The Drake House (5 page)

“Some guy starts bad-mouthing you, without you even being there, and I’m the idiot? I defend you, and I’m the idiot?” Brad hollered.

“I don’t give a damn what some guy says about me!” Trisha flared back. “I care how you respond as if I can’t defend myself. All you did was manage to provoke more suspicion in his already warped mind. Everyone knows us here. They know absolutely nothing goes on. They have zilch to talk about and wanted you riled up. That makes
you
the idiot!”

“Fine, I’m sorry!”

“Good!” she yelled back and smiled arrogantly. She kissed his bandaged hand. “Do I need to check on anyone else?” she asked.

“Chuck’s got a bloody lip, but he’s passed out at the ranch house.”

She rolled her eyes, grunted, and then muttered, “All right, go to bed.”

Brad exited through the back door and there was nothing more said about the matter. Trisha turned to Nick and Wayne at the table with a smile, not bothered in the least by the distraction or what happened. “Sorry about that. Anyone want more coffee?”

Wayne looked over at a stunned Nick and sang, “See, I told you.”

Yeah, okay. So there was more to Miss Eaton than he thought. It was kinda sexy the way she put Brad in his place, all the while doting over a scraped knuckle like a mother hen.

Scratch that. It was
damn
sexy.

****

Trisha rarely allowed herself to break work in the middle of the day to go shopping, especially because she was one of the few females on this planet who didn’t care for shopping. But it was Chuck’s birthday today and she had yet to get his gift. A planner by nature, organized and in control, she felt guilty for getting behind.

She waited patiently for Nancy as she combed through the latest spring line of skirts. “I think he’d like a T-shirt,” Trisha said absently.

“Chuck would wear anything you gave him, why not make it interesting? How about ducky slippers?”

Trisha laughed as she pictured six-foot-five and two hundred and fifty pound Chuck in ducky slippers. “Oh, now that’s a sight.”

Nancy moved onto the dress rack and pulled out a pale pink knee-length slip dress. She casually held it up to Trisha. “This would look nice on you for your date with Nick.”

Trisha narrowed her eyes at Nancy’s not-so-clever comment. “I’m not going on a date with Nick, even if he did ask. I hate pink, anyway.”

“You two seemed to get along fine last Friday night.”

“I get along with the neighbor’s cat, too, that doesn’t mean I’d date him.” Trisha sighed and trailed Nancy through the shoe department. “He’s too good looking.”

“A man is never too good looking,” Nancy claimed while slipping on a pair of black flats, expertly appearing uninterested.

Men like Nick—attractive, arrogant, and with that slightly dangerous edge—were the exact type of men she avoided. He had the potential to be more than some fling. She could sense it already brewing, and Trisha couldn’t have that. As if living and owning the family business weren’t enough of a priority, there was her baggage. Men didn’t want baggage in a serious relationship. Why set herself up for the heartache?

“When was the last time you dated?” Nancy held up a hand to fend her off without even looking up, the eight-year friendship showing Nancy knew how she’d respond. “And going out with Brad once for drinks two years ago doesn’t count. It was his birthday and he went home with…someone else.”

She had been with other men; Nancy was just oblivious to it. “I don’t have time to date.” Trisha claimed. There was half-truth in that.

“Hello, ladies.”

Trisha closed her eyes and wished for death. “Hello, Nick. What brings you here?” she asked and turned around.

“Steve and I picked up a kid for trying to steal a bike chain.” He stuck his hands in his jean pockets.

“His dad will punish him enough for that, I imagine,” Nancy said after putting her shoes back on and smiling. “We were just talking about you, Nick. We had a great time on Friday and should do it again.”

Nick looked like he was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning, then his face twisted as if he was in pain. “I would like that. But I was wondering if I could steal Trisha alone this time. Maybe Saturday night?” He pressed his lips together, barely hiding the smile at Trisha’s irritation for speaking directly to Nancy instead of her. And just like before, his eyebrows creased and his eyes glazed over, acting like he couldn’t believe he just said something out loud.

It was obvious he didn’t want to go out with her. Obvious he wasn’t even interested. Trisha opened her mouth to save him, but Nancy smirked, catching Nick’s drift before Trisha could protest.

