Maybe, just maybe, this might be a way for her brother to move outside of his own pain to help ease someone else’s.
CHAPTER TEN
BY THE TIME she finished working at the shop that day, her ankle throbbed and she desperately wanted nothing more than to throw on her most comfortable nightgown, incline her foot on some plump pillows and find something brainless to watch on television for the rest of the evening.
As she turned onto Willowleaf Lane, the small gift basket full of fudge and a certain turquoise and rose memory wire bracelet seemed to flash a big blinking neon sign pointing at her.
Me. Me. Me.
She frowned at the thing. Later. She could drop it off another night. She was tired and achy and was quite certain she didn’t have the emotional strength to handle another encounter with Spence tonight.
She drove past the house he and Peyton were renting but the neon seemed to become more garish, to blink more insistently.
She hated leaving things like this undone. She had gone to all the trouble to make the bracelet and package it with a few pieces of a new flavor of fudge, white chocolate and lemon, which she thought Peyton might like. Now she needed to follow through and actually give it to the girl.
It would only take a moment to stop at the house, hand the basket to Peyton, then be on her way. With luck, she wouldn’t even see Spence. And if she did, she could update him on the enthusiastic response from her friends to A Warrior’s Hope. It was the neighborly thing to do, she told herself. No ulterior motives, she was simply being kind, trying to help Peyton feel better about the move.
As part of her efforts at rebuilding herself, she was trying hard to force herself to face all the things that made her nervous. This past winter, she had gone skiing, even though it had been many years since she had braved the slopes. She had bought a punch pass for ten all-day lift passes and had used all but two of them, which she had given to one of her brothers.
She had taken a karate class and quite enjoyed it.
She had even agreed to chair a committee on the library board to help finance new computers.
She had been brave enough to do those things. How hard was it to find the courage to face Spence again, for the sake of a girl who could use a friend or two?
With a heavy sigh, she turned around in her driveway, gave a hasty wave to Tucker, who was peeking at her over her backyard fence, then drove the short distance back to Spence’s house.
She grabbed the crutches—only a couple more days on those, yea—and climbed out of her car, then hooked the basket over her hand and walked up the sidewalk.
She could do this. So they had kissed. So her world had been slightly rocked on its axis. So she had spent all night and most of the day remembering it.
That didn’t mean things had to be awkward.
Ha.
She rang the doorbell and waited, trying to do the circle breathing she had learned in her yoga class. In through her nose for five counts, hold for five counts, out through her mouth for five counts.
She was on her third round of exhales when the door swung open and Peyton answered, her cell phone in her hand.
Her eyes widened when she saw Charlotte, and she actually stopped texting and shoved her phone in the pocket of her jean shorts.
“Hi there,” Charlotte said with casual cheer. “May I come in?”
Peyton shrugged. “I guess. My dad’s not home, though, if you came to see him.”
She told herself she completely imagined that stab of disappointment. “Oh. That’s okay. I’m here to see you anyway.”
Peyton looked surprised and a little suspicious, which was probably a healthy trait in a young girl. “Me? Why?”
“You’re probably going to think this is weird but I made you something.” She held out the basket. “I went to the bead store for a birthday party today and this was the project my friend Claire had for us. As soon as I saw the colors, I thought of that shirt you were wearing the other night, with the flowers around the neckline. I don’t have anything that matches those colors nearly as well. I thought you might like it.”
Peyton continued to look suspicious but also a little flattered. Maybe she should have talked to Spencer first to make sure he didn’t mind her giving his child something small.
“You really made this?”
“These are super easy. It’s just a matter of stringing the beads onto the wire and closing the ends. The wire is cool because it stays into the shape you bend it. It’s called memory wire and it works really well for bracelets or necklaces. My friend Claire’s daughter, Macy, makes these very cute rings, too, out of seed beads and a couple charm dangles. I’m sure she could show you sometime.”
“Why do you want to give it to me?”
She again felt stupid. She doubted Peyton would understand if Charlotte told her she saw a great deal of herself in Peyton. She sensed Peyton was reacting to the turmoil of her life the past few years by drawing inside herself, just as Charlotte had done.
She shrugged. “I’ve made so many bracelets for myself over the past few years, I wouldn’t be able to wear them all if I put a new one on every day for a month. And to tell you the truth, as much as I like them, bracelets aren’t very practical when I spend most of my days elbow-deep in chocolate.”
Peyton looked down at the basket and then back at Charlotte, and her wariness seemed to ease. “Wow. It’s really cool. Thanks.”
She pulled it out and put it on her left wrist, where it dangled loosely. Charlotte had tried to make the bracelet small but maybe she should have tightened it more.
Charlotte frowned, struck again at how slight the girl was—thin, angular, with those narrow shoulders and thin birdbones for wrists. She definitely needed a little fudge.
“You’re welcome.”
“How do you hang the little dragonflies on there?”
