a mural. She knew it was time to stop dreaming and get up, but her eyes refused to open. Just once she wished she could sleep a whole night or wake at dawn, then roll over and go back to dreaming.
But there was too much to do. If she planned to design homes instead of just trying to sell them, she had to study, and the only time she could study was at the end of the day—when her job was over, when Maria had her supplies, when all was right on the farm, when Grandmother had been checked on.
At least, for once, she hadn’t awakened cold. The wool blanket she’d spread out just in case she needed a short nap had kept her warm. She didn’t even remember climbing out of the chair and lying down, but she’d slept soundly for once.
Something moved along her back. Sam, the fattest cat in Texas, must be keeping her warm. He thought he had to come out with her to the barn every night, as if he considered himself a guard cat.
Her eyes flew open. Sam might be long, but he didn’t run the length of her body.
Dakota slowly rolled over and stared at her new neighbor, who was sleeping an inch away.
The Hamilton was back.
She sat up carefully. He was muddy from the top of his dark brown, curly hair to his leather boots laced with buckles. He had what must be a week’s worth of stubble along his square jaw and a bruise under his left eye. Probably given to him by the last stranger he’d curled up with.
It occurred to her that he might be some kind of pervert. Sneaking up on people and curling beside them when they were dreaming. She wasn’t sure that was a criminal offense, but it would definitely be a dangerous one.
She felt her clothes. All still buttoned. He hadn’t come to rape her apparently, just sleep beside her. Which wasn’t near as frightening she decided, so she’d consider letting him live.
She smiled, thinking that he was downright cute in a baby dragon kind of way. Big, well built and younger than she’d thought he might be last night when he’d been standing in water and growling like a bear.
Maybe he was like a cold-blooded snake who only crawled into the barn for warmth.
Grandmother’s stories about how mean the Hamiltons were came to mind. She said no one in the county crossed them for fear of being shot on a dark night. Wolf-gray eyes can see in the dark and they were all crack shots.
Grandmother would whisper that if you stole from their ranch, they’d find out and take back double. She even claimed she heard a rumor that the Hamilton men branded their women so they could never run off. That might explain why there were no pictures of Hamilton wives at the museum.
Dakota stared at the man beside her. His being cold-blooded and mean didn’t seem out of the question, but he hadn’t killed her, so she might give him the benefit of the doubt. Her mother told her once that Grandmother’s stories grew darker every year, and longer than bindweed on a fence post.
As carefully as she could, Dakota moved away, covering him with the blanket she’d been wrapped in all night. Picking up Sam, she silently left the barn. Maybe it would be better to let sleeping dogs lie. There was no telling what kind of mood he’d wake up in.
“Some guard cat you are,” she whispered as she scratched Sam’s head.
The old cat didn’t even have the sense to look guilty.
When she stepped in the shadowy kitchen, she wasn’t surprised to hear Maria making breakfast. Routine was Maria’s clock. She lived by it and so did Dakota. The reason she always had to be home before dark was Maria’s clock. The same time to do meals, to deliver her products to the grocery, to go to church, were her sister’s way of keeping in balance in her world of forever midnight.
“Morning,” Dakota managed as she walked past the kitchen on her way to the bathroom. “I fell asleep in the barn again.”
Maria held out a cup of coffee. “I figured that. I’ll have breakfast ready by the time you finish showering.”
Dakota stopped as she took the cup. “Better cook extra. That Hamilton who borrowed my truck is asleep in the barn.”
“Shichu will not like that.” Maria giggled as if she were three and not thirty-three. “Lucky she didn’t show up last night. The rain must have kept her from her normal wandering around the place.”
“We’re not telling Grandmother. I swear, she gets more Apache every year. She may have been born mixed, but the Irish seems to be bleeding out. The other day she came over wrapped in a blanket and wearing Grandpa’s old floppy hat. She’s starting to look like the short, squatty ghost of Sitting Bull. She’s also going back in time as she ages. I don’t think she knows what decade it is.”
“Probably not, but her senses are keen. She found a bushel of wild plums last week.” Maria raised her flour-covered palm as if swearing an oath. “And the old girl can probably smell a Hamilton. So tell me, did he just drop by to kill us in our sleep and decide to nap first?” Maria’s tone told Dakota that her sister thought the whole thing was a joke.
Dakota gulped down one swallow of hot coffee and came full awake. “I think he brought the truck back and decided to wait out the rain. He probably just fell asleep. Don’t let him frighten you when he comes to the door. I have a feeling when he wakes he’ll drop by to tell us he’s leaving.” She shrugged. “If he smells breakfast, we’ll probably have to feed him.”
“He won’t startle me. I’m sure I’ll hear him coming.” Maria lifted her butcher knife. “I’ll meet him at the door armed and ready. Or—” she set the knife down “—I’ll do the neighborly thing and invite him in for breakfast. Killing someone with a full stomach seems the right thing to do, and no man could possibly turn down my blueberry pancakes.”
Dakota shook her head. Maria’s life might be dull and ordinary, but in her mind she lived the great adventures she listened to in her books.
When they’d been kids, Maria often elaborated on Grandmother’s stories. She made the Hamiltons monsters with the smell of death on their breath. Or zombies who never stopped coming, no matter how many bullets hit their chests. Or aliens with nine long fingers on each hand, perfect for choking someone.
Now they laughed about the nightmares they’d had as children because of Maria’s imagination. Dakota smiled as she grabbed her robe and stepped into the tiny bathroom. She doubted any of the stories Grandmother or Maria told were based on an ounce of truth, but she’d count Blade Hamilton’s fingers the next time she saw him, just to be safe.
Twenty minutes later when Dakota walked back into the kitchen, tying a towel around her head, she could smell cinnamon bread in the oven and hear Maria’s laughter.
Maria wasn’t alone.
Blade, looking like a mud truck had run over him, was sitting at the counter drinking coffee and smiling at Maria.
“Have a seat, little sister. Breakfast is about to be served.” Maria waved her spatula toward Blade. “Mr. Hamilton will be joining us. I decided to let him live after he told me that he slept with you last night.”
Blade silently raised his hands in surrender, but Dakota didn’t miss the way his gray eyes moved down the thin robe now clinging to her wet skin.
“I was just planning on resting a few minutes
