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

by RaeAnne Thayne

  She didn’t.

  And when she kissed him back with a fierceness that shocked both of them, it was everything he dreamed and more.

  When they emerged from his bedroom sometime later, Mary Ella’s cheeks were pink and her hair was a little messier and he was pretty sure he just might have lipstick on his jawline.

  “This doesn’t change anything,” she muttered as they made their way through the house to the living area.

  His laugh was rough and amused. “You can tell yourself that, but we both know better, don’t we?”

  Sage was the first one they bumped into back at the party. She gave them both a curious look, and he wondered if anyone else could sense the tensile connection between him and Mary Ella now. “There you are. What happened to you?”

  Love. That’s what happened, missy. Not that it’s any of your business.

  “Did you ever find the yarn?” she pressed when he didn’t immediately answer.

  Yarn? It took him a moment to remember the errand she had sent him on earlier. First he’d been distracted by the cigar and then by the even more tempting forbidden treat of Mary Ella.

  “No. And I’ve been over the whole house.” It wasn’t quite a lie—he had traipsed through every room, but he had been showing Mary Ella the Colvilles instead of looking for yarn. “Let me go take another look in my office.”

  “No. Forget it. We’ll just use the red that we already have. It will look fine.”

  “I’ll look anyway.” He brushed a kiss on his granddaughter’s forehead, then squeezed Mary Ella’s arm slightly. She trembled just a little, which made him grin broadly, and he walked away whistling—whistling, for hell’s sake—the tune to “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” as he headed to his office.

  In his office, the woody, cedary smell of cigar smoke was stronger than it should have been. He frowned and looked around. The whistle died on his lips when he spotted Jackson on the terrace, in the same spot where he’d been when Mary Ella had come in a half hour earlier—and enjoying one of the same cigars.

  “Make yourself at home,” he said, still feeling so great after kissing Mary Ella McKnight that he could almost look at his son without the customary sorrow and guilt.

  “Sage sent me in here to look for you. Something about yarn. I didn’t find you, but I did happen to spy an open box full of particularly fine Coronas and couldn’t resist.”

  He frowned at the dark circles under Jack’s eyes and the lines of exhaustion bracketing his mouth. “Maybe you would be better off finding a bed and taking a nap instead of stealing my cigars. You look like hell.”

  Jack shrugged. “Give me a break. I was up two nights straight before I left Singapore trying to wrap things up so I could get away, then spent the next twenty-two hours either flying or waiting around in airports.”

  He wanted to tell Jack not to let work completely consume him or he might one day find himself alone and unhappy, but he choked back the words. This didn’t seem the time for lectures, especially not when he was just so damn happy to be with his son.

  “I’m sure it means the world to Sage that you made the effort to be here.”

  Jack narrowed his gaze as if parsing the words for mockery, then appeared to accept them as genuine. “I had to try, even if it was tough.” He paused. “Maura tells me you and Sage are becoming close.”

  He loved her with the same fierceness he loved her father. “Are you going to try to tell me you don’t want me in her life?”

  What would he do if that were the case? He had treated Jack so horribly he didn’t know how he could ever atone. He had tried in small ways. Oh, his will was written to leave everything to him, even before Jack had come back to town, and over the years he had worked behind the scenes to steer juicy projects his son’s way.

  He knew it wasn’t enough. If Jack wanted him to stay away from Sage, he would have to accept that as penance for his sins, even though it would kill him. Possibly quite literally.

  He waited for Jack to say the words that would crush him, but his son only puffed the cigar. “Why would I make you stay out of Sage’s life, as long as you continue to treat her well?” he finally asked.

  Gratitude and relief almost made Harry weep, much to his dismay. “She’s a good girl,” he said gruffly. “I…care about her very much.”

  “I can tell,” Jack said. “Word is you don’t entertain often. Yet here you are flinging open those big gates for Sage.”

  It was such a small thing. Why was everybody making such a big deal about it? Had he really become such a recluse that people considered him another Howard Hughes, hoarding his fingernail clippings and his used tissues in his mansion?

  He stood for a long moment while Jack smoked. His son didn’t seem to mind his presence, and Harry was aware of a fragile happiness bubbling inside him. He was here, with his son, and for once they weren’t fighting. He was half tempted to relight the long stub of his own cigar, still in the ashtray on the table, but he didn’t dare. Smoking even one was risky with his bad ticker, and for the first time in far too long he had plenty of things to keep him alive.

  Including his granddaughter, he suddenly remembered, who would be ready to put him in a nursing home for dementia if he let himself become distracted by one more thing.

  “I should probably go,” he said with deep regret. “Sage sent me in here to find something for her. She’s going to have my hide if I don’t get back out there. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like. Have another cigar. Hell, have two or three.”

