Jumped (23 page)

The fountain stayed.
Grady tried to reimburse Finn for both it and the pinball machine, but Finn refused. After all, Grady had been providing room, board, and the best medical care in orthopod-rich Aspen.

The pinball machine relocated to the basement and became Solstice's favorite in-house pastime.

Finn and Bethany did not make love that night. Bethany slept in the house. Finn stayed in the cabin where he ended up sifting through his feelings. He was no angel, that was for sure. But he felt like the gap between them had narrowed. Around midnight, before he drifted to sleep, he understood that he loved her more than enough to forgive her.

Tuesday dawned cool and overcast, the first cloudy morning Finn had seen since arriving for the wedding. Clouds made him think of Branson, which made him think of his company. He needed to go home, go to his office, and resume his normal life. His leg was much better, and although it would be challenging to drive, it was possible. He would simply deal with the stairs to his house. The thought of leaving Bethany left him feeling as dismal as the sky looked. His clients were being very understanding about his calamity, but sooner or later their goodwill would dry up. Those buildings weren't going to design themselves. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

I'll leave after we go to Ptarmigan.
If he wanted to marry Bethany again, he had to come clean. He couldn't hide the truth from her forever, and if it meant she'd never want anything to do with him again, then . . . that was that. With that thought weighing on his mind like wet cement, he closed his eyes and rested his head against the window for a full minute.

At nine, when he knew she'd be awake even if she'd slept in, Finn called his ex-wife.

“Good morning,” he said.

There was a pause before she replied, “Hey.”

She sounded a little down. He asked how she'd slept and they spent a few minutes dancing around the elephant in the room. Then Finn put his hand on the beast's trunk.

“Everything's okay about yesterday.”
Vague enough, Finn? Come on!

“Okay.”

“What I mean is, I . . . I'm okay with everything. I'm glad you told me. It was hard to hear, but I understand why you felt that way. And like I said, it's over and there's no use in dwelling on it now. I'd like to see you today. If you have time.”

She sighed. He hoped it was with relief. “Okay. Yeah. I need to do some research on clothing companies today. But how about dinner?”

“Sure. Yeah, dinner would be great.”

He pumped his fist.

“And, Finn?”

“I'm here.”

“Thanks. For forgiving me.”

“Not a problem.”

“And, Finn?”

“Still here.”

“I sent you an email from my dad about what Uncle Mitch might like in his house.”

“Thank you. Thank you very, very much, Bethany.”

“Yeah. I should go. I'll see you later, around seven. I'll bring Harris food.”

Yes.

As soon as he'd ended the call with Bethany, Jacqueline called, saying, “It would be my pleasure to take you to your house today. Is that possible? I have time beginning at noon.”

“I'd appreciate that. And yeah, with this leg, I don't have many appointments.”

Jacqueline laughed, which pleased Finn, since she was a tough audience.

“I will pick you up at the guest cabin at noon.”

Finn spent the morning returning calls from clients and friends and tending to a few other bits of housekeeping, such as checking his credit card purchases (there was one more to go, and he decided to be surprised).

He packed some clothes to take back to his house and, as he knew she would, Jacqueline was at his door at noon in the Honda SUV Grady had given her. Finn had been concerned about the stairs leading up to his front door. They were daunting, but he simply took his time, and Jacqueline was patient with his slow progress. He would have to plan his days carefully to minimize trips.

Once inside, he emptied his carry-on and refilled it with a few more items for his last days at Aspen Creek. He then asked Jacqueline to stand on a chair to retrieve the stained-glass window, which was in a three-foot-square flat box on the top shelf of his closet. She got the window, and Finn was astounded at the pang in his chest when he saw it. Jacqueline had to carry his bag down the stairs, then carry the stained-glass window to her SUV. There was simply no way around it.

Feeling distinctly ungentlemanly, he apologized until she said, “Finn. There is no possible way you could have done that safely. It was not a problem for me. Please stop apologizing this minute.”

He did, with a laugh.

Jacqueline stopped the SUV in front of the cottage and helped Finn with the box and the carry-on. He thanked her profusely for taking hours out of her afternoon for his sake.

Alone in the cottage, he opened the box for the first time since he'd sealed it four years earlier. He took out the window and looked at it, remembering the day he'd put it in the box. He traced its leaden ridges between the panes of glass with his fingertip. He sighed, wrapped the bubble wrap around it again, and slid it back into its box. He'd have to ask Harris to wrap it for him.

His excuse for avoiding the trip to Ptarmigan was now officially gone.

