Authors: Emily March
“What happened to his father?” Gabe asked.
“He was never in the picture, not even named on Dev’s birth certificate.”
“So you stepped up,” Nic said. “That was a big commitment, Cam.”
Cam shrugged. “I love the kid.”
Nic gave him a measuring look. “Was there no wife or significant other around to object?”
“Fishing, Nic?”
She flashed a grin. “We do that here in Colorado.”
He sighed, and with a rueful twist to his mouth provided the answer he knew she sought. “No wife. I’ve never been married. No significant other. Not when I took in Devin, and not now, Nicole.”
Then, because the moment seemed right for it, he added one more piece of information. “The truth is, I never got over Sarah.”
The alarm sounded way too early for Sarah the following morning. Ordinarily, she loved getting up before dawn, and the early-to-bed, early-to-rise lifestyle of running a bakery suited her. As she reached into the darkness to bang at the button atop her alarm clock, she absolutely, positively didn’t want to get out of bed. All day.
Cam Murphy was back in town.
She groaned and buried her head in her pillow. She’d been up twice with her mother during the night, and she hadn’t slept well at all. Thankfully, Ellen hadn’t broken any bones in the fall, her injuries limited to a bad cut on her forehead that required stitches, scrapes on her arms, bruises, and aching muscles. Dr. Rose Anderson had warned Sarah that her mom’s equilibrium might be off until she healed, thus elevating Ellen’s risk of suffering a second fall. As a result, Sarah awoke each time her house creaked. Her eighty-year-old house creaked a lot. Once awake, she’d invariably started to think.
Thinking is what had caused her fitful sleep, not her mom, not her house. Thinking about Cam. Cameron Daniel Murphy. The man from her past who had exploded into her present and promised to change her future by insisting to be part of Lori’s life.
Funny how quickly things could change. One minute she stood discussing bread recipes with ladies from Georgia and the next thing she knew her world had irrevocably tilted on its axis.
Turns out Cam Murphy wasn’t really a deadbeat dad. He’d tried to help. Late, it was true, but late truly was better than never. He’d sent money, money that she and Lori had desperately needed a time or two over the years. He’d sent money that her parents—one of them or both of them—had kept from her.
Actually, they’d stolen that money from Lori. Her parents! How could they have done that? It had to have been them. No one else could have intercepted her mail. They’d committed a felony. Felonies. Six of them.
Why? Why had they done it? Sarah had been an adult. They had no right or acceptable reason for making the choice they had to keep the letters from her.
Letters. In her heart of hearts, she acknowledged that the loss of the letters was emotionally devastating. What had he written ten years ago? He hadn’t shared that information yesterday. What if he’d begged her for forgiveness and asked for another chance? What if he’d wanted to be a father to Lori then? What if she’d had help parenting through those tumultuous teenage years? The what-ifs all but drove her crazy.
And she couldn’t do a darn thing about it. Her father was dead, and as much as she would like to confront her mother about it, she couldn’t do it. Ellen Reese might or might not become upset if Sarah mentioned letters from Australia. She might or might not remember them. She might or might not say whatever she thought Sarah would like to hear. Whatever she did say Sarah couldn’t trust, so what sense was there in asking?
Besides, except for satisfying her curiosity, answers wouldn’t change a thing. Sarah couldn’t reset the clock to ten years ago. That water wasn’t simply under the bridge, it had reached the Gulf of Mexico. The only thing that mattered was going forward.
Going forward meant dealing with the reality that her ex was in town and her daughter needed to be informed. It was too early to call now, and she wouldn’t have time once she began her baking day. She’d call Lori tonight. She’d send a quick email this morning, asking Lori to be at her computer for an online call at nine tonight. She wanted to be able to see her daughter’s face when she broke this bit of news.
That done, she finally dragged herself out of bed and began the morning’s tasks. When she closed the bakery at the end of her workday after lunch, she wanted nothing more than to roll back into bed and take a nap. Instead, she had to trek over to Angel’s Rest. Celeste had called an emergency meeting of the Patchwork Angels—something to do with the festival that had just ended, she guessed—and skipping it wasn’t an option. Not only would Celeste give her grief if she tried, but Sarah didn’t want to miss out on any scoop her fellow Angels might have to spill on the biggest gossip topic of the year—Cam Murphy.
