by Loree Lough
It wasn’t likely there’d be time to go riding, but she’d pack boots, a hat and gloves, just in case. She’d almost forgotten how liberating and enjoyable it felt, thundering across the turf on the back of a willing horse. She’d bring her camera, too, to take pictures of the bluff…if she could find it on her own.
It still touched her that Zach had taken her to the place he’d never shared with anyone else.
There were so many things to like and admire about him. His obvious dedication to and love for his family. The strength of character required to lead men and guide boys like Alex. A willingness to share the skills he’d honed in the marines to help his students feel safer and more confident.
In retrospect, marching into his office had been a mistake. Everything about him had changed after their short set-to. Zach rarely met her eyes now, and on the few occasions he did, he looked quickly away. If getting from point A to point B meant walking near her, he didn’t mind adding steps to avoid it. Each rebuff hurt her feelings all over again…and reminded her why she decided to spend the rest of her life alone. Most men were self-centered. Immature. Pushy and aggressive, with violent tendencies. Well, except for her dad, and her grandfathers. Detective O’Toole. The cops who’d been on duty that night, and the doctors who’d put her back together. In all fairness, Zach didn’t belong on that list, either. But she’d come precariously close to falling for him. And if she didn’t pretend he was one of them, she’d fall the rest of the way.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ELLEN MARSHALL HAD invited several personal friends to help out with the fund-raiser, meaning every bedroom was spoken for. Libby was sharing hers with one of her sorority sisters, and that left only Zach’s room. Coincidence? Summer didn’t think so.
“I know how you feel about crowds,” Libby said as they climbed the stairs. “So I found you a room all to yourself. It isn’t the biggest, but it has a view of the corral.”
Zach’s room. It felt simultaneously weird and wonderful, being surrounded by memories of the boy he’d been…and proof of the man he’d become.
Libby must have seen her staring at the tattered US flag above the headboard. “He brought it back from Afghanistan.”
The battle where he’d lost one of his men?
Libby opened the closet door and slid shirts and jackets aside. “If you have things to hang up, feel free to put them in here. I cleared a space on the floor for shoes and boots, too.”
A nervous laugh escaped Summer’s lips. “When did you have time? We just got here!”
Libby winked. “I did it last time you came, just in case you decided to stay the night.”
“Good thing Zach won’t be here, then, because I couldn’t very well boot him out of his own room.”
“Don’t worry. He has meetings with the resort people, remember? Besides, that brother of mine is like a horse. He can sleep anywhere, even standing up.” She grabbed Summer’s small suitcase and tossed it onto the foot of Zach’s bed. “Once a marine, always a marine, y’know?”
Yes, she knew. He’d been a lieutenant. A leader, accustomed to issuing orders and expecting they’d be obeyed. And Summer had vowed, on the night of her attack, that a man would never ever tell her what to do again.
“The bathroom’s right across the hall,” Libby added. “No one but Zach ever uses it, so you’ll have it all to yourself. I think you’ll find everything you need in there, but if I’ve overlooked something, just whistle.”
“Thanks,” Summer said. “That was very thoughtful of you.”
“Thoughtful? Ha! You’re going to work your butt off this weekend. Providing a few rudimentary niceties is the least we can do!” She linked arms with Summer and led her into the hall. “Let’s go downstairs and see what Mom is up to. I know she’ll be tickled pink to see you.”
They found Ellen in the kitchen, punching down a bowl of dough. “Summer!” she said. “So good of you to help out!” After wiping flour-covered hands on her apron, she welcomed Summer with a warm hug.
Hands on hips, Libby said, “Hey. What am I…chopped liver?”
Laughing, Ellen hugged her, too.
“So you’re both staying the whole weekend, then?”
Side by side, they nodded.
“You put her in Zach’s room?”
Libby nodded again.
“It isn’t fancy,” Ellen said, “but it’s clean. I think you’ll be comfortable there.”
Surrounded by Zach’s mementos? Laying her head on his pillow? Snuggling under the quilt that he’d cuddled up to as a boy? Comfortable wasn’t the word Summer would choose.
