More Than Cookies (The Maple Leaf Series)

by Christine DePetrillo

  Can we say blah, everyone?

  “If nothing is happening, whose fault is it?” Hope asked as she stripped out of her cotton pajama shorts and pulled on the jean shorts.

  “Don’t go all yoga and granola on me. You know I hate that.” Sage flopped down on Hope’s bed and stared at the ceiling. “Besides, I’m not even sure what I want to happen.”

  But she was pretty sure it had something to do with getting laid.

  “That’s not the answer,” Hope said.

  “Huh?”

  “Getting laid.”

  “I never said anything about getting laid.” Sage sat up. She hadn’t said that out loud, had she?

  “You didn’t have to say it, Sage. We just came from an incredibly romantic wedding, spent two weeks in California—the capital of fun movies where people fall in love and are cinematically over-attractive—and neither of us has been properly laid in a while. A good, long while.”

  “You miss Sam?”

  Hope nodded. “I didn’t think him being off at medical school in Washington would be such a big deal, but it is. It totally is.” A faraway look drifted across her face, but she blinked, and when her deep brown eyes focused on Sage again, a smile had worked its way into them.

  How the fuck did she do that? When a bad mood gripped Sage, it held on. Tightly. Like with Wolverine claws. Not Hope though. She was forever upbeat.

  Also annoying.

  “I’ve got a website job to work on for a few hours, but when I’m finished do you want to go out or something?” Hope asked.

  Sage shook her head. “Nah. I’m not done moping around yet.” She stood and gave Hope’s shoulder a light squeeze. “Thanks though.”

  She left her sister’s room and went into her own to grab her laptop, then headed for the sunroom at the back of the house and plopped down onto the cushioned outdoor couch. Tossing her feet up, she balanced the computer on her thighs and powered it up.

  While she waited, she watched her mother weeding the impressive herb garden growing just beyond the patio Rick had built for them three summers ago. On her hands and knees with her blonde hair hidden under a giant straw hat, Joy was at her happiest when her hands were covered in dirt and the sun was beating down on her back. Sage knew her mother could spend all day in that garden and be perfectly content.

  Why can’t I be perfectly content?

  She scanned the woods surrounding the house. Aside from a few hawks screeching and some dogs barking in the distance, the area was quiet and still. Just like always. Just like every day before this one and probably every day after this one.

  Sighing, Sage turned her attention to the laptop screen as she hopped online. After catching up on a few emails and responding to a catering request, an ad on the sidebar caught her attention.

  Soul2Soul.com, Where Hearts Find Each Other…

  As that one turned around in her head, another one popped up.

  New England Realty, Matching People with Their Home Sweet Homes…

  Sage didn’t believe in signs. She didn’t believe in waiting for things to happen either. In two clicks she could find a soul mate and her own space. And if her theory about needing to get laid were true, those were exactly the two ingredients she needed.

  ****

  When Orion came to, the first thing to catch his attention was the fire burning in his right thigh. The second thing was the dirt, pine needles, and leaves pressing against his cheek. Slowly, he managed to get his arms beneath himself and turn his body over so he was on his back. The sun was no longer shining through the leaves. Judging from the light, he would have guessed it to be about 6:00 or 7:00 p.m.

  Hours. I’ve been out here—bleeding—for hours.

  That thought made him struggle to his elbows then to sitting upright. A large blotch of red stained his cargo shorts right at the epicenter of the ache in his thigh and rivulets of blood drizzled down his knee and around his shin to his calf. His head swirled and he squeezed his eyes shut.

  Don’t puke. Do not puke.

  The sight of blood didn’t bother him. Hell, he’d been nicked enough times by various saws while creating his sculptures. Every one of his projects had some of his blood and a great deal of his sweat in them, but being shot? That was definitely a new one. He definitely didn’t have the stomach to actually lift the leg of his shorts and examine the wound straight on.

  Nope. Not going to do it.

  The gears in his mind slowly turned as he ran through what he should be doing to get out of this unfortunate—and potentially fatal—situation.