After a bit of internal debate, she decided she wasn’t up to a stroll through town. She checked on her mom, confirmed plans with Ellen’s regular afternoon caretaker, April Simpson, then took the car to Angel’s Rest.
She pulled into the parking lot right behind Ali Timberlake. Ali and her husband, Mac, were building a home a short distance from town up at Heartache Falls, and Mac, a former federal judge, was doing a lot of the work himself. He claimed that the activity would help him figure out what he wanted to do when he grew up.
“Hi, Sarah,” Ali called when they both exited their cars. “How’s your mom?”
“She’s a mess. She has six stitches across her forehead, ugly scrapes on her arms, and a badly pulled muscle in her leg.”
“Bless her heart. Do you have enough help for her? I have some time tomorrow morning. I could take a shift.”
“Thanks, but I talked to April and she’s willing to work extra hours for a while.”
“Okay, but you let me know if I can help.”
“I will. Thanks.” Needing something different to think about, she said, “Did you know you have a handprint on your butt?”
“What? No!” Ali twisted around, trying to see. “I swear I’m going to kill that man!”
Sarah chewed the inside of her mouth. The Alison Timberlake Sarah first met had worn cashmere twin sets atop neat wool slacks, carried designer handbags, and sported a stylish bob that screamed high-dollar haircut. Paint-stained jeans and a Vanderbilt University sweatshirt were a new look for her. “Is that the color you chose for the dining room? I like it.”
“Aargh.” Ali pulled off her sweatshirt, revealing a Yellow Kitchen restaurant T-shirt beneath. She tied the sweatshirt around her waist as they walked up the gravel path toward Cavanaugh House, the converted Victorian mansion that was the heart of Angel’s Rest Healing Center and Spa.
The quilt group met weekly during the off-season. As the official hosts of the quilt festival, the Patchwork Angels had logged numerous extra hours leading up to the event. The plan had been to adjourn until after tourist season. Sarah wondered what had changed.
“Do you know what this emergency is all about?” she asked Ali as they climbed the staircase to the attic workroom.
“Haven’t a clue. I figure it has to be something to do with the festival.”
“I hope nothing happened to the exhibit quilts. Shipping them always scares me. What if they get lost or something being shipped with them breaks and ruins them?”
“That’s why we carry insurance.” On the second-floor landing, Ali slipped her arm through Sarah’s and lowered her voice. “Are you doing okay, honey?”
Sarah knew what she meant, and she attempted to deflect the question. “It’s difficult to see Mom all black and blue.”
Ali gave her a chiding look. “I’m sure it is, but I’m not talking about your mother’s injuries. I’m talking about your heart.”
“My heart isn’t the one at risk here, Ali. Lori’s heart is the one I’m worried about.”
“Did you call her with the news?”
“No.” As they made a turn at the third-floor landing, Sarah spied Sage coming up behind them, and she waved. “With Mom’s accident, I haven’t had time. I’ll call her later tonight. I don’t want her learning about it from anyone else. I’m afraid to think about how she’ll react.”
Ali gave her arm a squeeze. “One thing the last year or so has taught me is that we’re stronger than we think we are. All of us. You’ll deal with this, Sarah. So will Lori. Personally, I think it’s a good thing that Cam Murphy made the trip to Eternity Springs. Ignoring problems doesn’t make them go away. I’m an expert on that. Sometimes the very act of facing those problems and dealing with them opens up new and wonderful possibilities in life.”
“Like blue handprints on your butt?”
Ali laughed. “Absolutely.”
They had dawdled, so Sage caught up with them, her baby belly leading the way. “Hey, guys. Do you know the reason for this afternoon’s summons? Was there a problem with the festival that I don’t know about?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah said. “I’m afraid that’s the case, though.”
“It’s nothing legal,” Ali added. “Mac would have known. He’s as in the dark as I am.”
“Aha. That’s the reason for the handprint? It was dark and he thought he was reaching for a paint rag instead of your rear?”
Sage asked, “What handprint?”
“Ali has a paint stain on her butt. Shaped like a hand.”
“A big hand,” Ali added, apparently deciding to make the best of an embarrassing situation. “He knew exactly what he grabbed.”
Then she licked her finger, touched her butt, and made a sizzling sound.
