Authors: RaeAnne Thayne
“I was an asshole. I think that’s been well established by now.”
Amazing how simple arrogance could ruin a person’s life. He had worked damn hard to be a good baseball player, staying later than anybody else, honing his technique, working out for hours each day to stay in top shape.
A healthy ego and a fierce competitive streak had been requirements at the level at which he had competed, but that same ego had forced him to ignore a body that was wearing down from years of throwing ninety-five-mile-an-hour fastballs.
And it had been colossal, unmitigated gall to believe he could cover up somebody else’s mess without it slopping back on him.
He sighed, the sharp edge of his temper dulling. He was responsible for his own mistakes. None of it was Charlotte Caine’s fault and he couldn’t blame her for thinking the worst about his motives.
“The truth is, I want to do this. I’m ready to throw my own charitable organization behind it. Whatever you think about my past, I also still have plenty of connections among professional athletes who have their own charitable organizations and might be looking for a cause.”
He could call at least a dozen guys right now, in both the American and National leagues, who had stood by him when it mattered. Any one of them would be willing to donate at least high five figures, enough to seed the project.
“I think we could make A Warrior’s Hope a force to be reckoned with. You can think what you want about my motives. I can’t deny there might be some element of truth to what you say. Would I like to walk down the street without people spitting on me? Okay. Sure. But I want to do this because it’s a damn good idea and because it could help people who deserve a break.”
Gazing at him, brow furrowed, she reached down and scratched the dog behind his ears. What was she thinking? Did she believe him? And what would he do if she didn’t want to help?
He could certainly make this happen without her but it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.
After a breathless moment, she held her fingers out. “Give me that.”
He offered her the research, and she snatched it away and reviewed it once more.
He sank down on the sofa and the clever dog, apparently sensing her attention was elsewhere, shifted his haunches on the carpet so his head was just at Spence’s hand level.
He sat in her cozy living room while the mountain-sweet evening breeze danced in through the open windows and fluttered the curtains. Her whole house smelled like her—vanilla and citrus, completely delectable—and he decided this wasn’t at all a bad way to spend a Sunday evening, with a lovely woman reading next to him and his fingers petting a dog’s warm fur.
She nibbled on her bottom lip as she read, and he found himself utterly fascinated by the sight. She used to do that, he remembered, when she would read over his piss-poor English papers.
He still couldn’t believe she was the same person he had known before. He wanted to think he hadn’t been so shallow that he couldn’t see the loveliness inside her but he had been a stupid teenage boy whose idea of the perfect female body was the one on the current
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit issue. Hell, he’d married a supermodel, hadn’t he? And look how delightfully that had turned out.
As he watched her read, her features becoming more animated with every page, a fine tension tightened his insides. He wanted to kiss her, just reach across the space between them, slide his fingers into silky honey-gold hair and capture that lip she was tugging between her teeth with his own....
“This could work!”
Her excited voice jolted him out of a very pleasant fantasy involving the two of them, this comfortable sofa and a great deal less of that gauzy white dress.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I know.”
“I really like this idea about adding wheelchair-accessible cabins behind the recreation center.”
“I think that has to be an urgent priority. We can use condos or hotel rooms at the resort at first but it would be better having more of a village feeling with our own small cabins.”
“You might want to talk to Sam Delgado about that. He runs a construction company in town and has a reputation for fast, excellent work.”
She blushed a little when she said the name, and he had to wonder why. He jotted the name down, curious to meet the man.
“Katherine Thorne is on the city council. She might be able to help you fast-track the construction through the permit process.”
Charlotte must know everybody in town. She would be an invaluable asset.
“This is fabulous information,” he said. “Thank you.”
“I can talk to Mary Ella tomorrow, if you’d like. We’re having a birthday lunch for a friend of ours.”
“You know, now that I think about it, I prefer going straight to Harry. It seems devious to go around him and manipulate him that way, and I don’t want to start out on the wrong foot. Still, it can’t hurt to have the support of his future wife, too. We can take a double-team approach. Thank you.”
“You’re right. It’s a good cause.”
She organized the papers, then faced him with a half curious, half wary expression. “Do people really spit on you in the streets?”
The question came out of nowhere and it took him a moment to remember he had hurled those words at her in the heat of their argument.
He didn’t really want to talk about this but didn’t see how he could avoid it, since he had been the one who brought it up.
“Not literally. More than a few have probably wanted to. I did have somebody break through my security system and spray paint PUSHER on the side of my house. We never caught the guy.”
