In Firefly Valley (18 page)

Lauren was a hopeless romantic, a woman who saw love and happily-ever-after everywhere. Marisa was a realist. “I'm not even sure I know what love is.”

“It's when you think about the other person all the time.”

Marisa let out a bitter laugh. “That's how I felt about Hal, and we both know that wasn't love.” It had been nothing more than a foolish infatuation, the dream every teenage girl has of going to the prom with the most popular boy in the class.

“That's true, but you didn't let me finish. Love is when you care about the other person's happiness more than your own.”

Marisa nodded slowly. If she had had to describe her mother's relationship with Eric, that would have been a good way, and she had no doubt that Lauren had been more concerned about Patrick than herself.

“That's not the way I feel about Blake.”

“Isn't it?” Lauren's raised eyebrows underscored her skepticism. “Beneath your anger that he didn't tell you he's Ken Blake, I sus
pect you're worried about him. You probably believe he's selling himself short.”

“He is.”

“And you care.”

Marisa hesitated, trying to analyze her feelings. “I do care, but that isn't love.”

“Isn't it?”

Marisa was still thinking about Lauren's question as she drove to work the next morning. She was later than usual because of the slumber party and the fact that she'd had only two hours' sleep. Once there had been no sound from the second floor for over half an hour, both she and Lauren had decided to take advantage of the girls' collapse to catch a few winks.

Being late didn't matter. Not only did she have no clock to punch, but it was Saturday. If she hadn't wanted a few uninterrupted hours to load historical records into the new accounting software, Marisa wouldn't have gone to Rainbow's End at all. As it was, it would be an ideal day to work. Kate and Greg weren't expecting her, and if she told Mom she was working, she'd respect Marisa's need for quiet.

Mom. Marisa gripped the steering wheel more tightly. Ever since Eric's return, their relationship had been strained. It was the proverbial case of walking on eggshells, with each of them being overly polite, as if afraid to provoke another argument.

After the day when Mom had said she was afraid of losing her, Marisa had tried her best to be conciliatory. That was why she had agreed to have dinner with Mom and Eric each Sunday. Tomorrow would be the first time, and though she was apprehensive, Marisa kept telling herself everything would be fine so long as she treated him like a casual acquaintance, not the man who was her father. She knew how to deal with casual acquaintances. Fathers were a different story.

Eric was sitting on the cabin steps when she parked her car. For an instant, Marisa considered choosing a different parking spot, but that would have been the act of a coward. She wasn't a coward.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Eric said as she climbed out of the car. “I didn't know you were coming today.”

He rose and stood by her side, not touching but close enough that she could smell his aftershave. Old Spice, of course. Marisa remembered chiding him about using such an old-fashioned product and him telling her that if it was good enough for his father, it was good enough for him. That day he'd even tried to splash some of it on her face, causing Marisa to run to her mother, shrieking as if she were being murdered.

There's no need to keep walking down Memory Lane
, Marisa told herself.
He's a casual acquaintance.
“I have some extra work to do,” she said, her voice as cool as if she were talking to someone she'd just met.

“You always were conscientious.”

She pointed the remote at the car and locked it, a habit she'd developed in Atlanta. “You can give Mom the credit for that. She kept telling me to give my employers more than they expected.” Marisa had done that for Haslett Associates, and look what it had gotten her. That was another memory best left untouched.

Eric took a step toward her, then matched her pace as she started toward the office. “I'm proud of you, Marisa. You made the most you could out of a tough situation.” He paused, and when Marisa darted a glance at him, she saw what appeared to be sorrow etched on his face. “I wish things had been different.”

They were approaching dangerous territory. “Well, they weren't.” Her voice was harsher than she'd intended. “I need to get to work.”

“Sure.” If he was disappointed that she didn't want to continue the discussion, Eric gave no sign. Instead, he tipped his head toward her car. “That rattle is in the drive train.”

Once a mechanic, always a mechanic. Mom had been right. Eric St. George was a genius where the internal combustion engine was
concerned. That was why he'd held on to his job for as long as he had. He could fix any vehicle ever made, and even when he was hungover, the quality didn't seem to suffer. If Eric had cared about her and Mom as much as he did his customers' cars, their lives would have been different. But that was another subject Marisa didn't want to address.

“It can't be serious,” she said, not wanting to admit that he might be right. That would give Eric power over her, and that was one thing she would not let happen. “It got me all the way from Atlanta to Texas without any problem.”

