by Amanda Cabot
New apartments. What was he talking about? Marisa stared at Blake. He shouldn’t be promising something that wasn’t assured. Andrew Lundquist had already said he had no intention of rebuilding, and even if new buyers emerged, there were no guarantees that they would build another apartment complex. They might decide duplexes or single family houses would be a better investment.
“Blake,” Marisa said, putting her hand on his to stop him.
He merely shook his head and continued. “It’s too soon to have blueprints,” Blake told the audience that was staring at him with a mixture of awe and disbelief, “but I can assure you that the new units will have everything you need. As the first tenants, you’ll be able to select the carpeting and the kitchen appliances.”
What was going on? Only an hour ago, they were arranging for RVs. Now Blake was promising new apartments.
“Sounds expensive,” one of the men called out. “How much is this gonna cost us?”
Indeed. And who was going to build the apartments? It certainly wouldn’t be Andrew Lundquist.
Blake slapped his forehead. “I forgot the most important part, didn’t I? The rent will be the same as you’ve been paying.”
“You’re the one who’s gonna rebuild Hickory View?” a woman asked, her voice mirroring the astonishment Marisa felt. Blake was certainly sounding as if this was his project. A dozen questions whirled through Marisa’s head, the most important being why. Why was Blake doing this?
He shook his head as he addressed the woman who’d asked if he was the developer. “I’m not, but the St. George Building Foundation is.”
Marisa’s gaze shifted from Blake to her parents. They looked as mystified as she felt. Though the crowd murmured, as if trying to digest what Blake had said, Marisa started to sputter. He had gone too far. First he promised there would be new apartments; now he was claiming that they were going to be built by a nonexistent foundation that just happened to have her family’s name on it. What was going on?
“Blake,” she protested, but once again he ignored her.
Keeping his gaze fixed on the audience, Blake continued to speak. “The decision hasn’t been made, but I recommend that the new apartments be called the St. George in honor of all that family has done for Dupree. I haven’t been here for a long time, but I’ve heard about all the kids’ bikes and toys that were repaired for little or no cost and the delicious meals that just happened to be delivered when a family needed them. And at least two people owe their lives to a St. George. It seems to me that’s a better name than Hickory View.”
“Hear, hear!” The man who’d questioned the cost began to cheer.
Mom was staring at Blake as if she couldn’t believe what she’d heard, and Dad’s face was flushed, but they both looked pleased when the people standing next to them began to hug Mom and shake Dad’s hand. Though the questions that raced through her mind had multiplied, Marisa could not argue with the pleasure Blake’s suggestion had brought her parents. The years of whispered criticism seemed to be over, replaced by public recognition. All because of Blake.
When the cheering died down, Alice raised her hand as if she were in school. “Hey, mister,” she shouted. “Can we have pets?”
As the crowd laughed, Blake nodded seriously. “We might be able to arrange that.”
“Yay!” Alice pumped both fists into the air and twirled around, her enthusiasm translating into kinetic energy.
There were a few more questions for Blake to field, then the crowd began to disperse, the adults leaving in small groups and casting looks at Blake as they returned to the school. Their expressions reflected the same incredulity that Marisa felt.
“That was quite an announcement,” the mayor said, clapping Blake on the back. “I want to hear all the details.”
So did Marisa’s parents. That was obvious from their expressions as they approached Blake.
“Sorry, folks,” he said with a smile that betrayed not one smidgen of regret. “Marisa and I have a couple things to take care of, including finding spots for twenty-four RVs. We’ll see y’all tomorrow.”
We. He was acting as if they were in this together, when she was as mystified as the others.
“Talk to me, Blake,” Marisa said as he led the way to his car.
“I will,” he promised. “Once we get there.”
There turned out to be Firefly Valley. When he’d parked the car and they’d walked a few yards from the road, Blake turned to Marisa. “Where do you want me to start?”
“How about the beginning? There’s no St. George Building Foundation.”
