Teardrop Lane (18 page)

Cicero arrived at Heliconia flying high, his mood better than it had been in weeks. He’d felt at home in the studio today. He’d felt confident and relaxed and inspired. He’d actually found his creative zone for a change.

He hadn’t started with a sketch but instead went straight to the furnace with a clear mind and the intention of turning out some tourist kitsch in order to ease back into the island state of mind. He’d done exactly that for a time, producing a handful of dreamweavers for Mitch to sell at his booth.

The feather image had seeped into his mind like a zephyr. Just when he’d caught fire with the idea, he couldn’t say. All he knew was that for the first time in a very long time, he’d found his fire.

The piece that had gone into the annealer was the best work he’d done in months, the only piece he’d produced that came close to being a possibility for the Albritton entry. It would require three days of gradual cooling before he’d see the final result, of course, but he knew it would be good.

He’d felt as if he’d flung a thousand-pound gorilla off his shoulders. He couldn’t wait to get back to Heliconia and share the news with Rose.

Then he drove up and saw her standing by the garage wearing a flowing yellow dress. She looked so fine. He wondered if they had time to—

He parked the Jeep, switched off the motor, then greeted her.

Her reaction was less than promising. She didn’t smile. She didn’t act too happy to see him. In fact, she looked annoyed. “Something wrong?”

“You said you’d be back at three. I was beginning to worry.”

“Oh. Sorry. I should have called. When I’m working and the work is going well, I lose track of time. You know what it’s like, don’t you? You’re deep into your fictional world and the real world fades away?”

“It’s happened upon occasion,” she admitted. “That’s why I use the alarm on my phone when I need to be somewhere.”

“You’re right. I’m wrong. Please forgive me.”

That took the wind out of her sails. Nevertheless, he meant it. As he meant it when he took hold of both her hands, held them out to her sides, gave her a thorough once-over and observed, “You look fantastic. I don’t think I’ve seen you wearing yellow before. It’s a great color on you. You’re like a breath of spring. Is that what you’re wearing to the party?”

The hesitation in her eyes reflected her inner debate. Was she going to let the subject drop or continue to beat him up for being late?

“Yes, this is what I planned to wear. Is it appropriate?”

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” He leaned down and kissed her. “I can’t wait to introduce you to Mama T and Avó and the rest of Mitch’s family. They’re going to love you.”

Forty-five minutes later, they walked onto the white sand beach where a bonfire burned, drinks flowed, and
food roasted, simmered, and steamed. As the sights and sounds and smells swirled around him, Cicero took a moment to shut his eyes and experience—home.

“I love it here,” he murmured.

“I can see why,” Rose replied. “It’s a fabulous spot.”

“Cicero!” called a feminine voice. “Are you planning to ignore me all night?”

He turned around to see Mitch’s mother looking hale and hearty. Cicero let go of the last fear he’d been holding on to since he’d heard the news about Tabitha Frazier’s heart attack. He stepped forward, his arms opening wide, a big smile on his face. “Mama T. Just look at you. You look spectacular.”

He wrapped her in a hard hug that she returned just as fiercely. “Of course I do. I look half my age. I could be my Mitch’s sister rather than his mother. It is about time you came home where you belong. Now, introduce me to the lovely lady. My son tells me she is a healer.”

“She is.” Cicero grabbed Rose’s hand and pulled her forward. “Mama T, meet Doctor Delicious, Rose Anderson. Isn’t she lovely?”

Rose released a little sigh of exasperation and extended her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Frazier.”

“Welcome. Welcome. Welcome.” Mama T took Rose’s hand in both of hers. “You are a friend of our Gabriella’s, too, are you not? From the snowy little town?”

“Eternity Springs. Yes.”

Mama T tucked Rose’s hand around her arm, saying, “Come with me. Let me introduce you around. Cicero, go get me and your lady something to drink.”

“Yes, ma’am. What would you like?”

“Punch.”

“Of course.” He met Rose’s gaze. “Rum punch? I should warn you. It’s potent.”

“I don’t think—”

“Of course she’ll have punch,” Mama T said. “It’s our own special island recipe. You must at least taste it.”