“That part’s easy. It’s the same as making earrings. You make a dangle by stringing beads on a headpin and then creating a loop at the top with your round-nose pliers, then you just put on a jump ring and hang it on your bracelets.”
“Okay, you lost me at headpin. I don’t know what that is but it doesn’t sound very easy.”
“I’m not really the expert but my friends Evie and Claire can do just about anything with beads. You ought to stop into String Fever one of these days. They love to help people make things. Earrings, necklaces. Whatever you like.”
“I’m not very artistic.” Peyton looked down at the bracelet on her wrist with a glum expression.
“Who says you’re not artistic?”
“Me. I can’t play any instruments or anything, and I almost failed art class last year. I never could draw very well. Even with crayons, my mom could never tell what I was trying to make. But I’m good at math and stuff, so it’s okay.”
Charlotte was only too well acquainted with the habit of accepting what others said about her as truth.
“I don’t believe it,” she said promptly. “We all have some spark of creativity inside us. You just haven’t found what lights yours yet.”
“I guess not.”
“Give it time. I didn’t think I was very artistic until I started dipping chocolates and making fudge and discovered I had a real talent for it. And I was a college graduate by then.”
“Really?”
“Honest. I certainly never believed I could make jewelry until I took a couple classes at String Fever. In fact,” she added, “I happened to notice Claire’s daughter is teaching a teen class in a couple weeks on making back-to-school earrings. You would love Macy. She’s about your age and is really fun.”
“Do you think I could do it?”
“Yes! I know it. You could learn the basics of beading from Macy and create something pretty in the process. Wouldn’t it be fun to make a bunch
of new earrings to wear when school starts again?”
Peyton made a face. “Don’t remind me about school. It’s going to seriously suck being the new girl.”
“You’ll be fine, especially if you use opportunities like this bead class to make new friends before the year starts.”
“If I do it, will you come with me?”
The request caught her off guard. “You want me to come with you?”
“I don’t know. Forget it. I just thought, you know, so I would have at least one friend there.”
Peyton considered her a friend. Charlotte wanted to cry, like the big baby she was. “I love any excuse to spend time beading. I’d love to come. I’ll try to arrange my schedule at the store so I can take the time, as long as it’s okay with your dad. Would that work?”
“Great,” Peyton said, and she smiled. She actually smiled. When she did, her face lit up with a sweet, rare beauty.
“Great. I’ll plan on it.”
“Thanks again for the bracelet. It’s totally cool.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you later.”
She thought about asking Peyton to tell her father Charlotte needed to talk to him about A Warrior’s Hope but decided against it. Exhaustion pulled at her after the long day, and she wasn’t sure she had the energy.
As she hobbled on the blasted crutches back to her SUV, though, the garage door started ascending and a sleek, sexy Range Rover pulled up next to her vehicle.
Drat. She hadn’t moved fast enough.
Spence climbed out wearing khakis and a black polo shirt, looking dark and dangerous.
“Charlotte! Hi.”
He smiled widely and she had the clear impression he was happy to see her. If she weren’t so darn tired, she probably wouldn’t have been weak enough to let slip the sweet burst of warmth surging through her at his smile.
“Hi,” she murmured.
The memory of their kiss the night before seemed like a living creature suddenly, silky and sinuous, entwining around and through them, tugging her toward him. She could feel herself flush and tried to block the remembrance of the taste of him, the heat of his hands on her skin.
He cleared his throat and she had to wonder if some of those images haunted him.
“We needed milk.” He held a gallon up by the handle.
“You might not know this but Hope’s Crossing has a very good delivery service. Clover Hill Dairy will bring you eggs, milk, butter, cheese. It’s quite convenient.” The dairy supplied many ingredients to Sugar Rush, though she still purchased some things through a wholesaler.
“I’ll have to look into it. Thanks.”
Her ankle throbbed and she opened her car door. “I was just leaving. I only stopped to drop something off for Peyton. A bracelet I made today at the bead store.”
He looked startled. “That was nice of you.”
She really hoped he didn’t think she was some psycho stalker, trying to get to him through his daughter.
“It’s a long story but my friend Claire made up these kits and the colors reminded me of something Peyton was wearing the other night.” She wasn’t making this better. She ought to just shut up now and leave but she couldn’t seem to stop. “I don’t know what it’s like to move into a new town where you don’t know anybody. But I do know what it feels like to lose a mother when I was around her age.”
“Thank you, Charlotte. You’ve been more than kind. If she warms up to Hope’s Crossing, it will be in large part because you’ve made her feel welcome.”
He smiled again and she completely lost her thread of thought.
She had to stop this. She couldn’t afford to be sucked in again. She forced herself to focus. A Warrior’s Hope. Mary Ella. Katherine.
“I’m glad I caught you, actually. What happened with Harry this morning? Did you talk to him?”
“Yes. We had lunch today at the resort. I presented everything to him.”
