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

by RaeAnne Thayne

  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.”

  “Oh, no. We certainly wouldn’t want that,” Jack said drily.

  Sage led the way through the house toward the front door, and Jack, of course, insisted on helping them into their coats. When his body brushed hers from behind, Maura shivered and had to hope he didn’t notice—though from the sudden intake of breath, she guessed she wasn’t as good at concealing her reaction to him as she would like to be.

  At least she wasn’t worried about meeting with Harry anymore. She was much more concerned with fretting about what she was going to do about Jack and this very inconvenient and ill-timed hunger—and preparing herself for yet another loss when he left Hope’s Crossing once more.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THAT KISS.

  Wow.

  As Jack helped them into their coats and then followed Sage and Maura down the sidewalk to his SUV, heat seethed and churned through him. He was eighteen years old again, in a sun-drenched alpine meadow, convinced he was the luckiest bastard in the world to have the most beautiful girl at Hope’s Crossing High School in his arms.

  No, actually. He was much smarter than he’d been back then. Now he knew it was much more than luck that she had actually kissed him back, had trembled in his arms and wrapped her own arms around him and pressed her softness to him.

  It was nothing less than a miraculous gift.

  He felt a little as if he had been wandering alone through some bleak wilderness all these years, convincing himself he was happy and had everything he wanted or needed. Being back in Hope’s Crossing, being with her again, showed him just how foolish he had been. He hadn’t been happy. Something fundamental and beautiful and right had been missing all this time.

  Maura.

  He had feelings for her. They were tangled and complicated and he didn’t know what the hell to do about them.

  At his vehicle, Sage brushed past her mother to immediately take the backseat, leaving Maura to sit in the front.

  “I can sit back there,” Maura said. “You’re the pregnant one. You need the legroom, don’t you?”

  “There’s plenty of room back here. I’m perfect. Get in, Mom. Seriously. We’re going to be late!”

  She really must have been a stubborn little thing when she was a kid. Once more, when he thought of all he had missed, he was hit by a familiar pang. This time, he embraced the ache. It forced him back to reality. He had missed so much of Sage’s life, because of Maura. As much as he was drawn to her again, how could he fully trust her after such a huge betrayal?

  The night was cool and clear. Hanging over Woodrose Mountain was a huge full moon that reflected a pearly glow on the dusting of snow that still lingered on the ground. None of them spoke much as he drove through town to the mouth of Silver Strike Canyon, where he turned on the GPS he had already programmed with the coordinates for Harry’s place. He refused to acknowledge the strange reality that he had no idea how to get to his own father’s house.

  “We could have told you how to get there,” Maura commented as the sultry female voice gave its automated directions. “Harry’s house is a little hard to miss up the canyon.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” he said, embarrassed to realize he hadn’t even thought of asking her and Sage for directions. “I guess I’m just used to using the GPS.”

  Counting on himself and circumstances he could control. Figuring out his way. That’s what he preferred, his modus operandi since he’d left Hope’s Crossing. He had learned early he couldn’t count on anyone else. Bethany had been in her own world half the time, and Harry… Well, Harry hadn’t given a damn about his son.

  For a brief time, he had leaned on Maura. Maybe one of the reasons he had made such an abrupt break between them was that he had started to realize he was beginning to rely too heavily on her.

  “Sweetheart, I need to tell you something before you hear it from someone else,” Maura said to Sage when the GPS indicated about a mile to go to Harry’s house. “For all I know, Harry might mention something and I…want you to be prepared.”

  “What’s wrong?” Sage sounded scared. “Is it Grandma?”

&
nbsp; “No. Grandma’s fine. Everyone’s fine. It’s just…” She drew in a breath and spoke in a rush. “Genevieve called off the wedding.”

  Sage didn’t answer for several beats. When he checked the rearview mirror, he saw she was huddled against the seat, her arms folded across her small baby bulge. “She…did?” Her voice was small, disheartened.

