Willowleaf Lane

by Thayne, RaeAnne

  He felt as if he had been living in a weird state of limbo. He couldn’t make any decision, despite the increasingly frantic phone calls from Pete. He knew he couldn’t stay here under the current circumstances but he couldn’t seem to generate any enthusiasm for taking a new coaching job somewhere else.

  Finally, Peyton—probably in desperation—had asked him to take her to the bead store two nights earlier to pick out a couple things for the earrings she insisted she had to have to start school the next week.

  He had gone with her on the vain hope that Charlotte might be there.

  Claire McKnight had taken one look at him and dragged him into a little garden behind the store. He found himself telling her the whole story and asking if she had any advice to help him convince Charlotte he was in love with her.

  Claire had made a quick phone call and, the next thing he knew, the garden was filled with lovely chattering women filled with terrifying plans and schemes.

  “She’ll be here,” Maura added her assurance now. “How could she refuse? Harry basically commanded her to come. I heard his end of the call and it was masterful as only Harry could be. You should have heard it. He told her he was so impressed by her speech at the ribbon-cutting that he insisted she come up to the lodge to help him wine and dine some potential big-money donors to A Warrior’s Hope. Even I was half convinced he was sincere. She won’t refuse, not if she thinks for a moment it would help the cause.”

  “Relax,” Alex said again, giving him a peck on the cheek. “By the way, you look fantastic. Trust me, Smokin’ Hot Spence Gregory looks much better in a tux than he ever did in those cute little tight pants you baseball players wear.”

  “Ex-baseball players,” he corrected, ignoring the rest of what she said.

  The title should have stung. Once, it would have, but he had come to accept that part of his life was over. He had finally called Pete this morning and told him he wasn’t taking the Portland job or any other. He loved baseball, loved being part of the game. He always would. But he had other dreams now. Whatever came of tonight, he was committed to A Warrior’s Hope. The first group of six veterans was coming in a few weeks, and they had events planned from now until Christmas. He couldn’t wait to see all their plans come to fruition.

  Anyway, he had heard through the grapevine that Hope’s Crossing High School had a struggling baseball team. He figured they might be able to use him somehow.

  “She’s coming! The valet said she just parked her car.” This announcement came from Maura’s twentysomething daughter, Sage, whom he had just met this afternoon and who grinned broadly every time she looked at him.

  Peyton and Macy let out little squeals, and Peyton even clapped her hands. He loved seeing her so excited about something, even what he was very much afraid would be his impending humiliation.

  What if it didn’t work? What if she took one look at him and walked away?

  His heart wouldn’t be the only one broken.

  He felt a moment of sheer panic. He wanted to call the whole thing off, just tell everybody this had been a huge mistake. How could he, though? They had all gone to so much work. He was committed, whether he wanted to be or not.

  “Okay, that’s our cue.” Alex made a grand sweeping gesture to the women still putting up decorations. “We’ll have to leave it how it is. Sage, help me with this ladder. Come on, everybody. Let’s get lost.”

  “Oh, come on,” Peyton begged. “I want to stay. We could hide behind the curtains!”

  Oh, man. Wouldn’t that just add to his misery, to have all these women witness him falling on his face? Claire must have seen the moment of panic. She gave him a sympathetic look and made a shooing gesture to both girls. “Not this time. Your dad can tell you what happened later.”

  In that moment, he was filled with a vast rush of affection for her—for all of them. How had he been so lucky to count them as friends?

  For a guy who had grown up with a poor excuse for a mother and then married a troubled, lost soul, he was overwhelmed with affection for these strong, beautiful, wonderful women who had gone to so much trouble for something he was very afraid was a losing effort.

  “Thank you all. I don’t know what to say. Only thank you.”

  “Just don’t screw this up!” Alex ordered.

  “No pressure, right?”

  She grinned at him and gave him another kiss on the cheek. Claire gave him one, too. Everybody else waved, except Peyton. She ran back and gave him a tight hug that just about made tears come to his eyes.

  “Good luck, Daddy,” she whispered and ran to catch up, leaving him standing alone in the ballroom with his heart pounding out of his chest.

  * * *

  CHARLOTTE PAUSED INSIDE the vast soaring lobby of the Silver Strike Lodge to quickly adjust her panty hose.

  Was the dress too much? She hoped not but Harry had told her the last-minute cocktail party was a fancy affair. Anyway, it gave her a chance to wear the sleek midnight-blue waterfall of a dress she had worn exactly once, the last time she was here at the resort, for the Giving Hope Day gala.

  Despite the undeniable fun of dressing in something that made her feel confident and pretty, she was in no mood to make nice with a bunch of moneybags. But when Harry Lange called and asked a favor—no, demanded—it was really hard to say no.

  She looked around, realizing she had no idea where to go. She had assumed Harry would have someone to greet her and direct her to the penthouse apartment she knew he kept here at his hotel but no one readily stepped forward.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she headed to the concierge desk. “I’m sorry. I hope you can help me,” she said to the twentysomething man seated there whose name tag read Jason.

