Sweet Laurel Falls

by RaeAnne Thayne

  Her only answer was Puck jumping around her feet. “Hey there, sugar. Where’s Sage? Hmm? Where’s our Sage?” she asked the dog, who yipped at her and licked her face.

  “Sage?”

  Her daughter didn’t answer and Maura frowned, more concerned than she probably should have been, given that any potential threat from Laura had been effectively neutralized. A moment later, she picked up the sound of the shower running down the hall. No wonder Sage hadn’t answered. Apparently Maura wasn’t the only one in the family running late.

  She carried the dog into her bedroom with her, grateful for the ridiculous comfort she always found from the small, warm weight in her arms. “You can help me figure out what to wear,” she told the shih tzu, who gave her a cheerful little grin and plopped belly-first onto the carpet at the foot of her bed.

  As she had spent all day fretting about what to wear and had mentally tried on and discarded a dozen outfits, it didn’t take her long to pull out what she had settled on, a tailored white blouse over slimming tan slacks and a chunky red-and-umber necklace-and-earring set she had made a few years ago at String Fever.

  How could she be old enough to be someone’s grandmother? she wondered as she quickly touched up her makeup. She didn’t have a single gray hair or wrinkle. She had just finished running a brush through her hair when she realized the shower was no longer running.

  She headed out into the hall, Puck trotting merrily at her heels, and knocked on the door. “Sage? Everything okay?”

  Her daughter opened the door, a towel wrapped around her expanding middle and her wet hair sticking out just as wildly as Laura Beaumont’s had earlier. “No. Not really. Jack’s going to be here any minute and I’m miles away from being ready. I lay down for a nap this afternoon and must have slept through the alarm I set on my phone, and now I still have to dry my hair and everything. I must have turned the stupid phone off when I lay down.”

  “That must be why you didn’t answer when I tried calling a few times this afternoon.”

  “Sorry,” Sage said, turning back to the bathroom just as the doorbell rang. “Oh, no! That’s probably Jack.”

  Maura did her best to ignore the stupid little skitter of her heartbeat. “No worries. Just finish getting dressed. I can stall him until you’re ready.”

  Puck, of course, had scampered to the door the minute the bell rang, always eager for someone else to love. Maura gave one quick glance at the mirror hanging above the console table in the hallway. She smoothed down a flyaway strand of hair and reminded herself to breathe, then she opened the door.

  “Good evening.”

  “Hi, Jack. Come in.” There. Good. That sounded halfway coherent and not the gibbering fool she felt on the inside at the sight of him, sexy and gorgeous in a cotton shirt the color of fir needles and a tan sport coat.

  He walked into the entry, and Puck immediately yipped a greeting and brushed his little head against Jack’s leg.

  “There’s the little guy,” Jack said with a smile, reaching down to the ground and scooping up the dog with one hand, much to the dog’s delight.

  “Sage isn’t ready yet,” Maura said, while her silly insides melted into mush like Puck’s. “Sorry. We were both running behind. She shouldn’t be long, though.”

  “She can take as long as she needs. I don’t mind being late.”

  “I wondered if you would show at all.”

  “I promised her I would,” he said. “I didn’t want to promise her that, mind you, but this daughter of ours can be fairly persuasive.”

  “I believe I’m aware how persuasive she can be.” He’d called Sage ours. Was that the reason for this little flutter in her chest? Or was it the scent of him, of cedar and bergamot and something sexy and outdoorsy and very much Jack?

  “I guess I lack imagination. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out a good way to wiggle out without disappointing her.”

  “After you’ve had time to adjust to being a parent, you’ll figure out we spend half our lives disappointing our children. It’s part of the job description.”

  He laughed and rubbed a gleeful Puck’s head. “So far I’m at least filling that part of this new role.”

  “I don’t think so. Sage already adores you, Jack.” It was a tough admission, but she decided if he could overcome his animosity toward his father for Sage’s sake, she could be generous and tell him the truth.

