Country Bride

by Debbie Macomber

  Brodie laughed in disbelief. No wonder he had absolutely no understanding of how the female brain worked. His mother first told him to stay away from her friend and then she acted out-of-sorts when he made it clear he intended to do just that.

  “Nothing’s wrong with Evie. Absolutely nothing.”

  Other than her bleeding heart, her zeal for fighting injustice, the way he completely lost his head when he was within ten feet of her. “We just don’t have much in common. Not that it matters, because she’s only working with Taryn for a few more days and then she and I will go back to politely ignoring each other when we cross paths in town, and sitting on opposite sides of the city council meetings whenever you and your cronies are debating anything remotely controversial.”

  “Be kind to her, okay?” Katherine said after a pause. “You have no idea what we’ve asked of her by bringing her here to help us with Taryn.”

  He shifted, suddenly angry with his mother for reasons he couldn’t fully explain. “Yes, I do. She told me tonight about losing her adopted daughter. I’ll remind you that I didn’t have any idea about it when we asked her. You, on the other hand, knew full well the cost to her and you asked her anyway.”

  Katherine looked guilty and shocked at the same time. “She told you about Cassie? I can’t believe that. Evie is an intensely private person. She never talks about her daughter. I don’t think Claire or Alex or Maura even know, as dear friends as they have all become.”

  He shifted uneasily. So why would she have confided in him? Brodie wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about that. She didn’t tell her long-term friends something so personal and painful but she had spilled it to him. Why?

  Suddenly he almost wished she hadn’t told him. He wanted to turn back the clock about twenty minutes, to that moment when he’d been standing in Taryn’s doorway watching Evie tease and cajole and make his daughter laugh.

  He didn’t want this soft tenderness somewhere in the vicinity of his chest when he thought of the courage it must have taken her, agreeing to help Taryn when it obviously caused her pain.

  And he certainly didn’t want this urge to tuck her away and keep her safe from any further harm. “The point is, now I know. Since we’ve had such a devil of a time finding someone else competent enough to take over Taryn’s home therapy, I was thinking about trying to persuade Evie to continue on with the great job she’s doing. Obviously I can’t do that now, so I guess it’s back to the candidate search.”

  In the meantime, he owed her the courtesy of ensuring he did everything he could to make sure she didn’t regret helping them. If that meant resisting any inconvenient, overwhelming urges to kiss her again, he would just have to make that sacrifice. No matter the cost.

  * * *

  “You’re going to have to give me a break here, kiddo, and slow down.”

  Jacques didn’t listen to her, only continued bounding up the Woodrose Mountain trail with his tail wagging like crazy and his long retriever nose sniffing the trail for possible enemy combatants. He would have made an excellent trainer on The Biggest Loser, since he seemed to have no pity whatsoever and no patience with normal things like sore muscles and general exhaustion.

  She would have loved to skip the run this morning, for once. Turning off the snooze on her alarm clock just before the sunrise had been harder than walking out of a bead store without buying anything. But Jacques needed exercise. So did she, come to think of it—not only for the obvious physical benefits, but for the energy and stamina it gave her to face another day with Taryn.

  Though she hadn’t wanted to get out of bed, she had been surprised by the little burst of anticipation tingling through her for the day. She couldn’t wait for the outing to String Fever with Taryn. Time spent in the bead store was never wasted, even if Taryn proved as reluctant to cooperate there as she did at home.

  For all her frustration at not finding the right combination of things to motivate Taryn, Evie wasn’t completely hating her work with the girl. This seemed different somehow from the professional paralysis she’d slipped into right after Cassie’s death. She found a definite challenge in trying to come up with creative ways to help Taryn and in the knowledge that she just might be making a difference.

  Friends back in L.A. used to ask why she’d chosen to specialize in pediatric rehab physical therapy instead of the sometimes more lucrative fields of geriatrics or sports physical therapy—and why she had chosen to work with those who had the most severe disabilities or acute injuries requiring extensive care.

  Her answer had always sounded trite but it was the truth. Knowing she was helping children in real, quantifiable ways had been a powerful motivator. She still loved knowing there were former patients of hers in California who could do things now they hadn’t done before, in part because of her help. She wasn’t arrogant enough to think no one else could have helped them, but she had been the one to do it.

  Maybe she had let herself get a little too close to her clients. Cassie hadn’t been the only one, though her situation had been most obvious. Evie had genuinely cared about all of them. She had rejoiced in their successes, she had visited them when they were hospitalized, had comforted confused and frightened parents dealing with a new diagnosis—and had wept after a session more than a few times when she’d known she had to cause pain in a child suffering already in order to help him or her heal correctly.

  Never had she pushed that personal/professional boundary as far as with Cassie. She and Cassie’s mother had become friends over the years, mostly because of their shared passion for beading.

  Meredith was a schoolteacher, but she supplemented her earnings by making jewelry and selling it at a few boutiques around town, all so she could buy a few necessary extras for her child that insurance wouldn’t cover.