That night, after a
quiet dinner together in the cabin, Beth said to Finn, “I haven't seen Mingo all afternoon. He's not with Ben, and he wasn't in the barn. I'm gonna look for him.”

“I'll come with you.”

“You'll slow me down.”

“I'm fast now. You haven't seen me when I push myself. And you're not going alone. Ask Amanda for a flashlight.”

It wasn't dark yet, but the sun was low in the partly cloudy sky. Beth ran up to the house, where Amanda assured her that she and the girls and Grady would look for the dog in the house.

“We'll check the guesthouse, too,” Amanda said. “Please tell me I don't have to explain to Wave about the handcuffs on the bed!” Beth laughed, but her anxiety over her pup was growing.

Beth and Finn checked the barn again, including Ellis's small apartment, in case the curious little dog had somehow gotten trapped inside. They checked the tack room, bathroom, hay barn, storage shed—everywhere they could think of.

“Mingo?” Beth and Finn called, over and over. The only sounds she heard in reply were birds, crickets, and the breeze through the aspen leaves.

They walked the perimeter of the pasture, Beth calling her brown dog's name. She refused to cave and panic, but her chest was tight and it was getting more challenging to keep the darkest thought at bay. Sundown was only a few minutes away when they started down the drive toward the road. Beth played the light from her flashlight along the sides of the drive and the fringe of the forest. She saw rabbits, but no Mingo.

They went through the electric gates and Beth stopped. Worry had eroded her optimism and the decision of whether to turn right or left onto the road was beyond her. Finn rubbed her back for a moment.

“We're going to find him,” he said, then turned right.

She shone the flashlight beam into the aspens and pines. “Mingo?” they called.

Night fell. The birds quieted and crickets picked up the slack. The moon was almost full, tinting the forest in wintry blue light. A cool breeze rippled through the pines and Beth shivered. Terrible images played in the movie in her head. Mingo's stout brown body inert on the side of the road, blood dried on his lips. Mingo with his leg in a steel-jawed trap. Mingo snarling in vain while being attacked by coyotes.

She had to stop. Her throat was beginning to ache as panic took hold. She keened a moan before she could quell it. Finn, ahead of her, turned and put his arm around her. “It's going to be okay. He's probably sleeping in a pile of Wave's dolls, like E.T.”

“But what if he's not?”

He squeezed her shoulders. “We will find him.”

She wasn't crying yet, but tears weren't far. They peered into the trees.

Finn stopped and held his index finger up. Beth stopped, and after a moment heard a quiet, high-pitched whine
,
coming from just ahead and in the brush. Finn surged forward as fast as he could. Beth followed, and kept trying to see around him.

When she saw the lump of matted fur, Beth's heart jumped into her throat. She gasped.

There, lying on the ground, was Mingo. They went to him, and Beth sank to her knees in the dirt.

“Give me your flashlight, honey,” he said. She did, and he shone the beam on the dog's collar, which was caught on a gnarled tree root. Beth unbuckled the collar as her body relaxed and relief galloped through her. The metal rabies tag was bent—it had twisted and trapped the dog. Mingo wriggled, stubby tail vibrating with joy. Beth grabbed him and hugged him to her chest. The dog speed-kissed her face and neck.

“Oh, Mingy, Mingy! Mingo!”

Finn pet Mingo's head and rubbed the dog's floppy, triangular ears between his thumb and fingers.

Beth called Amanda and the trio walked to the cottage. Mingo headed straight for his water bowl, his pink tongue setting a new world record for water lapping.

Beth wanted a drink, too. Her mind and body felt as if they had been crammed with worry and were now completely empty. It was as if the front and back of her torso could touch, like the walls of a deflated balloon. She poured kibble into Mingo's bowl and the mutt stared at her as though she was one of the major dog gods. She stroked Mingo's back as he buried his nose in the nuggety goodness.

Finn was looking at her from an armchair. “Quite a night, huh?”

“Thanks for finding my dog.”

“We both found him.”

“Yeah, but you
heard
him. I'm not sure I would have, I was so worried.”

“I've become a better listener.” He smiled at her.

Beth smiled back. If it was true, she had another reason to give him a chance.

To give
them
a chance.

Bethany graced his bed
that night, but they didn't make love since they were exhausted. Although, if she had given any indication . . . She snuggled into him, her head on his chest, and kissed his cheek as softly as a petal-thin wood shaving falling to the floor, then slid farther under the blanket. As she used to do when they were married, she tucked one foot under his calf. He liked that. He liked having that icy little foot there where he could keep it warm. He liked being able to take care of her, even in this small way.