* * *
H
IS
TONE
,
CASUAL
and light, didn’t deceive her. What had it been like to tumble so quickly from hero to goat? He had been vilified in the national media, had been made an example of all that was wrong in professional sports. How it must have hurt when his team members, his fans, jumped on board to denigrate and condemn.
She caught herself. Spencer Gregory did
not
need her sympathy. He was rich, he was gorgeous, he had a sweet daughter—and he obviously had insane luck and darn good attorneys if he could escape prison time when it seemed all the evidence against him had been overwhelming.
Still, it had probably been a heavy blow to lose his career and his reputation so abruptly.
She looked down at the papers on her lap. He had accumulated an amazing amount of research in only a few days, had taken what had only been a vague concept and turned it into something concrete and eminently viable.
She didn’t know what to think. Which was the real Spence? The hardworking teenage boy she remembered, who had juggled two or three jobs at a time to support his drunk of a mother, while going to school and trying to play sports? The nightclubbing, irresponsible partier the media had made him out to be after the accusations emerged?
Or this earnest, caring man who appeared to be trying to do something worthwhile with his life, to become something more than he had been?
She couldn’t discount the last, especially when she—of all people—knew it was certainly possible for a person to make radical changes and to reshape his or her direction.
Yes, she had very personal reasons to be angry with him. It didn’t seem right to let those stand in the way of something that could be of benefit to many people.
“I don’t see anything in here about creating a network of community volunteers to help out,” she said.
He frowned. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“You need to. That should be part of the whole concept for A Warrior’s Hope from the beginning.”
“You think so?”
“The recreation center was intended for use by the community. If you want to repurpose a portion of that mission and open the facilities to a wider population, it seems only right that you give the people of Hope’s Crossing a chance to be part of the effort.”
“How?”
“I can think of dozens of ways. Fund-raising, organizing welcome parties for the veterans. Restaurants could join in to help feed them. I’m sure Pop would love to cater some meals and so would my friend Alex McKnight, who is the chef at Brazen. My friend Evie Thorne is a rehab therapist and she might have insight on what kind of activities would be most helpful for certain injuries. Oh, and I happen to know somebody who’s really good at making fudge and would be happy to donate a steady supply.”
Skepticism flickered in his eyes. “That all sounds wonderful but do you really think people would be so willing to step up to help perfect strangers?”
She gave him a long look, then shook her head. “You obviously haven’t spent enough time in Hope’s Crossing lately. The town has changed since you were here.”
“Yeah. That’s fairly obvious. Every time I turn around, I see a new business or condo development.”
“The growth is only part of the difference. Tourism has taken over as the leading industry since you left. It was already headed that direction fifteen years ago, I guess. As more and more people have moved in to buy vacation homes and condos, the year-round residents have had to make a conscious effort to stay united.”
“Seems like that wouldn’t be an easy task.”
“It hasn’t been. I think Harry’s idea behind the recreation center was to help foster the sense of community. We also have our own annual day of service. We call it the Giving Hope Day and it was started to honor my friend Maura Lange’s daughter Layla, who was killed in a car accident a few years ago.”
“Giving Hope. Catchy.”
She narrowed her gaze, trying to detect sarcasm in his tone or expression, but he appeared genuinely interested.
“It’s really wonderful. You just missed this year’s event. It’s held in early June and it’s a time when everybody comes together to make the community better. Painting the bleachers at the football stadium, cleaning up yards, preparing meals for senior citizens. The day ends with a big benefit gala and auction up at the ski resort. All proceeds go to a scholarship fund.”
“You really think a one-day event is enough to bring a town together?”
“No. We have other things. There are weekly summer concerts in the park—in fact, that’s where I was earlier tonight—a townie ski day every month when the resort gives reduced lift tickets to residents, a couple different parades throughout the year. Oh, and I can’t forget the Angel of Hope.”
“Somebody mentioned that to me the other day. Who is the Angel of Hope?”
“Wouldn’t we all like to know? Actually, I have suspicions but I’m happy to leave them unanswered. I can tell you the Angel is someone who goes around helping people in need. Bags of groceries left on the doorstep of a struggling family, rent or utilities mysteriously paid, a sudden delivery of needed medical equipment. The Angel has attained folk hero status around here.”
“All in secrecy? I find that hard to believe. Really, nobody knows who it is?”
She couldn’t say that with certainty. Maura and Mary Ella had once said something that made her think they knew who might have started the whole thing but she hadn’t pressed them.
“I suspect some people do know, but they’re keeping it zipped,” she answered. “After more than two years, the Angel has become a symbol of the need for increased kindness than an actual person. People do nice things anonymously and are happy to give the Angel credit.”
