by Linda Style
But he’d blown it. One of his biggest regrets. One of many that dogged him every day.
Still watching, Cole saw the sheriff’s cruiser pull up to the café, and then someone wearing a uniform got out. From the rotund build, he could tell it was Sheriff Masterson, whose daughter had died in the accident. Cole closed his eyes. As much as he wished he could leave town, he couldn’t. He needed to be here. And, he realized, not just to help his mother out.
The time had come for him to face his demons. Face the people whose lives he’d wrecked.
Face Serena.
CHAPTER TWO
“I DON’T WANT TO TALK about it,” Cole’s mother, Isabella St. Germaine, said. Then she clamped her lips, turned her back on Cole and continued stirring the pot on the stove.
Cole felt his shoulder muscles tighten. Man, his mom was stubborn. Most people her age would want to move to a place that didn’t require so much upkeep, like a condo in Prescott…or Phoenix, as he’d suggested. What he’d really like was for his mom to move to Chicago to be near him. But that was out of the question—she hated the cold. Not to mention that he could be out of a job soon and might be moving himself.
Like many businesses affected by the downturn in the economy, Atria Advertising, the company he worked for, was in dire straits, and he didn’t know from one week to the next if he’d even have a job. His boss had appeared almost relieved when Cole had asked for time off.
“Fine. But at least think about it,” Cole said. “Take a look around here.” The sharpness in his tone surprised him. But he was only saying the obvious. He’d never seen the place in such bad shape.
He had to give her credit though. Her stubbornness had gotten them through some rough times. Staunchly independent, Isabella St. Germaine prided herself on being self-sufficient. She’d never have told him about the loan to Ryan and asked for help if everything had gone as she’d expected.
“I have a little headache,” his mother said suddenly. “I’m going to leave the stew to simmer and lie down for a while.”
Damn. He had to be the most insensitive person in the world. All his mom had ever done was work to make a decent life for him, and even in this instance, she’d acted because of him…because Ryan had been Cole’s best friend. “Hey.” He touched her arm as she started to walk away, her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m just concerned about you, that’s all. I shouldn’t be telling anyone what to do.” Hell, he’d spent a long time cleaning up his own act, and still had plenty of work to do in that department. “I won’t bring it up anymore.”
“No need to be sorry,” she said on her way to the stairs. “You’re a good son.”
She always said that, and in her eyes, he probably was, even though he didn’t deserve the designation. “Okay. You rest. I’m going out to mow the lawn.”
When Cole had first arrived, he couldn’t believe how frazzled his mom had looked. Probably the stress from what was happening with Ryan. He wished she’d told him before Ryan had filed for Chapter 11, which wasn’t quite as bad as Chapter 7. The former, Chapter 11 type of bankruptcy allowed a business to restructure and make an effort to pay the bills. He just hoped that was possible.
After his mom had gone, Cole went into the kitchen for a bottle of water, then outside to get the mower. Within an hour and a half, he’d mowed both the back and front lawns. Though it was early September, he was sweating profusely.
Standing at the edge of the driveway, he wiped his face with the hem of his T-shirt. Why his mom still insisted on having grass, when every other house had desert landscaping, was beyond him.
The large ranch-style home sat on an oversize corner lot one block behind Main Street. Its once-white paint was now peeling and crusty, like yellowed onion skins stuck to the clapboard siding.
Over the years, he’d asked his mom if she needed money to keep up the place, and had even sent money for that purpose. She’d always told him she was doing fine. He knew she had enough money to get by, since the house was paid for and for the past ten years she’d worked at the local farmers’ market, until last spring when some developer bought up the property.
That was when he’d suggested she sell the house and move east to be near him. His suggestion had gone over like the proverbial lead balloon. She’d refused and said she’d never move, not until they planted her. His great-grandparents had built the house. It had started as a two-room structure. They’d added on to it over the years, which is why the place now sprawled every which way. The house itself was nothing fancy, but to his mom, its sentimental value was worth far more than any money someone might give her for it.
