In Firefly Valley (25 page)

“Dinner at the fanciest restaurant this side of San Antonio with a man you haven't spoken to for the better part of a month,” Lauren countered. “Now, what are you going to wear?”

Marisa's choices were fewer than they'd been a year ago, thanks to all the outfits that had gone to the consignment shop. “I have a dark blue velvet skirt and a white silk blouse that I thought might work.”

“I like velvet,” Fiona told her, “but Mom says it isn't practical.”

“Aunt Marisa isn't trying to be practical tonight. She's trying to impress a gentleman.”

“I am not.” Well, not too much. Even though the fabrics were luxurious, the outfit was not as fancy as the apricot dress she had lent to Lauren for her date with Drew.

Lauren pretended not to hear Marisa. “I've got one of those pretty crocheted necklaces that might go with it. I'll meet you in your room.”

As Lauren headed for her bedroom, Fiona reached for the book she'd been reading when Marisa had first come in. “Will you come see me before you leave?”

“Of course I will. You're my fashion consultant.” Marisa pointed to Fiona's feet with their mismatched socks. When he'd realized that Fiona's normal socks wouldn't fit over the cast, Drew had somehow found a number of oversized socks in the wildest colors Marisa had ever seen. Paired with the socks Fiona already owned, they were a guaranteed topic of conversation.

“Here you go,” Lauren said a minute later as she entered Marisa's bedroom, the necklace in her hand. Placing it next to the skirt Marisa had laid out on the bed, she nodded. “A perfect match.”

“Like you and Drew?” Marisa asked, raising one of her eyebrows. “It hasn't escaped my notice that you two are acting like lovebirds.”

Lauren looked as if she didn't know whether to be embarrassed or pleased. “I didn't know it was so obvious,” she admitted, smiling as she ran her hand over the soft velvet of Marisa's skirt. “I can't quite believe it, but I'm in love, and it's just as wonderful as the first time.”

She took a deep breath. “It may even be better, because I'm old enough to know how special love is.” Fixing her gaze on Marisa, Lauren said, “I know you didn't like Drew at first, but I hope you'll be happy for us if this works out.”

Marisa reached for the blouse and slid her arms into it. “It wasn't a matter of not liking Drew,” she explained. “I was worried that he might hurt you, but even a cynic like me has to admit that he's been a real Prince Charming taking care of Fiona.” Marisa couldn't imagine any of the men she'd met—and that included Blake—being so patient, but Drew never complained, not even when Fiona was cranky.

“He is wonderful,” Lauren agreed. “I don't know how I got
so lucky as to find two wonderful men.” She handed Marisa the necklace and watched while she adjusted the length. “I don't know what makes me happier: the fact that Drew is part of my life or that you're back with Blake.”

“Aren't you getting ahead of yourself? It's only dinner.”

“Right. You can say what you want, but I know what I see. The pigs are definitely flying.”

I
t would probably be rude to whistle, so all I'm going to say is ‘wow.'”

Marisa smiled as she ushered Blake into Lauren's house. She could say the same thing to him. Dressed in a suit and tie, he looked more handsome than usual, the dark blue of his suit and the white of the shirt highlighting the tan he'd acquired while in Texas.

“I hope you're not allergic,” he said as he handed her what was obviously a florist's box.

Marisa opened it, sighing with pleasure when she saw an assortment of roses. Other than the single red carnation that Dupree High School's graduates were expected to pin on their gowns and the yellow roses she'd rejected, these were the only flowers she'd received.

She had bought Hal a boutonniere carefully dyed to match her prom dress and had expected him to bring her a corsage when he picked her up for the dance. He'd asked her about her dress color enough times that she'd believed he had something special in mind, and he had. It simply wasn't the surprise Marisa had expected.

As she looked at the gorgeous roses with their velvety soft petals, Marisa was thankful Hal had not given her flowers. It seemed right that Blake was the first.

“They're beautiful, Blake,” she said with another smile. Lauren might be right. Pigs must be flying, because once again Marisa felt as if she were falling head over heels in love with this man. “Thank you, and no, I'm not allergic to flowers.”

Marisa led the way into the kitchen, pulled a vase from the cupboard, and carefully arranged the flowers in it. “I can't imagine where you found roses like this in Dupree.”

“Who said anything about Dupree? There's a full-service florist in Blytheville. They made it up while I waited.”

The frisson of pleasure that had slid down her spine when she'd opened the florist's box intensified at the realization that Blake had invested not only his money but his time to make this a special evening. It seemed he'd been genuine in both his acceptance of her apology and his belief that they could begin again.

“That's the nicest thing anyone's done for me in a long time,” Marisa said softly. “Thank you, Blake.”