She herself regularly figured out who to help each week, which had become one of her favorite pastimes. When she ran out of ideas, she often took a different route for her workout, thinking about the people whose houses she passed as she ran and what their needs might be.
Since the whole point was anonymity, she didn’t mention that to Spence.
He remained skeptical. “You’re right. The town must have changed, then. This all sounds rosy and sweet but I have to tell you, my memories of Hope’s Crossing tend to be a bit more...gritty.”
Yes, he would have seen the uglier side of the town, the part where a mother stayed out all night at The Speckled Lizard. Again, that sympathy fluttered through her.
“It’s still not a perfect town,” she said. “We have our problems. Pain, loss, financial troubles. Overall, it’s a pretty nice place full of caring people. I’m sure more than a few of them would be eager to jump on board a project like this as one more way to give back.”
“Okay. We will definitely incorporate a community volunteer effort in the planning. Thank you for looking through everything and for offering a different perspective.”
“You’re welcome.”
He stood to go, all big rangy muscles, and she suddenly wanted him to stay, for reasons she wasn’t quite ready to examine.
Deep down, apparently she was still that giddy teenage girl when it came to Spence Gregory.
He moved in the direction of the door, and she got up and followed him. As it was only a short distance, she didn’t bother with the crutches. “I think A Warrior’s Hope could really be amazing, Spence.”
“Thank you for seeing that this isn’t about me and whatever you might think of...my past.”
He gazed down at her and the moment seemed charged, somehow, glittery and sweet. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Her lungs felt tight, achy, as if she had just run hard up the Woodrose Mountain trail.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered, then felt stupid. Why had she whispered?
She opened her mouth to repeat the words louder but before she could, he was leaning down, all those big hard muscles coming closer, and then he pressed his mouth to the corner of hers.
CHAPTER NINE
S
HE
FROZE
,
HER
heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear. His mouth was warm and he tasted of mint underlined with a hint of something sweeter.
He wasn’t moving, either, just standing so close to her she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, and then the soft whisper of a kiss shifted to something else. Something more. His mouth slanted over hers and he was kissing her, really kissing her.
Spencer Gregory was kissing
her,
as if he couldn’t get enough.
This was crazy. She should say something. Shove him away, wipe her mouth, tell him to go to hell. But, oh, my. All her girlie parts were doing handsprings of joy.
She raised her arms and wrapped them around his neck, telling whatever small rational part of her brain that was still working that she only needed the support to keep from standing on her ankle. He helpfully complied, leaning back and absorbing her weight.
At the same instant, he intensified the kiss, his mouth searching, exploring,
devouring.
She had never really been kissed before. Not this sort of kiss, with passion and fire and urgency.
How ridiculous. She was nearly thirty years old and had no idea how to handle a man like Spence, completely unprepared for the onslaught of sensation. It felt as if a whole factory’s worth of fireworks was exploding inside at the same time, bursting with bright color and heat, sound and wonder.
In a weird way, she felt as if her body had been sleeping for all these years, just waiting for this moment. Every part of her wanted to sink into him, to drag him back into her house and spend all night just like this.
She didn’t want it to stop. She wanted to stay right here forever, until their lips fused together and they starved to death. She couldn’t imagine another experience on earth that could possibly be as wonderful as right now, his mouth on hers, his arms holding her against those hard muscles, the scent of him, masculine and sexy, filling her senses.
Life sometimes took strange twisting journeys. In the tiny corner of her brain capable of stringing two thoughts together, she remembered being fifteen years old and painfully in love, watching him on the baseball diamond or the football field or joking with customers at her father’s café and wanting nothing in her entire life as much as she wanted him to see her, really see her.
Okay, and maybe to love her back a little.
How very odd that all these years had passed with her minding her own business, living her life—establishing a successful store, loving her family, changing old habits—and here she was at last in the arms of the man...the same man she had convinced herself she now detested.
“You taste like strawberries and something else. I can’t tell what, but it’s delicious.”
Every single nerve ending seemed to shiver at his hoarse voice against her skin.
“Prosecco,” she murmured, the single word sounding ragged. “I...had a glass at the concert.”
“Nice. Very nice.”
He kissed her again, his tongue sliding along hers in ways that made those girlie parts start leaping around again, doing corkscrews and triple spirals.
She wanted more. She had a nice convenient sofa just steps away. How could she maneuver him inside so she could explore all these gorgeous hard muscles?
