RaeAnne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One: Blackberry Summer\Woodrose Mountain\Sweet Laurel Falls (103 page)

“Oh, no. We certainly wouldn't want that,” Jack said drily.

Sage led the way through the house toward the front door, and
Jack, of course, insisted on helping them into their coats. When his body
brushed hers from behind, Maura shivered and had to hope he didn't notice—though
from the sudden intake of breath, she guessed she wasn't as good at concealing
her reaction to him as she would like to be.

At least she wasn't worried about meeting with Harry anymore.
She was much more concerned with fretting about what she was going to do about
Jack and this very inconvenient and ill-timed hunger—and preparing herself for
yet another loss when he left Hope's Crossing once more.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T
HAT
KISS
.

Wow.

As Jack helped them into their coats and then followed Sage and
Maura down the sidewalk to his SUV, heat seethed and churned through him. He was
eighteen years old again, in a sun-drenched alpine meadow, convinced he was the
luckiest bastard in the world to have the most beautiful girl at Hope's Crossing
High School in his arms.

No, actually. He was much smarter than he'd been back then. Now
he
knew
it was much more than luck that she had
actually kissed him back, had trembled in his arms and wrapped her own arms
around him and pressed her softness to him.

It was nothing less than a miraculous gift.

He felt a little as if he had been wandering alone through some
bleak wilderness all these years, convincing himself he was happy and had
everything he wanted or needed. Being back in Hope's Crossing, being with her
again, showed him just how foolish he had been. He hadn't been happy. Something
fundamental and beautiful and
right
had been missing
all this time.

Maura.

He had feelings for her. They were tangled and complicated and
he didn't know what the hell to do about them.

At his vehicle, Sage brushed past her mother to immediately
take the backseat, leaving Maura to sit in the front.

“I can sit back there,” Maura said. “You're the pregnant one.
You need the legroom, don't you?”

“There's plenty of room back here. I'm perfect. Get in, Mom.
Seriously. We're going to be late!”

She really must have been a stubborn little thing when she was
a kid. Once more, when he thought of all he had missed, he was hit by a familiar
pang. This time, he embraced the ache. It forced him back to reality. He had
missed so much of Sage's life, because of Maura. As much as he was drawn to her
again, how could he fully trust her after such a huge betrayal?

The night was cool and clear. Hanging over Woodrose Mountain
was a huge full moon that reflected a pearly glow on the dusting of snow that
still lingered on the ground. None of them spoke much as he drove through town
to the mouth of Silver Strike Canyon, where he turned on the GPS he had already
programmed with the coordinates for Harry's place. He refused to acknowledge the
strange reality that he had no idea how to get to his own father's house.

“We could have told you how to get there,” Maura commented as
the sultry female voice gave its automated directions. “Harry's house is a
little hard to miss up the canyon.”

“I suppose that's true,” he said, embarrassed to realize he
hadn't even thought of asking her and Sage for directions. “I guess I'm just
used to using the GPS.”

Counting on himself and circumstances he could control.
Figuring out his way. That's what he preferred, his modus operandi since he'd
left Hope's Crossing. He had learned early he couldn't count on anyone else.
Bethany had been in her own world half the time, and Harry… Well, Harry hadn't
given a damn about his son.

For a brief time, he had leaned on Maura. Maybe one of the
reasons he had made such an abrupt break between them was that he had started to
realize he was beginning to rely
too
heavily on
her.

“Sweetheart, I need to tell you something before you hear it
from someone else,” Maura said to Sage when the GPS indicated about a mile to go
to Harry's house. “For all I know, Harry might mention something and I…want you
to be prepared.”

“What's wrong?” Sage sounded scared. “Is it Grandma?”

“No. Grandma's fine. Everyone's fine. It's just…” She drew in a
breath and spoke in a rush. “Genevieve called off the wedding.”