He’d never viewed the house quite that way, and he’d sent her tickets twice a year to visit him, hoping she’d get used to Chicago and want to move. She’d never warmed to the idea. And she never once mentioned being unable to keep up the house.
He took a swig of water, wiped his brow again and breathed in the scent of freshly mowed grass, an immediate reminder of all the times Serena had come over on Saturday mornings to wait for him while he finished mowing.
He’d been love struck from the second he’d seen the curly-haired redhead in third grade when her family moved into the makeshift trailer park where all the hippies lived.
When he and Serena had gotten together in high school, he couldn’t believe someone so sweet and so smart would want to be with a guy like him. He’d been hanging with some of the rowdiest guys in town—her brother being one of them—and ready to drop out of school, when she’d offered to tutor him. That had changed everything.
He started studying harder, got some decent grades and made both his mother and Serena proud.
His gut twisted. He’d wanted to be the kind of father he wished he’d had. Not the kind who could abandon his family without blinking. Not the kind who never cared to know if his son was dead or alive. How could any man reject his own flesh and blood? As far as Cole was concerned, that was an unforgivable sin.
He guzzled more water and only noticed the black tricked-out Silverado after he heard a door slam. He glanced up. Eddy Torberg, another of his high-school classmates, walked toward him. “Hey, Cole.”
Cole smiled. “Hey, Big Ed. What’s up?”
“I’m wondering why you haven’t been by the Blue Moon.”
Ed, who’d been short and stocky in school, seemed almost as tall as Cole now. Six feet, at least. Apparently Ed and his partner, David MacAllister, now owned the Blue Moon Saloon, a place Cole had so far avoided like the lingerie department in Macy’s. He wasn’t going to add any fuel to the dying embers of gossip in Spirit Creek and risk their kicking up into pretty good flames. Drinking was what had gotten him into trouble in Spirit Creek, and the locals were not likely to have forgotten it. Especially the sheriff.
“I’ve been real busy, Ed.”
“Okay. As long as you’re not holdin’a grudge. This town is too small for people to avoid each other.”
Maybe. Clearly Serena was avoiding him, because in the normal course of events in a town the size of a postage stamp, people ran into one another all the time. “I agree, but the two of us may be in the minority.”
Ed waited a moment, then said, “It could just as easily have been me in the car that crashed. Kinda woke me up.”
“Yeah. Me, too,” Cole said. Ed had been in the other car, but Cole had been the one to lose control…after Ed rammed his car. “Only, my call was too little, too late.”
Frowning, Ed tapped one of his tennis shoes against the mower to loosen the grass that had stuck to the shoe when he’d walked over. “Damn. These shoes are new, too. Now they’re all stained.” He tapped his foot again. “Anyway, I stopped by to tell you I’m the point person for the booths at the fall festival this weekend, and I’ve had a couple of people cancel on me. I talked to Ryan before he left, but he said he was busy and that I should talk to you.”
“Sure. I’ll do what I can,” Cole said, figuring Ed could do with volunteers to help set up.
“Go
od. We have to fill up the booths, and it could provide good publicity for the Jeep tours.”
Tourists flooded Sedona for the annual jazz festival at the end of September, and afterward many of them migrated the seven miles from Sedona to Spirit Creek. Years ago, the small town had piggybacked on the bigger town’s action by creating an art festival that ran at the same time. The Spirit Creek festival also included music, but mostly by local groups. Ed was right. Participating would mean good publicity. The touring company needed business however they could get it. “Yeah. I’m in. Just let me know what I should do.”
Ed went to his truck and came back with a packet. “Forms to complete. Just drop them off later at the bar.” He started back to his vehicle. “You’ll have to write a check for the booth, too.”
Cole glanced at the papers. How stupid to think he could stay away from the Blue Moon entirely. Too many events were held there. Charity auctions, weddings, anniversary parties. Not that he’d get invited to any of them. And it wasn’t as if he’d go in and hang one on—something that was sounding better and better at the moment. “Okay. Will do.”
