In Firefly Valley (29 page)

“You look especially happy, Fiona.” Lauren smiled at her daughter, who was sitting in the living room watching one of her favorite movies for what had to be the hundredth time. “Did you have a good time with Mr. Drew?”

“The best. He bought me lunch.” Now that she was out of traction and back to school, Drew no longer spent his days with Fiona, but today was an exception. With the teachers having an in-service day, Drew had resumed his babysitting duties.

“Where did you go? The Sit ‘n' Sip?” There wasn't much question about that, since the small restaurant was Dupree's only eating establishment.

Fiona shook her head so vigorously that her braids slapped against her cheeks. “Oh no. Mr. Drew took me to Blytheville. Did you know they have a real diner there? It's all silvery on the outside, and we had the best burgers and shakes, and he even showed me how to play the jukebox.”

This was vintage Fiona, talking a mile a minute. It was no wonder she looked so happy. There hadn't been time or money for excursions like that for quite a while. Though the diner wasn't especially expensive, the cost of two meals combined with the gas to get to Blytheville had been beyond Lauren's budget.

“That must have been fun. I hope you thanked him.”

Fiona rolled her eyes, as if the answer should be apparent. “Yes, Mom. I know my manners.” She was silent for a few seconds, fiddling with the remote. When she looked up, Lauren saw an almost calculating expression in her eyes. “What are you gonna wear tonight?”

“I haven't decided.” Drew had invited her to dinner at Strawberry
Chantilly, saying he wanted to see if it lived up to the hype and declaring that since he couldn't possibly eat there alone, Lauren would be doing him a big favor if she agreed to be his date. Trying to avoid the impression she was a love-struck teenager eager to spend time with her boyfriend, Lauren had simply agreed that she'd enjoy the evening out.

“I think you should wear Grandma's old dress,” Lauren's fashion consultant/daughter announced.

Lauren hadn't thought about the dress in years. It probably fit, because she'd regained some of the weight she'd lost during Patrick's illness, and it was a beautiful gown. Made of ivory satin, it had a tea-length skirt, the full sleeves that were so popular in the eighties when Mom had bought it, and heavy ecru lace trim on its bodice and deep cuffs. Though hardly the height of current fashion, it was old enough to have a vintage appeal. Even better, it was a dress Drew hadn't seen.

“That's a great idea.” Lauren brushed a kiss on Fiona's head. “I think I will.”

Two hours later, Drew gave her an appreciative look as he entered the house and whistled. To Lauren's surprise, he also winked at Fiona.

“Told you so,” Fiona said with a grin that would have put the Cheshire cat to shame.

Lauren gave her daughter a stern look. “What did you tell Mr. Drew?”

Feigning innocence, Fiona said, “That you had a real pretty dress.” She looked up at Drew, as if asking him to corroborate her story. Something was definitely going on here, but Lauren suspected she would have to wait until she got her daughter alone to get to the bottom of it.

“The dress is pretty,” Drew agreed, “but the woman inside is beautiful.” Though the words were sweet, it was the look that accompanied them that made Lauren blush.

“You're a smooth-talking man,” she said, wishing she could blame the color in her cheeks on the heat. When she heard a car
engine stop, she gave Fiona a kiss and turned to Drew. “Marisa's here, so we can leave.”

It must be her imagination that Drew, never at a loss for words, seemed quieter than usual, Lauren told herself as she settled back in the comfortable seat and prepared to enjoy the drive to Blytheville. But when she tried to introduce subjects, even ones as innocuous as his lunch with Fiona, Drew's replies were terse.

How strange. It was only when they reached Strawberry Chantilly and were seated at a secluded corner table that Drew leaned forward.

“We need to talk,” he said abruptly. “I know I didn't say much on the drive, but that wasn't the right time or place. This is better.”

Lauren tried to keep her expression neutral while she felt panic make its way through her veins. Drew was about to deliver bad news, and she had a good idea what it was. He was leaving Dupree. This would be their final evening together.

She should have listened to Marisa. But Lauren had let herself dream, especially when Drew had been so kind to Fiona. Now those dreams were ending.

Though she wanted to say something, Lauren could not force the words out. Instead, she simply nodded at Drew, encouraging him to continue. There was no point in delaying the inevitable.

Drew's eyes were solemn as he said, “Ever since I arrived in Dupree, I've been thinking about my future. You know I was at a crossroads when I arrived. I'd lost my job and wasn't sure what I was going to do with the rest of my life.”

“Now you've made a decision.” The way he looked, the way he spoke, told Lauren he had chosen his direction.

To her surprise, Drew shook his head slightly. “No, but I have a few ideas. I've been thinking about opening a web design and hosting service. It wouldn't be huge, but even fifty employees would be good for Dupree.”

It took a second for his words to register, and as they did, the dread that had threatened to choke her began to subside. She'd been wrong, at least about one thing.

“You want to start a business in Dupree?” This was more than Lauren had hoped for. When she'd dreamt of a future together, she had thought it would involve moving to California. She'd told herself that Fiona would adjust to a new home and that she'd make friends quickly. She'd tried to convince herself that she would enjoy opening a shop in a new area. Lauren had never allowed herself to hope that the three of them could forge a future in Dupree.

Drew nodded slowly. “That depends.”

“I'm sure there won't be any issues with zoning or permits.” The mayor and town council would be so thrilled with the idea of a successful entrepreneur like Drew Carroll settling in their town that they'd offer him anything he wanted.

“I wasn't worried about them.”

Though her throat was dry, Lauren was afraid to take a sip lest her nerves choke her. “Then what are you worried about?” she asked as calmly as she could.

“You.” Drew edged closer, his blue eyes serious as he said, “When I think about the future, much of it is fuzzy, but one thing is clear: I want you to be part of it.” He paused, giving her a little smile before he continued. “I love you, Lauren, and I want you to be my wife.”

This was the second time he'd said that. The first time she hadn't dared to believe he was serious, and she'd known she wasn't ready. This time, Lauren had no doubts. Marriage to Drew was everything she wanted, her fondest dreams coming true. She had seen him with Fiona, and she knew he'd be kind to her. He might not love Fiona as Patrick had, but Drew would be a positive role model, as good a stepfather as Lauren was likely to find for her daughter. “I—”

He held up a cautioning hand. “Please let me finish. It's not just you I love. I also love your daughter.” Lauren started to gasp, then forced herself not to react. Let him finish, he'd asked, and she would.

“I would never have wished that broken leg on her,” Drew continued, “but it turned out to be a blessing. It gave us time to get to know each other. I learned that I love Fiona, mismatched socks
and all. I love her almost as much as I love you.” He paused, his gaze fixed on her. “Will you do it, Lauren? Will you marry me?”

Yes, yes, yes! Though she wanted to jump out of her chair, throw her arms around Drew, and accept his proposal, Lauren knew there was one step she had to take before she did any of that. “I love you, Drew,” she told him, hoping he'd read the sincerity in her eyes. “I want to marry you, but first I need to talk to Fiona.”

The little smile she'd seen teasing his lips turned into a grin. “No, you don't. I've heard that in the past a man would ask his prospective bride's father for permission to marry her. I couldn't do that, so I did the next best thing: I asked your daughter. That's why I took her to lunch today, to see if she was willing for me to be her new daddy.”

“And she agreed.” The giggles and the wink were starting to make sense. This was why Fiona had been so excited this afternoon.

“See for yourself.” Drew reached into his coat pocket and handed Lauren a piece of paper.

She recognized the lined sheet as one from Fiona's school pad. Unfolding it, she saw her daughter's sloppy handwriting and words that made her catch her breath.

Dear Mom,

I want Mr. Drew to be my new daddy.

Love, Fiona

Tears of joy pricked Lauren's eyes. “Oh, Drew. I don't know what to say. You thought of everything.”

Reaching into his other pocket, he pulled out a square jeweler's box and opened it to reveal the most magnificent emerald ring she'd ever seen.

“Say yes,” Drew urged as he slid the ring onto her left hand.

Lauren did.

O
h, Lauren, I'm so happy for you!” Marisa gave her friend another hug, smiling at Lauren's exuberance. She'd been doing an imitation of the Snoopy dance ever since she'd returned from dinner with Drew, sporting what had to be a three-carat emerald ring. Any doubts Marisa might have had about the match vanished at the sight of Lauren's happiness and the love she'd seen glowing from Drew's eyes when he'd left his fiancée a few minutes after accepting Marisa's congratulations.

“I don't think we surprised you.”

“You didn't. You might say I had some insider information.” When Lauren raised a questioning eyebrow, Marisa continued. “Fiona told me she and Drew discussed more than burgers and jukeboxes at lunch. I've never seen her so excited.” And that was saying a lot, because Fiona was a naturally excitable child, or she had been before Patrick's death.

“The front door had barely closed behind you when she told me Drew was going to be her new daddy. I heard all about how Fiona wants to be your flower girl and how she'll even wear matching white socks if you let her have the frilly pink dress she saw in a magazine.”