  Jack nodded, and Harry hurried to his desk and opened the drawers until he found the bag of yarn. He gazed at his son out on his terrace in the spring sunshine, with one of his cigars in his hand, and Harry smiled with a deep, contented joy before he hurried back out to find his granddaughter.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  JACK SAT FOR A WHILE in the very comfortable chair outside his father’s office, watching a few clouds scud across the snow-topped mountain peaks. He wasn’t quite sure what had just happened between the two of them, but it seemed somehow significant, as if they had crossed some Continental Divide in their relationship.

  He wasn’t sure he could forget everything his father had done, but maybe it was time, at last, to find room for a little forgiveness. Harry had certainly made mistakes. Those tramlines and ski lifts etching their way up the greening hillsides were a prime example.

  Could Jack find some semblance of peace with his father? He was mellowing, he supposed. Maybe age and experience had leaked away some of the hot anger of youth, or maybe it was due to becoming a father himself. He still didn’t know if he could move beyond their past, but for the first time in two decades, he realized he wasn’t averse to trying.

  He saw a flash for a moment as someone headed out across the sloping lawn, headed toward the horse paddocks just beyond the grass. Maura, he realized. He recognized her slim frame and the lavender dress she wore, which flowed around her legs with every step.

  A deep yearning stirred. He had missed her this past month while he had been overseas. In the past, he had always enjoyed the traveling aspect of his job, the hands-on involvement on a project, but all he had wanted these past weeks was to come home to her.

  The constant flow of emails and phone calls and Skyping—their modern-day long-distance courtship—had only heightened this ache to be with her. Every time he talked to her only whetted his need to talk to her the next time.

  They traded stories about their day, she asked his business advice, they laughed and joked and rediscovered each other. Every time they ended a call, he felt the keen loss of
the connection and had to force himself not to pick up the phone and call her right back.

  So what the hell was he doing sitting here by himself when she was out there, a strong, beautiful, vibrant woman instead of an image on a monitor or a voice on the phone?

  He tossed the cigar in the ashtray on the terrace and vaulted over the three-foot stone fence surrounding the terrace, probably built to keep out the animals and the rabble, and headed toward her.

  She didn’t seem aware of his approach and appeared lost in thought as she leaned on the top railing of the paddock, watching a few elegant, undoubtedly expensive, horses graze inside.

  “Hey,” he finally said when he was only a few steps away.

  She turned in surprise, and her expression seemed to instantly light up with joy when she saw him. “Jack. Hi!”

  He was helpless against the tide of warmth that flowed through him, sweet and cleansing, washing away everything that had come before. He was in love with this woman. Deeply and profoundly.

  He had loved the girl she had been, sweet and generous. His first love. But the woman Maura had become—a woman of courage and strength and grace—she was everything to him.

  “Where did you go earlier?” she asked. “I looked around some time ago and you had disappeared.”

  “Sage sent me on an errand and I ended up stealing—and then very much savoring—the guilty pleasure of one of my father’s cigars.”

  She smiled while the breeze played with the ends of her hair.

  “Why are you out here by yourself?” he asked.

  “Brodie and Evie and Taryn just left. Taryn was tired.”

  “She looked good.”

  “Doesn’t she? If you had seen her a few months ago, you would be completely stunned at how far she has come. So I was walking them out to their car and the sunshine felt so good, I couldn’t resist walking back here to see Harry’s view from the back.”

  He leaned his elbows on the railing next to her, relishing the sunshine on his head and the earthy smell of springtime around them. He wasn’t sure he had ever been so exhausted, but just standing here beside Maura filled him with a sweet, seductive peace. “It turned out to be a beautiful day.”

  “Yes.” Out of the corner of his gaze, he saw her draw her bottom lip between her teeth. “Do you think the butterflies will survive?”

  “Of course they will.” He didn’t know a damn thing about butterflies, but he wasn’t about to tell her otherwise. “You said Sage researched this out. If the butterfly people said it’s warm enough for them, I’m sure they’ll be just fine.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “You would say that even if you thought they were all doomed, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yeah. Probably.”

  Her laughter rippled over him, and he finally couldn’t resist the overwhelming need to pull her into his arms. With a sigh, she settled against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and lifting her face for his kiss.

  He managed to bank his wild desire—for now—and kept the kiss soft and gentle, with all the tenderness inside him.

  Finally, when he wasn’t sure how much longer he could be noble and considerate and mindful of the solemnity of the day, he slid his mouth away and caressed her cheek with his thumb.

  “I think the butterflies will be fine. Despite how lovely and fragile they look, they’re survivors, accustomed to weathering storms. A great deal like someone else I know.” He paused, gazing intently at her, his heart pounding in his chest like one of those horses on a racetrack. “The woman I happen to be in love with, actually.”

  She stared at him, her eyes huge in that soft, lovely face, and he thought he saw a quick blaze of joy there before her lashes came down. “Jack…”

  “I really didn’t intend to say that. Either the cigar or my fatigue must have loosened my tongue. This isn’t the time or the place, today of all days. I just wanted you to know where my head and heart are.”

