Heartsong Cottage (8 page)

Shannon then had a clear, vivid memory of Gabi standing in her front yard a week ago talking about a guest and Lucca Romano's couch. Daniel. The Daniel who had located Holly and brought her home to Hope.

Daniel Garrett.

The same Daniel Garrett who made his living as a private investigator.
He makes his living by finding people!

And she lived in hiding, under a name that wasn't her own.

In that moment, her stomach rebelled. She threw back the covers and dashed for the bathroom and made it just in time before she became violently sick.

Stupid. Slutty. And dangerous behavior.

*   *   *

Daniel knocks on the front door of the Holman house in an upscale Kansas City suburb, a local police detective at his side. At the sound of the gunshot, the two men share a look. Daniel doesn't hesitate. He draws back his leg and kicks in the door and finds … carnage.

Blood. So much blood. No no no! Suicide is too easy for the perverted piece of filth. He looks around. Spies the bookshelf filled with dolls and bile rises within him.

Movement beside him jerks him awake. He opens his eyes to see a woman's naked backside running into the bathroom. He sits up, blinks hard, shakes his head, and winces—from the headache and the lingering horror of his dream.

When the memory of his actions the previous night flowed through his thoughts, he groaned aloud.

“Dumbass,” he muttered as sounds of retching reached him.

He sighed and reached for his slacks. He didn't often do things that left him cringing, but his actions of the previous night darn sure did. No wonder he'd dreamed of a scumbag. He'd acted like one himself last night. He'd taken advantage of Shannon … damn. He didn't even know her last name.

The sound of the shower running reached him as he buckled his belt. He slipped into his shirt and walked into the kitchen as he buttoned it. She hadn't been kidding about the renovations. Her refrigerator was a dorm-sized one. The lone remaining cabinet held the kitchen sink. He focused on the coffeemaker that sat on a shelf made of cinder blocks and lumber. He dumped out the untouched coffee from last night, washed the carafe, then looked around for the coffee and filters, finally finding them inside a bread box on the cinder-block shelf.

The fresh pot of coffee had almost finished brewing when Shannon joined him in the kitchen. She'd dressed in jeans and a Colorado Rockies T-shirt. With her hair wet and wearing no makeup, she looked fresh and lovely and about seventeen years old—which made Daniel feel about seventy.

“Well…” she said, not quite meeting his gaze. “This is awkward. I hope you'll believe me when I tell you I don't have much experience with this morning-after-with-a-stranger sort of thing.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a rueful smile. “I hope you'll believe me when I say I don't, either.”

“I'm sorry that—”

“I need to apologize about—”

They'd spoken simultaneously. They both stopped mid-sentence. She blushed and turned away and pulled one coffee mug from the breadbox. She opened a cardboard box in the mudroom and removed a second mug. “I don't have cream. I have milk if you'd like that.”

“Black is fine.”

He stood awkwardly in the middle of her tiny, torn-up kitchen while she filled a mug and handed it to him, careful not to brush his fingers with hers. Daniel took a grateful sip and debated what to say. He could attempt another apology. He could make excuses. He could make a stab at small talk.

Had he ever felt this uncomfortable in his life?

Daniel hadn't been celibate in the years since Gail's death. He'd dated a number of women, and he'd had two relatively long-term relationships. He'd never in his life had a one-night stand. He had no experience with this sort of thing.

In the end, he went with the one thing he needed to say most of all. “Shannon, thank you for a very nice evening.”

She stared down at her coffee cup and appeared to brace herself. In a soft, small voice, she said, “Thank you, Daniel. I was glad to have company last night.”

Then in a stronger tone, she said, “I set out a new toothbrush and razor and clean towels if you'd like to shower.”

“Yes. Thanks.” He made the escape gratefully, and took his time cleaning up. When he returned he found her standing at the kitchen window staring into the backyard. She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

“Feel better?”

“I do, thanks.”

“More coffee?”

“Please.”

As she filled his mug, she asked, “Would you like a piece of toast? I'm sorry I can't offer you a real breakfast, but I don't eat my meals here. My cupboard isn't only bare, it's nonexistent.”

