Reflection Point: An Eternity Springs Novel (36 page)

“A grand gesture,” Celeste said. “Hmm. That could be fun.”

Nic said, “Grand gestures are very romantic. Gabe won my heart with a grand gesture. He decorated a nursery for the twins.”

“Gabe already had your heart before he did that,” Sarah protested. “Though it did break through your anger. You were pretty angry at him.”

“He deserved it. He’d been a total jerk.”

“Zach isn’t being a jerk,” Savannah defended. “He’s hurt.”

“Yes, he is,” Nic said. “That’s why he’s not thinking clearly. We have to help him clear his mind by reminding him what is important.”

Celeste and Sage nodded. Celeste said, “Okay, then. A grand gesture. Ideas?”

“I can’t top Zach. He chartered a helicopter and flew me to one of the most exclusive resorts in Colorado for a night of wild sex.”

Following a moment of shocked silence, Sage, Sarah, and Nic shared a look of surprise. “He did?” Sarah asked. “We didn’t know about that. How did we miss that little detail?”

“I don’t want to hear about wild sex,” Gabi said. “I’m single with no prospects. It’ll make me jealous.”

Celeste waved a dismissive hand. “Let us get Savannah and Zach settled and we’ll go to work on you.”

“A grand gesture,” Sage mulled aloud. “Remember how Jack proposed to Cat? He took her hang gliding over a field strewn with yellow roses that spelled out ‘Marry Me.’ ”

Nic said, “And Mac bought the yurt from Bear and went all Arabian Nights sheikh on Ali.”

“Well, I’m doomed,” Savannah said. “That’s all out of my league.”

“We just need to think.” Sarah kicked the water absently. “Zach is a sports fiend. Maybe something sports-related?”

“I think it needs to be something public,” Gabi said. “I think you need to make yourself a fool for love, Savannah.”

“Now, there’s an idea,” Sage agreed. “Something to do with peaches, maybe?”

Nic rested her head back and looked up at the stars. “He loves your peach cobbler. Baking is always a good way to get to a man. Right, Sarah?”

The owner of the most successful bakery in three counties nodded. Celeste said, “You could do a broad theme around peaches. Peach cobbler, peach ice cream, peach jam in Sarah’s pinwheel cookies.”

“Peach lingerie,” Nic suggested.

“Peach massage oil,” Sage added.

“I like the thought, but I don’t think I could get him close enough to notice scents.” Savannah’s thoughts were glum. “I’m sure lingerie is out of the question.”

Gabi said, “I think it needs to be something public that involves risk on Savannah’s part. Not physical risk. Emotional risk. And you’d better be prepared for him to give as good as he got from you.”

“Yes,” Nic agreed. “You could break the ice with something like that, then follow up with peaches.”

“Would you be up for that?” Sarah asked.

Savannah didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I love him. I want a life with him. I’ll do whatever it takes to earn his forgiveness. If the icebreaker doesn’t work and the peach follow-up isn’t practical, well, I’ll just do something else. I’m not above groveling in the street.”

“That’s the attitude, girlfriend.” Sage sank lower into the pool until her shoulders were completely submerged. “Now we just have to figure out the icebreaker.”

Long minutes dragged in relative silence. Savannah considered and rejected a flurry of ideas that ranged from staging a one-woman picket line in front of the sheriff’s office to writing him love letters on signs all around town.

Then Celeste said, “Groveling in the streets, hmm? The annual arts festival is coming up. I have this friend. I think she might be able to provide our solution.”

Celeste outlined her idea. It was silly and hokey and made Savannah cringe to think about. But at the same time, she could see it appealing to Zach.

“Well, dear?” Celeste asked. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know. I sort of like it. What do you guys think? Is it bold enough? Humiliating enough? Do y’all think it could work?”

The Eternity Springs matchmakers looked at one another and nodded. Then Nic said, “Honestly, Savannah, I think he’d come around no matter what. Zach loves you. He’d forgive you eventually. This will just help eventually come around a little faster.”

