Willowleaf Lane Read online

  “I am, too. This has been great.”

  Her date—who was indeed quite gorgeous, in a California surfer-dude sort of way, with sun-streaked hair and a killer tan—lifted his glass of wine and they all clinked glasses.

  “To new friendships,” he said.

  I don’t have many friends right now, Charlotte. I hope...that is, I would very much like for you to be counted among those few.

  She shoved the thought of Spence out of her head, once again.

  “Where’s Ethan?” she asked Sam. She should have thought to ask him about his son an hour earlier when they picked her up but she had been too busy fighting a killer case of first-date jitters.

  “He’s gone camping with Riley and Owen and some of Owen’s friends,” Alex said, referring to her brother and his stepson.

  “He’s not all that excited about the fishing but he can’t wait for the roasted marshmallows,” Sam said. “No messy chocolatey s’mores for my son. He’s all about the marshmallows.”

  Charlotte smiled, a little envious at Alex’s good fortune to find a great guy like Sam who obviously adored his child. Envy aside, Sam and Alex were so crazy about each other, it was hard not to be happy for both of them.

  “Me, I’d take the fishing and leave the marshmallows,” Garrett said.

  She really, really wanted to like him. He seemed nice enough, though a little distant, as if he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to be here, either.

  The only sparks between them had come from static electricity when he had helped her into the car.

  “Do you fly-fish or bait fish?” Alex asked.

  “Fly,” Garrett answered. “That’s one of the reasons I agreed to help Sam out for a few months after he called. The trout fishing nearby is supposed to be fantastic.”

  “I have brothers who fish,” Charlotte said. “There are supposed to be some good streams up around Snowflake Canyon.”

  “I might need to talk to them. Do you know where they go?”

  She mentioned a few places she remembered and was racking her brain to come up with more when her attention was diverted by the hostess leading another group in her direction.

  Some sixth sense had her lifting her gaze away from Garrett for just an instant, long enough to spot the identity of the new guests.

  Harry Lange walked in with Alex’s mother, Mary Ella. They made a very handsome couple—Harry, distinguished and well-dressed, and Mary Ella, still lovely in her sixties.

  It was the man following them, obviously with Harry and Mary Ella, who drew her gaze.

  Charlotte wanted to cry. Okay, this was bordering on the ridiculous. Couldn’t she go anywhere in town without Spence showing up?

  She was trying so hard to keep from returning to the old days when she had seriously crushed on Spence. The man had broken her heart too darn many times. She had so many patches over it, it was a wonder the thing still worked. She refused to give him another go.

  Just her luck, the hostess showed Harry’s party to the best table at the restaurant, with a lovely view out the windows to Harry’s own resort—and, of course, the table happened to be right across from theirs.

  How was she supposed to fall for Sam’s Army buddy with Spence right here in her face? There were dozens of other restaurants in Hope’s Crossing. Seriously, why did he have to come to this one, on the night she was here with the man she really had hoped would become the love of her life?

  She knew exactly when he spotted her. His steps faltered a little and he almost ran into a chair. Their gazes met and, for a split second, she was back on her sofa, his body hard and urgent as he pressed her into the cushions, his hungry mouth slanting over hers while his clever hands found all her most sensitive spots.

  He blinked first, his gaze shifting to the man who sat beside her and then back to her with a glittery expression she couldn’t read before he sat down in a chair that, unfortunately, offered him a clear view of their group.

  After all of them had taken their seats, Mary Ella spotted her daughter. She waved and rose again, gracefully heading to their table.

  “I didn’t know you were off tonight or we would have had you join us,” she said to her daughter. “I suppose if you’re here, instead of in your kitchen, it’s a good thing we chose to eat at Le Passe instead of Brazen for dinner.”

  “I hope you know by now that my well-trained staff can deliver the goods even when I’m not there.”

  Her mother laughed. “What? Are you actually telling me you’re not completely indispensable, my dear?”

  “I don’t believe I said anything of the sort.” Alex sniffed. “Not completely, anyway. Sam, darling, do you need a drink of water? I swear, if you clear your throat any louder, they’ll throw us out.”

  “I’m fine. Thanks.” He stood and kissed Mary Ella on the cheek. “You look stunning, as always.”

  She smiled at him and then at Charlotte. “I don’t believe I’ve met your friend.”

  Alex stepped in to make the introduction. “Oh, sorry. Mom, this is Garrett King. Garrett, this is my beautiful mother, Mary Ella McKnight. Garrett and Sam were in the same unit together. He’s going to be in town for a few months to help Sam catch up on all the work that’s been coming his way.”

  “Lovely to meet you.” Mary Ella gave Garrett a welcoming smile. Charlotte so envied her the class and dignity that seemed as innate to her as her green eyes and dimples. “I hope you enjoy your stay in Hope’s Crossing. If you’ll all excuse me, I should probably return before Harry orders something completely outside his dietary restrictions.”

  “Go. Save the man from himself,” Alex said.

