Find Wonder In All Things (33 page)

At last, mercifully, the song was over, and as the final chord still hung in the air, James looked up. Their eyes met, he put down the guitar and, amid clapping and hoots, walked straight past the next performer and out the door.

She watched him leave, walking away from her — one more time — and it was one time too many. Something inside her snapped.

Oh no you don’t! Not again you don’t, you coward! Don’t you dare throw down a gauntlet like that and walk away from me!
Her stool scraped against the floor as she bolted to her feet and followed him into the dark.

“James!” she shouted, more harshly than she meant to. He halted and turned around, and she sped up to catch him.

“What the hell was that about?”

He said nothing, just shook his head in a daze, green eyes fastened to her blue ones.

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

“I hardly know.”

“How dare you!”

“Huh?”

“I said, how dare you! How dare you . . . blindside me like that?”

“I don’t — ”

“James Marshall, every time I see you, the blasted event ends with you giving me one of those heated looks and storming off into the night.”

“I don’t — ”

“What am I supposed to think? That night after Heather’s accident, you kiss me like there’s no tomorrow, and then you
apologize
for it like it was some monumental mistake!”

“I thought you didn’t — ”

“I don’t see or hear from you for three months” — she held up her fingers for emphasis — “and then you show up out of the blue at my art show. You stand around the reception and gape at me all evening — and don’t say you didn’t; people noticed.” She pointed her finger accusingly at him.

“You have no idea . . . ” Her voice softened. “It was so incredible to see you, but once again you walked away from me even though I encouraged you to stay.”

“That Edwards guy — ”

She pierced him with a glare. “That Edwards guy is nothing to me! He’s my dad’s friend — that’s all.”

“Oh.”

“So, I work up the courage to try and find you. You don’t make that very easy by the way. Finally . . . finally, I’m going to tell you how I feel about you . . . ”

“How you feel about me?” he asked in a soft voice, a small, slow smile warming his expression.

But Laurel was on a roll, and eight years’ worth of emotions spilled from her mouth, a torrent of words held too close for too long. “And I have this little speech all set for when I go up to Susan’s tomorrow, but no, you’re not there, you’re here! At The Loft! Of course!” She was pacing back and forth, gesticulating in wild motions with both hands. “It’s just my luck; I only see you when I’m completely unprepared!”

“You were coming to find me?”

“And before I know it, you’re standing up in front of people and saying, ‘This is for Laurel’ in that deep, sexy voice of yours.”

“You think my voice is sexy?”

“And then you sing that song in front of everybody — you make that big dramatic gesture — and now you’re just going to walk out the door? Nuh-uh, buster — not this time.” She stopped directly in front of him. “This time you face me like a man and tell me what’s in that thick head of yours, ’cause I can’t figure it out, and I can’t stand it anymore. Tell me!”

He looked at her a long minute, watching her breath come in short, agitated pants, hands on her hips, red hair shining, glorious and garish under the street light.

“I promise to answer every question you ask, but give me a minute, okay?”

She snorted. “Why should I?”

“’Cause right now I’m so damned turned on I could take you against that pickup truck over there and not blink an eye.”

Laurel’s eyes widened in shock, but then James closed the distance between them and took her hands in his. He placed a soft kiss on her palm and looked deeply into her eyes.

“And that’s not what we need right now, Mountain Laurel.” He straightened up, keeping hold of her hand, giving her a lopsided smile. “Mountain Laurel. You’d never know by looking at those delicate blooms what a tough and hardy shrub is hiding underneath. Of course, you probably already know that, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“You’re like your name, my love; most people don’t know . . . can’t appreciate it, but I’ve seen it — your quiet strength. I’ve never met another woman who could compare to you, ever — so beautiful, but with such inner grace . . . such endurance.”

She stood, speechless, as he shook his head in that charming, self-deprecating way of his and went on.

“You’re an amazing woman, it’s true, but even you aren’t omniscient. You didn’t know what was in my head when I first came back here, but then I didn’t know it myself. I tried to convince myself that what we had all those years ago couldn’t have been real, that I had built it into some impossible fantasy. But it wasn’t a fantasy” — he paused — “it was a dream. A dream I persuaded myself I could never have, and not having it made me a kind of an asshole, I have to admit. I was angry, jealous, resentful, and I acted poorly, but every time I searched my heart, you were there. Once I saw you again, I couldn’t think about anyone else, and I felt a hopeful little flicker of love I thought was long forgotten.

“I told myself I came because I needed closure, needed to get rid of the illusion, but my resentment was no match for the reality of you. I realized I’ve never loved anyone else, and I couldn’t stay away any longer. I’ve come here to the lake to find you, Laurel. That’s what’s in this thick head of mine, sweetheart. I’m desperately planning how I can make a life with you.”

He paused, waiting to see what she would say, but since she was incapable of speaking, he continued.

“Years ago, I wanted to drag you into the limelight with me.” He smiled wryly. “But I guess Mountain Laurels don’t do well under the harsh light of the sun. They need the shelter and safety of the forest in order to thrive, but I didn’t realize that. Somehow, you found a way to bloom there in the quiet woods of Uppercross. It’s been your refuge, hasn’t it? But now, could you consider letting me have the honor of being your safe haven? That’s what I wanted all those years ago, but maybe I wasn’t up to it then. I was too bull-headed, too stubborn to give you what you needed from me — too young and stupid to even know what that need was — but now, I believe I could do a better job, and I’d sure as hell like to try. I’d offer to give my heart and soul to you, but they’ve always been yours. I belong to you, Laurel. Please tell me it’s not too late — that, like you told Eric, you haven’t given up on a love you thought was hopeless.”