  Tourniquet?

  But he didn’t have anything to tie around his leg. He glanced at the ropes he’d used to tag his trees, but they weren’t sturdy enough for this job.

  Apply pressure to the wound.

  Again, he didn’t have the right supplies. He’d basically grabbed the ropes to tag the trees and headed out into the woods with his phone.

  My phone.

  He remembered calling Adam and having the phone in his hand before the shot had sounded. Rustling through the leaves and brush nearby, he hunted for the phone he must have dropped. When his hand closed around it near a piece of ledge peeking from the ground, he sent up a silent prayer. When he realized the phone was in three pieces, most likely after hitting the rock, that prayer turned into every foul word he knew.

  I’m going to have to get up.

  The idea of getting to his feet made his thigh scream in protest, but what choice did he have? If he hung around much longer, there would be more blood outside his body than inside it. Generally speaking, that was never a good thing.

  Orion removed his camouflage T-shirt and twisted it so it became a spiral of cloth. He tied that around the hole in his leg, trying his best not think about the fact that he had a hole in his leg, and reached for a nearby branch on the ground. Using the branch like a crutch, he managed to get to his feet. He bit back the howl of pain threatening to let loose from his throat and took a moment to decide which way to go. His own place was at least two-thirds of a mile away.

  Too far.

  Less than a quarter of a mile away, however, was Claire Cressen’s place. Better known as Crotchety Cressen’s place by the local kids, the beautiful plot of land sported a rustic farmhouse a little smaller than his own. It was up for sale and the old lady no longer lived there. She’d moved in with her daughter so she wouldn’t be alone. If he could make it to the Cressen house, he could figure out a way in and find something to at least tend to the wound.

  Deeming that to be his best plan—actually his only plan—Orion took several unsteady steps forward. He used the crutch branch and leaned on every tree he passed. If an animal were tracking him, it would have the invitingly fresh scent of blood to follow.

  Not loving the idea of being a bear snack, he made an attempt to speed up, but the pain was too much. Each step felt as if someone were cutting into his leg with one of his chainsaws. He could hardly feel the toes on his right foot anymore, and that couldn’t be a good sign. His head pounded, he was covered in a sheen of sweat, and he’d kill for an ice cold beer right now.

  Thinking of beer, he pressed on and soon Crotchety Cressen’s farmhouse came into view between the trees. He had to cross a small brook to get to the house and the cool water was too much to resist. Easing down into the stream rushing by, Orion let the water soothe his overheated body and wash away some of the blood that had dried on his lower leg. There would be time to worry about parasites going into his open wound later.

  He studied the T-shirt tied around his thigh, and though it did the job of containing his blood, it was nearly soaked through by the crimson flow. He’d need something else to cover the wound. Soon.

  After tossing two handfuls of water at his face, he slicked his hair back and pushed to his feet again. Climbing the small hill on the other side of the brook proved to be a monumental task that sapped what little strength he had left. Somehow, though, he reached the back porch of Cressen’s place and was psyched to
find the door there unlocked.

  Good old Vermont trust in humans.

  Too bad he was betraying that trust by breaking and entering, but the police would understand. He’d come back and clean that blood off the hickory wood floor where he shuffled across. He passed through what appeared to be a sitting room with furniture covered with sheets. He stumbled past a bathroom, and tripped into a bedroom with a bed frame but no mattress and two matching nightstands.

  Though his vision was getting spotty again, he managed to find a cordless phone on one of the nightstands. He picked up the handset and hit the talk button.

  Nothing happened.

  Groaning, he continued through the house to a living room and found another cordless phone. No dial tone there either.

  Cressen’s house had been for sale for a few weeks and they must have shut off the phone service.

  Fuck.

  The closest house was his own, but he couldn’t make it that far. No way.

  Maybe if I rest for a few minutes…

  He lowered to one of the two couches in the living room and brought his legs up. More blood spilled out of the wound.

