Sweet Laurel Falls

by RaeAnne Thayne

  When they reached the SUV, a few hard, mean snowflakes began to spew from the quickly moving iron-gray clouds. Through the window of the vehicle, they could see Sage stretched out on the backseat, her eyes closed and her cheek pressed against the leather upholstery.

  “Look at her. Sound asleep,” Jack murmured. He gazed at their daughter with a tenderness and affection that, absurdly, made Maura want to cry again.

  “She’s brilliant at sleeping anywhere. When she was six or seven, she once fell asleep in the middle of the Silver Days parade, curled up in a lawn chair right there on Main Street.”

  He chuckled softly at the image, and she was struck with great force by the full realization of how very much she had taken away from him. He had missed out on twenty years of Sage’s life and she was beginning to wonder if her motives for not telling him about their child had been as altruistic as she had told herself.

  “She looks so young.”

  “I know. I still can’t believe she will be twenty in the spring.”

  “And I still can’t believe she’s pregnant. What jackass could do that to her? Look at her. She’s not even out of her teens. She looks like she should still be playing with dolls.”

  Sage was two years older than Maura had been. And Jack hadn’t been a jackass. He had been an angry, grieving young man looking for a little peace, and they had both found that together. If they had used a little more effective birth control, they wouldn’t be standing here together looking at their sleeping daughter.

  “I agree. She has a huge, bright, promising future ahead of her. I’m terrified we’ll have to stand by and watch that future disappear in a puff of smoke.”

  “What can we do?” he asked.

  The moment seemed surreal, somehow, of shared concern and cooperation for their child, and she found it both unexpected and sweet. “Right now, I’m not sure we have any power at all in this situation. I think adoption is her best option. If we present a united front on that, we might have a little more impact on her decision.”

  He raised an eyebrow, and the capricious sun chose that moment to peek through the clouds. “Is that what you want? For her to give the baby up for adoption?”

  “Are you kidding? It would rip my heart out. But don’t you think that would be best for her and the baby? Sage isn’t in any place to raise a child by herself right now. How will she finish college?”

  “You would know that better than anyone. You were in exactly her place.”

  She gazed at Sage, so pretty and bright. “I wouldn’t trade a moment of my life as her mother, even those terrifying early days when I didn’t have the first idea what I was doing. The first time I gave her a bath by myself without nurses or my mother there, I cried the whole time, afraid I was going to drop her or drown her or give her pneumonia or something.”

  She smiled a little at the memory of her own foibles and found him watching her with that unreadable expression again.

  “You didn’t, though.”

  “I didn’t drown her, at least. I’m sure I made a thousand other mistakes. But you know, despite all the mistakes and the challenges and the…pain, being a mother has been an incomparable blessing.”

  She loved both of her daughters. Without them, her life would have been as sterile and cold as, well, Jack’s appeared to her. “I want Sage to know the joy of being a mother, but not this way and not now. Not before she has the chance to at least try for the goals she’s been setting since she was that little girl designing elaborate houses for her dolls.”

  “I’ll do whatever you need. I’m here for her now too, Maura.”

  She smiled, finding immense comfort in his promise. Jack might have left all those years ago, but he was here now. That was the important thing. For Sage’s sake, she told herself. Not for her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “THIS WILL BE SUPER FUN. Thanks for inviting me, Mom.”

  Maura smiled across the String Fever worktable at Sage, making good inroads on the roast beef and arugula sandwich from the brown-bag lunch she had packed for her that morning. Maura took a bite of her own and set it back down amid the bead idea magazines scattered across the worktable.

  “We live in the same house, but it seems as if we hardly see each other. And with spring finally on the horizon, I’ve been desperate for some new jewelry to wear. This seemed like a perfect way to kill two birds and all that. Beading and lunch with you. Two of my favorite things.”

  “I know, right?” Sage smiled. “I’ve been meaning to come over to the bookstore on my lunch, but there are some days I’m so busy I don’t have five minutes free.”

  “Is this going to be a problem with, er, your father?”

  Sage snickered. “Not at all. And have you noticed you call him er, your father every time you happen to mention him?”

  “I hadn’t noticed. Sorry. I’ll try to stop.”

  Jack had been back in their lives for nearly three months now. Would she ever be completely comfortable with the whole situation?

  Not that she had much interaction with him. His job kept him so busy, she had only seen him a few times in the past six weeks since the day when the three of them had made a visit to the recreation center site and he had held her and offered quiet comfort.

  Sage swallowed a bite of her sandwich. “I wasn’t complaining, just pointing it out,” she said. “I think it’s kind of funny, if you want the truth. He does the same thing, except he uses um, your mother instead.”

  Why would they have reason to talk about her? And why should the idea of Jack discussing her leave her flustered and off balance?

  “How is Jack?” she asked, to hide her reaction.

  “He’s good. Great, actually.” Sage dipped a carrot in the small container of low-fat ranch dressing Maura had packed knowing it was her favorite. “We’re hearing good things about his chances for winning the recreation project bid.”

  “I’m not particularly surprised,” she answered, trying to keep the dryness from her tone. “I would be more surprised if he didn’t get it.”