She stared at him, completely bewildered. “You’re forgiven,” she whispered.

He grinned and pulled her into his arms.

“Not entirely, but for the most part,” she murmured into his chest.

“It’s more than I deserve.” He kissed her temple, not trusting himself to take her mouth yet.

“Just don’t run from me anymore. It hurts so much when you run.” Her voice wobbled with emotion, and she blinked back tears in a frantic attempt not to cry.

He smoothed his hands over her back. “I won’t; I promise. Sorry I blindsided you. I wasn’t thinking straight, I guess.

“I wanted to ask Susan and Gary for advice before coming back to convince you that we should be together. We were talking out my strategy when I looked around and there you were. You sat right next to me — so close.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “So close.” He cleared his throat and went on. “I could feel your warmth and breathe in the scent of your hair. Then I heard all that stuff you said to Eric about loving when all hope was gone, and it just hit me wrong. I couldn’t bear to think how unhappy I might have made you, and I wanted to tell you how sorry I was. I just needed a minute — or maybe a lifetime — to figure out what to say.” He stepped back and hung his head. “And then Eddie called me up there, and my head was full of you and your song . . . but then I panicked, like I usually do where you’re concerned . . . so I bumbled ahead anyway and blew it.”

She reached her arms around his neck. “Well, we can’t go back in there now. I’m sure we just shocked the hell out of Stu and Eric and anyone else who pays attention to song lyrics.”

“Eric won’t be surprised. I told him about you.”

“You did?”

“Mm-hmm.”

They stood in silence a minute, just clinging to each other.

“Crosby knew some about you too.”

“You told big-mouth Crosby?”

She chuckled.

“Speak of the devil — I mean, devils.” James released her and she turned around to see both her brothers at The Loft’s entrance. Crosby was leaning against a post, and Dylan stood scowling with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Just checking you’re okay,” Crosby called.

“I’m okay,” she called back.

“Then we’re going back inside.” He paused. “Mess her over, Marshall, and Dylan and I will put your ass in a sling — you got that?”

“Got it.”

Crosby held up his hand and disappeared into the building. Dylan followed after giving James an ‘I’m watching you’ gesture, a la Robert deNiro.

James ran his hands up and down her arms. “Let’s go somewhere — somewhere quiet where we can talk.”

“It’s too cold to sit by the lake. What about my house?”

“Perfect.”

Chapter 27

When James slid into the driver’s seat, he turned to her with a big smile.

Laurel raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips.

“This is a lot different than the first time we went somewhere together.”

“It’s a nicer set of wheels; that’s for sure.” She ran her hand over the leather seats of the BMW.

James turned the key and the engine roared to life. “Oh, I don’t know. I kind of liked the old pickup truck you used to drive. I could slide over and sit right next to you. This one has a gear shift in the way.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint you, but that truck is long gone now.”

“Oh?”

“Now I’ve got” — she paused dramatically — “a ’91 Jeep.”

He smirked.

“I can see you’re impressed.”

A heavy silence settled over them, an almost unbearable emotional tension. James turned on the radio and fiddled with the tuner but found only static as he went up and down the dial.

“How soon they forget. You won’t get any reception here, not until we get a little higher up the hill,” she reminded him.

“I can’t believe it’s almost the 21
^st
century, and there’s still no radio here.” He stopped at the sound of an electric guitar zooming through the speakers. Then, he recognized the song, a suggestive number about love in the afternoon. Awkwardness settled over the car. James realized he was humming and groaned inwardly. He stared straight ahead, knowing that turning off the stupid song would just draw more attention to the lyrics. He hoped she didn’t think he only wanted to get into her pants. Well, to be honest, he
did
want that eventually, but it could wait if waiting meant they would be headed down the right path together at long last.

Laurel tried unsuccessfully to stifle a chuckle. He turned to look at her and saw she was grinning at his obvious discomfort. Her eyes sparkled in the glow of the dashboard lights. He waggled his eyebrows at her in invitation, and she started singing along with the radio. He joined her at the chorus, laughing, and he almost missed the turn off to the cabin. They were both singing at the top of their lungs by the time they reached her place. She zoomed her hand up into the air with the final chord.

As they got out, James leaned on the car’s roof, gazing at Laurel with a stupid grin on his face.

“What?” she asked.

“I’m just marveling at my good fortune. I can’t stop looking at you.”

She looked down, embarrassed, but then she took a deep breath and resolutely raised her head to face this man, the only man she would ever love. “I don’t understand . . . ”

“Don’t understand what, darling?”

“How this all could have happened so fast.”

“Fast? Laurel, we could have been together for years by now.”

“That’s not what I mean. I feel like I know you, but I don’t know you. Eight years is a long time. So many things have happened
to
you and
for
you — life changing events.” She slowed her pace. “Things I’ll never understand or be a part of.”

He started to pull her along by the hand, but then he turned back, coming to meet her and taking her other hand. “And you haven’t changed at all?”

“I haven’t — not down deep.”

He looked at her thoughtfully for a second. “No, I don’t believe you have. You are who you are: constant, steady, unwavering . . . ”

“Boring,” she finished.

He shook his head. “Deep, unending. The inner part of you simply exists, Laurel. You don’t realize how unusual that is. Throughout any storm in life, you are . . . you. Do you know how precious I find that quality in you?”