In Firefly Valley (36 page)

“I want to, but that depends.”

“On what?”

He smiled. “On who. On whom,” he corrected himself. “On you.” Blake's smile faded, and his expression became serious as he said, “I didn't answer your question about why I'm calling the foundation the St. George Building Foundation. You heard part of the explanation when I talked about naming the new apartment complex after your family, but there's more. I want to honor the woman I love. The full name will be the Marisa St. George Building Foundation.”

Marisa stared at him, speechless. In all her dreams of love and happily-ever-after, she'd never expected it to be like this. In the romance novels she'd read, there had been moonlight and roses or at least a romantic setting. Suddenly Firefly Valley felt like the most romantic place in the world.

Blake reached for her hands and captured them in his. “I love you, Marisa,” he said, his voice firm and steady, unlike her breath,
which was still catching in her throat. “I know we have issues, but I also know that when we're apart I'm miserable.”

“I'm miserable too,” she said, remembering the weeks of their first estrangement and the days after their visit to the goat farm. “You were right. I needed to put my anger aside and forgive. More importantly, I needed to ask for God's help. I've done that, and he's given it to me.”

A light breeze stirred the air while a squirrel scampered by, its cheeks filled with acorns. It was an ordinary day in Firefly Valley for everyone but Marisa. For her, it was the most extraordinary day of her life.

“I know it won't always be easy,” she said, hoping Blake would understand, “but I'm going to conquer my anger. I had a counselor in Atlanta who helped me with anger management. Obviously, I can't go there, but she recommended someone in Blytheville that I plan to see.”

When Blake nodded, his approval obvious, Marisa managed a small smile. “So many good things have been happening. You came back, I have a father again, and I feel like a new person.”

His eyes brimming with love, Blake returned her smile. “Does the new Marisa love me?”

“She does. So very much.” More than she had dreamt possible.

Blake tightened his grip on her hands. “Will you marry me?”

For a moment, Marisa thought she was dreaming. So much had happened in such a short time. Just a few hours ago, she'd been staring at the charred remains of Hickory View, wondering what she could do to help the residents. Then Blake had arrived, bringing a plan to provide the victims with better homes than they'd ever had. That would have been wonderful enough, but being here with him, seeing the love in his eyes, made this the best day Marisa could imagine.

And now this. Blake loved her. He loved her enough to give up his anonymity to help her hometown. He loved her enough to marry her despite her problems. All of Marisa's dreams had just come true.

She smiled at him, hoping he would see the love shining from her eyes. “Oh yes, Blake. I will marry you.”

Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, he dropped her hands, then drew her into his arms and lowered his lips to hers. His lips were soft and tender, their touch sending sparks of excitement through her veins. As his arms drew her closer, Marisa reveled in the warmth of his embrace. How had she ever doubted that this was the man God meant for her? Here was Blake, giving her the sweetest of kisses, one that promised love and laughter, hope and happiness.

“Will you share your future with me?” he asked when they broke apart.

There was nothing Marisa wanted more, for she knew that future would be strengthened by their shared faith. “I will.”

Blake lowered his head and pressed another kiss on her lips.

“Will you love and cherish our children if God blesses us with them?”

Marisa nodded again, smiling as she pictured a small boy with Blake's features chasing an even younger little girl who had her father's hazel eyes and mischievous grin. “I will.”

Her smile widened as she thought of everything that had brought them to this point. Mom had been right that first day when she'd claimed Marisa had met the man she was going to marry.

“I love you, Blake, and I always will.” Marisa looked up at him, her smile turning into a grin. “I could spend the rest of the day telling you how much I love you, but I'd rather show you.” She puckered her lips for a kiss.

Blake did not disappoint her.

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed Marisa and Blake's story and that you're looking forward to spending more time at Rainbow's End, because there's a third Texas Crossroads book.

Did your heart ache when you read about Gillian's accident and the end of her career as a concert pianist? Mine did, which is why I'm giving Gillian a second chance at happiness. When she accepts Kate's offer to spend a few weeks at Rainbow's End, the last thing she expects is to meet a man like TJ Benjamin. From his scruffy appearance to his motorcycle, he's the last man she wants as part of her life. For his part, TJ has no intention of getting involved with any woman, especially a fancy East Coast woman like Gillian.

