vision, a will-o’-the-wisp, impossible to catch.
Blade couldn’t move. He felt like he’d seen a ghost, though his life had always been ordered by reason and logic. This whole part of the country made him feel like he’d stepped into another world, or maybe another dimension. He was the outsider here, and yet he didn’t feel as out of place as he thought he would. Somehow, deep down, a part of him belonged here. Blade dropped the pickup keys on the porch.
There was a kind of magic in the air. Dakota had spoken of a curse. In an isolated place like this, he could almost feel the past whispering as he walked around the house that looked like its walls were a foot thick. Before he reached the open field between his land and Dakota’s house, he passed a small place built low, almost into the earth. Smoke circled from the chimney, but no light shone from the windows. An old, white rocker on the porch moved gently in time to the wind.
He slowed his steps, not wanting to wake whoever lived in the little cabin. Twenty feet later he passed a huge winter garden now sleeping. Further on he spotted a shed made of roughly cut boards near a stand of low trees.
When he turned the corner to the barn’s side door, he caught a flicker of light.
Slowly, drawn like a moth, he moved toward the light and slipped through the opening into silent, warm air.
From the looks of it, most of the barn was used for storage. Farm tools, an old wagon, a tractor, all looked abandoned. Leftovers, too valuable to toss, too worthless to sell.
One corner near the back reminded him of a mad scientist’s study. Drawings of houses and floor plans were nailed to the wall—some old and curling at the edges, some new and more detailed than the originals.
Blade was so interested in the plans, he almost didn’t notice a woman sleeping in a multicolored blanket between the sides of an old wingback chair. She looked tiny, with only her face left uncovered and the rope of a dark braid spilling over the blanket. The old leather office chair seemed to be holding her, cuddling her in its arms.
Obviously, she’d been working at the bench of a desk. These were her plans, her drawings on the wall. He’d studied enough blueprints in his investigations to know what he was looking at. Not office buildings or compounds, but homes. Big beautiful homes where every inch of space was put to use, every detail refined.
He clicked Save on the laptop and powered her computer down. He’d bet Dakota had to be at work in a few hours and guessed she’d sleep better somewhere else.
Another brightly colored blanket was spread out on a mound of hay near the door. He was too tired to worry about what might be wrong with picking up a sleeping woman he barely knew. For once, Blade didn’t weigh his actions. He simply lifted her in his arms and carried her to the makeshift bed.
A big yellow cat complained when Blade shoved him off the blanket and knelt as he carefully laid her down. Dakota wiggled slightly, settling back into sleep.
He knew he should leave, but he didn’t have the energy to stand. He’d been up for two days and had spent most of the night digging in the mud. Exhausted, he almost didn’t notice that he was also wet and muddy. He wasn’t sure he had enough energy left to walk the mile back to his place. Not in the dark. Not in the rain.
Blade leaned back. He’d just rest a few minutes. It was warm and dry in here. He’d be long gone by dawn.
His head gently bumped her shoulder as he closed his eyes and breathed in. Before he exhaled, he was sound asleep.
LAUREN WATCHED THE SUN coming up over the small lake community a few miles from Crossroads where she’d grown up. The light seemed to fight its way between the clouds in no more hurry to start the day than she was.
Rain had charged in waves during the night, making staying out at the fire site or sleeping impossible. The fact there had been a fire on the Collins ranch bothered her, but the possibility that Lucas would get involved worried her more. Reid and Lucas had never been friends and after Reid fired Lucas’s father, she was afraid they might be well on their way to becoming enemies.
Maybe that was why she’d come here to her father’s house last night. She needed to feel safe. Here, just as she had in childhood, all seemed right and fair with the world.
She had her own place above the small office she rented in town, but this house on the lake, Pop’s house, would always feel more like home. Sometimes she just needed to be here, if only for one night.
Since her father had remarried a few years ago, laughter and music always seemed to echo in the small rooms where she’d grown up. It had always been a safe place, but now it was a happy place, as well.
Last night she needed to feel as if she belonged somewhere. Her father had gone to the fire, and his bride was in Nashville for a few weeks recording songs she’d written in the lake house. Lauren could come home and no one would notice.
She admired her stepmother, Brandi. She’d followed her dream to be a singer, but she’d been smart enough to find Lauren’s father to marry. She’d proved to Lauren that a woman could have both.
Memories circled round, reminding Lauren of dreams she’d lost or given up without ever seeing how far they might take her. She hadn’t been brave like Brandi. She’d always been afraid to try.
The trouble with burying dreams is it leaves you hollow, she decided. But sometimes hollow is better than broken. She’d never been brave enough to risk losing. A brave sheriff’s daughter afraid to try.
Walking out onto the deck Pop had painted blue when they moved in over twenty years ago and never remembered to repaint, Lauren stared into the pale light, wishing she could feel its warmth. The whole world seemed cold and silent as darkness still held to the shadows of the empty house.
Brandi had hated leaving Pop, but he’d insisted she go. He had no doubt she loved him, but she loved music too.
They couldn’t seem to get enough of each other. Lauren had the feeling, thanks to Brandi’s income from songwriting and performing, that they could afford the biggest place in town, but they were happy here. The little lake house. The home Lauren’s mother had always called “the tiny house” and often complained about, even though she’d never lived in it. When Lauren’s mother left her dad and Crossroads, she’d left Lauren too.
Footsteps sounded on the boat dock just beyond the deck. Lauren turned and watched Tim stumbling up to the steps. His bad leg never seemed to take steps without a struggle.
Tim O’Grady had kept his parents’ old cabin on the lake as a vacation home, but he rarely dropped by. Tim had become a drifter in many ways. He traveled, lectured some, said he was doing research in cities all over the world. He told her about all the places he’d visited in long blogs he kept online, but she sensed he made up the people he said he met. Never any pictures of people, only places.
In her online newspaper, Lauren did a weekly post of Tim’s travels and book deals. He didn’t know or care that hundreds followed his career.
He smiled as he stepped into the yellow light of the one deck lamp. “I figured you’d be over here at your dad’s place, L.”
“You heard about the fires at Reid’s ranch?” She wrapped her sweater