“That would be lovely. How’s seven? That’s good for her.”

“I’m standing right here!” Trisha boomed, not caring who heard. “I can find and arrange my own dates. And I can’t go…my parents are coming in town on Friday.”
Thank God for parents
. She’d have to pick up a very large gift of some kind for unknowingly getting her out of this.

“Don’t be silly,” Nancy chirped. “It’ll give me and them a chance to catch up. Pick her up at seven,” she told Nick.

Before Trisha could argue, or even see Nick’s reaction, Nancy was dragging her to the men’s department.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Trisha sulked, pulling her arm out of Nancy’s grasp.

“Here are some shirts for Chuck.”

“I’m docking you two weeks’ pay,” Trisha growled.

“It’ll be worth it,” Nancy answered. “How about black?”

Trisha eyed the black polo shirt Nancy held up. “It has to say something stupid on it if it’s for Chuck,” Trisha commented, already giving up.

Nancy held up a blue T-shirt from a different rack that read,
The bigger, the better
. Trisha frowned. “Perfect.”

“Okay, now that’s settled. Let’s go pick you up that dress and go home.”

Trisha scuffed her feet behind Nancy, wondering when she lost all control over her life. “I don’t like pink.”

“The lavender dress, then.”

****

The night before her parents arrived was a restless one. Nancy awakened her earlier, screaming her name and shaking her with tears in her eyes. A common fear between friends. The nightmares seemed to be getting worse and now they appeared more real. Not really nightmares anymore, but living, breathing extensions of her life. They were causing the night terrors and sleepwalking she’d had since childhood to increase.

Trisha didn’t appreciate these dreams taking over her life, her emotions ruling over what her mind tried to wrap itself around. She craved logic and substance, something she could touch or see. Feelings and sentiments were a red herring, they weren’t to be trusted.

In this last nightmare she was a child again. If she didn’t know any better she swore it was a memory. She was racing down that hidden path to the Drake house, panicked and pleading to escape. It was never ending, running and gasping for breath, clinging to the hope her parents were on the other side.

Stumbling, she had fallen, and pain shot through her leg. It burned where the upturned tree root cut her knee. She shrieked urgently for help, for someone to hear. It was so dark and so cold. Frightened, she stood and fell back down, sobs racking her small body. It was the most helpless, hopeless feeling Trisha could ever remember experiencing.

Eyes closed tight in the dream, she yelled out into the night, frantic and desperate. And then, someone was standing there. She couldn’t see the face, but the hair was long and dark, hanging in stringy strands covering a woman’s face. The dress she wore was long and black, her hands thin and bony. The woman reached out for her, in slow alarming movements…

But then Nancy was there, tears welling in her eyes and blaring words to get Trisha to snap out of the dream. When Trisha woke to that, she wasn’t safely tucked in her bed. She was on the kitchen floor, covered in a sheen of sweat, and wondering how she got back home from the closed-off gravel path.

They moved to the kitchen table, sipping chamomile tea and not speaking of it. Her friend’s usual olive skin tone was still pale with fear and Trisha couldn’t help the guilt that clawed through her. Finally feeling warmth seep back into her bones, Trisha set down her cup and pushed up her sleeves.

“Oh, my God! Trisha! What is that?”

Nance grabbed her wrist and pulled her arm closer for a better look. Across her right forearm was a red handprint.

“I…don’t know. Maybe you grabbed me too hard when you were trying to wake me?”

Except it looked like a sunburn. A sunburn in the shape of a hand. Nancy set her own hand over the mark, but the red print was larger than her hand size. She looked at Trisha with wide, panicked eyes. Trisha set her left hand over the mark, but hers was too small to make the impression also. Instead of feeling heat, the mark felt…cold.

Nancy made the sign of the cross while cold seeped back into Trisha’s limbs. As she reached for the tea, the mark slowly dissolved until nothing remained but her usual skin tone. Nancy bolted from her chair, backing up and mumbling the Lord’s Prayer.

Trisha swallowed. It was nothing. Nothing. Nancy just grabbed her too hard. Her hand slipped, leaving a larger impression. That had to be it. The alternative… The woman in her dream had reached out for her. Not just reached out, but reached for her right arm.