  “The feeling is mutual,” he answered.

  She was becoming far too fascinated watching those long fingers scratch behind Puck’s ears. “Yes. Well, would you like something to drink? I’ve got beer, some white wine, ginger ale or soda.”

  “Ginger ale. Thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  If she hadn’t been ridiculously on edge, she should have invited him, as a proper hostess would, to take a seat on the comfortable living room sofa. She didn’t even think of it until he had already followed her into the kitchen—and then the impulse deserted her completely when she spied a massive, colorful bouquet dominating the work island and sending out sweet aromas that reminded her of a moonlit tropical beach.

  “Wow. Gorgeous!” she exclaimed, admiring the birds-of-paradise, heliconia and red ginger.

  He set down a wriggling Puck, who headed immediately for his food bowl. “A secret admirer?”

  Didn’t she just wish? “I doubt they’re for me. Sage would have said something when I got home. They must be for her.”

  He narrowed his gaze, looking very much like any other protective father. “You think that bastard Danforth sent them? After the way he treated her last night? There should be a card, right?” he said, sifting through the stems.

  “Stop that! You can’t just read the card without her permission,” she exclaimed. “The message might be private.”

  He raised an eyebrow as he plucked a card out from the center of the vivid bouquet, so incongruous on a Rocky Mountain evening in March. “Then she shouldn’t have left it out here for anyone to see, right?”

  She laughed despite herself and shook her head. “Put it back.”

  “I certainly will, after I make sure Danforth isn’t trying to pick up where he left off.”

  The card wasn’t in an envelope and she supposed there was some truth to what he’d said—that Sage would have hidden it if she had wanted to keep the contents private. She shouldn’t be so nosy, but she had to admit she was intensely curious. “Well? Who is it from?”

  “No idea. It’s not signed.”

  She frowned too and tried to read it upside down, but she couldn’t make out the words at the angle he held it. “What does it say?”

  He read the card with a puzzled look. “‘John Wayne said courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway. You’ve got some grit, young lady.’”

  “What?”

  “That’s what it says. And no signature. Just a doodled angel.”

  “What? Let me see that!” She snatched the card out of his hands and read the words for herself. “Oh, my word. The Angel of Hope sent Sage flowers!”

  “Maybe they’re for you.”

  “I’m not a young lady anymore, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I’ve noticed,” he murmured, his voice low in the kitchen. Her gaze met his, and her foolish toes wanted to curl at the intensity there.

  She straightened them out quite firmly and looked away, turning back to the bouquet and rubbing a hand over one of the waxy blooms. “I think the Angel must be psychic. Seriously, how else could anyone know Sage is going through a rough time right now?”

  “There were plenty of people in the lobby of the hotel last night,” he said after a slight pause. “Someone might have seen her come down looking upset.”

  “True.” Her mother now knew after the scene with the mayor’s wife at the bookstore. For that matter, any number of people might have found out. She didn’t imagine Laura would be particularly discreet as they started canceling wedding arrangements, despite her and Mary Ella’s best effor
ts to calm the situation.

  She rubbed a thumb over the flower again and inhaled some of the sweet scent, wishing she were on a pristine beach somewhere on Kauai right this moment, instead of here dealing with unplanned pregnancies and Harry Lange and this treacherous softness for Jack she didn’t want.

  A drink. She had come in here to get him something to drink, she reminded herself, and went to the refrigerator to grab the ginger ale. “Genevieve Beaumont called off her wedding to Sawyer today,” she said, reaching into the cabinet for a glass.

  “How did you hear that?”

  “Mrs. Beaumont came into the store a few hours ago calling Sage all kinds of horrible names for ruining her daughter’s life.”

  “And she was able to walk out again without help from the paramedics?”

  She had to smile at his quite correct assumption that she would fight to the death in her daughter’s defense. “I felt a little sorry for her, if you want the truth. All her plans for her daughter going down the drain. I think I know a little about how that feels.”

