Hummingbird Lake (10 page)

She had placed five canvases against the near wall. Colt glanced at them, then at Sage, then back at the paintings again. These works were done in the same vein as the ones he’d seen in Fort Worth. He couldn’t help himself. He shrugged and repeated the comment he’d previously made: “They’re … nice.”

Then he took another bite of ice cream, giving the spoon a slow lick as he waited for her to react. He knew she’d remember the previous exchange, and he expected her to turn on him, scratching and hissing.

Instead, when she finally looked at him, he saw the sheen of tears in her gorgeous green eyes. Immediately he felt like an ass. He hadn’t meant to make her cry. He’d been teasing. Didn’t she know that?

Where was the woman whose eyes had shot fire at him in Texas?

“Thank you.” She dismissed him with a polite smile, then turned to Celeste. “I think the butterflies work best in this room, Celeste. Why don’t we hang it and let you live with it awhile? If you decide it doesn’t suit, we’ll switch it out for another one.”

“Yes, I like that idea.” Celeste beamed. “Thank you, dear. Colt, can you do the honors for me? You’ll find a hammer and nails downstairs in the kitchen drawer beside the refrigerator.”

“Sure. I’m on it.”

Actually, he was glad to escape the room. He needed a little time to think. How had he misread Sage Anderson so completely? He’d thought she liked to scrap and scrabble. Man, he couldn’t do anything right where that woman was concerned.

Then, because he
was
a tenacious man, as he descended the staircase he said to himself, “Guess you’ll just have to try harder.”

In the kitchen, he discovered the healing center’s director, Hunter Casey, pouring a cup of coffee. Colt understood that Celeste had lured Casey away from a facility in Southern California. The two men visited a few moments, and Colt congratulated him on Angel’s Rest’s at-capacity occupancy rate while he rinsed his now-empty dessert dish. When Elizabeth ducked in with a question for her boss, Colt made his way back upstairs with a tape measure, a hammer, and a couple of nails. He wasn’t entirely surprised to discover that Sage had bolted in the interim.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings,” Colt told Celeste.

“She’s not herself these days.”

“Oh? Why not?” He measured the spot and marked the wall with a pencil.

Celeste clucked her tongue. “I don’t like to gossip, but I’m quite concerned about her. Our Sage is in a dark place. I know she’s fought long and hard to escape it, but the solitary struggle is weighing her down. I think she needs help finding her way into the light.”

Colt placed the nail. A dark place? From what he’d seen, he couldn’t argue with that. “She’s living in the right town. Eternity Springs helped me when I was in a bad place.”

“Oh, really?” she asked. “When was that?”

Colt rolled his shoulders, his way of acknowledging the scars that crisscrossed his back. “Back in high school, my best friend and I were working after school jobs at a furniture plant when combustible dust exploded. He was killed. I had some minor burns, but they healed fast enough. It was my head that gave me trouble.”

“You came to Eternity Springs?”

“Yep.” He hammered in the nail. “My dad helped me get a summer job at the Double R. I made my peace with the past and found my future up on a mountaintop that summer.”

“I see,” Celeste said as she handed Sage’s butterfly picture to Colt. “That’s why you studied engineering? Why you are working in Washington?”

Colt hung the painting, then got down from the step stool she’d provided. “It’s why I became an engineer. I’ll admit I’m not so sure why I’m working in Washington, but that’s another story.” Moving back, he studied the painting and said, “You know, the butterflies aren’t half bad.”

Celeste slapped him on the shoulder. “Be nice, Colt
Rafferty. Now, come with me and I’ll get you the keys and directions to your rental.”

As they made their way downstairs to the office, she explained that the place she had arranged for him was a cabin out at Hummingbird Lake, an eight-minute drive from the center of town. “You’re on Reflection Point, with only one other house near you. There are a couple of lovely trails out that way that are maintained during the winter for hiking and cross-country skiing. One of them goes up to Heartache Falls, which is one of the loveliest spots in the county. Do you skate?”

“I played hockey in college.”