  Maura nodded. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “So he must have told her, then. After the other night, I thought for sure he would wait to tell her until the baby was born and he could get a DNA test.”

  “That’s the way many guys would have handled the situation,” Jack said. “Why totally disrupt your life if the baby’s not even yours?”

  “I guess. I know it’s his. I’ve never been with anyone else, either before or since. I’m not sure I ever want to be again, since I’m apparently Fertile Myrtle. Who would ever want to be with me now that I’ve ruined another guy’s life? And I’ll probably have stretch marks and everything.”

  He didn’t quite know how to respond to that. Fortunately, Maura stepped in. “Why don’t we not stress about everything at once tonight? How about we deal with tonight’s dinner first, the remaining months of your pregnancy after that, and we can worry about stretch marks and future relationships way down the line?”

  Sage sighed. “Yeah. I know. You’re right.”

  How did she do that? Take a potentially explosive situation and defuse it so effortlessly? He wondered if that was a skill one picked up automatically as the parent of teenage girls.

  The voice on the GPS announced they had reached their destination, and Jack pulled up in front of a set of forbidding black gates. Someone must have been watching, because they slid open instantly. With no small degree of trepidation, he drove through the gates and up a long drive surrounded by trees and what in a month or so would be exquisite landscaping, when it wasn’t covered in snow. The well-lit driveway circled around in front of the house, which looked to be about three stories and probably twenty-five thousand square feet.

  It was more modern than the lodge, a style he would have called Western contemporary. The most distinctive feature was a curving, multistory wall of glass windows that offered views in every direction.

  The house was sprawling and grand—all in all, a far cry from the modest home of Jack’s childhood.

  “Here we are, then,” he said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather turn around now? The gates have closed behind us, but I’m pretty sure I could ram them.”

  “I’m in. Let’s do it and hope your air bags work,” Maura said quickly.

  Sage just rolled her eyes at both of them, but he was glad to see some of the sadness had left her expression. “We’re here. We might as well eat, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose. Plus the car’s pretty new. I wouldn’t want to raise the rate on my insurance policy. Front-end damage might be a little hard to explain to my agent.”

  Given his mixed emotions about this upcoming dinner with his father, a rate hike might be worth it, he thought as he climbed out and opened the doors for both of them. Maura climbed out quickly before he could help her, stubborn thing, but he reached inside and grabbed Sage’s arm to help her slide from the backseat.

  “Be careful. There might be ice.”

  “Do you really think Harry would allow that?” Maura asked. “The driveway is probably heated.”

  Yes, that could make sense. Still, he took Sage’s arm and held his other out to Maura. After a long moment of hesitation, she slipped her arm through and he escorted them to the door.

  The wide, carved-oak double doors leading to the house opened before they could reach it, and Harry stood framed in the light. He looked far different from the cardiac patient Jack had seen only weeks ago. Instead, he appeared bull chested and strong in slacks and a sweater that probably cost more than the monthly payment on Jack’s new SUV.

  “You’re late.”

  “My fault, Grandpa,” Sage said with a cheeky smile, though he could still see shadows in her eyes. She must get that skill from Maura, the ability to put on a show and pretend everything was normal.

  Much to Jack’s shock, she slid her hand away from his arm and leaned in to kiss Harry on the cheek. “I lay down for a nap this afternoon and slept through the alarm on my phone. I’m really, really sorry.”

  Harry was obviously no match for Sage when she put on the charm. “Don’t worry for a minute. You’re not that late. Come in. Come in.”

  Sage smiled warmly at him and moved inside the massive living room, followed by Maura.

  “Hello again, Mr. Lange,” she said with a tepid smile.

  “Call me Harry.”

  “We’ll see. I think after all these years of calling you Mr. Lange, that’s what I’m more comfortable using.”

  “I’m sure that’s not the only thing you’ve called me over the years.”

  “But I’m trying to be a better person and teach my daughter not to emulate my bad language.”

