In Firefly Valley (30 page)

Though he was afraid he knew the answer, Blake had to ask. “Who?”

“Eric.”

The word came out as little more than a sigh. It was Blake who wanted to sigh at the realization that Marisa still refused to refer to Eric as her father. It was clear that the change he'd prayed for would be slow in coming.

“We need to talk. I'm worried about you.”

Though she'd been staring at the scarf, Marisa raised her gaze to meet Blake's. “What do you mean?”

A busy store was not the place for what he needed to say. “Let's pay for these things and go outside.”

When they'd loaded their purchases into the car, Blake led Marisa to a bench by the pasture where a dozen goats were grazing. Though
their fleece wasn't as long as the pictures that decorated the shop's walls, it was clear that they hadn't been shorn for a few months.

One of the placards in the store had said that shearing typically took place in February and August. At the time he'd read it, Blake had wondered if Marisa would like to return in February to watch some of the goats being shorn. Now he wondered if, once she heard what he had to say, they'd still be a couple in February.

“I'm worried about you,” Blake repeated when she was settled on one end of the bench. He took a seat a foot or so away from her, angling his body so he could watch her expression.

“Why? Just because I decided not to buy that scarf?”

He shook his head as he prayed for the right words to make her understand. “It wasn't the scarf. It was the anger I saw in your eyes. At that moment you reminded me of my grandfather.”

The blood drained from Marisa's face, then rushed back as she glared at Blake. “How dare you say that? I'm not like your grandfather. He was a horrid man.”

“He was an angry man,” Blake corrected, “and he let his anger destroy all the good parts of his life. I don't want to see that happen to you. To be very blunt, Marisa, I don't want that to happen to us.”

As her expression softened ever so slightly at his use of the word
us
, Blake continued. “I told you that I dated two women seriously. What I didn't tell you was that after we'd been dating for a couple months, the second one—Ashley—changed. She started blowing up over what seemed like the slightest thing. One day she yelled at a waiter because her coffee wasn't hot enough. Another time she started screaming when a school bus stopped in front of our car and we had to wait for the kids to get off it.”

“What's your point, Blake?” Though her voice was even, the way Marisa gripped the edge of the bench told him her anger had not dissipated. “You surely don't think I'm acting like that.”

“No, you're not,” he admitted, wishing this were a scene in one of his books. If it were, he would be able to control the way it ended. As it was, he felt as if he was stumbling in the dark. “I don't think
you're like Ashley, and I don't think you're like my grandfather, but I wouldn't be honest if I didn't tell you that I worry about what it would be like living with your anger. I spent the first eighteen years of my life walking on eggshells. I don't want to ever do that again.”

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes filled with anger and something else, something he couldn't identify. “What are you asking me to do, Blake? Is this where you tell me I need to forgive and forget? It's not that simple.”

A young mother wheeled her stroller past the bench, increasing her pace when she saw Marisa's forbidding expression. Blake didn't blame her. Marisa was looking at him as if he were the most unreasonable person on the planet. He took a deep breath as he searched for the right words.

“I know it isn't easy,” he said, hoping his conciliatory tone would convince her that he wasn't attacking her. “It took me years to forgive my grandfather for the way he made my father's life so miserable.”

Marisa's lips flattened. “You say that, yet you expect me to turn on a dime, to welcome Eric back with open arms just because he decided it was time to make amends. I'm sorry, Blake, but it doesn't work that way.”

He was an idiot. Though he'd hoped that telling Marisa of his worries would help defuse her anger, he'd only stoked it. He should have kept his mouth shut.

“That isn't what I meant.”

She glared at him, her expression so fierce that he almost recoiled. “I think it
is
what you meant. Maybe it's a good thing you're going away. Maybe we both need time to think.”

Maybe they did.

M
arisa stared at the open doorway to her office, knowing how unlikely it was that she'd ever see Blake standing there, waiting for her to finish work. He was gone, and if he did return, it would be to visit Greg, not Marisa. She knew that from the way they'd parted. They'd barely spoken on the drive back from the goat farm, and the way he'd said good-bye after he'd helped her carry the gifts into her office had been so final that Marisa had known he had no intention of returning from Pennsylvania. After Christmas, Blake would head back to his home in California.

She couldn't blame him. After all, she was the one who'd said it was good that they were having a time-out. She was the one who'd lashed out in anger, not stopping to think of how anger had shaped Blake's life and how he might react to it the way she reacted to the thought of someone drinking.

Marisa was wrong. She knew that. But she also knew that an apology wouldn't be enough this time. Blake needed more than words. He needed proof that she wasn't like his grandfather and Ashley if they were going to have a future, and that proof was something she couldn't provide.

