In Firefly Valley

by Amanda Cabot

  Two days ago, she’d caught the scent of the roses Drew had brought Lauren, and that had unleashed another set of memories, less pleasant ones this time. Try though she might, Marisa couldn’t forget the pain in Blake’s eyes when she’d refused his flowers, and though she knew she was right to return them, she’d hated the fact that she’d hurt him.

  Even the sight of Eric reading a book—any book, not simply a Ken Blake book—triggered thoughts of Blake, making Marisa wonder about the story that occupied Blake day and night. Mom said he rarely left his cabin, even to eat, and that everyone wondered what he was doing.

  Marisa didn’t wonder. She knew, but she wouldn’t tell anyone. It wasn’t her secret to reveal. Though she told Mom not to worry, her mother did not listen. Instead, she did what she did best: she cooked. Each night she left a plate of dinner in the refrigerator so Blake could reheat it whenever he felt hungry, but some nights he forgot. So Mom had started sending Eric with a tray of food.

  Marisa couldn’t imagine being so caught up in work that she forgot to eat for more than a couple hours, but Blake was very different from her. She’d known that from the beginning. It was part of his appeal, part of the reason she wanted to be with him.

  Her heart ached to close the distance between them, to knock on his cabin door and ask him what it was he’d wanted to say to her the days she’d refused to let him talk. Her head knew just how foolish that would be.

  No matter what Blake might say, Marisa wasn’t sure she could trust him. Instead, after what had happened between them, she feared that she would always wonder if he was hiding something important from her. Colleen would tell her to take a leap of faith, but Marisa wasn’t a leaper. It was time to accept the fact that she and Blake had no future.

  Biting her lip to keep from crying, Marisa forced her attention to the road ahead of her. She was approaching the summit of Ranger Hill. This was where the car’s rattle would turn into a shake and she’d turn up the radio volume to avoid listening to it. But today there was no radio and, she realized, no rattle. She blinked, wondering if she’d missed it. But as she crested the hill and began the descent into Dupree, Marisa realized that the rattle was gone.

  Her frown deepened. Even though she’d told him not to, Eric must have worked on her car while she was in her office. What she had tried to avoid had happened: she was beholden to him.

  As her fingers tightened their grip on the steering wheel, memories began to whirl through Marisa’s brain. She had been descending this hill, her legs pumping as fast as they could to give her the fastest, longest coast, when the accident had occurred. She’d hit something—perhaps a rock—and she and the bike had flown in opposite directions. Though Marisa had suffered no more than scrapes and cuts, the yellow bike that had been her pride and joy hadn’t fared as well. The crash had bent the front fender so badly that it rubbed on the tire. Marisa had walked home, dragging the bike with her, devastated as only an eight-year-old could be. Thanks to her, she and Lauren would not be able to take the special ride they’d planned for the next day.

  As Marisa had expected, Mom had been unhappy about the accident, but by some miracle, she hadn’t grounded Marisa, instead saying that not being able to ride was punishment enough. It would be at least a week before the bike could be fixed, because Marisa’s dad was working extra shifts each day and would have no time to look at the result of his daughter’s foolishness.

  Marisa had been asleep before Eric returned that night, and he was gone when she wandered into the kitchen for breakfast, but when she looked outside, her eyes had widened with surprise and delight. Her bike was leaning against the garage, both fenders looking as good as new.

  Afterwards, Mom had told her that Eric had stayed up all night, fixing the bike and insisting that “good enough” wasn’t good enough for his daughter. Instead of simply straightening the fender, he’d spent an extra couple of hours to give it several coats of chrome paint, his meticulous work hiding all evidence of Marisa’s crash.

  As a lump lodged in her throat, Marisa pulled into one of the parking spots in front of Ruby’s Tresses, forcing her lips into a smile as she entered the small salon.

  “Same as always?” Ruby asked when she’d draped a cape around Marisa’s shoulders.

  Marisa started to nod, then shook her head. “No,” she said firmly as she removed the colored contacts from her eyes. “I want to be a blonde again.”