  After Mary Ella returned to her group, Sam and Alex started a rather intense conversation about escargots, which she adored and he apparently hated. While they were debating the wisdom of eating anything that left a trail of slime, Garrett leaned closer to Charlotte and spoke in a low voice.

  “Okay, am I crazy or is that Smoke Gregory over there?”

  The very last thing she wanted to do was talk about the man she had been making out with a few hours ago on her sofa but she couldn’t find a way to directly avoid the question.

  “Yes. He’s a Hope’s Crossing native,” she said carefully.

  Her date studied the other table out of the corner of his gaze, and she really hoped Spence didn’t notice and wonder if they were talking about him. “I saw him pitch a no-hitter against the Giants. Man, he had a hell of an arm. Shame about everything else.”

  Why did everybody say it like that? “Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, it was.”

  “I mean, think about it. How weird would it be to be on top of the world one minute and in prison the next?”

  “He never went to prison. The charges against him were dismissed.”

  “But everybody knows that’s only because he had a team of high-priced attorneys. If there had been no evidence against him, he never would have been charged in the first place.”

  She opened her mouth to argue that sometimes not every story was as clear-cut, good versus evil, black-and-white, as it appeared and that sometimes the reality was much more complicated. The words clogged in her throat, and she practically had to bite her tongue to keep them from bursting out.

  What was wrong with her? She was on a date with a great-looking guy, the most interesting man she’d met in ages, and here she was wanting to hotly defend someone she still wasn’t entirely sure deserved it.

  She really didn’t know anything about Spence’s case, other than her own gut instinct that he was hiding something. And just look how spot-on her gut had always been about him.

  “What’s he doing in Hope’s Crossing? Does he have a house here or something?” Garrett asked, oblivious to her internal struggle.

  “Who?” Alex asked. Apparently she and Sam had settled the great escar
got conflict.

  Garrett gave a slight head jerk toward the other group. “We were just talking about Spence Gregory, over there with your mother. I’m from Portland and have been a big Pioneers fan since the franchise started. Gregory won’t win any popularity contests around the City of Roses, I’ll tell you that. Plenty of people think he had something to do with his wife’s death. I was just wondering how a person comes back when his life turns into that kind of hot mess?”

  Charlotte thought of his efforts to make a better life for him and his daughter, of the guilt he carried for not helping his troubled wife, of the hardworking boy he had been who had tried to take care of his mother despite her abysmal neglect of him.

  “Inch by excruciating inch,” she answered softly. “You asked what he’s doing here. He’s the director of the community’s new recreation center. You might be interested to know, he’s working with veterans’ organizations to set up a recreational therapy program here for wounded soldiers.”

  She wasn’t really surprised when Garrett’s hard features tightened. Like Dylan, he apparently had a cynical streak.

  “So he’s just another do-gooder hoping for some positive press on the backs of the hardworking men and women of the military.”

  “I don’t think so, actually,” Sam corrected mildly. “He came to talk to me about the project the other day, asking if I could help build some cabins up there. He seemed quite sincere when he talked about what he hopes to achieve and the financial commitments he’s already made. I think it sounds like a great idea. Hope’s Crossing has a lot to offer these guys who need a safe, warm place to heal. I say, if he can make it happen, more power to him.”

  Charlotte wished Spence could have heard Sam defending him. He probably wouldn’t have believed it.

  “I hope he’s successful,” she said. “My brother was severely wounded in an ambush in Afghanistan. He lost some good friends and came back without an arm and an eye. He’s had a tough road back. I guess the way I see it, it’s the outcome that matters in this case, not necessarily the motive.”

  Their server approached their table to see if anyone wanted dessert. After she left, the conversation turned to lighter topics, a movie Sam and Alex wanted to see, Charlotte’s taste in music, Alex’s long, vastly entertaining treatise on how to make a perfect crème brûlée.

  At one point, Garrett put his arm across the back of her seat while he emphasized something. She didn’t flinch away, but she did make the mistake of looking up at Spence’s table.

  He was watching her, she saw with a little thrill of dismay, and the big tough ex-soldier she sat beside. She quickly jerked her gaze away but not before seeing a hot glittery light in his eyes.

  He couldn’t be jealous. She would never believe it. It was probably only her fickle heart.

  Though she was tempted to lean forward, away from even that slight physical contact, she forced herself to sit casually, to smile with bright enthusiasm at Garrett, to try her very best to fall for him—as hopeless as it might seem right now, when all she could think about was Spence’s arms around her that morning and the wild heat of his kiss.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “THAT’S WHAT I said. A million and some change, along with that strip of land you want along the river, as long as you agree to put your money where your mouth is and match it.”

  With far more effort than it should take, Spence managed to wrench his attention away from a glowing pretty Charlotte and the hard guy she sat beside. He forced himself to focus on Harry Lange and the unbelievable donation he had just offered to A Warrior’s Hope.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Here’s where you say yes or no. Fish or cut bait, boy. Trust me, I’ve got plenty of other places to put my money if you’re not committed to your wounded warrior project.”

