The Sweetness of Honey (A Hope Springs Novel) (20 page)

“And I do appreciate the family I have here,” she said before he could respond. “The friends, too.”

“But we’re not enough, are we?” he asked, turning to look at her, though her gaze was cast down and away from his. “We never will be.”
He
never would be.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, shaking her head.

“Sure you do.” He stood, shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll bet a day hasn’t gone by since we first met in the academy’s driveway that Dakota hasn’t been on your mind.”

Finally she looked at him, still sitting, but lifting her chin, her head tilted back and her eyes angry. “A day hasn’t gone by since I was fifteen years old and this close to being raped that Dakota hasn’t been on my mind.”

He scrubbed both hands down his face, cursed under his breath. What was wrong with him? “I’m sorry—”

She waved a hand in a weak attempt to blow him off. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

Was she kidding him? He moved in front of her, dropped to his haunches, waited for her to look at him. “You’re not the only one to have lost a brother, Indiana. And at least as far as you know, yours is still alive.”

“But I
don’t
know, do I? My investigator can’t find him. Your fancy investigator can’t find him. Maybe he’s not alive at all.”

“Fancy investigator?” he asked, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I don’t know. I just . . . I don’t know,” she said, picking at the fabric covering her knees.

He stayed there for several long moments, not speaking, not reacting. He wasn’t sure how to react, or what to say. He understood her frustration over the lack of progress in her search, but her giving up seemed to come from a much deeper place. “Indiana—”

“What are we doing here, Oliver?” she asked, her cloud of dark hair bouncing around her face as she turned on him. “I mean, really. Are we friends? Am I an experiment or some sort of goodwill gesture for you? We’re certainly not lovers. Or is this about getting back at your mother somehow?”

This? What did she mean by
this
? “Hold on—”

She got to her feet as he did the same. “Why? Why should I hold on? What do I have to hold on to? You give me expensive gifts. You take me to see your father’s show. You buy me cake when I ask for it. You kiss me. You—”

She stopped herself before saying more, and he imagined her blurting out an expletive he’d never heard her speak. One that described the way he’d used her. One he deserved.

She was right. They were not lovers. And the desire to be so sawed at his insides, leaving his breathing jagged, his need for her desperate and achingly harsh.

“We haven’t had a lot of time together—” was what he finally started to say.

“Six months,” she said, cutting him off.

“Except we’ve only seen each other a handful of times.”

“No. I mean, a man I work with, one of my mechanics . . . He told me once that six months is all anyone needs to know how they’re going to fit in a relationship. He didn’t believe in these multiyear engagements or long cohabitations. Might as well be married, he said. If you don’t know after six months, then you’re never going to know.”

“Do you believe that?” he asked.

“I told him he was being ridiculous, but when I think about the couples I know in successful relationships . . .” She shrugged. “Those first months have been awfully intense.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “We should probably talk. About . . . things.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” she asked, reaching up to clear a strand of flyaway hair from her face.

“Yeah, but not here,” he said, glancing at the festivities, then back. “Unless you’d rather stay.”

She seemed to consider his request, then said, “How much time do you need?”

“To talk?” Or was she referring to the six-months scenario?

“Never mind,” she said, and waved him off, then hugged herself tightly.

“I’ve never been in a relationship before.” The words came out of nowhere and expanded to fill the cavernous space between them. He hadn’t meant to make the confession, though strangely, he didn’t mind having her know.

“What?”

He shrugged. “I had girlfriends in high school, and two or three in college, but then Oscar’s accident happened and it was easier to put my head down and forget there was a world outside.”

She narrowed her gaze. “You haven’t dated since Oscar’s accident?”

Where did he even begin with all the ways his life had changed that day? “Have I been celibate all this time? No. But a relationship’s always felt like too much . . .”

“Responsibility?”

That made him sound like a jerk. Probably because he was a jerk. Look how he’d failed his brother. Look at the grief he’d caused in the lives of those around him in the years before he’d discovered the truth of that tragic weekend. “Silver spoon, remember? I live up to the self-involved hype.”

“No. You don’t. You’re about the least self-involved person I’ve ever met.” She smiled then, truly smiled, as if it were easier than dealing with the drama. “I’m going to credit your father’s influence for that.”

