Willowleaf Lane (9 page)

“What is it with you Caines? How do you expect to make a living if you won’t let anybody pay you? Just give me a lousy bill.”

“Nothing doing. Consider it your welcome-home gift.”

Did Spence consider Hope’s Crossing his home? She didn’t think so.

“Don’t argue,” Charlotte said quietly. “You’ll only waste your breath. He never backs down.”

Spencer’s gaze shifted from her to her father. “I’m not a freeloader. Want me to wash a dish or two? See if I’ve still got it?”

Dermot chuckled softly. “Not necessary. I’ve no doubt that you do.”

His blue eyes suddenly took on a crafty sort of light that made nerves flutter in her stomach.

“You’re not paying for dinner, lad. But happens you could do a little favor for me, though.”

“What?” Spence asked.

“I don’t want my girl walking on those crutches by herself to her car. I would accompany her myself if we weren’t so busy, of course. It would surely put my heart at ease some if you would consider helping her to her car, just to make sure she arrives safely. I can’t believe that scamp brother of hers would leave her to fend for herself.”

She did
not
want his help. She wanted to hobble to her car, drive home and put her foot up somewhere quiet, peaceful and Spencer-free.

“It’s only a short way. I’ll be fine. I think I’ve done my share of tripping today.”

“Never hurts to have someone along to make sure,” Dermot said. “You don’t mind, do you, son?”

“Not at all. We’ll be glad to see Charlotte safely to her car, won’t we, Peyton? It’s our neighborly duty.”

“Sure,” his daughter answered. “Especially since she’s only using those crutches because you scared her half to death and made her fall.”

Dermot raised an eyebrow at that and Charlotte winced. She did
not
need Pop getting any ideas in his head about her and Spence. Just the thought of it made her hands start sweating on the crutches.

She hadn’t exactly been great at hiding her crush on Spence when she was a girl. Seriously, how many times could a girl doodle
Mrs. Spencer Gregory
on her homework folder without somebody spying it?

She had a feeling her father knew. Probably everybody in town had known. Every time she thought of how transparent she must have been—going to all his games, blushing whenever he talked to her—she wanted to die.

She didn’t need Dermot remembering her stupidity.

“Nobody made me fall,” she said quickly. “It was my own two clumsy feet.”

“Which would probably have stayed on the sidewalk if I hadn’t suddenly yelled out and startled you.”

“Who knows?” she argued. “A dog could have barked and I still might have fallen.”

“Well, either way, we would be happy to walk you to your car. I could even go drive it up front for you so you don’t have to walk at all.”

“Going into the valet business now?” she asked, her tone more waspish than she intended.

He didn’t snap back. “It’s an idea. If the rec center thing doesn’t work out, I might need a fallback.”

She turned away, embarrassed that she could sound so bitchy when he was only trying to help. “Seriously, my car is just around the corner. I don’t mind walking and I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Not babysitters. Just a little added peace of mind for your pop.”

She sighed, knowing she had no choice. She led the way out of the café, to be met by a lovely cool night. July evenings in the mountains seemed to last forever, one of her favorite things about Hope’s Crossing in the summer.

She headed in the direction of her car, moving as swiftly as she dared on the crutches. Forget her sprained ankle. Her arms were what ached most after all day of trying to maneuver on the stupid things.

Spence looked up Main Street, where downtown marched up a pretty substantial grade. “That’s quite a sight,” he murmured.

The sun wouldn’t set for another hour or so and the light was soft, sweet. The streetlights hadn’t come on yet but all up and down Main Street, tourists were eating at restaurants that spilled tables out onto the sidewalks.

“Have you missed Hope’s Crossing?” she asked him, noting that Peyton had fallen back a few paces and shoved in earbuds.

He glanced down at her then back at Main Street. She wondered if she had imagined that glint of
something
in his eyes, something warm and sultry that sent heat pooling low in her abdomen.

