Teardrop Lane (16 page)

Damned but yoga was hard work
.

“It’s okay to take a break, Cicero,” Shannon said from the dais.

Gee, thanks, for calling attention to my general wussiness
.

As a dozen pairs of eyes turned his way, he gave a beauty queen wave and a smile, though mentally he was shooting the finger at both Shannon and Rose.
Evil women
.

He propped himself up on his elbows and fastened his gaze on his lover. Look at her, he thought as the class continued. Long and lean and curved in all the right places. He needn’t have worried about ogling Cat Davenport, or any of the other women here tonight. He couldn’t take his eyes off Rose—until a cry of pain grabbed his attention and that of everyone else in the room.

An older woman standing near the front of the room at the end of a row grabbed her knee. Voices rose in alarm and Shannon cried, “Christine!”

Rose and Sage moved toward the woman before anyone else reacted. “Oh shoot oh shoot oh shoot,” the woman said. “I’ve tweaked it again.”

Even before the woman finished her sentence, Rose moved a chair into position so that all Christine needed to do was to lower herself into it.

“What happened, Christine?”

“It’s my bad knee. I slipped on the ice last week and
pulled something. I know to be careful, but I wasn’t paying attention. I stepped the wrong way.”

“Shall I get some ice?” Shannon asked.

“That would be great,” Rose replied.

“I’m all right. Please, dears. I don’t need a doctor.”

“She means she doesn’t need a doctor’s bill,” another woman piped up.

“Now, Sandra,” scoffed a third woman. “That’s not very nice.”

“It’s the truth. You know her husband is a skinflint. He has been that way ever since high school. I should know. I dated the man.”

“Why, Sandra Thompson!” exclaimed the third woman, her voice bristling with offense.

Christine shook her head, wincing from pain. “She’s right. Larry is tight with the dollar. Oh, dear. This really does hurt.”

Rose knelt to examine the knee as Shannon emerged from the pub’s kitchen with a plastic bag filled with ice. “We’ve had more injuries from slips and falls this winter than I can remember since I arrived in Eternity Springs.”

Cicero watched the caring, compassionate physician at work and wished she’d been a member of Jayne’s team. He recalled the first time he’d seen her at the Valentine’s Day dance. Her white coat had waved at him like a bullfighter’s red cape, but his attitude hadn’t fazed her. Every day she exhibited caring, compassion, and strength.

He’d appreciated that strength these past weeks. Meeting her so soon after Jayne’s death had been good for him. She’d given him something positive to think about. She’d soothed his grief.

Celeste spoke from just behind him. “She’s a special person.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Both of the Anderson girls are blessings for our town, but Rose’s decision to settle here made it practical to build the new clinic which in turn allowed us to attract Dr. Coulson to Eternity Springs. A town can’t thrive without readily available medical care. Yes, she is definitely a positive force in all of our lives. I pray that we don’t lose her.”

He whipped his head around to stare at Celeste.

“Lose her?”

“Oh, dear.” She gave her lashes an innocent flutter. “Did I speak out of turn?”

“She’s never said anything to me about moving.” When another thought occurred, he demanded, “Oh, hell. She’s not sick, is she?”

“Not that I know of.” She patted his arm reassuringly. “Life is like Angel Creek, dear boy, flowing toward the unending ocean of that which is after. Sometimes it’s bubbly and frothy and active. Other times, it’s a slow and quiet eddy. Sometimes it’s frozen. The only constant is that it will constantly change.”

Cicero waited, but it appeared that she’d said all she intended to say. Now if he could only figure out just what it was she’d said.

He tried again. “Is Rose thinking about leaving Eternity Springs?”

“I’m sure she doesn’t want to, but sometimes life presents us with choices that take us in directions we don’t expect. One must always be ready for a detour. Time will tell. It always does.”

At that point, Shannon stepped back up onto the platform and said, “Christine has called Larry to come help her get home. Let’s begin to wrap things, shall we? Clear your minds—”

Distracted by Celeste’s comments, Cicero didn’t attempt to follow Shannon’s instructions. He sat staring at
Rose, recalling how Gabi had mentioned to him that Celeste had a sixth sense like nobody she’d ever met.