“Ah, but you’ve only seen him on display,” he said. He didn’t like talking about his father. “He would go weeks at a time without coming home. And it wasn’t like he was traveling. He was too wrapped up in his work to shower or get a haircut or even eat. Forget remembering he had a wife and kids.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

He huffed. “I don’t even know where that came from.”

“Obviously from some deep dark place inside.” The woman was way too perceptive. “Which makes me wonder what other skeletons you’ve got hidden.”

Because telling her the worst of the secrets he kept wasn’t on tap for today, he said, “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

“Oliver Gatlin. Are you flirting with me?” she asked.

If he was, he feared he was doing so to deflect her prying, and that really wasn’t fair. Sighing, he asked, “Isn’t it kinda late for that?”

“Because we’ve already had sex, you mean?” She shook her head knowingly. “You obviously haven’t been watching Luna with Angelo, or Kaylie with Tennessee. And really. Do you not pay any attention to Mitch and Dolly when they’re together?”

He liked this woman a lot. “Like I said. I’m not so good with relationships.”

“How would you know if you’ve never been in one?”

“Something tells me I’d be in one now if I was any good,” he said, unable to be anything but honest.

Honest or not, his comment wedged itself between them, and she frowned. “Since I haven’t been in one either, I’m not sure I like your logic.”

And then she backed away, one step, two, and on the third she turned, leaving him standing alone in front of the shed.

He hadn’t known that about her, and it surprised him. Then again, like him, she had a lot of emotions tied up elsewhere, and until she freed them, until he freed them . . . He watched her join the others, thinking she was way too perceptive.

And deciding he didn’t like his logic, either.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A
week later, and after closing time, Indiana arrived at Two Owls Café bearing gifts, and for no reason other than she wanted to see a friend. That said friend happened to be her very pregnant sister-in-law made her anticipation of the visit that much brighter. She absolutely loved Kaylie to death. And who wouldn’t?

Indiana had bonded with Kaylie the first time they met. That day was supposed to be about her advising on the Two Owls garden, when really it was all about her reconnecting with Tennessee. But she owed that reconnection to Kaylie, and Kaylie would always hold a special place in Indiana’s heart because of the part she’d played in the reunion.

Today, however, it was just the two of them, Indiana bringing the first of the zucchini from the Gardens on Three Wishes Road for Dolly’s zucchini bread. Or so was the story she’d given when she’d called. The reality was that she needed girl time with her favorite girl before she fell completely apart.

“How’re you doing?” she asked, joining Kaylie in her second-floor sitting room. She’d left the zucchini in the kitchen with Dolly, where she and Mitch were cleaning up after the day’s buffet.

“Just peachy,” Kaylie said, resting the book she’d been reading on the swell of her belly as she reclined against the pillows in a chaise lounge. “If peachy means like a bowling ball bag.”

“When does the doctor think your lane will be ready?” Indiana couldn’t help but ask.

Kaylie smiled at that, shifting higher in the seat. She set her book aside, and pulled a basket of baby clothes closer. The woman did not know how to relax. “A week. Maybe two. At this point it’s all up to the ball.”

Indiana sat on the ottoman that put her closest to her sister-in-law. The parents-to-be hadn’t wanted to know the baby’s gender, preferring the surprise, so most of the baby things Kaylie had at hand were gender neutral in color. She reached for a hooded towel in a bright spring green and folded it.

“Not that you have much choice, but hang in there. You really look great. For a bag,” she said, causing both of them to laugh. “I left the zucchini in the kitchen, which is a mess, by the way, though I’m guessing that’s a really good thing for Two Owls.”

“It is.” Kaylie took a deep, grateful breath. “I don’t know what I’d do without Dolly and Mitch. They’ve pretty much taken over running the café.”

“I’m sure they don’t mind.”

“I know,” she said, smoothing the wrinkles from a second hooded towel. “But I’ve worked so long and so hard to make this happen, and now I’m nothing but a big fat lump on a log.”

“Wait. I thought you were a bowling ball bag.”

“You left out big and fat,” Kaylie said, her mouth twisted.

Indiana smiled. “The big and fat are temporary, and aren’t even you. That’s all little Keller.”

“Or not-so-little Keller,” Kaylie said, then before Indiana could respond, added, “Dolly mentioned Oliver seemed rather infatuated with you at Easter.”

