A vivid memory flitted through his mind, the first time she had decided to stay at the bar all night until closing and then go home with somebody who bought her a few drinks. He remembered locking the front door and huddling in his bed, missing his grandmother like crazy. He hadn’t slept at all that night and had been so bleary-eyed, he had ended up in detention for dozing off in class, where he was warm and safe.
He hadn’t thought about these things much in years. He wasn’t sure he liked the way the memories had started to bubble up to the surface since his return, like some geothermal hot spot reinvigorated by volcanic activity deep beneath the crust of the earth.
Peyton probably was old enough to stay by herself but the idea didn’t sit well with him, for reasons he couldn’t fully explain.
“I have no problem with you being on your own for a few hours. Even three or four,” he said. “But this is all day long. I just don’t feel good about leaving you in a strange house by yourself when you don’t know anybody in town yet that you could call in case of an emergency.”
“I don’t want to sit around a stupid, boring recreation center all day!”
He licked the last bit of yogurt from his spoon and tossed it in the sink and the empty container into the trash. “It’s a recreation center,” he reminded her. “By its very definition, you should find plenty to do. Swimming, racquetball, mountain biking. You won’t be bored unless you want to be, trust me on that, ladybug.”
“Would you stop calling me that? I’m not five years old anymore, and I’m so tired of you treating me that way. I don’t want to spend all day at your stupid job!”
He should have known she would dig her heels in about this, as she did about every other damn thing in their lives.
“This isn’t negotiable,” he said, trying not to grind his teeth. “Get dressed. I can give you half an hour.”
She stared at him for a long moment and apparently seemed to know he had drawn a line he wouldn’t let her cross.
“I hate you and I hate this stupid town!” she exploded. “Why couldn’t I have stayed in Portland with one of my friends or with Mrs. Sanchez?”
“You think Mrs. Sanchez would have extended the retirement she had been planning for a year in order to stay with you?”
“If you paid her enough, she would have! You just didn’t want to.”
A bleak sense of futility seemed to settle in his gut. His daughter would have preferred staying with their housekeeper to moving here and having a new adventure with him. She said she hated him. For all he knew, she meant the words.
Like the rest of the world, she blamed him for her mother’s death. He wanted to believe she didn’t think he was literally responsible for Jade’s drowning, that he had held her head underwater or something, but Peyton seemed to think he should have done more to help Jade when her addictions spiraled out of control.
The hell of it was, she was right. But by then, he was tangled in his own legal issues and busy trying to stay out of prison to spend much time worrying about the woman responsible for tangling him up in the whole mess in the first place.
“We’re a family, like it or not,” he said now, trying his best to keep his temper contained.
“I don’t,” she muttered under her breath.
“Look, you’ve convinced yourself you hate it here but we’ve only been here a few days. Give it time. I think you’ll change your mind. And I promise, first order of business for me is to hire a housekeeper. I’m working through an agency and expect to have someone by the end of the day.”
“I don’t see why we need a housekeeper.”
He couldn’t take any more. “Face it, kid. We’re slobs. I haven’t washed dishes in a long time. We need somebody to clean up after us, cook for us, run you around, be here if you break your thumbs with all that texting.”
“I don’t have anywhere to go,” she muttered.
“You will. Once you’ve been here awhile and have a chance to make some new friends, you’ll probably find all kinds of things to do. Meantime, today I would like you to come with me and be my moral support. Please. Just get dressed, Peyton.”
He could tell she wanted to offer more arguments but she finally slid off the bar stool.
He whispered a prayer of gratitude that at least he didn’t get another whatever out of her.
* * *
“GOOD NEWS. NOTHING’S broken.”
“What did I tell you?”
Charlotte shifted her aching ankle to a little more comfortable position on the exam table while her primary care physician, Susannah Harris, examined the X-ray displayed on the wall-hung light cabinet.
Dr. Harris tucked a strand of steel-gray hair behind her ear. “It’s not broken but your ankle is badly sprained. In my experience, sorry to say, a sprain can sometimes be more painful than a fracture.”
Charlotte closed her eyes, foreseeing a difficult week. “This is going to be a problem for me, isn’t it?”
“It doesn’t have to be. But I would recommend you stay off it for at least a week.”
“I can’t do that! What about the store? And my running? I have to exercise!”
Susannah had been with her through her whole weight-loss journey. She knew how deadly a change in routine could be for someone trying to establish new habits.
“Calm down, Charlotte. You can do this.”
Easy for Susannah to say. She was athletic and tough and ran marathons for fun.
“Have you done much swimming?” the doctor went on. “The new pool at the recreation center is wonderful. James and I went up over the weekend. They reserve it for lap swimming in the morning and it wasn’t very busy when we were there.”
When she was young, she used to swim all the time but since she had gained weight, she hated how she looked in a swimsuit too much to subject herself to that humiliation very often.
