"You were beautiful." Dawson shrugged. "I was no one. It made me nervous."
"Do I still make you nervous?"
"No," he said, then reconsidered. A slight smile eased onto his face. "Maybe a little."
She raised an eyebrow. "Is there anything I can do?"
He took her hand and turned it this way and that, noting how perfectly their hands seemed to fit together, reminding him again of what he had given up. A week ago, he'd been content. Maybe not perfectly happy, maybe a bit isolated, but content. He'd understood who he was and his place in the world. He was alone, but that had been a conscious choice, and even now he didn't regret it. Especially now. Because no one would have been able to take Amanda's place, and no one ever would.
"Will you dance with me?" he finally asked.
She answered with the ghost of a smile. "Yes."
He rose from the couch and gently helped her up. She stood, her legs feeling shaky as they moved toward the center of the small room. The music seemed to fill the room with longing, and for a moment neither of them knew what to do. Amanda waited, watching as Dawson turned to her, his face unreadable. Finally, placing a hand on her hip, he drew her closer. Their bodies came together then and she leaned into him, feeling the solidness of his chest as his arm circled her waist. Ever so slowly, they began to turn and sway.
He felt so good to her. She breathed in the smell of him, clean and real and everything she remembered. She could feel the taut plane of his stomach and his legs against hers. Closing her eyes, she laid her head on his shoulder, flooded with desire, thinking of the first night they'd ever made love. She'd been trembling that night and she was trembling now.
The song ended but they continued to hold each other as another song started. His breath was hot on her neck and she heard him exhale, a kind of release. His face inched even closer, and she leaned her head back in abandon, wanting the dance to last forever. Wanting them to last forever.
His lips grazed her neck first, then gently brushed her cheek, and though she heard a faraway warning echo, she strained toward the butterfly touch.
They kissed then, first hesitantly, then more passionately, making up for a lifetime apart. She could feel his hands on her, all of her, and when they finally separated, Amanda was conscious only of how long it had been since she'd ached for this. Ached for him. She stared at Dawson through half-closed eyes, wanting him more than anyone she'd ever known, wanting all of him, here and now. She could feel his desire as well, and with a movement that seemed almost preordained, she kissed him once more before leading him to the bedroom.
13
The day was crap. Started like crap, the afternoon and evening were crap, even the weather was crap. Abee felt like he was dying. It had been raining for hours, the water soaking through his shirt, and he couldn't stop the alternating bouts of shivering and sweating no matter how hard he tried.
He could tell Ted wasn't doing much better. When he'd checked himself out of the hospital, he'd barely made it to the car without falling. But that didn't stop him from making directly for the back room of his shack, where he kept all his weapons. They'd loaded up the truck before setting out for Tuck's.
Only problem was, no one was here. There were two cars parked out front but no sign of either of their owners. Abee knew that Dawson and the girl were coming back. They had to, since their cars were here, so he and Ted had split up before settling in to wait.
And wait. And wait.
They'd been there at least two hours before the rain started to fall. Another hour in the rain, and the chills started up. Every time he shivered, his eyes flashed white because of the pain in his gut. Swear to God, he felt like he was dying. He tried thinking about Candy to pass the time, but all that did was make him wonder whether that guy would be there again tonight. The thought enraged him, which made him shiver even more, and the whole thing would start over. He wondered where the hell Dawson was and what he was doing out here in the first place. He wasn't even sure whether he believed Ted about Dawson--in fact, he was pretty sure he didn't--but catching the look on Ted's face, he decided to keep his mouth shut. Ted wasn't going to give up on this. And for the first time in his life, Abee was a little afraid of what Ted would do if he walked over and announced that they were going home.
Meanwhile, Candy and that guy were probably at the bar right now. Both of them laughing it up, sharing those special smiles. Just picturing it made his pulse race with fury. The pain flashed then, and for a second he was sure he was going to pass out. He was going to kill that guy. Swear to God. Next time he saw him, he was going to kill him and then make sure Candy understood the rules. He just had to get this piece of family business out of the way first, so Ted would be around to help him. God knows he was in no condition to handle it himself.