Not giving Rose the chance to naysay, Mama T waved Cicero off. The line in front of the punch bowl was long, and by the time he’d managed to fill two cups and returned to Rose, he found her sitting on the sand at Avó’s feet, listening with rapt attention to the birthday honoree. He handed Rose and Mitch’s mother their drinks, greeted Avó with a kiss to her cheek and birthday well wishes, then went to find a beer for himself.

When dinner was served, they sat at a table with Mitch, who kept Rose laughing with stories from his early days of working with Cicero. After dinner, they joined in the dancing until Rose begged off, claiming a desire to rest her feet. He suspected that mostly, she wanted to sit and listen to more of Avó’s stories.

“Want some ice cream?” he asked her as she rejoined Avó’s circle.

The smile she offered him sparkled. “No thanks.”

“I do. I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, her focus already on a story about gold doubloons, Irish whiskey, and the false bottom of a breadbox. Cicero wandered away, scored a chocolate sundae with which to indulge his sweet tooth, then stood watching the sunset as he licked whipped cream from a plastic spoon.

“Firefall,” he murmured, recalling a particularly nice piece he’d done in yellow, orange, and scarlet a few years back after watching a Bella Vita sunset. This was one of his favorite spots on the island, and he’d watched the sun sink into the ocean from this spot more times than he could count. He found something about sunsets and the sound of the sea especially inspirational. He’d done some of his finest work after spending an evening on the beach.

“Firefall,” he softly repeated. Then, just as the Emily
Dickinson poem floated through his mind, the crowd around Avó erupted in laughter. Rose’s voice called to him like a siren song, and he turned away from the sunset. His gaze fastened on her.

Disjointed visions and thoughts and sounds spun through his head. Fiery hair and a yellow dress. Hope is the thing with feathers. Firefall. The echo of Celeste Blessing’s voice.
She has an angel’s heart
. Laughter. Rose Anderson’s laughter.

An image formed in Cicero’s mind. His heart began to pound.

Rose could sit and listen to Avó for days on end. Such an interesting life she’d had, a real insider’s view of Caribbean history. Rose had just begun to wonder if anyone had ever recorded Avó telling her tales when Avó mentioned that she’d written them all down in a memoir that everyone could and should buy from an Internet bookseller. “It’s available as a printed book, but I recommend the e-book. I love my e-reader. Everyone should have one. You can adjust the size of the letters.”

Rose laughed aloud, and clapped her hands in delight. What a gem this woman was. She glanced around, looking for Cicero, wanting to share her amusement. She didn’t spy him in the circle around the guest of honor, and she realized she hadn’t seen him since he went for ice cream. That had to have been half an hour ago at least.

Hmm. She wasn’t being a very attentive date. Standing, she made her way out of the gathering and wandered toward the food tables. Twilight had descended into near full darkness now, and away from the bonfire and lights, the other partygoers were little more than shadows. Nevertheless, Cicero shouldn’t be too difficult to spot. He was taller than most men she’d seen on Bella Vita Isle.

She didn’t find him on her first pass through the crowd. Nor on the second. Frowning, she decided she’d better go about her search more systematically. She began at water’s edge and walked the length of the beach. Turning around, she walked the opposite direction, searching in a grid until she was confident that she’d covered the entire beach.

He wasn’t there. Her date had disappeared on her.

Her temper simmered. She’d bet her favorite pair of flip-flops that the man had hied himself off to his glass studio to work. Leaving her behind. Probably forgetting he’d even brought her along to the party. Shoot, he might not remember that he brought her along to the island, either.

That sorry glassblowing son of an iguana
.

Rose stifled the childish urge to kick the sand. She had a choice to make. She could pack her suitcase and go home—literally—or she could confront the inconsiderate conch and tell him off before she packed her suitcase and went home.

She was an army brat. She’d never been one to shy away from a fight.

She turned toward the bonfire where she’d spied Mitch on her last trip up the beach. As she approached, she saw him toss his drink cup into a trash can and begin walking away.

“Mitch! Wait a minute,” Rose called.

He stopped and turned. “Yes, beautiful lady?”

“How far are we from the glass studio right now? Is it within walking distance?”

“Yes. Of course. It’s only two blocks off the north end of the beach. About a ten-minute walk from here.”