  I’ll replace the couch too.

  Tired. He was suddenly so tired. Just a little rest, and he’d think of a new plan. Right now, all he could think about was closing his eyes. As he did so, an image of Myah came into his mind. She was smiling like she did every time she saw him. He could look at that smile forever.

  He’d go find her… right after this quick nap. Her image wavered, then everything went black.

  Chapter Three

  “Are you sure about this, Sage?” Hope sat in the passenger seat of Sage’s orange Subaru Crosstrek—The Pumpkinmobile they all called it—as they drove up a bumpy dirt driveway.

  “When do I ever do anything I’m not sure about?” Sage parked next to a white SUV and closed the sunroof.

  “Like never, but moving out of Mom’s place? Really?” Hope slurped up the rest of her iced coffee and jiggled the ice around.

  “It’s time, Hope. I know Mom would let me stay indefinitely, but I need my own space. I need to be a grown-up. We’re over thirty, you know.”

  Hope grunted, but looking through the windshield at the farmhouse made Sage positive she was doing the right thing. The wraparound porch alone was a huge selling point. She absolutely loved to be outside whether it was working in a garden like her mother, just sitting around reading a book, dreaming up new recipes for her catering clients, or hiking in the woods. This farmhouse and the surrounding twenty-five acres called to her.

  As she gazed at the house, a tall brunette appeared at the front door and waved.

  “There’s Danielle Fayette,” Sage said. “Do you remember her from school?”

  Hope narrowed her brown eyes as she looked at Danielle. “Didn’t she date that kid who played the tuba in the high school band?”

  “Yeah, that’s her. She works for New England Realty now.” Sage got out of the car and Hope followed.

  “What happened to the tuba player?” Hope asked as they neared the front steps.

  “He married the quarterback and they live in Boston.”

  “I see. So I’ll not mention it to Danielle?” Hope hoisted her purse onto her shoulder as she removed her sunglasses.

  “I wouldn’t recommend it.” Sage climbed the steps and opened her arms to hug Danielle. “So nice to see you again. You remember Hope, right?”

  “Of course. Great to see both of you. You look wonderful.” Danielle offered them a pleasant, welcoming smile. “Shall we take a look around outside first?”

  “Sure.” Sage followed Danielle around to the back porch with Hope close behind.

  “Quite a view.” Hope pointed to a string of mountains all purpled in the late afternoon shadows.

  “That’s one of the best things about this place,” Danielle said. “That and the view out the living room windows. Wait until you see it.” She gave Sage’s forearm a light squeeze.

  Danielle spent the next thirty minutes showing Sage and Hope all the outdoor features—a hot tub, a patio, a fire pit, and a tractor shed, along with trails coursing through the woods that surrounded the house. Everything was just as it had looked online when Sage had requested more information and an appointment to see the property. Right after she’d filled out a profile on Soul2Soul.com, hoping to find a match in the man department as well.

  She’d uploaded a picture of herself taken at Rick and Lily’s wedding and within ten minutes had fourteen hits on her profile with twelve emails requesting contact. She’d reviewed the profiles from the twelve emails and narrowed it down to two possibilities. After tossing a coin, she’d picked Scott Henrison, a St. Jamesbury police officer who liked hiking and cookies of all kinds. Seemed like a perfect match for her. She loved hiking, and cookies were her specialty. They’d chatted online and had set up a date for tonight.

  Sage didn’t want to get her hopes up, but she had a good feeling about Scott. He seemed… different than the men she usually dated. More serious, more mature, more ready for a serious relationship. The last guy she’d dated she had met at Black Wolf Tavern in town. He’d been hot, fun to play pool with, and an awesome kisser. Beyond that, however, he didn’t have what it took to maintain an adult relationship.

  Scott, on the other hand, was a cop. He had to be a grown-up if they let him carry a gun, right? Besides, he was damn cute in his profile picture.

  “Want to see the inside now?” Danielle jingled the keys in front of Sage.