  He wrapped his hand around her fingers and brought their clasped hands to his chest. “Right here. With you.”

  She still didn’t say anything, only continued to gaze at him out of those eyes as green as the new growth around them. Had he ruined everything between them? Moved too fast? Spoken when he should have shut the hell up?

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “I know you’re not ready for this. Not with everything going on in your life. We can talk again when I come back for good in a few weeks.”

  “Not for good,” she whispered. “Only until you move back to San Francisco.”

  “What if I didn’t have to go back to San Francisco?” He couldn’t quite believe the words were coming out of his mouth, but even as he spoke them, he realized he meant them completely.

  She stared at him, her eyes huge. “What?”

  “I have a partner who handles the administrative side of things at the main office very well. I don’t see why I couldn’t keep the office here in Hope’s Crossing and use that as my central base.”

  Her laugh had a disbelieving edge. “You really must be exhausted. You do realize what you’re saying, right?”

  Over the past few months, he had witnessed genuine concern and caring in Hope’s Crossing and had come to see that perhaps he had viewed the town through the sometimes skewed perception of youth. No doubt he could still find pockets of intolerance and small-mindedness in Hope’s Crossing, but the majority of the people he had come to know were warmly generous. Why wouldn’t he want to live here?

  “I would still have to travel sometimes. That’s the nature of my job. But I would always come back to you.”

  Her fingers still nestled in his and he could feel them tremble in his grasp. He lifted them to his mouth and kissed the soft skin at the back of her hand. “I love you, Maura. I want to be with you. Whether that’s here or in San Francisco or in Singapore. It doesn’t matter to me.”

  * * *

  MAURA COULDN’T SEEM to catch hold of any of her scattered thoughts. She could only stare at him, trying to gauge whether he spoke truth. She was inordinately aware of their surroundings—the fading afternoon sunlight, the soft breath of a spring breeze, the horses now cantering through the pasture behind Jack.

  Joy seemed to burst inside her, bright and lovely and right. Her love for him was a sweet ache in her chest, a quiver in her stomach, but she couldn’t find the words to tell him. Instead, she did the next best thing. She reached on tiptoes and kissed him, their still-clasped hands caught between them.

  He hitched in a breath and returned the kiss, his mouth warm with the taste of cinnamon. He kissed her with such soft tenderness she could feel the ache of tears behind her eyes. The past weeks ran through her mind, the late-night phone calls where neither of them wanted to be the first to hang up, the sharing and the teasing and her inexorable journey toward falling in love with him all over again.

  “I love you, Jack,” she murmured. “Some part of me never stopped, all these years. I had the reminder of you every day when I would look at our daughter, so curious and determined, just like her father.”

  “She’s become a beautiful, strong woman. Like her mother.”

  Could they really have a second chance together? It seemed a miracle, somehow. A rare and precious gift, after the hellish year she had endured. She smiled against his mouth, aware of a subtle shifting and settling inside her, a quiet peace she had never expected to find with Jackson Lange, of all people.

  Over his shoulder, she caught a bright flash of yellow-and-orange out of the corner of her gaze and she shifted in his arms for a better view.

  “Jack! Look!” she exclaimed.

  He followed
the direction where she pointed, to where a monarch butterfly dipped and danced among the early-spring flowers of Harry’s landscaping.

  “Do you think that’s one of the butterflies from the ceremony?” she asked. “Surely it wouldn’t have made it all the way up the canyon. That’s three miles at least.”

  “Stranger things have happened. Maybe he hitchhiked in somebody’s car.”

  “It is. I’m sure it is.” She watched the butterfly alight on a huge, plump peony, its wings bright and cheery, and felt the last icy fingers around her heart crack and break away. It was almost as if Layla had sent her a sign, promising her all would be well.

  She lifted her face to the sunshine and to Jack, suddenly sure of it.

  EPILOGUE

  “SOMETHING’S NOT WORKING. I think we might have cut the angle wrong.” Maura held up a board that was supposed to fit against another one, but quite obviously didn’t.

  Jack, looking extremely sexy in jeans, a tight T-shirt and a low-slung leather carpenter belt, raised an eyebrow.

  “Excuse me. Who’s the professional, again?”

  Laughter bubbled up inside her. “You’re an architect, not a carpenter.”

  “And you run a bookstore and coffeehouse.”

  She gestured at the pile of lumber scattered around them on the path beside Sweet Laurel Falls, where they were supposed to be helping build the small, delicate gazebo Jack had designed.

  “So we’re both completely out of our league here.”

  He gave her a wry look and hooked his hammer back on the loop of his belt. “Yeah. Basically.”

  She laughed and couldn’t resist kissing away the disgruntled look on his gorgeous features, wondering how it was possible for her to love him more every moment of every day.

  As usual, he was easily distracted when she kissed him, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “How about we forget this whole thing and go back to your place and make out for a few hours?” he murmured. “We can let Riley finish up here. He’s dying to take over.”