  Ruby stared at her as if she’d started speaking Swahili. “You do?”

  Marisa nodded. “Yes. It’s time for a change.”

  22

  Aunt Marisa!” Fiona’s voice held both curiosity and concern. “What did you do to your hair?”

  That was the question Marisa had asked herself when Ruby swiveled the chair to face the long wall of mirrors. The woman she saw reflected in the glass had familiar features, and yet for the briefest of moments, Marisa had felt as if she were gazing at a stranger. The often painful experiences of the last eight years had left their mark. Fiona didn’t see that. All she saw was that the woman she’d known as a brunette now had blonde hair.

  “Ruby colored it,” Marisa told her. “Actually, she removed color. Believe it or not, Fiona, this is the hair I was born with.”

  “Really?” Fiona touched Marisa’s hair, as if she expected it to have changed texture as well as color.

  “Really what?” Lauren demanded as she descended the stairs, now clad in her work-at-home attire of sweats and sneakers. Her eyes widened when she saw Marisa’s hair, and a smile lit her face. “It’s about time.”

  As she’d feared, Marisa’s hair caused a stir when she arrived at Rainbow’s End the next morning. Mom had hugged her, repeating “I’m so glad” so many times that Marisa began to lose count.

  Perhaps because his wife was so vocal, Eric had said nothing, but the gleam in his eyes left no doubt that he was pleased. Kate had hugged Marisa, saying she was glad to have another blonde on the staff. Even Greg had commented on how nice Marisa’s hair looked.

  The only one who hadn’t weighed in was Blake. Marisa hadn’t caught a glimpse of him in days. Not that she cared. Of course she didn’t. And yet she couldn’t help wondering what he’d think.

  “I’m glad you could join us.” Kate gave Lauren a warm smile that said she appreciated her closing HCP for an hour so she could be part of the Thanksgiving planning committee. That was the name Kate had given to herself, Marisa, Lauren, and Carmen. The four women had gathered in Marisa’s office. Though a bit crowded, it was one of the few places at Rainbow’s End where they could be assured of no interruptions. “I want to be certain everything’s ready,” Kate added.

  Marisa knew Kate was nervous about the upcoming holiday. It would be the first time Rainbow’s End had nonpaying guests. Although Kate and Greg’s original plan had been to offer half of the cabins at reduced rates or even for free, Kate had insisted that they wait until all the glitches had been worked out before they invited unemployed and underemployed families. Her rationale was that if something went wrong during a stay, they could offer refunds to paying guests, but they had only one chance to make a good impression on those less fortunate.

  “Have y’all seen the new van?” Kate asked, feigning a Texas drawl. “Greg and I think it turned out well, but we might be a tad prejudiced.”

  Marisa couldn’t help it. She smiled at the thought of the now brightly colored van. “It’s fabulous.” A week ago it had been a plain white van. Now it was both unique and eye-catching.

  “You can thank your father for that.”

  Marisa blinked as Kate’s words registered. “What did he do?” She knew it had been Eric’s idea to buy a van, but this was the first Marisa had heard that he’d played any role in its decoration.

  “I was going to put a small logo on the driver’s side, but he convinced me to turn the whole van into a rolling advertisement for Rainbow’s End.” Kate laughed. “You’d never know I used to be an advertising executive, would you? I should have been the on
e to think of that.”

  Marisa looked at her mother, who’d brought in her favorite chair from the kitchen to complement the two guest chairs Marisa’s office offered. Mom shrugged her shoulders, as if she hadn’t known about Eric’s involvement. The van had been transformed into what appeared to be a motorized ark, with the Rainbow’s End logo covering not only the sides but also the front and back. There was no question that it would turn heads wherever it went.

  “We’re talking about having a float for the Christmas parade,” Kate continued, “but first things first. Let’s review where we are for Thanksgiving. Why don’t you start, Carmen?”

  Mom nodded. “The menus are complete, and the food’s been ordered. I’m still waiting for final confirmation on the tablecloths and napkins, but the supplier assured me there’d be no problem having them delivered by Monday of Thanksgiving week.”