  With a sigh, she handed him the glass. “The implosion of this wedding is going to be a huge scandal in town, without question. Word is going to trickle out, if it hasn’t already started. I just wish I knew how to protect Sage from the fallout.”

  “I don’t see how you can, Maura. Maybe that’s what the flowers are about. Somebody is trying to buoy her up a little before the storm.”

  “It’s a lovely gesture, if that’s the reason, but I hate that she’s going to have to endure the gossip and the whispers.”

  She knew all too well what that was like. At least she hoped she would be able to teach her daughter to hold her head up and face down the gossips, as Maura had done.

  With a sigh, she poured herself a glass of ice water from the filtered pitcher in the refrigerator. “This whole thing seems terribly unfair. She’s been through so much already this year.”

  “So have you.”

  “Yes. And to be completely honest with you, Jack, I’m not sure I have the strength for more.”

  “The scandal?”

  “You should know me better than that. I don’t care about any petty scandal.” She paused and sipped at her water before setting her glass down on the counter. She shouldn’t be revealing so much to him, but somehow the softness in his gaze, the quiet compassion, in the wake of her stress the past few days, had her spilling all the secrets she had barely admitted to herself.

  “I don’t know if I can endure more loss,” she said, her voice low. “I think she’s made her mind up to give the baby up for adoption. It’s the right thing for Sage. I know that. For Sage and the child. But…it’s going to rip my heart out.”

  The last was almost a whisper, and he gazed at her for only an instant before he set his glass down and reached a hand out to tug her against him. His arms wrapped around her tightly, enfolding her in his solid strength, and she sagged against him, relishing the heat.

  “I know,” he murmured. “I know.”

  She fought tears for several reasons—including the completely silly one that she didn’t want to have to redo her blasted makeup before their dinner with Harry on account of scary mascara streaks all over her face.

  “What’s so wrong with hiding out in the bunkhouse for a few months?”

  “You won’t. You’ll face this just like you’ve faced everything else.”

  She shook her head, the urge to cry gone as she stood in his arms. He was so solid, his muscles hard against her curves. She wanted to stand here forever, just borrowing that strength a little.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “You’re welcome.” His voice was low, intent, and when she met his gaze, heat glittered in the blue depths. She waited, holding her breath, a curl of anticipation inside her, and then finally he lowered his head and kissed her on a long sigh.

  His mouth was cool from the drink and she shivered at the glide of his tongue against hers. Everything inside her went weak, hungry. For weeks, she had wondered if she would ever taste his kiss again. Now here it was, when she was nervous for their dinner with Harry and sick with worry for Sage.

  Somehow, unbelievably, kissing Jack was like slipping into the hot tub on a cold winter’s night. Calming, comforting, relaxing. Despite this hunger for more, he calmed something edgy and tight inside her.

  She was falling in love with him all over again. She probably had been since he’d returned.

  She pushed that unwelcome realization away, focusing instead on how wonderful it felt to be here in his arms again, to tangle her mouth with his, to feel the welcome heat seeping into all the cold places inside her.

  “Okay, I think I’m finally ready,” she heard Sage call out. “Where are you guys?”

  The words pierced the soft haze around her and she blinked to the awareness that their daughter was going to walk in on them any moment. Somehow she managed to find the strength to step away from him, her breathing ragged and her heartbeat racing in her ears.

  He looked just as stunned as she felt, his pupils dilated and his hair slightly messy where her hands must have played in it without her being conscious of it.

  “In the kitchen,” she answered. Her voice came out husky, thready, and she had to cough a little to clear it. “In the kitchen,” she repeated more loudly.

  Sage burst through the doorway just a second later. “What are you doing in here?”

  “A drink. I was, uh, thirsty, and Maura was pouring some ginger ale for me,” Jack said, looking around a little blankly for his glass. When he found it on the counter, he picked it up with an air of triumph and sipped at it, then coughed as it apparently went down wrong.