“You know, if you had asked me a few days ago, I would have said I hadn’t missed my hometown one bit over the years. Funny how the mind sometimes chooses to dwell only on the bad, isn’t it?”

“In some cases. Sometimes you see only the good and ignore all the things that made you miserable about a situation.”

“In this case, I think I’d forgotten all the nice memories I had of Hope’s Crossing. The moment we drove back into town, it seems like this flood of good moments surged back. Things I had completely forgotten. Swimming with Dylan and our buddies at the reservoir on lazy Saturday afternoons. Fishing that creek your dad took me to once in Snowflake Canyon. Parking up at the Sweet Laurel Falls overlook with a pretty girl.”

“You had plenty of those kinds of memories, I’m sure,” she said tartly.

A corner of his mouth danced up. “I’ve suddenly recalled this town seemed to have more than its fair share of pretty girls. That certainly hasn’t changed.”

She didn’t quite know how to respond—was he making fun of her somehow?—so she quickly changed the subject.

“All that talk in there with Dylan—were you serious about coming up with a program for injured vets?”

Somehow the idea of him as a caring philanthropist didn’t quite gibe with the media’s image of him as a heartless, hard-living partier.

“It has definite possibilities. Ideas have been spinning in the back of my head since Peyton mentioned it. Tomorrow, I’ll start looking more seriously into what similar programs might be doing and how we can complement their efforts. I can’t imagine it would be too hard to add a recreational therapy kind of effort to the other offerings at the center. From everything I’ve seen today and what I learned before I took on the job, the facility is already state-of-the-art.”

“Harry Lange likes the best of everything.”

“It shows. The center is in a perfect setting. I just keep thinking how serene it could seem to somebody who’s been battered by the hell of war and just needs a little help finding his way.”

Naturally, she couldn’t help thinking of Dylan. If she thought he was finding peace in Snowflake Canyon, she would be happy to leave him to it. On the other hand, maybe it wasn’t her place or Pop’s or the brothers’ to try dragging him down the mountain when he was working things out on his own.

“They would need somewhere to stay,” Spence said, obviously thinking aloud.

“There are quite a few condo developments in the canyon, not to mention the ski resort.”

“Yeah. That would do for a start. But you know, come to think of it, when I was touring the facilities today, I saw this beautiful stretch of unused land right along the creek. I don’t see why we couldn’t work toward some on-site lodging. We could build five or six small accessible cabins for them to stay with their families, maybe for a week or two at a time. This could be really life changing for people.”

His enthusiasm was infectious, she had to admit. His hazel eyes glittered with an excitement she very much wanted to share.

This
was
a wonderful idea. She could see vast potential for the good in it, both in the population he wanted to serve and in the town. The citizens of Hope’s Crossing could really mobilize around this sort of thing.

The town had its own Angel of Hope, someone—or a group of people—who went around performing secret acts of kindness. An envelope full of rent money on one doorstep, a new bicycle for a child diagnosed with cancer on another. The Angel had inspired copycats, she knew. She had even dropped a few care packages filled with books and CDs and chocolates on the front porches for people she knew were struggling.

Helping others whenever possible had become kind of the town’s unofficial motto and she was sure people would be eager to reach out to honorable men and women who had been wounded in service to their country.

She wanted to sign right up to volunteer. On the other hand, this was Spencer Gregory, who had broken her heart more times than she could count—and, worse, broken the collective heart of this town that had placed him on a pedestal.

He would have many obstacles to overcome, not least of which would be public perception of him as a scandal-ridden drug peddler.

“I can see the possibilities,” she said warily, when they were almost to her SUV. “I can also tell you straight up that if you want to have any chance in hell of doing this, you’re going to need Harry Lange on board.”

“I figured as much.”

“Harry has the deciding vote on just about anything that goes on in this town, like it or not. If he backs you, you’ll be golden. If not, you’re going to have to, like Dylan said, point your little charity wand somewhere else.”

“How do I get Harry Lange on board?”

