Hummingbird Lake (8 page)

“I knew you’d like this.”

They were alone. Hand in hand, they strolled beside the pool, where an elevated bank rose a foot or so off the ground. The nighttime lighting was muted but for the underwater lights that caused the water to shimmer. Despite the noise from the flock of chattering birds above, the place was tranquil and serene—and also the most romantic spot she’d found herself sharing with a man for years.

She turned to discover him watching her. “You brought me here with an ulterior motive, didn’t you, Rafferty?”

“Yep.” He reached for her free hand and tugged her around to face him. “I’ve replayed that kiss we shared in September dozens of times in my mind. Refresh my memory, Cinnamon.”

Rafferty wasn’t the first man to assign her a nickname based upon her hair color, but he did get points for originality. Cinnamon. She kinda liked it.

His hands moved to her waist and he pulled her close, aligning her body to his so that her soft, feminine curves
met his firm, masculine angles. Her heartbeat began to thrum and she lifted her arms, swaying into him, clasping her hands behind his neck.

His lips brushed across hers, just a whisper, but enough to cause heat to flare within her. Then, again, as soft as a feather, testing and teasing and prolonging the anticipation.

She’d missed this, Sage admitted as she allowed her hands to skim across the breadth of his shoulders. His clever fingers answered by skimming up and down her spine, leaving tingles in their wake.

He nibbled her lips, traced them with his tongue, then finally,
finally
, fitted his mouth against hers and swept Sage into a storm of pleasure.

A glorious warmth flowed out from her center as she lost herself in the moment. Colt Rafferty might be at times obnoxious and infuriating, but my oh my, the man knew how to kiss. He bombarded her senses in a way that praised and promised and proved irresistible. Only a fool would avoid this caress, this mouth, this man.

He wasn’t in any hurry, savoring her mouth in such a way that allowed her to savor in return. To take pleasure in the strength of his embrace. To relish the taste of him, the scent of him, and to bask in the sound of his desire.

He wanted her. She felt it in the taut muscles and hard angles pressed against her, heard it in his low-throated moan. She listened to him. Listened to the sound of … birds … hundreds of birds above her. Around her. Screeching birds. Shrieking monkeys.

Stinking bodies.

Harsh hands.

Brutal men.

The rebels’ truck threaded its way through the jungle on the rutted road. Sage sat wedged between two dirty
,
sweaty men in the cab. The driver never looked her way. The other man never stopped leering
.

The sound of the jungle closed in on her—pants, snorts, caws, chatters, cackles, and roars. Her mouth was dry. Her heart pounded. She’d never been so frightened in her life. A brutal hand grabbed at her breast. Sage closed her eyes and prayed
.

The driver barked an order too fast for her to follow with her limited command of the language, but after giving her one more squeeze, the hand released her. She released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding
.

They traveled for an hour, then two. She needed to pee. Between the stink and the fear, she feared she might vomit. The damned monkeys were driving her mad. Finally the driver braked and turned onto a path, then stopped. The men in the truck bed bailed out. Groper opened his door, grabbed Sage by the upper arm, and pulled her from the truck. He shoved her in front of him, pointed toward an armed gunman, and barked a word she did understand. “Go.
”

Okay. I’m okay.
She silently repeated the words she’d kept running through her mind since they marched her away from Peter
. This isn’t a random kidnapping. They want me for a purpose.

Noting that the rebel who took up position behind her carried her medical bag reassured her that it was the truth
.

Sage swiped a hand across her sweaty brow, then swatted at an insect the size of a small bird buzzing around her
. Okay. I’m okay. I’m done being afraid. They’re gonna do what they’re gonna do and I’ll deal with it.

If only the birds and the monkeys would stop their incessant clamor
.

After what was probably a fifteen-minute hike, they broke from the trees onto a clearing. Sage counted seven
huts. The Zaraguinas led her toward the largest of the huts, set off to one side, where the leading man knocked on the door
.