He hoped her senses were as mixed up as the spiel she’d just given him.

He wondered why the thought of Rose leaving town bothered him so much. He refused to think that she might be sick.

He liked her, yes. He liked her very much. He liked her heart and her wit and her passion. He liked her sexy way of walking and the little mewling sound she made when she came apart in his arms. She filled an empty place inside him, one he’d not recognized existed prior to meeting her.

Like Celeste Blessing, he didn’t want to lose her.

In all the years he’d been playing around with women, he couldn’t recall a particular time or a particular woman who’d affected him just this way.

In front of him, Rose rolled onto her side, dislodging bobby pins from her long auburn hair. It spilled onto her shoulders, the color of fine red wine. Wine and Rose, he thought, triggering the memory of lines from a poem that he’d run across while doing his Emily Dickinson library research.

“They are not long, the days of wine and roses
.
Out of a misty dream, our path emerges for a while, then closes, within a dream.”

Something flittered through his thoughts, an idea just beyond his reach.

Days of wine and roses
.

Wasn’t that the title of an old movie? Or maybe a book?

Days of wine and Rose
.

His pulse sped up. His fingers suddenly itched to sketch, to hold a punty as images—shape, color—flashed
in his mind. He levered himself up to a seated position and focused on the coral colored polish on Rose’s toenails without really seeing it. Color, shape—a dreamy mist. Something—he dragged his gaze away from Rose and looked for paper—a pen—a pencil.

Hell, a crayon and a blank spot on a wall would do
.

He rolled up onto his feet, all thought of yoga class forgotten, his thoughts divided between the image taking shape in his brain and his need to find a drawing implement. He headed toward the section of the bar where he’d seen Shannon stash her order pad just as the injured Christine’s Larry walked inside wearing a pocket protector that held two pens. “May I borrow that?” he asked, smoothly removing the pen from the man’s pocket.

“Uh—”

Cicero ignored him, his focus on the Kelly-green stack of Murphy’s Pub paper menus. He grabbed one, flipped it over and reached for the idea. It was still there—hovering—but he just couldn’t pull it in.

He shut out his surroundings. He wanted music, loud pounding music. He willed the vision to take form and inspiration to feed his creative fire, but when he set the pen point to paper, nothing happened. Not a damned thing.

Waves of frustration rolled through him accompanied by an undertow of panic. Why couldn’t he push through the haze?

Maybe if he went back to the studio, he’d be able to block out all of the distractions and concentrate. He set down the pen, then glanced around for Rose and saw that she was busy talking to Christine and her husband. He grabbed his stupid yoga mat and ducked out of the pub.

Back at the studio, he sat in front of his drawing board and tried to recapture the moment.
The days of wine
and roses
. What was the connection between wine and roses, and hope and feathers?

He was thinking about it hard, when his phone rang. He wanted to ignore the call, but Amy Parnell was on the line. This could be another broken bone—or a broken neck.

After a twenty-minute conversation with Amy about the new stack of medical bills in the mail that day, he abandoned the hope of recapturing the creative wind. He’d missed his chance—but he decided that yoga had possibilities.

For the next week, he showed up at Murphy’s, mat in hand, for each yoga class Shannon held. He claimed the spot behind Rose for his mat, and tried to think about wine and roses.

After each class, he produced a halfway decent sketch that would make for gallery quality work, but fell far short of Albritton worthy.

Then, right before his second Monday night session, he received a phone call that offered new possibilities. Forget wine and roses and yoga. Sun, sea, and sand might be just the change he needed.

Better yet, sun, sea, sand—and Rose.

“I can’t just drop everything and go on vacation,” Rose told him. “I have responsibilities. I have patient appointments.”

“Ask your sister to cover for you. I’ll bet she’d be happy to do it. When was the last time you took a vacation?”

Rose’s teeth tugged at her bottom lip. It had been a long time ago.

“You don’t want to miss a chance to meet Avó. Her mind is still sharp as a palm frond. She loves to tell stories and listening to her is like living history. You’ll love it.”

