Willowleaf Lane (7 page)

The hell of it was, she was right. But by then, he was tangled in his own legal issues and busy trying to stay out of prison to spend much time worrying about the woman responsible for tangling him up in the whole mess in the first place.

“We’re a family, like it or not,” he said now, trying his best to keep his temper contained.

“I don’t,” she muttered under her breath.

“Look, you’ve convinced yourself you hate it here but we’ve only been here a few days. Give it time. I think you’ll change your mind. And I promise, first order of business for me is to hire a housekeeper. I’m working through an agency and expect to have someone by the end of the day.”

“I don’t see why we need a housekeeper.”

He couldn’t take any more. “Face it, kid. We’re slobs. I haven’t washed dishes in a long time. We need somebody to clean up after us, cook for us, run you around, be here if you break your thumbs with all that texting.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” she muttered.

“You will. Once you’ve been here awhile and have a chance to make some new friends, you’ll probably find all kinds of things to do. Meantime, today I would like you to come with me and be my moral support. Please. Just get dressed, Peyton.”

He could tell she wanted to offer more arguments but she finally slid off the bar stool.

He whispered a prayer of gratitude that at least he didn’t get another
whatever
out of her.

* * *

“G
OOD
NEWS
. N
OTHING
’
S
broken
.
”

“What did I tell you?”

Charlotte shifted her aching ankle to a little more comfortable position on the exam table while her primary care physician, Susannah Harris, examined the X-ray displayed on the wall-hung light cabinet.

Dr. Harris tucked a strand of steel-gray hair behind her ear. “It’s not broken but your ankle is badly sprained. In my experience, sorry to say, a sprain can sometimes be more painful than a fracture.”

Charlotte closed her eyes, foreseeing a difficult week. “This is going to be a problem for me, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t have to be. But I would recommend you stay off it for at least a week.”

“I can’t do that! What about the store? And my running? I have to exercise!”

Susannah had been with her through her whole weight-loss journey. She knew how deadly a change in routine could be for someone trying to establish new habits.

“Calm down, Charlotte. You can do this.”

Easy for Susannah to say. She was athletic and tough and ran marathons for fun.

“Have you done much swimming?” the doctor went on. “The new pool at the recreation center is wonderful. James and I went up over the weekend. They reserve it for lap swimming in the morning and it wasn’t very busy when we were there.”

When she was young, she used to swim all the time but since she had gained weight, she hated how she looked in a swimsuit too much to subject herself to that humiliation very often.

What other choice did she have? She couldn’t run on her ankle. Right now, she couldn’t even walk. She had a reclined exercise bike but the thought of pedaling made her ankle give an angry throb.

Yet another reason to be angry with Spence Gregory for coming back to town and ruining
everything.

She frowned. Okay, in all fairness she couldn’t really blame him. How could he have known she would become so off balance to see him there that she would lose track of where she was running?

She could only imagine the trouble she could get into if he happened to walk past while she was swimming at the community center. Susannah would be treating her for a concussion from heedlessly ramming into the side of the pool.

“I’ll figure something out. Thanks, Susannah.”

“I’m going to write a scrip for some crutches. You can pick them up at our pharmacy here at the clinic. Use them, got it?”

“At least it’s my left foot. I can still drive, right?”

“If you’re careful.” The doctor gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry I can’t give you better news. But look at it this way—you don’t have to wear a cast.”

Small favors. This would definitely complicate her life. In addition to the difficulties at work, she would have to try very hard to make sure she didn’t lose hard-fought ground when it came to working out.

Susannah gazed at her computer screen for a moment. “It looks like you’ve lost another five pounds since I saw you two months ago. That’s fantastic, Charlotte. Doesn’t that put you right at your goal weight?”

She smiled. “Yes. Three pounds ago.”

“You’re an inspiration. You’ve added years to your life, you know. I can tell you that, if you hadn’t lost the weight, this injury probably would have been far worse—and I think you’ll find your ankle will heal much faster than it would have otherwise, since you’re more toned and your diet is more healthy.”

Of course, if she hadn’t lost the weight, she probably wouldn’t have been running in front of Spence Gregory’s just after sunrise to go sprawling into the street. But she decided not to mention that little fact to the doctor.

She left Susannah’s office with her ankle wrapped and her palm bandaged, wielding a rented pair of crutches.

She drove to work trying to figure out how she was going to handle parking. Most downtown merchants used a lot a block off Main Street in order to leave the prime spots for customers. She certainly had a good excuse to park closer but she couldn’t find a more convenient spot. Besides, parking along the street was limited to two hours anyway. She ended up circling around the block and finally pulling back into the off-street parking lot.

