

But he wouldn't give up. “Humor me.”

Adri rolled her eyes. Caleb was playing a dangerous game, one that toyed with the stabilizing anchor that Adri had dropped in the sea on the day she first arrived in this country that was so far from everything she had ever known. She didn't want to be moved. She didn't want anything at all to change, because she felt, if not exactly safe here, at least grounded. The borders of her world were solid and comforting. Caleb was wrong. She was a prisoner—but she was exactly where she wanted to be.

It was time to shatter any romantic notions Caleb insisted on harboring. As much as he liked to think that he knew her, he didn't understand the first thing about Adrienne Vogt.

Taking a step toward him, Adri broke all her own rules and laid a hand on his chest. Caleb was taller by a few inches, and she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach his face. He stiffened when she leaned into him, but when her lips grazed past his cheek and lingered against his ear, Adri could feel the tremor that vibrated beneath his warm skin.

“I killed a man,” Adri whispered.

Caleb went perfectly still and his heart beat a single, hard thump that Adri could feel in his neck.

She hadn't prepared herself for the wave of disappointment that engulfed her, the unexpected sorrow of understanding that she had done it: she had effectively and permanently succeeded in pushing him away. It broke her heart a little, but grief for what might have been was a luxury she didn't have time for. Adri swallowed it down like a bitter but necessary pill.

“There you go,” she murmured in his ear. “That's all you need to know.”

Adri pushed away and took a few steps forward to keep
pace with the steadily moving line. Straightening the strap of her backpack where it had slipped off her shoulder, she took a shaky breath and told herself that she had done the right thing. Caleb had to go. She refused to look back at him, but she could imagine his dazed stare, the hurried scrape of his feet as he all but ran from her. By the time she got back from the States, his bags would be packed and Caleb would be ready to join the ranks of all the memories she kept secreting in corners of her soul. At least, she hoped so.

But before she could mentally rearrange the soon-to-be-spare bedroom in her little home, someone caught her by the arm and spun her around. Caleb kissed her once, a sweet but firm weight on her slightly open mouth. Then he put his lips against her ear and whispered, “Then I guess I'm falling for a murderess.”

He winked as he walked away, and the gentleman behind Adri in line had to give her a shove to keep her moving. When they took her pack from her and rooted through it, she barely registered the brash invasion of her privacy, and she didn't even blink when a female guard patted her down.

Within minutes she was sequestered in a cramped waiting room, surrounded by strangers who looked like they longed to be anywhere but where they found themselves: caged like cattle awaiting transport. Adri made her way to the farthest wall and a bay of windows that pointed in the direction of the parking lot. She couldn't see the Land Rover, the angle was wrong, and even if she could find the spot where Caleb had parked hours ago, she doubted that he'd still be there.

He had disappeared with a wink and a grin, and Adri was left with nothing more than the lingering impression of his kiss and the harsh understanding that her plan had backfired.

Caleb thought she was lying.

3

A
dri had nothing but time.

Forty-two hours, to be exact, as her last-minute ticket out of Africa routed her through Brussels to New York, where she had to switch from Newark to JFK and endure an overnight layover. She spent the slow hours of the intercontinental flight wishing for sleep as she flipped through stations on the in-flight TV. The movies and sitcoms were supposed to be a distraction, a way to erase the memory of Caleb. His kiss. But by the time she touched down on American soil, Adri was numb with exhaustion and convinced she could still feel the warmth of Caleb's hand on her arm. He seemed to draw her to her feet as everyone around her began to disembark. To prod her forward with an encouraging squeeze.

Somehow Adri made it through Customs and Immigration and found her way to the bus stop, where she boarded the Newark airport express and prayed she was headed in the right direction. As the shuttle bus wove through New Jersey, Adri closed her eyes against the crush of traffic and fought to keep down the pretzels she had nibbled on the plane. She was accustomed to the chaos of third-world congestion, not the efficient, breakneck hum of taxis, buses, and commuter cars in one of the world's largest and most modern cities.

When the bus pulled into New York's Port Authority Bus
Terminal, it became a hub of quiet activity. Travelers grabbed their carry-ons and moved toward the door single file, some pressing bills into the driver's hand before they hurried down the steps and disappeared. Adri blinked around, surprised by the order, the unfamiliar scent of expensive cologne as it mingled with a perfume, maybe a lotion, that reminded her of blackberries in cream. She had forgotten what blackberries tasted like and it made her unaccountably sad. People stood a respectable distance from each other, careful not to touch. It was so polite. And somehow cold.

