Hummingbird Lake (19 page)

“Be quiet, Rafferty. I’m done with you. Let me get
some sleep.” She closed her eyes, then smiled when he pulled her to him and spooned against him.

“Thank you, Sage,” he murmured, kissing the back of her neck.

Sage slept like a baby that night, all through the night, and actually late into the morning. She woke alone, sore, and feeling better than she’d felt in months. Maybe even years.

She rolled from bed, scooped up the robe he’d obviously left for her, and availed herself of the master bathroom. Then she went looking for Colt.

He stood on the deck talking on the telephone. Seeing her, he ended his call, smiled warmly, and stepped inside. “Good morning.”

“Hi.”

He studied her a moment, then gave a satisfied nod. “You slept okay.”

“I did. You?”

“I slept great.” He took her hand and brought it to his mouth and kissed it. “Would you like some tea?”

“No, thanks. I need to be getting home. I have a haircut appointment this morning.”

“What’s your afternoon like? Want to hike up to Heartache Falls with me?”

“Oh.” She frowned. “I need to work.”

“I have to go back to Washington early tomorrow morning.” He brushed her hair away from her face. “Come with me this afternoon.”

She hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll pick you up. Two o’clock?”

“Okay.”

He walked her back to her cottage, kissed her sweetly, then winked and strode away. Sage all but floated into her house.

She made her haircut appointment with minutes to spare—a good thing, since June Hart gave her customers
grief if they were late. An hour later, washed and dried and sans split ends, Sage exited the beauty shop, squared her shoulders, and crossed the street to the Trading Post. She found Sarah on the cereal aisle, restocking Shredded Wheat.

Glancing up at her, the welcoming smile of her friend’s face dimmed and developed a thin layer of frost.

Sage wanted to jump right in, but there were two other shoppers in the aisle. She smiled hesitantly, then said, “Hi.”

“Hello.”

Sage mentally hurried the shoppers on to the canned goods section. Sarah placed the last box of cereal onto the shelf, then picked up the empty carton. “Can I help you find something?”

Ouch
. Sage glanced down the aisle. One shopper was gone, but Dale Parker couldn’t seem to decide between Honey-Nut Cheerios and Raisin Bran. Okay, she’d do this with an audience. “Yes, you can. I’m looking for forgiveness.” She reached out and touched her friend’s arm. “I’m sorry, Sarah. You’re a wonderful woman and a dear friend, and I’m so, so sorry that I hurt you.”

As easily as that, Sarah’s pique melted. She dropped the cardboard box and hugged Sage hard. “I’m sorry, too. Oh, Sage, I’ve felt so terrible about this whole thing. Ever since you came to town, it’s been obvious that you’re running from something. I’m you’re friend and I love you. I guess my feelings have been hurt that it’s still a big secret, especially since I told you my deep, dark secret about Lori’s father.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I love you, too.” Taller than her friend, Sage dipped her head and touched it against the top of Sarah’s. Quietly she said, “Something bad happened, Sarah. I’m not over it yet. I can’t talk about it, not to anyone. I’m trying, but some of my wounds are still bloody.”

Sarah hugged her again hard, then stepped back and met Sage’s gaze. “Maybe rather than bloody, they’re infected. Maybe you should lance them and let the poison out.”

“Ee-yew.”

“Just sayin’.” She shrugged, then smiled tenderly and added, “I’m here for you, Sage, if you want to talk. Although you do look better. New makeup?”

“Thank you. It’s a miracle remedy for baggy eyes. It’s called sleep.”

Relief and affection rose inside Sage. She was so lucky to have friends like Sarah and Nic. Now she had to figure a way to square things with Ali so she could stop feeling guilty about it. Then all she’d have to do was worry about following through on her offer to babysit for Nic.

Oh, dear. What have I done?

She repeated that question again later on her way back to the lake. She’d been in such a rush to get to the beauty shop that she’d hardly had time to think about Colt Rafferty and last night. Not that she’d put the events of the previous night from her mind—she was reminded every time she moved. She was deliciously sore.

Last night had been beyond anything she’d ever experienced. Maybe because it was the first time in her life she’d allowed herself to indulge in sex with no possibility of a future, but she suspected it had more to do with the fact that Colt Rafferty was incredible in bed.

The man was simply talented, period.