“Thanks, but coffee is all I need. Unless … can I take you out to breakfast?”

“Oh, no. That's not necessary. No, thank you.”

Daniel got the impression that she'd have liked to put his coffee in a to-go cup. The needy woman from last night had completely disappeared in the light of day.

“So, how long will you be in Eternity Springs?”

He could tell she'd strived for a tone of general interest, but he didn't miss the dread in her voice. He'd left his return open-ended, thinking he'd spend some time in town, visit with the Romanos, do some fishing. Soak up the peace this town had to offer. But now, after last night, something told him he wouldn't find Eternity Springs peaceful in the least.
You really screwed up a good thing, Garrett.
“I need to leave this morning.”

Her obvious relief bordered on insulting. “Well, it's supposed to be beautiful weather. A nice day for a drive.”

“That's good.” He took another sip of his coffee, and then set the mug down. “I guess I'd better get going.”

She followed him into her living room where he picked up his suit jacket from where it lay draped over the back of a chair. She opened the front door. Daniel searched his mind awkwardly for the right words to say.
I'll call you?
No. He had no intention of calling her, and he'd never been one of those men who left women hanging that way. Besides, judging by the look on her face, she'd change her number if he dared say it. So, what? Another thank you? That didn't feel right.

Nothing about this morning felt right.

He'd never been good at this sort of thing.

He'd never done this sort of thing.

Damn. He leaned down and pressed a kiss against her cheek, and said the one thing that mattered most, apparently to them both. “Good-bye, Shannon.”

Relief glimmered in those big brown eyes. “Good-bye, Daniel. Drive safely.”

She shut the door behind him. Daniel hooked his jacket over his shoulder and stood without moving for a long moment as he tried to remember where he'd left his car. It seemed like a month ago since he'd locked the door and hotfooted it for the church.

As he started up the walk, music began to drift from Shannon's open window—Patsy Cline singing “Have You Ever Been Lonely.”

FIVE WEEKS LATER

Her eyes scrunched shut, her mouth dry with fright, Shannon tightened her arms around the motorcycle driver's waist and held on for dear life. Why had she ever agreed to this trip? What had she been thinking? Despite all of her problems then and now, she'd never had a death wish. In fact she'd been trying oh-so-hard to stay alive, had she not?

Then she'd gone and opened her mouth and admitted she'd never ridden a motorcycle before. Admitted it to Celeste Blessing, the Evil Knievel of Eternity Springs. Who would have thought that the warm, friendly, edging-toward-elderly former Southern charmer would behave like a maniac on twisting mountain roads? Not Shannon.

Finally, thirty minutes out of town—thirty minutes that felt more like thirty days—Celeste slowed down and turned off the road.
Thank you, God,
Shannon prayed.

Then Celeste gunned the engine as the Gold Wing topped a small rise and the motorcycle actually left the ground. Shannon let out a squeal and feared she'd prayed too soon. She gritted her teeth, ducked her head, and didn't breathe easy until Celeste braked to a complete stop and observed, “Why, isn't it delightful! Is this the right spot?”

Cautiously, Shannon opened her eyes.

In a small, narrow valley below, three cabins fashioned from rough-hewn logs stood nestled between a bubbling mountain creek running in front and a heavily wooded hill rising behind. “Yes, we're in the right place. That is Mr. Hamilton's truck parked in front of the big house. He told me his first thought upon seeing the property was Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and Baby Bear, so that's why he's calling it Three Bears Valley.”

“It's a perfect name. Though Baby Bear is a bit of a wreck.”

Shannon nodded, eyeing the broken windows and missing shingles. No telling how many four-legged creatures called it home. “From this viewpoint, Mama needs a little work, too.”

“Maybe he'll hire you to do more than the kitchen and bath mosaics.”

“Maybe,” Shannon said, and the hope that had sparked to life inside her yesterday burned a little brighter. A job like this could solve so many of her short-term problems.

The long-term ones were another matter entirely, but then they weren't what had put her on the back of Celeste Blessing's death machine this morning. Today was all about the possibility of a well-paying job brought to her by kismet—and the influence of her own personal angel.

