RaeAnne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One: Blackberry Summer\Woodrose Mountain\Sweet Laurel Falls (102 page)

She headed out into the hall, Puck trotting merrily at her
heels, and knocked on the door. “Sage? Everything okay?”

Her daughter opened the door, a towel wrapped around her
expanding middle and her wet hair sticking out just as wildly as Laura
Beaumont's had earlier. “No. Not really. Jack's going to be here any minute and
I'm miles away from being ready. I lay down for a nap this afternoon and must
have slept through the alarm I set on my phone, and now I still have to dry my
hair and everything. I must have turned the stupid phone off when I lay
down.”

“That must be why you didn't answer when I tried calling a few
times this afternoon.”

“Sorry,” Sage said, turning back to the bathroom just as the
doorbell rang. “Oh, no! That's probably Jack.”

Maura did her best to ignore the stupid little skitter of her
heartbeat. “No worries. Just finish getting dressed. I can stall him until
you're ready.”

Puck, of course, had scampered to the door the minute the bell
rang, always eager for someone else to love. Maura gave one quick glance at the
mirror hanging above the console table in the hallway. She smoothed down a
flyaway strand of hair and reminded herself to breathe, then she opened the
door.

“Good evening.”

“Hi, Jack. Come in.” There. Good. That sounded halfway coherent
and not the gibbering fool she felt on the inside at the sight of him, sexy and
gorgeous in a cotton shirt the color of fir needles and a tan sport coat.

He walked into the entry, and Puck immediately yipped a
greeting and brushed his little head against Jack's leg.

“There's the little guy,” Jack said with a smile, reaching down
to the ground and scooping up the dog with one hand, much to the dog's
delight.

“Sage isn't ready yet,” Maura said, while her silly insides
melted into mush like Puck's. “Sorry. We were both running behind. She shouldn't
be long, though.”

“She can take as long as she needs. I don't mind being
late.”

“I wondered if you would show at all.”

“I promised her I would,” he said. “I didn't
want
to promise her that, mind you, but this daughter
of ours can be fairly persuasive.”

“I believe I'm aware how persuasive she can be.” He'd called
Sage
ours
. Was that the reason for this little
flutter in her chest? Or was it the scent of him, of cedar and bergamot and
something sexy and outdoorsy and very much Jack?

“I guess I lack imagination. For the life of me, I couldn't
figure out a good way to wiggle out without disappointing her.”

“After you've had time to adjust to being a parent, you'll
figure out we spend half our lives disappointing our children. It's part of the
job description.”

He laughed and rubbed a gleeful Puck's head. “So far I'm at
least filling that part of this new role.”

“I don't think so. Sage already adores you, Jack.” It was a
tough admission, but she decided if he could overcome his animosity toward his
father for Sage's sake, she could be generous and tell him the truth.

“The feeling is mutual,” he answered.

She was becoming far too fascinated watching those long fingers
scratch behind Puck's ears. “Yes. Well, would you like something to drink? I've
got beer, some white wine, ginger ale or soda.”

“Ginger ale. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

If she hadn't been ridiculously on edge, she should have
invited him, as a proper hostess would, to take a seat on the comfortable living
room sofa. She didn't even think of it until he had already followed her into
the kitchen—and then the impulse deserted her completely when she spied a
massive, colorful bouquet dominating the work island and sending out sweet
aromas that reminded her of a moonlit tropical beach.

“Wow. Gorgeous!” she exclaimed, admiring the birds-of-paradise,
heliconia and red ginger.

He set down a wriggling Puck, who headed immediately for his
food bowl. “A secret admirer?”

Didn't she just wish? “I doubt they're for me. Sage would have
said something when I got home. They must be for her.”

He narrowed his gaze, looking very much like any other
protective father. “You think that bastard Danforth sent them? After the way he
treated her last night? There should be a card, right?” he said, sifting through
the stems.

“Stop that! You can't just read the card without her
permission,” she exclaimed. “The message might be private.”