She was going to miss him when he was gone. He’d been good medicine for her this past week, so good, in fact, that she was glad he was leaving. So far he’d been a distraction. Were he not headed back to Washington, she feared he could be a disaster. He appealed to her in so many ways. She could see herself falling for him, and that could only lead to heartache.

She arrived home to find another gift on her porch, a bouquet of red origami roses with sticks for stems.

Grinning like a lovesick fool, she carried the bouquet inside and placed it in a position of honor—on an end table right next to the pink teddy bear. Then she went into her studio, frowned at the nightmare painting she’d left on her easel, and added it to the stack against the wall. She draped the stack with a sheet, not wanting the negative energy in her sights, then she took out a clean canvas and went to work. She chose to begin with a bright, happy shade of yellow. By the time Colt arrived at ten minutes to two, she was well on her way to creating what might be one of her best paintings yet.

“You’re early,” she said as she opened the door.

“I couldn’t wait to kiss you again.” So he didn’t.

The buzz from his kiss on top of her creative high was almost enough to make her drag him off to her bedroom to have her way with him.

He broke the kiss, sucked in a breath, then stepped away. “Any more of that and I won’t get to see Heartache Falls this afternoon, while it’s still all frozen over. Celeste told me it’s a sight to behold, and I promised myself I’d see it before I go back.”

“Hey, you’re the one who started it.”

“Yeah, and I’d love to be the one to finish it, too. On second thought, if I want to see frozen water, I can look in the ice maker. Why don’t we—”

“Cool your jets, Rafferty. Let me wash out my brushes and put on my cold-weather gear. I haven’t seen Heartache Falls in winter, either.”

He followed her back to her studio, where his gaze locked on the day’s work. Sage folded her arms and arched a brow in warning. He grinned, a boyish but sexy flash of white teeth, and said, “I have a new appreciation for fairies. This painting is vibrant. It all but shimmers. It makes me smile.”

She waited a beat, then nodded. “Okay. I guess you dodged that bullet.”

“When it’s done, I have first dibs on buying it, okay?”

For some reason that made her uncomfortable, so she simply replied, “We’ll see.”

She saw his gaze flick around the room and pause on the sheet-covered stack of paintings leaning against her wall. A shadow crossed his face. “I never intended to insult your talent, Sage. You are a fantastic artist.”

“Thank you.”

He looked down and away, then rubbed the back of his neck and sighed heavily. “I’ve heard it said that an artist’s work allows a glimpse into his soul. Talk to me about those paintings, Sage.”

He pointed toward the stack of nightmare paintings.

Immediately Sage stiffened and everything inside her went cold.
How could he … oh no
. Quietly she asked, “What do you know about them?”

He told her how he had spied one of the paintings through the open studio doorway when he came to tell her that Ali was on TV. Her stomach rolled. She felt sick. She wanted to be angry at him, but fairness wouldn’t permit it. She had left the door open and the painting in plain sight, after all.

“I’ve never seen work so powerful. What do they represent?”

She closed her eyes. In her mind’s eye, she saw children playing tag and women doing laundry and Peter throwing a baseball to a half-naked boy. When the images were swallowed by a storm cloud of red and black, she spoke past the lump in her throat. “It’s private. The paintings are private. You shouldn’t have seen them.”

“I know.” His blue eyes tender and sad, he added, “I almost wish I hadn’t.”

While she set about cleaning her brushes, he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, signaling that he had
all the time in the world to wait for his answers. When a full minute ticked by without a response from her, he said, “I have my own suspicions. Shall I tell you what they are?”

“Colt …” She set down the brushes, then turned and exited the studio, turning toward the kitchen.

He followed her saying, “It’s possible that the paintings are a new artistic direction you are exploring, and nothing more. That doesn’t feel right to me, though. I think the odds are better that this stack of paintings and your change in profession are somehow tied together.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter.” She walked into the mudroom and reached for her coat. “Let’s head up to Heartache.”

“I think we have heartache right here. Sage, I didn’t get the vibe last night that you were afraid of me, but if it’s because of a man, something a man did to you …”

The coat slipped through her fingers. She licked her lips, then bent to pick it up. This wasn’t the nosy investigator asking, but the lover. He wanted reassurance. She turned and looked him straight in the eyes. “I wasn’t raped.”

He studied her for a long moment, obviously trying to judge her truthfulness. “Why those two colors and only those two colors?”