Ah, well. It would give her good practice on the crutches and a little of that exercise she and Susannah were just talking about.

By the time she made it half a block, she was reconsidering. Besides the steady throb of her ankle, her hands hurt where she clutched the crutches and her armpits burned.

This would get old fast.

She was walking past String Fever, her favorite place to bead, when Claire McKnight, the owner of the store, and her manager, Evie Thorne, came out the front door.

“Oh, my word,” Claire exclaimed, consternation temporarily shunting aside her voluptuous pregnancy glow. She planted her hands on her hips. “Charlotte Caine, what have you done to yourself?”

She was grateful for the chance to take a break and sank onto the conveniently situated bench outside the bead store. “Nothing. It’s so embarrassing. I sprained my ankle this morning on my run.”

Tripping over my feet, just because Spence Gregory happens to look gorgeous in a pair of jogging shorts.

“Do you have to use the crutches long?” Evie asked. She was a physical therapist by training, though she only maintained a select few clients and preferred to spend most of her time working at the bead store.

Charlotte sighed. “Dr. Harris tells me I’m supposed to keep weight off it for a week. It’s really no big deal.”

“It is. Believe me, I know how horrible crutches can be,” Claire said. “Why don’t you come into the store and let me get you a drink and fuss over you for a bit? The fall bead magazines showed up this morning.”

Fall, already? She supposed so. It wouldn’t be long, anyway. Here in Hope’s Crossing, the quaking aspens would start turning gold in another month.

“That sounds tempting, believe me, but I’m afraid I’m already late heading into the store. I missed the whole morning at the doctor’s. I hope nobody needs an urgent order of fudge made today because I’m afraid it’s not happening.”

“You’re coming to the book club meeting tomorrow, aren’t you?”

She had completely forgotten in the chaos of Spence’s return. “I should be there, as long as I can find a convenient spot to prop my ankle.”

“We’ll make sure you do,” Evie promised. “Here. Stand up. Let me help adjust those crutches to a better fit.”

Charlotte had learned a long time ago it was best to just obey when her dear friends started trying to order her life. She stood and let Evie fuss over her for a moment.

“There. Try that.”

She took a few exploratory steps with the crutches and smiled back over her shoulder. “That’s tons better. Wow. Amazing!”

“We all have our little skills. You make the best fudge in the Rocky Mountains. I adjust crutches. Take it easy. Even when your ankle starts to feel better, you can do serious damage if you push yourself.”

“So Dr. Harris warned me. Thank you for the double dose of caution. I promise, I’ll sit in my office at the store all day long and let my employees wait on me hand and foot.”

“Good idea,” Claire said. “Or better yet, take the day off. You’ve got smart people working for you. They can handle things without you during an emergency like this.”

Charlotte gave Claire and Evie a warm smile. “I’m a lucky woman to have friends to fret about me.”

“Yes, you are,” Claire answered.

With a smile and a wave, Charlotte started to hobble toward Sugar Rush when Evie moved up to walk beside her.

“Wait,” her friend said. “I’m heading that direction anyway to grab coffee at Maura’s place. I’ll walk with you.”

She had a feeling that wasn’t precisely true, and that Evie was manufacturing a reason to accompany her, probably to make sure she didn’t take another dive off the sidewalk.

As long as Spence didn’t happen to walk by and start some leg stretches, she should be fine.

“So I understand Alex is trying to set you up next weekend with one of Sam’s army buddies.”

Crap. She had completely forgotten about that. She absolutely didn’t want to go out on a blind date while she was on crutches. She would just have to hope she didn’t need them by the following weekend.

“I’ve met Garrett King,” Evie said. “He seems very nice. You should have a wonderful time.”

Evie was another of her friends who had a great husband. She and Brodie just seemed to fit together, perfectly complementing the other’s strengths.

Evie had moved to Hope’s Crossing a few years ago from Los Angeles, where she’d had a successful pediatric rehab practice. After Brodie’s teenage daughter, Taryn, had been injured in a severe car accident that had killed another teen, Evie had stepped in to help the girl’s recovery.

Charlotte started to ask about Taryn, but before she could get the words out, an old blue battered pickup pulled up to the curb beside them and the driver killed the engine.

Tucker’s big droopy face hung out the passenger window and a moment later, Dylan climbed out the other side and walked around the front of the truck. He wore his customary scowl but for once, he looked more concerned than angry at the world.