“You'd better have it looked at.”

“Sure.” But she wouldn't.

Blake stared at the stack of paper on the edge of the table and grinned. He couldn't believe it. After months without a single idea, he now had a flood of them, what some would call an embarrassment of riches. He'd been writing for more than a decade, and this was the first time that had happened. In the past, he would get an idea for one story, but in the last twenty-four hours, he had outlined half a dozen, each competing to be the first to be told.

Standing to stretch muscles that had cramped while he'd sat hunched over the table, his hand trying to capture the ideas that were racing through his brain, Blake grinned again. He couldn't remember ever being so excited about a story. His fingers practically itched to start turning his notes into a manuscript. That left only one problem.

After grabbing his cell phone, Blake sprinted toward his car and drove to the top of Ranger Hill. Though he could have used the resort's pay phone, he preferred the privacy of his car. Depending on Jack's reaction, this could be a long call.

Still grinning when he saw that Greg had been correct and that there was indeed cell coverage here, Blake opened his contact list.

“I'm sorry to bother you on a Saturday,” he said when his agent answered, “but I want to run something by you.”

“The concept for your next book?”

Blake heard the enthusiasm in Jack Darlington's voice. “Yeah.” He tried to restrain his own excitement. So much was riding on the next few minutes. “I think it could be a winner. There's only one problem. It's different from anything I've done in the past.”

“Don't tell me you've decided that Cliff Pearson should start wearing a Superman cape and tights.”

Blake shook his head, despite the fact that Jack couldn't see his gesture. “It's worse than that. There is no Cliff Pearson.”

“What?” He heard the intake of breath and the shock in his agent's voice. “He's your brand. You can't stop writing about him. Cliff's story is what readers want to read.”

Blake waited until Jack stopped shouting, then said as calmly as he could, “I know all that, but do me a favor. Just listen. You can shout again when I'm done.” Without waiting for agreement, Blake launched into an explanation of the idea that had kept him up for most of the night.

“So, what do you think?” he asked when he had finished.

The reply was instantaneous. “It's brilliant.”

G
ood morning, beautiful lady. My carriage is outside, waiting to whisk you away to a romantic dinner.”

Lauren had been so absorbed by the design she was sketching that she hadn't heard the bell tinkle as a customer entered the shop. Any customer would have startled her, but this one . . . She jumped to her feet, scarcely noticing that the pencil had flown from her hand, leaving a streak through the middle of her sketch.

“Drew! What are you doing here?” Though the man had haunted her dreams and been the subject of far too many sketches, Lauren had not expected to see him again. It was true that there were times when she believed God had brought Drew into her life for a reason and times when she wished that reason were to love her, but every time she let herself dream, reality intruded. Drew had no reason to return to Dupree and many to stay away. Yet here he was.

He crossed the small reception area and leaned his arms on the counter. “I told you why I'm here,” he said, his blue eyes reflecting amusement that Lauren hoped wasn't caused by her all-too-evident shock. “I came to ask you for a date.”

“A date?” The words emerged as little more than a squeak. So much for her hope of appearing poised and confident.

He shrugged, the action reminding Lauren of just how broad those shoulders were and just how firm his biceps seemed to be. “It's a simple concept. You and I go somewhere. We enjoy a nice dinner. Afterward, if you like, we can go dancing or maybe watch a movie. And, if I'm very lucky, when the evening ends, you'll let me kiss you good night.”

She couldn't help it. She blushed. Though the morning had been cool enough to turn on the furnace, right now Lauren wished the air conditioner were blasting. Anything to chase the telltale blood from her face.

“Why?” she managed to croak. It had been years since she'd been on a date. Oh, she and Patrick had dated when they'd been in high school, but once they married and Fiona was born, dates had taken second place to their daughter's needs.

“Why am I asking you out?” Drew leaned forward, as if trying to close the space between them. “Because I want to get to know you better. Isn't that the reason most people go on dates?”

“Yes, but . . .” Lauren couldn't recall the last time she'd felt so flustered. “Why me? There are thousands of women in California.” Sophisticated women who frequented nightclubs, women who thought nothing of spending thousands of dollars on a dress, women who weren't raising a little girl alone.

He stood up straight and fixed his gaze on her, his eyes blazing with apparent sincerity. “But there was only one woman I couldn't forget, and she's right here in Texas. Say yes, Lauren. Find a sitter for Fiona and spend the evening with me.”

