In Firefly Valley (19 page)

As they approached the intricately carved front door with its cut glass sidelights and transom, the door swung open, and a formally dressed man ushered them inside. Seconds later a similarly attired man led Lauren and Drew to one of what Drew said were several dining rooms. The thick carpets and original oil paintings left no doubt that the room had been designed for guests with discriminating taste, an impression confirmed by the fancy linens, fine china and crystal, and the heavy silver flatware. Not even Cinderella had had a dinner like this.

When the maître d' had seated Lauren and placed her napkin on her lap, he handed her a menu. She noted the variety of food and the absence of prices.

“I feel like a country bumpkin,” she told Drew. “How do I order?” Even on special occasions like their anniversary, she and Patrick had worried about cost.

Drew's expression was kind, giving her the impression he was enjoying her introduction to luxury. “Pick whatever sounds good. If you don't like it, they'll bring something else.”

There was no danger of that. The chicken and wild rice with the delicate mushroom sauce, the crusty French bread, and the roasted baby carrots and green beans were exquisitely prepared. To Lauren's surprise, a simple green salad was served after the main course in what Drew told her was the European custom. “It's supposed to help digestion,” he said, “and get you ready for dessert.”

Though Lauren protested that she could not eat another bite, Drew insisted on ordering a chocolate soufflé and persuaded her to try a mouthful of the delicious concoction.

“Promise you won't ever tell Carmen,” Lauren said as she swallowed the decadent dessert, “but this is the most delicious meal I've ever eaten.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” Drew ended his declaration with a cackle and pretended to twist the corners of a nonexistent moustache, as if he were the villain in an old-fashioned melodrama.

Lauren laughed, intrigued by this new side to Drew. When she'd
first met him, she'd believed him to be a somewhat self-centered man who took himself seriously. Tonight he appeared lighthearted, more concerned with her pleasure than his own. It was a dramatic and delightful change.

“Can I interest you in some dancing?” he asked when they'd finished their coffee and he'd paid the bill. “They have a small band in another room.”

Giving her shoes a rueful glance, Lauren shook her head. The four-inch stilettos were the perfect accessory for Marisa's dress, but they were what Lauren's mother would have called accidents waiting to happen.

“I'm afraid not. I'd probably break a leg trying to dance in these shoes.” And this was not the kind of establishment that would appreciate her dancing in bare feet.

She couldn't dance tonight, but she wished—oh, how she wished—that the evening would never end. Ever since Drew had entered her store, Lauren had felt like Cinderella. Now she was at the ball, and if dreams came true, the clock would never strike midnight.

“A stroll in the gardens, then?” The fact that Drew seemed as unwilling as she to return to Dupree made her pulse race. This truly was a magical evening.

Lauren nodded. “That sounds wonderful.”

The gardens were as beautiful as the club itself. Though the roses were past their peak, they had not lost their fragrance, and the combination of moonlight and the carefully placed lanterns made the white flowers gleam, while the darker blossoms faded against the foliage, leaving their lighter-colored cousins to steal the show.

“Ready for an adventure?” Drew asked when they'd finished the circuit of the rose garden. He held out his hand, and Lauren placed hers in it.

“Of course.” There was something so reassuring about having her hand clasped in his that, although Lauren had never thought of herself as adventuresome, with Drew at her side, she found herself eager for new experiences. It was probably a cliché, but the way
she felt right now, she would walk to the end of the earth with this man. It was scary; it was exciting; it was a feeling she had never before encountered.

Drew's adventure turned out to be a maze formed by tall hedges, and as was true of everything the club offered, it was beautifully done. Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty hadn't had mazes, but they should have, for this was the perfect place to wander with a sweetheart.

Though lanterns marked each of the intersections, the paths were dimly lit, adding to both the mystery and the romance. Occasional benches fitted into the hedges provided places to linger, but Drew and Lauren did not. Instead, they strolled slowly, debating each fork in the path, laughing when several of them turned out to be dead ends.

“I hope you've been dropping bread crumbs,” Lauren said when they made another turn, “because I have no idea how to find our way out.”

Drew stopped and smiled. “I can't think of anything I'd like more than to spend the rest of my life here with you.”

