In Firefly Valley (7 page)

“Then it's a date.”

“Wear the green dress,” Marisa's mother advised four hours later when Marisa stood in front of her closet with an expression she suspected was reminiscent of a deer in the headlights. “It's pretty but not too fancy.”

Even though her wardrobe was only a fraction of the size it had been in Atlanta, Marisa had spent far too much time trying to decide what to wear. She had eaten only half of her dinner, telling Mom she had to get ready. Almost as if he'd realized that she would need time alone, Blake had refused Mom's dinner invitation, claiming he'd brought a sandwich home from the Sit ‘n' Sip. That gave Marisa time to obsess over her wardrobe selection.

First dates were special, and even if it was nothing more than an evening at Dupree's aging theater, she wanted to wear something
more than jeans and a sweater. The green dress was one she'd worn to the office on days when she had dinner meetings scheduled. As Mom said, it was flattering without being overly dressy.

“Would it be crass to whistle?” Blake asked as he entered the cabin, his gaze moving from the top of Marisa's head to her peep-toe pumps.

“Yes,” Marisa said at the same time as her mother shook her head and declared, “No.”

Not bothering to hide his amusement, Blake looked at Mom. “I'm sorry, Carmen, but in this case, she overrules you.” He turned to Marisa. “If I can't whistle, I hope I'm not out of bounds by saying you look beautiful, because you do.”

He wasn't out of bounds. To the contrary, his obviously genuine compliment filled Marisa with pleasure. It had been a long time since a man had gazed at her with such approval.

“You look pretty good yourself.” Dressed in an open-collared shirt, navy slacks, and loafers, Blake could have been an advertisement for men's casual clothing.

“Thanks.” He put his hand on the small of Marisa's back and guided her toward the door. “Don't wait up for us,” he called to Mom. “Your daughter and I are going to have a wild night on the town.”

Laughter was Mom's only response. There were few opportunities for wild nights in Dupree, and even if there were, Marisa St. George was unlikely to indulge.

The Bijou was more crowded than Marisa had expected. Either it was a slow night in Dupree, or Mr. Benton had convinced more than just Blake that this was a pair of movies they absolutely had to see. The only seats Marisa and Blake could find were farther forward than she would have liked, and she found herself craning her neck to see the screen. It was going to be a long and possibly painful evening.

The discomfort lasted only a few seconds. Though Marisa said nothing and knew she hadn't even groaned, Blake recognized what
was happening and slid his arm behind her neck. In the space of an instant, discomfort turned to pure pleasure, leaving Marisa tempted to close her eyes and simply savor the sensation of being so close to Blake. But as the opening credits for
An Affair to Remember
rolled across the screen, she found herself drawn into the story.

Two hours later, she smiled as the theater lights came on.

“Not bad.”

“Not bad?” Marisa stared at the man who'd made the movie so enjoyable. “It was wonderful.”

Blake grinned. “I was talking about the popcorn. It was just the right amount.” He turned the cardboard container upside down to demonstrate its emptiness. “Do you want more for
Sleepless
?”

As Marisa looked at the line of patrons now filling the aisles, she shook her head. “You'd wait forever.”

“This way there'll be more room for ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” Perhaps that was Blake's idea of a wild night on the town. It certainly beat the teenagers' version that involved fast cars, loud radios, and the occasional controlled substance.

He flashed her a mischievous grin. “Sure. It's not a real movie date without a sundae afterward. Russ Walker assured me he makes the best in town.”

“I hope you didn't point out that he makes the only sundaes in town.”

“Of course not.” Blake faked a grimace. “Do I look stupid?”

He looked handsome. Handsome and kind and wonderful.

“Only a stupid woman would answer that question with anything other than a resounding no,” she said, “and I'd like to think that neither of us is stupid. I'm glad you met Russ. He and the Sit ‘n' Sip are one of our local institutions.”

The conversation turned to Dupree's downtown and Russ's claim that it was on the verge of renewal. Before Blake had finished listing all the reasons he'd been given, the lights dimmed, and it was time for another rendezvous at the Empire State Building. When the movie ended, Marisa sighed.

“Does that mean you didn't like it?” Though she no longer needed his arm as a neck rest, Blake did not remove it. Instead, he lowered it to circle her shoulders.

Marisa shook her head. “That was a sigh of pleasure. And please don't ask which I liked better. I can't decide.”

“I can't either,” he admitted. “I'm saving my decision-making brain cells for sundae flavors.”

“Hot fudge, butterscotch, or strawberry. Those are the choices. Of course, Russ has been known to put all three on one scoop of ice cream for people who can't make a decision.”

“A man after my own heart. I knew I liked Dupree for a reason.”