Savannah sucked in a breath, then let it out in a rush. “Okay, let’s do it. The arts festival starts when?”

“Ten days from tomorrow.”

“Good. That will give me plenty of time to order the perfect peach-colored bra.”

Ordinarily Zach greeted the end of tourist season with mixed feelings. He looked forward to the slow time of year and the opportunity it gave him to spend time doing those outdoor activities he loved, but he missed the constant change that the influx of visitors to Eternity Springs introduced into his days. He especially had conflicting emotions where the summer arts festival was concerned.

It was the final event of the summer season, and of all the special events the town hosted, he enjoyed the arts festival the most. He loved seeing the artists’ and crafts-people’s creative products. Every year he bought something, whether it was a painting or a photograph or even children’s toys he gave to the Callahan twins. He also particularly enjoyed the people the event attracted. Creative people were interesting. No one could deny the talent of those who created breathtaking Colorado landscapes or rocking chairs that made a man want to sit all day long. But the minds that thought of making jewelry out of potatoes or sculpting a fish entirely from beer tabs were downright fascinating.

And yet Zach had some crummy memories of the Eternity Springs summer arts festival, memories that were the source of those conflicting emotions.

His shoulder still ached on cold days as a result of the gunshot wound he’d received while disarming a crazed father out to murder the photographer who’d taken pornographic photos of his son.

Today as the festival kicked off, he almost wished he’d have a law-enforcement emergency to deal with. Rumor had it that he had a surprise waiting for him. Considering just who had been spreading the rumor—his nosy, busybody, way-too-interested-in-his-business friends—he figured the surprise must have something to do with Ms. Savannah Sophia Moore.

“Talk about conflicts,” he muttered as he exited the
office, headed for Spruce, where festival booths lined the street. As he would do at least twice a day during the three-day festival, he would start at the top of Spruce and work his way south to the booths in the park area at the south end of town, where Angel Creek took a bend across the valley before flowing into Hummingbird Lake. He’d schmooze with the vendors and shoppers and make sure that everyone knew that the law was watching.

Even if his thoughts continued to return to a certain Georgia peach.

Once his rage at her had abated, he had debated what—if anything—he should do about the woman. Trust was a vital component in any relationship. Love without trust was a difficult road to travel. Was he willing to gamble that the two of them could survive the dips and bumps of the trip? Sometime over the summer, he’d come to realize that it was time to stop being alone. He wanted a home and a family.
Go figure
. But for him, marriage meant forever. Kids meant forever. He wouldn’t go into a marriage if he thought it wouldn’t last.

How could he and Savannah last if they didn’t trust? One thing the events earlier this month had taught him was that trust was a two-way road. Never mind what she thought. He didn’t know if he could trust that she wouldn’t cut and run at the first sign of trouble.

And yet he loved her. That certainty still existed when the anger faded away.

And she had claimed to love him, too. He hadn’t forgotten that, either. Once the red had cleared from his eyes, he’d replayed that moment in his mind. The claim had been so awkwardly stated that he realized she’d meant what she’d said.

He’d also decided that the ball was in her court. The
next move, if there was going to be a next move, was going to have to be Savannah’s.

He suspected that might happen today. Gabi had gone out of her way to make sure that Zach did his festival stroll first thing. In the past week, Nic, Sarah, Sage, and Celeste had all managed to look him up and say something about peaches. He figured the only reason Ali and Cat hadn’t added their two cents was that they were both out of town. He actually was surprised they hadn’t called or emailed him or sent up smoke signals or something.

So as he arrived at Spruce and began his white tent stroll, he did so with an anticipatory spring in his step. All the talk of peaches … his best guess was that he’d find a peach booth. How she’d connect that with him, he didn’t have a clue.

He strolled up to Sarah’s Fresh tent. When she saw him, her eyes twinkled and she grinned. “Have you bought your tickets yet, Sheriff?”

The food and drink booths accepted tickets for their offerings instead of cash. “What, you’re not giving me the sheriff discount?”

“No freebies for you this year, Zach.”