He gazed at her face, paled by the moonlight seeping through the window. Her nut-brown hair. Her dark eyelashes fanned on her cheek. Would he see this face next to him in a month? A year? A decade?

14

D
riving in Colorado
suited Beth just fine. She'd been in Ocala for several years, and Florida had natural beauty courtesy of the ocean, gulf, and Everglades, but mountains delivered a different brand of high-caliber eye candy. It was Friday afternoon, and she and Finn were en route to Ptarmigan. She loved driving on I-70 east of Glenwood Springs, where the interstate hugged the snaky curves of the Colorado River, tucked next to vertical red cliffs dotted with tenacious, scrubby pines. Even when the scenery was unremarkable, just knowing how high up they were made her giddy. She still loved when her ears popped on the mountain passes.

It was past seven by the time they got to the B and B in Steamboat Springs, in part because the GPS lady didn't believe, in her heart of computerized hearts, that the road to the B and B existed. The wooden sidewalks still ran along Lincoln, the main drag in town. Some of the businesses and restaurants along them had changed, but for Beth, the best part remained.

Dinner was a
casual affair in a quaint Italian place, with red-and-white checked tablecloths, bread in plastic baskets, and foil-wrapped butter pats. The pasta and sauces were homemade, with flavors that danced on her tongue. She and Finn kept the conversation flirty and lighthearted, but Beth knew that weightier talk would come, in time. There was no way she and Finn could part without having
that
conversation. With such an uncertain future, Beth worked to notice and savor everything, because these could be her last days with Finn.

Later that cool night, in the soft, quilt-covered bed, they made love. They hardly noticed his brace—compared to the cast it was nothing—and they had simply worked around it. Lately when they'd made love she could feel how much harder his arms, back, and chest were from using crutches. Finn had always been ripped in that unpretentious, works-with-his-hands way, but now . . . he was off the charts. It was her favorite silver lining to the fractured-bone cloud. Still, tonight he had also been quiet, tender, and almost unbearably intimate.

She would miss this about him. She would miss
him
.

“Queasy” didn't begin to
describe how Finn felt on Saturday morning. “Queasy” wasn't even in the same neighborhood, county, or state. “Terrified,” “petrified,” and “scared to death” scratched the surface, but the English language hadn't come up with the right word. If there was a word describing how a nail felt right before the hammer fell, it might be close.

He slipped out of bed as quietly as he could with his new brace, dressed, and went into Steamboat. He used crutches because it was faster than limping, and he wanted to burn off some of this damn nervous energy that made his teeth itch. In the cool bright of the early morning, he went over his plan for the day. He turned onto Lincoln Avenue. The shops and restaurants blurred by, or at least that's how it felt. After about fifteen minutes he was winded, his arms and shoulders burned, and he felt more human. He turned around and retuned at a more relaxed pace, wishing he could bring coffee back to Bethany. He was good on crutches, but not that good.

Bethany must've thought he was good, because when Finn entered their room, Bethany patted the bed next to her. “Get back in here.”

Shit shit shit
. He couldn't. He was in no condition to make love. He acted like they needed to get a start on the day. As if they were farmhands and daylight was a-burnin'.

“Come on, get up! It's beautiful out. You want to eat breakfast here? I believe I smelled bacon as I came in.”

She looked at him carnally. “Oh, I'm hungry all right.” Then she rolled her eyes and giggled at her ridiculously bad line. But she slid the sheet down to reveal her naked body.

Christ
. Even a naked Bethany, which was his personal kryptonite, couldn't calm his nerves or change his mind. “You wore me out last night.”

Not quite true. And not the reason he was feeling a million miles from amorous right about now.

Bethany flashed a wicked smile. “Poor baby!” She pouted. “I promise I'll be gentle.”

Finn went to the bed, leaned down, and kissed her lips.

Bethany grabbed his butt and did that writhing, grinding thing that usually sent him right into bed with her.

“Honey, you are so gorgeous, and I want you like crazy, but this morning . . . I'm just not . . .”

Or was he?

He sure could use the endorphins and stress relief. Plus, Bethany wouldn't suspect he was tied up in knots, and she'd get her way. It was a win/win/win. And it might be the last time they slept together. A jagged little pang sliced through his heart.

He caved.