Both Blake and Marisa were laughing as they started to make their way toward the exit now that the first rush was over and the theater had begun to empty. They were halfway to the back when Marisa glanced to the right and blinked. Why was Lauren here? She had claimed that she had no desire to watch a movie after Patrick became too ill to accompany her.

Marisa stepped into the row. “Are you all right?” The question was rhetorical, for her friend's eyes were red-rimmed, and her nose rivaled Santa's favorite reindeer's.

Lauren rose and approached Marisa. “I was an idiot,” she said, her voice still thick with tears. “I thought I could do this. I thought I was ready, but all I could think about was how Patrick and I used to come here together.”

Marisa put her arm around her friend's waist and gave her a quick hug. Though she doubted Lauren was in any mood to meet new people, Marisa couldn't ignore Blake's presence. He had followed her into the row and stood right behind her. “I don't think you've met Blake Kendall,” Marisa said. “He's a guest at Rainbow's End. Blake, this is Lauren Ahrens, my best friend in the whole world.”

Though Lauren's eyes brightened slightly at the introduction, she said nothing.

“I'm pleased to meet you, Lauren.” Blake looked at her for a
second, and Marisa suspected he was seeing the same vulnerability she had. “Marisa and I were going to the Sit ‘n' Sip for sundaes. I hope you'll join us.”

Lauren shook her head. “I can't.” Her expression contradicted her words. Lauren might not want to admit it, but she craved adult company, particularly tonight when her emotions had been abraded by being alone in a place where she'd come so often as part of a couple.

“The babysitter won't mind an extra hour's pay,” Marisa said, hoping that would be all the encouragement Lauren needed.

“That's not an issue. Fiona's staying with Alice tonight.”

Blake gave Lauren one of his most engaging smiles. “Then the only reason for refusing would be that you've taken an instant dislike to me.” He turned to Marisa, feigning the expression of a woebegone puppy. “Surely you can convince your friend that I'm not an axe murderer or a shady politician hoping that a dish of ice cream and a spoonful of hot fudge sauce will convince her to vote for me.”

Struggling to keep her face solemn, Marisa looked at Lauren. “As far as I know, Blake's not an axe murderer or a politician of any kind. If you need more references, Mom's been feeding him dinner every night.”

“That's not saying much.” Lauren's lips curved into a smile, and Marisa saw the hint of laughter in her eyes. “She feeds everyone at Rainbow's End.”

“But Blake's the only one invited to our cabin.”

Her eyes widening with surprise at the announcement, Lauren started to nod. “If you're sure . . .”

“We are.” Blake didn't wait for Marisa to respond.

And so the three of them spent an hour at the Sit ‘n' Sip, talking about everything and nothing. It wasn't Marisa's imagination that Lauren's smiles grew more frequent and her laughter more genuine. Like Marisa, she seemed to be falling under the spell of Blake's charm. Lauren's eyes lost their haunted expression, and
though her nose was still faintly pink, she no longer looked like a woman who'd spent hours weeping.

When they'd devoured the last bite of ice cream and assured Russ Walker that he hadn't exaggerated the quality of his sundaes, Blake rose. “Ladies, your chariot awaits,” he said as he offered each of them an arm. And though Lauren protested that she was perfectly capable of walking, Blake insisted on driving her home.

“You forgot to read the fine print,” he told her. “When you agreed to the sundae, you also agreed to door-to-door chauffeur service. It's a package deal.”

Lauren looked as if she wanted to argue but capitulated with a smile. “Thank you,” she said, repeating the words when they reached her home. Though Marisa suspected she would shed a few more tears when she was inside the empty house, the worst was over. Thanks to Blake.

“She's a nice person,” Blake said as he drove away.

Marisa reached across the console and laid her hand on his arm. “So are you, Blake. So are you.”

B
lake slowed his pace as he climbed the hill. Greg had assured him that jogging up Ranger Hill was far better exercise than running on a treadmill. Of course, the fact that neither Rainbow's End nor the town of Dupree boasted a gym meant that jogging was virtually the only form of weight-bearing exercise available. And so here he was, struggling to make it to the top of what looked like Mount Everest.

Funny how it hadn't seemed so steep when he'd driven it. Then he'd thought it quaint that the summit of Lone Star Trail was called Ranger Hill. The residents of Dupree were fiercely proud of their Texas heritage, and Blake couldn't blame them. The state had a rich and colorful history. Right now, though, he was more concerned with putting one foot in front of the other than with Lone Star lore.

The hill wasn't the real problem, and Blake knew it. His muscles were fine, all except for the one called a brain. That was the one that was failing him. The empty well, the dried-up pond, the blank screen. No matter what cliché he used, it was still writer's block, and it didn't appear to be diminishing.