If you're intrigued, I hope you'll read the teaser chapter at the end of this book. Gillian and TJ's story, On Lone Star Trail, will be available in spring of 2016. And, if you haven't already read the story of how Kate and Greg acquired Rainbow's End, At Bluebonnet Lake is available wherever books are sold.

As those of you who've read Bluebonnet know, I enjoy sharing my favorite recipes, and so I wanted to give you another one. I'll admit it's not a summer staple, but when the temperatures drop, I turn to comfort foods like the vegetarian chili Carmen serves to Rainbow's End's guests.

Makes 8 servings. Carmen serves this with cornbread, and so do I.

If you try the chili, please let me know what you think. And, of course, I look forward to hearing your reaction to Marisa and Blake's story. One of my greatest pleasures as a writer is hearing from you.

Blessings,
Amanda Cabot

W
riting may appear to be a solitary task, and for the most part it is, but writing “the end” is only the beginning. It took a team to turn my raw manuscript into the book you hold in your hands. I am blessed to have not just any team but a truly talented one at Revell. Vicki Crumpton and Kristin Kornoelje are, at least in my mind, the perfect editors—two women who gently point out the flaws in my manuscript and work with me to correct them. Lindsay Davis and Claudia Marsh are tireless in their efforts to find new ways to market and promote my books. Cheryl Van Andel consistently gives me “to die for” covers. And they're only the proverbial tip of the iceberg. In addition to them, there are countless other people, all of whose contributions are essential to making each book the best it can be. I am deeply grateful to each and every one of them.

I would like to extend special thanks to Chief Max Konz of the Bandera, Texas, Volunteer Fire Department. When I was writing the fire scenes, I realized how much I didn't know about firefighting. Fortunately, Chief Konz was willing to take time out of his already busy schedule to answer my questions. I suspect some of them were so basic that he was tempted to laugh, but he was polite enough not to do that. I thank Chief Konz for sharing his time and expertise with me. Any mistakes are mine alone.

R
elax
. Gillian Hodge forced her fingers to stop gripping the steering wheel as if it were a lifeline. There was no reason to be so tense. This wasn't her Carnegie Hall debut or the finals of the Brooks competition when so much was riding on the outcome. This was a vacation, for Pete's sake. A week with her best friend and the woman who'd been a surrogate grandmother. She should be filled with anticipation, counting the minutes until she arrived, not wound as tightly as a metronome.

Gillian took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. In, out. In, out. The technique had never failed when she'd used it before performances, and it did not fail now. She could feel her neck and shoulder muscles relaxing as she repeated the slow, even breathing. The tension began to drain, and for the first time since she'd left the freeway, Gillian looked at her surroundings rather than concentrating on the highway.

Kate was right. The Texas Hill Country was particularly beautiful in the spring. It had been lovely when she'd been here for Kate's wedding last September, but the fresh green of spring grasses and leaves and the patches of vividly colored wildflowers turned what had been simply lovely into something spectacular. No wonder Kate kept raving about her new home.

Though it was still difficult to believe that Kate, a dyed-in-the-wool city girl like Gillian, had given up a major promotion and traded a seemingly glamorous life as an advertising executive to run a small resort in the middle of Texas, that was exactly what had happened. Of course, the presence of one particular man had a lot
to do with Kate's decision. She had come to Texas almost literally kicking and screaming and had discovered true love.

Gillian's smile faded. Despite her father's seemingly endless advice that marriage was what Gillian needed, love wasn't the reason she was headed toward Rainbow's End. She wasn't looking for love, just a change of scenery and a chance to rest after months of physical therapy had not accomplished their goal. Her dreams had been crushed—literally—leaving her no choice but to build a new life. At this point, Gillian had no idea of what the future would bring other than that concert stages would not be part of it. All she knew was that after six months of concentrating on what she could no longer do, it was time to discover what other talents she had. But before she did that, she wanted time with the people who'd known her before her name ever graced a marquee.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on the progress you'
re making, not what you can't do. The scars
will fade, and so will the memories
. Brushing aside the memories that had so far refused to fade, Gillian scanned the roadway, smiling when she saw what appeared to be an armor-plated animal lumbering along the shoulder. Who wouldn't smile at an armadillo? They looked like something out of prehistoric times, not the twenty-first century. Though she thought they were supposed to be nocturnal, what did she know? Other than her weekend trip for Kate's wedding, the only parts of Texas Gillian had seen were airports, hotels, and concert halls. There were no armadillos there, other than the stuffed varieties in airport gift shops.

