RaeAnne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One: Blackberry Summer\Woodrose Mountain\Sweet Laurel Falls (76 page)

For one crazy second, her mind became a tangle of half-buried
memories, the kind that came from being young and impulsive and passionately in
love. The first time he held her hand in a darkened theater, shared confidences
on a sun-warmed boulder high up the canyon, tangled bodies and mouths, the peace
she found only with him—then the vast heartache and the sharp, gnawing fear
after he left.

Someone was talking to her. Evie, she thought vaguely, but the
words couldn't register past her dismayed shock.

Jack had vowed never to step foot in Hope's Crossing, with the
fierce, unwavering determination only an eighteen-year-old young man could
claim.

Yet here he was.

Yeah. Like she needed one more thing to make this Christmas
really suck. This was definitely the cherry on top of the fruitcake—for Jackson
Lange to come into her store with his undoubtedly lovely wife to have a
cappuccino or maybe browse through one of the nonfiction sections. Travel,
maybe, or her small but adequate architectural design shelf.

And in the middle of her book club meeting, for crying out
loud.

She could just ignore him. If she ducked behind a bookcase,
with luck, he wouldn't see her. He probably had no idea she owned Dog-Eared
Books & Brew—why would he possibly know that? She could send one of the
clerks over to escort him to the farthest corner away from the book club—or
better yet, have Josh come with all his delightful snowboarder muscles and throw
him out in the cold. She'd never heard of a bookstore having a bouncer, but
there was always a first time.

Too late. He turned just at that moment and his blue-eyed gaze
met hers. She saw definite recognition there. Oddly, he didn't seem at all
surprised to see her, almost as if he had come looking for her. That was
impossible, of course. In nearly twenty years, he hadn't made the smallest
effort to find her. Not that it would have taken much work on his part. She
hadn't gone anywhere.

The years had been unfairly kind to him, she saw, had taken a
teenage boy who had been brooding and angry and undeniably gorgeous to all the
other teenage girls and turned him into a sexy, potent male, with intense blue
eyes, a firm mouth and the resolute jawline that just might be the only thing he
shared with his father.

“Are you all right?”

She managed to look away and saw her mother studying her with
concern. “What?”

“You've gone pale, darling. And I asked you three times if you
made these delicious truffles. What's the matter?”

“I…” She couldn't come up with a way to answer, since every
single brain cell had apparently decided to stage a temporary work stoppage.

He was coming this way. She watched him take one step toward
her and then another. Her palms went damp and she could feel the blood rush out
of her head, which didn't help the small matter of her sudden inability to form
a coherent thought.

In a panic, she turned away, as if maybe she could block out
the last two minutes and pretend it was just a slice out of her nightmares.

“Why, yes. Yes, I did make the truffles. It wasn't hard at all.
The secret is to add the cream slowly and use high-quality flavoring....”

She launched into a whole explanation about the homemade
chocolate balls, but eventually the words petered out when she realized nobody
was paying attention to her. They were staring at a point above her
shoulder.

“You're here!” Mary Ella suddenly exclaimed. “Oh, darling. I'm
so happy you made it. I thought you weren't coming until the weekend!”

Her mother brushed past her, arms outstretched. Okay, this
had
to be a nightmare. As far as she knew, Mary
Ella would have no reason to even
know
about Jack,
as they had kept their relationship a secret that summer, in the tumult that was
their respective home lives.

Wondering what alternative universe she had suddenly been
thrust into, she finally forced herself to turn around. Mary Ella wasn't hugging
Jack, she was hugging someone
behind
him. When her
mother shifted, Maura finally caught a glimpse of who it was, and her insides
turned to thin, crackly ice.

Her nineteen-year-old daughter, Sage, stood just a half step
behind Jackson Lange, hidden from view by the breadth of his shoulders.

Her numb brain
finally
began
kicking out messages at a rapid-fire pace, and none of them were good.