Blake took another step, his pace now little more than walking.
He could make it to the top of the hill; he
would
make it to the top. He wasn't going to admit defeat, not with jogging nor with his book.

He'd tried everything he knew to stimulate the muse yesterday. First he'd stared at Bluebonnet Lake for what felt like hours, even though his watch said a mere ten minutes had passed before he'd realized that the only thing that lake watching did was cause him to nod off. Next he'd tried rowing. All that had accomplished was leaving him with arms that felt as if they were going to fall out of their sockets. In desperation, he'd walked around Dupree, talking to everyone he met. They were friendly enough, but nothing they said or did sparked a single idea.

When that hadn't accomplished anything other than confirming Marisa's statement that Dupree was a small-with-a-capital-
S
town, he'd borrowed her mother's library card and checked out a dozen books he would never have considered reading, everything from Lorena McCourtney's cozy mysteries to Ann Gabhart's historical fiction, hoping something might inspire him.

He'd even discovered a book on overcoming writer's block. He hadn't checked that out, of course. That might have triggered questions Blake didn't want to answer. Instead, he'd tucked it inside an oversized encyclopedia and had read it at one of the library tables.

For a moment, he'd felt as if he were back in high school, pretending to be studying when he'd actually been reading comic books. Though Dad had said nothing at the time, Blake suspected he knew what was going on, but as long as Grandfather didn't, the house had been peaceful. Unfortunately, the book Blake had read so surreptitiously hadn't helped any more than his other efforts had.

His lungs burned, and his legs felt as if they'd turned to rubber, but when he reached the top of the hill, elation rushed through him. Though he was tempted to pump his fists as if he were Rocky sprinting up the steps to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, he simply jogged in place as he savored the triumph of cresting Ranger
Hill. He could do this. Now, if only he could find an idea for Cliff Pearson's next adventure.

The muse was silent. The change of scenery that he'd hoped would bring it back to life had accomplished nothing. Blake shook his head and began to jog back down the hill. That wasn't true. If he hadn't come to Rainbow's End, he would not have met Marisa. And that would have been a shame. He liked her. Blake shook his head again. He was a man who made his living with words.
Liked
didn't come close to describing what he felt for Marisa. He was attracted to her, deeply attracted.

He'd thought the instant magnetism he'd felt the first time he met her had been a figment of his imagination, but it wasn't. He felt the same way each time he saw her, as if they were meant to be together.

Blake liked her sense of humor; he liked the fact that they could discuss everything from
Anna Karenina
to what made Dr Pepper different from other colas; he even liked the way she'd tried to hide the tears that had slipped down her cheeks while they'd watched those silly, sentimental movies at the Bijou.

He liked the way her perfume lingered in his memory and the ripples of pleasure he'd felt when she'd settled her head against his arm. He liked her obvious love for her mother and the protective air she had when she was with Lauren. The fact was, Blake liked everything about Marisa, but that wasn't bringing the muse back.

He needed something else, something more than a change of scenery, if he was going to have any chance of making his deadline. For the briefest of instants, he'd considered telling Marisa about his alter ego Ken Blake and the dilemma he was facing. It might have been a flight of fancy, but he'd thought she might say something that would somehow break the logjam inside his brain and get the ideas flowing.

The words were on the tip of his tongue when he'd stopped himself. Only four people knew that Blake Kendall was also Ken Blake: his editor, his agent, Greg, and now Kate. It would be sheer
foolishness to add another person to the circle, even if she was the most intriguing woman he'd ever met.

There had to be another way to reenergize his muse.

“Nice office.”

Lauren stepped inside and looked around, giving Marisa a chance to study her. Though her friend had deep circles under her eyes as if she'd spent a sleepless night, Marisa saw no sign of tears, and her smile was infectious. This was the Lauren who'd always been able to boost Marisa's spirits.

“As closets go, it's not a bad office,” Marisa conceded. “Greg said this used to be the storage room, but he figured I needed a space of my own.” And he'd done his best to provide all the normal office accoutrements, including an ergonomic chair that made the long hours Marisa spent here comfortable. Though the room was not large, it was big enough to accommodate a desk, two tall filing cabinets, and a printer stand, plus two visitors' chairs.

As she rose to hug her friend, Marisa gestured to the back wall. “A window would be nice, but with everything I have on my plate, I wouldn't have much time to look outside anyway.” Her office in Atlanta had boasted floor-to-ceiling windows with breathtaking views, but other than checking the weather, Marisa had had little time to enjoy them.