What other choice did she have? She couldn’t run on her ankle. Right now, she couldn’t even walk. She had a reclined exercise bike but the thought of pedaling made her ankle give an angry throb.
Yet another reason to be angry with Spence Gregory for coming back to town and ruining everything.
She frowned. Okay, in all fairness she couldn’t really blame him. How could he have known she would become so off balance to see him there that she would lose track of where she was running?
She could only imagine the trouble she could get into if he happened to walk past while she was swimming at the community center. Susannah would be treating her for a concussion from heedlessly ramming into the side of the pool.
“I’ll figure something out. Thanks, Susannah.”
“I’m going to write a scrip for some crutches. You can pick them up at our pharmacy here at the clinic. Use them, got it?”
“At least it’s my left foot. I can still drive, right?”
“If you’re careful.” The doctor gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry I can’t give you better news. But look at it this way—you don’t have to wear a cast.”
Small favors. This would definitely complicate her life. In addition to the difficulties at work, she would have to try very hard to make sure she didn’t lose hard-fought ground when it came to working out.
Susannah gazed at her computer screen for a moment. “It looks like you’ve lost another five pounds since I saw you two months ago. That’s fantastic, Charlotte. Doesn’t that put you right at your goal weight?”
She smiled. “Yes. Three pounds ago.”
“You’re an inspiration. You’ve added years to your life, you know. I can tell you that, if you hadn’t lost the weight, this injury probably would have been far worse—and I think you’ll find your ankle will heal much faster than it would have otherwise, since you’re more toned and your diet is more healthy.”
Of course, if she hadn’
t lost the weight, she probably wouldn’t have been running in front of Spence Gregory’s just after sunrise to go sprawling into the street. But she decided not to mention that little fact to the doctor.
She left Susannah’s office with her ankle wrapped and her palm bandaged, wielding a rented pair of crutches.
She drove to work trying to figure out how she was going to handle parking. Most downtown merchants used a lot a block off Main Street in order to leave the prime spots for customers. She certainly had a good excuse to park closer but she couldn’t find a more convenient spot. Besides, parking along the street was limited to two hours anyway. She ended up circling around the block and finally pulling back into the off-street parking lot.
Ah, well. It would give her good practice on the crutches and a little of that exercise she and Susannah were just talking about.
By the time she made it half a block, she was reconsidering. Besides the steady throb of her ankle, her hands hurt where she clutched the crutches and her armpits burned.
This would get old fast.
She was walking past String Fever, her favorite place to bead, when Claire McKnight, the owner of the store, and her manager, Evie Thorne, came out the front door.
“Oh, my word,” Claire exclaimed, consternation temporarily shunting aside her voluptuous pregnancy glow. She planted her hands on her hips. “Charlotte Caine, what have you done to yourself?”
She was grateful for the chance to take a break and sank onto the conveniently situated bench outside the bead store. “Nothing. It’s so embarrassing. I sprained my ankle this morning on my run.”
Tripping over my feet, just because Spence Gregory happens to look gorgeous in a pair of jogging shorts.
“Do you have to use the crutches long?” Evie asked. She was a physical therapist by training, though she only maintained a select few clients and preferred to spend most of her time working at the bead store.
Charlotte sighed. “Dr. Harris tells me I’m supposed to keep weight off it for a week. It’s really no big deal.”
“It is. Believe me, I know how horrible crutches can be,” Claire said. “Why don’t you come into the store and let me get you a drink and fuss over you for a bit? The fall bead magazines showed up this morning.”
Fall, already? She supposed so. It wouldn’t be long, anyway. Here in Hope’s Crossing, the quaking aspens would start turning gold in another month.
“That sounds tempting, believe me, but I’m afraid I’m already late heading into the store. I missed the whole morning at the doctor’s. I hope nobody needs an urgent order of fudge made today because I’m afraid it’s not happening.”
“You’re coming to the book club meeting tomorrow, aren’t you?”
She had completely forgotten in the chaos of Spence’s return. “I should be there, as long as I can find a convenient spot to prop my ankle.”
“We’ll make sure you do,” Evie promised. “Here. Stand up. Let me help adjust those crutches to a better fit.”
Charlotte had learned a long time ago it was best to just obey when her dear friends started trying to order her life. She stood and let Evie fuss over her for a moment.
“There. Try that.”
She took a few exploratory steps with the crutches and smiled back over her shoulder. “That’s tons better. Wow. Amazing!”
“We all have our little skills. You make the best fudge in the Rocky Mountains. I adjust crutches. Take it easy. Even when your ankle starts to feel better, you can do serious damage if you push yourself.”
“So Dr. Harris warned me. Thank you for the double dose of caution. I promise, I’ll sit in my office at the store all day long and let my employees wait on me hand and foot.”
“Good idea,” Claire said. “Or better yet, take the day off. You’ve got smart people working for you. They can handle things without you during an emergency like this.”
