In Firefly Valley (8 page)

“Oh, Lauren, it's exquisite.” Made of half a dozen shades of red and yellow, the quilted border was an intricate pattern that Lauren had developed and turned into her trademark, but what drew Marisa's attention was the center design. The Mason jar filled with fireflies brought back a host of memories. As young children, she and Lauren had searched for fireflies in her backyard. Later they'd moved the search to the park, and still later they'd ventured all the way to Firefly Valley, hoping to find even more of the fascinating insects there.

“Oh, Lauren, I love it.” Marisa gave her friend a warm hug. “There were fireflies near Atlanta—one woman told me I should call them lightning bugs—but it wasn't the same.” Marisa traced the quilted image. “Remember how much fun we used to have trying to catch them?”

Lauren nodded. “The season's over now, but maybe next year you can help me teach Fiona the way your father taught us.”

“My father chased fireflies?” Marisa's hand stilled, and she gripped the edge of the pillow. The only thing her father had chased was oblivion at the bottom of a bottle.

“Sure. Don't you remember?” It was clear that Lauren had no idea of the direction Marisa's memories had taken. “He poked all those holes in the lids. Then he showed us how to swing the jars so that the fireflies would come inside. My mom said she'd never seen anyone catch as many as you and I did, and it was all because of your dad.” Lauren gave Marisa a quizzical look. “Don't you remember?”

Marisa did not.

I
t was Saturday morning, one week since Kate and Greg's wedding, and the weather was just as beautiful as it had been then. Though Marisa had heard some of the townspeople muttering about drought and its impact on everything from lawns to cattle prices, she was enjoying the sunshine, or she would have been if she weren't cooped up in a windowless office.

Marisa sighed as she stared at the mound of paperwork on her desk. Perhaps it was just as well that she couldn't see outside. She was distracted enough as it was. What she remembered most about last Saturday wasn't the wedding, even though it had been a beautiful one. What made the day special was that she'd met Blake Kendall, the man who continued to occupy far too many of her thoughts. She was supposed to be overseeing the renovations during Kate and Greg's absence in addition to trying to make sense of the accounting records, not daydreaming about the handsome brown-haired man who was Rainbow's End's sole guest.

Fortunately, the last of Marisa's A list software packages had proven to be a winner. Though the marketing brochure had been the least impressive, the system had all the functionality she needed. With the software selection complete, her next challenge was to determine
how much the building renovations would cost and what a reasonable revenue stream might be so that she could establish a budget.

Marisa had no time to waste, and yet she found herself distracted, glancing at her watch and wondering what Blake was doing. She knew he jogged each morning and joined the workers for the midday meal. He ate supper with her and Mom and sometimes stayed to play a game of checkers with Mom while Marisa came back here to work, but other than those basics, she didn't know how he spent his days. What she did know was that he wasn't a typical resort guest.

Blake might have come here to relax, but he seemed tense. Eric would have said he was wound up tighter than a cheap watch. Marisa clenched her fists. She didn't want to think about Eric. He'd made his choices, and apparently one of those choices was that he did not want to be found. The disaster with Trent had been the final wake-up call, forcing Marisa to admit that she would never be able to get the closure she and Mom deserved, but oh, how she wished it were otherwise!

Marisa closed her eyes, willing the tears not to fall. When she opened them, the numbers still swam on the page. She was accomplishing nothing sitting here. Somehow, she had to clear her head.

After switching off her computer monitor, Marisa grabbed her sunglasses and headed outside. A quick walk along the lakeshore might be the break she needed. She moved briskly, hoping the exercise would banish the demons that whirled inside her head, but her pace slowed when she saw she was not alone. Blake stood at the edge of the lake, and judging from his posture, his morning was going even worse than hers. His head was bowed, his shoulders slumped. If Marisa had been asked to paint a picture of dejection, it would be Blake at this moment.

“What's wrong?” It wasn't much of a greeting, but the words slipped out.