“Not yet,” Blake agreed. “As soon as I get the paperwork filed, it’ll be official.”
Marisa stared at him. From the time he’d returned from his mysterious errands, he’d been acting in a very un-Blake manner. “I don’t understand.”
“You will. The fact is, you’re responsible for the foundation. When you started talking about press releases and publicity, I knew what I had to do.” Blake reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. His touch was warm and reassuring, and the way he looked at her made Marisa’s heart race.
“I should have seen it sooner, but we both know sometimes I need a nudge. You gave me that. Again.” Blake’s eyes were warm, holding a hint of amusement and something else, something Marisa couldn’t quite identify, something that kicked her pulse up another notch.
“While you were on the phone with the newspapers and TV stations, I made a few calls of my own. Those were my errands, and I’m glad to say they were successful. The first was to Andrew Lundquist. As I’d expected from what you said, he was more than happy to sell the land. He called it an albatross.”
“So Mr. Lundquist is willing to give you a fire sale—pun intended—on the land. That still doesn’t explain how you propose to pay for the construction and for funding subsidized housing. The town can’t afford any new taxes.”
Blake paused to look at Marisa. “I know. That’s where the foundation comes in. It’ll be like the one Greg has for Rainbow’s End, only in this case it’s designed to help people who need a little assistance.”
“I understand the concept.” Marisa had set up a separate set of accounts for Greg’s foundation so he could have a complete picture of its profits and losses and would understand how much he could afford to contribute to Rainbow’s End. “What I don’t understand is where that money is coming from and why you named the foundation St. George.” Greg’s foundation carried his name.
Blake gave her a smile. “The second call I made was to my agent. I told him I’d do the talk show circuit the way he’s been begging me, so long as everyone knows the money is going to the foundation.”
Marisa stared at Blake. She’d been shocked by his announcement of the St. George Building Foundation, but that surprise paled compared to this. Blake on TV?
Before she could say anything, he continued. “From what Jack has told me, the networks would be standing in line to be the first to interview reclusive author Ken Blake. Jack’s also expecting a big spike in sales, so I’m planning to contribute those additional royalties to the foundation.”
As the blood drained from her face, Marisa leaned against a live oak tree, her fingers gripping the rough bark. “You’re going on TV?” she asked, still not believing what she’d heard. “You’re going to reveal that you’re Ken Blake?”
Blake shrugged. This was the man who’d declared that he would never give up his anonymity. Now he was going to reveal his identity on television so that he could give two dozen Dupree families new homes. If that wasn’t a miracle, it was awfully close.
Blake shrugged again. “I’m not planning to tell them my real name, but my face will be on book covers and TV screens. It probably won’t take long before people make the connection to Dupree and come here.”
His lips curved into an engaging grin. “Some enterprising person who loves books and has a flair for numbers might want to open a bookstore and stock autographed copies.” He gave her a piercin
g look that left no doubt about that person’s identity.
Marisa had thought Blake had exhausted his supply of surprises, but he hadn’t. “Are you suggesting I run a bookstore?” she asked.
“Why not? The town can use one. Think about the additional tax revenues, not to mention the fact that you can hire a couple employees and further boost the economy.”
“But . . .” He was acting as if opening a store was easy.
Blake gave her another smile, this one obviously meant to convince her. “I’m confident you can do anything you set your mind to. Look at all you’ve done for Rainbow’s End—and don’t tell me that was in your job description, because the last time I checked, general managers don’t make tablecloths and plan variety shows.”
“You’re going way too fast for me. I’m still grappling with the idea of rebuilding Hickory View.”
“The store would be good for Dupree.”
“I can’t argue with that, but you sound like you’re planning to stay here. Are you?” Marisa had never considered that. While it was true that he could write anywhere, she had assumed Blake would want to return to California. Now he was acting like a resident of Dupree.
“I want to, but that depends.”
“On what?”