  “No. I am. You just took me by surprise.”

  “I read through everything you gave me. You’ve done your homework. I like that. The way I see it, this is just what I want for this town. Something that takes us out of ourselves to reach out to those who might not have it as well.”

  “I agree.”

  “That should give you enough to build the cabins you’re talking about. You can have Sam Delgado over there get started as soon as possible. Be up and running by Christmas.”

  He blinked, not quite sure what just happened. Harry Lange had committed a substantial sum to make A Warrior’s Hope happen much faster than he expected.

  “Thanks. This is...thank you.”

  “You can thank my Mary Ella here. She’s the one who convinced me.”

  He had a hard time calling his former English teacher by her first name. “Mrs. McKnight. Thank you.”

  “I love the idea. From the moment Charlotte mentioned it to us the other day, my mind has been racing with possibilities. I’ll help you in any way I can.”

  “Fantastic. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

  He wanted to celebrate. He wanted to order champagne for everybody in the place. He wanted to yank Charlotte away from the big granite-jawed asshole pawing her and kiss her until neither of them could think straight.

  Instead, he sipped at his ginger ale. “Where do we go from here?”

  “As soon as all the paperwork is in order for the charitable trust, my attorneys will make everything tight and legal with the land transfer. You do remember this is a matching grant, right? You’re good with that?”

  “Absolutely,” he said promptly. “I was already planning on at least that, whether you matched or not.”

  “Good man.” Harry gave him an approving smile. “Hard to believe you’re the same kid who used to deliver my newspaper.”

  “I was probably the best carrier you ever had,” he countered.

  Harry gave a raspy chuckle. “True enough. You never missed my front mat, not once in five years. Never met such a stubborn little punk. Why do you think I reached out to you to run my recreation center? I figure a kid who takes that much pride in doing the small jobs the right way won’t fail when it comes to the big ones.”

  The man’s trust in him was humbling. All of them at the table knew he had failed quite spectacularly when it came to his baseball career. The injury hadn’t been under his control, no, but everything that came after was.

  He refused to fail with A Warrior’s Hope.

  * * *

  AS HE DROVE through the streets of town after several hours at Harry Lange’s house working out details, he was aware of a strange unsettled restlessness simmering through him.

  This late on an early August weekend evening, only the bars were still open and active. He wondered idly if going into one of those might ease this restlessness but the craving didn’t last long. He had never enjoyed alcohol much, not after seeing how the abuse of it could be so devastating. Having gone through rehab for his painkiller addiction, he was rarely even tempted to drink.

  It wasn’t the alcohol that drew him to the bar, anyway, but the company. That was the one thing he missed about the Pioneers. His team had been his family. At times like this, when he truly had something to celebrate, he missed not having somebody he could call to share good news.

  There were still players he considered brothers, guys who had stuck with him through the worst of everything, despite the evidence. He would never forget their loyalty, though something subtle yet powerful had changed between them. They were still in the game, their lives revolving around their statistics, their swing, their ERAs or RBIs.

  As he turned onto Willowleaf Lane and drove past Charlotte’s little cottage, he was vaguely aware of slowing down. Her lights were on and, when he glanced up at her house, he saw the shadow of a figure move past the window.

  He slowed down further, looking more closely to see if another shadow—maybe a tall muscled dude with a tattoo on his forearm—m
ight join her. He couldn’t see anything but her. And, he noted quickly, her driveway was completely empty, the garage door closed tightly.

  Apparently, her date had ended early.

  The surge of relief was inappropriate and unwarranted but he couldn’t seem to tamp it back down. Some of his excitement from earlier in the evening returned.

  Charlotte. Charlotte would understand, would be just as excited as he was that A Warrior’s Hope was actually coming together.

  He suddenly wanted to share the news with her. Without thinking about how foolhardy it would be to stop at her house so late, he pulled into her driveway, shut off the engine and headed for her door. He didn’t give himself time to reconsider, he just rang the doorbell and stood inside the square of light spilling from her front window onto the porch.

  Only after, while he waited for her to answer, did he start to second-guess the wisdom of coming here, especially given the awkward way they had left things that morning.

  The moment she answered the door, looking graceful and lovely in the tailored white blouse and slim pencil skirt she had worn to dinner but with a red frilly apron over both, his doubts subsided. Just the sight of her seemed to ease his restlessness, though it was replaced by an entirely different kind of tension.

  “Spence! Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all. I just saw your light and figured you were still up. May I come in?”

  She glanced behind her and he saw indecision flicker across her expressive features but she finally stepped aside. “You had to have seen at the restaurant that I was on a date. What if I were...entertaining?”

  He pointed to the empty driveway. “No other car. The guy could have walked, I guess, or parachuted in, but I took a chance.”

  “Is there something you needed at—” she glanced at a clock above her small white mantel “—ten after eleven?”

  With the low heat thrumming through him as he was surrounded by the enticing citrus and vanilla scent of her, he could think of plenty of things he needed but this didn’t seem the appropriate time to mention them.