  “O-kay,” Sage said. “Well, sorry I made you both wait for me.”

  Jack shot a glance at Maura. “No problem. I didn’t mind at all.”

  She could feel herself flush and dearly hoped Sage didn’t notice. “You look lovely, honey,” she said. It was true. Sage wore a maternity blouse Maura hadn’t seen before, a soft rose. She had pulled her wavy hair back into a loose knot and wore a pair of dangly silver-and-rose earrings Maura had made for her birthday a few years earlier.

  “I guess you saw my flowers.”

  After a few more deep, cleansing breaths, she almost felt as if her brain had received enough oxygen for the synapses to start firing again. “They’re lovely. Your own gift from the Angel of Hope. That’s certainly something to treasure.”

  A sly, secretive smile played at her mouth for just a moment. “Isn’t it?”

  “But how did the Angel know about what was going on? It really makes me wonder again if it’s someone we know.”

  Sage shrugged, but she still had a knowing sort of look in her eyes. “The mystery is half the fun. That’s what you and Grandma McKnight always say.” She glanced at her watch. “We’d better go. I wouldn’t want to keep Harry waiting too long.”

  “Oh, no. We certainly wouldn’t want that,” Jack said drily.

  Sage led the way through the house toward the front door, and Jack, of course, insisted on helping them into their coats. When his body brushed hers from behind, Maura shivered and had to hope he didn’t notice—though from the sudden intake of breath, she guessed she wasn’t as good at concealing her reaction to him as she would like to be.

  At least she wasn’t worried about meeting with Harry anymore. She was much more concerned with fretting about what she was going to do about Jack and this very inconvenient and ill-timed hunger—and preparing herself for yet another loss when he left Hope’s Crossing once more.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THAT KISS.

  Wow.

  As Jack helped them into their coats and then followed Sage and Maura down the sidewalk to his SUV, heat seethed and churned through him. He was eighteen years old again, in a sun-drenched alpine meadow, convinced he was the luckiest bastard in the world to have the most beautiful girl at Hope’s Crossing High School in his arms.

  No, actually. He was much smarter tha
n he’d been back then. Now he knew it was much more than luck that she had actually kissed him back, had trembled in his arms and wrapped her own arms around him and pressed her softness to him.

  It was nothing less than a miraculous gift.

  He felt a little as if he had been wandering alone through some bleak wilderness all these years, convincing himself he was happy and had everything he wanted or needed. Being back in Hope’s Crossing, being with her again, showed him just how foolish he had been. He hadn’t been happy. Something fundamental and beautiful and right had been missing all this time.

  Maura.

  He had feelings for her. They were tangled and complicated and he didn’t know what the hell to do about them.

  At his vehicle, Sage brushed past her mother to immediately take the backseat, leaving Maura to sit in the front.

  “I can sit back there,” Maura said. “You’re the pregnant one. You need the legroom, don’t you?”

  “There’s plenty of room back here. I’m perfect. Get in, Mom. Seriously. We’re going to be late!”

  She really must have been a stubborn little thing when she was a kid. Once more, when he thought of all he had missed, he was hit by a familiar pang. This time, he embraced the ache. It forced him back to reality. He had missed so much of Sage’s life, because of Maura. As much as he was drawn to her again, how could he fully trust her after such a huge betrayal?

  The night was cool and clear. Hanging over Woodrose Mountain was a huge full moon that reflected a pearly glow on the dusting of snow that still lingered on the ground. None of them spoke much as he drove through town to the mouth of Silver Strike Canyon, where he turned on the GPS he had already programmed with the coordinates for Harry’s place. He refused to acknowledge the strange reality that he had no idea how to get to his own father’s house.

  “We could have told you how to get there,” Maura commented as the sultry female voice gave its automated directions. “Harry’s house is a little hard to miss up the canyon.”