Rose nodded. That’s what she had thought. They had driven past it on the way to the party tonight. “Will you give me directions, please?”

The young man looked confused. “Cicero will take you—”

“No,” Rose interrupted. “He won’t. I’m afraid he’s forgotten that I’m here tonight.”

“Oh.” Mitch winced. “He had an idea?”

“So I assume. Either that or space aliens abducted him.”

“Judging by the look on your face, I suspect he’d be better off in a spaceship than in the glass studio.”

Rose offered up a wan smile.

“You really shouldn’t take it personal, Rose,” Mitch said, making a valiant attempt to explain away his boss’s boorishness. “He’s a creative being and when the wind is upon him, he’s consumed. He does this sort of thing all the time, although it’s usually at the end of a date rather than in the middle of one. However, I know that one time he left a woman in bed during—”

He broke off abruptly when she drilled him with a glare, then he added, “You’re right. He’s a cad.”

“How do I get to the studio from here?”

Mitch rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe I should take you.”

“Thinking he needs protection?”

“Take a look in a mirror, beautiful lady. What’s the saying?
If looks could kill
?”

“I won’t hurt him. I’m a doctor. I save lives.” She paused for a beat before adding, “That said, I do know some inventive ways to take lives, too.”

“I think I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that last part.” Mitch gave her directions, then hesitated a moment before saying, “Go easy on him, Doc. He’s a good guy despite his tendency to get distracted when he’s working. You’re the first woman he’s brought to meet my mother, so I know you’re special to him.”

Rose started off. As a rule she was slow to anger, but once her fuse was lit, she did a fair job of what her father
used to call “getting her Irish up.” Her Irish was in its full glory right now. Mitch might have been wise to tag along to protect his reptile of a boss, after all.

The ten-minute walk took her seven, and she arrived to find the studio lights shining brightly. She pushed open the door and marched inside. Cicero sat at his drawing board, a pencil in hand.

She waited for him to look up. He didn’t.

“You jerk,” she declared, her voice dripping with scorn. “I gave you a pass earlier today. You only get one. I understand there are times in life when work comes first. Sometimes, lives depend on it. But I don’t see anyone bleeding out here tonight. Being ignored for work twice in one day crosses my line. I’ve been here, done this with my ex.”

At that, his head shot up. “What? Did you just compare me—”

“Yes, I did,” she interrupted. “I’m not going to do it again, Hunter. I won’t accept rudeness. I won’t be a doormat.”

“Doormat? Don’t be crazy. I didn’t dump you for a younger woman. I’m working, Rose.”

Her chin dropped. Her temper blew.

“Now?
Now
, you use my name? For the first time? And it’s not in normal conversation. Not while we’re making love. No. You use it now when I’m furious with you.”

“I’ve never used your name?”

“Not when speaking directly to me, no.”

“Huh.”

He studied her, his gaze sweeping over her from head to toe. Then damned if he didn’t put his pencil back to paper and continue to sketch.

He might as well have plunged it into her heart.

Tears stung her eyes and she whirled away. She would not let him make her cry. She refused to do it. She fled
the studio, walking fast, and when she heard the door open behind her and his annoyed voice call out “Rose, stop it!” she started to run.

To where, she didn’t have a clue.

She had no ride back to Heliconia. She didn’t know how to get there on her own. She hadn’t brought her purse because she hadn’t wanted to keep up with it during a beach party, so she had no money. How stupid was that? She knew better. She always took money or at the very least a credit card with her on dates in case this exact sort of thing happened. Shoot, even when she lived with Brandon she always took cab fare with her.
Why had she picked tonight to be so stupid!

You’ve been stupid since Valentine’s Day. Getting involved with the likes of Hunt Cicero. You deserve to be stranded
.

At least she was on a tropical island rather than somewhere cold and snowy. She could spend the night on the beach if she had to. There was a public restroom. A fire burning. Bet she could scrounge up something to use as a pillow.

A hand caught her shoulder, tugging her to a stop.

“Rose, what the hell?”

She whirled on Cicero.

“I want to go home.”

“Okay. Okay. Fine,” he said, scowling. “I don’t like airing laundry in public either. The car is this way.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder.