In Firefly Valley

by Amanda Cabot

  “I’m sorry, Jack, but that’s nonnegotiable. No one, and I mean no one, is to know that Blake Kendall is Ken Blake.”

  “But, Blake . . .”

  “No buts.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Marisa frowned as she watched her mother prop her leg on a footstool. Mom had said nothing during supper other than expressing regret that Blake had not joined them, but now her brow was furrowed, telling Marisa the pain must be more intense than she had admitted.

  “I still think I should stay with you.”

  Mom shook her head. “Stop worrying, Marisa. It’s just a strain. It’ll heal. You should be worrying about Fiona. She needs her cheering section.”

  Though Marisa had volunteered to cancel her evening plans, Mom was adamant that one of them needed to attend Fiona’s dance recital. “It’s bad enough that I can’t go. We can’t disappoint the child.”

  Marisa knew her mother was right. She was overreacting, but this was the first time Mom had admitted that she couldn’t do everything.

  “Can I get you anything before I go?” It was a perfunctory question, but Marisa asked anyway. To her surprise, Mom nodded.

  “I’ve almost finished the book I’m reading. Will you bring me another? I think there are some mysteries in the lodge.”

  “Sure.” Though she had not had a chance to explore them, Marisa had noticed the well-stocked bookshelves lining one wall of the lodge. She hurried across the driveway, flipping on the lights when she entered the resort’s main gathering room. With its soaring ceiling, exposed beams, and two walls with large windows overlooking the lake, it encouraged guests to linger. There would be no lingering tonight. Marisa went directly to the books. A quick look at the shelves revealed that they were organized by genre. Romance, suspense . . . where were the mysteries?

  As she scanned the spines, Marisa’s gaze was caught by the row of Ken Blake thrillers. What were they doing here? Stories with a hero who acted as if heavy drinking every evening was normal were an odd choice for a resort that prided itself on being a Christian family destination. They must be a mistake, some books that were left from the years the Sinclairs owned Rainbow’s End. Perhaps they’d even been donated by a guest.

  Marisa pulled the first book off the shelf. When Greg and Kate returned, she’d suggest they remove all of them. Tonight she stared at the cover with its deceptively simple lettering. If readers didn’t know better, they might not realize they were buying the story of a man who was never far from a glass of whiskey. Her lip curling in disgust, she flipped open the cover and blinked.

  Property of Greg Vange.

  10

  Don’t let my mother see you,” Marisa warned Kate as she settled into a chair in front of Marisa’s desk. The lovely blonde was wearing her favorite uniform of jeans, a Rainbow’s End polo shirt, and a huge grin. This was her third day back at Rainbow’s End, and not once had Marisa seen Kate without a smile. It had faltered slightly when Marisa had told Greg she didn’t believe Ken Blake thrillers were appropriate reading material for their guests, but when Greg had merely saluted and said “Aye, aye, Ledger Lady” as he scooped the books into his arms, Kate’s smile resumed its full wattage.

  Surely it was only Marisa’s imagination that Kate and Greg had exchanged a guarded look when she’d begun her argument for removing the books from the lodge. Perhaps Greg, like Patrick, hadn’t considered what a poor role model Cliff Pearson was and was embarrassed that Marisa had had to point it out to him. That wasn’t important. What was important was that the books were gone and neither Kate nor Greg seemed to think Marisa had overstepped her authority.

  She gave Kate an arch smile. “Be careful. Mom would tell you your face is going to crack.”

  Though Marisa hadn’t thought it possible, Kate’s smile broadened. “I can’t help it,” she admitted. “All I want to do is smile. I feel like every one of my dreams has come true. I’m married to the most wonderful man in the world; we had a honeymoon straight out of a fairy tale; we’re ten days away from our grand reopening and—thanks to you—everything is on schedule. Why shouldn’t I smile?”

  Her happiness was contagious. It was good to see Kate and Greg looking so—Marisa’s thoughts stumbled as she searched for the correct word—blissful. Even better, their happiness seemed to have a ripple effect. Thanks to them, Lauren was looking more relaxed. Knowing that she had no financial worries for the foreseeable future more than compensated for the long hours Marisa’s friend had been working and had erased the lines that had begun to furrow her forehead.

  Mom was happier too, and though this wasn’t Marisa’s dream job, she had to admit that it felt surprisingly good to be back in Dupree. Contrary to her fears, not a single person had mentioned either Hal or her father. It appeared that Lauren was correct. Either the townspeople had short memories or their innate sense of courtesy kept them from saying something that might embarrass Marisa.

  Now if only the Matchers would stop asking about Blake. The three women had cornered her after church, broadly hinting that she was the reason Blake was still in Dupree. But that wasn’t Kate’s fault.

  “You have every reason to smile,” Marisa told her. “You’ve got a lot to be proud of. Rainbow’s End is the talk of the town.”

  Kate took a sip of coffee from the mug she’d brought with her. “I hope it’ll be the talk of a lot more than that. Philharmonic magazine is planning a feature article, and American Pianist has promised me a spread. They’re both intrigued by the fact that Gillian Hodge, pianist extraordinaire, is coming to a small resort in the Hill Country.” Kate chuckled. “I didn’t tell them she’s my best friend.”

  That was one of the things Marisa had wanted to discuss with Kate. Though she agreed that entertainment would make the grand opening more special, she had reservations about Gillian. “You’re the marketing expert, so you’d know, but are you sure she’s the right person? It seems to me that guests will be expecting country rather than classical music.”

  “Johnny Cash instead of Frederic Chopin?”

  “Exactly.” Marisa had lived in Dupree for her first eighteen years, and the only time she’d heard classical music had been at children’s piano recitals. Even more to the point, Gillian Hodge’s expertise with Beethoven sonatas didn’t mesh with Rainbow’s End’s image. It was a down-to-earth resort that hoped to offer families a chance to recharge their spirits as well as their bodies. While classical music could be soothing, Marisa did not believe it would appeal to the majority of the guests.

  As if she’d heard Marisa’s thoughts, Kate gave her another smile, this one tinged with amusement. “You might be surprised at how highbrow some of our guests are.” She paused to drain her coffee cup. “Don’t look so skeptical, Marisa. I’m not going to risk Rainbow’s End’s reputation on this. Gillian’s going to play country music. That’s part of what interested American Pianist.” She glanced at her watch. “If everything’s on schedule, she should be leaving the recording studio right about now. We’re going to sell her CDs in our gift shop.”

  It was a morning for surprises. “Gift shop? Did I miss something?” When Marisa had reviewed the construction budget, there had been nothing about a gift shop.

  Kate nodded. “That’s one of the things I wanted to discuss this morning. Greg and I started talking about a gift shop when Gillian agreed to do a recording. We figured this was the perfect place to sell her music, especially since she’s promised us autographed jewel case liners. And if we were going to sell that, why not carry other things that our guests might want to take home with them?”

  Gesturing to the blank wall behind Marisa, Kate continued. “Greg decided we should build it between the dining room and the lodge, possibly with a covered walkway connecting the three buildings. Unfortunately, since it’s right behind your office, you’ll probably hear a lot of construction noise, but it’ll be temporary.”

  Marisa’s brain began to whirl. “Do you expect to have it finished before the opening?” Money
could expedite many things, but it couldn’t work miracles.

  Shaking her head, Kate explained that they were hoping it would be ready by Thanksgiving. “In addition to the music, we thought we’d sell some of Lauren’s smaller pieces, and Samantha’s already planning to expand her leather line to include wallets and key chains—things that don’t require fitting and are a bit easier on the pocketbook than her boots.”

  Though Marisa hated to dilute Kate’s enthusiasm, she owed it to her bosses to express her reservations. “The CDs are a good idea, but what about all the people who want an MP3 version?” She couldn’t recall the last time she’d bought a CD.

  “Greg’s working on that. He’s even considering putting the music out on vinyl for those who like retro.” Kate tipped her head to one side, fixing her gaze on Marisa. “So, what do you think about the whole idea of a gift shop?”