The words were sweet, the sentiment worthy of a fairy tale, but even though her heart longed to believe he was serious, Lauren knew a real world waited for them outside the maze. When they returned to Dupree, she would once again be a single mom and small town resident, while he was a California multimillionaire more comfortable with movie stars than country widows. It would be the modern equivalent of Cinderella's coach turning back into a pumpkin.

“You don't mean that.”

Though she'd expected a quick nod, acknowledging the jest, furrows appeared between Drew's eyes. “I'm serious. I've dated a fair number of women, and I've gotten close to marrying a couple, but I've never felt like this.” He reached for Lauren's hands and squeezed them. “I have to admit that it took me by surprise. This happened faster than I thought possible, but I know what I feel, and I know it's real. I love you, Lauren. I want you to be my wife.”

Blood drained from Lauren's face, leaving her feeling light-headed. In her dreams, she had imagined Drew saying those words,
but never had she dreamt that she would hear them tonight. This was their first date. They hardly knew each other, and by Drew's own admission, he'd almost married several other women.

Lauren had loved only one man. And though there had been an immediate attraction, she and Patrick had not spoken of love until they'd known each other well. This was too much, too soon. Even though she wished it were otherwise, men like Drew Carroll did not marry women like Lauren Ahrens.

“This has been a wonderful evening,” she said slowly. Whatever she did, she didn't want to hurt Drew. “I'll never forget this, but I'm feeling like Cinderella. The clock will strike midnight, and I'll be back in my ordinary life. I may not be a scullery maid, but I know what my future holds: a house, a small business, and a daughter in Dupree.”

It was enough for her, but Drew was accustomed to more. He'd be bored and unhappy in Dupree. “That's not the life you want.”

“It could be.”

Lauren shook her head. “Be serious, Drew. You're a big city man; I'm a country girl. We don't have a future together.”

She couldn't build her life on such a shaky foundation. It wouldn't be fair to her, to Drew, and especially not to Fiona. It was flattering—very flattering—that Drew was attracted to her, but it was too soon to know whether that attraction would turn to love and whether that love would be strong enough to enfold Fiona.

It was Drew's turn to shake his head. “That's where you're wrong. We could have a future together. I'm going to prove it to you, but first . . .” He gathered her into his arms and lowered his lips to hers.

It was the sweetest of kisses, a gentle embrace that stirred Lauren's senses and made her head spin. It might be nothing more than the moonlight and roses, the maze and its mystery, but Lauren knew this was a moment she would never forget.

“I love you, Lauren Ahrens,” Drew said when the kiss ended.

If only it were true.

D
id you hire a handyman?” Blake shot a glance at his friend as they jogged their way to the top of Ranger Hill. Now that ideas were flowing faster than a mountain stream during the spring snow melt, his morning run with Greg was the only break he took from writing.

Greg shook his head. “No, why?”

“I saw a man hanging around Rainbow's End, and he didn't look like one of the guests. Older, about our height, with graying blond hair. I thought it might have been Marisa's father, but every time I saw him, he was fixing something.”

“Must be Eric. He used to be a mechanic. Now that he's living here, he's appointed himself the resident handyman.” Greg chuckled. “That used to be my role.”

Blake was panting as they reached the summit. There was a reason he and Greg usually ran in silence—it was easier on the lungs than trying to carry on a conversation—but this morning had been the exception. First Greg had surprised him with the announcement that Drew had spent a night at Rainbow's End, refusing to say why he was back in Dupree, skipping both dinner and breakfast, and leaving as soon as it was light. That didn't sound like the Drew that Blake remembered, but who knew what
was happening in his life? Perhaps Drew was like Blake himself and was facing personal upheavals.

Rather than think about that, Blake pictured the stranger, comparing him with Marisa. He should have guessed that he was Eric St. George. After all, Blake had known that Marisa's father was at Rainbow's End. The problem was, the man wasn't what he had expected. He'd envisioned a younger man, not one with gray hair.

“What do you know about Marisa's father?” Blake asked as he and Greg jogged in place for a minute before beginning the descent.

“Not much other than that he's a recovering alcoholic who says he's been sober for three years. He also told me we should consider buying a van so we can pick up guests at the airport.” Greg rolled his shoulders. “I'm thinking about that. It's not a bad idea for when we start inviting out-of-work families. Even if they have good cars or trucks, they might not be able to afford the gas.”