Marisa knew it was important to forgive Eric. She had tried—oh, how she had tried—but every time she did, anger bubbled up inside
her, erupting with more power than the geysers in Yellowstone. Nothing Colleen had taught her helped. Colleen had had fancy words for the techniques she taught, terms like cognitive restructuring, but none of them worked.

How could Eric have missed all those school plays and the spelling bees? How could he have wasted his pay on whiskey, leaving Mom with barely enough money to buy groceries and not enough to give Marisa a new back-to-school outfit? How could he have deserted them? And how could he have hidden so completely that Marisa had been unable to find him? The unanswered questions swirled through her mind, replacing every kind and gentle thought with sharp edges of anger. The pain that anger inflicted was so intense that Marisa knew only one way to avoid it. She would resort to the one technique that worked: she would not even think about forgiving Eric, for to do so was to wound herself again.

Marisa closed her eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she tried to corral her emotions. She had a job to do, and she couldn't let either Eric or Blake interfere with that.

“Are you ready?” Mom appeared in the doorway, and for once she was not wearing her apron. Not only that, but she'd applied fresh lipstick, and if Marisa wasn't mistaken, she had spritzed herself with perfume. Mom was ready for Kate and Greg's wrap party.

When she'd first proposed it, Kate had been quick to explain that this was not like a Hollywood wrap party, where the cast celebrated the successful end of filming. Instead, the Rainbow's End staff would be wrapping Christmas gifts for the expected guests. Everyone was invited to gather in the dining room for what Kate had promised would be no more than half an hour with paper, scissors, and bows followed by a lunch buffet.

Mom had gotten to work extra early that morning to prepare the food, because even though Kate had insisted they could serve ready-made dishes or simply offer cold cuts and sandwich makings, Mom had wanted this to feel like a real party with special food and beverages. Classic Mom.

“I'm ready,” Marisa said with a quick nod. “Lauren hasn't finished everything, but I have what's done.” She reached behind her desk and grabbed two large shopping bags filled with items from HCP that she'd brought with her today. The gifts from the goat farm had already been placed in the dining room.

“I heard Blake left this morning,” Mom said as she closed the door behind Marisa.

The change of subject startled Marisa, leaving her feeling as if she'd been washed up on a strange shore. “What does Blake have to do with wrapping Christmas presents?” she demanded, trying to regain her equilibrium. She did not—she absolutely did not—want to discuss Blake or the fact that he'd left Rainbow's End.

“Nothing,” Mom admitted, “but he has everything to do with the pain I see in my daughter's eyes. What happened?”

“He's spending two weeks with his father. Everyone knows that.”

Mom shook her head and refused to budge, though the excited chatter from the dining room left no doubt that the party had begun. “That doesn't explain why he emptied his cabin. A man who plans to come back doesn't do that.”

Taking a deep breath, Marisa nodded. She'd been right. Whatever there had been between her and Blake was over. And it was her fault.

“What happened,
mi hija
? What went wrong?” Mom laid her hand on top of Marisa's, giving it a little squeeze.

Though Marisa wished she could ignore the question, she knew Mom would not permit that.

“We disagreed,” she said, hoping her mother would recognize the finality in her voice. This was a conversation Marisa did not want to have.

Mom did not take the hint. “Everyone disagrees from time to time, but that doesn't mean they give up.” She raised her gaze to meet Marisa's. “If you love Blake—and I think you do—you need to fight for him. Don't let your chance at happiness slip away.”

“It's not that simple, Mom.”

“Isn't it? Think about it. Love is a gift, a wonderful, precious gift. Don't throw it away.”

Before Marisa could respond, Kate poked her head out of the dining room. “There you are. We're waiting for you.”

Feeling as if she'd been reprieved, Marisa nodded. She doubted this was the last time Mom would ask about Blake and give her advice, but at least the discussion was over for now.

The next half hour was filled with laughter and chatter as everyone wrapped gifts. The only employee who hadn't come was Eric. According to Mom, he'd had to make an emergency trip to San Antonio to get parts for the parade float. When they were finished wrapping, some of the bows were crooked and some of the ribbons clashed with the paper, but Marisa was certain no one would care. Come Christmas morning, the guests would be too caught up in the excitement of unexpected gifts to notice much more than the fact that they were wrapped.

Once the last item was wrapped, tagged, and placed on the long folding table Kate had designated for finished gifts, Greg rose, drawing his wife to his side.

“Thank you all,” he said, his smile warm and welcoming. “I want to thank you not just for this morning's work but for everything you've done to make Rainbow's End a success. Kate and I couldn't have done it without you.” He smiled again as his gaze moved from one person to the next, making the message personal.