“Matching socks, huh? This is serious.” Lauren sank onto the couch and extended her left hand, staring at the ring as if she couldn't believe she was now an engaged woman. “Drew and I were thinking about a very small wedding.”

“You might want to rethink that. I got the distinct impression that Fiona has her heart set on this. She has visions of the church filled with people as she walks down the aisle. She told me she'd agree to a blue dress if you insisted, and you know she doesn't like blue this week.”

Fiona's tastes seemed to change more often than the weather, making it a challenge to get her ready for school. Church was easier, because she had only two dresses to choose from, and neither was blue.

Lauren nodded slowly. “It would be nice to have all of Dupree there. The townspeople supported me when Patrick was so ill and afterward. I'd like to have them share the beginning of my new life.” Lauren fingered her ring again. “I have to talk to Drew, but if we go ahead with a big wedding, will you be my maid of honor?”

Pretending to consider the question, Marisa tipped her head to one side and feigned a serious expression. “Do I have to wear matching socks?”

Lauren's reply was instantaneous. “You can wear striped socks like the wicked witches from
The Wizard of Oz
if that makes you happy. I just want you at my side.”

“Of course I'll be your maid of honor. Again.” Though she'd been devastated by the prom debacle and her father's disappearance, Marisa had put on a smiling face for Lauren and Patrick's wedding, wearing the cranberry taffeta gown Lauren had designated for her maid of honor, while the bridesmaids wore pink.

“Thank you.” Lauren gave Marisa another hug, then settled back on the couch. “I know you didn't like Drew at first, but he's changed. The new Drew is everything I want in a husband and a father for Fiona.”

“It wasn't so much that I didn't like Drew,” Marisa said, wanting
her best friend to understand. “It was that I was afraid he'd hurt you. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.”

“I am. I'm so happy I feel as if I could explode.”

“I'd rather you didn't. That would be messy.” They both laughed.

Marisa wasn't laughing an hour later as she began to wash her face. Was Lauren right? Did people change? Blake claimed he had, and Eric said he was a different person. Was it true, or were they simply empty words?

Blake was a simpler case. Marisa didn't believe he'd made a fundamental change. It was more a change of direction, getting back on the right track. Eric was different. If he really wasn't drinking and was determined that he'd never again take a drink, that was almost like a river suddenly flowing upstream. It couldn't happen without an enormous amount of inner strength. The question was whether Eric had that strength. Patting her face with a towel, Marisa admitted that she didn't know. Her heart and her head were telling her two different things. Which one was correct?

Returning to her bedroom, she knelt and bowed her head.
Dear Lord, I'm confused. I want to believe him
. I know that you can wash away sins and create
a new person. What I don't know is whether
that happened. Help me understand. Please.

It had been a wonderful week, Blake reflected as he walked toward Marisa's office. Though both he and Marisa had been working—she on plans for Christmas, he on the second Logan Marsh book—they'd managed to spend time together each day. One night they'd had supper at the Sit ‘n' Sip. Another they'd gone to the Bijou for a movie. Other evenings they'd simply walked around Rainbow's End, watching the stars reflecting on the lake. They'd talked about almost everything imaginable. Blake now knew that red was not Marisa's favorite color, and she knew that one puff of a cigarette when he was nine was enough to convince Blake not to smoke.

He knew Marisa was surprised that she didn't miss Atlanta. “Looking back, I realize I was lonely there,” she told him. “I'm not lonely now.” Nor was Blake. How could he be lonely when he was falling in love with this beautiful and complicated woman?

Blake took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Greg had told him that if what he felt was true love and not mere infatuation, he would know. Blake did. He loved Marisa. He loved the caring she lavished on her friends and her dedication to her job. He loved her strong sense of right and wrong. He even loved her occasionally twisted sense of humor.

Blake loved everything about Marisa except her attitude toward her father. But that would change. It had to change.

The fact that she was no longer dyeing her hair and wearing colored contacts was a major step forward, at least in Blake's opinion. Surely the rest would follow. Surely she would overcome her anger and her fears and let love fill her heart. Surely this wonderfully warm and caring woman couldn't go through the rest of her life estranged from her father. And if she thought she could, everything Blake believed about her was called into question.

The door to her office was open. “Ready?” Blake asked as he stood in the doorway. An hour ago there had been papers strewn over the desk and sticky notes decorating her monitor, but now the office was in perfect order. Typical Marisa. She thrived on organization.

Grabbing her purse and a notepad, she nodded. “Let's escape before Kate remembers another person who needs a gift.”

They were headed for an Angora goat farm with what was reputed to be the best gift shop in the area, planning to buy Christmas presents for Rainbow's End's staff and guests.

