Maybe that was why I was able to fall in love with Rebecca in a way I’d never loved anyone before—or since. She let me define myself for her. She took me at face value and didn’t pile on expectations borne of some legacy I’d never wanted. With Rebecca, I was more myself than ever before. And then she died.
When I closed my eyes, I could still smell the sunshine in her hair, see her dark eyes glow as she smiled. In my dreams, I still held her in my arms and heard the deep roll of her sexy laugh.
My heart still ached for my fiancée, and I suspected it always would. But the scar of her death had toughened, and I could think of her without believing my world was dissolving, without feeling like I might collapse.
She’d been a fleeting flash spinning through the sky of my life, and I’d held her as close as I could for as long as I was able.
I believed I was better for it, despite the pain, but I missed the feeling of having someone willing to start at zero with me—someone willing to learn about me instead of judging me based on what they thought they knew.
The trees grew in size on either side of the car as I considered Michaela and Finn, and how much of my interest was purely business related. I was honest enough with myself to admit I was entertaining some other thoughts about the dark-haired executive, and it was the first time since Rebecca’s death that I’d found myself even vaguely interested in another woman. Rebecca would always hold a piece of me, but she was gone, and I was selfish enough to believe I might deserve to find something close to that kind of love and understanding again. She had taught me to expect it, to ask for it. And if nothing else came from her senseless death, maybe I could use what she’d taught me about love to live an honest life in her memory. It had only taken a year of therapy to be able to force my mind in that direction.
And then there was the little guy. His infectious laughter and open smile had brought something to life inside me I hadn’t even known was there. I wanted to see him again, though I couldn’t explain to myself exactly why, and nothing my therapist and I had talked about seemed helpful when it came to him. I just liked the kid, and wanted to make him laugh.
I acted tough—like I didn’t believe in superstitious bullshit, but in reality, I couldn’t help feeling like the universe was sending me a message; like Rebecca was sending me a message. Hadn’t she said she would?
My head was a mess as I checked in at the office, where Sam and Miranda were giggling behind his closed office door. I was in no mood to see true love in action right then—it reminded me too much of what I’d once had.
I pushed away the sense that something bigger than me was at work, and went back to my house to think.
“And…he’s back.” Sam shuffled into his kitchen Saturday morning, his hair less tamed than usual.
I’d finished making my own breakfast and was sitting at the kitchen table, staring out the window at the way the shadows of the trees pooled in the early morning light, creating darkness around the house.
Sam pulled up a chair across the kitchen table from me and yawned. “Earth to Chance.”
I cleared my throat and returned my attention to the toast and eggs in front of me. “You guys want breakfast?”
“It’s Saturday,” Sam said simply. When I didn’t answer, he leaned forward and made a disappointed face. “You always cook on Saturday morning. We don’t know how to fend for ourselves anymore. We’re spoiled.”
“Because I’m an idiot. I’ve made you incapable of surviving in the wild.” I stood and went back to the refrigerator. One day I’d have to let my brother and his wife-to-be enjoy their house without me popping in constantly and trying to make myself critical. Maybe when they actually got married I’d let them enjoy their privacy. Or maybe when they had a baby. Or maybe when I had a family… or maybe never. “Do you want me to teach you how to make eggs?”
“Absolutely not,” Sam said, pouring himself a cup of coffee and then leaning back in his chair again. “I want you to tell me about this important meeting you’ve got on a Saturday—the one that has you staring out the window like a forlorn tweenager.”
I cracked the eggs and whisked, probably harder than was necessary, but the frantic whirl matched what was happening inside my mind. “Tweenager?” I asked him. “It’s not a big deal, loser. I was just staring out the window because I’m still waking up.”
“I bet you’ve been up for hours. Do you even sleep?” Sam knew me too well since we’d shared a house most of our lives. Sleep had never been my strong suit.
“I slept. I was just thinking about today. The rep is bringing her son, so it’s more complicated than just sitting down and talking business.”
“Wait. She’s bringing her kid to a business meeting?”
I stopped whisking. “It’s maybe more of a day in Kings Grove than a meeting.”
“Wait.” Sam sat up straight and I turned away to pour the eggs into the hot pan, not wanting to face him as he figured things out. “This is a date, isn’t it?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have an answer.
Miranda shuffled into the kitchen, her hair sticking up in three or four directions as she grinned at me and then dropped into Sam’s lap. “Hey guys.” She picked up Sam’s cup and took a long drink of his coffee.
“Hey!” he protested. “There’s a whole pot!”
“But yours is better,” she said, and then stopped any further protest with a quick kiss. “Big meeting today, Chance, right?” She turned toward me, slipping into a chair of her own as I plated the eggs.
“No,” Sam answered before I could. “More like a big date. Chance is more focused on getting the rep into bed than he is on landing any kind of deal.”
There it was. This was part of the reputation I had in Kings Grove that I’d honestly never earned. My younger brother’s jealous idolization in junior high and high school had turned me into something I really wasn’t. If I dated a girl, he assumed I slept with her. If I mentioned a woman’s name now, same thing. In Sam’s eyes, I was some kind of carefree ladies’ man, devoid of actual emotion or deeper intent. Definitely devoid of actual feelings.