“I love that the window looks into the corral,” she said instead.
Ellen smiled. “That’s the very reason Zach chose that room.”
“That, and he had a premonition the porch roof right outside his window would someday serve as his ‘whisper sweet nothings to girlfriends’ perch,” Libby said.
Ellen shook her head. “If I’d known about that back in the day, I would’ve tanned his hide. Two stories from the ground?” She shivered. “He was only six or seven when we moved out of his grandparents’ house on the other side of the Double M and built this place. He ran up the steps, went straight to that window and hollered, “I want this room!”
Summer smiled at the image of him as a small, enthusiastic boy. Quite a different picture from the big, stiff-backed marine who never let his guard down. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d grown misty-eyed on the bluff…
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Summer asked.
“Nothing right now. But when this stuff rises again,” Ellen said, pointing at four big bowls of swollen dough, “you’re both more than welcome to help me pound it onto pizza pans!”
“Did you get pepperoni?” Libby asked, lifting the lid of the pot simmering on the stove.
“And mushrooms, sausage and your favorite cheese.”
Libby grabbed a teaspoon from the drain board and dipped it into the pot. She sipped, then handed the spoon to Summer. “You’re gonna think you died and went to heaven.”
Either living on a ranch had obliterated their concerns about germs, or the Marshall women thought of Summer as family. Either way, it would have been rude to refuse the offer. Germs were the last thing on her mind as she savored the sauce.
“You two might as well find something fun to do. It’ll be a couple of hours before we can start topping the pizzas.”
Libby looked at Summer. “Are you up for a ride?”
“I thought you’d never ask!”
Summer rode Taffy, and Libby chose Chestnut, a black-maned roan. An hour or so into the ride, they stopped near a creek to let the horses drink. Summer photographed patches of green, peeking through snow-covered pastures, the bare and twisted branches of elms and honey locusts, and stands of pine and fir, silhouetted by white-capped peaks that kissed the azure sky.
“How can you stand living in town?” Summer asked, tucking the camera back into her jacket pocket. “I’d stay forever if I could.”
Libby glanced over her shoulder, where the rambling two-story log house and outbuildings stood strong and stately against a backdrop of mountains. “It’s gorgeous, I’ll give you that. But it’s also work, work, work from dawn till dusk. I like not having calluses, and being able to grab my skis and zoom down the slopes anytime I please.” She met Summer’s eyes. “Besides, a girl’s gotta pay the bills, y’know? I only have one talent, and nobody up here will admit they need therapy.”
The horses’ ears swiveled as her laughter echoed across the valley below.
They rode until the sun began to dip down behind Mt. Evans, glowing like a golden coin sliding slowly into a slot. Once Taffy and Chestnut were cleaned up and watered, Libby and Summer walked to the back of the house, their boots crunching on the snow-covered path.
“How many people will be here tonight?” Summer asked, shoulders hunched into the wind. “For pizza and movie night, I mean.”
The wooden screen door sq
uealed in protest as Libby opened it. “Nature’s burglar alarm,” she said, pointing at the rusted spring. “But to answer your question, Mom never knows who’ll show up. Could be just the folks and us, or Nate and a couple of the ranch hands might join us. Once in a while, a neighbor or two will show up.” She studied Summer’s face. “Stop looking so worried. I’m pretty sure they’ve all had their shots.”
Summer smiled. “I was just wondering whether or not to change into clean clothes.”
“I’m getting into my pj’s right now.” Libby started up the stairs, pausing on the landing. “But mi casa es su casa. So eat, drink and put your pajamas on if you want to!” And with that, she disappeared around the corner.
The warmth of the big country kitchen was matched only by the soothing scent of fresh dough. After hanging her coat and hat on the wrought-iron hooks behind the door, Summer toed off her boots and lined them up next to the others on a bentwood shoe rack.
An oversize tea kettle sat fat and squat on the six-burner gas stove. She gave it a shake and, finding it empty, carried it to the sink. As it filled with sparkling well water, she gazed through the many-paned window. Cows dotted the distant fields, where the wind caused the trees to lean west. The contented whinnying of horses filtered in through the glass.