Another hour passed and the sun sank lower in the sky. Ted felt like he was going to puke. Every time he moved, his head felt like it was going to explode, and his arm was already itching so bad beneath the cast that he wanted to tear the damn thing off. He couldn't breathe through his swollen nose and all he wanted was for Dawson to show up so he could end this thing here and now.
He didn't even care whether little miss cheerleader was with him. Yesterday, he'd worried about witnesses, but not anymore. He'd just hide her body, too. Maybe folks would think the two of them had run off together.
Even so, where the hell was Dawson? Where could he have gone for the whole damn day? And in the rain? He sure as hell hadn't planned on this. Across the way, Abee looked like he was dying. Guy was practically green, but Ted couldn't do this alone. Not one-handed, while his brain was swooshing from side to side inside his skull. It hurt to breathe, for God's sake, and whenever he moved he got so dizzy he had to hold on to something to keep from toppling over.
As darkness fell and the mist rolled in, Ted kept telling himself that they'd be back any minute, but it was getting harder to convince himself of that. He hadn't eaten since the day before, and his dizziness was getting worse.
By ten o'clock, there was still no sign of them. Then eleven. Then midnight, with the stars between the clouds a blanket of flickering lights above them.
He was cramped and cold, and the dry heaves started. Ted began to shake uncontrollably, unable to stay warm.
One o'clock and still nothing. At two, Abee finally came staggering up, barely able to stay upright. By then, even Ted knew they weren't coming back that night, and the two of them staggered to the truck. He barely remembered the trip back to the property or the way he and Abee clung to each other as they stumbled up the drive. All he could really recall was the feeling of rage as he collapsed in bed, and after that everything went black.
14
When she woke on Sunday morning, it took Amanda a few seconds to recognize her surroundings before the evening came rushing back. Outside, she could hear birds singing while sunlight streamed through the small opening between the drapes. Cautiously, she rolled over and found the space beside her empty. She felt a stab of disappointment followed almost immediately by confusion.
Sitting up, she held the sheet against her as she peered toward the bathroom, wondering where Dawson was. Seeing that his clothes were gone, she swung her feet down, wrapped the sheet around her, and went to the bedroom door. Peeking around the corner, she caught sight of him sitting on the steps of the front porch. Turning around, she dressed hurriedly and stepped into the bathroom. She ran a quick brush through her hair and padded to the front door, knowing she needed to talk to him. Knowing he needed to talk to her.
Dawson turned when he heard the squeak of the door opening behind him. He smiled at her, the darkening stubble on his face adding a bit of roguishness to his appearance. "Hey, there," he said and reached beside him. He held out a Styrofoam cup; another was cradled in his lap. "I figured you might need some coffee."
"Where did you get this?" she asked.
"The convenience store. Just down the road. As far as I can tell, it's the only place in Vandemere tha
t sells coffee. It's probably not as good as what you had Friday morning, though."
He watched her as she took the cup and sat beside him. "Did you sleep okay?"
"Yes," she said. "And you?"
"Not really." He shrugged slightly before turning away, focusing on the flowers again. "The rain finally stopped," he commented.
"I noticed."
"I should probably wash the car when I get it back to Tuck's," he said. "I can call Morgan Tanner if you want me to."
"I'll call him," she said. "I'm sure we'll be talking, anyway." Amanda knew the meaningless chatter was simply a way to avoid talking about the obvious. "You're not okay, are you?"
His shoulders drooped, but he said nothing.
"You're upset," she whispered, feeling sick at heart.
"No," he answered, surprising her. He slipped his arm around her. "Not at all. Why would I be upset?" He leaned over then, kissing her tenderly before slowly drawing back.