“That’s not really it,” I managed. I’d never bothered defending myself. In some ways it felt nice to have Sam’s unflagging belief in my manly virility. It was completely misplaced, and sometimes I felt like it got in the way of my ability to forge a real relationship with him—or with anyone in Kings Grove, but I guessed it was good for the ego. “She didn’t get a good view of the place when she was here before, and if nothing else, I know the kid will love seeing the trees.”
Miranda was nodding as she ate the eggs I’d just put in front of Sam. “If she falls in love with Kings Grove, she’ll fight to get the resort here.”
I nodded.
“Pretty smart, Chance,” she said through a mouthful.
“Thanks.” I scooped my own dishes from the table and put them in the dishwasher, and then turned toward the door to go. “See you guys later.”
Miranda gave me a knowing look—her eyes full of some unspoken understanding I kind of wished wasn’t there—and she said, “Good luck today.”
Did I need luck? Maybe I did. All I knew was that I was nervous. That I cared more than I should what Michaela and little Finn Grayson thought of Kings Grove. About what they thought of me.
Chapter 6
Michaela
I second-guessed myself constantly as I drove up the side of the mountain, Finn playing in the back seat on his tablet. Part of me wanted to pretend this was just work—I was being thorough, making sure my initial assessment of Kings Grove was correct. It wasn’t the kind of place that could support a McLaren resort.
My mind kept flashing back to the image of Chance Palmer in the lobby of my office, his attention absorbed completely by my son and his book—and then to the memory of Chance going out of his way to say goodbye to Finn. Finn’s own father had rarely paid such close attention to him when we’d actually been married. It shouldn’t have made such an impression. Bu
t it did.
So when the hulking trees appeared on either side of the car, their dark red bark soft and scarred and weathered, I took a deep breath and steeled myself to remember what the day was about. I wanted Finn to see these trees, to see this place, to know that it is possible to stand strong and tall through all kinds of challenges. I’d told him these trees had super powers, just like people. That was our thing. We were super heroes, both of us. There had been a period of almost two years when Finn didn’t speak at all, and during those strange and scary years, it was almost as if his silence allowed him to perceive more fully. We agreed his power was his super senses, and mine was… spaghetti.
At least that was what he thought. But my real super power, I’d long since learned, was my ability to weather any storm and come out with my arms still wrapped protectively around the little boy who couldn’t yet protect himself. My heart had been borne into the world the day Finn was born, and my super-strength was now used trying to protect him and my heart from the cruel realities of life. Of fathers who drink and do drugs and hit. Of grandparents who can’t see past their own heartache to see a grandchild in need of affection, or at least understanding. Of peers who taunt and tease and never once stop to consider that the object of their scorn is a human being. Just. Like. Them. My real super power was the invisible force field I projected around my kid.
But today wasn’t about practicing our powers. It was about enjoyment and distraction and fun.
“Finn,” I met my son’s eyes in the mirror. “Put down the tablet and look—it’s beautiful up here.” He did, for all of two minutes, but trees flying by the windows of a car turned out not to be a huge draw for an eight-year old boy, and I realized he needed to see them up close to really appreciate their size. Sighing, I guided the car into the parking lot in front of the Kings Grove Diner.
Chance was waiting for us, his tall form folded onto a bench just next to the diner, and when he saw me pull in, he stood. I felt the breath go out of me. I’d never met a man whose sheer presence made me question what I knew about myself, but he managed to accomplish this feat. His height was significant, but it was so much more than that. Charisma shone from his smile, lit his light eyes. I wanted to be near him, to hear him laugh, to feel those strong arms encircling me. I wanted to see him kneel down again, talking to my son.
God, I was in trouble.
Chance stepped up to my door as I got out of my car. “Michaela,” he said. “I’m so glad you came.” He leaned down and opened Finn’s door. My son was still engrossed in his tablet, and I would have sworn he hadn’t even noticed that we’d stopped moving.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “He gets completely absorbed in that thing.” I reached in and put my hand over the screen, eliciting an angry glare from Finn, which morphed as soon as he saw Chance standing next to me.
“Hey Finn,” Chance said.
Finn’s face split into a smile and he jumped out of the car, suddenly eager and bright.
“I thought we’d take a little hike first thing,” Chance said, speaking to us both. “See some of these big trees up close.”
I pulled my eyes from Chance’s handsome face to see what Finn thought of this idea, and was embarrassed to see Finn making a face, his eyes wide and his lips pressed together in a comical frown. The look said, “boorring.”
“Sorry,” I said, dropping a hand on Finn’s shoulder that was meant to be both corrective and supportive. “We did talk about the trees, and why they’re a big deal. I guess it’s just hard for a kid to appreciate a tree.”
Chance nodded, his expression amused. “I get that.” He dropped to squat next to Finn, to meet him at eye level. “I never thought these trees were that big a deal,” he said, “but then I learned something about them.”
Finn shrugged, trying not to look interested. “What did you learn?”
“They have super powers.”