A moment later the door opened. Murmured words were exchanged, then Sage was shoved inside—where the rebel leader, Ban Ntaganda, lay on a blood-soaked bed. He pointed a bloodstained finger toward her and said, “Dr. Sage.
”

“Sage? Sage?” Hands gripped her shoulders and shook her. “Sage! Holy crap, what did I do? It was a kiss. Just a kiss. I didn’t grope you or anything. Don’t scream like that.”

She emerged slowly from the flashback. Not Africa, but not home, either.

“Sage?”

Not Ntaganda. Rafferty. Colt Rafferty.
I’m in Fort Worth
. Those weren’t gunshots. City workers fired air guns downtown at night to chase the grackles away. The birds made a huge mess and created a health hazard. She’d read about it in the newspaper.

“Okay. I’m okay,” she said, repeating her litany aloud.

“Why did you scream? What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m okay.”

“So you’ve said a dozen times, but I’m not believing it. I think we’d better get you to a doctor and—”

“I’m a police officer. Step away from the lady, sir,” demanded a loud, forceful voice.

“Hey, I need help here,” Colt replied.

“I said step away, sir.”

Colt muttered a curse beneath his breath, then held up his hands and backed away.

“Ma’am? You screamed. Can you tell me what’s wrong? Was this man attacking you?”

She’d screamed? Sage glanced to the right to see a uniformed
officer walking toward them. “No, no. I’m fine. I’m sorry. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why the scream?”

Sage looked back toward Colt. His jaw was set, but beyond that, she couldn’t read his expression. Clearing her throat, she offered the cop a shaky smile. “It was a rat. A rat ran across my foot. It scared me. I’m sorry for the commotion.”

He continued to look suspiciously at Colt, who hadn’t moved. Sage moved forward and slipped her arm through his, adding, “I’ve always been deathly afraid of rodents.”

After a long moment, the cop nodded. “All right, then. We haven’t had a rodent problem here, but I’ll be sure the right people hear about this. You two enjoy your night.”

“Thank you, we will,” Sage said. Turning to Colt, she asked, “Ready to go?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, his voice grim.

They headed for the nearest exit, a staircase across the pool from the one they’d descended, and they didn’t speak again until they’d exited the Water Gardens and were back on the city street. There, Colt shoved his hands in his pockets and asked, “Do you want to explain what just happened?”

Sage opened her mouth to speak, but then exhaustion overcame her. Muscle-draining, bone deep, debilitating. She didn’t think she could move another step. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Talk to me, Sage.”

“I can’t. I’m so tired. I need to go to bed. Could you help me get a cab?”

“Your hotel is two blocks away.”

“I can’t make it, Colt. Please? Just … forget it. Forget me. I can’t deal and I need to go to sleep.”

Sage knew that cabs weren’t all that easy to find in
Fort Worth, but luckily, they were across from a high-rise hotel, complete with a cab queue. Colt set his jaw even harder, then nodded curtly. He whistled and waved over a cab, and when it arrived, he opened the door for her, then shut it behind her, not quite a slam, but close.

He gave the driver a twenty and her hotel’s name, saying, “Keep the change but watch and make sure she gets inside, okay?”

“Sure, man. Thanks.”

To Sage, he said, “This is my hotel, so I’ll tell you good-bye here.”

“Colt, I’m sorry, I’m just so tired.”

“Doesn’t matter. Goodnight.”

Then he was gone.

SIX

February

Shortly before seven following yet another bad night, Sage washed red and black paint from her brushes and sighed. Maybe she should throw in the towel and go back on sleep meds. Maybe they wouldn’t affect her so badly this time.

She tidied her studio, then dragged herself to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She’d make chamomile tea. Maybe break her rule about no daytime naps. Why the heck not? Staying awake wasn’t helping at all.

She’d just flipped on the gas burner beneath her teakettle when her phone rang. Her stomach sank. Nobody called this early—except for Rose. Her sister had called three more times since reaching out that first time when Sage had been in Texas. The calls all had been awkward, strained, and strange. Sage simply wasn’t ready to tackle that relationship tiger, though she had made an effort herself by calling on Christmas.