Though she might regret the absence of a window in a couple months, she had been too busy to think about much more than the software she was evaluating. And Blake. It had been more difficult than Marisa had expected to focus on the chart of accounts structure when her mind kept replaying the hours she'd been with him.

Lauren fingered the large tote bag she'd slung over her shoulder. “I know you're busy, so I won't stay long, but I come bearing gifts and an apology. Which do you want first?”

Marisa could imagine no reason for either. It wasn't her birthday or any other special occasion, and Lauren had done nothing
to warrant an apology. “I don't know why you think you owe me an apology.”

“How about the fact that I spoiled your date with one of the best-looking men to set foot in Dupree? Friends shouldn't do things like that.”

Marisa shook her head at the woman who'd been her best friend for more than two decades. “You didn't spoil anything. You may have noticed that Blake invited you to join us. It wasn't your suggestion, and you weren't intruding. Besides, it isn't like the Sit ‘n' Sip is the world's most romantic spot.” Last night it had been filled with teenagers talking so loudly that Marisa had felt as if she were shouting to be heard.

“That's true, but it was still nice of you two to invite me. By the time I got home, I felt better than I have in a long time. Thanks, Marisa.”

“That's what friends are for.” Even when her life had centered on Patrick and the excitement of first love, Lauren had done everything she could to comfort Marisa when Hal and then her father had disappointed her.

It had been Lauren who'd declared that she would stay home and that Patrick would be Marisa's date for the prom the day Marisa's dream of being the football star's date had turned into a nightmare.

“It was all a joke,” Hal had said when Marisa called to ask why he was so late in picking her up. “You didn't really think I'd take the town drunk's daughter anywhere, did you?”

But Marisa had. She'd believed Hal was serious when he said he'd broken up with Tiffany and that he wanted Marisa to be his date for the prom. That was why she'd worked every job she could find to pay for her gown and all the accessories that were part of prom night. And then she'd been stood up. Instead of arriving on the arm of the most popular boy in her class, Marisa had spent the night at home, crying as if her heart had broken.

Less than a month later, she had learned the true meaning of heartbreak when Eric disappeared. And through it all, Lauren had
tried to comfort Marisa. Inviting her for a sundae was the least Marisa could do.

“You're the best,” Lauren said, “but Blake's pretty good too. Any chance he'll stay in Dupree and you two will become what my mom used to call ‘an item'? The Matchers would be thrilled.”

Marisa shook her head. This was moving way too fast for comfort. While it was true that she felt an undeniable attraction to Blake, that didn't mean they were on their way to being a couple.

“Time out.” Marisa formed a
T
with her hands. “Blake's only going to be here a few weeks. This is like a shipboard romance, only there's no ship and it's not a romance. We're just friends.”

Lauren's look left no doubt that she did not believe Marisa. “So you say. Friends.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the bare walls, and Marisa suspected she was trying to decide what kind of artwork they needed. If she were planning to be here permanently, Marisa would have chosen a couple prints, but as it was, the stark room met her needs.

“Speaking of friends, I'm surprised at how different Greg's friends are.” Lauren had apparently decided not to comment on the spartan décor. “Blake is nothing like Drew, but they're both charming in their own way.”

If she'd been a dog, Marisa knew her ears would have perked up at the change she'd heard in Lauren's voice. She studied her friend's face. It wasn't her imagination. Though her expression was calm, Lauren's eyes held a hint of excitement. Interesting. “You know Drew Carroll?”

Nodding, Lauren said, “I met him when he was here last April, and we spent some time together at the reception. He's an intriguing guy.”

There was no doubt about it. Lauren had more than a casual interest in Drew Carroll. For her friend's sake, Marisa hoped that wasn't a mistake. “Intriguing is not the way my mother described him. I got an earful about Drew after she saw him at the wedding. She said he was as arrogant as sin and that they found an empty
whiskey bottle in his cabin when he stayed here. You can imagine how Mom reacted to that.” If there was one thing that roused her mother's hackles, it was excessive drinking. She had firsthand experience of how destructive that could be.

“I think Drew's changed.” Lauren's voice rang with emotion, telling Marisa this was no casual observation but something she'd spent time considering. “I don't know what happened, but he doesn't seem like the same man I met last spring.”

That was Lauren being Pollyanna. Marisa knew better. “I don't believe people change. They may put on different masks, but fundamentally, they're the same.” It was a lesson she'd learned from her father, and one Hal had reinforced.

Raising her hands in the universal sign of surrender, Lauren nodded. “Okay, okay. I'm not going to argue with you. It's time for the second part of this visit—the gift.”

She reached into her tote bag and withdrew a tissue-wrapped item whose shape told Marisa it was one of Lauren's handmade quilted pillows. Unwrapping it, Marisa gasped.