I felt my eyes widen and my body stiffen. It was like Chance had read a “Guide to Finn Grayson,” somewhere—I didn’t even know that book existed. Finn’s interest focused on Chance and his irritated expression smoothed.
“What super powers?” Finn asked him.
“They are immune to fire,” Chance said. “And to storms. Almost nothing can hurt them.”
“Because they’re so big?”
Chance shrugged. “I don’t know, but the trees you’re going to see are really old. They’ve been here for thousands of years.”
Finn’s eyes reached up over our heads and scoured the trees around the parking lot where we stood. He shrugged again, unimpressed.
Chance grinned and stood back up. “We’ll show him,” he said. “There’s a bathroom just inside the visitor center here, and we’ll head out when you guys are ready.”
I took Finn and we freshened up. I tried to keep my mind tightly focused on the tasks we’d set for today—a hike, a re-evaluation of the Inn. Instead, it replayed Chance getting down to talk to my son at eye level, the way he spoke to him with respect—like a person, not like a child. The man had an instinct for kids that I couldn’t help but find attractive. Chance was waiting for us outside when we came back out.
“Ready?” He went to the bench and handed each of us a water bottle, and we followed him through the parking lot and past the ranger station to a crosswalk over the two-lane highway that turned into a trail on the other side, leading down the slope and off into the trees. As soon as we left the little village behind, the forest enclosed our small group and the sounds of birds and water replaced the noise of cars and people. A small stream tracked our progress on the right, and every now and then, Finn would pick up a pinecone or a small stick and toss it into the crystalline water. Within a half mile of where I’d parked, it felt like the whole world had changed—condensed and expanded at the same time, if that was possible.
“The sky,” I said, trying to explain something that defied language. “It’s so…” There were really no words for the shade of blue that soared above us. Where the valley sky was flat and close to gray most days, the Kings Grove sky was bright and clear, and the blue was tangible—it looked multidimensional, a wash of unimaginable cerulean.
“I know,” Chance agreed. “It’s one of the things I missed most when I was living in the valley.”
That caught my attention, and for some reason I found myself wondering if we’d ever crossed paths before. I doubted it. I would have noticed him if we’d passed in the grocery store, or at the movie theater. Anyone would notice Chance Palmer.
The evergreen trees surrounding us pressed upward, and the deeper we walked into the forest, the smaller I felt. I had an inclination to take Finn’s hand, to anchor him to the earth just in case the hugeness of our surroundings reduced him to invisibility, but he was busily dodging around us, on and off the trail. He was scouting up ahead, and running back to where we walked at a leisurely pace. He climbed boulders at the trail’s edge, and knelt at the side of the stream. At one point, he beckoned me over so he could splash icy cold water on me as I leaned down to see what he was looking at, and then he’d laughed maniacally as Chance chuckled behind me.
“Thanks a lot,” I told Finn, shooting an evil look at the laughing Chance.
“You’ll dry,” Chance said.
“That water is freezing!”
“It’s melting snowpack,” he explained. “Can you believe people swim in it?”
I imagined submerging my body in the icy water, and shook my head. “Gah, no.”
We walked on, and I lost track of time. The day seemed as endless as the sky, and I was surprised to find a kind of peace fill me that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe ever. Even Finn had calmed a bit, and was content to wander along the trail with us now, looking around with interest. The trail descended farther, and the shade around us became dense both from the towering trees and the vegetation on the ground, making the air cool and still. A wide open clearing stretched before us, and we all stopped at the same moment, spotting the deer lazing in its center
, watching us with intense gazes that seemed to hold more curiosity than fear. There were two bucks, their antlers bearing at least five points each, and they held their mighty heads high and proud. They stood behind the three does, who lay on the ground, necks held aloft. To the side, a smaller deer—a fawn—picked through the small white flowers that lined the wide clearing. It almost seemed as if they’d been waiting for us, posing.
I heard myself inhale a sharp breath—there was something so serene about the group.
Finn stood like a statue, staring at them for a long time, and finally turned to meet my eyes. He signed “deer,” hands spread wide on either side of his head like antlers, and turned back around. He still signed sometimes, when there was a reason to be silent, a vestigial reminder of the quiet boy who’d thankfully started speaking again, two years after he’d stopped.
Chance stiffened next to me when Finn made the sign, and I heard him intake his breath sharply, but the deer just in front of us pulled my attention so completely I didn’t think to wonder what that had been about for very long.
After a few minutes of silent mutual regard, the small group of deer moved off into the forest, appearing to be in no real hurry, and certainly not afraid.
“That was amazing,” I said. I kept my voice low, and realized I had the same feeling I’d gotten the few times I’d been inside a church or a cathedral, an externally driven compulsion to hush, to show reverence and respect. Massive dark red trees stood on either side of us, all around us, and I realized we were standing in the midst of the grove of Giant Sequoias. The trees stood close together, only five or six feet between some of the massive trunks, which sloped wider as they neared the ground. Some of their gnarled roots could be seen extending into the dirt around us, and many were wider around than a grown man. Each trunk was huge—bigger around than I could estimate. “How big are these?” I asked Chance, my voice strangely breathless.
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