* * *
T
HE
BOOK
CLUB
—
IF
IT
could legitimately still call itself anything
remotely literary after tonight—wrapped up around the time the store closed. She
ushered the last of her friends out, then spent another twenty minutes cleaning
up while the clerks went through their closing procedures.
“Need me to vacuum in here?” April Herrera asked.
“No. I’ve got it. Thanks. Good night.”
She had a cleaning crew, but over the past year she had reduced
their work to twice a week for deep cleaning, while she and her employees took
care of the superficial cleaning the rest of the time.
By the time she finished vacuuming the store, her arms ached
and she had a slight headache from the noise of her heavy old unit, but the
carpets didn’t have so much as a stray piece of lint. She returned the vacuum to
the stockroom, then gave the store one last cursory look before she locked the
door.
In the dim lights, the books gleamed on the shelves and it
smelled rich and familiar, of coffee grounds and leather and the delicious mix
of ink on new paper. She always had to stop and inhale when she walked into her
store, absorbing the smell of new books—of humor and obscure facts and
adventures waiting to be discovered.
She loved this place. Pride and contentment were familiar
companions as she looked around at what she had built on her own. Yes, Chris had
insisted on very generous child support payments and alimony after the divorce.
His career by then had exploded, and he had erroneously given her much of the
credit for pushing him and believing in his vision of his music.
She couldn’t deny his seed money had been a huge help in the
beginning, but her own elbow grease and ingenuity had certainly played a part in
the success of Dog-Eared Books & Brew. With luck and hard work, she really
hoped she could keep the store thriving.
But not tonight. Tonight she wanted to collapse into her bed
and block out the world. Tired and more than ready for the long day to be over,
she unlocked the door and let herself out, then locked it again.
The storm that had dropped a couple of inches of new snow on
the ski slopes earlier seemed to have passed over, leaving the night icy but
clear and beautiful.
She tightened her scarf and headed for her vehicle, parked off
Main Street in one of the rare side lots. Parking was such a pain. As an old
silver-mining town founded before the turn of the twentieth century, Hope’s
Crossing hadn’t been designed to accommodate modern traffic, forget about the
hordes of tourists who could descend on any given winter weekend to ski and shop
and eat. She didn’t mind the walk, though, especially with the bright sprawl of
stars overhead.
With the new snow, everything looked fresh and clean in the
moonlight.
She would have a better view of the stars if she took her
snowshoes up the Woodrose Mountain trail on a midnight hike above the ambient
light of the city, but she rarely had the energy for much anymore except soaking
in the hot tub after a long day of work.
Her path to her vehicle led her past the former insurance
agency, now with a tasteful sign in sans serif script that read Lange &
Associates, Architectural and Design Services. Just as she reached the edge of
the storefront, the door opened and out of the corner of her gaze she saw Jack
walk out. She might have thought he had been lying in wait just for her to pass
by, if he hadn’t immediately turned around to lock the door behind him without
even acknowledging her presence.
He wore that same tailored leather jacket and a gray scarf. On
some men she might have considered the scarf an affectation, but on Jack, it
looked masculine and sexy.
Something in her stomach tugged, sweet and pliable as taffy,
and she frowned, greatly tempted to slide into the shadows and keep walking. She
sighed and slowed her steps. She was many things, but she generally tried hard
not to be rude.
“Hi.”
She was a little gratified when he jerked in surprise at her
greeting and looked up with a distracted manner.
“Oh. Hi. Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
“It’s the dark coat. It can be good camouflage when I need it.
Lets me sneak around town ninja-style without attracting attention.”
“Hmm. Seems to be an epidemic of that around here,” he
said.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. It’s not important.” He shouldered his leather
messenger bag and walked toward her, and that taffy ache stretched tighter. “You
keep late hours.”
“That’s funny. I was about to say the same about you. I didn’t
realize brilliant architects had to burn the midnight oil too.”