He raised an eyebrow as he plucked a card out from the center
of the vivid bouquet, so incongruous on a Rocky Mountain evening in March. “Then
she shouldn't have left it out here for anyone to see, right?”

She laughed despite herself and shook her head. “Put it
back.”

“I certainly will, after I make sure Danforth isn't trying to
pick up where he left off.”

The card wasn't in an envelope and she supposed there was some
truth to what he'd said—that Sage would have hidden it if she had wanted to keep
the contents private. She shouldn't be so nosy, but she had to admit she was
intensely curious. “Well? Who is it from?”

“No idea. It's not signed.”

She frowned too and tried to read it upside down, but she
couldn't make out the words at the angle he held it. “What does it say?”

He read the card with a puzzled look. “‘John Wayne said courage
is being scared to death but saddling up anyway. You've got some grit, young
lady.'”

“What?”

“That's what it says. And no signature. Just a doodled
angel.”

“What? Let me see that!” She snatched the card out of his hands
and read the words for herself. “Oh, my word. The Angel of Hope sent Sage
flowers!”

“Maybe they're for you.”

“I'm not a young lady anymore, in case you hadn't noticed.”

“I've noticed,” he murmured, his voice low in the kitchen. Her
gaze met his, and her foolish toes wanted to curl at the intensity there.

She straightened them out quite firmly and looked away, turning
back to the bouquet and rubbing a hand over one of the waxy blooms. “I think the
Angel must be psychic. Seriously, how else could anyone know Sage is going
through a rough time right now?”

“There were plenty of people in the lobby of the hotel last
night,” he said after a slight pause. “Someone might have seen her come down
looking upset.”

“True.” Her mother now knew after the scene with the mayor's
wife at the bookstore. For that matter, any number of people might have found
out. She didn't imagine Laura would be particularly discreet as they started
canceling wedding arrangements, despite her and Mary Ella's best efforts to calm
the situation.

She rubbed a thumb over the flower again and inhaled some of
the sweet scent, wishing she were on a pristine beach somewhere on Kauai right
this moment, instead of here dealing with unplanned pregnancies and Harry Lange
and this treacherous softness for Jack she didn't want.

A drink. She had come in here to get him something to drink,
she reminded herself, and went to the refrigerator to grab the ginger ale.
“Genevieve Beaumont called off her wedding to Sawyer today,” she said, reaching
into the cabinet for a glass.

“How did you hear that?”

“Mrs. Beaumont came into the store a few hours ago calling Sage
all kinds of horrible names for ruining her daughter's life.”

“And she was able to walk out again without help from the
paramedics?”

She had to smile at his quite correct assumption that she would
fight to the death in her daughter's defense. “I felt a little sorry for her, if
you want the truth. All her plans for her daughter going down the drain. I think
I know a little about how that feels.”

With a sigh, she handed him the glass. “The implosion of this
wedding is going to be a huge scandal in town, without question. Word is going
to trickle out, if it hasn't already started. I just wish I knew how to protect
Sage from the fallout.”

“I don't see how you can, Maura. Maybe that's what the flowers
are about. Somebody is trying to buoy her up a little before the storm.”

“It's a lovely gesture, if that's the reason, but I hate that
she's going to have to endure the gossip and the whispers.”

She knew all too well what that was like. At least she hoped
she would be able to teach her daughter to hold her head up and face down the
gossips, as Maura had done.

With a sigh, she poured herself a glass of ice water from the
filtered pitcher in the refrigerator. “This whole thing seems terribly unfair.
She's been through so much already this year.”

“So have you.”

“Yes. And to be completely honest with you, Jack, I'm not sure
I have the strength for more.”

“The scandal?”

“You should know me better than that. I don't care about any
petty scandal.” She paused and sipped at her water before setting her glass down
on the counter. She shouldn't be revealing so much to him, but somehow the
softness in his gaze, the quiet compassion, in the wake of her stress the past
few days, had her spilling all the secrets she had barely admitted to
herself.