No sooner had Ed driven away than the sheriff’s cruiser pulled in and parked. Cole’s pulse raced. Though the sheriff had ticketed his car once since he’d been back, Cole had actually run into him twice. Both times Cole had been at a loss what to say, so he’d just nodded. The acknowledgment hadn’t been mutual.
A million times over the past thirteen years, Cole had thought about the words he’d utter to the man whose daughter had died because of him, but right now he couldn’t remember any of them. All he remembered was the blood—on his hands, on Celine’s face—and the anguish filling her father’s eyes as he’d held her, dying, in his arms.
The once-lean sheriff got out of the cruiser, hoisted his belt over his middle and headed toward Cole, determination evident in the set of his square jaw and burly shoulders, which were hiked back with authority. Cole recalled the stance well, and his adrenaline kicked up a notch. But Sheriff Masterson couldn’t be here to give him another ticket, not unless it was for running a lawn mower.
The sheriff’s hair still looked as though it had been whipped in a blender, except now it was silver instead of black. The sheriff stopped, spread his feet and placed a hand on his gun. “Where’s your car?”
“My car?”
“There was a hit-and-run early last night.”
Cole’s spine went rigid. Did Karl believe he was responsible?
The sheriff fixed Cole with a hardened gaze. “I want to see your vehicle.”
Cole thought about telling him his car had been in the garage the whole time he’d been in town. However, he decided there wasn’t any point. He simply gestured to the Jeep in the drive.
“We’ve got a witness who said he saw a car, not a Jeep. A silver BMW. Not many of those in this town except yours.”
Cole turned the mower around and pushed it toward the garage, anger knotting his belly. But instead of showing his emotions as he might have years ago, he shrugged, grabbed the garage door and raised it. “You’re wasting your time here, Sheriff. But go ahead and look it over.”
The sheriff proceeded to do just that, first the driver’s side and then the passenger side, where he stopped. The car was several years old, a classic, and Cole had taken great care of it. Karl couldn’t find even a scratch.
The sheriff pulled out a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket and leaned down to touch the fender. “You said you haven’t driven the car at all?”
“That’s right.” What the hell was Masterson doing? Trying to trap him into saying something that wasn’t true?
Karl squared his shoulders, looked Cole in the eyes. Lips thinning, he said, “I guess you’re off the hook.” He started to leave.
Cole heaved a sigh of relief. He hadn’t done anything, but just talking with the sheriff made his pulse race, his palms sweat. At the same time, he realized if he didn’t say something now, he’d regret it. “Karl.”
The man turned.
Feeling his throat begin to close, Cole coughed. “I don’t know how to say this Karl…because I know there isn’t anything I can say that will make any difference.”
Silence.
“I’d do anything to take back what happened, but that’s not possible, and every day of my life I think about what I did and how many people went through hell because of it.” Seeing the pain in the sheriff’s eyes, Cole looked away. “God, I’d do anything to change what happened, but I can’t and I don’t know what else to do.”
Shifting his stance, the sheriff crossed his arms and bowed his head. After a long moment, he drew a deep breath and said, “There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of my daughter, but I made my peace with her death a long time ago.”
Cole looked up, not sure he’d heard right. “You—”
“I had to in order to be there for my family.”
“If I could just do something…”
Frowning, the sheriff said, “If only that were possible.”
Cole raised his head. Yeah. If only.
“Well.” The sheriff turned. “There is something you can do. I would appreciate it if in your travels you kept an eye out for any shady characters.”
“Shady characters?”
The sheriff leveled his gaze at Cole. “I’ve been contacted by the feds about some drug activity in Spirit Creek. And I’ve heard some things about Ryan.”
Cole jerked back. Was Karl asking Cole to spy on Ryan?
“Just keep it in mind,” the sheriff said. “That’s all I ask.”
The sheriff waited briefly, then banged the fender of Cole’s car and lumbered away, shoulders slumped, head down.