Blake turned, his obviously forced smile doing nothing to reassure her. “Nothing.”

Though he was lying, Marisa wouldn't challenge him. “I imagine it gets pretty boring here. There's not a lot to do with no other guests around.” She kept walking at a slow but steady pace, hoping Blake would come with her. Anything had to be better than standing there looking and feeling miserable.

“I'm used to being alone,” he said. “I do my best work alone.” The words were almost defiant, but at least he had joined her and was matching her pace. Though she wanted to wrap her arms around him and comfort him the way she would have Fiona, Marisa hesitated. Blake was not a child. He was a man who might misunderstand if she hugged him.

“You're not working here,” she said softly. Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps he was a workaholic who felt lost if he had too much unscheduled time.

Blake's head jerked as if he'd been punched, and he shot her a look that combined surprise with something else, something Marisa couldn't identify. “That's true,” he said shortly. “I'm not.”

Somehow, she'd hit a sensitive chord, deepening whatever was bothering Blake, when she had hoped to do the exact opposite. It was time to try a different tactic.

“I'm the one who's supposed to be working, but now I feel like playing hooky again. Can I convince you to be my partner in crime?” When a hint of amusement touched Blake's expression, Marisa knew she was on the right track. It didn't matter that she'd have to work tonight if she could help Blake by taking a long break now.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked. “I doubt you're planning to rob the bank.”

Marisa shook her head. “I was thinking about running away from home, at least for a few hours. Lauren has a tandem that's been gathering dust ever since Patrick got sick. I know she'd let us borrow it. Say yes, Blake. The weather's great and Mom will pack us a lunch.” Marisa felt like a carousel barker, reciting a patter designed to convince reluctant riders.

“A tandem as in bicycle?” Blake focused on one part of her in
vitation, his expression as skeptical as if she'd proposed skydiving without a parachute.

“Exactly. You know how to ride a bike, don't you?”

Though he shrugged, Marisa took comfort in the fact that he'd straightened his shoulders, his morose mood apparently dissipating. “It's been years.”

“Me too. We can test the theory that you never forget.”

Blake appeared dubious, but he didn't refuse. Instead, he shrugged again. “Don't blame me if we tip over.”

They didn't. Lauren closed her store briefly to haul the tandem from the back of the garage and give them what she called the Tandem Riders 101 course. Once the picnic basket was strapped on the rear rack, Blake, as the captain, got onto the bike and held it upright while stoker Marisa climbed on behind him. When she had both feet in the toe clips, Blake pushed off.

Although it felt awkward for a few minutes, they soon discovered their rhythm, finding a cadence that was comfortable for both of them and learning to lean in the same direction as they turned. Sooner than she'd thought possible, Marisa felt as if she and Blake had been riding together for years.

“Where next?” he asked as they reached the end of Hickory and turned east on Avenue C, passing the Hickory View apartments. Fiona, who was spending the day with her friend Alice, waved as they rode by, proudly telling Alice that that was her mom's bike.

“Let's take one more circuit of the town. Then we'll see.” Until she was confident they had mastered the basics, Marisa was not going to suggest they venture out of Dupree.

“This is fun,” Blake said as he increased their pace.

Though he couldn't see her, Marisa nodded. “That's what Lauren always said. She used to claim the tandem was the secret to her happy marriage. Once she and Patrick learned to pedal together, the rest was easy, or so she said.”

Blake swiveled his head to glance at Marisa. “What happened to her husband?”

“Cancer. By the time he was diagnosed, it was inoperable.” Like many men, Patrick had been reluctant to visit a doctor, claiming that everyone had minor aches and pains. His had turned out to be not so minor.

When they reached Lone Star Trail, Marisa agreed that they were ready to try the “big road,” as she called the highway. They zipped past the gas station that held more than its share of memories, then turned south onto the highway.