Blake took a swig from his water bottle. He didn't need the hydration as much as he did a chance to think. It didn't matter whether Greg bought one van or a dozen; Blake was still trying to digest the bombshell his friend had dropped on him. Marisa's father was an alcoholic. Blake's head reeled at the thought. Though Greg had mentioned it almost casually, it was the single most significant fact Blake had learned about Marisa.

No wonder she had been so upset by Cliff Pearson's vices. Marisa probably feared that Blake's books would lure others down the dark path toward alcoholism. No wonder she felt the need for control. The research Blake had done on children of alcoholics for one of his books had revealed that many had a deep-seated need for order to compensate for the unpredictability of their childhoods. No wonder Marisa had been unwilling to trust Blake. He'd thought that was the result of her father's desertion, but he suspected that had been only the culmination of years of broken promises. Poor Marisa, and poor Eric.

“Is he working?” Blake asked. He left his cabin so infrequently that he didn't know whether Eric St. George had a routine that involved a job.

Greg recapped his water bottle and started down the hill, waiting until Blake caught up with him before he spoke. “Not that I've heard. Carmen told Kate he was trying to get his old job at the service station, but the owner is leery. According to Carmen, there's no reason to worry. Eric's not drinking, and even when he was, he rarely missed a day of work. It seems the real benders were on weekends. At any rate, Kate and I've been talking about finding him a permanent job at Rainbow's End. We don't need a full-time handyman, but he needs full-time work.”

Blake nodded slowly, thinking about small towns and their grapevines. Even if Marisa's father went back to work at the station, his every move would be scrutinized. Being at Rainbow's End would spare him a bit of that. “You've got to give the guy credit. It couldn't have been easy to come back to Dupree.”

“The way I see it, he had two pretty good reasons: his wife and daughter. He loves them both.”

“Yeah.” But one of them refused to accept him. As far as Blake could tell, Marisa had left Rainbow's End rather than share the resort with her father. That must have been a blow to Eric. The man had battled demons to stop drinking; he'd returned here to make amends, but he could hardly do that when Marisa refused to be near him.

Blake had firsthand experience with Marisa's rejection and knew how painful it could be. The memory of her harsh refusal to speak to him still stung, although now that he knew more about the reasons behind it, he felt a glimmer of hope that she would be able to resolve her issues. Children of alcoholics frequently had anger management problems like the ones Marisa was exhibiting, and the fact that she'd been abandoned would only have deepened them.

Even though he'd never met the man, Blake wished he could help Eric St. George and, in doing that, help his daughter. Perhaps if the two of them worked together, they could find a way to break down the barriers Marisa had erected. Perhaps then Blake and Marisa
could rebuild their relationship. But that would have to wait until he had finished his manuscript.

As if he'd read Blake's thoughts, Greg asked, “How's the writing going?”

That was a happier subject than Eric St. George. “Better than ever before. Another couple days and I'll be done.”

Greg increased the pace slightly as they approached the gate to Rainbow's End. It was the final sprint of the day. Once they entered the resort, they'd begin their cooldown routine. “Any chance you'll give me a sneak peek at Cliff Pearson's next adventure?”

Blake shook his head. “Sorry. Can't do that.”

And he couldn't, primarily because there was no new adventure for Cliff Pearson. Logan Marsh's adventures were as different from Cliff's as Logan himself was from Blake's first hero. Fifteen years younger than Cliff, Logan was also a crime solver but on a different scale.

Instead of foiling international terrorists and saving the world, Logan was a teenage sleuth working on more personal crimes: robbery, extortion, the occasional murder. Instead of being a debonair, movie-star-handsome adult, Logan was a teenager, suffering from the usual teenage problems of pimples, peer pressure, and puppy love. Logan's appeal was the fact that he was an ordinary teen who, thanks to his own resourcefulness, was able to do extraordinary things.

If Blake's agent was right, the Logan Marsh books would appeal to adults as well as the growing young adult market. If Blake was right, they'd show Marisa that he'd heard her concerns and that he cared enough to address them. And then . . . Blake nodded. The rest was in God's hands.

“Donuts?” Lauren snagged one of the chocolate chip donuts from the plate and held it under her nose, sniffing appreciatively. “Fiona will be ecstatic. She loves everything deep-fried.”