  According to Katherine, who was on the city council, Harry Lange had told Mayor Beaumont and the rest of the council that his donation of the land was conditional on the city choosing his son’s bid. Without Jack on board as the project architect, there would be no recreation center.

  She would never tell Jack or Sage that, however. Contrary as he was—much like his father in that regard—Jack just might choose to walk away rather than give Harry something he obviously wanted. If he found out about it, Jack likely wouldn’t appreciate his father pushing his weight around town on his behalf.

  She had to wonder what Harry was up to, whether he was simply manipulating everyone in his own unsubtle way, or if he genuinely wanted his son to stick around Hope’s Crossing so badly.

  “So you’re still enjoying working there?”

  “Absolutely. Jack is…fantastic. He’s a genius, Mom. I’m learning more from watching him work than I could from years and years of classes.”

  “That’s great.” Her answer was even mostly sincere. For Sage’s sake, she was pleased to see them developing a relationship.

  “If you want the truth, I still can’t believe that Jackson Lange is actually my father, even after all these weeks of working with him. I studied his work in some of my early-level architecture classes and never once had any inkling he might be related to me. It still all feels so weird, you know?”

  Maura couldn’t argue with that. Definitely weird. “Did you see I left you another message from that Gunnison adoption attorney?”

  “Yeah. Thanks. I’ve got a stack of attorneys I need to call back when I have more time. I’m planning to set aside a day next week. Hey, I forgot to get a drink. Can I grab you something from Claire’s stash in the fridge?”

  She didn’t miss how quickly Sage changed the subject. She suspected Sage didn’t want to talk about the adoption because she was having second thoughts. Maura had to pray that wasn’t the case.

 
“I’ll get us both something to drink. I wasn’t thinking. You stay off your feet. What did you want?”

  “Well, I’d really love a Mountain Dew right now, but I’d better just stick with a bottled water.”

  “Still staying off the caffeine?”

  “Yes. Everything else has been easy. I don’t smoke or drink, but the caffeine thing is going to kill me.”

  “You’re doing great, honey. It will go by so fast, you won’t even remember being without Mountain Dew for a few months.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  She headed to the front of the store. Claire was just finishing ringing someone up, and Maura waited until the customer finished and headed out the door, not willing to interrupt a sale.

  “Hey, can I bum a couple of bottled waters from you? We forgot to pack them in our lunch. I’ll add it to your tab over at the store.”

  Her friend grinned. “You can have whatever you want from me as long as I can still grab my morning coffee at your shop.”

  “Of course. I keep the Sumatra–French roast blend just for you,” she answered.

  “I’m so glad the two of you scheduled the worktable today. It’s great to see you together. How’s Sage feeling?” she asked.

  “She seems to be doing fine.”

  “Second trimester is such a blessing, as I remember it. I’m praying she’ll have a gentle, uneventful pregnancy for the remaining months. It…might make what comes after a little easier to bear.”

  She was grateful for her friend’s compassion—but as much as she loved Claire, she really didn’t want to talk about Sage’s adoption plans, especially when she hadn’t come to terms with another loss herself.

  “Thanks, Claire.”

  “Go ahead and grab a water bottle. Have you figured out what you’re going to make today?”

  “Maybe just some new earrings. Neither of us has a lot of time.”

  “I just got in some new wooden beads. Have you seen those yet?”

  She shook her head. “Where are they?”

  “Go grab whatever you want to drink, and I’ll bring back some samples while you two finish your lunch.”

  “Thanks.”

  As at home in String Fever as she was in her own store, she headed into Claire’s neatly organized office, where the minifridge was tucked under a counter. She grabbed a couple of water bottles and heard the phone ring and Claire answer it, just as the bells chimed out front, heralding new customers.

  With water bottles in hand, she headed for the door of the office, then cringed for Claire’s sake when she spied the newcomers out in the store.

  “Hello!” sang out Genevieve Beaumont, her arm tucked into the crooked elbow of her fiancé, Sawyer Danforth.

  The two of them together looked like Barbie and Ken, tall, gorgeous and perfect for each other. Gen, with her gleaming smile and classically beautiful features, always seemed to make Maura feel short and grubby, the crazy-haired naked troll in the toy box.

  Claire gave Gen a practiced smile that hid any sign of the exasperation Maura knew she must be feeling. She held her hand over the phone. “Hi, Gen. I’ll be with you in a minute,” she said.

  For more than a year now, the rest of Hope’s Crossing had been forced to accommodate Gen’s various wedding whims. She was Bridezilla on steroids, demanding and unreasonable and sometimes petulant as her wedding was scheduled and rescheduled. It was now less than a month away, much to the relief of all the local merchants under pressure to make sure everything turned out perfectly for Gen’s marriage to Sawyer Danforth, son and heir apparent to a politically powerful Denver family.

  Claire had been unlucky enough to be dragged into the wedding preparations when she had agreed to complete custom beadwork on Genevieve’s gorgeous wedding dress. She had finished it beautifully—twice, actually, since the first dress had been violently destroyed by Layla and Taryn Thorne and the other teenagers involved in the car accident during their incomprehensible vandalism and robbery spree.