The chuckle that curved her lips upward died as she glanced in the rearview mirror. It couldn't be. Not now. Not here. Gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles whitened, Gillian stared at the approaching vehicle. The bright red motorcycle, the black-clad rider, the black and red helmet were indelibly etched in her memory along with the damage they had wrought.

She bit her lip, trying to tamp down the fear. It couldn't be the same one.
That
motorcycle was almost two thousand miles
away. There must be hundreds, perhaps thousands, of men in black leather riding red motorcycles. There was no reason to believe this was the one who had changed her life.

He was going faster now, that horrible red machine eating up the distance between them. Maybe it was the same motorcycle after all.
That
one had been going too fast. Though the police had cited the rider for excessive speed, they'd also claimed the crash was an accident. An accident that would haunt Gillian for the rest of her life.

She slowed the car, wanting the bike to pass her. The sooner it was out of her sight, the better. Dimly, she was aware of clouds blocking the sun. In mere seconds, the day—like her mood—had gone from bright and sunny to ominously dark. It wasn't an omen, a portent, or a warning. It was simply a change of weather. And yet Gillian could not tamp back the sense of foreboding. She flinched as a crack of thunder split the sky and the deluge began. Within seconds, the pavement had gone from dry to wet. And still the motorcycle continued.

He was in the left lane now, getting ready to pass her. Gillian's eyes widened and her heart began to pound. No! Not again! No!

He probably shouldn't have detoured. TJ Benjamin frowned as he headed north. Deb would never have done it. She made plans, developed itineraries, and followed them. Deb did not detour, and none of her plans involved a motorcycle or sleeping under the stars. As much as she loved traveling, she also loved her creature comforts. That's why she'd insisted on a Class A motorhome equipped with air-conditioning and a microwave. There was no roughing it for Deb. But Deb wasn't here, and that meant there was no reason not to detour.

TJ gave the throttle another twist. Speed might not be the cure for everything, but it did help clear away melancholy. So did the countryside. He was deep in the heart of his home state on a beautiful early April day. If only he let himself, he could find reasons to smile.
As if on cue, a hawk soared above him, looking for an afternoon snack and making TJ grin as his stomach rumbled. He could use a snack himself, something warm instead of the energy bars that had become a staple of his diet. He'd stop in the next town and see what was available. Meanwhile, he was going to enjoy the detour.

He leaned back and started to relax. Though he'd traveled many of the state's highways, TJ had never explored this part of the Hill Country. The plan had been to continue on US 90 heading west. If he'd followed that plan, he would have reached Big Bend today. Instead, when he'd seen the sign pointing toward Dupree, the town that claimed to be the Heart of the Hills, something had urged him to turn, so here he was, heading north. The old TJ wouldn't have done that. But, like Deb, the old TJ was gone.

So what if he was a day or two late getting to Big Bend? The park wasn't going anywhere. There was no reason to rush. It wasn't as if he had anyone waiting for him or had anything planned after that. Big Bend was the last item on the bucket list. Once he'd seen it, he would . . .

TJ frowned. The problem was that he didn't know how to finish the sentence. His frown turned into a wry smile as he felt a moment of sympathy for his former students with their complaints about open-ended questions. Multiple choice quizzes were definitely easier.

The hawk, more single-minded than TJ, swooped down and landed on the ground, its head diving into a hole. It appeared the hawk had found its prey.

Focusing on the highway in front of him, TJ noticed a light blue sedan in the distance. It had been little more than a speck when he'd seen it from the top of the last hill, but it was much larger now. Judging from the speed with which he was catching it, it must be going less than the speed limit. Probably some tourists looking for the Hill Country's fabled spring wildflowers. If that's what they wanted, they'd come to the right place. Bluebonnets carpeted the meadows, their color providing a vivid contrast to the green hills.