  Evie had admired Meredith Rentera’s strength of will, her determination to provide the best for her special-needs child, no matter the cost.

  Much like Brodie, Evie thought now as she followed Jacques farther up the trail, where tendrils of morning mist curled and twisted through the aspens and pines. Meredith would have done anything for Cassie. But she couldn’t hold back her own deadly disease.

  When Meredith was first diagnosed with breast cancer, Evie had done her best to help where she could, especially by providing respite service for Cassie when Meredith was too sick from the chemotherapy to meet the demands of caring for her child.

  After a year, the breast cancer had begun to spread through her lymphatic system to her other organs. Evie’s friend had been terrified, her first and only thought, who would take care of Cassie. Like Evie, she hadn’t had any family left she could count on—in Meredith’s case, no one except a drug addict of a brother. She hadn’t been able to bear the idea of this fragile, needy child going into foster care after her death.

  One night a few months later, Evie had invited Meredith and Cassie to dinner. She could picture it clearly even now as she walked behind Jacques. They had enjoyed chicken salad and fresh rolls out on the deck of her house while the canyon winds rustled the trailing branches of the pepper trees around her property.

  “I can’t escape the truth any longer,” Meredith had said, her face gaunt and pale beneath her kerchief, while Cassie stroked Evie’s plump cat on the other side of the deck, out of earshot. “None of this is working. I’m dying.”

  At first, Evie had tried to protest, to assure her friend they would find other options, but Mere had remained firm. “I appreciate your optimism. It’s one of the things I admire most about you, Evie. But I have to be realistic. I’m going to die. Maybe in a few months, maybe a little longer, but it’s foolish to continue to ignore reality. I have to make arrangements for Cassie before I’m no longer capable.”

  Her heart leaden and achy, Evie had held her friend’s hands, marveling at her strength to speak in this dispassionate tone.

 
“What can I do to help?” she had asked.

  “Funny you should ask.” Meredith had given her a lopsided smile. “I want you to know, I have other options. Let’s just get that out of the way up front. I know exactly what I’m asking you and I don’t want you to feel obligated in any way.”

  “Mere—” She remembered being terrified suddenly, wishing she could stop the words.

  “I’d like you to consider adopting Cassie after I’m gone.”

  And just like that, in a single instant while the canyon winds blew and the sun set over the ocean and a couple of robins twittered in the trees, her world had changed.

  Meredith had insisted she think about it; she wouldn’t even consider hearing Evie’s answer until another week had passed. In that week, Evie had fretted and stewed and waffled. She knew exactly what the demands on her life would be. Hadn’t she spent years as a physical therapist watching other parents?

  But she had also known in her heart it was absolutely the right thing.

  She would never regret taking guardianship of Cassie, she thought now as she watched Jacques nose the roots of a columbine. She had loved the girl dearly—her laughter, her joy at life, the love she freely gave. Even if Evie had known how things would end, she would never have surrendered those two years she had with her.

  She stopped to take a rest and pressed her fingers to the pain in her chest that—despite the altitude and the exertion—had nothing to do with her workout.

  She could see Hope’s Crossing below, soft and lovely in the early-morning light. It looked to be another beautiful August day, perfect for taking Taryn to the bead store.

  “Come on, Jacques,” she called after a moment and started back down the trail. She would barely have time to shower and change before she was supposed to meet Brodie for the job interview. Time to pick up her speed. She sighed and carefully jogged downhill. A few wildflowers still bloomed, Indian paintbrush and purple beeweed and the ever-present columbines, though she knew the approaching cold would wither them soon enough.

  She would just have to enjoy them while she could. For some reason, their jewel-bright colors brought back a memory of the cheery houses on the island of Burano, near Venice, that had gleamed just that way in the early-morning light.

  After Cassie had died and Evie realized she could no longer function as a therapist, she had closed her practice and decided to travel around the world for a while to lose herself in other cultures.

  Venice had been her first stop on this grand world tour. On a random day-trip to Murano, another island in the lagoon, she had stopped to watch the glassblowers in the factories that had been forced to relocate there centuries ago after their glassworks were deemed a fire hazard for careful Venetians.

  She had ended up filling a small bag with art-glass beads, perhaps as an impulse, perhaps as some kind of homage to that hobby she and Meredith had shared. She had continued buying beads during all her travels: old costume jewelry from secondhand charity shops across the U.K., shells and small stones from Africa, silver filigree beads from Bali. By the time she’d returned to the States she knew beading was her new passion.

  Walking away from her career had been the right choice, though she still missed it sometimes. Despite her best efforts, though, here she was, full circle, trying hard not to let another girl into her heart.

  As she approached an area of the trail cutting across a rocky talus that dropped treacherously, Evie slowed her pace. She was always cautious here. One wrong step, a twisted ankle on one of the zillions of fist-size rocks that spilled down the mountainside, and the unwary hiker could tumble over the side. She was nearly to the end when Jacques gave one of his rare polite barks of greeting and stood looking below the trail.