“Are you getting off?”

Adri looked up to see a young woman poised at her elbow. She had left a little room between her and the businessman in front of her, and with an outstretched hand was offering Adri a space in the line for the door.

“No,” Adri stammered, a little confused. “I'm getting off at JFK.”

The girl flicked blond hair over her shoulder and smiled ruefully. “Actually, you have to switch buses to get to JFK. You need the NYC Airporter Express. It leaves every fifteen minutes.”

“Oh.” Adri fumbled for her backpack. “Are you sure?”

“You came from Brussels, right?” The girl tipped her head toward Adri with a confident arch in her eyebrow. “I think we were on the same plane. I sat a few rows behind you. Anyway, I have to switch airports, too. I'm headed to JFK.”

Adri yanked her pack off the floor and shuffled awkwardly past the empty aisle seat to take her place in line. “Thank you,” she said. “I probably would have circled New York on the bus all night.”

“No prob. It's kind of confusing.”

The terminal was alive with people. A light breeze swirled up by all the motion sent a shiver down Adri's spine, and she wrapped her arms against her chest to ward off the chill. She hadn't been out of West Africa in three years, and the sudden rush of the world she had left behind was almost more than she could bear. It was dizzying and inexplicably heartbreaking.

“It's this way,” the girl from the bus called over the noise of the engines and the intercom and the crowd. She set off through the swarm of people and Adri followed a step behind, anxious not to lose sight of the one person in a sea of strangers who had shared a smile with her.

But it was more than that and Adri knew it. This girl, this complete stranger, was a reminder.

She was a stride or two in front of Adri, just out of reach, and in those few wordless moments everyone and everything else faded away. Adri was aware of nothing but the swing of the girl's caramel-blond hair and the way she threw her shoulders back, parting the crowd with a self-assured sway that was so familiar Adri felt her eyes burn suddenly hot. Adri had run away from a lot of things when she boarded that very first plane bound for Africa. Her hometown, her memories, the ghost of David Galloway. But in the end, it didn't matter what had happened or how everything had imploded. When the dust settled over the wreckage of her life, she knew she couldn't stay.

She couldn't stay because when everything was said and done, Adri still loved Harper.

But she hated her, too.

Harper Penny was a liar.

A storyteller and a dreamer. She was an artist whose medium was the everyday, the people around her. The world. Harper painted it the way she wanted it to be, and reinvented herself to match the landscape. Cropped shirts to tease, stilettos when she wanted to rule. Even sweatpants could be wielded as a weapon. But Harper was practically naked the first time Adri laid eyes on the woman who would become her best friend.

It was the last Saturday in August, the air so thick it was a tangible thing. Adri kept brushing her wrist against her forehead, trying to smooth the sticky breath of summer away, though she only succeeded in further tangling the damp strands
of her shaggy, dark bangs. Her arms were full of clothes on hangers, her entire wardrobe transferred from the passenger seat of her dad's truck up the two flights of stairs in the freshman dorm of Anderson Thomas University to her room halfway down the hallway. No air-conditioning.

Thankfully, the building wasn't yet packed with new students. The official move-in date was two days off, but local students and athletes were encouraged to come earlier. Adri had decided at the last minute to live in the dorms instead of at home, even though Maple Acres was less than a ten-minute drive away. Now she was grateful that the first impression her peers would form of her wouldn't be a Polaroid of this moment. A drop of sweat slipped behind her ear and down her neck. She needed a shower. Her formerly clean clothes needed a washing machine. And her door had fallen shut. Locked.

Adri melted against the closed door of Room 212 and let her head tip back to smack the wood.

“I did the same thing. Locked myself out.” The voice came from across the hall, and Adri's skin prickled at the realization that she wasn't alone. She didn't bother to open her eyes to address who was talking. She couldn't. “The door locks automatically.”

“My keys are inside.” Adri was embarrassed to admit it.

“Roommate?”

“She's not coming until Monday.”

“No worries.”

The sound of movement and Adri looked up to see what was happening. A quick shuffle in the sunny dorm room across the hall, and a girl emerged, beer in one hand, ice pick in the other. Who took an ice pick to college?

“Here.” She thrust the sweating bottle of Coors Light into the mountain of clothes that Adri still clutched to her chest. Adri was forced to trap it between her chin and a black cardigan that seemed almost obscene in the hazy heat of the second floor. The bottle was frosty, mostly empty. She must have
slammed it. ATU claimed a dry campus, but the girl wasn't even trying to hide her alcohol.