Sage. Together with Jackson Lange.

The two of them, in the same room. Not just the same room—the
same freaking three-foot radius.

She'd never had a panic attack, despite the past eight months
of purgatory, but she could feel one coming on now. Her heart raced and she
could feel each pulse throbbing in her chest, her neck, her face. “S-Sage.”

Her daughter gave her a long look, but for the first time ever
Sage's usually expressive eyes were shuttered.

She knew.

Maura wasn't sure how she was so certain, especially as her
daughter's features were closed and set, but somehow she could tell Sage knew
the truth. Finally. After nearly two decades.

“Who's your friend, sweetheart?” Mary Ella asked as she stepped
away from her oldest grandchild and gave Jack the sort of quizzical look she
wore when trying to place someone, as if she thought she recognized him but
wasn't quite sure.

“This is Jackson Lange. You've probably heard of him. He's a
pretty famous architect.”

Maura was aware of the little stir of excitement among her
friends. It was fairly common knowledge that Hope's Crossing had spawned the man
many considered the next Frank Gehry.

Mary Ella's expression cooled and she took a slight step back.
“Of course. Harry's son.”

“I haven't heard that particular phrase in a long time.” Those
were the first words he spoke, and she supposed she shouldn't be surprised that
his voice seemed lower, sexier, as it thrummed down her spine.

“Yes. Harry Lange's son.” Sage gave her mother that cool look
again. “And he's not my friend. Not really. He's my father.”

Maura hissed in a breath. Okay. There it was.

This Christmas had just climbed straight to the top of the
suck-o-meter.

CHAPTER TWO

O
KAY
,
THIS
WAS
A
HUGE
MISTAKE
.

Jack stood beside his daughter—his daughter. Hell. How had
that
happened?—and gazed around at the group of
women all staring at him as if he'd just walked in and mooned them all.

When Sage had suggested stopping in at the bookstore to talk to
her mother first before he dropped her off at her house and found a hotel for
himself for a few days, he'd had no idea Maura would be in the middle of a
freaking Christmas party. He noted the cluster of gift bags, the personalized
glass decorations on the tree. Somebody had gone to a lot of trouble to prepare
for this gathering, and he had just barged in and ruined it.

“Your…father?” an older woman said faintly.

Though twenty years had gone by, he clearly recognized Mary
Ella McKnight, with those green eyes all her children had inherited, now peering
at him through a pair of trendy little horn-rimmed glasses. She had taught him
English in high school, and he remembered with great fondness their discussions
on Milton and Wilkie Collins.

She was still very pretty, with a soft, ageless kind of
beauty.

“You didn't know either?” Sage raised an eyebrow at her
grandmother's obvious shock. “I guess it was a big secret to everyone. I thought
I was the last to know.”

He had met Sage only days ago, but her sudden barbed tone
seemed very unlike the sweet, earnest young woman he had come to know. That she
would burst in and spring him on Maura like this without any advance warning
seemed either thoughtless or cruel. He should say something to ease the tension
of the moment, but for the life of him, he couldn't seem to come up with
anything polite and innocuous that didn't start with “How the hell could you
keep this from me?”

A woman with chestnut hair who looked vaguely familiar stepped
forward and rested a hand on Maura's arm. “Are you all right, my dear?” the
woman asked.

Maura gave a jerky shake of her head and swallowed, her
features pale. According to what Sage had told him, Maura was still grieving the
loss of her
other
daughter, he suddenly remembered,
and he felt like an even bigger ass for bursting in here like this.

“Maybe the three of you should go back to your office where you
could have a little privacy for this discussion,” the other woman gently
suggested.

Maura gazed at her blankly for a moment, then seemed to gather
her composure from somewhere deep inside. “I'm…I'm sorry. I wasn't… This is a
bit of a shock. Yes. We should go back to my office. Thank you, Claire. Do you
mind helping your mother lead the book discussion? When Alex gets here, she
should have the, uh, refreshments.”