She pulled on her coat and ignored the question.

Colt didn’t let that stop him. “Gotta figure some sort of symbolism. Let see … black could be something positive, like power or formality or elegance. But the paintings don’t feel like that to me. I think secrecy or mystery might fit. Or, of course, death.”

He looked at her, wordlessly asking, giving her the opportunity to acknowledge the demons, but she couldn’t. She simply wasn’t ready.

A sad smile played about his lips. “Now, the red has a little more variety, to my mind. Red is energy and power
and passion. Love. All good. But it’s also the color universally used to represent danger. Then, of course, red is the color of blood.”

“Stop,” she pleaded. “Please, just drop it. It’s personal and private and none of your business.”

He folded his arms. “Sure it’s my business. I care about you. I’m your friend. I’m your lover. What happened, Sage? What the hell do those paintings represent?”

“There. You said it. That’s it.” Her heart pounded. Nausea rose in her stomach. “Hell. It
was
hell. I don’t want to think about it or talk about it, to you or to anyone else. Can you respect that boundary? Please?”

She grabbed her hat and gloves. She needed fresh air, fast. “I’m driving up to Heartache Falls. You’re welcome to come with me—as long as you don’t say another word about my paintings. Any of them.”

She yanked her keys off the hook beside the door. “So. What’s your choice?”

For a moment he appeared ready to argue. Then he surrendered with a shrug. “What paintings? Let me get my camera out of the SUV and we can go.”

They made the drive up to Heartache Falls primarily in silence. Sage’s emotions rolled and swirled and bubbled inside her like a mountain stream at spring melt.

The falls were a half-hour drive from town, followed by a twenty-minute climb along a mountain trail maintained by the Park Service. Sage was so agitated that she made the climb in fifteen, well ahead of Colt, who had lagged behind taking photographs and stopping frequently to enjoy the views.

Arriving at the overlook, she grabbed hold of the safety bar and gazed at the sight before her. Before when she’d visited these falls, water had poured over the precipice, tumbling and spraying and roaring downward. This was an eerily silent waterfall of icicles. It
looked like God had snapped his fingers and frozen time, literally. Abruptly. In an instant.

Like Africa. Like my life
.

One minute she had had a full, satisfying, rewarding life. An instant later it was gone. Over. Silent, frozen icicles. Black ice. Ice. Cold. Death.

She stood motionless for a minute—or an hour, she didn’t know—her gaze locked on the icicles, her thoughts on a hot, dusty day years ago. She didn’t hear Colt approach or notice that he’d taken a position beside her until he said, “Isn’t that beautiful? Look at how the sun glistens off the icicles. It’s so bright and sparkling—like a river of diamonds, don’t you think?”

She hadn’t noticed.

“How cold do you think it is right now? I’m guessing around twenty degrees. The sunshine works its magic, though. See?” He pointed toward the upper section of Heartache Falls. “The icicles in the sunshine are melting. Just a little, but they’re definitely melting.”

Sage stared. Sparkling sunshine and … yes. Water. Not ice, but a drop of water, sliding down the length of the icicle and falling free.

Liquid. Not frozen. Warmed by the sunshine and released.

Sage let out a shuddering breath and the words tumbled out. “I volunteered with Doctors Without Borders. In the Central African Republic.”

He turned his head. His brows were arched in surprise, but he didn’t speak. His silence encouraged her to continue.

“It was a lawless place. Dangerous. But Doctors Without Borders treats everyone. That’s their mission. Doesn’t matter what side of a conflict you are on. That’s why they’re allowed access. In CAR, our organization broadcast the mission far and wide, so the bad guys left us alone.”

Colt listened, his expression interested but not judgmental, not the way her father’s expression had been when she’d first told him she’d signed up to volunteer.

“I loved the work. These people had nothing, Colt, and what we gave made such a huge difference. It was so rewarding.”

She couldn’t bring herself to tell him about that day, the worst day, but she was able to tell him of the beginning of the end. “We were manning a medical clinic in a remote village. It was a beautiful morning. The heat in the afternoons was a killer, but that particular morning, the weather was lovely and people were happy. I’ll never forget this set of twin boys. They were probably two and a half years old and their mother brought them for immunizations. They started playing a game of peek-a-boo with each other and they got to giggling. Soon they had everyone else in the room laughing.”