  Maura really didn’t want to talk to Gen, Charlie Beaumont’s older sister. Relations between the two families had been strained, to say the least, since Charlie had pleaded guilty and been sentenced.

  She slipped through the store as unobtrusively as she could manage. At least the worktable was tucked into the back corner of String Fever, the view obscured from the front by display racks. Maybe Gen wouldn’t even notice them here.

  Much to her dismay, she found Sage looking pale, her hands flat on the worktable as if she needed it for support.

  “Here’s your water. Sorry I took a little longer than I’d planned.”

  Her words seemed to jerk Sage out of her trance. She blinked and curled her hands into fists, then stood up so abruptly her chair nearly tipped backward. “I need to get out of here.”

  Maura stared. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick.”

  Sage shot a look toward the front of the store, where Maura could see the happy couple looking at Claire’s extensive chain collection. She shoved her arms in her coat and wrapped it around her tightly. “I just…really need some fresh air. And I should be heading back to the office. I forgot Jack wanted me to fax some papers to the San Francisco office.”

  “What about the earrings we were going to make?”

  “I can’t. Not right now. I’ll… Maybe we can do it another day. Sorry. I just… I need to go.”

  She whirled around to the front of the store with another look that bordered on panic before she scooped up her backpack and rushed to the back door, which led her out in completely the opposite direction from the shortest route back to Jack’s office.

  At the sound of the slamming door, Claire looked up from her conversation with Genevieve and Sawyer, her brow furrowed. For just a moment, Maura wasn’t sure how to respond. A dark suspicion took root, but she wasn’t ready to look at it yet. She quickly gathered up the remains of their lunch and returned the beading magazines to the rack on the wall. They had only pulled down a few findings, and it was easy for her to return them to the displays. When she finished, she pulled on her coat and walked reluctantly toward the trio, still talking by the front desk.

  She still didn’t want to talk to Gen or Sawyer but also couldn’t be deliberately rude to Claire by leaving without a word.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know we apparently only came for the use of your table and the free water bottles. Thanks for that.”

  “You’re not making anything?” Claire asked, clearly disappointed.

  “Not today, I guess. Sage wasn’t feeling well. She said she needed some fresh air.”

  Sawyer stiffened almost imperceptibly. She wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been standing next to her, in all his perfectly handsome glory—at least she would find him handsome if she were the kind of woman who went for someone ten years younger and fairly plastic. Which she wasn’t.

  “Sage? Was that…Sage McKnight?”

  “Yes. She’s my daughter.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you knew her.”

  “Oh, I don’t. Not really. Well, just a little. We met at a party last summer when I was in town for a few weeks working on your dad’s reelection campaign—remember that, Gen? We went to that party at the reservoir? A friend of a friend, I think, but it turned out to be mostly college students.”

  “Of course. Rachel Zeller’s birthday party.”

  “Right. We were trying to get a donation out of her father so we went, but the crowd was a little young for us. Sage and I went out on the wakeboards while you were working on your tan, remember that?”

  “Look at you, with your memory for names and faces. That will come in so handy when you’re back in Washington, won’t it?” Genevieve’s smile was rather tight, Maura thought.

  “Tell Sage we said hello.” Sawyer gave that charming smile of his that seemed to make every female heart flut
ter helplessly like a moth with a singed wing, and that dark suspicion dug its claws in more sharply.

  “I’ll be sure to do that.”

  “Let me know if everything’s okay,” Claire said, her pretty features furrowed.

  “I’m sure she’s fine. Thanks, Claire. Sorry to ditch on you.”

  “Not a problem. That only means I’ll get to look forward to having you both in again.”

  Claire had an uncanny way of turning any obstacle into a positive. It was pretty darn annoying sometimes.

  “Right. See you later.”

  She walked out into the cool March afternoon and headed down the street toward Jack’s office. Worry for her daughter was the reason for these butterflies jumping around in her stomach, she told herself. She was absolutely not nervous to see Jack again.

  When she arrived at Lange & Associates, she could see through the window she had guessed correctly. Sage was sitting behind her desk staring down at her hands. She didn’t even register awareness when Maura pushed open the door.

  “All right, spill. What’s going on?”

  Sage finally looked up, her features pale and set. She blinked when she saw Maura. “Mom. You didn’t have to follow me.”

  “You ran out of String Fever like you were about to throw up on the sidewalk. Forgive a mother for being worried for her child. Now, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m just… I’m being stupid.”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

  “No, I am. I’ve been stupid for months. Everything is so messed up.”

  She started to cry, sloppy tears that leaked out of her eyes and dripped down her cheeks, and Maura reached for her, her heart aching for her daughter. “It’s Sawyer, isn’t it?”

  Sage drew away a little to stare at her. She didn’t answer, just let out a little sob that confirmed everything.

  “Oh, honey.” Maura held her closer and Sage wrapped her arms around her mother and held on as if she were five years old, afraid of the monsters under her bed.

  “I know. You don’t have to tell me. I’m such an idiot.”