Infatuated. Somehow that word just didn’t fit. It was too simple. Too one-sided. Too shallow, even. Yet no other came to mind, and Indiana sighed. “Honestly. I never meant for any of this to happen. Oliver is . . . complicated,” she said, and left it at that. “But I don’t think it’s things with him as much as with Dakota that are turning me into a bitchy mess.”

Kaylie folded a tiny yellow onesie, taking her time as if she weren’t quite ready to let go of the subject of Oliver. “Ten’s not been the easiest man to live with of late, either.”

“Because of Dakota? Or because he’s anxious about you and the baby?”

“Some of both, I’m sure, though he doesn’t really have any reason to worry about the baby or me. The doctor says we couldn’t be a more textbook pregnancy if we tried.”

“Still. This changes everything about both of your lives. And as natural as childbirth is, there can be complications.”

Kaylie twisted her mouth to the side. “Thanks.”

“Sorry,” Indiana said with a wince, “but you know what I mean. Tennessee loves you. Until he gets you and the little one home, he’s going to worry.”

“And he’ll keep worrying about things like the best schools, the safest cars, the healthiest foods. And he’ll keep worrying about Dakota.” Kaylie reached for a drawstring sleeper. “Has there been anything new from Martin?”

Indiana shook her head, recalling her last conversation with Kaylie’s PI. “I don’t think I ever told you that he’s not the only one looking.”

“What do you mean?” Kaylie asked, and Indiana pulled in a deep breath.

“Apparently the Gatlins have a PI on retainer. Don’t ask me why,” she said with the wave of one hand. “But Oliver put him on the case, too.”

“Huh. Did you know? Did he ask you about it?”

“I found out after the fact.” Indiana smoothed a tiny white T-shirt over her knee. “And all he’d asked was if I wanted him to vet Martin or recommend anyone. I said no.”

Kaylie stacked the sleeper on top of the onesie, looking at the laundry instead of at Indiana. “So rather than doing either of those things . . .”

“Exactly. The spirit rather than the letter.” Such a Gatlin way to operate. Or so she’d thought before getting to know him.

“He must care for you a lot,” Kaylie said after a long moment spent watching Indiana fumble through folding the T-shirt.

“I think it’s just a man thing,” she said with a shrug, giving up. “Wanting to be right. Taking charge.”

Kaylie took the garment from her hand. “A man doesn’t spend that kind of money on a woman he doesn’t care for.”

Indiana kept silent about the Patchwork Moon scarf, and the Lockets and Figs bumblebee necklace. “He was just being nice.”

“Indiana—”

“Okay. He cares for me now, but that happened a long time ago. We’d just met. We certainly hadn’t—” She stopped herself but was too late with it.

“Tell me something,” Kaylie said.

“Maybe.” It was the only response Indiana was willing to make.

But Kaylie ignored her feigned reluctance. “If you and Oliver are . . . together like that, have you gotten over Will?”

There hadn’t really been anything to get over, had there? “Will thinks I need to be thankful for the brother I have in my life.” When Kaylie remained silent, she added, “And he’s not the only one.”

“Oliver, too?”

Indiana nodded. “Oliver I understand. He lost his only brother. It makes sense he’d push me to not forget about Tennessee. What he doesn’t get is that not for a minute, no matter what happens with this search for Dakota, will I ever forget about Tennessee.”

“You should see the look Ten gets on his face when he talks about you,” Kaylie said, her eyes growing misty. “I’m not sure if he’s ever told you what it means to him to have you back in his life.”

It took several emotional moments for Indiana to find her voice and be able to work her very tight throat. “Do you think they’re right? That I’m taking Tennessee for granted? Or relegating him to second class because I want to find Dakota?”

“He wants to find Dakota as much as you do. And if he feels you’re treating him like a second-class citizen, he would be the last one to complain, because he treats himself the same way. Whatever wrongs you want to make right with Dakota, Tennessee has just as many of his own. All I ask is that you do this together. Tell him about Oliver’s investigator. Let him know anything either man finds out.”

At the sound of the elevator engaging behind him, Oliver closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and set down his palette and brush. He hadn’t spoken to Indiana since Easter because he hadn’t known what to say to her. The way they’d left things had pretty much sounded like the end of whatever they might’ve been working toward.

And that on top of his butting into the business of her and her brother . . . Yeah, he couldn’t imagine she had anything to say to him. Apologizing for his tone was one thing, but he couldn’t apologize for his words. That didn’t make him right. It was her life, her situation. Her brothers. But he was not going to change his mind.

