Sage sighed. “I didn’t want it to ruin things between us. It
won’t, will it? I mean, I know everything’s different now but…I would still like
to continue working for you as long as I can, if you’ll let me.”
He frowned. “Did you think I would fire you and throw you out
on the streets just because you’re pregnant?”
“No. Not really. I was pretty nervous about telling you, until
Mom reminded me that you came back to Hope’s Crossing when you didn’t want to,
only because of me. She told me I needed to trust you.”
“Did she?” He glanced at Maura and saw another hot tide of
color wash over her cheeks. Good to know she didn’t think he was a complete
jerk. “Of course I want you to continue working for me. I would have to be
stupid to let a thing like an unplanned pregnancy rob me of the best office
manager I’ve ever had.”
“Thanks. That means a lot to me. I just don’t want things to
be…weird.”
He laughed roughly. “I’m not sure my life could possibly get
any more weird, unless an alternate life form suddenly comes swarming out of my
fireplace.”
Maura and Sage laughed, and he couldn’t help but notice both of
them looked more at ease than they had when he let them into the house. “Thank
you for coming in person to tell me this. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you.”
He directed his words to Sage, but he had a feeling Maura
hadn’t exactly been thrilled to come to his house to break this news—yet she had
stepped up and supported her daughter anyway, despite her own personal
misgivings. He considered that very much a mark in her favor.
“It was totally the right thing to do,” Sage answered. “Talking
to you about this in the workplace somehow didn’t seem right.”
Wherever she had decided to tell him, he could only imagine the
courage it must have taken her to face him. What had it been like for
Maura
after he’d left town, having to tell her family
and her friends she was pregnant? Twenty years ago, that couldn’t have been an
easy task in a small town like Hope’s Crossing, which could be insular and
closed-minded.
The old biddies who had been so cruel to his mother, who had
shunned her because of the inappropriate outbursts and wild mood swings caused
by her mental illness, might be dead by now but he could still remember them
clearly.
He had one particularly vivid memory of going grocery shopping
at the small store on Main Street that had been the only place to buy fresh meat
and produce before the chains had moved in. He would have been maybe eight or
nine at the time, old enough to begin to have some awareness that his mother
wasn’t like the pretty women in their perfectly matched polyester pantsuits who
pushed their offspring through the store sedately, not with hair-raising twists
and circles that made him laugh but scared him at the same time.
Frances Redmond, a particularly cranky lady, had been working
at the checkout. When Bethany finally picked out her groceries and pushed the
cart to the checkout, he remembered Mrs. Redmond making snide comments about
every item.
“Nuts? Bananas? Can I get you some crackers to go with the rest
of your crazy-lady food?”
It seemed benign now, just somebody trying to make a stupid
joke about something they feared and didn’t understand, but his mother had
turned red as the package of Kit Kats he had wanted, and he had realized this
was one of her bad days.
“You don’t know anything. I am
not
crazy, you stupid bitch,” she had yelled, far too loudly, and had grabbed his
arm tightly and dragged him out of the store, leaving her groceries on the belt
while all the pretty ladies and their perfect children watched with horrified
fascination.
Maura had faced that den of vipers on her own. The wagging
tongues like Laura Beaumont and Frances Redmond and Elsie Whittaker. That must
have taken great courage on her part.
Why had she stayed here in Hope’s Crossing? If he had been in
her shoes, he would have run as far and as fast as he could.
Hell, that’s exactly what he
had
done, at the first opportunity.
Her mother would have helped her. He couldn’t picture Mary
Ella, his favorite English teacher, being deliberately cruel to any of her
children. He was fiercely glad for that suddenly, grateful she could have
someone in her corner when she was a frightened teenager.
She would do the same for her own daughter. Somehow he knew
without question Maura would be a loving, supportive mother during the
challenges Sage now faced with this pregnancy.
“Where are you two off to today?” he asked, suddenly loath to
send them quickly on their way.