A low sound suddenly pierced the glittery haze of hunger. A long musical
wooo-wooo.
Tucker.
She had completely forgotten about the dog but his bark was enough to bring her back to her senses, to realize she was standing in her entryway, tangled up with Spence Gregory like peppervine around a cottonwood.
She slid her mouth away, mortified. Was she that desperate that she completely lost her mind the moment a gorgeous man kissed her?
Spence gazed down at her, those changeable hazel eyes looking murky and dark.
She didn’t know what to say or do, especially not when he was looking at her in a way that seemed to send her thoughts ricocheting around her head like a six-year-old set loose in her store.
She desperately wished she could be like her friend Alex, someone breezy and confident—the kind of woman who thought nothing of kissing a gorgeous, athletic, complicated man like Spence Gregory.
But she had had no idea what to even do with her tongue, for heaven’s sake. He must have realized how inexperienced she was.
When he looked at her, how could he not see the dumpy, awkward girl she had been?
Somehow—drawing on reserves she had no idea existed—she managed to produce a casual smile. “You know, you didn’t have to kiss me to seal the deal. I was going to help you with A Warrior’s Hope anyway.”
He eased farther away, those eyes going murkier still. “You can’t honestly think I kissed you only to make sure you were committed.”
She shrugged. “You probably figured it wouldn’t hurt.”
“That’s ridiculous. I kissed you because I
wanted
to kiss you—because I’ve wanted to kiss you since I came back to Hope’s Crossing.”
She couldn’t honestly believe that, but the words still sizzled through her. She fiercely tamped down her reaction.
“I guess it’s good we got it out of the way, then, isn’t it?”
His mouth tightened and she realized he was seriously growing annoyed with her. She was feeling so flustered, so discombobulated, she couldn’t figure out how to respond.
This was stupid. It was only a kiss, certainly nothing to send her spiraling into a panic attack.
Her ankle throbbed as if someone had kicked it. She firmly ignored the pain. “I’ll be sure to let you know what happens after I talk to Mary Ella and the others tomorrow.”
He ran a hand through his hair, his narrowed gaze studying her intently. His mouth opened for an instant.
“Good night,” Charlotte said quickly, before he could spill out the argument she could see forming in his expression. Her lips still throbbed and tingled and it was all she could do not to touch her finger there, to feel the heat that still lingered.
“Yeah. Okay. Good night.” He headed out but paused in the doorway, his gaze on hers. “For the record, that was one hell of a kiss, Charlotte. You know I’m not going to be content with just a little taste, don’t you?”
Before she could come up with any sort of answer to that, he walked out and closed the door behind him.
She waited on the other side of the door until she heard footsteps going down her porch and along the sidewalk before she moved. Only when she was convinced he had truly left did she hobble back to the sofa and lift her aching leg up.
She again wanted to touch a finger to her lips but she curled her hand into a fist instead.
Why had he kissed her? It made no sense. She couldn’t believe he had suddenly discovered some consuming passion for her.
Why, oh, why hadn’t she worked a little harder to lose this stupid virginity when she was in college? Yes, she had been overweight but she knew plenty of other big girls who were popular and well-liked and had dates all the time.
In Charlotte’s case, she had been burdened with a deadly combination when it came to having an active social life. She had been shy
and
fat—not to mention studious and far too serious. She had driven home from the university most weekends to help Pop at the café, even though he had discouraged it. Now she wished she had spent more time putting herself out there. Maybe then she would have a little experience under her belt and know better how to deal with a man like Spence.
If not for this pesky virginity, maybe she might be tempted to indulge in a fling.
She frowned and scrubbed at her face. So he was attracted to her. Yes, she found that insanely flattering. She would be lying if she said otherwise. He had been married to a
supermodel,
for heaven’s sake.
But for crying out loud. The man had hurt her enough for one lifetime, hadn’t he?
Tucker nosed her hands, probably still trying to figure out what the weird humans he’d been saddled with were up to. She braced herself with one hand on the door while giving the dog a dutiful scratch.
The things he had said once about her had been burned like acid in her heart. If she were truthful with herself, that one horrible moment, more than anything else in her life—a few words said casually by the boy who held her heart and didn’t even know it—had led her to this moment. They were a big part of the reason she sometimes felt like a dry, frigid wasteland.
She had given him and those words—and the vast betrayal from someone she thought was at least a friend—far too much power over her.
All through the rest of her teens and into her early twenties she had let them shape who she was, what she did. Right after, in that hot miserable time, she had thought she could lose the weight. She had tried starving herself, even forced herself to throw up a few times. But after two months—once he left Hope’s Crossing for the Pioneers—she had only lost ten pounds and felt worse than ever, so she had given in to the inevitable.