“Hold on, dear.” Celeste guided the Gold Wing down the hill toward the lone bridge spanning the creek and toward what Shannon hoped would be her next project.

Celeste's timely offer to one of her guests of an advertising flyer about the open house at Heartsong Cottage had brought Bob Hamilton to Shannon's door. When the gentleman from Hobbs, New Mexico, asked dozens of questions about the remodel and showed particular interest in the kitchen mosaic, Shannon had thought she might have found a buyer for her home. Instead, he'd asked if she'd be interested in doing mosaics in the kitchens and baths of structures on property he'd recently purchased half an hour from town.

Celeste pulled the motorcycle to a halt next to the red truck, and cut the motor. “I can't believe I missed hearing about this property when it came on the market.”

“Mr. Hamilton said it was a private sale. He's a personal acquaintance of the former owner.”

The women dismounted, and Shannon turned in a slow circle, taking a moment to drink in the beauty, peace, and quiet of the spot. On the hillside behind the cabins, a band of aspen cut a glowing golden swath across the deep green of the forest of pine and fir. To the north, the granite cliffs of Murphy Mountain climbed high into the sky. A beaver dam stretched across the creek downstream of the bridge. Upstream, the bubble and rush of water hitting rocks joined the song of a meadowlark perched atop the cabin's stone chimney to provide nature's music to the moment. Turning in a slow circle, she asked, “It's a feast for the eyes, isn't it?”

“Food for the soul,” Celeste observed.

Heaven knows, she needed soul nourishment these days, Shannon thought as the front door opened and the property owner walked out onto the front porch. Tall, lean, with a thick mane of silver hair, Bob Hamilton welcomed them with a hearty hello.

Then he proceeded to turn on the flirt toward Celeste. To Shannon's delight, her friend flirted right back. Shannon watched the back-and-forth with blatant interest.

She reviewed what she knew of the older woman's background. It didn't take long, because despite her prominence in town, Celeste remained a bit of a mystery. Shannon knew that she was widowed, but she rarely spoke of her husband, and Shannon wasn't certain how long ago she'd lost him. Celeste had mentioned her regret over never having had children, and she did speak of a sister upon occasion. Rose had told Shannon that Celeste had a whole bunch of cousins. Shannon was curious about the source of Celeste's obviously considerable wealth, but she wasn't rude enough to ask.

“I'll have the president of my motorcycle club send you the information, Bob. Now, I know Shannon is anxious to see what your plans are for your place.”

Bob Hamilton explained how he'd purchased the property from a business partner with the hope of it becoming a meeting place for his children and grandchildren. “I have good kids, but they are spread out all over the country. My goal is to lure them to Colorado. My wife was the glue that held us together, and after she died, we drifted apart. I want my kids to be part of each other's lives again. I think that's important.”

“Yes, I agree,” Celeste said. “Young people often don't understand the comfort of having someone with whom you're able to reflect upon shared memories and experiences of your formative years as you grow older.”

“Exactly.” Bob beamed at her. “And I also want my grandkids off the Internet and out in the great outdoors fishing and hiking and riding horses. They need to learn the joys of communing with nature, but they're city kids, so I don't want to make it too difficult for them to adjust. Gotta have some creature comforts out here, though I draw the line at luxury. That's why I'm renovating instead of demolishing and rebuilding. I want the kids to visit, but not move in.”

“Wise words of empty-nesters everywhere,” Celeste agreed.

Bob flashed a grin. “So, are you ready for the grand tour?”

Shannon nodded. “Absolutely.”

They walked through the main house first, and spent some time at his kitchen table looking at the architectural drawings. Bob explained that he'd wanted to preserve as much of the original structures as possible, and his architect had done a fabulous job incorporating those wishes into the design. “But I don't have that something special that I want for Three Bears yet. I'm not overwhelmed by the interior design. I want each of these houses to have something unique and special that will make a memory for my grandchildren. When I saw the mosaics at Heartsong Cottage, I knew I'd found what's been missing.