After, Bethany looked so pink and happy in the nest of sheets, with her sumptuously messy hair and dove-gray eyes.
She is so beautiful
. He needed to keep this moment in his mind forever. Her relaxed, contented expression, her luminous eyes like gray pearls. Her perfect face. She slid her hands behind his head and brought his lips to hers for a soft, long, sweet kiss. When she let go, he looked down at her again.
So beautiful.

“What?” she asked.

“What, what?”

“What are you thinking?”

“Men hate when women ask that.”

“I don't care.”

“What am I thinking?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, not much. Just how beautiful you are. How much I love you.”

Those big eyes of hers suddenly went misty. Her mouth tensed at the corners, and then quivered.
Damn. Had he hurt her?
Because as a rule, Bethany didn't cry. Shit. “What? What'd I say?”

“Ohhh,” she whined in protest, sounding like a recalcitrant teen ordered to clean her room. “Crap on a cracker, Finn, I love you.”

He laughed. “You don't sound too happy about it.”

“I'm not. It complicates things.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What's that mean?”

“Oh, honey. Nothing.”

And she hit him in the head with a pillow.

After eating a
light breakfast under a giant mounted elk head in the dining room, they tucked their bag into the backseat of Beth's truck. She helped Finn into the cab, which meant he hoisted himself in with the agility of a mountain lion while she admired his butt in his jeans. She stowed his crutches in the backseat for him, then got behind the wheel. She pulled out of the gravel driveway of the B and B and started toward Ptarmigan.

“Hey,” he said, “You wanna get some coffee?”

“We just ate. I want to see my house.”

“We have all day. What if we get some coffee and then see your house?”

“Why?”

“I saw some sweet little coffee places on my walk. We drove all this way last night—we should enjoy ourselves while we're here. Visit our old stomping grounds.”

Beth glanced at him. “You really want to stop someplace?”

“Yeah. I do. We can go to Winona's. They've got cinnamon rolls,” he said seductively, as though they were sex toys. “And I'll buy you all the bacon you want. How 'bout it?”

She sighed. “All right. But only because you mentioned bacon and they didn't have any at the B and B.” She turned the truck around, and in a few minutes they were seated at a corner table in Winona's Restaurant & Bakery, Steamboat's hallowed morning eatery. Finn was being weird, and she sensed it had nothing to do with decadent baked goods, bacon, or coffee. She trusted she'd learn the reason soon.

Finn ate his giant, gooey cinnamon roll with a knife and fork, holding his fork, as usual, like a European. Beth couldn't help it—she had to tease him as she tore off a warm, buttery, sugary strip of her roll and placed it in her mouth.

“You're going to get us thrown out of here,” she said, nodding at his utensils. “They probably want to, but they feel sorry for you with the crutches and all.”

“If you want to eat like an animal, that's up to you.” He grinned.

At least he's relaxed enough to kid me
.

As the waitress poured his second cup of coffee, he said, “You probably figured I didn't come here just for more coffee.”

“Yeah, no.”

“I have something else to tell you, and I didn't want to be walking on the crutches, because I'd get out of breath up here and . . . damn, this thing is good, isn't it?”

“Just tell me,” she said gently.

He yawned. Rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. Then spoke.

“Here goes, Bethany. Listen up. First, I want to marry you, more than I did before. That's saying a lot. I want you to know that.”

Her lips curved up at that. She felt some errant icing on her upper lip and licked it. “Okay.”

“Second, you were dead-on about me and money. I always felt like I married out of my league, but I loved you so much, I . . . I couldn't believe you'd marry me. Your dad was this self-made man, like you said the other day. I wanted to win his approval by doing what he did. It was all to make more money and be worthy of you.”

“Finn—”

“Hold on, honey. Let me finish or I might lose my nerve.”

She nodded and sipped her coffee.
Don't interrupt, Beth.

“If I can get this Mitch Frederick project, I'll be set. I'm doing well now—you can look at my portfolio if you want—so unless you want to own an island or keep fifty warmbloods, I can support you right now in the manner to which you've become accustomed, as they say. And, I'd
like
to.

“Third, this all means I don't need to work two jobs. I work hard, and sometimes it's nights and weekends, and sometimes there's travel, but it's not like it was when we were married. What I'm saying is, I'll have more time to spend with you. I won't be a perfect husband, but I know a hell of a lot more than I did then, and I promise I'll do my best to be the kind of husband you deserve. I want to raise our kids together, and grow old together, and take care of you and nurture you as best I can.”

Beth, to her horror, hiccupped a sob. She was crying in Winona's. They might throw
her
out for weeping in front of the famous cinnamon rolls.