TJ had seen his share of bluebonnets, but these were extra special. Though his stomach was protesting his decision, he pulled off the road and grabbed from his saddlebags the digital SLR that had cost more than a month's pay. As he rotated the polarizing filter to deepen the hue of the flowers, TJ scowled at the realization that a dark cloud was approaching. At this time of year, a cloud like that could mean a thunderstorm, and that was one thing he didn't want to experience. He probably shouldn't have stopped, but the bluebonnets were as enticing as the road itself had been.

While his head told him to skip the pictures, his heart rejoiced at the sight of the deep blue flowers with the white and yellow tips, and he carefully composed the shots. It might be foolish. It wasn't as if he was going to try to sell the photos. That had been Deb's dream, not his, and yet he couldn't deny the pleasure of composing a picture that lifted his spirits and made him happy, if only for a moment.

With the camera once more safely stowed, he climbed onto the bike and headed north, determined to reach Dupree before the rain began. The last sign had said it was only ten miles farther. With a little luck, he could get there and find shelter from the storm that seemed to be gaining on him. The thought had no sooner lodged itself in his brain than the clouds opened and the deluge began.

As raindrops dotted his windshield and slid down his helmet, TJ shook his head. He should have known this would happen. It was just another in the string of bad things that had formed his life for the past eighteen months.

The blue sedan was only a short distance in front of him now, rooster tails rising from its rear tires. TJ hated rooster tails. They weren't a problem in an RV or even in a car, but they did nasty things to a motorcycle, throwing dirty water on the windshield and reducing the already lowered visibility. There was only one solution.

A quick twist of the throttle and he'd accelerated enough to pull into the left lane. It would take no more than a couple seconds to pass the car. Only one person inside, he noticed as he approached
the sedan. A woman. And then the only thing TJ noticed was that his bike had begun to hydroplane.

Braking did no good. The bike had a mind of its own, and right now that mind was making it slide.
Please, God
, he prayed as he attempted to keep the bike upright.
Keep me from hitting the car
. Though God hadn't answered his other prayers, this time was different. The bike slid past the car's front fender, then skidded into the guardrail. The next thing TJ knew, he was flying over the handlebars.

No! No! No! Gillian stared in horror as the motorcycle crashed into the guardrail, catapulting the rider into the air. With memories of another motorcycle on another day flashing before her, she stomped the brakes. Oh, how she hated motorcycles! They were nothing but trouble. Big trouble.

Switching on her emergency flashers, Gillian backed up slowly until she was next to the bike, then shifted the car into park. The rain had stopped as suddenly as it began, but the damage was done. The bike had crashed, and the rider . . . She grabbed her cell phone, frowning at the absence of bars. Kate had joked about the spotty cell service, but this was no joking matter. The rider could be seriously injured, just as she had been.

Forcing the painful thoughts aside, Gillian climbed out of the car and approached the guardrail. Deliberately averting her gaze to avoid looking at the bike, she stared at the rider.

“Are you all right?” Gillian called to the man who was lying motionless on the ground.
Please, Lord, let him be all right.
Though she'd spent more than her share of time in hospitals, she knew nothing about CPR and almost as little about first aid.

She started to climb over the guardrail, but as she did, the motorcyclist stood.
Thank you
, she said silently. The man appeared to be checking various body parts as he shook first one arm then another before repeating the process with his legs. It was only when he ex
tended his left hand a second time and winced as he clenched the fist that Gillian felt herself grow weak. Not him too!

“Just bruises,” he announced. His voice was brusque, almost as if he was unaccustomed to talking aloud. Or perhaps it was the effort of pretending he wasn't injured. Gillian was certain that, even if his only injuries were bruises, they were painful ones.

As he pulled the helmet off his head, she saw that his dark brown hair was long enough to be restrained in a ponytail and that he sported a beard that sorely needed trimming. If she'd had to describe him in one word, it would be scruffy. And then she saw his eyes. Almost as dark brown as his hair, they were so filled with sorrow that Gillian felt tears well in hers. Something had hurt this man deeply, and her instincts told her it was not having crashed his bike.