He laughed roughly and the sound seemed to slide down her nerve
endings like the barbs of a feather. “I can’t answer for the brilliant
architects. I know the rest of us do, if we want to be able to afford that oil
to keep the lights on.”
She smiled, amused at his attempt at humility. She had heard
enough about his career to know which category most of his peers would fit
Jackson Lange into. And if they happened to give out prizes for the sexiest
among them, he was certain to win that too, especially right now with his wavy
hair rumpled and that appealing evening shadow just begging for a woman to slide
her fingers across…
Not
this
woman, of course.
“What are you doing out so late?”
“Book club meeting. And I use the term loosely.”
“Which term?
Book club
or
meeting?
”
“Either. Both. Tonight it was mostly a gossipfest.”
“Sounds ominous. I’m glad I was safely tucked away here
working.”
“My friend Evie is getting married. That’s an exciting bit of
news. She’s marrying Brodie Thorne. Did you know him?”
“He was a few years behind me in school, I think. Didn’t he ski
jump or something?”
“That’s the one. They’re getting married in March.” She paused.
“His daughter was Layla’s best friend. She was injured in the same car accident,
and Evie has been helping her heal.”
He didn’t seem to know what to say to that, and she wondered
why she was blabbering on about people he didn’t know and likely didn’t give a
damn about. Probably because she couldn’t seem to fight this little hitch in her
breathing, the hard pulse of her heartbeat.
“Well, have a good night,” she said, and turned to continue on
her way.
“Wait. Where are you parked? I’ll walk you to your car.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’m not far, in the little lot
behind the bike shop.” She
really
didn’t think
spending more time with Jack Lange was a great idea right now, with her defenses
sagging from exhaustion—especially when he looked so dangerously
irresistible.
“Well, there you go. I’m in the same lot.”
Naturally. She should have expected that, since many of the
downtown business owners parked there and instructed their employees to do the
same, to leave room for customers in the closer parking spaces. What else could
she do but shrug and walk beside him as he headed toward the lot?
They walked in silence for a few moments, and she tried not to
notice the heat of him, which drew her on the wintry night as a fire in a
fifty-gallon drum attracted hobos. She did her best to focus on the snowy
sidewalk to avoid falling on her face in front of him.
“So how’s the new office so far?” she finally asked.
“Good. We’re still settling in. I imagine I’ll only be here one
or two weeks out of the month, the way my schedule is right now. I’m going to be
heading out of the country in a month or so, which will complicate things.”
That was
something,
at least. “I
haven’t had a chance to talk to Sage much this week, but in the few
conversations we’ve had, I can tell she seems to be enjoying the work.”
He slowed his steps slightly, and she adjusted her own pace to
match his. “Actually, I’m glad you brought her up,” he said. In the
old-fashioned streetlights, his eyes suddenly looked troubled. “I wanted to talk
to you about her anyway and was planning to drop by the bookstore tomorrow.”
Maura frowned, aware of a complicated little tangle of
emotions. She wanted things to go well between Sage and Jack, for her daughter’s
sake. For her
own
sake, on the other hand, she
wouldn’t mind a little distance between the two of them, especially if it meant
she could avoid these sudden encounters with him that left her off balance and
unsure of herself. “Is there a problem?”
“Not with her work. She’s been great with helping me set up the
office, and she’s very efficient and eager to please. The perfect employee,
really.”
“That’s great.”
“She’s got natural instincts too. The other day she pointed out
a couple of problems with a building I’m working on that I hadn’t even
considered.”
Every mother liked to hear good things about her children—but
why did she have the feeling a big “but” was coming? “What did you want to talk
to me about, then?”
He was silent as they stepped down off the curb and crossed the
street, and she felt as if they were picking their way around the conversation
as carefully as she was trying to navigate through the ice in the road.
“I don’t know how to ask this without just blurting it out,
bald and unadorned,” he finally said. “Is there any chance Sage has a drinking
problem?”
Sage?
A drinking problem?