“I'm glad Kate agreed that Lauren couldn't make everything,” Marisa said as she buckled her seatbelt. She was wearing a calf-length denim skirt and a chunky Irish knit sweater in deference to the Norther that had swept through the Hill Country yesterday. “Lauren was already overloaded, and now she has a wedding to plan.”

Blake nodded. When he and Greg had jogged this morning, Greg had mentioned how pleased he was that Drew was settling down in Dupree.

“I heard your mom say she was going to make the cake.”

“And cater the reception. Mom considers Lauren her second daughter. Even though she's like Lauren and has too much to do, she'd be hurt if Lauren didn't let her provide all the food.”

Blake had heard Carmen mutter something about fearing she'd never have the opportunity to bake her own daughter's wedding cake. Though Blake didn't consider twenty-six old, in Carmen's mind, Marisa should have been married at least four years ago. But Blake wouldn't tell Marisa that her mother had confided such thoughts to him, and he certainly wouldn't admit that thoughts of weddings had been ricocheting through his brain and disturbing his sleep. He'd even given serious thought to engagement rings and honeymoon destinations.

“Mom's trying to figure out how we can throw a surprise shower.” Blake was grateful that Marisa continued to talk about Lauren's engagement and appeared oblivious to the direction his thoughts had taken. “As you've probably figured out, it's tough to keep anything secret in Dupree.”

Which was precisely the reason Blake hadn't told anyone other than Marisa and her father that he was also Ken Blake. Every time he and his agent spoke, Jack urged Blake to reveal his identity, saying it would be good for sales and for Blake himself. But he wasn't convinced, and he definitely was not ready for the media hoopla from such a revelation.

“Does that mean that everyone on your Christmas list will expect an angora sweater once they learn where we're going?” Blake asked.

Marisa shook her head. “Of course not. They'll expect mohair.” When Blake looked confused, she chuckled. “They're Angora goats, but they produce mohair. Angora only comes from rabbits.”

“My factoid for the day.”

“I can give you a couple others, just in case you need some conversation starters. Angora goats are named for Ankara, the part of Turkey where they were developed. And, did you know that a mature doe can produce six to ten pounds of mohair a year?”

“All that from a diet of tin cans?” Blake wasn't remotely interested in Angora goats, but he wasn't going to discourage Marisa. The truth was, one aspect of her personality that he admired was her ability to absorb new information. He suspected she'd been researching goats online when he'd arrived, just so she could entertain him with trivia.

She laughed. “No tin cans. They like high protein diets, which include woody plants.”

And the Hill Country had its share of that. No wonder there were so many goats here. Marisa had already told Blake that the Hill Country was a major source of mohair in the US.

“Here we are.” Marisa pointed to the sign with its picture of the most unusual goat Blake had ever seen. Though he recognized the muzzle, beard, and floppy ears, the coat with its long curly fleece was far different from the goats he'd seen in Pennsylvania. So this was the source of the lightweight but warm sweater he'd received for his birthday one year.

“I've got my list,” Marisa said as they entered the store. From the outside, it looked like an ordinary barn, but once they were indoors, Blake found his senses assaulted by a rainbow of colors. Tables piled with a seemingly endless variety of merchandise, racks bearing sweaters in every size and style imaginable, and bins filled with skeins of yarn all competed for his attention. As if she recognized his sensory overload, Marisa laid a hand on Blake's arm. “Do you want to wait outside?”

He shook his head. Perhaps he'd buy his-and-hers sweaters for Dad and Hilary. That would be his way of saying he didn't mind that they were a couple. Though he was naturally curious about the woman who now figured so heavily in Dad's conversation, Blake would be a hypocrite if he withheld his approval when he
was hoping his father would approve of his relationship with Marisa.

Despite the plethora of choices, Blake made his selection within five minutes, thanks to a helpful clerk who, when learning his father's age and coloring, steered him to a conservative hunter green. It would take Marisa considerably longer, since there were thirty people on her list, so Blake settled on one of the benches near the window and watched.

By the end of half an hour, she had piles of garments on the counter and had returned her list to her bag. Though Blake thought she was ready to check out, she wandered to a table of men's scarves and fingered one in what Blake considered a particularly attractive shade of blue.

“Who's that for?” he asked, joining her by the scarves.

Marisa hesitated, her face clouding as she laid the scarf back on the pile. “No one.”

Blake wasn't buying that story. “You looked like you were ready to take it.”

She touched the scarf again before shaking her head. “I was, but he . . .” She broke off, clearly not wanting to say more.