“What the hell happened to you?” he exclaimed. “I just saw you last night!”

She sighed, wondering how many times she was going to have to go over this with people. Probably a couple dozen more that day, at least. “You know me. Clumsy as a deaf bat. I sprained my ankle while I was running this morning.”

“That’s what happens when you go running. Sorry about that. You need a ride somewhere?”

“I’m heading to the store.”

“Let me walk you the rest of the way.”

“Okay,” she managed to say, so surprised at his gesture, she forgot to point out that she was almost there, that Evie was already babysitting her or that Dylan had parked in a red zone.

When they reached the store, Evie waved and headed back to the bookstore and coffee shop. Dylan lingered in the doorway, his features troubled.

“I was thinking I might have dinner tonight at the café. If you’re not hurting too bad, want to come?”

She stared at him, wondering if she had imagined the breathtaking words. Was Dylan actually instigating a social engagement, inviting his sister to have dinner at their father’s café? She could hardly believe it. She gave him a careful look but he certainly looked sober to her. He knew better than to get behind the wheel otherwise.

“Yeah. Yes. Of course! I should be done at the store about seven.”

“Okay.” He shifted. “I’ll meet you in front of the store. That way you won’t have to walk there on the sticks.”

It was only a block away and she could probably walk but she was so thrilled at this new development that she didn’t turn him down.

“Yes. Great. I’ll see you at seven.”

Dylan looked pained for a moment, as if he had half hoped she would refuse, but then he nodded and returned to his pickup. She watched him drive away, effervescent hope bubbling through her.

If twisting her ankle had in any way contributed to her brother agreeing to venture out into public long enough to have dinner at the café, she would trip over her feet in front of Spence Gregory’s house every day for a month.

CHAPTER SIX

D
USKY
SUNLIGHT
FILTERED
up the canyon when Spence finally left the recreation center at the end of his first day and headed down the road that paralleled the reservoir toward town.

His day hadn’t been
completely
miserable. He had met the new staff at the rec center and spent a little time talking to them, listening to their ideas, trying to assure them he had no plans to come in and radically change what they had already started.

So far, so good. Though he had intercepted a few sideways glances and everyone treated him with wariness, nobody had come right out and called him a drug-dealing murderer. Always a bonus, when he could say that at the end of the day.

The recreation center wasn’t finished yet. When it was done, it would have an extensive network of facilities, indoors and outdoors. An equestrian complex, hiking trails, a practice ski jump, even boating docks and a swim beach in the reservoir.

It was an ambitious project for a town the size of Hope’s Crossing, created through a complicated mix of taxes and private donations, but he was already excited about the possibilities. For once, he thought he might be able to put to use the college business classes his one-time mentor had encouraged him to take during the off-season.

At the thought of Mike Broderick—once one of his best friends in the world—his hands tightened on the steering wheel and that familiar surge of bitter anger scorched through him. He pushed it away, knowing it was as pointless as ever and somehow didn’t belong in the midst of the pure beauty he drove through.

Summer evenings in the Colorado high country were divine, green and lush and full of long, lazy shadows. He had forgotten that in the years he was gone.

He glanced over at his daughter, thumbing her way through what passed for a conversation these days with one of her friends.

“Thanks for coming with me today. I appreciated the moral support.”

She made a
hmmph
sort of sound. “Funny. I don’t remember you giving me much choice.”

“You couldn’t have been bored. Every time I saw you, you were doing something. Swimming in the pool, trying the machines in the weight room, hanging out in the lobby with your computer. It looked like you made a few friends.”

She shrugged, her eyes still on her phone. “Not really.”

“I saw you talking to some girls.”

From his perspective, she had looked animated and even happy, but the next time he had walked past, she had been sitting alone with her computer again, with no sign of the other girls.

“I guess.”

Little Miss Loquacious, apparently. “Were they nice?”

She hesitated for a moment then shrugged. “Sure. Until I told them who I was. More important, who
you
were. Then they wanted to ask me all kinds of questions about you and about Mom and everything.”

His hands tightened again, this time with anger directed at himself. He hated that his child had been affected by the hot mess created by the adults around her.

And this, kids, is what happens when a stupid nineteen-year-old boy jumps into the deep end before he learns to swim and signs a multimillion-dollar contract, which attracts all the wrong sort of women.

He would give anything to go back and fix his mistakes—except that would mean he wouldn’t have this smart, funny, beautiful girl for a daughter.

He just had to hope that things would get better for both of them.

“I don’t know what we have to fix in the groceries I had delivered. Feel like going out somewhere tonight?”