"Look," she started, "about last night--"
"Do you know what I found?" he interrupted. "While I was sitting out here?"
She shook her head, mystified.
"I found a four-leaf clover," he said. "By the steps here, just before you came out. Poking out of the ground in plain sight." He presented her with the delicate green wisp, sandwiched in the folds of a piece of scrap paper. "It's supposed to be lucky, and I've been thinking a lot about that this morning."
Amanda heard something troubled in his voice, and she felt a flash of foreboding. "What are you talking about, Dawson?" she asked quietly.
"Luck," he said. "Ghosts. Fate."
His words did nothing to ease her confusion and she watched as he took another sip of coffee. He lowered the cup and stared into the distance. "I almost died," he said finally. "I don't know. I probably should have died. The fall alone should have killed me. Or the explosion. Hell, I probably should have died two days ago..."
He trailed off, lost in thought.
"You're scaring me," she finally said.
Dawson straightened, coming back to her. "There was a fire on the rig in the spring," he began. He told her everything: the fire turning into an inferno on the deck; how he'd hit the water and seen the dark-haired man; how the stranger had led him to the life preserver; how he'd reappeared with a blue windbreaker, then suddenly vanished in the supply ship afterward. He told her all that had happened over the next few weeks--the feeling that he was being watched, and how he'd seen the man again at the marina. Finally, he described his encounter with Ted on Friday, including the dark-haired man's inexplicable appearance and disappearance in the woods.
By the time he finished, Amanda could feel her heart racing as she tried to comprehend it. "Are you saying that Ted tried to kill you? That he went to Tuck's place with a gun to hunt you down, and you didn't feel the need to even mention this yesterday?"
Dawson shook his head in apparent indifference. "It was over. I took care of it."
She could hear her voice rising. "You dump his body back at the old homestead and call Abee? You take his gun and dump it? That's taking care of it?"
He sounded too tired to argue. "It's my family," he said. "That's how we handle things."
"You're not like them."
"I've always been one of them," he said. "I'm a Cole, remember? They come, we fight, they come again. It's what we do."
"So what are you saying? That it's not over?"
"Not to them."
"Then what are you going to do?"
"Same thing I've been doing. Try my best to stay out of sight, keep out of their way as much as possible. It shouldn't be too hard. Other than cleaning up the car and maybe swinging by the cemetery again, I've got no reason to stick around."
A sudden thought, liquid and blurry at first, began to crystallize in her mind, one that led to the first stirrings of panic. "Is that why we didn't go back last night?" she demanded. "Because you thought they might be at Tuck's?"
"I'm sure they were," he said. "But no, that's not the reason we're here. I didn't think about them at all yesterday. I had a perfect day with you instead."
"You're not angry with them?"
"Not particularly."
"How can you do that? Just turn it off like that? Even when you know they're out there hunting you down?" Amanda could feel adrenaline flooding her body. "Is this some crazy idea about your destiny as a Cole?"
"No." He shook his head, the movement almost imperceptible. "I wasn't thinking about them because I was thinking about you. And since you first came into my life, that's the way it's always been. I don't think about them because I love you, and there isn't room for both."
Her gaze fell. "Dawson..."
"You don't have to say it," he hushed her.
"Yes, I do," she pressed, and she leaned in, her lips meeting his. When they separated, the words flowed as naturally as her breath. "I love you, Dawson Cole."
"I know," he said, gently sliding his arm around her waist. "I love you, too."
The storm had wrung the humidity from the air, leaving blue skies and a sweet floral aroma behind. The occasional drop of water still fell from the roof, landing on ferns and ivy, making them shimmer in the clear golden light. Dawson had kept his arm around Amanda, and she leaned into him, savoring the pressure of her body against his.