Charlotte gave Claire and Evie a warm smile. “I’m a lucky woman to have friends to fret about me.”
“Yes, you are,” Claire answered.
With a smile and a wave, Charlotte started to hobble toward Sugar Rush when Evie moved up to walk beside her.
“Wait,” her friend said. “I’m heading that direction anyway to grab coffee at Maura’s place. I’ll walk with you.”
She had a feeling that wasn’t precisely true, and that Evie was manufacturing a reason to accompany her, probably to make sure she didn’t take another dive off the sidewalk.
As long as Spence didn’t happen to walk by and start some leg stretches, she should be fine.
“So I understand Alex is trying to set you up next weekend with one of Sam’s army buddies.”
Crap. She had completely forgotten about that. She absolutely didn’t want to go out on a blind date while she was on crutches. She would just have to hope she didn’t need them by the following weekend.
“I’ve met Garrett King,” Evie said. “He seems very nice. You should have a wonderful time.”
Evie was another of her friends who had a great husband. She and Brodie just seemed to fit together, perfectly complementing the other’s strengths.
Evie had moved to Hope’s Crossing a few years ago from Los Angeles, where she’d had a successful pediatric rehab practice. After Brodie’s teenage daughter, Taryn, had been injured in a severe car accident that had killed another teen, Evie had stepped in to help the girl’s recovery.
Charlotte started to ask about Taryn, but before she could get the words out, an old blue battered pickup pulled up to the curb beside them and the driver killed the engine.
Tucker’s big droopy face hung out the passenger window and a moment later, Dylan climbed out the other side and walked around the front of the truck. He wore his customary scowl but for once, he looked more concerned than angry at the world.
“What the hell happened to you?” he exclaimed. “I just saw you last night!”
She sighed, wondering how many times she was going to have to go over this with people. Probably a couple dozen more that day, at least. “You know me. Clumsy as a deaf bat. I sprained my ankle while I was running this morning.”
“That’s what happens when you go running. Sorry about that. You need a ride somewhere?”
“I’m heading to the store.”
“Let me walk you the rest of the way.”
“Okay,” she managed to say, so surprised at his gesture, she forgot to point out that she was almost there, that Evie was already babysitting her or that Dylan had parked in a red zone.
When they reached the store, Evie waved and headed back to the bookstore and coffee shop. Dylan lingered in the doorway, his features troubled.
“I was thinking I might have dinner tonight at the café. If you’re not hurting too bad, want to come?”
She stared at him, wondering if she had imagined the breathtaking words. Was Dylan actually instigating a social engagement, inviting his sister to have dinner at their father’s café? She could hardly believe it. She gave him a careful look but he certainly looked sober to her. He knew better than to get behind the wheel otherwise.
“Yeah. Yes. Of course! I should be done at the store about seven.”
“Okay.” He shifted. “I’ll meet you in front of the store. That way you won’t have to walk there on the sticks.”
It was only a block away and she could probably walk but she was so thrilled at this new development that she didn’t turn him down.
“Yes. Great. I’ll see you at seven.”
Dylan looked pained for a moment, as if he had half hoped she would refuse, but then he nodded and returned to his pickup. She watched him drive away, effervescent hope bubbling through her.
If twisting her ankle had in any way contributed to her brother agreeing to venture out into public long enough to have dinner at the café, s
he would trip over her feet in front of Spence Gregory’s house every day for a month.
CHAPTER SIX
DUSKY SUNLIGHT FILTERED up the canyon when Spence finally left the recreation center at the end of his first day and headed down the road that paralleled the reservoir toward town.
His day hadn’t been completely miserable. He had met the new staff at the rec center and spent a little time talking to them, listening to their ideas, trying to assure them he had no plans to come in and radically change what they had already started.
So far, so good. Though he had intercepted a few sideways glances and everyone treated him with wariness, nobody had come right out and called him a drug-dealing murderer. Always a bonus, when he could say that at the end of the day.
The recreation center wasn’t finished yet. When it was done, it would have an extensive network of facilities, indoors and outdoors. An equestrian complex, hiking trails, a practice ski jump, even boating docks and a swim beach in the reservoir.
It was an ambitious project for a town the size of Hope’s Crossing, created through a complicated mix of taxes and private donations, but he was already excited about the possibilities. For once, he thought he might be able to put to use the college business classes his one-time mentor had encouraged him to take during the off-season.
At the thought of Mike Broderick—once one of his best friends in the world—his hands tightened on the steering wheel and that familiar surge of bitter anger scorched through him. He pushed it away, knowing it was as pointless as ever and somehow didn’t belong in the midst of the pure beauty he drove through.
Summer evenings in the Colorado high country were divine, green and lush and full of long, lazy shadows. He had forgotten that in the years he was gone.
He glanced over at his daughter, thumbing her way through what passed for a conversation these days with one of her friends.
“Thanks for coming with me today. I appreciated the moral support.”
Willowleaf Lane Page 7