Lauren took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing pulse. He said he couldn't forget her. Every time she'd fantasized about a future with Drew, Lauren had told herself she had been nothing more than a diversion while he was in Dupree for Greg's wedding. She had told herself that he had forgotten her by the time he boarded the plane the next morning. It seemed that she was wrong.

Exhaling, Lauren considered Drew's proposition. What he offered was almost irresistibly appealing. Marisa kept saying Lauren
needed a change of pace. An evening with Drew would certainly qualify as that. And the fact that he remembered her daughter's name did more to convince Lauren of Drew's sincerity than even the distance he'd traveled to invite her out to dinner.

“Tonight?” she asked. She had never, ever had a date on a Tuesday evening.

He nodded. “Tonight. Why wait?”

Lauren had a dozen answers. Because it would be impulsive, and she was not an impulsive woman. Because it would be her first date with anyone other than Patrick, and she wasn't certain she was ready. Most of all, because she was afraid of disappointing or being disappointed. But when she looked at Drew and saw the smile that had starred in so many of her dreams, all the reasons seemed like nothing more than weak excuses.

“Let me make a couple calls,” Lauren said. Two minutes later, she nodded. “Everything's set.” Marisa had agreed to leave work early so she could stay with Fiona. Almost as importantly, Tuesday was normally a light day at the store, which meant there would be no problem closing a couple hours early. Nothing stood between Lauren and a date with Drew Carroll.

He grinned. “Terrific. I'll pick you up at 5:00. That'll give us plenty of time to get to San Antonio by 6:30. Oh,” he said as if it were an afterthought, “you might want to wear a skirt.”

Though she asked, Drew would tell her nothing more, leaving Lauren to wonder where they were going and just how fancy the restaurant was.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Since none of her customers gave her puzzled looks, she must have sounded coherent, but all Lauren could think about was the fact that Drew had traveled thousands of miles to take her to dinner.

If it wouldn't have set the gossips' tongues wagging, she might have skipped on her way home. As it was, she set herself a brisk pace and reached her house in record time. To her surprise, Marisa was already there, relaxing in the living room.

“I didn't expect you so early.” Fiona wouldn't be home from school for another hour.

Marisa shrugged. “I thought you might need help deciding what to wear.”

Leave it to Marisa to reach the crux of the problem. Lauren had thought of little else since Drew had suggested a skirt. “There aren't too many choices. All I have are my church clothes.” And while they were fancier than the jeans and casual skirts she wore to work, they weren't evening clothes by any stretch of the imagination.

“Or this.” Marisa stood and held up a garment bag. Unzipping it, she pulled out one of the prettiest dresses Lauren had ever seen. Although to call it a dress was like calling an orchid just a flower. Made of what appeared to be pure silk, the apricot-colored creation featured a softly draped bodice, long flowing sleeves, and a skirt that would swirl around her legs. Even without trying it on, Lauren knew it would be the most flattering dress she'd ever worn, with the possible exception of her wedding gown.

“You're thinner than I am,” Marisa continued, “but that shouldn't matter. The dress is meant to flow rather than cling. The salesclerk described the design as forgiving.”

“I'd call it fabulous, but are you sure?”

“Of course. Don't you remember how we used to share clothes in school?”

“That was different. Those were cotton shirts, not silk dresses with designer labels.” Lauren didn't have to look inside to know that it carried the name of either a famous designer or an exclusive shop.

“I sold most of my fancy clothes before I left Atlanta,” Marisa explained, “but something kept me from taking this one to the consignment shop. Now I know why. If you're going out with Drew Carroll, you need to be properly dressed.”

That was true. Lauren wanted him to realize she wasn't a country hick, and this dress would certainly accomplish that.

“I'm surprised you didn't try to stop me from going out with
him. You've made your opinion very clear.” Just as Lauren had pulled no punches when it came to discussing Blake.

Marisa's eyes held a hint of amusement. “Would it have worked?”

“No.” Nothing and no one would have kept her from this date with Drew.

Marisa's smile did not falter as she said, “I didn't think you'd listen to me. I might not trust Drew, but you're old enough to make your own decisions.”

She slid the dress over Lauren's head and zipped the back, then turned Lauren so she was facing the full-length mirror. Lauren stared, astonished at the difference the dress made. She'd never call herself beautiful, but the apricot silk made her look pretty.

