The Sweetness of Honey (A Hope Springs Novel) (7 page)

“You’ve gone out with Oliver, too?” Kaylie asked.

Indiana nodded. “I had breakfast with Oliver Friday morning, then dinner with Will last night. And I’ve spent time with both when I’ve been here to check on the property. Really. I’m not dating either. I just don’t get why, after all these years of drought, I have two men in my life at the same time.”

“I get that it’s frustrating,” Luna said, “but it’s not a bad problem to have.”

“Can you roll with it?” Kaylie asked. “Don’t think about it so much? Don’t worry about it? Just see what happens?”

“If I want to stay sane,” Indiana said, thinking it was probably too late, “I don’t have much choice.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

H
alloween night, Indiana arrived at Luna and Angelo’s barn bearing chocolate cupcakes frosted with chocolate buttercream, and orange marmalade cookies with an icing of orange zest. The chocolate wasn’t exactly black, but close enough to serve as one of Halloween’s traditional colors. The orange spoke for itself.

It was a strange holiday this year, not being home to give out candy to costumed kids, but she liked this new circle of friends she found herself a part of. All because seven months ago Kaylie had wanted a garden, and Tennessee had wanted to give Kaylie everything. That it had taken her brother’s love for a woman to get him to reach out to her might have given Indiana pause if she, too, didn’t find Kaylie irresistible.

Through Kaylie, she’d met Luna; her husband, Angelo; and Kaylie’s father, Mitch Pepper. Mitch had been a constant around Kaylie’s house as she prepared again—second time being a charm, the first delayed by a fire—to open Two Owls Café. Kaylie baked most of her own brownies, but Mitch, along with his new wife, Dolly (they’d surprised everyone by getting married last Saturday), would be responsible for the daily buffet of casserole, salad, and the best hot rolls Indiana had ever eaten in her life, the recipe handed down to Kaylie by the foster mother with whom she’d lived in the very house she now owned.

Then there was Will. And Oliver. She doubted Oliver had ever worked a day in his life. Nice gig for those who could get it, or those born into that world. Will was more of an enigma. He did construction work for her brother, but she couldn’t imagine him using what Tennessee paid him for more than pocket change; after all, he’d bought a loft in the same building as the one where Luna now did her weaving and would’ve needed a substantial chunk for that.

Like Oliver, Will appeared to be financially independent, though the source of his wealth wasn’t as obvious. If he came from a well-to-do family, he’d never let on. In fact, he hadn’t said much to anyone about his past, except to tell Luna he’d been raised by wolves. Sometimes, Indiana believed that he had been. He had a certain look, predatory, she supposed, though Oliver often gave off the same vibe.

Oh, what did she know about men? Her brothers had vanished from her life when she was only sixteen. She’d never told her parents what had happened with Robby Hunt, and doubted Robby had spoken of it to anyone; why would he? A would-be rapist confessing his crime willingly to explain why he’d been beaten with a baseball bat by his victim’s brother?

No, he’d stayed just as silent as Indiana had, letting Dakota take the fall. Growing up with that on her plate had made dating less than palatable. She was a smart woman. She’d been a smart teen. She knew what had happened had not been her fault, no matter her history with Robby. That didn’t make it any easier to deal with. She’d been plagued for years with
if onlys
. . .

If only her parents hadn’t gone out that night. If only Robby’s parents had insisted he go with them on his family’s spring-break vacation rather than allowing him to spend the week with Dakota and Tennessee.

If only Tennessee had been the one to come down and check on the frozen pizza. If only Dakota hadn’t been playing his stereo loud enough to drown out the scuffle, though since most of that had been outside . . .

Funny how her
if only
s weren’t anything she could’ve controlled or done differently—though
if only
she’d stayed in her bedroom with the door locked all night had crossed her mind more than once.

“Look at you!” Luna said, breaking into Indiana’s musings while giving her costume a once-over. “Turn around. Do you have a stinger?”

Indiana turned, wiggling her backside. The padded cone fixed between the black and yellow tiers of her bumblebee skirt wiggled, too.

“Absolutely adorable. Also, the corset is a very nice touch.”