For a
brief moment, she thought she must have misheard him. This was their
daughter
he was talking about. Sage—funny, bright,
giving Sage. On the heels of Maura’s shock came the low thrum of anger.
She jerked to a stop. “What kind of question is that? You’re
asking me if my daughter is…is some kind of drunk? Why the hell would you even
think
such a thing?”
He stopped alongside her and held up his hands. “Calm down. I’m
just asking. I was a college student. I know kids her age can sometimes take
things to excess. Maybe party a little harder than they planned.”
“Not Sage,” she bit out.
“Well, I don’t know what else to attribute it to. A couple of
mornings since we opened the office, she seems almost hungover, out of it and
pale when she shows up. This morning I heard her throwing up in the bathroom.
She was better in the afternoon, but she still didn’t seem like herself.”
How did he know what Sage’s real self was like? He barely knew
their daughter! She wanted to snap the words at him, but she remembered her own
concern for Sage since she’d moved her things home from her dorm. She had to
agree her daughter had seemed very under the weather, but Maura would never
believe she was abusing alcohol. Sage didn’t even like the taste of beer. She
had admitted as much after her first year of college, when Maura had probed
about the notorious Boulder party scene.
“I think she might have a bug,” she told Jack now. “I can
promise you, she’s not out partying. For one thing, she’s still underage. For
another, since she came back from school, she’s been in bed before
I
am every night. Even over the weekend.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s not drinking by herself.”
Just the idea of that shook her to the core. Sage
had
been struggling since Layla’s death. Was it
possible she was drowning her grief in alcohol? No. She wouldn’t believe it.
“I know my daughter, Jack. That’s not her. If nothing else, she
would never want to ruin her chances to work with you by coming in with a
hangover. I think she has a bug,” she said again. “I had planned to take her to
the doctor in the next week or so if she doesn’t start feeling better, but if
it’s affecting her work, I’ll try to get her in earlier. She needs to be working
on her online courses.”
“She’s doing her job. I have no concerns in that area. I was
only worried about her health.” He studied Maura in the streetlight’s glow. “I
shouldn’t have said anything. Now I’ve upset you.”
“No. I’m glad you did. It’s my job as her mother to worry for
her.”
“And mine now as well,” he said, as if she needed that reminder
of the strange turn her life had taken the past month, with Jack now a major
part of their lives after all these years.
“I’ll push her to go to the doctor,” she promised. “If you see
anything else unusual, please let me know.”
“I’m not sure how Sage would feel about me snitching on her to
her mother.”
“Why not? Fair is fair. She tells me everything you do,” she
lied.
To her surprise, he laughed. “In that case, I’ll be sure to
drop a dime if I see her doing anything crazy. Which one is your car?”
They had reached the parking lot, she realized, without her
having much recollection of the actual journey. “That SUV there on the back
row.”
The wet snow of earlier had frozen to the windshield, leaving
the worst kind of mess. She sighed. Apparently she wouldn’t quite be able to end
this long day yet.
“Go in and turn on the defroster and heater. I’ll scrape for
you.”
“I can take care of it.”
“So can I. Where’s your scraper?”
Arguing with him would only make her sound ridiculous. She
reached inside the door on the driver’s side and pulled out her ice scraper.
“Thanks,” he said, taking it from her and immediately starting
work on the windshield. “Go inside and get warm.”
She didn’t answer, just grabbed the second scraper that—like
any good mountain dweller—she kept in her vehicle as a backup.
“You’re as stubborn as ever, aren’t you?” Jack said when she
joined him at the windshield.
She gave him a cheeky smile. “Parenthood has only made me
better at digging in my heels.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The words weren’t sexual at all, but for some crazy reason, she
felt a ridiculous heat spread from her stomach to her thigh muscles.
Grrr.
She ignored it and put her back into making sure
she scraped more ice off the window than Jack did. He’d grown soft living in
California, where he only had to worry about a little fog, while she had spent
twenty winters honing her ice-removal skills.