She smiled at him, noticing the tiny nick on the edge of his chin, evidence that he'd tried for a particularly close shave. Somehow that touched her even more than the flowers, and she was tempted to press a kiss on the sore spot. She wouldn't, of course. That would be too much too soon. Instead, she deliberately changed the subject.

“Do we have time for a brief detour?” she asked. “I don't know how much you've heard, but Lauren's daughter broke her leg and is in traction. I know she'd enjoy seeing the flowers and meeting you.”

“Sure. Lead on, Macduff. Or is it lay on?”

Marisa raised her hands in mock surrender, thankful that the diversion had worked and her pulse had resumed its normal beat. “I'm not going to have the Macduff discussion again.” She led the way to Fiona's bedroom, where Lauren was playing a game of Parcheesi with her daughter. Drew had left as soon as Marisa arrived, but she wouldn't be surprised if he returned for supper. The man was definitely persistent in his courtship.

“Look at the pretty flowers Mr. Kendall brought me,” Marisa said, holding out the vase as she and Blake entered the room. When
Fiona had sniffed the flowers, she looked up at Blake, her brown eyes serious. “Are you gonna marry Aunt Marisa?”

For a second, there was total silence. Marisa felt the blood drain from her face, then rush back, flooding her cheeks with color. What could she say? What could Blake say?

Lauren shook her head at Fiona. “That's not a question you should be asking.”

Although Marisa had expected him to share her embarrassment, Blake appeared unconcerned by Fiona's bluntness. “It's all right, Fiona. I'd answer if I could, but it depends on Marisa.” That wasn't the response Marisa had expected, but perhaps Blake was trying to deflect attention from himself. One thing was certain: she wouldn't take the bait, if that's what it was. Not here, not now.

Nodding solemnly as if the answer pleased her, Fiona fixed her gaze on Marisa. “You should marry him, Aunt Marisa. You need a husband.”

As Lauren shrugged and mouthed “Junior Matcher,” Marisa knew it was time to make a quick exit.

“Good night, Fiona.” She kissed the girl's forehead, then hurried out of the room, grabbing Blake's hand and propelling him to the front door.

He was chuckling as he helped Marisa into his car. “Greg warned me about the matchmakers in Dupree, but I didn't know they started so young.”

“Fiona has daddies on her mind.”

“So I've heard. Greg says things are pretty serious between Drew and Lauren. There must be something in the air in Dupree,” Blake said as he started the ignition. “Two confirmed bachelors, one married, the other well on the way.”

Where are you on that continuum?
Marisa wondered, though she had no intention of asking. She and Blake were starting over, and they needed to proceed slowly.

Once they were headed north on the highway, Blake turned to glance at Marisa. “Greg warned me about deer accidents on this
road, especially at this time of the day.” The sun had just set, and though the road wasn't yet dark, visibility was reduced. “Let me know if you see any animals.”

Marisa nodded. “Sure.” The thought of deer reminded her of Blake's new book. That was a safer subject than marriage. “Is Greg's warning why you wrote the scene with the deer?”

A small smile was Blake's first response. Then he spoke. “Short answer: yes. The long answer is that even though I've been fortunate enough never to have had a close encounter with one of Bambi's relatives, knowing how common deer-car collisions are piqued my imagination.”

Blake's explanation piqued Marisa's imagination. “I've always wondered how much of their real lives writers included in their books.” That was part of the reason why Cliff Pearson's vices bothered her so much. Though she'd seen no sign that Blake drank here, she wondered if that had been part of his life in California.

He sped up to pass a slow-moving farm vehicle. When they were back in the right lane, Blake spoke again. “I can't speak for anyone other than myself, but for me it's only bits and pieces. My characters aren't based on real people, and the things that happen to them never happened to me.”

“So it's all your imagination?”

Blake nodded. “Does that surprise you?”

“A bit.” Marisa had read somewhere that writers were advised to write what they knew and thought that meant most stories were based on real-life experiences. That was the reason that knowing Blake had created Cliff Pearson had bothered her so much.

“I play games of what-if.” Though his attention remained focused on the road, Blake's grip on the steering wheel was relaxed. “When Greg told me about the number of deer accidents in this part of the Hill Country, I started asking myself what would happen if my hero were the first to arrive at the scene of an accident. What would he do? And would his decision be different if there were a reason why he shouldn't have been there?”

“He did the right thing.” Though he knew there would be serious repercussions when his family learned he'd violated his curfew, Logan hadn't left the injured motorist. Instead, he'd called 911 and given CPR, keeping the man alive until the emergency responders arrived.

“But it wasn't an easy decision.”