“It's gorgeous,” she said, enjoying the sensation of soft fabric against her skin.

“So are you.” Marisa touched her shoulder and smiled. “I can say this in all sincerity: I hope you have a wonderful evening.”

Lauren did. When Drew arrived, dressed in a dark suit and white shirt that highlighted his blond hair and blue eyes, those eyes were filled with admiration.

“You look lovely,” he said softly.

Lauren felt lovely. She'd spent more time than normal on her hair, and it now fell to her shoulders in gentle waves. The makeup Marisa had insisted she wear highlighted her eyes and made her look model thin rather than simply skinny. Even Fiona, who'd voiced displeasure over her mother spending the evening with Mr. Drew, grudgingly admitted that Lauren was pretty.

Though Marisa had speculated that Drew might bring Lauren flowers, he did not. Instead he brought something that pleased Lauren even more.

“I thought you deserved a special evening too,” he told Fiona as he handed her a wrapped package that turned out to be a DVD of the latest children's blockbuster movie. And Fiona, who had been pouting, grinned.

Her last lingering concern resolved, Lauren stepped out of the
house, her grin almost as wide as Fiona's when she saw that Drew had hardly exaggerated when he claimed he had a carriage. There might be no horses, but he had rented a luxury car. Lauren and her borrowed finery would be transported in more comfort than her third-hand minivan afforded.

She sank into the deeply cushioned leather seats and closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the new car smell and the soft music coming from concert-hall-quality speakers.

“So this is how the other half lives,” she said as they turned onto the highway and headed south.

Drew shrugged as if cars like this were his daily form of transportation. They probably were. “I would have hired a limo, but I thought that might be over the top.”

“You thought right.” Lauren could only imagine how tongues would have wagged. “The only limos we see are for weddings and proms.” And the occasional funeral. Funerals were one thing she didn't want to think about.

They chatted on the drive to San Antonio. Lauren told Drew about Fiona's twirling practice and the town council's hope that this year's Christmas parade would attract visitors from nearby towns, while he entertained her with stories of irate customers' complaints that they could not change screen colors to match their corporate logos. To Lauren's surprise, Drew seemed genuinely impressed with her plans to expand HCP through online sales.

“What I'm doing must seem insignificant compared to your company. My sales are measured in thousands, yours in millions. Maybe even billions.” Everyone in Dupree knew that Greg Vange was a billionaire, and as his former partner, it was likely that Drew was almost as wealthy.

“The money's nice,” he admitted, “but it isn't everything. I suspect you get more satisfaction from your shop than I have from Sys=Simpl for the past few months.”

Though his voice was neutral, Lauren was watching him closely enough to see the flicker of pain in his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything. It depends on the day.”

The fact that Drew forced a laugh told Lauren he didn't want her to pursue the subject, and so she said lightly, “That sounds like my life. Some days it feels as if nothing's going right. Thanks to you, though, today's not one of those days.”

She shifted in the seat, grateful they had turned east so the setting sun was no longer streaming through her window. Sensing that Drew needed a diversion, Lauren said, “I feel like the heroine from one of those romance novels my mother used to read. If you've ever looked at the book racks at the supermarket, you may have seen them—Cinderella stories with titles like
The Billionaire Tycoon's Shopgirl
.”

“You're kidding.”

“About the titles, maybe, but the rest is true. Right now I feel as if I'm living a fairy tale.” So far there were no evil stepmothers in sight, nor had the clock struck midnight. Lauren was living the happy part of the story.

“Does that mean I'm Prince Charming?” Drew seemed almost amused by the thought.

“If the shoe fits . . .” As she'd hoped, he laughed.

Lauren took a deep breath when they reached the restaurant Drew had chosen. When he'd first told her they were going to San Antonio, she had thought their destination might be one of the nicer hotels in the city or one of the special places along the River Walk, but instead he'd driven to a suburban location and pulled the car into a long, winding drive flanked by live oaks. Other than a discreet sign on the brick entrance pillars, there was no indication that this was a commercial establishment, but the exquisite landscaping made Lauren thankful that Marisa had lent her a fancy gown. This, she knew instinctively, was not a place for casual clothing.

As the road took a sharp bend to the left and revealed a private club that looked like something out of
Gone with the Wind
, Lauren caught her breath. The building was as magnificent as its landscaping. Two-story-high columns supported the roof, while a wide front porch with rocking chairs beckoned guests to sit and relax a bit.