“And?” she prompted.
“So far, so good. He wants to do some research of his own about the practicalities and the finances. I expected nothing less, but he’s offering tentative support and made a verbal commitment for a hefty amount to start building the cabins.”
“Oh, Spence. That’s wonderful.” With any of her other friends—and under any other circumstances—she would have rushed him for a hug. She couldn’t quite bring herself to be that forward with Spence. Plus the crutches...
“He seems to think we could have the funding in place to start one session by the fall and have the cabins finished by Christmas. I’m not as optimistic, but we’ll see.”
“If Harry wants something, he tends to find a way to make it happen.”
“After I spoke with him, I spent the day on the phone with some former teammates and guys I know I can count on. We’re planning a media event fund-raiser in about three weeks.”
“Wow. You and Harry have a lot in common in the getting-things-done department.”
“No reason to wait, is there? With the seed money in place, we could have at least a couple sessions before Christmas.”
“Adding to your win column here, I spoke to Mary Ella and the others today.”
“You did?”
“Everyone’s very excited about the possibilities. Several people volunteered for the organizing committee. Evie said she and Brodie would host a fund-raiser at one of his restaurants and she also agreed to reach out to some of her contacts in the rehab profession for tips on the therapy side of things.”
He looked stunned. “Seriously? I don’t know what to say.”
“I told you the people of Hope’s Crossing come together for a good cause. You would be astonished at what we can accomplish.”
“I’m already amazed. I can’t believe things are moving so fast. We’ve gone from idea to concept to reality in only a handful of days.”
“I’m glad. A Warrior’s Hope is going to be amazing.”
He gazed at her, his hazel eyes a glittery green right now, and she wanted to bask in the warmth of his expression like Dylan’s lazy hound dog in a pool of sunlight.
“Because of you. You’re the amazing one. The project never would have made it this far without you.”
Before she realized what he intended, he leaned down and wrapped his arms around her. The crutches clattered to the ground with a hollow clang.
She returned the embrace briefly, convincing herself it was only because she was glad A Warrior’s Hope was coming together. It had nothing to do with how delicious he smelled—clean, masculine, sexy.
The memory of that kiss whispered into her mind again and before she could control the impulse, her gaze flicked to his mouth. In an instant, the moment changed from casual and friendly to something else, something bright and heated.
Awareness bloomed between them. His muscles tightened with sudden tension and her breasts felt achy, heavy where they pressed against him.
When she lifted her gaze to those hazel-green eyes, her breath tangled in her chest at the heat and hunger there.
No. She had spent all day telling herself she couldn’t kiss him again. She wasn’t a silly girl anymore, desperate for the object of her crush to notice her. She was a grown woman, smart and resilient. She wasn’t going to let him twist her around like this again.
With great effort, she managed to block every impulse that urged her to lift her mouth for his kiss, and managed to slip out of his arms to put a few inches of distance between them.
“I need to go,” she said in a voice that only shook a little. She gripped her door handle and tugged it open. “Dylan’s coming back from Denver tonight and I need to...to make sure Tucker’s ready.”
It was a flimsy excuse and both of them knew it but Spence didn’t call her on it. He only nodded and held open the door for her, the
n gripped her elbow to help her inside and tucked the crutches in after her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, then closed the door firmly between them, backed out of the driveway and drove the short distance to her own home, telling herself the entire way that she had had a lucky escape.
A few more kisses, and she might find herself exactly where she was at fifteen—hopelessly in love with a man who didn’t deserve it.
* * *
SPENCE WATCHED HER drive down the street to her house. He waited until she pulled into her garage and he saw the lights come on inside the house a moment later.
He didn’t know what the hell was happening to him.
Every time he was around her, he wanted to yank her against him and kiss her until neither of them could think straight.
He had dreamed about her the night before, slick, heated, erotic dreams that left him aching and frustrated.
Her soft, sweet, almost hesitant response the night before—that hint of innocent desire—had worked on him like nothing else. He couldn’t remember ever being so affected by a simple kiss—or so determined that he couldn’t repeat the experience, as much as he might hunger to do just that.
This was completely crazy. Even if he wasn’t neck-deep trying to rebuild the shattered pieces of his life, he couldn’t start a fling with Charlotte Caine.
She was gentle and kind, the sort of woman insightful and compassionate enough to make a spontaneous gift for a lonely young girl.
She deserved far better than a washed-up baseball player with an ugly past and a disaster of a failed marriage, a man who couldn’t walk down the street without people pointing and whispering.
He hoped that his time here in Hope’s Crossing would help rehabilitate that image a little. If nothing else, he wanted to prove to himself he could do something good and worthwhile that didn’t involve a split-finger curve.
He certainly didn’t plan on sticking around longer than the six months he had been given at the recreation center. He wanted this to be a springboard to other things, maybe help him go into coaching on a university level.
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