“I don't know if I can endure more loss,” she said, her voice
low. “I think she's made her mind up to give the baby up for adoption. It's the
right thing for Sage. I know that. For Sage
and
the
child. But…it's going to rip my heart out.”

The last was almost a whisper, and he gazed at her for only an
instant before he set his glass down and reached a hand out to tug her against
him. His arms wrapped around her tightly, enfolding her in his solid strength,
and she sagged against him, relishing the heat.

“I know,” he murmured. “I know.”

She fought tears for several reasons—including the completely
silly one that she didn't want to have to redo her blasted makeup before their
dinner with Harry on account of scary mascara streaks all over her face.

“What's so wrong with hiding out in the bunkhouse for a few
months?”

“You won't. You'll face this just like you've faced everything
else.”

She shook her head, the urge to cry gone as she stood in his
arms. He was so solid, his muscles hard against her curves. She wanted to stand
here forever, just borrowing that strength a little.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“You're welcome.” His voice was low, intent, and when she met
his gaze, heat glittered in the blue depths. She waited, holding her breath, a
curl of anticipation inside her, and then finally he lowered his head and kissed
her on a long sigh.

His mouth was cool from the drink and she shivered at the glide
of his tongue against hers. Everything inside her went weak, hungry. For weeks,
she had wondered if she would ever taste his kiss again. Now here it was, when
she was nervous for their dinner with Harry and sick with worry for Sage.

Somehow, unbelievably, kissing Jack was like slipping into the
hot tub on a cold winter's night. Calming, comforting, relaxing. Despite this
hunger for more, he calmed something edgy and tight inside her.

She was falling in love with him all over again. She probably
had been since he'd returned.

She pushed that unwelcome realization away, focusing instead on
how wonderful it felt to be here in his arms again, to tangle her mouth with
his, to feel the welcome heat seeping into all the cold places inside her.

“Okay, I think I'm finally ready,” she heard Sage call out.
“Where are you guys?”

The words pierced the soft haze around her and she blinked to
the awareness that their daughter was going to walk in on them any moment.
Somehow she managed to find the strength to step away from him, her breathing
ragged and her heartbeat racing in her ears.

He looked just as stunned as she felt, his pupils dilated and
his hair slightly messy where her hands must have played in it without her being
conscious of it.

“In the kitchen,” she answered. Her voice came out husky,
thready, and she had to cough a little to clear it. “In the kitchen,” she
repeated more loudly.

Sage burst through the doorway just a second later. “What are
you doing in
here?
”

“A drink. I was, uh, thirsty, and Maura was pouring some ginger
ale for me,” Jack said, looking around a little blankly for his glass. When he
found it on the counter, he picked it up with an air of triumph and sipped at
it, then coughed as it apparently went down wrong.

“O-kay,” Sage said. “Well, sorry I made you both wait for
me.”

Jack shot a glance at Maura. “No problem. I didn't mind at
all.”

She could feel herself flush and dearly hoped Sage didn't
notice. “You look lovely, honey,” she said. It was true. Sage wore a maternity
blouse Maura hadn't seen before, a soft rose. She had pulled her wavy hair back
into a loose knot and wore a pair of dangly silver-and-rose earrings Maura had
made for her birthday a few years earlier.

“I guess you saw my flowers.”

After a few more deep, cleansing breaths, she almost felt as if
her brain had received enough oxygen for the synapses to start firing again.
“They're lovely. Your own gift from the Angel of Hope. That's certainly
something to treasure.”

A sly, secretive smile played at her mouth for just a moment.
“Isn't it?”

“But how did the Angel know about what was going on? It really
makes me wonder again if it's someone we know.”

Sage shrugged, but she still had a knowing sort of look in her
eyes. “The mystery is half the fun. That's what you and Grandma McKnight always
say.” She glanced at her watch. “We'd better go. I wouldn't want to keep Harry
waiting too long.”