Willowleaf Lane (23 page)

With several professional athletes and who knows how many members of the media present? Her stomach quailed at the thought. She hated speaking in front of people, wondering what they were thinking about her. It was silly, she knew, and really narcissistic, when she gave it any thought. Most people weren’t nearly as judgmental as she had always assumed, eighty pounds ago.

“I’m not super comfortable in front of a lot of people, but, okay. If you think it would help A Warrior’s Hope, I’ll come up with something.”

He said nothing for several moments, only gazed down at her with an odd light in those changeable hazel eyes, and then he slowly shook his head.

“What?” she asked when he remained silent.

“I just wonder if you have any idea how amazing you are.”

With that, he gave her a quick kiss on the corner of her mouth and walked back to his SUV, leaving her to stare after him.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“W
HAT
THE
HELL
is he doing here?”

Fury crackled through him, hot and fierce, and Spence wanted to hit something. Preferably the man walking onto the vast terrace of the recreation center as if he owned the damned place.

“Sorry, man.” Jess Roman, a close friend since their shared rookie year, gave him an apologetic look. “I didn’t know he was coming until he and Kris showed up at the airport. Lucky’s the one who chartered the plane. I tried to tell him you wouldn’t want Mike to come but he wouldn’t listen. I was going to call you from the airport to warn you but I didn’t have a chance.”

Spence could hardly breathe around his anger aimed at the man he had once respected as a mentor and trusted friend.

“How did he even know about A Warrior’s Hope?”

“My fault there. Teresa mentioned it to Kris last week when they were shopping together. Krissy must have told Mike. Now that he’s retired, I guess he’s got all the time in the world.”

Today, of all days, Spence couldn’t let this bitterness eat away at him. It was too important that everything go off without a hitch.

“On the plane, Mike was going on and on to Lucky and Ty about a favorite cousin who lost a leg in Vietnam,” Jess went on. “How the guy spent the rest of his life bitter and angry and ended up eating a bullet, and how he could have used something like what you’re doing to yank him back to his senses.”

Spence let out a breath.
Focus on what matters,
he told himself. The presence of Hall of Fame candidate Mike Broderick at the groundbreaking for A Warrior’s Hope would only help raise awareness.

Yeah, Spence wanted to bash the guy’s head against the wall. So what? He wouldn’t. At least one of them still had a little decency left.

Or so he told himself, anyway.

In the mixed-bag category, while he despised Mike Broderick, he adored the man’s wife. That was brought forcibly home to him when he spotted Kris Broderick heading in his direction.

“Spencer James Gregory. I suppose this proves you haven’t actually dropped off the face of the earth, you’ve just been ignoring me.”

That was true enough but he couldn’t tell her that without going into all the reasons why. To avoid the subject, he picked her up in a sweeping hug, all four feet eleven inches of her.

“Put me down, you lunatic,” she said with a laugh, even as she hugged him back and kissed his cheek.

Kris was one of his favorite people on the planet. Compact and a little round, with a firecracker of a personality, he suddenly realized she had always reminded him of Margaret Caine before she was diagnosed with cancer.

He set her down and was charmed when she adjusted his collar and smoothed out his jacket.

“I’ve been a little busy. As you can probably tell,” he said.

“So I hear. Moving back to your hometown, taking a new job. All without a word to your friends. Why didn’t you ever tell us what a charming place Hope’s Crossing is? I feel like I’ve stepped back in time—and you know me and history.”

“Right. This is the woman who keeps the History channel going at all hours of the day and night.”

He pictured their house, brimming with antiques and warmth and welcome.

Not to mention her lying, son of a bitch of a husband.

“The antique streetlights—love them!” she gushed. “And our hotel is this fantastic little bed-and-breakfast in a huge old Victorian looking over the town.”

“Yeah. Hope’s Crossing definitely has its appeal,” he answered.

“When Teresa told me last week what you were trying to do here for wounded veterans, I knew at once we had to help all we can. Mike has a check for you. Don’t be shocked at all the zeros. I insisted.”

He managed a smile, wondering how he could possibly take the man’s money—and how he could break Kris’s heart by refusing it.

“How are the kids?” he asked, to divert her attention.

“Good. Growing up. Can you believe Annemarie is nine now?”

