by Susan Haught
“Love always finds its way home, Logan.”
“It’s too late. I left her.”
“You’re a Cavanaugh, and Cavanaugh men fight for what they want and know is right.” Audrey smiled and adjusted the line of her dress with both hands. “Yes, well, now that I’ve convinced one Cavanaugh male to think straight, I believe I shall rescue your father. He looks far too giddy dancing with that perky young woman.”
Logan sat alone, his hands clasped before him. Snowbound in the Rocky Mountains, he’d felt an ingrained desire to rescue a woman from the pain of her past, from herself and from the river. Looking back, it had been the woman with the paralyzing ocean-green eyes who had rescued him.
After taking a few steps, Audrey turned back. “And I think you need to disentangle your youngest. Judging by her behavior, she’s celebrating a bit too intimately.”
Logan smiled and rose to find Abbey.
Always the entertainer, Abbey kept things colorfully spirited with the same natural exuberance her mother had. High on the euphoria of her sister’s wedding, the bubbly elation of champagne, and a throng of friends hanging on her every word, the sparkle in her eyes matched the animated wave over a sea of bobbing heads.
“Dance with me, Daddy,” she giggled. “Only I’m not a little girl anymore, I’m not going to stand on your shoes.” Alive with mischief, her brown eyes smiled and the button nose her mother bequeathed her scrunched into a little knot.
The lavender maid of honor dress her sister had chosen for her illuminated her porcelain skin, and burnished light brown curls kissed her shoulders, the resemblance to her mother uncanny. Her image struck him unexpectedly, not as a bitter reminder of what he’d lost, but of the amazing young woman she’d become, and whose petite frame bounced on tiptoes.
“Fair enough,” he said, and bent his head to her upturned face, “but I don’t want to step on your bare feet.”
Abbey wiggled her toes. Logan threw his head back and laughed, grasped her tightly, and two-stepped across the dance floor to “I’m In,” a lively Keith Urban tune.
“You seem happier than I’ve seen you in awhile,” she said, smiling up at him. “It’s nice.”
Though she favored her mother, her eyes were his, and the illustration of her joy shimmered in their tawny depths.
“It’s good to hear you laugh again. It makes me all funny inside.”
“I believe that has something to do with the champagne.”
“No, sir,” she pouted. “I’m serious.” And she placed her hand over her father’s heart. “It comes from here.”
“What do you expect? I’m surrounded by beautiful Cavanaugh women.”
Abbey hugged her father selfishly. “I love you, Daddy,” she whispered and nestled herself against him, just below the shoulder in the shallow crook of his chest, a safe haven for sleep-weary heads of little girls, exhausted brides, and maids of honor. And one woman.
His daughters would always be his little girls and they rarely passed an opportunity to wrap themselves around his finger or melt his heart.
“I do so love you, my baby girl.” Logan kissed her on the forehead just as a handsome young man approached—his unruly hair a bit on the long side—waiting for her to turn around. “I believe this gentleman desires your attention, Abbey,” he said, regarding the lanky young man whose hesitance seemed engendered by Logan’s presence, easily a head taller and shoulders twice as broad.
“Jason,” she squealed, arms open wide.
She truly was the spitting image of her mother.
The band changed pace and a slow, haunting tune drifted across the gardens. Logan’s father grasped Audrey’s hand and held it securely against his chest. Sophie, nestled against Reese’s shoulder shared a quiet moment with her new husband. And Abbey, one arm waving wilding about, the other resting lightly on the young man’s shoulder, swayed to the music. The tiny knot of people teased one corner of his mouth that tugged an invisible string tied to his heart. His family—a reflection of the past and a vision of the future.
Urgency swept through him as if the last four months had suddenly caught up, threatening to consume the very air he breathed. Logan slipped away, retreating to a corner of the garden where an aged willow spread her leafy umbrella of cool shade across the pond. Birds hidden in the branches chattered away or splashed about in the waterfall. He leaned against a boulder, pulled his iPhone from his pocket, and scrolled to her picture, a solitary moment he’d stolen in the still of the morning without waking her.