“Excellent.” She patted his hand, and her eyes gleamed with a knowing light as she added, “You’re going to love it out there, Colt.”

He wondered about that look as he made his way to the Trading Post to stock up on groceries before heading out to the lake. Bells chimed as he walked inside, and he waved at Sarah Reese, who stood behind the cash register speaking with an elementary-school-age boy holding a white ball of fluff in his arms. “I’m sorry, Josh, but my answer is final. I don’t need a puppy. I have my hands full with Daisy and Duke.”

“But Miss Sarah …”

“Good-bye, Josh.”

Colt smiled as the downcast youngster departed the store, a dramatic pitch to his voice as he said, “It’s okay, puppy. I’ll find you a good forever home, no matter what.”

Colt loaded his cart with staples. He enjoyed cooking, though he rarely had time to do so, and he planned to indulge in that activity during the next two weeks. He added a couple more steaks to his buggy, thinking that maybe he’d invite the Callahans out to dinner. He and Nic had been friends a long time, and he really liked her
husband, Gabe. Plus he had to see the twins. Nic’s Christmas card had said they were rolling over and trying to sit up. Then, picturing the teary-eyed redhead, he reached for the last rib eye in the meat case and murmured, “What the hell.”

He chatted with Sarah while she rang up his groceries and asked how Lori was doing. “She’s good. Anxious for college acceptance letters to begin arriving.”

“Where does she want to go?”

“Texas A&M. She wants to be a vet.”

“A vet, huh? What would she say about you turning down little Josh’s puppy?”

Sarah laughed. “After working as Nic’s vet assistant, she learned she can’t bring home every animal in need. Still, she does go gooey at puppies.”

“Most people do.”

“Do you want a dog?” Sarah’s lovely violet eyes gleamed with mischief. “I know where you can get one.”

“Nope. I’m a short-timer here, as always, and my condo in DC doesn’t allow pets, I’m afraid.”

“Sounds like you need a new place to live.”

Colt’s smile sobered a little at that. “You may be right, Sarah. It’s very possible that a new place to live might be exactly what I need.”

He pondered the question on the way out to the lake. His job entailed so much travel that he’d never thought it fair to keep a pet. Still, he’d always wanted to have a dog. A big dog, like a retriever or a boxer. Maybe someday.

Celeste’s directions to the house were spot-on, and when he made the final turn into the drive and saw the log cabin for the first time, he felt the last bit of tension inside him fade away. Thank God he wasn’t in Washington
right now. Celeste was right. He was going to love it here.

The cabin was decorated in what he thought of as mountain traditional—wagon-wheel furniture, elk and moose heads on the walls, and a bearskin rug in front of a huge stone fireplace. The master bedroom had a fireplace also, along with a king-sized bed and a sliding door that opened onto a deck with a hot tub.

“Awesome.” A soak in the hot tub at the end of a day on the slopes had always been one of his favorite parts of skiing. And the stars in this part of the world were a sight to see. “Thank you, Celeste,” he murmured aloud. “Excellent job.”

He unloaded his car and put away the groceries, then lit a fire in the big stone hearth. He was careful and deliberate about the task, having witnessed some horrific results of carelessness over the years. As he watched the flames flicker and build, he told himself not to go there, not to think about his job at all.

He was burned out. Toast. He needed these two weeks to decompress, and he couldn’t do that if he thought about work all the time.

He watched the yellow flames dance in the hearth until a flash of light against the window snagged his attention. Headlights, he surmised. Guess his neighbor had arrived home.

Curious as always, he moved to the window, where he spied a Jeep idling in the drive next door while an automatic garage door opener did its thing. He cupped his hand against the window glass to better see inside the Jeep.

When he identified the driver, Colt pursed his lips and let out a slow whistle.
Well now
. He dragged his palm along his jawline and considered his choices.

He could leave her alone. Maybe he
should
leave her
alone. But what was the fun in that? Glancing at the clock, he decided he’d give it half an hour. He’d let her settle in, and then he’d grab a measuring cup and go ask to borrow a clichéd cup of sugar—from his favorite redhead.