After turning the flame under the kettle to high, Summer opened and closed cabinet doors until she found one that housed a collection of earthenware mugs. The size and heft intrigued her almost as much as the drip-paint that reminded her of mountain peaks. On the shelf above the mugs, a shallow, galvanized tray held an assortment of tea bags, and she decided to give Youthberry a try.
Steaming mug in hand, she wandered into the family room, where a roaring fire glowed in the belly of a massive stacked-stone fireplace. Above it, on a rugged mantel carved from the trunk of a tree, was a row of silver-framed photographs. Half a dozen black-and-whites of grandparents—great-grandparents, even, from the grainy look of them. A faded color snapshot of Ellen and John, kissing on their wedding day. Libby, beaming in her cap and gown. An aerial shot of the ranch. Zach, looking stern and noble in his marine dress blues. She leaned in for a closer look at the gold-braided aiguillette on his right shoulder and the collection of brass pins and colorful insignia on his chest. What had he done—or survived—she wondered, to earn them all?
She sighed and moved to the French doors, where a flagstone terrace blended into a deep expanse of snowy lawn. Matching rows of small bushel baskets lined either side of it. There were roses under them, Summer knew, because her grandmother had winterized her prized shrubs this way, too.
The soft tinkling of piano music drew her into the parlor.
“Well, hello there, Summer,” Zach’s dad said, lifting his fingers off the keys. “Libby told me you were coming. It’s mighty good of you to pitch in for Ellen’s fund-raiser.”
What would he think of her if she admitted Libby’s broken-down car was the only reason she’d come?
“It sounds like a very good cause,” she said, “so I’m happy to help out.”
For a moment, it appeared he wanted to ask her something. Had he seen through her facade?
“Well, it’s good to see you, whatever the reason,” he said, facing his sheet music once more.
The parlor, much more formal than the family room, reminded her of the old English libraries she’d seen in London. Beige brocade curtains hung at the wood-framed windows, and deep green wing chairs flanked the marble fireplace. Underfoot, a plush Persian rug muffled the chords of Beethoven that coursed from the mahogany baby grand.
She didn’t feel uncomfortable, exactly, listening to John play. And yet…
“Can I fix you a mug of tea?”
Hands hovering over the keys, John smiled. And oh, how much he looked like Zach at that moment! There were many other similarities between this attractive older man and his handsome son—dark-lashed green eyes, a shock of hair falling over his forehead, high cheekbones and a strong jaw—that Summer smiled. She felt privileged that nature had let her in on a secret: this is how Zach will look in twenty or thirty years!
“It’s nice of you to offer, but I’m a coffee man, myself.”
“When I fixed this,” she said, holding up her mug, “I noticed half a pot in the coffeemaker. Why don’t I see if it’s still warm and bring you some.”
“You’re a livin’ doll. It’s easy to see why my kids love you.”
Kids, she thought, heading back toward the kitchen. It didn’t surprise her to hear Libby had spoken highly of her, given her friend’s multiple invitations to the Double M. But what had Zach said to his father to inspire a comment like that?
*
THE DOUBLE M LAWN looked like a mall parking lot, covered in row after row of pickup trucks, SUVs and cars.
Nate and John had strung colored lights along the roofline and gutters of the Marshalls’ barn, and with the snow shimmering on the ground around it, the place looked more like a Christmas card than a party hall.
“I love the sound of banjos and bass fiddles,” Libby said as they walked across the yard.
“Me, too.” Summer nodded. “I only half-believed you when you said the fund-raiser would draw so many people.”
“Hey, when my mom sets her cap on something, she goes all-out. I’m guessing two, maybe three hundred people when they do the final tally.”
Meaning Firefly Autism would add thousands to the donor pool tonight.
“Impressive,” Summer said, meaning it.
Inside, white lights winked from every overhead beam, and holly wreaths hung in all the windows. Behind the built-in stage hung an enormous poster bearing the charity’s winged firefly logo.