The fire had bathed her shoulder in a warm glow and her cheeks wore the soft blush of their lovemaking, the memory as vivid in his mind as her touch on his skin. Passionate green eyes stared back at him each time he closed his. Tangled legs, skin against skin. Hair like silk between his fingers. Her tears, tiny diamonds clinging to her lashes and cheeks wet beneath his thumb. The purr of moonlight on her breasts, peaked and eager for his touch. His heart stumbled. And he yearned for her; to touch her and put to flesh those things his mind couldn’t let go. And his dreams of her so real he need but reach out to feel her skin and breathe her scent only to awaken alone and restless in a tangle of sheets, empty arms, and an unsatisfied need.
Four months had passed, yet he never tired of the memory of her beside him. Leaves stirred, and he shivered as if the breeze had whispered her name across his skin, afraid to move, afraid the ghost of her touch would fade. He pressed his fingers to his lips then gently touched the screen, a picture perfect memory. Like the sigh of a prayer, the remnants of her kiss lingered on his lips. “Need You Now” played softly in the background and he wondered if he ever crossed her mind.
“Mi dispiace,” he whispered. “Perdonami.”
Four months ago he hadn’t known why God placed her in his life at that time and place, but he knew exactly where he wanted her for the rest of it. “Dormi, la mia tresorina preziosa,” he whispered, the breeze lifting his words. “Sleep, my precious treasure.”
Logan scrolled through a multitude of numbers and selected Rose’s cell. With the summer season in full swing she’d be on the fly, but he didn’t think she’d hesitate to help him.
Rose answered on the second ring, immediately peppering him with questions. “Mr. Cavanaugh! It’s so good to hear from you. This place is booming, which is nothing new. Are you coming for a visit? How are your folks? And Sophie and the wedding? Ohhh, I bet the bride is stunning, am I right? And Abbey? As bubbly as the champagne I imagine. You wouldn’t recognize this place without all the snow, the meadows are filled with wildflowers—”
“Take a breath, Rose,” Logan said with a warm laugh, “your enthusiasm is exhausting.”
“It’s just so darn good to hear from you. We’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.”
“Are you coming back to the business?”
“I never really left, but with obligations in the ministry I haven’t had time to make the rounds as often as I used to.”
“Is that a yes? Please say you’re coming back.”
“I am.”
Rose let out a high-pitched squeal comparable to a bull elk at the height of the rut. “Will you be coming to visit soon?”
“Soon. But right now I need your help.”
“You name it.”
“The arrangements for the addition of Il Salotto’s spa services—do you still have the contact information?”
“I do. Natalie and I are old friends.”
“I’ll be in Phoenix tomorrow and I need to get in touch with her.”
“Of course. Can I ask what this is about?”
“Let’s just say I have some unfinished business to attend to. I promised no business today, but this can’t wait. I need to fly out early tomorrow.”
For an unusual moment, the line was silent. “If you’ll give me the details, I’d be more than happy to take care of everything. Do you have your flight booked?”
“I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Consider it done. I’
ll contact Natalie, book your flight, and you’ll be free to spend the rest of the day with your family.”
“You’re amazing, Rose. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“A raise would be nice.”
“I’ve got some pull with the boss. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Just tell me you’re going to see Ms. Collins. That’ll be thanks enough.”
Logan poked a hand in his pocket and glanced over both shoulders. “Rose, how—”
“Natalie and I are old friends, remember? And Ryleigh is her best friend.”
The reason Ryleigh had gone to the resort had slipped his mind.
“Well?”
Unrelenting heat met Ryleigh when she arrived at Sky Harbor Airport. Although jeans and a light cotton three-quarter sleeved top had been appropriate for the ocean breezes of L.A., a gauzy sundress from QB Designs seemed more agreeable for Phoenix in June. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, a sure sign of an impending hair disaster if she didn’t find air conditioning soon. With a quick check of the parking ticket, she headed to her Tahoe.