“No. Wow, I remember when she was born.” They had been on a road trip to Chicago, he remembered, a four-game series. Mike had flown back the minute Kris went into labor, and Spence had thrown his first no-hitter.

“They miss you. I wish you had come to see them before you left town. Maybe we’ll come back to ski when the weather changes.”

“That would be great,” he lied. His smile might just crack his face if he had to keep it there another minute. “Let me introduce you to Harry Lange. He knows more about the history of Hope’s Crossing than anybody else in town.”

He left the two of them engaged in an intense dialogue about striking miners in the 1920s and turned back to the milling crowd. As it seemed wont to do since she had arrived an hour earlier, his gaze sought out and found Charlotte. Wearing a flowery lavender dress, she was having what looked like an animated conversation with Ty Jacobs.

His mouth tightened. Somebody ought to warn her the guy had a reputation as a serious player—and not just in the outfield.

A sweet girl like Charlotte probably had no experience with a guy like him. She would think all the flirting and posturing meant something real.

With the vague idea of rescuing her—and perhaps subtly warning Jacobs off—he started to head in that direction but it immediately became clear that Charlotte was holding her own.

She seemed relaxed and comfortable with Jacobs, in marked contrast to the fine tension Spence sensed in her when she was around
him.
She laughed at something the outfielder said, the sound musical and light, and to his shock, he felt some of his anger escape.

How did she do that? He was so pissed about Mike showing up out of the blue he could barely focus around it, and Charlotte somehow managed to take the edge off with just a laugh—aimed at another man, no less.

He had to stop this. She wasn’t
his
and he wasn’t in any kind of position to change that particular circumstance, no matter how much he might wish differently.

* * *

“I’
M
SORRY
. I
CAN
’
T
tonight. I’ve got plans,” Charlotte lied to the very smooth-tongued Ty Jacobs. He was even better looking in person than he appeared on ESPN, with tanned, rugged features and little crinkly laugh lines around dark blue eyes. Add to that the streaky blond hair and all those muscles and he was pretty irresistible.

Maybe for another woman who wasn’t completely hung up on Spence Gregory.

She knew he was only flirting with her because he was bored but it was still a nice little boost to her morale.

“Come on. You can break your plans.” He gave her a dazzling smile. “Have dinner with me. I’m only in town for one night. Are you really going to relegate me to a lonely hotel room—stuck alone with the remote control and the minibar?”

“You certainly paint a bleak picture.”

“Have a little pity on a guy. Do you have any idea how many nights I spend on the road exactly like that?”

“Probably very few,” she said drily.

“A shy, retiring guy like me? No way. Come on. If not dinner, how about at least a drink? You can show me where all the locals hang out.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. He reminded her forcefully of a couple of her brothers, particularly Jamie and Aidan. “This local generally hangs out at the bead store, where the only drinks are bottled water. Oh, and hot chocolate in the winter. Here. Have some fudge.”

She grabbed one of the etched silver platters off a pedestal table Spence’s staff had set at convenient intervals around the terrace and held one out to him. “I’m particularly fond of the raspberry fudge. It was an excellent batch.”

“Not crazy about raspberries. What’s the white one?”

“White chocolate lemon. Also delicious, if I do say so myself.”

“I’ll try that one.” He snagged a piece and took a bite. His face immediately went into paroxysms of delight. “Oh, man,” he moaned. “Man, oh, man, oh,
man,
that’s good.”

“Yes. I know,” she answered, laughing at his exaggerated reaction.

“What’s the matter, Jacobs? You need the Heimlich or something?”

With a shiver, she realized Spence stood at her shoulder watching his former teammate.

“Fudge. Sooo good,” he mumbled around another mouthful.

“I’ll send a whole box of the lemon to your hotel room,” she promised. “It pairs very well with one of those tiny eight-dollar bottles of wine from your minibar.”

He grinned. “You are a cruel, cruel woman.”

She managed to smile in response, not quite certain why Spence was glowering.

He should be celebrating. His staff had thrown together a beautiful event on extremely short notice. The terrace was adorned with baskets spilling over with lush Colorado wildflowers. In the late afternoon, it made the ideal venue, overlooking the splendor of the mountains and the site where the cabins would be constructed. The media was out in force—one of the staff members told her giddily that at least a dozen different outlets had come.