  Marisa chose her words carefully, hoping she wouldn’t appear pushy. “I think it’s brilliant, but I also think you’re missing an opportunity.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “A cookbook. Everyone asks for Mom’s recipes. Why not sell them?”

  Kate’s eyes lit as she considered the idea. “Do you think she’d agree?”

  “I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t, but let’s ask her.”

  A minute later, the two women were inside the kitchen, pitching the idea. To Marisa’s surprise, her mother was sitting on a stool as she peeled vegetables, obviously taking seriously the doctor’s advice to rest her ankle whenever she could. Mom’s face flushed with pleasure as Kate praised her cooking.

  “You wouldn’t have to include your special dishes—things like chocolate pound cake and vegetarian chili,” Marisa said. “We can call those Rainbow’s End exclusives.”

  Mom shook her head, saying she was willing to share everything, and encouraged Kate to continue.

  “You mean you’d pay me every time someone buys a cookbook?” Mom asked, her skepticism evident when Kate finished her explanation.

  “Yes. That’s called royalties.”

  “And even if I retire, I would still get paid?” The skepticism started to fade, replaced by a spark of excitement. Marisa knew her mother well enough to know how appealing that prospect was. Rainbow’s End had never offered a pension plan, nor had it paid enough for her mother to accumulate more than minimal savings. While that might change under Kate and Greg’s ownership, the income from cookbooks would be a nice bonus.

  “Definitely,” Kate confirmed, “but I don’t want to hear any more talk of retirement. That’s not allowed for the next”—she paused, pretending to consider the issue—“oh, let’s say the next fifty years.” When Mom’s eyes widened, Kate grinned. “So, what do you think?”

  Before Mom could reply, the phone rang. Marisa reached over the counter and picked up the receiver. “Sure, she’s right here.” Covering the receiver with her hand, Marisa nodded toward Kate. “It’s a woman, and she sounds upset.”

  Kate took the phone. “Kate Vange speaking. How can I help you?” Though the greeting was businesslike, within seconds the blood had drained from Kate’s face, and she gripped the edge of the counter as if to balance herself.

  “Where are you? What happened? Oh no!” The pain reflecting from Kate’s eyes left no doubt that the caller had delivered tragic news. “I’ll get there as soon as I can.” Her frown deepened as the woman on the other end said something. “All right. Call me when you know more.”

  Kate hung up the phone and sank onto a chair. “That was Gillian,” she said, her voice trembling. “She was hit by a motorcycle outside the recording studio.”

  No wonder she had sounded so distraught. Marisa’s heart went out to Kate as well as to the woman she’d met only briefly at the wedding. From what Kate had said, she and Gillian had a relationship similar to hers with Lauren, which meant that Kate was sharing her friend’s pain. She was clenching and unclenching her right hand, staring at the fingers as if she’d never before seen them.

  “What happened?” Marisa asked.

  Kate looked up, her eyes filled with anguish. “Gillian’s not quite sure how it happened, but she fell and somehow the motorcycle crushed her right hand. She’s at the hospital now.” Kate’s voice choked, and tears began to slide down her cheeks. “The surgeons are afraid she’ll never regain full use of her hand.”

  “Oh, Kate.” Marisa wrapped her arms around the woman who’d become her friend as well as her boss. “I don’t know what to say.” The loss of mobility in a hand would be terrible for anyone, but it was disastrous for a pianist. Gillian’s whole future might have been destroyed in a second.

  Mom slid down from the stool and moved to Kate’s side. Laying her hand on Kate’s, she said, “You need to trust God. I know it looks bleak now, but he’ll find a way to turn this into good.”

  Though Marisa had started to seethe, she said nothing. Kate was silent for a few seconds before she nodded. “I hope so.” Kate rose, her newlywed smile gone. “I need to tell Greg.”

  When she’d left the room and Marisa was sure she was out of earshot, she turned toward her mother. “How could you do that?” she demanded. “How could you hold out false hope? From what Kate said, it would take a miracle for Gillian to play again. The poor woman is less than thirty and her career is over.”