Standing alongside the vehicle, she cranked the AC to max and dialed Nat’s number. With the renovations for the Scottsdale spa in full swing she hoped they were in town.
Nat picked up on the first ring. “Welcome back, stranger. You in town?”
Natalie’s energy never seemed to wane, and Ryleigh sensed the bounce in her step despite the triple-digit temperature. “I’m at the airport waiting for the steering wheel to cool so it doesn’t brand my fingers.” She sighed. “I really don’t care for this place in the summer.”
“I think you’ll like it better tomorrow…uh,” Natalie sighed, “…after you cool off a bit and get your book signings over with.”
“I’m ready to go home to the mountains, but my first signing is in a couple of hours.” She glanced at her watch. “Think you guys can break away around nine for a late dinner?”
“Nine-thirty sound okay? There’s an Italian place at the FireSky. That’ll give Mitch time to clean up. He’s with Chandler and well, he thinks he’s ‘working,’” Nat scoffed. “Chandler gives him a hammer and tells him which nails to pound. Makes him feel studly. All it really does is make him sweat. And stink.” Her voice deepened. “The showers can be quite fun, though.”
Despite the heat, Ryleigh smiled at the insinuation. “See you at nine-thirty.”
“I’m glad you’re back, Riles. I’m so excited for tomorrow.”
“It’s just a book signing.”
“Uh…well, if you don’t mind, Mitch and I are going to hang out at the bookstore for a while.”
“Wonderful,” she said, the sarcasm thick. “You can tease me about the long line of people who don’t show up.”
“They’ll come.”
“Yeah, right.”
“They will. We offered free spa passes.”
“You’re such a smart-ass.” The sudden reminder skittered across her stomach in a whorl of butterflies. “See you soon.”
Smart-ass. Her brand for the man who’d upended her world but like so many of the people she loved, had left her too. With the Tahoe cooled to a respectable temperature, she slid behind the wheel. In the stillness of the moment she closed her eyes, the light brush of Logan’s lips against hers as real as if he were there, the heat of the desert no comparison to the fever of his body against hers. God, I miss you. Though the AC was cool, tingling warmth spread from the tips of her fingers to the inside of her thighs—a fiery reminder—pleasure fused with pain.
She adjusted the radio, desperate to drown her thoughts, and then turned down the terminal’s spiral exit. Instead of something upbeat, the familiar piano intro to “Need You Now” flooded the Tahoe. Great. Just what she didn’t need. Why couldn’t she purge the emotional connection she felt in music and words and just listen like everyone else? The lyrics unleashed a fresh ache of longing and she wondered if she ever crossed his mind.
She changed the station and headed to the FireSky.
The clip-clop of hooves faded with the last carriage of wedding guests. Logan lengthened his stride and found Abbey on a bench massaging her feet.
“There you are, baby girl. It’s time to wind down,” he said, his arms extended to greet her.
Abbey stood and curled into his embrace, the straps of her heels hanging from one hand. “You look like you’re in a hurry, Daddy. Are you leaving?”
“I have business to attend to in the morning,” he said, loosening his tie.
“On Sunday?” She scrunched her nose. “What about your sermon?”
Logan slipped his arm around his daughter’s waist and they followed the cobblestone path to the section of the resort reserved for family. “I spoke to Pastor Forsythe and he’s taking over the congregation until they can find a replacement. I’m stepping down.”
“So I take it you’re going back to Wentworth-Cavanaugh full time?” Her dimples framed a buoyant smile.
“I am.”
“It’s about time. You made the company what it is,” she said, animating the words with her hands. “It’s where you belong. Besides, when I get my degree I want you to teach me the business.”
“I’d be honored, baby girl.”
“And you have to stop calling me that.”
He paused and turned to her, enjoying the coy smile that widened from her mouth and sparkled in her eyes. “For as long as God allows me to grace this earth, Abbey Cavanaugh, you and your sister will always be my baby girls.”