“Home,” Maura answered with alacrity. “I’ve got laundry and
grocery shopping to catch up on. Really exciting, isn’t it?”
Sage wrinkled her nose. “I should do homework. I have a paper
due in my ancient-history class at the end of the week.”
“Feel like taking a drive with me first?” he asked on impulse.
“I need to head up to the site Harry wants to set aside for the recreation
center to do some measurements. I could use a couple of assistants. I actually
wanted to give you a call today, Sage. That’s why I texted you, to find out what
your plans were.”
“Oh?”
“I know you mentioned you wanted to observe a project from the
outset. This might be your best opportunity.”
“I would love that! My homework can probably wait until later
this evening. How about you, Mom? Think you can you put off the laundry and
shopping for a while to help us?”
“Do you really need two assistants? Wouldn’t I just be in the
way?” She was plainly reluctant to join them. “I can pick Sage up later, or you
could just drop her by the house on your way back here.”
Obviously she didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary
with him. He could understand that, he supposed, but after their kiss the other
night, he was unwilling to let her slip away so easily.
“Any chance I could persuade you otherwise?” he pushed. “You’ve
lived in Hope’s Crossing a long time now. You run a business that has become one
of the community gathering spots. You would have a unique perspective about the
town and the people who live here.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“Sure you do, Mom.” Sage turned to him. “She’s being modest.
One of the reasons the bookstore survives and even still thrives in this market
is because my mom has an uncanny way of knowing which books people in town are
going to want to read, which coffee blends are sure to be hot, events people
will fall all over each other to attend.”
Maura looked both flustered and pleased at her daughter’s
praise, but he could still see lingering reluctance. He jumped in before she
could refuse again. “That’s exactly what I need. That instinctive knowledge of
the town and the people who live here. To be honest with you, one of the
toughest things about any new project is letting go of my own perceptions to
focus on the needs of the client. I have many preconceived notions about Hope’s
Crossing, as you may be aware.”
“Most of them wrong,” she muttered.
Not all of them, though. He remembered that scene at the
grocery store and a dozen more, incidents where people had shunned his sweet,
troubled mother. He wasn’t quite willing to forgive everyone in Hope’s Crossing
yet. Despite that, he would work his tail off to make sure the town and its
citizens, biddies or not, had the best damn recreation center their money could
buy.
“Come with us, Maura. I need to figure out what the town wants
out of this project. I need you.”
She scrutinized him, her gaze narrowed as if she were trying to
ascertain what game he was playing. If she figured it out, he had to hope she
would decide to let him in on it. He didn’t quite know what was going on
himself. He only knew he was still fiercely drawn to her, just as when he had
been that stupid kid desperate for the peace he found only with her.
More than a week after their kiss, he couldn’t forget the
softness of her mouth, the sweetness of her response.
He wanted more. Foolish as he knew that was, he wanted to see
if that moment outside her car had been a fluke, or if they could still generate
that same kind of heat.
“I suppose I could spare an hour or so,” she finally said. “The
laundry will still be there tomorrow. Unfortunately. And the grocery store too,
for that matter. Watching you work will be…interesting.”
“Interesting? I’m not sure about that. I’ll only be taking
pictures of the site and a few measurements. Nothing too exciting.”
“But probably better than laundry,” she said.
“I guess that would depend what’s in your laundry.”
She laughed and shook her head, and he was entranced by her all
over again. He had seen her smile too seldom since he had returned to Hope’s
Crossing, and a laugh was a rarity indeed. He wanted more of that too.
At the same time, now that she was agreeing to go with them, he
found himself conversely uncomfortable with the idea of her observing him.
He had a sudden memory of sitting on a blanket in the canyon
with her, describing in detail the judicious development he wanted to create
there, homes that blended into the landscape, recreational opportunities that
benefited the entire town and not only the elite who could afford exorbitant ski
passes. He also suddenly remembered how heady—
erotic,
even—he had found her rapt attention.