He smiled. “On who. On whom,” he corrected himself. “On you.” Blake’s smile faded, and his expression became serious as he said, “I didn’t answer your question about why I’m calling the foundation the St. George Building Foundation. You heard part of the explanation when I talked about naming the new apartment complex after your family, but there’s more. I want to honor the woman I love. The full name will be the Marisa St. George Building Foundation.”
Marisa stared at him, speechless. In all her dreams of love and happily-ever-after, she’d never expected it to be like this. In the romance novels she’d read, there had been moonlight and roses or at least a romantic setting. Suddenly Firefly Valley felt like the most romantic place in the world.
Blake reached for her hands and captured them in his. “I love you, Marisa,” he said, his voice firm and steady, unlike her breath, which was still catching in her throat. “I know we have issues, but I also know that when we’re apart I’m miserable.”
“I’m miserable too,” she said, remembering the weeks of their first estrangement and the days after their visit to the goat farm. “You were right. I needed to put my anger aside and forgive. More importantly, I needed to ask for God’s help. I’ve done that, and he’s given it to me.”
A light breeze stirred the air while a squirrel scampered by, its cheeks filled with acorns. It was an ordinary day in Firefly Valley for everyone but Marisa. For her, it was the most extraordinary day of her life.
“I know it won’t always be easy,” she said, hoping Blake would understand, “but I’m going to conquer my anger. I had a counselor in Atlanta who helped me with anger management. Obviously, I can’t go there, but she recommended someone in Blytheville that I plan to see.”
When Blake nodded, his approval obvious, Marisa managed a small smile. “So many good things have been happening. You came back, I have a father again, and I feel like a new person.”
His eyes brimming with love, Blake returned her smile. “Does the new Marisa love me?”
“She does. So very much.” More than she had dreamt possible.
Blake tightened his grip on her hands. “Will you marry me?”
For a moment, Marisa thought she was dreaming. So much had happened in such a short time. Just a few hours ago, she’d been staring at the charred remains of Hickory View, wondering what she could do to help the residents. Then Blake had arrived, bringing a plan to provide the victims with better homes than they’d ever had. That would have been wonderful enough, but being here with him, seeing the love in his eyes, made this the best day Marisa could imagine.
And now this. Blake loved her. He loved her enough to give up his anonymity to help her hometown. He loved her enough to marry her despite her problems. All of Marisa’s dreams had just come true.
She smiled at him, hoping he would see the love shining from her eyes. “Oh yes, Blake. I will marry you.”
Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, he dropped her hands, then drew her into his arms and lowered his lips to hers. His lips were soft and tender, their touch sending sparks of excitement through her veins. As his arms drew her closer, Marisa reveled in the warmth of his embrace. How had she ever doubted that this was the man God meant for her? Here was Blake, giving her the sweetest of kisses, one that promised love and laughter, hope and happiness.
“Will you share your future with me?” he asked when they broke apart.
There was nothing Marisa wanted more, for she knew that future would be strengthened by their shared faith. “I will.”
Blake lowered his head and pressed another kiss on her lips.
“Will you love and cherish our children if God blesses us with them?”
Marisa nodded again, smiling as she pictured a small boy with Blake’s features chasing an even younger little girl who had her father’s hazel eyes and mischievous grin. “I will.”
Her smile widened as she thought of everything that had brought them to this point. Mom had been right that first day when she’d claimed Marisa had met the man she was going to marry.
“I love you, Blake, and I always will.” Marisa looked up at him, her smile turning into a grin. “I could spend the rest of the day telling you how much I love you, but I’d rather show you.” She puckered her lips for a kiss.
Blake did not disappoint her.
Author’s Letter
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed Marisa and Blake’s story and that you’re looking forward to spending more time at Rainbow’s End, because there’s a third Texas Crossroads book.