“That’s all the costume company’s doing,” she said, tugging up on the asset-revealing bodice that was making it hard to breathe. “I don’t have that much imagination, but you certainly do,” she said, taking in Luna’s halo and wings and the rest of her sexy-angel getup—the sheer white stockings, the white minidress with a bustier top, and the very high and sparkly heels with white feathered cuffs.

“With all the remodeling going on, I was lucky to manage this, though Angelo made it a lot easier when he decided to dress like the devil.” Luna cast a glance toward the new river-rock fireplace where her husband stood with friends. He was dressed all in black, a collared, red cape over his shoulders, horns on either side of his head. “Which, I must say, suits his new look, all that slicked-back long hair.”

“The goatee doesn’t hurt, either,” Indiana said, looking from Angelo back to the treats she’d brought. “Where should I put this?”

“Did you bake these?” Luna took the platter of cookies off the top of the bakery box Indiana still held, revealing the logo when she did. “Ah, Butters Bakery. I think we should probably just put these away in the kitchen until everyone else is gone.”

“My first choice was to put them away in
my
kitchen, but yours will work just as well.”

Indiana followed a laughing Luna through the great room, where tables bearing goodies sat beside tables bearing drinks, and a long buffet-style setup of every taco fixing known to man butted up against a margarita machine. The smells of chili powder and cumin and onions and warm corn tortilla shells had her staying to fill her plate.

While there, she was swept into conversation with Luna’s mother about the impending arrival of her second child twenty-eight years after her first, then with Luna’s father about sheep farming and providing the wool Luna used in her Patchwork Moon scarves.

Mitch Pepper joined them shortly, and Dolly showed up soon after. She shooed Indiana along, insisting she spend time with those her own age and not waste it on her elders. That had the other three loudly objecting, and Indiana laughing as she walked away.

She spoke to people she had come to know well and to those with whom she’d only just become acquainted. She ate too many cookies on top of too many tacos and begged off a second dance after Morris Dexter, an old classmate of Kaylie’s, talked her into a first.

Before she circled back to the margarita machine, Angelo stopped her and introduced her to one of the board members who served the Caffey-Gatlin Academy with Luna and Oliver. Still drinkless, she talked with Manny Balleza, Dakota’s former parole officer, and met the most recent parolee he’d sent to work for Tennessee.

Kaylie, ignoring Indiana’s playful insistence that she needed alcohol, showed her off as family to a young woman who’d lived in the big blue Victorian three of the years Kaylie was there in foster care, but she’d done so too quickly for Indiana to catch her name. Cindy maybe? Then she turned and found herself facing Will.

He was wearing the same uniform of skinny black jeans and long-sleeved black tee he always did, though instead of work boots he wore slip-on Vans sporting glow-in-the-dark bones. His concession to the holiday, she supposed, though the fact that he owned said shoes . . .

She thought back to the last time she’d seen him, the kiss that preceded what had seemed like a regretful good-bye, his telling her to be safe as she drove, but to never be sorry. She was still working out what he’d meant by that, because he couldn’t know the things she was sorry for, her regret over ruining her brothers’ lives . . . Could he?

“So tell me,” she said, after tucking away her past to give him a thorough appraisal. “What does it say about a man that he wears a costume every day?”

“Indiana,” he said, ignoring her heavily loaded question. “Long time no see. Long time no talk to.” He leaned down, his lips just brushing her ear. “Long time no kiss.”

“Shh.” Wolves. He’d definitely been raised by wolves. She took a step back. His cheek trailed along hers as he straightened, and she shivered from the feel of his whiskers on her skin. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“It’s been three days.”

“It’s barely been two and a half,” she said, stepping closer to give another couple room to pass. He smelled like autumn, woodsy and spiced. “It was well into Tuesday morning when we got back to Hope Springs.”

“Feels like three years to me, and I know what three years feels like.”

If she hadn’t known him as well as she did, she might’ve fallen for his sympathy bid. “Yes, but time also drags when you’re not staying busy.”

He frowned as he looked away. “How would you know how busy I am?”

She reached up and, holding his chin, turned him back to face her. “I haven’t heard a word from you about the cottage. Is that because you haven’t thought more about it? Or because you forgot to charge your phone?”

“Ouch,” he said, as she let him go. “That’s some sting you’ve got there.”

He was right. This was a party. Wrong time and place to talk business. “It’s extra sharp because it hasn’t yet been dulled by a margarita.”

“Would you like me to get you one?”