“Now, go along and don’t block the way of paying customers.”

Huh. That wasn’t like Sarah at all.

The next local booth he passed was the Vistas Gallery booth. He wanted to linger there. Sage always had beautiful things in her arts festival booth. However, when he took his time studying a painting of Hummingbird Lake, the woman gave him the bum’s rush. “You’re scaring off customers, Zach. Go along about your business. Be sure to buy some tickets, too.”

Tickets again. Okay.

He got similar treatment at Nic’s pet adoption tent, so he wasn’t too surprised when Celeste walked up beside
him and slipped her arm through his. “Allow me to walk you to the ticket booth, Zachary.”

No sense fighting it. “I give up. Lead on, my lady.”

Cam Murphy manned the ticket booth. Upon seeing Zach, he snickered. “How many you want, Turner?”

Zach reached for his pocket. “Give me twenty dollars’ worth.”

“Well, that won’t get you squat. You need to cough up a hundred, my friend.”

Zach blinked. “A hundred? How many muffins do you think I’m gonna eat?”

Cam Murphy’s grin was downright wicked. “It’s not the quantity, it’s the quality. You don’t want the A tickets. You want the S tickets.”

Warily he asked, “What’s the difference?”

“S tickets are only good at one booth. Only one person can buy them.”

Hmm
. “S for Savannah?”

“Or sheriff. I’m not sure which. I don’t think it matters.” He handed Zach a peach-colored piece of paper. “Here are the rules.”

Zach read the bullet points. S tickets were only good at booth number 17. S tickets were only available for purchase by Sheriff Zach Turner. S ticket sales will be matched dollar for dollar by Heavenscents, and all monies collected will be earmarked for registration fees for children of law enforcement personnel who have lost their lives in the line of duty to attend the Davenports’ summer camp.

Okay, that’s bold
. “What’s going on at booth seventeen?”

“Pay your money and find out, bro. Throw down a C note for starters, but honestly, I expect you’ll be back for more.”

“It’s a setup.”

“Oh, yeah. You’ve been dealing with these women
longer than any of the rest of us and you just figured that out? But it’s a setup for charity.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the booth behind him, number 12. He peered down the street but couldn’t see 17. “Okay. You win.”

“No. The winner would be you, my friend. If you’re smart enough to see it.”

Zach took his tickets—all two of them—and continued down Spruce, vaguely aware that a grin tugged at his mouth, and totally aware that he’d picked up an entourage. Booth 16 displayed a Heavenscents sign. Mandy West stood at the entrance offering samples of lavender-scented lotion, and TJ sat on a stool beside a gray metal cash box. Savannah wasn’t in the Heavenscents booth.

She manned booth 17.

He took one look at her and gawked. His gaze took in the booth, read the sign, and he gaped. Savannah sat on a stool wearing a formfitting scoop-necked black-and-white-striped top and matching short shorts.

She sat inside what appeared to be a … well … a jail cell. Above her hung a bucket. To the side of the cell, a six-by-eight-foot banner had a target at the center. Words above the target proclaimed, I AM A PRISONER OF MY OWN INSECURITIES, DOOMED TO A LIFE OF LONELINESS UNLESS SHERIFF TURNER CHOOSES TO ACCEPT THE KEY I OFFER AND SETS ME FREE.

A strangled sound emerged from Zach’s throat. He’d seen a variation of this game before, most often used as a fund-raiser for schools. Usually a school official—the principal or a popular coach—sat beneath a pail of water. Kids bought tickets to throw a ball at a target that when hit dumped the water onto the principal. Kids loved it.

Zach was having trouble tracking. “What is this?”

“My grand romantic gesture.”

This was a grand romantic gesture? “Jack took Cat hang gliding above a field of yellow roses that wrote out words.”

She pursed her lips in a petulant pout. “So I heard. I’m not a bazillionaire.”

His lips twitched. “I took you to Silver Eden Lodge.”

“Yeah, well. Circumstances are different.”

TJ sidled up. “Do you have a ticket, Sheriff Turner?”