The three women laughed and entered the workroom. Sarah glanced around and froze. Instead of a ten-to-fifteen Patchwork Angels contingent, she saw only three other people: Celeste, Nic, and Cam.
Uh-oh
. Something told her she wasn’t going to like this.
Bracing herself, Sarah flatly asked, “What is this?”
When no one immediately spoke up, she met Cam’s sheepish look and narrowed her eyes. “If you try to claim that you’ve taken up quilting, I’m calling BS.”
“Hey, this wasn’t my idea. I’m just here because she”—he hooked a thumb toward Celeste—“issued a command invitation. And I do mean command. I couldn’t turn her down. She wouldn’t let me.”
Sarah folded her arms. “Celeste?”
The older woman straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin to a regal pose. “Come in, all of you, and sit down. We have much to discuss, and it’s silly to waste any time on histrionics.”
“Histrionics! I asked a simple, calmly stated question. That wasn’t histrionics.”
“You are correct. My intention was to put an end to them before they start. Sarah, please sit here beside me.”
Celeste patted the red brocade slipper chair that was Sarah’s favorite in the attic workroom. Ordinarily it sat near the dormer window. The furniture had been rearranged for this meeting. Or was it really to be an inquisition? Or … She recalled prior events with this group of women. “Is this gonna be another intervention?”
Sage sniffed. “If it is, you can’t complain. It’s certainly your turn to be on that side of the conversation.”
“Yeah,” Nic agreed.
Sarah wrinkled her nose, but she couldn’t argue the point. These interventions had become a pattern for their group of friends when one of them needed … encouragement. Nevertheless, she hooked her thumb toward Cam. “Why does
he
have to be here? When we held Sage’s intervention, we brought breakfast, not boys.”
Nic rolled her eyes. “How old are you? Mid-teens instead of mid-thirties?”
“Bite me,” Sarah replied as she sank into the comfy chair.
“Now, Sarah, Nic,” Celeste chided. “You two behave or I’ll get my teacher’s ruler out and bust some knuckles. We’ve serious business to attend to today. Now that we are all here, Cameron, would you please shut the door?”
As he strode across the room, Sarah couldn’t stop herself from looking at the way his jeans hugged his very nice butt. Since she was there, she surrendered to the urge and imagined a handprint on his jeans. A small, feminine handprint. In red paint.
The door snicked shut, and Celeste said, “Thank you all for coming today on such short notice. Under the circumstances, I thought this get-together couldn’t wait. Cam, tell Sarah what you told Nic and me last night about your son.”
He leaned a shoulder against the door and folded his arms. “Devin is my son, but I am not his birth father. He was six when I adopted him after his mother died. Lori is my only natural child.”
“He’s never been married, either,” Nic added.
Sarah sank slowly against the back of her chair as the breath whooshed from her lungs. It was too much to process. “We thought …”
“So Nic told me,” Cam drawled, a hint of Australia in his tone.
Celeste patted Sarah’s knee. “Lori is his child, and that’s why I have gathered you all together. We have a project before us now that will take a dedication of effort similar to what was required to create our contest quilt.”
Ali frowned. “I’ve been a project person all my life, but the contest quilt almost made me swear off needles. That was hard!”
“This one will be hard, too,” Nic said. “One good thing about it is that it doesn’t require needles.”
Celeste folded her hands. She met the gazes of each person in the room in turn, then focused on Sarah as she said, “We found the quilt project satisfying. This one will be gratifying. Fulfilling. This project will change lives, in particular, the life of someone near and dear to us all. My friends, on behalf of our own dear Lori, today we undertake the redemption of Cameron Murphy in the eyes of our fellow citizens of Eternity Springs.”
Sarah’s gaze flew to Cam. He straightened away from the wall and frowned at Celeste, who continued, “I have made a list of a few places we can start, but I want us to brainstorm more items. First, I think we should ask Emily Hall to set up an interview with Cam for the
Eternity Times
.”
“About Lori?” Sarah squeaked.
“No. Cameron needs to talk about the accident.”
Cam crossed the room and stared out the window, keeping quiet while Celeste elaborated. “I’ve read the newspaper accounts of what happened that night. They interviewed the sheriff, the Cook family, and Andrew himself. I only saw one quote attributed to you, Cameron, and it was damaging. Do you remember what you said?”