Did your heart ache when you read about Gillian’s accident and the end of her career as a concert pianist? Mine did, which is why I’m giving Gillian a second chance at happiness. When she accepts Kate’s offer to spend a few weeks at Rainbow’s End, the last thing she expects is to meet a man like TJ Benjamin. From his scruffy appearance to his motorcycle, he’s the last man she wants as part of her life. For his part, TJ has no intention of getting involved with any woman, especially a fancy East Coast woman like Gillian.
If you’re intrigued, I hope you’ll read the teaser chapter at the end of this book. Gillian and TJ’s story, On Lone Star Trail, will be available in spring of 2016. And, if you haven’t already read the story of how Kate and Greg acquired Rainbow’s End, At Bluebonnet Lake is available wherever books are sold.
As those of you who’ve read Bluebonnet know, I enjoy sharing my favorite recipes, and so I wanted to give you another one. I’ll admit it’s not a summer staple, but when the temperatures drop, I turn to comfort foods like the vegetarian chili Carmen serves to Rainbow’s End’s guests.
Vegetarian Chili
Combine and simmer for 15 minutes:
28-oz. can of tomatoes, undrained
8-oz. can tomato sauce
½ cup water
1 tbsp chili powder (or more, if you prefer a hotter chili)
1 tbsp dried onion flakes
½ cup dried cranberries
1 12-oz. package frozen winter squash, thawed
1 12-oz. package chopped spinach, thawed
1 15-oz. can black beans, drained and rinsed thoroughly
1 15-oz. can corn, drained
Makes 8 servings. Carmen serves this with cornbread, and so do I.
If you try the chili, please let me know what you think. And, of course, I look forward to hearing your reaction to Marisa and Blake’s story. One of my greatest pleasures as a writer is hearing from you.
Blessings,
Amanda Cabot
Acknowledgments
Writing may appear to be a solitary task, and for the most part it is, but writing “the end” is only the beginning. It took a team to turn my raw manuscript into the book you hold in your hands
. I am blessed to have not just any team but a truly talented one at Revell. Vicki Crumpton and Kristin Kornoelje are, at least in my mind, the perfect editors—two women who gently point out the flaws in my manuscript and work with me to correct them. Lindsay Davis and Claudia Marsh are tireless in their efforts to find new ways to market and promote my books. Cheryl Van Andel consistently gives me “to die for” covers. And they’re only the proverbial tip of the iceberg. In addition to them, there are countless other people, all of whose contributions are essential to making each book the best it can be. I am deeply grateful to each and every one of them.
I would like to extend special thanks to Chief Max Konz of the Bandera, Texas, Volunteer Fire Department. When I was writing the fire scenes, I realized how much I didn’t know about firefighting. Fortunately, Chief Konz was willing to take time out of his already busy schedule to answer my questions. I suspect some of them were so basic that he was tempted to laugh, but he was polite enough not to do that. I thank Chief Konz for sharing his time and expertise with me. Any mistakes are mine alone.
Relax. Gillian Hodge forced her fingers to stop gripping the steering wheel as if it were a lifeline. There was no reason to be so tense. This wasn’t her Carnegie Hall debut or the finals of the Brooks competition when so much was riding on the outcome. This was a vacation, for Pete’s sake. A week with her best friend and the woman who’d been a surrogate grandmother. She should be filled with anticipation, counting the minutes until she arrived, not wound as tightly as a metronome.
Gillian took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. In, out. In, out. The technique had never failed when she’d used it before performances, and it did not fail now. She could feel her neck and shoulder muscles relaxing as she repeated the slow, even breathing. The tension began to drain, and for the first time since she’d left the freeway, Gillian looked at her surroundings rather than concentrating on the highway.
Kate was right. The Texas Hill Country was particularly beautiful in the spring. It had been lovely when she’d been here for Kate’s wedding last September, but the fresh green of spring grasses and leaves and the patches of vividly colored wildflowers turned what had been simply lovely into something spectacular. No wonder Kate kept raving about her new home.