Sage didn't answer for several beats. When he checked the
rearview mirror, he saw she was huddled against the seat, her arms folded across
her small baby bulge. “She…did?” Her voice was small, disheartened.

Maura nodded. “I'm sorry, honey.”

“So he must have told her, then. After the other night, I
thought for sure he would wait to tell her until the baby was born and he could
get a DNA test.”

“That's the way many guys would have handled the situation,”
Jack said. “Why totally disrupt your life if the baby's not even yours?”

“I guess. I know it's his. I've never been with anyone else,
either before or since. I'm not sure I ever want to be again, since I'm
apparently Fertile Myrtle. Who would ever want to be with me now that I've
ruined another guy's life? And I'll probably have stretch marks and
everything.”

He didn't quite know how to respond to that. Fortunately, Maura
stepped in. “Why don't we not stress about everything at once tonight? How about
we deal with tonight's dinner first, the remaining months of your pregnancy
after that, and we can worry about stretch marks and future relationships way
down the line?”

Sage sighed. “Yeah. I know. You're right.”

How did she do that? Take a potentially explosive situation and
defuse it so effortlessly? He wondered if that was a skill one picked up
automatically as the parent of teenage girls.

The voice on the GPS announced they had reached their
destination, and Jack pulled up in front of a set of forbidding black gates.
Someone must have been watching, because they slid open instantly. With no small
degree of trepidation, he drove through the gates and up a long drive surrounded
by trees and what in a month or so would be exquisite landscaping, when it
wasn't covered in snow. The well-lit driveway circled around in front of the
house, which looked to be about three stories and probably twenty-five thousand
square feet.

It was more modern than the lodge, a style he would have called
Western contemporary. The most distinctive feature was a curving, multistory
wall of glass windows that offered views in every direction.

The house was sprawling and grand—all in all, a far cry from
the modest home of Jack's childhood.

“Here we are, then,” he said. “Are you sure you wouldn't rather
turn around now? The gates have closed behind us, but I'm pretty sure I could
ram them.”

“I'm in. Let's do it and hope your air bags work,” Maura said
quickly.

Sage just rolled her eyes at both of them, but he was glad to
see some of the sadness had left her expression. “We're here. We might as well
eat, don't you think?”

“I suppose. Plus the car's pretty new. I wouldn't want to raise
the rate on my insurance policy. Front-end damage might be a little hard to
explain to my agent.”

Given his mixed emotions about this upcoming dinner with his
father, a rate hike might be worth it, he thought as he climbed out and opened
the doors for both of them. Maura climbed out quickly before he could help her,
stubborn thing, but he reached inside and grabbed Sage's arm to help her slide
from the backseat.

“Be careful. There might be ice.”

“Do you really think Harry would allow that?” Maura asked. “The
driveway is probably heated.”

Yes, that could make sense. Still, he took Sage's arm and held
his other out to Maura. After a long moment of hesitation, she slipped her arm
through and he escorted them to the door.

The wide, carved-oak double doors leading to the house opened
before they could reach it, and Harry stood framed in the light. He looked far
different from the cardiac patient Jack had seen only weeks ago. Instead, he
appeared bull chested and strong in slacks and a sweater that probably cost more
than the monthly payment on Jack's new SUV.

“You're late.”

“My fault, Grandpa,” Sage said with a cheeky smile, though he
could still see shadows in her eyes. She must get that skill from Maura, the
ability to put on a show and pretend everything was normal.

Much to Jack's shock, she slid her hand away from his arm and
leaned in to kiss Harry on the cheek. “I lay down for a nap this afternoon and
slept through the alarm on my phone. I'm really, really sorry.”

Harry was obviously no match for Sage when she put on the
charm. “Don't worry for a minute. You're not
that
late. Come in. Come in.”

Sage smiled warmly at him and moved inside the massive living
room, followed by Maura.

“Hello again, Mr. Lange,” she said with a tepid smile.

“Call me Harry.”

“We'll see. I think after all these years of calling you Mr.
Lange, that's what I'm more comfortable using.”