SEVEN

Sage was in a mood. When she returned to the studio she maintained above Vistas after leaving Angel’s Rest, her attempt to finish her work in progress failed miserably. Before the appointment with Celeste she’d been immersed in a fanciful piece of pixies and rainbows and having a wonderful time. Afterward, when she picked up her brush to complete the painting, she’d lost all enthusiasm for the subject.

It was all Colt Rafferty’s fault.

She’d wanted to melt through the floor when she’d looked up to see the man. Twice now he’d witnessed her attacks. He’d almost been arrested because of her! It was mortifying, humiliating, and discouraging. And what was his response?

“My work is nice,” she grumbled for probably the hundredth time since leaving the upstairs parlor at Angel’s Rest. Oh, she hadn’t missed that teasing glint in his eyes. Actually, it was better than the anger they’d reflected when he put her into the taxi in Fort Worth. But why did he have to latch on to her work as a way to annoy her? Why did she care? She didn’t have a thin creative skin. She could take criticism. So why hadn’t she stood up for herself? Why hadn’t she said that what was “nice” were the checks she received from her “nice” paintings? Why was it that she always thought of what
she wanted to say to him after the moment for saying it had passed?

That man had been a thorn in her side even before she’d met him. As a hobbyist wood-carver, he did do lovely things with wood, but she still didn’t think it was right that he’d won first prize in the local-artists category at last year’s art show. Not that she cared about the contest, because she didn’t. Not too much, anyway. It was only a little, local thing, after all.

Okay, maybe she did care. Some. She possessed a competitive personality, but it wasn’t that she expected to win the contest every year because she didn’t. The nature photographer who’d moved to town last fall did some amazing work, and if he were to win this year’s blue ribbon, well, so be it. But Marcus Burnes lived here. He paid taxes here. That should be the rule for anyone whose work was entered in the local-artists category.

“And why am I thinking about that, anyway?”

Was it because she didn’t want to consider the real question—which was why, as she’d climbed into her car at the Angel’s Rest parking lot, a few tears had slipped down her cheek? What was it about Rafferty? Why could he make her cry when she couldn’t manage the feat herself?

At the end of an hour of wasted effort at the easel, she finally threw in the paintbrush and decided to call it a day. It was time to go home. She was tired and cranky and she wanted to curl up on her couch before the fireplace in her cozy little cottage and read. Maybe drift off to sleep. Sleep. Glorious sleep.

She couldn’t wait to get home. She loved her lakeside place. When she’d first moved to Eternity Springs, she had lived and worked in the loft apartment above the gallery. Last year when the cottage’s absentee owner listed it for sale, she’d jumped at the opportunity to buy it. Having a second studio was a luxury, but being able
to set up her easel beside the lake to work on good weather days was worth every penny. Besides, she made enough income off her “nice” paintings to easily afford it. “So there, Mr. Wood-carver.”

Although, come to think of it, she probably shouldn’t indulge in a book tonight. At quilt group last week, she’d promised to complete her assigned task before this week’s meeting. If she showed up without her finished squares, Sarah and Nic were bound to give her grief.

Of course, if—when—the nightmares woke her up tonight, maybe she could quilt instead of paint. On second thought, considering what she did with a paintbrush after her dreams, the idea of what she might do with a needle was terrifying.

Okay, then, she’d build a fire, put an audiobook on her iPod, and work on her squares. “Excellent compromise, Dr. Anderson,” she murmured to herself.

Dr. Anderson? Whoa
. Sage gave an internal shudder. Where had that come from?

“I so very much need one—just one—good night’s sleep.”

At the turnoff to her home, she noted tire tracks in the snow and recalled that Celeste had mentioned that her next-door neighbors, the Landrys, were having a visitor this week. The Texans regularly shared their vacation home with friends, so this wasn’t an unusual occurrence, although it happened less frequently during winter than during the rest of the year. While Sage treasured the isolation of the point, she didn’t mind having somebody within shouting distance in case of an emergency.