“And now, before we enjoy the delicious food Carmen has prepared for us, I have an announcement.” Wrapping his arm around Kate's waist, Greg took in a shallow breath. “I want you to be among the first to know that next June Rainbow's End will become a true family resort—the Vange family resort. Yes, Kate and I are expecting our first child.”

Marisa smiled as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. No wonder Kate had looked pale so many mornings; no wonder she had been careful about what she ate for breakfast; no wonder she drank herbal tea. The signs had been there all along.

Clapping turned to cheers, and before Marisa knew what was happening, everyone was crowded around Kate and Greg, offering their congratulations. While the happy couple deflected questions about gender preference and possible names, Marisa tried not to sigh. She smiled as she shook Greg's hand and hugged Kate, but though her wishes were sincere, she could not deny the emptiness deep inside her and the fear that, no matter how she longed for it, she would never know this kind of happiness.

“Marisa!”

It had been eight years since she'd heard his voice, and yet she knew without a doubt who was calling her name from the other end of the parking lot. She'd just skirted the gazebo and was almost at the main entrance to Rainbow's End. For a fleeting moment, Marisa considered ignoring him, heading straight into the lodge, and barricading herself behind her office door, but only a coward would do that. And, whatever else she was, Marisa St. George was not a coward. She turned to face the man who'd made the end of her senior year so embarrassing: Hal Lundquist.

She would have recognized him even in a crowded mall. At six feet six inches, he was tall, even in a state known for its tall men. His features were just short of movie-star handsome, his hair still the golden blond that had made almost every girl in school sigh with envy. He looked like the Hal Lundquist who'd been the object of Marisa's teenage crush, and yet he didn't.

Hal wasn't simply eight years older; he was somehow different. It wasn't only the unfashionably short hair or the scar that marred his left cheek. His demeanor had changed. What had been a swagger now looked like a self-confident stride, and his expression held none of the defiance or scorn she'd seen at school. Instead, it seemed oddly hesitant, as if he were unsure of his welcome. As well he should be.

“You're just the person I want to see,” Hal said, his voice as
compelling as it had been when he'd led the football team to the county championships. “Well,” he amended, “you and your father.”

Marisa could feel her hackles rise as she remembered the number of times Hal had settled arguments with his fists. There was no way of knowing if he still did. “What do you want with Eric?”

“We need to talk.” That was what Blake had told Marisa, and that particular conversation hadn't turned out well. She did not hold out much hope for this one either.

“About what?”

Hal took another step toward her, his boots crunching on the stone driveway. “I don't remember you being so suspicious,” he said with what might have been intended as a placating smile. If he'd hoped to disarm her, he'd failed.

“You probably remember that I was gullible and trusting. I'm not anymore.”
Thanks to you.

Nodding as if he'd expected her response, Hal said, “I didn't think you'd be the same. I'm certainly not. Now, where is your father? I really need to see him.” The gloves were off. Though Hal might still be smiling, his tone of voice was pure steel.

Marisa took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. Nothing would be gained by shrieking at Hal, and though she wanted to prevent him from seeing Eric, that didn't seem feasible.

“Don't you dare hurt him,” she said, her voice low but seething with passion. The anger that accompanied so many thoughts of Eric had disappeared for the moment, replaced by fear of what Hal's fists might do. He was young and in obviously good shape, while Eric was a middle-aged recovering alcoholic who'd never been an athlete. “The man has had enough trouble in his life without you stirring up the past.”

Hal raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I'm not here to hurt anyone.”

And oddly, Marisa believed him. Almost. When she'd heard that he was coming to Dupree and wanted to see Eric, she'd feared Hal was still resentful of Eric's confronting his father and that he
might seek vengeance. But the man standing only a few feet from her did not seem like the spoiled, self-centered boy she'd known.

“All right,” she said. “Come with me.”

Marisa retraced her steps to the parking area where she'd left her car and led the way to the cabin her mother now shared with Eric. After knocking on the door, she waited for Eric to open it.

“Marisa!” His eyes lit with pleasure. “I didn't expect you.” He looked beyond her, his expression becoming guarded at the sight of Hal. “Who's this?”

Not waiting for Marisa's introduction, Hal stepped forward and extended his hand. “Hal Lundquist, sir. I wasn't sure whether you'd recognize me.”

Marisa blinked, startled by Hal's use of “sir.” The Hal she'd known had shown little or no respect for his elders, and he'd had nothing but disdain for her father, calling him the town drunk and a disgrace to Dupree. This Hal seemed conciliatory, almost as if he were meeting someone he thought might become a friend.