  “Absolutely.” Sage gestured to the door and hooked her armed around Hope’s. “What do you think so far, dear sister?”

  “The outside is beautiful. I already have at least a dozen ideas for improvements.” Hope squeezed Sage’s arm then released her to step inside the farmhouse after Danielle.

  Sage took a moment to survey the front yard from the door. Two big clay pots rested in the shade on either side of her on the porch. Filled only with browned stalks of whatever had been planted there, the pots called for her help. They’d look fabulous with hot pink impatiens bursting with color inside them. Hanging baskets of purple petunias would add interest all along the sunny porch from front to back. Catmint in big bunches at the base of the front porch would do well to fill in the empty beds. If Sage knew her sister, Hope was thinking the exact same things.

  Sage stepped across the threshold to catch up with Danielle and Hope. She found them in the kitchen looking at the gas stove and ohhing and ahhing about the center burners that turned into a griddle for making pancakes and such. A wonderful kitchen for a caterer.

  She wandered farther into the house, running her hand along the freshly painted, copper-colored walls of the kitchen. Crossing a threshold bordered by rough-hewn pine boards, she stopped to inhale the smell of wood.

  What is that other smell?

  While she definitely smelled pine, her nose detected another odor as well. “Do you guys smell that?” she asked.

  Hope and Danielle joined her at the doorway to what appeared to be a living room. Both women stuck their heads into the room and inhaled deeply.

  “Ugh, what is that?” Hope asked.

  “I was just here last week,” Danielle said, “and it didn’t smell like this then.”

  “Smells like sweat and…” Sage closed her eyes and inhaled again. “Sweat and blood. You know? Kind of metallic.”

  Hope and Danielle both nodded as Sage stepped deeper into the room. Two couches sat in the center back to back. One faced a fantastic woodstove with a wall of stone behind it. The other faced a built-in entertainment center with bookcases on either side and a spot for a big-screen TV.

  Kneeling on the couch facing the woodstove, Sage rested her elbows on the back of it and drew in another deep breath. “I’d swear it was coming from…” She bent her head down and looked on the other couch. “Oh. My. God.”

  She hopped off the couch and ran around to the other one. Hope and Danielle joined her, but both stopped short when they saw
what Sage had already seen.

  “Is he… is he dead?” Hope asked.

  Sage lowered to the floor beside the couch and took in the full picture of the dark-haired man occupying the cushions. His eyes were closed and his hands—spectacular man hands with a funny-looking pinkie finger—rested on his bare stomach. A stomach bunched with muscles leading up to a well-defined chest. He took up much of the couch, his feet hanging off the armrest at one end and his head—one sporting a rather beautiful face with dark brows, a regal nose, and full, parted lips—laid on the opposite armrest.

  “He’s breathing,” Sage finally said once she was able to tear her eyes from the light scruff of a dark beard surrounding his impressive mouth.

  “He’s also bleeding.” Danielle pointed to his right thigh where a red wetness glistened in the fading light on a shirt tied around his leg. “I’m calling 911. See if you can find out who he is.”

  Sage poked at the pockets of his cargo shorts until she came to a full pocket. She reached into that pocket and pulled out a wallet. She was about to open it when the hand with that funky pinkie finger closed around her wrist.

  “Please help me,” the man rasped.

  Bright blue eyes met Sage’s green ones and, for a moment, no one else existed in the world.

  “We’re going to get you some help…” She opened the wallet, flipped past a few pictures she didn’t waste any time looking at, and found a driver’s license. “Mr. Orion Finley. We’ll get you some help. I promise.” She turned her hand around and took his hand. As she smoothed her thumb over his knuckles, he closed those magnificent eyes and let out a small grunt of pain.

  “Thank you…” Then he was out again.

  Sage instantly missed his amazing blue gaze.

  “Ambulance is on the way,” Danielle said. “I’m so sorry, Sage. I can show you another house instead. I never imagined—”

  “I’ll take this one.” She stood and stared down at the man, this Orion Finley. What a fantastic name.