“The biggest one you can find,” she said, and watched him go. Once he was lost to the crowd, she took a deep breath, then took in the partygoers, the conversation, the laughter, the music, the overwhelming joy filtering through the room.

Rather than wander and visit, she stayed where she was and waited for Will, speaking when spoken to, waving back when someone across the room caught her eye. Sharing quick hugs with the more demonstrative of her friends and soaking in all the fun. And it was fun.

There was no second-guessing the plans she’d set in motion for the cottage, no wondering if ordering larger greenhouses for the annex would’ve been the way to go. No worrying about either of her brothers, though the second the thought crossed her mind, she started, because it had been that way with her ever since Tennessee had reached out in March.

He was here; they’d touched base briefly before Kaylie had called him away, but Indiana couldn’t help thinking about Dakota and dropping the man he’d be now into the holiday season. Had he married? Did he have children? Was he out with them tonight trick-or-treating? Had he dressed up, too, because it made them laugh?

Ugh. She was so angry with herself for causing this rift. She needed to set it right. To somehow make up for all the missed Halloweens before the next one rolled around. A year away, but it would be here all too soon. Thankfully, before she grew completely maudlin, Will returned, a margarita in one hand, a beer in the other.

“What did you mean when you told me not to ever be sorry?” she asked, as she took her drink.

“Just that,” he said, holding her gaze as he lifted the longneck to his mouth. “Do what you do, and don’t regret it.”

She considered him over the rim of the glass as she sipped. “You weren’t referring to a particular event in my past?”

“Do I know the events of your past?”

Not from her, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t put Google to use and gone looking. Days into knowing him, and curious as to what had brought him to work with her brother, she’d googled him. She hadn’t found a single news article. Her past, on the other hand, at least the part Dakota had played, was easily searchable.

“Do you?” she asked.

He shrugged, stepped out of the way and closer to her when Mitch walked through with another brazier of refried beans. “Only what you’ve told me and what Ten has let slip.”

“Tennessee would never let anything slip,” Indiana said.

“Then obviously I know nothing,” he said, but she swore this time when he lifted his beer, his hand trembled. Because of what he did know? Because of past events of his own?

Because he was hiding the truth? “So telling me not to be sorry . . .”

“How about this,” he said, spinning to back her into the nearest wall and blocking the room from her sight. “Regrets aren’t worth wasting time on, because no amount of wishing away what’s happened is going to change a thing.”

Her heart slamming hard enough to choke her, she asked, “Are you talking about me now, or about you?”

“Who cares who I’m talking about.” He was breathing hard, his eyes wide, his nostrils close to flaring. “You. Me. It’s all the same.”

“Will . . .”

Surely her curiosity hadn’t set him off. And it wasn’t that he frightened her; even with all she didn’t know about him, she knew him well enough not to be afraid. But this way he had of flipping switches, hot to cold, black to white . . . She couldn’t help but wonder if this was his natural intensity, or if this was due to his time served.

Saying nothing more, she let the moment pass. His breathing leveled, and he stepped back, giving her room to move, bowing his head and softly saying, “I’m sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have brought it up. Not here. Not tonight.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, the fight gone out of him, his whole frame going limp as he leaned against the wall. “Not when. Not where. Not anything.”

She didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t meant to ruin his evening, though had a feeling anything she’d brought up in conversation would’ve produced the same result. This was who Will was, and whether prison’s doing or that of his DNA, she couldn’t imagine he’d ever change. And that was something it was best she come to realize now rather than later.

“I think I’m going to head home.” He drained the bottle in his hand as he pushed to stand straight. “You need another drink before I go?”

“I’m good, thanks,” she said, though after their encounter, she was just about ready for a second. “But if you feel like stopping by the cottage tomorrow, I’ll be there.”

His grin, as he walked away, was equal parts apology and touché. Watching him go, and suddenly exhausted, she did her best to put their confrontation out of her mind, then made her way upstairs. She walked through the media room, then onto the balcony, finding it empty, which pleased her to no end. Seeing couples and friends and family members enjoying the evening had her missing Dakota fiercely.

There was so much time between them, time and distance and words needing to be said. It was her need, and it was desperate, and she had to accept that it might not be his. That Tennessee might be right: Dakota didn’t want to be found. Dealing with that, accepting that . . .