  Though Mom flinched at the anger in Marisa’s voice, she merely shook her head. “You don’t know that. God’s in the miracle business. Even if he doesn’t heal Gillian’s hand, he’ll bring her something good. He always does.”

  It was the story Marisa had heard countless times over the years. When she’d been a child, she’d believed it, but like Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy, it had proven to be a myth. Though Kate had appeared to be comforted by the idea, Marisa knew it for what it was: an empty platitude.

  “Sure thing, Mom. You’re living in a fantasy land. If God always brings good, tell me what good he brought us when Eric left.”

  Her demand was met with silence. “You can’t answer that, can you? There was no good. Don’t pretend otherwise.” Marisa strode toward the door. “I need to work.”

  Blake didn’t intend to eavesdrop. Though he couldn’t distinguish the words, no one could mistake Marisa’s anger, and his heart wrenched at the pain in her voice. “Slow down, Marisa,” he said, following her as she headed toward her office. “There’s no race.” He might as well have been speaking to an empty room for all the response he received.

  Another man might have surrendered, but Blake wouldn’t give up in defeat, not when Marisa was so upset. “Please, Marisa.” He grabbed her hand, hoping to somehow calm her, but she tugged it away.

  “Just leave me alone!” The pain he’d heard before had intensified, mingling with anger and annoyance.

  Marisa stormed into her office and closed the door behind her. At least she hadn’t slammed it. Though she might think she wanted to be alone, Blake knew anger like hers could fester. Dad had claimed it was suppressed anger that had made Grandfather so cantankerous. Blake wouldn’t let that happen to Marisa. He opened the door and walked inside.

  Marisa glared at him, her eyes colder than he’d ever seen them. “I asked for one simple thing: to be left alone. Can’t you do that?”

  Blake shook his head. “Not when you’re so upset.”

  “I don’t want to talk, and I definitely do not want to listen. All I get are platitudes.”

  Though she looked nothing like Blake’s grandfather, at the moment the firm line of Marisa’s lips reminded him of times when Grandfather was getting ready to launch a tirade.

  “I wasn’t planning to be the one talking. You look like you need to vent.” Maybe venting would defuse the situation.

  “What I need is for everyone to leave me alone.”

  Recognizing that he was getting nowhere, Blake nodded. “All right, but the offer is open. You know where to find me if you need me.”

  Marisa simply glared.

  As he passed the kitchen, Blake saw Car
men, her head bent as if she were praying. Though he hated to interrupt her, his instincts told him not to miss this opportunity. She was the only other person who could explain why Marisa was so angry and in such pain.

  Blake cleared his throat and walked in.

  “Marisa seems pretty upset,” he said, not bothering with polite preliminaries. “Can you tell me what that’s all about?”

  Carmen’s reluctance was evident in the way she twisted a towel between her hands, and for a moment Blake thought she might refuse to answer. Instead, she moved from the stool to settle on a chair.

  When he was seated across the table from her, she said, “My daughter has a hard time asking for help. She’s always the first one there to help me or one of her friends, but she thinks it’s a sign of weakness to admit she needs help.”

  That sounded like Marisa. Blake had seen how she shouldered everyone else’s problems as if they were hers, and she’d certainly refused his bungling attempt at comfort. “We all need help at times.”

  “Of course we do.” Carmen nodded. “The problem is, Marisa’s afraid to trust anyone, even God. She wasn’t always that way, but ever since Eric’s been gone, she’s had a hard time.”

  Perhaps something good had come from Marisa and Carmen’s argument, for it had given Blake a chance to learn more about Marisa’s father. “When did your husband die?”

  Carmen shook her head, sadness radiating from her dark eyes, and for a moment Blake thought she might not answer. When she did, her words surprised him. “Eric didn’t die. He left Dupree the day of Marisa’s graduation. Neither of us has heard from him since.”

  Blake blinked as he absorbed the significance of Carmen’s revelation. Marisa’s father wasn’t dead. For some reason, he’d abandoned his family. No wonder Marisa had so much pain bottled up inside her; no wonder she didn’t want to see blonde hair and blue eyes when she looked in the mirror. “That’s horrible.”