SERENA RECOGNIZED the male voice immediately. Cole. She turned from the espresso machine in the back of her small booth too quickly, bumped her elbow on the of the cup rack and spilled the drink she was making down the front of her red Cosmic Bean T-shirt. She’d barely opened her booth and already she was a mess.
“Need some help?” the older man waiting for his cappuccino asked.
“No, it’s okay,” she answered, then grabbed a napkin and blotted at the spot. When that didn’t help, she plucked one of the gift aprons, bearing the café logo, off the table and hastily put it on. Smiling, she said, “There. I’m good to go.”
“I didn’t even know this town was here,” the man said. “If I hadn’t seen the posters in Sedona, I wouldn’t have come.”
“Well, I’m glad you did. We like to think of our town as the dessert on the Sedona Jazz Festival’s menu.” She went to redo the man’s order, but she could still hear Cole talking—only now in a lower voice, and she couldn’t make out what he was saying. What the heck was he doing there? And so early?
As the man left with his coffee, Serena took a step back, blocking herself so Cole wouldn’t spot her if he was nearby. She glanced in the other direction, where people were beginning to filter in. The bulk of the attendees wouldn’t arrive until later in the day or toward evening, but there were a few who drove to Spirit Creek first, then traveled to Sedona. Even this early in the morning, excitement hung in the air. Booths of all types lined each side of Main Street, with the Cosmic Bean’s booth on one end near the other food booths, close to where a stage had been erected for the festival’s entertainment. The previous week, Serena, Natalia and her other best friend, Tori, had all helped to make the fall-inspired decorations for the stage.
At the opposite end of the street was Natalia’s booth, where she gave out safety information for hiking the area. In between their booths were others that sold everything from handmade quilts to totem poles carved with chain saws.
The Sedona Jazz Festival lasted the whole weekend, but the Spirit Creek festival was held only on Saturday. Serena loved to watch the people as they arrived in. When she turned back to her booth, she saw Natalia approaching. She and Natalia had only known each other for five years, but it felt as if they’d known each other a lifetime.
“
How’s it going?” her friend asked.
“I’m trying to get set up before the crowd swarms, but I’ve had three customers already.”
“Well, I’d kill for caffeine this morning, so let’s make it four.”
“Double espresso?”
“Perfect. What’s with the apron?”
“Advertising.” She cursed herself for having gotten so flustered just because Cole St. Germaine was at the festival…somewhere. She retrieved a cup for Natalia’s drink and decided to have coffee, too.
When she brought the coffee over, Natalia tipped her head to the left…the direction from which Serena had heard his voice. “Talked to him yet?”
“Nope. But I’m not worried about it.” She took a quick sip and burned her tongue.
“Did you hear the sheriff was at his place last week about that hit-and-run?”
“No.” But Ryan had told her the sheriff was watching Cole. “Does the sheriff have reason to believe he was involved?” From what she’d heard, other than helping her brother, Cole had been scarce around town.
“I don’t know. I guess the sheriff is just doing his job. Can’t blame him for that.” Natalia, wearing black jeans, a black knit top and a silver belt with a Native American design, glanced at Serena, a quizzical look on her face. “Karl wouldn’t be unfair because of the accident, would he?”
Serena didn’t wish to repeat what Ryan had said, because for all she knew, Ryan was just spouting off. “Who can say. I can see how it could happen.” But whether that was the case or not, one thing was certain: she wanted Cole to leave and go back where he’d come from. She had to admit, though, he’d done a lot to help Ryan. Even though Cole and Ryan had once been good friends, she’d wondered why Cole was so willing to help her brother now. What was in it for him? Ryan couldn’t pay him. When she’d asked her brother why, all she’d gotten was the “he’s a friend” response.
Serena heard laughter. Cole’s laughter. Then female voices and more laughter.
She felt an unexpected twinge in her chest. She reached down, snatched up a few vortex maps from a box and slapped them on the table. “I don’t know why he’s here.”