So why was Spence looking so dour?

“Are you ready to say a few words?”

“Now?” Nerves fluttered wildly in her stomach.

“Sure. Why not? We’ll give a brief welcome speech, I’ll say a few words, you say a few words, then we’ll walk down to the groundbreaking for the grip and grins, and afterward come back up here so Jacobs can eat more of your fudge.”

She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly bone-dry. “Okay. Yes. I’m ready.”

Spence must have sensed some of her nerves. He leaned in and brushed his lips to her cheek, and she wanted to fall into his heat and his strength. “You’ll be wonderful. Don’t worry.”

He walked away to arrange things and she stood frozen. She had a speech prepared but she had no idea if what she wanted to say would be worth listening to.

“Ah,” Ty said suddenly. “Let me guess. The reason you have plans tonight is in some way connected to Smokin’ Hot Spence.”

“What? No! I— Why would you—” She let out a breath. “Am I that obvious?”

“No. Just something in your eyes when you looked at him tipped me off. That, and the way he came over here ready to bust my ass over a little hopeful flirtation.”

“Spence isn’t... We’re not...together.”

Ty looked as if he wanted to argue but the man in question took to the small podium before he had a chance.

“Welcome, everyone,” Spence said. “I want to personally thank you all for coming to the groundbreaking for the first facilities of A Warrior’s Hope.”

* * *

H
OW
MUCH
LONGER
did she need to stay?

An hour later—after all the speeches had been given, every ceremonial shovel had been turned and the group had moved back to the terrace for the cocktail party—Charlotte was physically and emotionally drained.

She had barely been able to speak after Spence’s moving words about the reason behind A Warrior’s Hope. Somehow she had managed to hold it together in order to speak unemotionally for only a few moments in general terms about what her family had suffered and how her brother was still coming to terms with his life, months after the injury.

She thought their combined words had made the point about the vast need for follow-up care for returning soldiers who had sacrificed so much. She had even seen one reporter surreptitiously wipe her eye, but that might have been allergies from all the wildflowers.

Now her ankle was throbbing from standing in heels for so long, and she had a headache blooming at her temples.

She didn’t see any reason why she couldn’t go. Her part was done, except for the Sugar Rush gift boxes that displayed the logo for A Warrior’s Hope.

One of the staff had directed her to leave them in a room near the recreation center administrative offices. If she could escape through the crowd without too many diversionary conversations, she could set them out on the table for departing guests to take as a memento and then make her escape.

With that in mind, she wended her way through the people, stopping here and there to talk briefly to people she knew. She pushed open the doors.

After the noise on the terrace, the cool quiet offices were a bastion of peace, one she didn’t want to leave. Nobody would mind if she hung out in here to catch her breath, she decided.

She kicked her shoe off and rubbed at her ankle. Most of the time it didn’t bother her anymore. She was back running every morning with only a trace of discomfort, but wearing the unaccustomed high heels must have irritated the tendons or something.

Had it really been a month since she had injured it? She couldn’t fathom that Spence had been in town that long. Really, in the scheme of things, four weeks wasn’t long at all, considering all that he had accomplished.

She rotated her ankle a little more and was just about to slip her foot back into her shoe and grab the fudge boxes when she heard raised voices coming from the reception area just outside the office where she was hiding out.

“I honestly can’t believe you have the balls to show up here after everything.”

Charlotte frowned. Who would Spence be speaking to with such leashed fury in his voice?

“Come on, man. Can’t you let it go, after all this time?”

She instantly recognized the voice of one of Spence’s former teammates, Mike Broderick, who had flown in for the media event with the others.

“I’ve changed. I cleaned up, just like I promised. You can urine test me if you want, right here, right now.”

When Spence spoke, his fury hadn’t lessened. “You threw me to the wolves, Mike. You were my best friend and you screwed me over. The drugs were the least of it.”

Drugs. Mike Broderick. Her heart pumped in her chest.
This
was the core of all the secrets Spence had been keeping. She knew it.

She didn’t know what to do. Should she go out there, show herself before this escalated into something even more ugly?

“I was so messed up,” Mike said. She thought she heard a genuine note of regret in his voice. “You know how it is. You went through your own shit.”