After Amanda rewrapped the clover and tucked it into her pocket, they got up and walked the property, their arms around each other. Skirting the wildflowers--the path they'd used the day before was muddy--they made their way around the back. The house was set into a small bluff; beyond that, the Bay River stretched out, almost as wide as the Neuse. At the water's edge, they spotted a blue heron high-stepping through the shallows; a little farther down, a clutch of turtles was sunning on a log.
They stayed for a while, taking it all in before slowly circling back to the house. On the porch, Dawson pulled her close, kissing her again, and she kissed him back, flooded by the knowledge of her love for him. When they finally drew back, she heard the faint sound of a cell phone as it began to ring. Her phone, reminding her of the life she still had elsewhere. At the sound, Amanda bowed her head reluctantly, as did Dawson. Their foreheads came together as the ringing continued, and she closed her eyes. It seemed to go on forever, but once it was finally quiet, Amanda opened her eyes and looked at him, hoping he'd understand.
He nodded and reached for the door, opening it for her. She stepped inside, turning when she grasped that he wasn't going to follow. Instead, after watching as he took a seat on the step, she forced herself in the direction of the bedroom. Reaching for her bag, she fished out her cell phone, turned it on, and looked at the list of missed calls.
Suddenly, she was sick to her stomach and her mind began to race. She went to the bathroom, shedding clothes as she walked. Instinctively, she made a mental list of what she had to do, what she was going to say. She turned on the shower and searched the cabinets for shampoo and soap, fortunately finding both. Then she stepped in, trying to wash off the feeling of panic. Afterward, she toweled off and slipped back into her clothes, drying her hair as best she could. Carefully she applied the little makeup she always carried with her.
She moved quickly through the bedroom, tidying up. She made the bed and put the pillows back in place; from there, she retrieved the nearly empty bottle of wine and poured what remained down the sink. Sliding the bottle into the garbage pail beneath the sink, she thought twice about bringing it with her, then decided to leave it in place. From the end tables, she collected the two half-empty glasses. After rinsing them with water, she dried them and replaced them in the cupboard. Hiding the evidence.
But the phone calls. The missed calls. The messages.
She was going to have to lie. The thought of telling Frank where she'd been struck her as utterly impossible. She couldn't bear the thought of what her children might think. Or her mother. She needed to fix this. Somehow, she needed to fix everything, yet underneath that thought lurked a persistent voice, whisperin
g the question: Do you know what you've done?
Yes. But I love him, another voice answered.
Standing in the kitchen, overcome by emotion, she felt like she was going to cry. And maybe she would have, but a moment later, anticipating her turmoil, Dawson walked into the small kitchen. He took her in his arms and whispered again that he loved her, and for just an instant, as impossible as it seemed, she felt that everything was going to be all right.
They were both quiet as they made the drive back to Oriental. Dawson could sense Amanda's anxiety and knew enough to stay quiet, but his grip was tight on the wheel.
Amanda's throat felt raw--nerves, she knew. Having Dawson beside her was the only thing that kept her from breaking down. Her mind shifted from memories to plans to feelings to worries, one right after the other, a kaleidoscope that changed with every turn. Lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed the miles going by.
They reached Oriental a little before noon and drove past the marina; a few minutes later, they were turning up the drive. She vaguely noticed that Dawson had grown tense, his eyes scanning the trees lining the drive as he leaned over the wheel. Cautious, even. His cousins, she thought suddenly, and as the car began to slow, Dawson's expression suddenly took on a look of disbelief.
Following his gaze, Amanda turned toward the house. The house and garage appeared exactly the same; their cars were still parked in the same spot. But when Amanda saw what Dawson had noticed already, she found that she felt almost nothing. She'd known all along that it would come down to this.
Dawson slowed the car to a stop and she turned toward him, flashing a brief smile, trying to reassure him that she could handle it.
"She left three messages." Amanda gave a helpless shrug. Dawson nodded, recognizing that she needed to confront this alone. With a deep breath, Amanda opened the door and stepped out, not at all surprised that her mom looked as though she'd taken time to dress for the occasion.
15