“Lauren may remarry.” Blake was obviously thinking about the tandem's owner. Though Lauren's story was not a happy one, at least Blake was no longer dwelling on whatever had depressed him earlier this morning. Tandem therapy appeared to be working.

“I don't know. Fiona's been pretty outspoken about wanting a new daddy, but Lauren's leery.” Other than her unexpected comments about Drew Carroll, Lauren had not so much as mentioned another man.

“Is she afraid she'll never find someone who can hold a candle to Patrick?”

“Either that, or she's afraid of losing another person she loves.”

Blake was still pondering Marisa's comment as they pedaled up a hill. It was a beautiful day, and the exercise was starting to clear his mind, but now the clouds were rolling in—figuratively—because of what Marisa had said.

Perhaps it was the writer in him, but ever since he'd seen those photos and realized that she had taken drastic action to mute her resemblance to her father, Blake had been spinning stories in his head, trying to understand why. The only answer that made sense to him was that Marisa had been so devastated by her father's death that she did not want to be reminded of him every time she looked in a mirror. Her comment about the fear of losing loved ones seemed to confirm that. Though she'd attributed it to Lauren, the sadness in Marisa's eyes when she said it made Blake believe
she was the one who harbored that particular fear. He wouldn't pry—not overtly, at any rate—but he had every intention of learning whether his assumption was correct.

When they reached the summit of the small hill, he turned to look at Marisa. “Whatever your mother put in that basket,” he said, tipping his head toward the rack on the back of the bike, “it smells delicious. Let's find a place to eat before I faint from hunger.” He'd been so angry with himself when he'd wakened this morning without a single idea for Cliff Pearson's next adventure that he'd skipped breakfast.

“Good idea.” Marisa reached in front of him and pointed to the bottom of the hill. “See the white gate on the right? We can stop there. I know the owner, and he won't mind if we picnic on his land.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Blake leaned forward, enjoying the speed with which they descended the hill. Lauren hadn't exaggerated when she'd told them that tandems gained speed rapidly on downhill stretches.

When they reached the gate, Blake steered the bike off the road, holding it steady until Marisa had dismounted. Within minutes they had the tandem propped against the fence and had spread a small tarp under one of the live oaks. To Blake's amusement, Marisa had picked up a few acorns and tossed them aside before they laid the tarp.

“Trust me. You don't want to sit on one.”

She was right, he realized a few seconds later when he discovered an acorn digging into his thigh.

When they were settled, Marisa opened the basket and handed Blake a sandwich carefully wrapped in waxed paper. “Mom sent her new favorite sandwich: roast beef, ham, and coleslaw on pumpernickel.”

“Sounds good.” After Marisa pulled two insulated bottles from the basket and laid them on the tarp, Blake bowed his head and gave thanks for the food. Seconds after saying amen, he had unwrapped
the sandwich and taken a bite. “Your mom's a genius. This tastes even better than it smells.” It wasn't simply hunger talking. The combination of flavors was unexpected but delicious. “I've got to tell my dad about this. He's always looking for a good sandwich.”

“Does he live in California too?” Marisa sat with her back against the tree trunk, her legs stretched out in front of her. Like Blake, she wore shorts and a T-shirt, but on her the ordinary clothes looked extraordinary. With her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looked nothing like a stodgy accountant.

Blake shook his head, as much at the thought of Marisa being stodgy as in response to her question. “Dad lives in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. Have you ever been there?”

When Marisa shook her head, Blake continued. “Things have changed, but Bethlehem Steel used to be one of the best-known names in the country. It's their steel that's in the Golden Gate Bridge.” That was one of the reasons Blake had insisted on an office with a view of the bridge. In his mind, the famous landmark was a tie between him and his father. “My dad was a steelworker like his father.”

Marisa chewed slowly, as if she were ruminating on his words. “He must be proud of you, having a college degree and your own firm. It's the American dream, isn't it, that each generation surpasses the previous one?”