  Marisa watched a slow smile spread across Kate’s face. Though the round tables with lazy Susans in the center were normally left bare, Kate was determined to have linen tablecloths for Sunday dinners and had decided that Thanksgiving weekend would be the ideal time to inaugurate them.

  Marisa had volunteered to look for tablecloths, but Mom had insisted that she wanted to do it, citing Marisa’s other responsibilities. She had wound up spending hours calling commercial linen supply houses to no avail but had finally found a small manufacturer in Dallas who’d agreed to produce the desired table coverings. Though the price had been higher than Marisa had expected, Kate had approved it, claiming she wanted guests to feel pampered.

  “Excellent,” Kate said before turning to Lauren.

  “The Christmas ornaments are half done,” Lauren said, referring to the quilted stars and angels that would be gifts for each of the guests. “There’ll be no problem finishing them before anyone arrives. My only question is whether you want them wrapped.”

  Kate looked at Marisa. “What do you think?”

  “It’ll be more fun for them if they’re wrapped.”

  “You’ve got your answer,” Kate told Lauren. Turning back to Marisa, she raised an eyebrow. “How are the skits coming?”

  “It’s a piece of cake. Chocolate pound cake,” Marisa amended, giving her mother a fond glance. “None of the guests are repeats, so we’re going to do the same ones as the grand opening. All that’s new is the finale.”

  Since Thanksgiving marked the official start of the Christmas season for retailers, Marisa and Kate had decided that it should be the beginning of Christmas at Rainbow’s End too. “We’ll have the unveiling of the tree, and the youngest child will get to place the star on top. After that, we’ll sing a few carols, then distribute the gifts. The good news is that we can use the same finale for Christmas, even though the tree will already be there.”

  “I’m planning to serve hot chocolate and spiced cider along with those frosted cookies you used to like,” Mom told Lauren, who was the only one who hadn’t heard about the refreshments.

  Though Mom had wanted to make a variety of cookies, Kate had suggested that this was one time when less was more. “I don’t want there to be any fighting if one kid doesn’t get the flavor he wants,” she explained. Mom had acquiesced, even agreeing to make only stars rather than the assortment of stars, angels, and nativity scene figures that had been a highlight of Marisa’s childhood.

  “It all sounds perfect,” Kate said. “I know everyone will enjoy it and that it’ll give our guests what they need: a break from the stress and worry of their ordinary lives.” Kate’s expression turned wistful. “I only wish Gillian could be here to see how you’ve incorporated her music. That was pure genius on your part.”

  Marisa shook her head, unwilling to take credit for what had been a group effort. “Everyone pitched in with ideas for the skits, and Gillian’s music tied everything together.”

  Kate appeared unconvinced. “The concept was yours. Gillian would have loved it.”

  Lauren tipped her head to one side, a sure sign that she was pondering something. “Why don’t we record the program?” she asked. “Some of the guests might want copies, and you could send one to Gillian.”

  Kate squealed in delight. “What a great idea! We’re selling CDs of the music. A DVD would be the perfect companion.” She thumped her forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “You’ve been a bit preoccupied.” Marisa had caught Kate staring into the distance several times, a small, almost secretive smile on her face. Though Kate had dismissed it as nothing more than daydreaming, Marisa wasn’t convinced. Still, she knew better than to pry.

  “How is Gillian?” she asked.

  “It’s too soon to know the long-term prognosis,” Kate said. “The cast is off, but now she’s facing months of physical therapy.”

  Lauren nodded. “Healing’s a slow process.”

  “Especially for people who are as impatient as my daughter.” Mom’s smile took the sting out of her words. “I’m glad Marisa didn’t suffer anything more than sprains when she was growing up. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to deal with a fracture. I’d have been gray before I was thirty.”

  Everyone was laughing when the door opened and the teenager who’d been manning the front desk popped her head in. “I know you didn’t want any interruptions, but it’s an emergency.” Her gaze moved to Lauren. “Your daughter fell off a swing. They think her leg is broken.”