“Whatever.”

Ah, there it was. He fought down a sigh and turned his SUV toward downtown, knowing just where he wanted to go.

He found a parking place on Main Street, across from the bookstore and coffee bar he’d stopped at his first night in town.

He had heard it belonged to Maura McKnight. Her kid brother Riley had played ball with him, though he’d been a few years older. Maura had once been married to Chris Parker, lead singer of Pendragon—one of Peyton’s favorite bands.

He wondered what might be his chances of swinging an autographed poster or something, though he couldn’t imagine that would be enough to make Peyton hate him less.

“Where are we going?” she asked as he moved around to open the car door for her.

“Remember how I told you I washed dishes at the café Charlotte’s dad runs? I thought you would like to see the place. You might enjoy imagining me elbow deep in dishwater.”

She looked intrigued as they crossed the street, with its historic reproduction streetlamps and hanging flower baskets.

“What was her name?” she asked after a minute.

“Who?” he stalled.

“Your mom. You said this morning she had been a waitress there. You never talk about her. She would have been my grandma, right?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t know what to say about her. He had loved her fiercely and had once beat the crap out of a punk at school, Corey Johnson, for calling her a drunk.

When she was sober, she had been funny and bright, full of stories and jokes. She had played ball with him in the backyard and had taken him cross-country skiing.

Through his teen years, she hadn’t been sober very often.

“Her name was Billie,” he finally answered. “She grew up here in Hope’s Crossing but left to go to college in California, where she met my dad. She was a really talented artist and loved to read.”

He could see the wheels turning in Peyton’s head. “Really?”

“She used to draw funny cartoons for me on the napkin she packed in my lunch.”

Until his dad died, when everything had fallen apart.

“How did she die?”

He didn’t want to tell Peyton that the talented, beautiful artist drank herself to death. “She just got sick one day and didn’t get better.”

It was the truth, anyway. Her liver had finally given up after years of abuse. He had spent New Year’s Eve of his senior year in high school not at the big party his friends were having but at the hospital with her while doctors told him she wasn’t going to live through the night.

“That’s really sad,” Peyton said.

“Yeah. It was.” Even more tragic because of all that wasted potential.

He didn’t want to think about Billie, but it was hard to escape it here in this town. With a weird feeling of déjà vu, he pushed through the door into the Center of Hope Café.

Not much had changed. Oh, it looked like the walls had been painted and Dermot had put a few new paintings on the wall to freshen things up—one that looked like it was done by his favorite artist, Sarah Colville, whom he had heard lived in town. Other than that, he could have been a kid again, running in late after baseball practice for his evening shift.

A tall hearty-looking man with a white apron tied around his waist stopped dead when he and Peyton walked inside. The man gazed at him, an arrested look in eyes the same blue as one of the glacier-fed lakes that dotted the mountains.

“Why, as I live and breathe. Spencer Gregory himself.”

At the welcome in those eyes, warmth washed through, sweet and cleansing. To his shock, emotion welled up inside him and he had to clear his throat before he spoke.

“Dermot. It’s been too long.”

“That is has, son. That it has.”

After a moment, Dermot Caine—almost as tall as Spencer—reached out and hugged him hard, not at all afraid to show affection to another man, apparently.

That emotion welled up again and he realized how very much he had been in need of a friendly face in town, someone who didn’t seem to paint him with that ugly brush.

Dermot stepped away, wiping at his eyes with the edge of his white apron. “Why ever have you stayed away so long?”

“That’s a damn good question,” he said, not quite sure how to answer. He could have said that he had lost his way, that he had been too caught up trying to prove himself. Dermot seemed to understand without the words.

“You’re here now. That’s the important thing. You’re here, and it looks like you’ve brought me someone.”

Spence angled his head down to find that Peyton stood a half pace behind him.

“Yes. Dermot, this my daughter, Peyton. Peyton, Dermot Caine is one of the best men I know.”

Those blue eyes looked pleased and seemed to water a little more as he reached a hand out and solemnly shook Peyton’s hand. “Welcome to our little town, my dear. I hope you’ll feel most welcome.”

“Mr. Caine, you’re related to the lady who owns the candy store, right?”

His features creased into a handsome smile. “Why, yes I am. Charlotte is my only daughter after six big, smelly, farty sons. She’s the light of an old man’s eye, she is.”

“She’s nice,” Peyton said with a shy smile that warmed Spencer’s heart. “She gave me a big bag of fudge yesterday.”