He really should have made sure Sage had talked to her mother
about all of this before he showed up, but then, he hadn't really been thinking
clearly in the three days since the carefully arranged life he thought he had
constructed for himself had imploded around him.

Three days ago, he had been living his life, continuing to
build Lange & Associates, preparing for an undergraduate lecture at the
University of Colorado College of Architecture and Planning. It was the first
time he had stepped back in the state since he had escaped twenty years ago, a
bitter and angry young man.

His lecture had gone well, especially as he focused on one of
his passions, sustainable design. He was fairly certain he hadn't come across as
a pompous iconoclast. Among the students who had pressed toward the dais to talk
to him afterward had been this young woman with dark wavy hair and green
eyes.

She told him she had studied his work, that she had always felt
a bond to him because she was also from Hope's Crossing, where she knew he had
grown up, and that while she hadn't met him, she saw his father around town
often.

He studied her features as she spoke to him about her dreams
and their shared passion for architecture, and he had been aware of an odd sense
of the familiar but with a twist, as if he were looking at someone he knew
through a wavy, distorted mirror.

When she told him her name—Sage McKnight—he had stared at her
for a full thirty seconds before he had asked, “Who are your parents?”

“I don't know my father. He took off before I was born. But my
mother's name is Maura McKnight. I think she might be around your age or maybe a
little younger.”

Younger, he remembered thinking as everything inside him froze.
She had been a year younger.

“She's thirty-seven now, if that helps you place her,” Sage had
offered helpfully. “She graduated from high school nineteen years ago. I know,
because it was about a month before I was born.”

Just like that, he had pieced the dates and the times together,
and he had known. He didn't need to bother with DNA tests. He could do the damn
math. Anyone with a brain could clearly see she was his child. They had the same
nose, the same dark, wavy hair, the same dimple in their chins.

His daughter. After three days, he still couldn't believe
it.

And neither, apparently, could all those gaping women back
there. Hadn't she told
anyone
who had fathered her
child?

Now he followed Maura through the bookstore, noting almost
subconsciously certain architectural details of the historic building, like the
walls that had been peeled back to bare brick and the windows with their almost
Gothic arches. With jewel-toned hanging fixtures on track lights and plush
furniture set around in conversation nooks, Maura had created a cozy, warm space
that encouraged people to stop and ponder, sip a coffee, maybe grab a book off a
shelf at random and discover something new.

Under ordinary circumstances, he would have found the place
appealing, clever and bright and comfortable, but he could only focus on
haphazard details as he followed her through a doorway to a long, barren
stockroom, and a cluttered office dominated by a wide oak desk and a small
window that overlooked Main Street.

Inside her office, Maura turned on both of them. “First of all,
Sage, what are you doing here today? What about your biology final tomorrow
morning?”

Her daughter—
their
daughter—shrugged. “I talked Professor Johnson into letting me take it this
morning. She was fine with that, especially after I explained I had extenuating
circumstances.”

Maura's gaze darted to him, then quickly away again. “How do
you think you did? Did you even have time to study after your chemistry final?
You needed a solid A on the final to bring your grade above a C.”

“Really, Mom? Is that what you want to talk about right now? My
grades?”

A hint of color soaked Maura's cheeks, and she compressed her
lips into a thin line as if to clamp back more academic interrogation. Even with
the sour expression, she still looked beautiful. Looking at her now, he couldn't
fathom that she was old enough to have a daughter who was a college sophomore,
but then she must have been barely eighteen when Sage was born. She was
seventeen when he'd left, still six months before her eighteenth birthday.

Maura released a heavy breath and finally sat on the edge of
her desk, which put her slightly above him and Sage, who had taken the two guest
chairs in her office.

“You're right. We can talk about school later. I just… This was
all unexpected. I didn't think you would be here until tomorrow, and then I
never expected you to bring…”