  Blake put the car in park at the top of Ranger Hill and checked for cell service. Perfect. There were plenty of bars. Jack would have no trouble getting through to him.

  Blake took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. This wasn’t the first time he’d emailed a manuscript to his agent. It wasn’t the first time they’d discussed a story. But it was the first time he’d sent Jack a manuscript like the current one. Feeling more nervous than he could recall, he’d pushed the “send” button yesterday morning, suggesting they talk about it after Jack had had a chance to read the first few chapters and proposing this time for a call.

  Glancing at the time display on his phone, Blake swallowed again. If Jack was prompt—and he normally was—the phone would ring in thirty seconds. It did.

  “Kendall here.”

  “Darlington here.” It was their normal greeting, but today Jack’s voice had a different tone. The fact that Blake could not pinpoint the reason for the difference set his nerves on edge.

  “I’m going to conference Heidi in if that’s okay with you,” Jack continued. Heidi Goldberg had been Blake’s editor for all of the Cliff Pearson books and was the one who would ultimately decide whether or not to accept the new one. While they had occasional conference calls, they were normally later in the production process. Blake’s sense of unease grew.

  “Sure, but wouldn’t it make more sense to wait until she’s read it?”

  “She has.” There it was, the same odd tone to Jack’s voice, almost as if he were trying not to laugh. Blake saw nothing humorous about either the manuscript or the situation.

  “I read the first three pages and knew she had to see it,” Jack said. “Heidi did the same thing I did and stayed up most of the night reading.”

  “You’ve finished it?” That was more than Blake had expected. It typically took Jack a couple days to read a manuscript, then a couple more to formulate his thoughts.

  “You bet.”

  “And you liked it?” That he’d sent it to Heidi without discussing it with Blake seemed to indicate that, but Blake didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Although he wasn’t normally insecure about his writing, this book was so different from everything else he’d written that he wanted confirmation.

  “Sure, I liked it, but let’s let Heidi tell you what she thinks. Hang on.” Blake heard a click, a second or two of silence, then Jack’s voice. “You there, Heidi? Great. I’ve got Blake on the line.”

  “Is it true that you’re holed up somewhere in Texas?” Blake’s editor asked. While Heidi never put much emphasis on social niceties, this was abrupt, e
ven for her.

  “Yes, it’s true, but why are you asking?” Blake had thought she would say something about the book, not about the location where he’d written it.

  “Stay there.” Heidi sounded like a drill sergeant issuing a command. “Whatever it is about the place, it’s working. Blake, your book is incredible, and you know I don’t say that lightly.”

  Blake inhaled slowly, trying to control the emotions that had begun to run wild. Pleasure and excitement combined with the fear that he would be unable to re-create the same enthusiasm for a second book had set his heart pounding at what felt like twice its normal pace.

  “I didn’t think you could surpass Cliff Pearson, but you did.” Heidi was still speaking, her voice now warm with approval. “This has the action and intrigue of the Pearson books, plus what I’m calling heart.”

  Blake’s own heart skipped a beat, then began a slow thudding. This was what he’d hoped for, that both his agent and his editor would approve his change of direction. He stared into the distance for a second, his eyes drinking in the beauty of Firefly Valley. Heidi was right. Being here was why his writing had changed so dramatically. Jack’s and Heidi’s enthusiasm confirmed what Blake had thought, that this was the kind of book he was meant to write.

  “I’m glad you like it.” That was a major understatement, but though Blake made his living with words, he could think of nothing else to say.

  Heidi took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It only needs one thing to make it a perfect package.”

  Blake hoped he was wrong about what she was going to say. “And that would be . . .”

  “Promotion. I’m not asking you to go on a tour, but if you’d reveal your identity and do a couple talk shows, your sales could rival J. K. Rowling’s.”

  That was a gross exaggeration. The Logan Marsh books might be good, but they wouldn’t have the audience Harry Potter did, even if Blake went on a worldwide tour.