“And doesn’t it taste delicious? You need to try her toffee. Better than anything you’ll find in a tin, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Looks crowded tonight,” Spence said. “Any chance you’ve got a free booth for us?”

“For my best dishwasher, always. Let’s take a look.”

He led them to a booth in the front that overlooked Main Street and the bustle of tourist traffic.

“We’ve changed a few things over the years but I think you’ll still find some of the old favorites. You don’t fix what’s not broken, right?”

“Thank you, Dermot.”

The man paused beside the booth as Spence and Peyton slid in on opposite sides then handed the menus to them and poured water from a pitcher into their glasses.

Before Dermot walked away, he rested a hand for just a moment on Spence’s shoulder. How was it possible that one small gesture could convey so much meaning? Sorrow, comfort, concern, happiness at seeing a long-lost friend. It was all there.

Spence sipped at his water glass and opened the menu. Across from him, Peyton frowned.

“Wow. Is there anything
not
fried on the menu?”

He had barely taken a look but he didn’t exactly remember Center of Hope being famous for its diet food. “Turkey wraps. Those look good. Or I see a couple salads.”

She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, and he thought how thin her wrists were. She did not need to be worrying about her weight at twelve, unless she was trying to figure out how to pack on a few pounds.

Jade had been obsessed with her weight, tracking calories, exercising at least two hours a day. He never could figure out how someone so concerned with being thin, ostensibly taking care of her body, could then abuse it with any little pill that made her feel good.

“I’ll just have a hamburger,” Peyton finally said. “I guess all that swimming today worked up an appetite.”

He couldn’t be too worried about Jade’s obsession trickling down to Peyton if she could order a hamburger.

“That actually sounds good. I think I’ll have one, too.”

Dermot sent over a young shaggy blond snowboarder type to take their order. He wondered if Della Pine still worked there. She had been quite a character.

Peyton blushed a little when she ordered and kept her eyes on the menu.

“Good choice,” the kid said after he wrote down their order. “The burgers here are killer. Seriously.”

Not the most ringing endorsement, but Spence would take it.

They lapsed into silence and Peyton once more pulled out her cell phone, her favorite conversation-butcher of choice, and started sending a text. He looked out the window, wondering how the hell he was going to reach her, when she looked up at a new arrival.

“Hey, isn’t that...” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. “Wow, Dad. Way to go. You broke Charlotte’s leg.”

He turned around to the door behind him and watched Charlotte, bright and lovely as any Hope’s Crossing evening, hobble in on a pair of aluminum crutches.

He muttered an oath. Had she broken her foot this morning? He really should have taken her to see a doctor instead of just leaving her at her house.

Wasn’t it just his luck? He had one real ally in this town, Dermot, and apparently Spence had just broken the leg of the man’s beloved only daughter.

Dermot rushed out of the kitchen, his distinguished features a study of paternal concern. “Now what’s all this?” he demanded.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” Charlotte assured her father, but Spence had an up-close-and-personal acquaintance with injuries of various sorts and knew she was lying. As one who had endured his own aches and pains, including his career-ending shoulder injury, he recognized the pale set features of someone fighting to hide great discomfort.

“You’re not fine or you wouldn’t be using crutches, now would you?” her father countered. “Tell me what happened to my girl.”

Even from here, Spence could hear her sigh. “It’s nothing, I promise. I fell while I was out running this morning and sprained my ankle. Dr. Harris assures me I only need to keep weight off it for a week or so, and I’ll be good as new.”

Her father frowned. “Well, then, why are you standing up? Come on with you. Let’s get you to a place where you can sit.”

Before he realized what Dermot intended, the man led his daughter to the booth right next to his. So far, she seemed so preoccupied with wending her way on the crutches through chairs and customers to notice him and Peyton until her father helpfully brought their presence to her attention.

“Here you go, my dear. And look who’s here, too? Our Spencer has come back at last.”

He wasn’t sure how it happened but one of the crutches tangled with a chair leg at a nearby table and she started to topple. Dermot, more spry than a sixtysomething man ought to be, managed to catch her and right her, then help her into the booth.

Her expression made it quite clear he wasn’t
our Spencer
at all. He had a feeling she would like to ignore them—or him, at least—but their proximity made that impossible.

“Hello again, Spence. Hi, Peyton.”

“Hi,” Peyton answered. “Your fudge was really good. I’ve already eaten like half of it.”

Charlotte looked surprised. “Really? I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

A clatter of dishes sounded from around the corner and Dermot cursed in what sounded like Gaelic. “That boy is going to drive this place into the ground with the cost of replacing dishes alone. Excuse me, will you?”