And yet, wasn’t he just as guilty as she was? He’d put his life on hold the moment he’d heard the news of Oscar’s car tumbling down the ravine. What right did he have to lecture Indiana on how she was living hers? Except it hadn’t been a lecture, had it? But more his taking another tack to try to fix her pain. Which brought him around to asking what right did he have to do that? Oh, that answer was easy.

He loved her.

The thought shuddered through him, gripped him hard, squeezed until he had to struggle to draw a breath. Yeah. Loving her didn’t give him either of those rights. But loving her made him want to do anything he could to stop her from hurting. The fact that she was the only one who was able to do that . . .

He shook his head and tabled the thought. The elevator had arrived, and he’d just realized, just admitted, just accepted that he loved Indiana Keller.

What in the world was he supposed to do now?

Wiping his hands on a rag, he turned toward the door, his hands stopping, his feet stopping, his heart nearly stopping when his father stepped out. The only words he could think to say were, “What’s wrong?”

The older man looked him up and down. “Other than you needing a haircut, nothing that I know of.”

Indiana’s voice came back to him:
What’s going on with your hair?
“This coming from a man wearing a ponytail?”

“Susan misses you,” his father said, setting the dog he held tucked under his arm on the floor.

The miniature poodle, who looked more like a terrier, ran circles around Oliver’s feet, then sat and looked up, her stubby tail wagging through the dust on the floor. He opened his arms and she jumped, landing against his chest, and it was hard not to smile when her tongue went to work against his cheek.

“All right, all right,” he said, putting her down and wiping his face on his shoulder. “Did you bring her food and her leash, or just the dog?”

“It’s all in the car. Didn’t want to haul it up if you told Susan to take a hike.”

He would never say such a thing to the dog, and his father knew it. “She can stay. It’ll be nice to have the company.”

“And a reason to breathe some fresh air a couple of times a day?”

Oliver indicated the open windows. “I breathe it all day long.”

“A reason to take a shower, then.”

“And how often have you been so wrapped in a sculpture that you skip a shower or two?”

“Smells like you’ve skipped at least a dozen.”

Huh. He didn’t realize things had gotten so bad. Good thing Indiana hadn’t stopped by. Not that he’d given her a reason to . . .

“How long are you planning to hide out here?” His father’s question came from halfway across the loft. “Your mother’s worried.”

Oliver shook off thoughts of Indiana. Or he tried. But the ones that replaced them were no better. He’d been here now for six months, painting, thinking, coming to grips with the years he truly had spent hiding. He’d gone home at least once every week. Or he had until Easter.

When Indiana had told him six months should be plenty of time to know what he wanted.

“I’m not hiding out. I’m working.”

“On bees?”

Yeah. About that. He walked to where his father was standing, and took in the canvases stacked against the loft’s brick walls.

“They’re not all bees.”

“They all look like bees. Yellow, black. That says bees to me.”

He’d used more colors than yellow and black, and the orange that he’d had Luna weave into the scarf. She’d told him she didn’t do special orders. He’d told her it was for Indiana, and offered to pay her enough for three. She wouldn’t take money save for the one, and she made him tell her about what Indiana made him see.

All he could think to tell her was about the property on Three Wishes Road and the morning he and Indiana had first talked. How excited she’d been about becoming the caretaker for Hiram Glass’s bees. Or maybe it was her excitement over owning the acreage and expanding IJK Gardens into Hope Springs. He didn’t know what parts of the morning were memories, and what parts impressions.

He did know she’d been wearing her cowboy boots and a sundress, and he’d thought what a strange combination. He couldn’t imagine any woman he knew being comfortable in what he’d come to accept as Indiana’s uniform. The boots, anyway. The weather determined whether she wore dresses or T-shirts and jeans.

Neither could he imagine any woman he knew being comfortable getting her hands dirty—literally—while coaxing a harvest from the ground. And she’d seemed just as at ease, or at least as efficient, dealing with his emotional grime. No one had ever done that for him before. No one had ever been there for him before. Not in the way Indiana had. There was no one else. Only her. Just her.

He turned to his father. “I’m hiding. And I’m painting bees. What do I do now?”

Orville stared at his oldest son, his only son, his gray eyes knowing, his smile knowing, too. “That one’s easy. You tell her that you love her. But not until you take a bath.”