Cicero had explained that Avó was the great-grandmother of his apprentice, Mitch, and a beloved figure on Bella Vita Isle. She’d just celebrated her 100th birthday, and now that she’d actually made it to the milestone, she’d allowed her friends and family to schedule a birthday party. Cicero planned to go early and stay on afterward in order to put in some studio time with Mitch.

He slipped his arm around her waist and tugged her close. “It’s twenty degrees and snowing outside. Come with me,
Sirena Bellissima
. I want to see you in a bikini, and swim with you in the warm Caribbean waters. I dream of rolling with you in the sand.”

He nipped at the sensitive skin on her neck, and she shuddered in response.

“I don’t own a bikini and I’m not a spur-of-the-moment kind of girl. Things like that always get me into trouble.”

“A little trouble is good for you,” he replied.

“Spoken like a man.”

“Which I am.” He licked and nibbled at her earlobe. “I’ll buy you a bikini.”

“I’m too old to wear a bikini.”

“Fine. We’re staying on a private beach. We’ll go naked.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“No, I’m full of hope. Come with me. Call your sister. I want you with me at Avó’s party. They are like family to me.”

He’d said the magic word—family. Then he captured her mouth in a thorough kiss. When he finally lifted his head and gazed at her with magnetic, hot chocolate eyes that willed her to agree, she sighed. “Okay.”

He gave her two hours to be ready to leave Eternity Springs. They had a long drive to Amarillo, Texas, where first thing the next morning, they’d catch a flight to
Houston and from there, on to the Caribbean. On the way back, he explained, he’d scheduled a visit with the urchins. It took Rose an hour and a half to line things up at the clinic with Dr. Coulson and Sage, so when she went to pack, she did so in a flurry. The fact that she didn’t need to pack winter clothes made the task easier, as did her memory of the beautiful island skirts and dresses that Gabi had brought home after her visit to Bella Vita Isle.

She did pack her one-piece swimsuit. The man could hope, but skinny-dipping in the ocean qualified more as a fantasy. Private beach or not.

The seven-hour drive to Amarillo took eight because they hit rain in the Texas Panhandle. Tired from the drive, they checked into their hotel room and fell into bed—and into sleep—almost immediately. Their wake-up call felt like it arrived mere moments later.

Cicero proved to be an entertaining travel companion. They talked about the places they’d visited, discovering a shared interest in both art museums and jungle treks. Though Rose tried hard not to compare her current lover to her former fiancé, she couldn’t help but recall Brandon’s resistance to adventure. Shoot, the vast majority of vacations they’d taken during the years they’d been together had revolved around medical association meetings. She’d told herself that having grown up an army brat, she hadn’t missed traveling. In hindsight, she could see that hadn’t been true.

“I’m excited about visiting Bella Vita,” she told him. “Gabi talked a lot about how beautiful the island is.”

He laced his fingers through hers and brought her hand up to his mouth for a kiss. “It’s a lush tropical island with lots of flowers and vegetation and water as pretty as I’ve seen anywhere in the world. But what makes it beautiful for me are the people.”

“I’m surprised you left it.”

He didn’t reply for a long time.

“I wasn’t ready to leave when I did,” he said, finally.

“Did you consider moving back there instead of going to Eternity Springs after you lost your sister?”

This pause lasted even longer than before.

“I need to be able to see the kids. I promised Jayne. Flying four of them round trip from Houston to the Caribbean just wasn’t feasible.”

She gave his hand a squeeze. “I hope those children know how lucky they are to have you as their uncle.”

“It’s temporary. Once they’ve had enough time to bond with the Parnells, then they’ll have a family and they won’t need me. Well, except for my money. Guess they’ll always want that. I’m going to help support them financially no matter what. Scott’s salary as a bookkeeper for a small business doesn’t stretch far enough to raise four kids. If Amy went to work, they’d have to sink her whole paycheck in day care. I promised my sister I would contribute cash for their support. However, beyond that I figure I’ll be off the hook.”

“You’ll always be their Uncle Hunk.”

“No, not necessarily. A lot of that depends on the Parnells. They may decide the kids are better off without me and give me the boot.”

“Why in the world would they think that? You’re their uncle. They’re your family.”

“According to Scott, I’m a friend of the family. He doesn’t recognize the bond because Jayne and I weren’t related by blood.”