  Hoping it wasn’t a skunk—wouldn’t that be a lovely start to the day?—she approached warily. She saw a mountain bike on its side next to the trail and she glimpsed a flash of yellow on a rocky outcropping about ten feet below the trail. A boy, she realized. He stood on the wide ledge gazing down at the town below, heedless of the three-hundred-foot drop just inches below him.

  This steep, rocky overlook would be an easy place to die. A missed step, a little stumble—accidentally or on purpose—and someone could check out in a heartbeat.

  She thought of her mother, overdosing on pills to finally silence her physical and emotional pain, and stepped quickly forward. “Good morning.”

  The boy must have heard Jacques bark but he still seemed shocked to find a human associated with the dog—and she was equally shocked when she recognized his identity.

  “Hey,” he muttered.

  Charlie Beaumont was dressed in bike shorts and a bright yellow jersey, its cheerful color a vivid contrast to the tight, sullen look he always seemed to wear.

  She didn’t like this boy. How could she, when his recklessness had killed the child of a dear friend and severely injured the grandchild of another? But something about his posture, the defeated slump of his shoulders, the hint of desperation in his eyes, prevented her from just continuing down the trail.

  “It looks like a perfect day for a bike ride.”

  He gave her a stony look. “Is it?”

  “Are you heading up to Crystal Lake?” The glacier-fed lake filled a small alpine valley another two miles up the trail and was a favorite with mountain bikers for the vast network of trails surrounding it.

  “Haven’t decided.” His words were clipped but she had the impression he was not necessarily being surly. There was a sadness about him, almost despair.

  “You’re Charlie Beaumont, right? I’m Evie Blanchard. I work at String Fever, the bead store in town. I know your mother and your sister.”

  “Lucky you,” he muttered.

  She should just keep going. Brodie would be waiting for her to arrive at the interview and she had a very strong suspicion he wouldn’t be thrilled if he knew the delay was because of this kid, who had ruined his daughter’s life.

  On the other hand, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she ignored her instincts and left him alone up here if he were indeed suicidal.

  She shouldn’t have any sympathy for the kid after what he had done, recklessly drinking and driving with a pickup truckload of teens, after driving the getaway car for several burglaries in the area. He was a punk with an attitude born from parents who by turns ignored him and indulged him.

  But it was also obvious the kid was hurting.

  She stepped closer and Jacques decided this was tacit permission for him to do the same, and more. He picked his way around boulders and young saplings toward the boy, planting his haunches on the ledge right next to him.

  “That rude creature is my dog, Jacques. Don’t worry, he’s friendly. To a fault, actually. Jacques, this is Charlie.”

  The Labradoodle wagged his tail quite violently in his usual bid for attention. After a surprised moment, Charlie gave Jacques a tentative pat or two as if he hadn’t been around animals very often. Too bad, she thought. In her experience, kids were generally a little more responsible and a little less self-absorbed if they had another creature depending on them.

  “You’re out early.” She perched on a rock close enough that she hoped he wouldn’t feel threatened.

  “It’s a good time to ride. Not as many idiots on the trail to get in the way.”

  Either he very much liked his privacy or right now Charlie Beaumont was having a tough time dealing with other people. She was willing to bet it was the latter.

  He cut his gaze down the cliffside and her instincts flared again. “Sometimes it must feel easier to be on your own,” she said calmly.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She thought about dissembling but he struck her as a boy who needed a little honesty more than he needed someone else in his life being careful not to hurt his feelings. “Only th
at you can’t be the most popular guy around town right now.”

  His expression darkened with anger—but she was almost certain she saw a shadow of despair in his eyes. “You think I care about the opinions of a bunch of stupid-ass little people in a stupid-ass little town?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Hope’s Crossing can go to hell. I don’t give a shit about anybody.” His color was high and his hands shook a little where he gripped Jacques’s curly fur.

  She pushed away a deerfly from her arm. “See, funny thing. I think you do.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It has to bother you, doesn’t it? What people are saying about you?”

  He didn’t look at her, just gazed down the mountainside again. “Why would it bother me? It’s the truth, isn’t it? I killed Layla and turned Taryn into a vegetable.”

  A huge weight for any seventeen-year-old to carry, even if he had earned it. She must be the bleeding heart Brodie seemed to think if she could feel this pang of sympathy for this defiant young man, even knowing his stupid decisions were to blame for the pain and loss that affected an entire town.

  “She’s not. A vegetable, I mean.”

  He frowned. “She’s in a wheelchair. She can’t talk. Brittni Jones, one of her stupid friends from the cheerleading squad, says she can’t even feed herself.”

  “She’s working on all those things.”

  It wasn’t exactly a lie, she told herself, even though right now Taryn didn’t seem to want to work on much of anything. A tiny niggle of an idea sprouted in Evie’s head, completely, fantastically inappropriate. She tried to dismiss it but it didn’t seem to want to wither away.

  “Before I came to Hope’s Crossing, I was a physical therapist. Right now I’m helping to set up a program of rehab exercises that will help Taryn continue to improve at home.” If the girl actually could be bothered to do them, but Evie decided not to mention that to Charlie.