He cleared his throat. “Just give me a few minutes to grab some
supplies and my coat.”
Trying to shake that seductive image, he headed quickly to his
office to find his camera and a fresh battery pack for it, a sketchbook and his
laser distance meter.
He thought water bottles might come in handy and headed for the
kitchen to take some from the refrigerator. To his surprise, he found Sage
standing at the stove, stirring something on one of the burners. Maura was
nowhere in sight.
She grinned at him. “I hope you don’t mind, but I found all the
ingredients for cocoa in your cupboards. Even though we just had brunch like an
hour ago, I thought that would taste delicious on a cold day like today. Look, I
even found a thermos in the pantry!”
“I had nothing to do with that,” he admitted. “I paid a service
to stock the kitchen with the basics for me. I’ve barely even had time to look
through the cupboards.”
“They’re really efficient, whoever you found. I’ve got
everything I need. I just need five more minutes for the milk to come to a
boil.”
“Not a problem. I’m not on any kind of timetable here. Do you
need help?” Not that he would be much, but it seemed only right to offer.
“No. I’ve got this. Why don’t you go in and keep my mom
company? I wouldn’t let her help either.”
Sage seemed determined to exert her independence at every turn.
He wondered if she had been that way before her sister’s death, or if that
pivotal event had changed her in some fundamental way.
When he walked into the great room, he found Maura perched on
the edge of the sofa, leafing through a coffee-table book about the American
West.
“This is interesting,” she said when he walked in. “Did you
know the only survivor of the Battle of Little Bighorn was a horse named
Comanche?”
“I did not. Thanks for sharing.”
She laughed a little. “What’s the point of having all these
fascinating books if you don’t look inside them?”
“Here’s the thing. All those books? The decorator picked them
all. I haven’t read a single one.”
“Did you hire Vanessa Black with Design West Interiors? That
must be why she came into the store and placed a huge order a few weeks ago.
Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome.” He decided not to mention he had insisted to
Vanessa that any books be purchased from her store, even if she could have found
them cheaper somewhere else.
“Don’t you think it’s wrong to use books as props?”
It suddenly struck him as a pretty sad commentary on the state
of his life that he hadn’t had time to look at any of his own books yet—and that
he had to pay someone else to create a home for him in the first place.
“I prefer to think of them as carefully chosen design elements.
Who knows, I might leaf through them at some point.”
“You should. You’ve got some great titles here. What is Sage up
to in the kitchen?”
“Making hot cocoa. The old-fashioned way, apparently.”
“That’s how she prefers it when she has the chance.”
“She’s handy in the kitchen, isn’t she?” More than a month
since meeting Sage, he still felt as if he knew so little about her.
“She’s always loved to cook. Cleaning up, now, that’s another
story, but she loves creating new dishes. She and Layla used to come up with the
most amazing Sunday-morning breakfasts, all while I slept in. Let me tell you,
it’s a little disconcerting to wake up to delectable smells filling your house
when you have no idea where they’re coming from.”
She paused, a soft smile playing at her mouth. “I would stumble
into the kitchen and find the two of them in there laughing and giggling and
having a great time together.”
“It sounds like they were close.”
“Yes. They hardly noticed the four-year age difference between
them. Layla missed Sage so much when she went to college.”
He was sorry again for the grief both of them had endured at
the loss of someone they had loved. Before he could say anything, Maura quickly
changed the subject.
“What about you? Spend much time in the kitchen these
days?”
“Hardly any,” he admitted, after a pause. If she didn’t want to
talk about her daughter, he wouldn’t pry. “I make the occasional soup and
omelet, but I usually hire a meal service.”
“I must tell you, Jack, I’m a little surprised you’re not
married. A wife seems like an even more handy accessory than a pile of
coffee-table books.”
“Last I checked, you can’t buy one of those on SkyMall,
though.”