Though she'd had a shorter than normal night's sleep, Lauren radiated happiness as she made her way into the kitchen, and yet instead of launching into an account of her date as she would have ten years ago, she'd focused on food. How odd. But far be it from Marisa to push her friend.

“In that case, don't tell Fiona these are baked.” Marisa made a flamboyant gesture toward the small appliance on Lauren's kitchen counter as if she were the host of a TV game show pointing toward the prize contestants might win. “I was sorting through all the stuff that used to be stored in my office, hoping I could find some old records, when I found this.” She opened the donut maker and used a fork to remove each of six perfectly baked donuts. “I thought you and Fiona might enjoy something different.”

Lauren smiled again and poured a cup of coffee. “You've been spoiling us. I'll never get Fiona back to oatmeal. That used to be our weekday standard.”

It seemed they were destined to continue talking about food. Though curiosity was consuming her, Marisa decided to wait another thirty seconds before asking about Lauren's evening with Drew.

“The trick is to put something special in it,” she told Lauren, as if properly flavored oatmeal were the secret to world peace. “Applesauce and molasses are good, but dried fruit and nuts are even better.”

When she'd finished chewing a bite of donut, Lauren washed it down with a sip of coffee. “Carmen must be proud of you. You're turning into a first-rate cook.”

The subject had changed, but not in the direction Marisa wanted. “Mom's not real happy with me these days,” she said as she added a spoonful of sugar to her second cup of coffee. “She thinks I ought to spend more time with her and Eric.”

“And you won't consider it.”

“Nope.” Marisa sipped her coffee, then laid the mug back on the counter as she poured more batter into the donut maker. “I like being here with you and Fiona. Besides, if I were at Rainbow's End,
I wouldn't be able to quiz you about your big evening. So tell me everything.” After setting the timer, Marisa took the chair across the table from Lauren and smiled.

Lauren returned the smile. “It was wonderful,” she said softly, her eyes reflecting a happiness that had been too long absent. “You saw the fancy car. That was only the beginning. He took me to a private club with the most incredible food. You should have seen the place, Marisa. The rooms looked like something out of a movie, and they even had a maze.” As a blush stained Lauren's cheeks, she lowered her gaze to the table.

“Let me guess,” Marisa said, trying not to chuckle at her friend's reaction. Though Drew was far from the man Marisa would have chosen for Lauren, she was glad to see the flush of happiness. “Does that lovely pink in your cheeks mean that you and Drew did more than walk through the maze?”

Lauren nodded, her expression almost sheepish. “Oh, Marisa, it was like a fairy tale. He kissed me and said he wanted to marry me.”

Practically choking on her coffee, Marisa lowered the mug to the table and stared at her friend. “He what?”

“I know.” Lauren reached across the table and laid her hand on Marisa's, giving it a little squeeze. “I can't believe it either. Imagine a man like Drew Carroll wanting to marry me.” She picked up her mug and took another sip. “I told him he was crazy. Well,” she amended, “I didn't say it exactly that way, but I pointed out that this was our first date and that we're two very different people. I know we have no future, but I've got to tell you, Marisa, for a minute I wished it was different. No one's ever made me feel the way Drew did, and that includes Patrick.”

Marisa hadn't realized that her gasp was audible, but Lauren nodded slowly, as if in response to it. “I loved Patrick with all my heart. You know that. But this is different. Loving Patrick was sweet and peaceful. This is exciting.”

When the timer buzzed, Marisa jumped up from her chair, grateful for the interruption. Of all the things she'd expected to happen
last night, Lauren's becoming infatuated was not one of them. “You hardly know the man,” she protested when she'd put the last of the donuts on the cooling rack. “How can you be thinking about marriage?” Nothing was the way it should be if sensible Lauren was considering marrying a virtual stranger.

“You're not telling me anything I don't already know,” Lauren said as she clasped her mug with both hands. “I even said practically those same words to Drew. You know what he said?” Without waiting for a response, Lauren continued. “He told me we were both quick learners, and by the time we got back to Dupree, I'd feel as if I'd known him my whole life.”

That sounded like a salesman's pitch. “And did you?”

“Maybe not exactly, but I do feel as if I know him. We talked about everything on the drive, and we even stopped for a cup of coffee so we could talk some more. I know what kind of music he likes. I know his favorite sports and how much he hates jury duty, and he knows how important Fiona is to me. Believe it or not, Drew asked more questions about her than he did about me.”