She ate Pop’s food all she wanted, she added ice cream to her giant slice of pie, she stashed junk food under her bed for a late-night snack, all while she watched Spence’s career in the major leagues explode.
She let out a painful breath she hadn’t realized had been clogging her chest.
There were plenty of decent guys in Hope’s Crossing. Okay, maybe they weren’t exactly popping up like wildflowers in August, but she could find a few if she looked hard enough—or widened her search to other surrounding towns.
She had a date with one this coming weekend, actually. She had been thinking about calling the whole thing off when she saw Alex the next day at the birthday lunch but she abruptly changed her mind.
A big tough army buddy of Sam Delgado’s was exactly what she needed to take her mind off the one man in the world she shouldn’t want.
* * *
“G
OOD
FRIENDS
,
GOOD
food and birthday cake. What more does a woman need in a day? I mean, seriously?” The very pregnant Claire McKnight beamed at her group of friends while a soft breeze rustled the leaves of the trees in her small patio garden behind the bead store.
Sweet scents floated around them from the flowers growing in bright clumps around the edges of the little fenced garden and sunlight filtered through the trees.
Nearly all the members of the book club, Books and Bites, had gathered during the lunch hour to celebrate the birthday of one of their newer members, Janie Hamilton, a widowed mother of four who had moved to Hope’s Crossing a few years earlier.
“Thank you all for coming,” Janie said. “I know how busy everyone is. It means a lot that you would arrange your schedules to be here.”
“Are you kidding?” Maura McKnight smiled at her. “This is the perfect way to start out the week.”
“Why can’t everybody’s birthday fall on a Monday this year?” Charlotte asked with a smile.
“This cake is fantastic,” Katherine Thorne said. “Lemon angel food cake with strawberries. Delicious.”
“Of course it is,” Alex McKnight said smugly. Alex had no problem taking praise for her cooking, which was always divine. Charlotte also appreciated the lowfat choice in a cake.
“Everything has been perfect,” Janie assured them.
“I’m only sorry I didn’t think to invite some sexy guys along for you single girls,” Alex said.
Janie rolled her eyes. “Who has time for sexy guys?”
Katherine raised her hand, earning laughs all around.
Charlotte didn’t have time to spare, either. That didn’t keep her from replaying in her head, again and again, that kiss with Spence the night before.
“I know people are busy and some of you have to get back to work,” Claire said, “but I can’t host a birthday party without throwing in some beading. I was in a mood, so this morning I put together some bracelet kits for a party favor. They’re memory wire with beads in pretty summer colors. Nothing too time-consuming. Of course you could always stay out here and chat, if you’d rather take the kits home for later.”
“I could use a new bracelet,” Mary Ella said. “I haven’t done nearly enough beading lately.”
She, Katherine, Claire and Claire’s mother, Ruth, headed inside. Charlotte went, too, watchful for an opportunity to talk to Mary Ella.
“This is what I was thinking,” Claire said. “If you don’t like the colors, you’re welcome to pick out some that work better for you.”
The bracelet was simple, seed beads and glittery crystals strung on a quadruple coil of memory wire. Claire had picked turquoise, a pale rose and a soft, warm brown.
For some reason, the colors made Charlotte think of Peyton and the cute shirt she had been wearing the night Charlotte had seen the girl and her father at Pop’s café.
She didn’t have anything that color but she could make it for the girl, she thought. Maybe it would help cheer her up about the prospect of living in Hope’s Crossing and possibly spark an interest in beading.
She sat down and started organizing the beads for the project into one of the trays Claire provided.
Mary Ella sat beside her and, as their hands worked the beads onto the wire, the conversation between the women drifted around Claire’s upcoming birth, Alex’s restaurant and a new boutique coming to town. Finally, during a lapse in the conversation, Charlotte made her move.
“Mary Ella, I need your help.”
Her former high school English teacher raised an eyebrow above the rim of her little glasses. “Of course, my dear. Are you having trouble with the pattern?”
“Not the bracelet. I need to ask a favor. It’s kind of a big one.”
She was aware that everyone at the worktable was now listening in, curiosity on their features. Maybe she should have taken Mary Ella aside separately. If she didn’t think A Warrior’s Hope was a good idea, the others might be slow to throw their support behind it.
“Actually, I could use help from everybody. I know you’re probably thinking we have enough going on and don’t need to take on more projects. I agree, I really do. But I think this could make a difference.”