Teardrop Lane (36 page)

“Huh,” Cicero said. “His backup lights have come on.”

Rose realized he was right, as the SUV pulled into a driveway, then turned around. “They must have forgotten something.”

She furrowed her brow, trying to think of what it might be. Trying to imagine what else they could squeeze into their car.

The Parnells’ SUV turned into their driveway. The back door opened and Misty climbed out, her eyes red and rimmed with tears. She was carrying her dog.

“Honey, what did you forget?” asked Rose.

“Nothing. I didn’t forget anything. I want to—it’s just that—you and Uncle Hunk broke my heart.”

Rose and Cicero shared a look.

“We broke your heart? What did we do, Worm?”

Tears poured down the little girl’s face. “I love you.”

“We love you, too,” Rose said.

“I know. We know. You are going to be so lonely without us.”

“Yeah, we are. Is that what’s breaking your heart?”

“Yes!”

“Well, there’s no need for that. We’ll be okay. Doctor Mom and I have each other.”

“You need more,” she wailed.

“Worm …” Cicero said, at a loss.

“Here.” She shoved the dog at her uncle. “You need him, Uncle Hunk. Aunt Amy and Uncle Scott said I could give him to you. He’ll keep you and Doctor Mom company. You can take him on walks. He’ll keep you company when Doctor Mom is at the clinic. When he’s a little older, you can take him to the studio with you.”

“A dog? You want to give us your dog?”

“I’ll be busy in Texas. I’ll have drama club and Girl
Scouts and softball. I won’t have time for a puppy. You take care of him for me, Uncle Hunk.”

“But—but—”

“You love him for me. Okay? Send me pictures of how much he’s grown.” She shoved the dog into his arms. “And you pick out the perfect name for him. Okay? You’ll do that?”

“I-I—no.”

Rose’s heart sank.

Hunter, no
.

“We’re going to pick out his name together.” Cicero clutched the puppy against his chest and scratched him behind the ears. “You and I will text about it.”

“You’ll keep him?”

“We’ll take care of him. He’s your dog, Worm, but Doctor Mom and I will give him a home. He’ll be here waiting for you when you come to visit.”

“Good. That’s good. I love you, Uncle Hunter. You, too, Doctor Mom.”

When it became clear to Rose that Cicero couldn’t speak without breaking down, she hugged Misty and said, “We love you, too, baby.”

The car horn sounded. Misty looked toward it, then said, “I have to go now. Take good care of him.”

Cicero cleared his throat. “Don’t worry, Worm. He’ll have a name before you guys hit the New Mexico border.”

Misty gave them both one last hug, gave the puppy one final kiss, and hurried back to the car. This time, when the Parnells reached the intersection at Spruce Street, the car kept on going.

With a shaky smile on her face, Rose reached out and scratched the pup behind his ears. Cicero’s eyes were closed and he cradled the pup against his chest.

“Are you okay?” Rose asked.

“Have you looked at this dog?” He looked at her with
watery brown eyes. “It’s some sort of cosmic coincidence. He’s a wheatie. A wheaten terrier. Just like my Pike.”

Music blasted from speakers mounted high in the rafters of what had once been a church. Gabi had put together the classic rock playlist of songs about fire, and it had quickly become his favorite music to work to. As Cicero extended his long metal blowpipe into the white-hot crucible and gathered glass, he lost himself to the beat of Jimi Hendrix, Van Halen, Queen, U2, and Kiss.

Heat from the furnace burning at two thousand degrees fanned the flames of his passion for the image fully formed in his mind. The vision burned inside of him, suited to words like powerful, dangerous. Passionate. Raw. Earthy. Sexual.

He’d been working on the core of the piece for hours—or maybe days.

No, a lifetime
.

He added color to the gather of glass, worked it, shaped it, added life with a steady, measured stream of air from his lungs. While the Boss sang of fire, Mitch interpreted Cicero’s wordless gestures and returned the figure to the furnace to heat.

Cicero closed his eyes. Sitting at his workstation, he swayed to the pulse of the vision in his mind as much as that of the music pounding through the studio. At the edge of his awareness, he noted a sound—a stirring—in his studio, but he refused to be distracted. The fire within him burned hot and fast and consuming.

He cut his hand through the air. Mitch returned the heated piece to him. He took the jacks and stretched the glass. Fierce, strong, shatterproof. Now, to add the ballet.

Using tools long mastered and vision newly birthed,
he spun his glass into a form airy and graceful and magical. Eternal.

Hunter Cicero played with fire for a living and today, he paid homage to the gift of his talent.

And when it was done, when he placed his work into the annealer, he acknowledged the triumph singing in his blood. Although he wouldn’t see the final colors until it cooled, he knew. Keenan had done him a favor.

This piece was superior to anything else he’d ever done. Simple, graceful, delicate. Striking and strong. A cosmos of color surrounding a vibrant, brilliant red and gold center. A steady heart. A generous soul. It would be his pièce de résistance.

