RaeAnne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One: Blackberry SummerWoodrose MountainSweet Laurel Falls

by RaeAnne Thayne

  Sage was the important one here. She wouldn’t put it past Laura to track Sage down at their house or, worse, at one of her friends’ houses for a confrontation, and that was the last thing Maura wanted. Better to nip this in the bud now by using the power card—the only person Laura Beaumont and her husband feared.

  “Sage isn’t here right now. I’m sorry. She’s probably at home dressing for the dinner we’re having shortly with her grandfather. You know Harry. He’s so impatient. He wouldn’t want us to be late.”

  She blinked like a big, crazy-haired owl. “Harry?”

  She deserved to be struck by lightning for shamelessly using Harry this way, but just now she would do anything necessary to protect her child. “Harry Lange. Oh, I just assumed everyone in town knew. Harry’s son, Jackson, is Sage’s father. They’ve recently reestablished their relationship. It’s really been heartwarming to see.”

  Beside her, Mary Ella cleared her throat, and Maura prayed she wouldn’t say anything.

  As for Laura, she stared at the two of them, brow furrowed as if she had just stumbled onto a stage and discovered she was the star of a play she’d never rehearsed. “Uh, really? I…hadn’t heard.”

  “Oh, yes. It’s not something we’ve necessarily been trying to keep a secret, but we haven’t exactly put an ad in the paper or anything. Harry and Sage are becoming quite close.” This was a blatant lie, though Sage had told her and Jack about going to his penthouse apartment the other night at the lodge. If this would protect her daughter, she didn’t care how many lies she had to tell.

  “I…see.”

  Laura visibly withered, all her bluff and bluster trickling away. For one brief, preposterous second, she actually felt a little sorry for the mayor’s wife, used to pushing her weight around town and making everyone accede to her wishes. Harry was the only person she couldn’t afford to offend.

  Though she had little reason to be compassionate to the other woman, she decided perhaps a little sympathy was called for in this situation. She called these little impulses toward unsolicited goodness her What Would Claire Do? moments. Her new sister-in-law was the most sincerely generous person she knew, almost to a fault.

  Maura always figured she couldn’t go wrong if she tried to guess how Claire would behave in a given situation and then attempted to emulate that. Right now, she figured Claire would dig deeply for a little kindness, no matter how difficult.

  After an awkward moment, she reached forward and squeezed Laura’s fingers. “I’m very sorry about the wedding. I know how much effort you and Genevieve have put into making it perfect. From everything I’ve heard, it was going to be exquisite. Perhaps she and Sawyer can still work things out.”

  Laura closed her eyes, her chin trying its Botox-tight best to wobble a little. “I doubt it. She’s so livid with him. I’ve never seen her like this. Her father and I talked to her until three in the morning, and she just won’t listen to reason. She said she won’t marry a man she can’t trust, and she’s convinced she’ll never be able to trust Sawyer now.”

  Good for Gen, she wanted to say, but she didn’t think Laura would appreciate the sentiment. She thought of the few times she had seen the happy couple over the past few months, and the random vibe she thought she had picked up that perhaps Genevieve Beaumont wasn’t as thrilled about her upcoming nuptials as everyone else.

  Maybe Gen had been looking for an excuse to derail the wedding crazy train. Sage had given her that, in spades.

  “We have to let our children make their own decisions, don’t we?” Mary Ella said softly. She stepped forward to pull Laura into an embrace that was much more genuine than anything Maura could have provided right then. “As much as we might wish we can hold their hand and guide everything they do, a good mother knows her job is to arm her children with the courage and the capability to make the tough choices for their own lives, even if we don’t think they’re the best ones for them.”

  “It’s so hard,” Laura wailed.

  “I know, my dear. I know. Did you drive here? Why don’t you let me give you a ride home. Once you’ve had time to rest and talk to William, I’m sure things won’t seem so dark.”

  “I s’pose that would be okay.”

  “Sure it will. Come on.”

  “Thank you,” Maura mouthed to her mother.

  “Oh, you’re going to make it up to me,” Mary Ella murmured in a voice that likely didn’t carry to Laura. “Apparently you left a few juicy tidbits of information out of our conversation earlier. I expect a full report after dinner tonight. You can even text me during dinner if anybody starts throwing knives.”

  “What knives?” Laura asked in confusion.

  “Nothing, my dear,” Mary Ella said, as she tucked her arm around Mrs. Beaumont and walked her to the door of the bookstore. “Let’s get you home. There’s a girl.”

  After her mother and the mayor’s wife left the store, Maura stood for a moment, watching them walk to Mary Ella’s car, wondering whatever had happened to her quiet life.

  * * *

  WHY WAS SHE ALWAYS late?

  She heard on the radio once that a person who was perpetually tardy was trying in a passive-aggressive way to control everyone around him or her. She didn’t care about controlling anybody. She just figured she had too blasted much to do in a day.

  After Laura’s little scene at the bookstore, Maura had to scramble to catch up with the rest of her day, and she finally managed to leave the store about twenty minutes past the time she should have in order to get ready for Harry’s dinner.

  She drove home just a little faster than strictly legal and pulled into the driveway with fifteen minutes to spare before Jack was due to pick them up.

  “I’m home,” she called out when she raced inside, and dumped her bag and her keys on the hall table. “Just give me a second and I’ll be ready.”

  Her only answer was Puck jumping around her feet. “Hey there, sugar. Where’s Sage? Hmm? Where’s our Sage?” she asked the dog, who yipped at her and licked her face.

  “Sage?”

  Her daughter didn’t answer and Maura frowned, more concerned than she probably should have been, given that any potential threat from Laura had been effectively neutralized. A moment later, she picked up the sound of the shower running down the hall. No wonder Sage hadn’t answered. Apparently Maura wasn’t the only one in the family running late.

  She carried the dog into her bedroom with her, grateful for the ridiculous comfort she always found from the small, warm weight in her arms. “You can help me figure out what to wear,” she told the shih tzu, who gave her a cheerful little grin and plopped belly-first onto the carpet at the foot of her bed.

  As she had spent all day fretting about what to wear and had mentally tried on and discarded a dozen outfits, it didn’t take her long to pull out what she had settled on, a tailored white blouse over slimming tan slacks and a chunky red-and-umber necklace-and-earring set she had made a few years ago at String Fever.

  How could she be old enough to be someone’s grandmother? she wondered as she quickly touched up her makeup. She didn’t have a single gray hair or wrinkle. She had just finished running a brush through her hair when she realized the shower was no longer running.

  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 do
wn 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 tryin
g 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.”