  “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

  “I’m supposed to be meeting Mr. Lange and his party for cocktails here at the hotel but I neglected to ask him where. Do you have any idea or could you contact someone to find out?”

  The man’s polite but impersonal expression instantly melted. “Oh! You must be Ms. Caine.”

  His broad smile took her aback. “Yes.”

  “I can help you. If you’ll follow me, I’ll be delighted to show you the way.”

  Okay, weird. Before she could protest, the guy jumped up and started heading through the lobby quickly, leaving her no choice but to hurry to catch up in her high heels.

  “This really isn’t necessary. I’m familiar with the lodge. I’ve been here many times. I’m sure if you give me directions, I can find the gathering myself.”

  “It’s no problem at all, Miss Caine.”

  The lodge was renowned for its outstanding service but this seemed excessive. Perhaps the concierge thought she was one of the muckety-muck benefactors, ready to write a big check.

  She didn’t have a chance to ask as he led her down a long hallway. She knew this route. Strange. He was leading her to the ballroom, the site of the Giving Hope Day gala.

  She couldn’t help remembering the last time she was here with Sam Delgado and her own ridiculously high hopes. She hadn’t known at the time—how could she?—that Sam was already deeply in love with Alex.

  What a lifetime ago that seemed. Her pride had been pricked a little when he had told her later that night about his feelings for Alex but her heart certainly hadn’t been involved. She could barely remember that sting, compared to the vast aching pain that had come since.

  “I think there’s been a mistake,” she finally said to the concierge. “I was told this was an intimate cocktail party.”

  Jason gave her a bright smile full of teeth and charm. “There’s no mistake. This is exactly where you’re supposed to be. I hope you have a lovely evening.”

  He opened one of the doors to the ballroom for her, and she frowned at the weirdness of this whole thing but walked through the door.


  The first thing she registered was the ballroom decor. It was exactly as it had been two months ago for the gala. With a sense of déjà vu, she recognized the gauzy, glittery tulle, the lanterns she herself had hung with Alex and Maura, the little fake trees around the perimeter, lit up with twinkly lights.

  Only the flower arrangements were different, roses instead of gardenias.

  The moment she walked through the door, music rose to greet her, a soft, sweet ballad from a live string ensemble, and a man wearing an elegant tuxedo walked toward her.

  She froze, trying to process what was happening. She couldn’t seem to make her brain work as he moved closer.

  “S-Spencer,” she managed to squeak out. “What’s going on? Where’s Harry? I’m supposed to be at a cocktail party.”

  “There’s no cocktail party and no Harry. Only me.”

  Her pulse was so loud in her ears, she couldn’t think over each beat of her heart. He looked wonderful in the tuxedo, big, muscled, gorgeous. She hadn’t seen him in a week, and she suddenly realized how very much she had missed him. Every night had been worse than the one before. Ignoring his calls had been the hardest thing she had ever done.

  She couldn’t talk to him. Not yet. Afraid he would come to her house, she had even taken to staying with Dylan up in Snowflake Canyon. At least her brother didn’t ask any questions, though she knew he wondered why he suddenly had a silent houseguest who cried herself to sleep every night.

  “What is this?” she whispered. She would have gestured around to the ballroom except her hands were shaking, like the rest of her.

  “You owe me a dance.”

  She stared at him. “Excuse me?”

  He gazed at her with an intense expression that sent butterfly wings fluttering hard in her stomach. “A long time ago, I was an idiot and because of that I missed out on my one chance to go out with you. You asked me to a dance and it didn’t happen. I’m more sorry for that than I can ever say, but the fact remains, you asked me to go with you to a dance and for various reasons, we didn’t go. I’m taking you up on the invitation now.”

  She swallowed. “This is ridiculous.”

  She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t play these games, couldn’t let him hold up her dreams for ridicule. She turned and ran to the door but the man she had seen snag an infield pop-up and turn it into a triple play moved far faster than she ever could.

  He blocked her exit and she was forced to stop her momentum or crash into him.

  “Charlotte. Dance with me. Please.”

  “This isn’t going to change anything.”

  His mouth twisted into something that looked like sorrow. After a long charged moment, he nodded slowly. “Okay. I respect that. I don’t understand where you’re coming from, but I’m not going to be arrogant enough to tell you your feelings don’t matter.”

  He gestured to the band. “I would still love it if you danced with me. I went to all this trouble, after all. Well, your friends went to all this trouble, anyway.”

  She should have known her friends had been up to something. When she stopped to think about it, everyone had been acting very strangely the past few days—whispered conversations that abruptly ended when she showed up, pointed looks exchanged behind her back but witnessed when she gave a nervous backward glance.

  Darn their romantic little hearts.

  She looked around at the ballroom, remembering well how long it had taken to set this up the first time around. And a band. He had brought in a band—a small string ensemble, four men and two women, playing something exceedingly romantic. She thought it might be Vivaldi.

  Charlotte drew in a ragged breath. He had gone to all this work. For her. He said it was her friends’ doing but she knew they wouldn’t have hung the first lantern unless Spence had agreed.

  And Harry. She remembered that strange phone call. Harry Lange had apparently created the cover story that compelled her to show up here tonight. He wouldn’t have done that either without Spence’s knowledge and approval.