Without looking toward the observation bleachers, he grabbed water from the fridge beside the annealer. He twisted off the lid and lifted the bottle to his lips. As cold water soothed his throat, the applause began softly. One pair of hands. Rose, he knew. Now, more. Gabi. Mitch.

And others.

Cicero turned around and the bottle slipped from his hand.

The children. Their children. Daisy sitting on his wife’s lap in the front row, the other three sitting beside her, still as church mice but for the clapping of their hands. Their eyes were bright. Their smiles bright as the sun.

“What—” he croaked out.

Rose stood and handed Daisy off to Misty, who in turn handed the dog over to Keenan. Rose stepped forward, coming to him with her arms outstretched.

“They got as far as Amarillo. Amy said she’d never seen such love as what Misty showed you by giving you her dog. She’d never realized that you aren’t simply Uncle Skunk to the boys, but their father.”

Cicero closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

Rose continued. “She said that she’d promised Jayne that her children would have a mother and father who
loved them. That was her promise to your sister. She sees now that they have that with us. She and Scott don’t have to feel guilty. They’ve kept their promise to Jayne. They’ve signed Mac’s papers, Hunter.”

“The children are ours?”

“The children are ours. We have our family.”

His breath exhaled in a rush. He took her into his arms, buried his face against her head, and fought back tears.

Clearing his throat, he added, “And a dog, too.”

The California Coast

Two dozen round tables set with white tablecloths dotted the manicured green lawn of a private home with a breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean. But as the sun began to sink into the sapphire sea, painting the sky in luscious shades of crimson, orange, and gold, Rose couldn’t stop looking at her husband. If he looked any hotter, she’d burst into fire.

The tuxedo fit him like a dream. She’d thought him the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in his suit, but wearing a tux—wow. He must have felt the power of her gaze because he interrupted his conversation with Colt and Flynn and gave her a slow, smoldering smile.

“My dragon,” she murmured as two of their guests returned to their table following a trip to the ladies’ room.

Sage wore green, and looked amazingly slim for a woman who’d given birth just a little over a month ago. Celeste glimmered in her golden gown. Fresh from the first leg of an extended honeymoon spent on Bella Vita Isle, Gabi sported the tall, tanned tropical goddess look in island batik.

“It’s almost time,” Gabi said to Cicero. “Are you nervous?”

“A little,” he admitted. “I find speaking in front of a crowd intimidating.”

“Don’t worry,” Shannon said, arranging the skirts of her sapphire gown. “None of the women will be listening to what you say.”

“True,” Gabi agreed. “They’ll be too busy looking at you.”

He scolded the women with a look and took a sip of water as Celeste opened up her purse. “Before the announcement, I have a little gift for you and Rose, Hunter.”

She set two small boxes on the table wrapped in white paper and gold ribbon.

“Celeste,” Cicero chided. “This wasn’t necessary. This isn’t a gift occasion. The fact that you and so many of our friends and family are sharing this moment with us is gift enough.”

“Oh, hush, mon, and open the present,” Mitch said.

Rose didn’t have to open the box. She knew what she’d find inside. Sure enough, tucked inside and lying against gold satin was an Angel’s Rest blazon, one of the pendants Eternity Springs’s angel gave to those whom she deemed had embraced love’s healing grace. It was a treasure Rose had coveted for a long time.

“Thank you, my friend,” she said, leaning over to press a kiss against Celeste’s rosy cheek.

Just as the president of the Albritton Foundation stepped up to the podium, Celeste said, “May God bless you and your family, dearest Rose, as you have blessed our town with your healing hands.”

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” boomed the president’s voice across the estate’s sprawling lawn. “Welcome to the biennial Albritton Foundation fellowship award dinner. I hope you all had the opportunity to
view the work of our finalists on display inside. We are certainly thrilled to have art of such beauty, breadth, and variety to illustrate our theme for the year.”

He spoke for a few more minutes, then introduced the three finalists. As Cicero made his way to the front accompanied by thunderous applause, Rose’s heart swelled with love, and tears of joy overflowed her eyes.

The tears didn’t abate when moments later, the foundation president announced this year’s grand prizewinner, the masterpiece in glass entitled Rose’s Bloom.

Angel’s Rest
Hummingbird Lake
Heartache Falls
Lover’s Leap
Nightingale Way
Reflection Point
Miracle Road
Dreamweaver Trail
Teardrop Lane
Mistletoe Mine

PHOTO: © KELLY WILLIAMS PHOTOGRAPHY

New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author E
MILY
M
ARCH
lives in Texas with her husband and their beloved boxer, Doc, who tolerates a revolving doggie door of rescue foster dogs sharing his kingdom until they find their forever homes. A graduate of Texas A&M University, Emily March is an avid fan of Aggie sports, and her recipe for jalapeño relish has made her a tailgating legend.

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