“That's what made the scene so powerful. Logan had to weigh right and wrong.” Marisa settled back in the comfortable seat, her attention once more on the man at her left. As had been the case for a day and a half, ever since he'd given her the e-reader with his manuscript, her thoughts revolved around the story and the man who'd written it.

The Logan Marsh story had the action and excitement of Blake's Cliff Pearson books. It also had a hero who overcame seemingly insurmountable odds, the way Cliff did. The difference was that Logan made mistakes, and he learned from them. In Marisa's eyes, that made him far more heroic than Cliff.

She turned to Blake and asked him one of the questions that had been floating through her mind ever since she finished reading the manuscript.

“Are you going to use your real name for this book?”

Blake shook his head. “No. It will be another Ken Blake story.”

“Why? There's nothing to be ashamed of in this one.”

Blake's lips tightened momentarily. “You may not believe this, but shame wasn't the reason I chose a pseudonym.” He stared out the windshield, then shifted his glance toward Marisa. “Do you remember my telling you that my grandfather lived with us?”

“Yes. I also remember that he sounded like a difficult man.”

“That he was, in many ways.” Blake swallowed before continuing. “Grandfather was very opinionated, and one of his opinions was that fiction is the work of the devil. I don't agree, and my dad doesn't, either, but if Grandfather had known that I wrote novels, he would have been furious. He would have called me and ranted until he was hoarse. Then, because I wasn't there, he would have
made my father's life miserable. There would have been tirades, little digs, even full-fledged sermons about how wrong I was.”

Blake took a shallow breath. “Trust me, Marisa. It wouldn't have been a one-time occurrence. Grandfather would have found a way to tell my dad every single day that he'd obviously failed as a parent. I couldn't subject my father to that, so I chose a pseudonym and insisted on anonymity. I haven't even told Dad, because I didn't want him to have to keep a secret from his father.”

Though Blake had alluded to his grandfather's abrasive personality, Marisa hadn't realized it had been so extreme.

“Why did your father put up with that kind of behavior?”

As he clenched the steering wheel, Blake frowned. “I think it was a sense of duty. My grandmother died only a couple months after my mother, and Grandfather was lost. Dad's never really said so, but I believe he was worried about his father, so he invited him to live with us. Once he was there, it seemed there was no going back.”

“I'm sorry. Life with Eric wasn't always easy, but at least he wasn't abusive.”

Blake's smile was warm and reassuring. “It's over. And now can we talk about something more pleasant than me? Tell me what's going on at Rainbow's End. Even though Greg and I jog almost every morning, we don't talk much.”

And so Marisa told Blake about the plans for Thanksgiving weekend. “It's amazing to me, but even with the expense of renovations, if we continue at our current pace, Rainbow's End will break even by the end of next year.”

“I'm not surprised. Both Greg and Kate are shrewd at business, and they're doing God's work at Rainbow's End. I would expect it to thrive.” Blake turned to glance at Marisa again. “What about you? Are you enjoying what you're doing?”

“Surprisingly, yes. The accounting isn't especially challenging, but I have the chance to do so much more.”

Though he kept his eyes on the road, Blake's lips curved in a smile. “Like arranging entertainment for the guests.”

“And helping with the hiring. I even do procurement.” Marisa smiled, thinking of the calls she'd made and the impromptu visits to some of Dupree's merchants. “It's been fun, trying to find local suppliers.” While she'd known there would be challenges, she had fully supported Kate and Greg's desire to locally source as many things as possible. Their goal, they'd explained, was to benefit Dupree as well as their guests.

“So you're glad to be back home?”

Marisa was silent for a moment, considering the question. “Most of the time, yes.” But as the image of her father skittered across her mind, she started to shake her head. The truth was, she wasn't sure how she felt about being back in Dupree with him here. Though it was wonderful to see Mom happier and more relaxed than she'd been in eight years, Marisa wasn't yet ready to admit that the changes she'd seen in Eric were permanent. She still feared that he'd take a drink, then another, and that the nightmarish pattern of her teenage years would repeat itself.

Unwilling to spoil the evening, Marisa changed the subject, telling Blake how glad she was that she was living with Lauren and could help her care for Fiona. By the time she'd exhausted the topic, they were pulling into the parking lot of what was considered to be one of the most elegant restaurants in the Hill Country.

Strawberry Chantilly lived up to the hype. With formally clad waiters, fine linens and china, and tables set far enough apart to ensure privacy, it was the perfect spot for a romantic evening. Plush carpet and heavy draperies muffled the other guests' conversations, while the soft music added to the atmosphere.

Marisa might have been ambivalent about living in Dupree, but there was no question that dinner with Blake was the most enjoyable evening she'd spent in a long time. The food was delicious, the service attentive, the company wonderful.