“You’d better get into your booth,” Ellen said. “There’s already a line. Would you believe I need to have someone print up more tickets?”
Libby’s shoulders slumped. “But the hoedown doesn’t officially start for another half hour!”
Her mom winked. “It isn’t my fault that you’re so popular and alluring.”
“Actually,” Libby said, “you passed your best genes on to me, so it is kind of your fault.”
She grabbed Summer’s wrist and led her to the kissing booth.
As they approached, a big-bellied, bearded guy waved a handful of tickets. “There she is, fellers! Best li’l kisser in all of Denver County!”
Wolf whistles harmonized with hoo-has as Libby curtsied. “Be still, my adoring fans!”
She ducked into the double-wide booth, dragging Summer with her. “You have to help me out. I can’t handle that mob all by myself!”
The very thought of strange men planting their lips on hers made Summer’s skin crawl. How had Libby mustered the courage to do it? Summer had overcome her fear of going outside, except for the time, a few weeks ago, when she’d felt closed in by the crowds of Black Friday shoppers at the mall. She’d taken a big leap of faith coming here. But that? Summer shuddered.
“I’m sorry, Libby, but I…I just can’t. If anyone understands why, it should be you!”
Libby pulled her aside. “I know it’ll be hard. I thought that’s why you agreed to give it a try—to overcome another obstacle.”
“What? When did I say I’d give it a try?”
“Just the other day, remember, when you said the kissing booth sounded like fun?”
“Well yes, I did say that, but—”
Libby hugged her. “Aw, Summer, I’m the one who’s sorry. Really. I completely misunderstood. And you’re right. I should have realized you didn’t mean it, that you were nowhere near ready for something like this. Can you ever forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Then why had Libby’s words sounded like a challenge?
Libby took hold of the cord that would open the booth’s curtain.
Summer grabbed her wrist, stopping her. “There must be some other way I could help. Making change. Counting ticket stubs. Something?”
“Those are all my jobs,” Trish said, squeezing betwee
n them. “I’ll go out front, tell the men to form a second line.” She put a hand on Summer’s shoulder. “You’re a lifesaver. A lifesaver, I tell you. Half of them would leave disappointed if you weren’t here to help out.”
“Oh, I’m sure that isn’t true. The donations go to a good cause, after all. So if they didn’t get—”
Before she could finish the sentence, the curtain went up, and she faced two lines of smiling men, all wearing Western-style shirts, Stetsons and boots. Trish leaned close and whispered, “Hundreds of dollars for kids on the Autism spectrum. How can you say no?”
“Like this,” Summer said, mouthing the word. But deep down inside, far beneath the fear of coming that close to a man ever again, the outgoing, have-no-fears Summer she’d once been whispered, If you can do this, you can do anything.
At the front of the line stood a man who resembled Santa. He slapped four tickets on the counter, puckered up…
…and Trish shoved Summer straight into his lips.
It took all the self-control she could muster to keep from running out of the booth. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she could be in her car and halfway down the Marshall’s long, winding drive before Libby caught up.
Libby put her hands on Summer’s shoulders. “I know you’re scared. You’d be crazy if you weren’t.”
Eyes closed, Summer held her breath.
“A stranger kissed you, and it didn’t kill you.”
“Are you sure? I would’ve sworn my heart stopped beating the minute he put his ticket on the counter.”
“Look at it this way,” Libby continued. “When you’re old and gray, rocking in your room at the old folks’ home, you can tell those young whippersnapper nurses what a live wire you were in your youth.”
Summer put her back to the crowd. “I’d rather tell them that the old wives tale isn’t a tale, after all.” In response to Libby’s confused expression, she added, “You really do have to kiss a lot of frogs before you meet your prince.”
Libby laughed. “Well, they don’t all look like toads…”
Half an hour later, Trish butted to the front of the line. “Sorry, fellas, but the girls need a break. Look around you and memorize your spot in line, ’cause I’m in no mood to bust out my broom and break up any brawls when we reopen the booth.”