Checking caller ID, she saw Celeste Blessing’s name and number. Relieved, she lifted the receiver to her ear and forced a brisk, energetic tone. “Good morning, Celeste.”

“Is it?” her friend answered. The comment caught Sage off guard, but before she could frame a response, Celeste continued, “We are on our way with yogurt,
granola, fruit, and fresh bread still warm from the oven. Put on a pot of coffee, would you, please? We’ll be at the door in ten minutes.”

The phone clicked and the dial tone sounded in Sage’s ear. Lowering the receiver, she scowled at it. What in the world was this all about? She hadn’t forgotten a meeting, had she?

Ten minutes gave her just enough to time to take a speed shower, pull on jeans and a sweatshirt, get the coffee brewing, and fortify herself with half a cup of tea. She heard a car pull into the drive as she stored her latest painting out of sight. Sage grabbed a hairbrush and tried to tame the tangles in her hair as she headed to the front of the cottage, where through the plate glass window she spied not only Celeste Blessing but Nic Callahan, Sarah Reese, and Ali Timberlake, too.

Her core group of friends presenting themselves at her doorstep uninvited? And why was Ali in Eternity Springs on a snowy Tuesday morning? This couldn’t be good.

Sage pasted on a smile as she flipped the lock and opened the door. Frigid air rushed in. “Isn’t this a nice surprise?”

Sarah Reese took one look at Sage, then spoke to Celeste. “You were right. She looks terrible.”

“Well,” Sage said as the women filed through the door into the gallery. “Aren’t you just full of friendship this morning?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.” Sarah disdainfully wrinkled her little nose and held up a white paper sack. “In addition to the healthy stuff, I’ve brought cinnamon rolls.”

Sage shifted her gaze to Nic, who was studying her worriedly. Ali Timberlake gave her a tentative smile and asked, “Shall we go to the kitchen?”

Officially out of sorts at this point, Sage murmured, “Can I stop you?”

“Nope.” Sarah flashed a smile that had more teeth than was friendly. “This is an intervention.”

An intervention? Sage closed her eyes.
Wonderful. Just flippin’ wonderful
.

“Yeah, an intervention. Ali’s made a special trip for it.”

Ali smiled reassuringly. Sage sighed and followed her friends to the kitchen. Celeste’s brow knitted in a frown. “It’s freezing in here.”

“The heater can’t keep up. I’m having a new system installed, but Jimmy Turnage is backed up. No telling when he’ll get around to me.” Since her table only seated four, Sage grabbed her work stool from her studio, placed it at the table, and snagged the first cinnamon roll out of the sack. She took a bite of the sinfully sweet roll, savored the taste for a moment, then faced the proverbial music. “So, dare I ask why you concluded that an interference—”

“Intervention,” Sarah corrected.

“—was appropriate? What, you found out about my dark chocolate M&M habit?”

“Dark chocolate is good for you.” Celeste smiled her thanks to Sarah as she served them all a mug of fresh, steaming coffee, then continued, “Actually, sweetheart, a guardian angel whispered in my ear that your light was on most of the night again. As your friends, we are concerned.”

A guardian angel? More likely somebody up for a midnight snack. Although Sage’s cottage was isolated from town, her lights shone like a lighthouse beacon across Hummingbird Lake, especially in the off-season, when hers was one of the few occupied lakeside residences.

“You’ve lost weight, and there’s not a makeup on the
market good enough to cover the dark circles beneath your eyes,” Nic added, snagging a carton of strawberry yogurt and a spoon from the center of the table. She crossed her legs, gave her blond ponytail a toss, and settled back in her chair. “Believe me, I know. Since the twins were born, I’ve tried every combination of foundation and cover-up out there.”

Ali selected a banana while gazing longingly at the cinnamon rolls. “The girls tell me you haven’t come to quilt group since before Thanksgiving, Sage. That’s not like you.”