  Harry laughed out loud and didn’t seem offended. “Fine. Call me whatever you’d like.”

  “That’s what I’d planned.”

  Still chuckling, Harry led the way into the house. “Would any of you like a drink before dinner?”

  “Mineral water, please,” Maura said.

  “That sounds good.” Sage smiled.

  “Nothing for me,” Jack said.

  Harry looked as if he wanted to say something but seemed to change his mind. He moved to a side table and opened a cabinet to reveal a clever minirefrigerator, from which he pulled a small bottle of Evian for Maura and handed it to her.

  They made small talk for a few moments—well, Maura and Sage and Harry made small talk, actually. He was still trying to adjust to how surreal it felt to be in his father’s house after all this time.

  “Dinner is probably close to finished. Shall I let my chef know we’re ready?”

  “That would be great. I’m starving,” Sage said.

  Harry left for a moment, presumably to give orders to his chef. In his absence, Jack walked around the great room, admiring the art on the walls.

  “That’s one of Sarah Colville’s works. Exquisite, isn’t it?”

  He studied the oil on canvas, a rich and detailed plein air of a valley he recognized from Snowflake Canyon, one of the offshoots of Silver Strike.

  “It’s lovely,” he said.

  “She’s brilliant. I wonder where your father keeps the rest of his collection.”

  “Scattered around the house,” Harry answered for himself from behind them. “I’ve got one in my office, one in the den. There’s even one in my bedroom, though if you tell the old biddy that, I’ll cut out your tongue and serve it to one of my dogs.”

  “She’s not an old biddy. She’s a lovely woman.”

  “You would think so, I suppose? She and your mother are peas in a pod.”

  He waited for Maura to snap at Harry in defense of her mother, but she merely gave him a cool smile. “I’m surprised you’re willing to have Sarah’s artwork in your home if you dislike her so much as a person.”

  “I can separate the art from the individual. Her paintings are brilliant. I would buy more, but she refuses to sell me any more directly, out of sheer spite. I’m forced to find them where I can.”

  Jack thought he might just have to look into purchasing one of the woman’s paintings if she was so discriminating in her patrons.

  “The dining room is this way.” Harry looped an arm through Sage’s, which left Jack to walk in with Maura. Her shoulder brushed his as they walked, but she didn’t meet his gaze. Still, he could feel the connection simme
ring between them.

  The room Harry led them to was huge, with richly molded ceilings and a long table that looked as if it would seat twenty people easily. Did Harry entertain often? Somehow Jack didn’t think so. Everything he had heard about his father since he’d been back in town indicated Harry was a bit of a recluse who kept himself distant, unapproachable to the people of Hope’s Crossing.

  Four place settings had been set at one end of the table. He might have expected Harry to sit at the head, where he could lord his position as boss of the world over all of them, but his father helped Sage into a chair and then sat beside her, leaving two places across the big table for him and for Maura.

  As soon as they were seated, a small older woman with scraped-back dark hair entered carrying a large tray with their plated salad course, which she set down in front of them.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Kingsley.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Lange,” the woman said softly, then disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Wow. This looks fantastic,” Sage exclaimed.

  “I hope you like Italian food. I was in the mood. This is one of my favorite salads, panzanella with a champagne vinaigrette. Our primo course will be braised short ribs with pasta and the secondo will be lemon sole. I had the same thing during one of the best meals of my life at a great place outside Milan. Dante’s.”

  Jack frowned. He didn’t know what to say to that. He actually knew that restaurant. It was near the hotel and convention center he had worked on a few years earlier, and he had eaten there several times when he had been overseeing the project. What were the odds that Harry has just stumbled on the same restaurant?

  The next few moments were spent enjoying the very delicious bread salad, which he had definitely developed a taste for during his time in Italy. The conversation was casual and polite, until just after the quiet woman in the dark clothing removed their salad plates and brought out the pasta and rib course, when Sage suddenly spoke.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. Thank you for the flowers.”