“I'm sure that's not the only thing you've called me over the
years.”

“But I'm trying to be a better person and teach my daughter not
to emulate my bad language.”

Harry laughed out loud and didn't seem offended. “Fine. Call me
whatever you'd like.”

“That's what I'd planned.”

Still chuckling, Harry led the way into the house. “Would any
of you like a drink before dinner?”

“Mineral water, please,” Maura said.

“That sounds good.” Sage smiled.

“Nothing for me,” Jack said.

Harry looked as if he wanted to say something but seemed to
change his mind. He moved to a side table and opened a cabinet to reveal a
clever minirefrigerator, from which he pulled a small bottle of Evian for Maura
and handed it to her.

They made small talk for a few moments—well, Maura and Sage and
Harry made small talk, actually. He was still trying to adjust to how surreal it
felt to be in his father's house after all this time.

“Dinner is probably close to finished. Shall I let my chef know
we're ready?”

“That would be great. I'm starving,” Sage said.

Harry left for a moment, presumably to give orders to his chef.
In his absence, Jack walked around the great room, admiring the art on the
walls.

“That's one of Sarah Colville's works. Exquisite, isn't
it?”

He studied the oil on canvas, a rich and detailed plein air of
a valley he recognized from Snowflake Canyon, one of the offshoots of Silver
Strike.

“It's lovely,” he said.

“She's brilliant. I wonder where your father keeps the rest of
his collection.”

“Scattered around the house,” Harry answered for himself from
behind them. “I've got one in my office, one in the den. There's even one in my
bedroom, though if you tell the old biddy that, I'll cut out your tongue and
serve it to one of my dogs.”

“She's not an old biddy. She's a lovely woman.”

“You would think so, I suppose? She and your mother are peas in
a pod.”

He waited for Maura to snap at Harry in defense of her mother,
but she merely gave him a cool smile. “I'm surprised you're willing to have
Sarah's artwork in your home if you dislike her so much as a person.”

“I can separate the art from the individual. Her paintings are
brilliant. I would buy more, but she refuses to sell me any more directly, out
of sheer spite. I'm forced to find them where I can.”

Jack thought he might just have to look into purchasing one of
the woman's paintings if she was so discriminating in her patrons.

“The dining room is this way.” Harry looped an arm through
Sage's, which left Jack to walk in with Maura. Her shoulder brushed his as they
walked, but she didn't meet his gaze. Still, he could feel the connection
simmering between them.

The room Harry led them to was huge, with richly molded
ceilings and a long table that looked as if it would seat twenty people easily.
Did Harry entertain often? Somehow Jack didn't think so. Everything he had heard
about his father since he'd been back in town indicated Harry was a bit of a
recluse who kept himself distant, unapproachable to the people of Hope's
Crossing.

Four place settings had been set at one end of the table. He
might have expected Harry to sit at the head, where he could lord his position
as boss of the world over all of them, but his father helped Sage into a chair
and then sat beside her, leaving two places across the big table for him and for
Maura.

As soon as they were seated, a small older woman with
scraped-back dark hair entered carrying a large tray with their plated salad
course, which she set down in front of them.

“Thank you, Mrs. Kingsley.”

“You're welcome, Mr. Lange,” the woman said softly, then
disappeared into the kitchen.

“Wow. This looks fantastic,” Sage exclaimed.

“I hope you like Italian food. I was in the mood. This is one
of my favorite salads,
panzanella
with a champagne
vinaigrette. Our
primo
course will be braised short
ribs with pasta and the
secondo
will be lemon sole.
I had the same thing during one of the best meals of my life at a great place
outside Milan. Dante's.”

Jack frowned. He didn't know what to say to that. He actually
knew that restaurant. It was near the hotel and convention center he had worked
on a few years earlier, and he had eaten there several times when he had been
overseeing the project. What were the odds that Harry has just stumbled on the
same restaurant?