Logan escorted his daughter to her suite with her tucked securely under his arm. He hugged her and she returned his token of love with a squeeze that left him breathless. “I love you so much, Daddy,” she said. “I don’t know where you went for all those months, but I knew you’d come back. I just had to be patient.”
“I’ll always be here for you, Abbey.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She looked up at him and smiled. “You’re happy again.”
Intuitive and smart—and slightly tipsy—Abbey’s words struck the chords of truth. And it had taken a gaggle of Cavanaugh women to expose the charade. The only person he’d managed to fool was himself. For one intimate weekend, he’d been truly happy. And the hunger to find the woman who’d given her heart freely and who had opened his smoldered in his veins.
“I do so love you,” he said, and Abbey relaxed in his arms.
Eric and Audrey approached them hand in hand, looking both exuberant and exhausted. Logan escorted Abbey inside, kissed his daughter on the forehead, and touched his finger to her nose in a gesture they’d shared since she was a baby. “Dormi bene, cucciola,” he said, and then closed the door behind him. He turned to his parents. “I’m not staying. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I had hopes you wouldn’t.” Audrey kissed her son lightly on both cheeks. Logan hugged her in return. “When do you expect to be back?”
“I don’t know. I have the Tuscany property to look into—you do want me to pursue it, don’t you, Dad?”
Eric nodded. “If a vineyard in Tuscany is what you want for our next venture, run the figures and see what resources it’ll take.” He rubbed his forehead. “Check with the lawyers about purchasing abroad. I trust your instincts. You know this business better than I do.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Welcome back, Son.”
Logan embraced his father and then turned to leave.
“Oh, and Logan?”
Walking backward, Logan lifted his head in acknowledgement.
“Is she pretty?”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Her eyes,” he said, pausing to let the memory fully blossom, “are the color of the inside of an ocean wave.” Eric’s brows rose. “No, Pop, she’s not just pretty. She’s extraordinary.”
Never again would he let loose of the memory. Transparent blue-green eyes had seen past the armor, and she’d held out her hand and touched his soul. Turning back around, Logan broke into a jog and waved a hand in the air bidding them
good night.
One stop remained before his flight to Phoenix.
A bouquet of purple hyacinths (forgive me) among a spray of baby’s breath (everlasting love) trembled in his hand. Leaning on one knee, Logan placed the flowers at the foot of Laurie’s headstone. One at a time he absorbed each letter of her name—the name she’d taken willingly so many years ago—and closed his eyes to pray. The letters blazed white behind his eyes until one by one, they faded into the hallways of memory—not to be forgotten, but covered with love and tucked safely away where they belonged. His muscles relaxed. Every nerve steadied until the trembling subsided and his breaths came easy.
Logan raised his head. A breath of lavender brushed his face as if she were here, in the wind, in the rustle of leaves, in the chatter of birds, but no longer a prisoner of his heart. The invisible bindings that held him captive loosened and fell away, as if Laurie had finally let him go. In reality, it was he who had let her go.
And for the first time in three years, he didn’t weep.
Chapter Thirty-Six
RYLEIGH ARRIVED AT the bookstore on Sunday a few minutes ahead of the scheduled nine o’clock opening. Wanda met her at the door and the two women went straight to the table they’d set up for Ryleigh the night before. Together they straightened the remaining books into neat stacks and set them at an angle to best showcase the striking hardbound cover.
Wanda clapped her hands together. “Ready?”
“We wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting, would we?” Ryleigh nodded toward the empty entrance.
Wanda laughed, a spirited snigger that matched her smile. “Well, this isn’t American Idol, hon, but don’t worry, they’ll come.”
Although yesterday evening hadn’t produced much of a crowd, people stopped intermittently to chat or to ask her to sign their copy of Firefly Pond, and today’s crowd did much the same, wandering in and out in a slow but steady stream.