  Why? Why would he go to so much trouble?

  Because he loves you.

  A tiny corner of her brain whispered the words to the rest of her but she still was afraid to believe.

  “One dance. That’s all. Please, Charlotte.”

  She knew it was a mistake but she couldn’t resist this chance. With her heart racing, she stepped forward slowly, into his arms.

  He clasped her right hand in his left, and she curled her other hand around his neck. He was warm and smelled delicious, that expensive aftershave he rarely used, probably because he knew his own pheromones were enough to make women swoon.

  “I should warn you, I was a lousy dancer in high school, and I haven’t gotten much better over the years,” he murmured.

  Amazingly, she was filled with the absurd urge to laugh. “That’s okay. I’m probably good enough to carry both of us. Pop made each of my brothers practice with me before he let them go to any school dances. Six proms, six homecoming dances—you do the math.”

  He smiled down at her, and she wasn’t sure her heart was big enough to hold all the emotions surging through her.

  They danced through the empty ballroom while the tea lights twinkled and the orchestra played softly just for them. Contrary to his claim, Spence was a fine dancer. She should have known he would be, athletic and graceful, sure-footed.

  It was a priceless, magical memory. Wanting to burn every instant into her mind, she closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his lapel, listening to each beat of his heart.

  When he raised their clasped hands to his mouth and pressed his lips to her fingers, it was too much. Her feelings were too big, too terrifying. If he kissed her, she would be lost.

  She slipped her hands free and jerked away, making a break again for the door. Again, he beat her to it.

  “Charlotte, stop. Why are you running away? What did I do wrong now?”

  “You didn’t do anything.” Tears began to trickle out, and she couldn’t seem to stop them.

  He looked stricken at the sight of them. “This was a stupid idea. I’m sorry. I just thought, I don’t know, that maybe if I could go back and try to fix that one moment when I hurt you, we could get past it and move forward.”

  She shook her head, tears falling freely now. “It wasn’t a stupid idea. Don’t say that. It’s the most romantic, wonderful thing anybody’s ever done for me.”

  He stared at her. “So why the hell are you crying?”

  She laughed and wiped at her eyes with shaky fingers. “I’m crying because I’m such an idiot.” She had to say it, just push forward through the fear and get it out.

  “I love you, Spence,” she said in a rush. “I’ve loved you most of my life. Or I thought I did, anyway. When you came back, I fell in love all over again, and this time I knew it was no silly crush. This was the real thing. I love you so much I can’t breathe around it but...I’m so scared I won’t be enough for you. I’m terrified you’ll never love me as much as I love you.”

  He continued staring at her without saying anything. She had never felt so foolish, so horribly stupid, not even that moment when she had stood listening to him talk about her in the hardware store.

  She fumbled in her clutch for the tissue she knew was in there, avoiding his gaze. Finally she found the darn thing and, as she pulled it out and wiped at her eyes, Spence started to laugh. It rippled through the ballroom, even over the soft music, and she heard relief and triumph in it.

  He came over and took the tissue from her, wiping her eyes with a tenderness that made her cry all over again.

  “You’re right. You are an idiot—about this, anyway. This isn’t some kind of competition about who loves the other one more.”

  He gave her that patented, devastating Smokin’ Hot Spence Gregory
smile. “Of course, if it were, I would remind you which of us made a pretty good living because of his fierce competitive streak. You have to know, there’s no way I would ever let you win a contest like that. You’ll just have to accept that I’m always going to love you more.”

  He did have a very well-developed sense of competition, she had to admit.

  “Look around you,” he went on. “How can you think for a second I don’t love you enough? I’m so crazy about you, I put myself through all of this, for you.”

  She imagined the logistics that must have been involved in creating this wonderland, of her friends carting out all these decorations from the storage unit in town, hanging the lanterns, ordering the spectacular floral arrangements.

  “For the past two days, I’ve had to endure all of your friends giggling and smirking at me while they made plans for this. That’s not even mentioning all the crap I’ve had to take from Peyton, who thinks this is the most hilarious thing she’s ever heard. She’s been completely insufferable.”

  He all but wagged his finger at her. “And just so you know, I had to personally approach Harry Lange. Do you have any idea how excruciating that was? He made me practically promise him our firstborn son in return for letting me use his ballroom and agreeing to make the call to order you to his imaginary cocktail party. Look at me, Charlotte. I’m wearing a damn tux. I hate wearing a tux.”

  She almost smiled at that. He likely had no idea how gorgeous he looked. Hearts had probably broken all across town as he drove up here.

  She looked around at all he had done for her and a soft warmth began to beat back the icy fear, inch by inch.

  “I don’t know how much more proof you need,” he murmured. “I love you, Charlotte. You’re kind and loving and beautiful, inside and out. You’re everything I never knew I needed.”

  He stood in front of her, Smokin’ Hot Spencer Gregory, with his heart in his eyes. He was hers. She might be an idiot but she wasn’t about to let him go because of some ridiculous fear.

  In the next breath, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and kissing him with every ounce of love she had stored up her whole life.