“Thanks,” Adri said, remembering her manners as the girl bent at the waist to thrust the ice pick in the lock. She couldn't help staring. The stranger was wearing a pair of boy shorts, striped, and a gray tank top. Bare feet, bare arms, bare legs that were at least a mile long. She was so tall that Adri wondered if she could fit through the door without ducking.

“It's not yours,” she laughed.

Adri realized she was talking about the beer.

A faint metallic click and the girl swung the door open with a flourish. “There you go. You can thank me later.”

“Um, thank you,” Adri said dumbly anyway. She shuffled past her as the girl held the door open. A hand snaked out and snatched the beer bottle, so Adri dropped the clothes in a heap on her unmade bed. “I'm Adri, by the way.”

“Harper.”

An awkward moment passed where Adri would have normally stretched out her arm to shake hands. But Harper stood there with a fist on her hip, the other wrapped around the dark bottle. One side of her pretty mouth was curled up in a half-smile. Questioning? Playful? Adri couldn't tell. Harper was decidedly gorgeous and just as intimidating. Golden-blond hair swept in a French braid that twisted over her shoulder and eyes the color of wet stones. Gray and green and blue and brown all at once.

Adri wasn't sure what to do next, but then Harper threw the last swallow of her beer down and set the empty bottle on Adri's desk. “You can't just leave your clothes there,” she chided, and, separating out a couple of hangers, moved to Adri's closet and began to arrange her wardrobe. By season and color.

When Adri's brother, Will, and his best friend, Jackson, arrived carrying a ratty old recliner between them, Harper was sitting cross-legged on Adri's hard-backed desk chair regaling Adri with stories. The closet was open behind her, the rainbow-colored
contents so neat it looked like it had been staged for a photo shoot, but the guys didn't give it a second glance. Will almost dropped his side of the chair when he saw Harper.

“Over there.” Adri pointed, giving her twin a look like daggers. She didn't yet know if Harper was her first friend at college or just the girl across the hall, but she wasn't thrilled about the way her brother looked like he wanted to trace the line of her leg from ankle to thigh.

“Who's your friend?” Jackson asked. Adri worried that Harper might be offended by his casual assumption that they were friends.

She either didn't care or didn't notice. “Harper Penny,” she said, unfolding herself to stand full height and thrusting an empty hand at Will. He was still settling the recliner, his fingers caught between the floor and the piece of furniture, and was forced to give her nothing more than a wistful look. She shrugged and sat back down.

“You local?” Will asked after introductions, sans handshakes, had been made. It was a stupid question. Of course she wasn't local. Blackhawk was a small town; the population practically doubled when ATU was in session. If Harper were local, they would have known exactly who she was. But Will didn't seem to realize how inane his inquiry sounded. He perched on the arm of the recliner and looked for all the world like a puppy who would love nothing more than to curl up in Harper's lap.

“Nah. I'm a soccer player.” Harper raised a shoulder as if it was obvious. She certainly had the body for it.

But Adri found out later that Harper wasn't on the soccer team. Or even a recreational player. She had left home early, sick of summer and sicker of her parents, and figured no one would bother her if she showed up and acted like she was exactly where she was supposed to be. She was right.

“Where you from?” Will asked, trying to be offhand and failing miserably. Adri exchanged a look with Jackson, but he seemed more amused than annoyed.

“DC.” Harper pressed her cuticles back with a long, painted fingernail the color of green apples.

“How'd you end up here?”

“It was the farthest place from home I got an acceptance letter from.”

“That bad?” Will asked, the slant of his mouth sympathetic. As if he knew what it was like to be so sick of his dad he was willing to fly across the country with no backup plan.

The truth was, Adri and Will had been raised on a small dairy farm, more of an acreage than an actual farm, really, in a corner of the country where one couldn't claim the distinction of “farmer” unless he boasted a couple thousand acres and a combine worth half a million dollars. But Sam Vogt didn't mind that he was a bit of a joke. He was a hippie, a gentle soul who sang to his chickens when he butchered them and taught his children to love little things. Snow peas in June, a warm bath, fresh-baked bread with honey straight from the comb. Adrienne and William grew up without television or Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, and knew a life so sweet and tranquil that the world beyond the borders of their little homestead, Maple Acres, seemed shrill and explosive.

“They're philosophy professors,” Harper said, making her parents' profession sound like a synonym for ax murderer. “They've crammed John Locke and his ilk down my throat from the moment I slipped from the womb.” She laughed at herself or at them, Adri couldn't tell.