“Nancy, I’m okay. It’s nothing,” she said, trying to relay to Nancy the calm she didn’t feel.

This was crazy. Dreams don’t physically touch you. Ghosts don’t exist. They don’t leave handprints on your body.

Nancy didn’t look any less ruffled and set down her cup. “I have to get up early and start getting ready for your parents. You’re taking the day off tomorrow.” Nancy put her hands up. “I mean it. The boys know how to finish pH testing and you weren’t starting to fertilize until next week. You’re taking the day off,” she emphasized again. “I’m getting Brad over here to watch you tonight.”

“I’m fine, Nancy. Really, I’m better now.”

“You know this time of year is the worst for you, but I’ve never seen you this bad. I don’t want you stumbling out and getting hurt.”

Tears welled up in Nancy’s soft brown eyes again and Trisha reached for her ice-cold hands. “All right, go get Brad.” She relented more to comfort Nancy than she actually thought she needed someone. But, if it would help her housekeeper sleep, then she would.

Moments later, they returned and, after rinsing out her cup, Nancy retreated upstairs. Brad pulled out a chair and sat next to Trisha, used to the routine by now. Nancy didn’t call on him often, but she knew Nancy trusted Brad to stay with her, to not speak of it later.

They went to school together growing up, his parents still friends with hers. Immediately out of high school, Brad came to work at the orchard and had been here since. Trisha’s sleep patterns were no secret to him, and no one questioned when Nancy came looking for him in the dead of night. No one asked when he’d be at the main house all night and, after no sleep, worked the trees.

After clearing his throat, he ordered, “Finish that tea and we’ll go up.”

“I’m done. The guest room is made up.”

Rubbing his eyes, he mumbled, “I’ll get the cot. Nancy said it was bad. I’m staying with you. Don’t argue.”

“I’m sorry.”

For a slight instant he looked angered by the comment, but he swiftly masked it. “You know better than that.”

He climbed up the stairs with her, closing Nancy and Eduardo’s door inaudibly along the way. With his back to her, he shut the window in her room, drew the drapes, and unfolded the cot by the foot of her bed. He stood over her for only a moment, to ensure she was calm. Trisha must’ve shown the peace she wasn’t feeling, because satisfied, he curled up and pretended to sleep for her sake, until he thought she’d drifted off.

He then sat up and eyed her closely until she
did
fall asleep and dawn broke.

Chapter Three

Nick had taken Trisha, of all places, to the house he was renting. He didn’t know the town well enough yet to know where to go for dinner, and he was pretty sure she didn’t want more gossip about them until it was on her terms.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her glancing around the kitchen, trying to appear uninterested. He had a card table set up against the wall, in place of a formal, more traditional one, with a stack of unopened mail. The wallpaper, though in remarkable shape, was an old orange and green striped pattern and slightly fading. The cabinets were oak and contrasted the bright yellow countertops. If he was doing more than renting the house, he’d start the renovating with the kitchen.

Turning her attention back to him, she watched as he pulled white cartons of Chinese takeout from a brown bag and tried to keep from grinning.

“I haven’t unpacked plates yet,” he mumbled, flustered. Trisha Eaton turned him from an experienced cop to a bumbling moron every time she was within a hundred yards. “Are paper plates okay?”

She appeared too amused to answer and he took her lack of response as a dire sign. “You know what, this was a bad idea. Let’s go out.”

She surprised him by placing her hands over his where he began to close up the cartons. “No, this is better than going out.”

He jerked his head up, searching her face. “My furniture hasn’t even come yet.”

Instead of that inhibiting her, she snatched the stack of paper plates, two of the five cartons, and whirled for the living room. He followed. Briefly skimming the two milk crates and nothing else but a floor lamp in the living room, she set the items down on one crate and sat as gracefully as possible in her dress on the unstained beige carpet.

He just stood, appalled. With her legs crossed in a short purple dress on the floor, she fidgeted with the other crate and parked it next to the first for a makeshift table. It undid him. She undid him. She was a stark contrast to any female he had ever met before.

Fighting to ignore the urge to take her upstairs like a barbarian, he walked to the opposite wall and switched on the electric fireplace. Sitting next to her, she dished out their takeout on the floor. It was cozy, as if they’d done it a thousand times before, comfortable with each other.