They had reached her SUV as he asked the question and she was grateful to ease her weight against the metal while she considered how to respond. The answer came to her as suddenly as an August thundershower.

“Harry is engaged to Mary Ella McKnight.”

“I remember Mrs. McKnight. She taught me eleventh grade English. I seem to recall I wouldn’t have passed her class if someone hadn’t helped rewrite my essays.”

She was once more fourteen and painfully in love, sitting with a much older Spence, eighteen and brawny, gorgeous as anybody in her favorite boy band. Though he had been very smart in some areas—math, for instance—putting his thoughts down on paper had been a fierce struggle for him. She had spent many winter nights sitting at the café while snow fluttered outside the window, helping him organize his thoughts into coherent order.

“Somebody had to,” she said.

“Did I ever thank you properly for helping me survive high school?”

She thought of the one thing she had asked him, of all those foolish hopes and dreams that had died an ugly, painful death.

Heat burned her cheeks and she looked away. “Yes, well, if you want to bring Harry on board, go through Mary Ella,” she said stiffly. “If you have her support, Harry will follow. He generally supports anything she wants.”

“Why not go straight to Harry? He hired me. Seems to me I could just call him up and tell him I think it’s a good idea and we should consider it.”

“That could work. The thing is, Harry can be...stubborn. He obviously has his own ideas for the recreation center and they might not necessarily include opening it up to people from outside the community. He might need a little creative persuading. Mary Ella would know the best way to do that.”

“You would know all these intricacies better than I do. I trust you.”

She should just bid him good-night, hop in her car and go home to that quiet moment on the sofa with her foot up. Anything that thrust her into closer proximity to Spence probably wasn’t wise. But she really
did
think this could be good for the town.

“Mary Ella is a good friend of mine. If you want, I can talk to her. Lay the groundwork for you.”

He looked startled. “Really? You would do that?”

“I can’t promise anything but I don’t mind talking to her.”

“That would be fantastic. Thank you, Charlotte!” His eyes glittered in the fading light. “Give me a couple days to do some preliminary research, maybe come up with a prospectus, and I’ll get back with you.”

“Sure.” She knew she shouldn’t have that little tingle of anticipation. This was Spence, she reminded herself firmly. The last man on the planet she should be excited about seeing again.

She reached into her bag for her keys then unlocked the car door. Spence opened the door and waited while she did a ridiculous little hopping dance with the crutches, trying to keep weight off her foot while climbing into the high seat of the SUV with any semblance of grace.

“Thank you for walking me. I hope you don’t have far to go to your car.”

“No, actually. We’re just on the other side of this lot.”

Parking was a major pain in Hope’s Crossing. The town streets were narrow, the infrastructure never designed for the tourist traffic that had sprung up in the past fifteen years.

Peyton pulled one dangly white earbud out. She didn’t look any the worse for wear after heaving up her stomach contents. She seemed a little more pale than usual, but that could have been a trick of the twilight.

“Can I have the keys?” she demanded. “Victoria wants to call me and my phone is about to die. I need to plug it into the charger.”

Spence pulled them out of his pocket and handed them over. When Peyton disappeared, he turned back to Charlotte.

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive? We can follow you home since we’re heading in the same direction.”

“That’s not necessary. Driving is fine. It’s my left ankle that’s sprained.”

“Okay.” He seemed distracted and she could almost see his thoughts racing. Against her better judgment, she found it rather endearing that he was becoming so enthusiastic about helping wounded veterans like Dylan.

“Good night,” she said. “Thank you for walking me.”

He stopped her when she would have closed the door. Though her SUV had a higher suspension than a sedan, he was still taller than the roof and had to lean down to be on level with her in the driver’s seat.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

She couldn’t seem to breathe as the scent of him, masculine and sexy, seeped into her senses. “Why are you thanking me?”

“This idea.”

“It was Peyton’s,” she reminded him. “Thank her.”

“I know, but she never would have come up with it if we hadn’t seen you and Dylan at dinner.” He paused. “I’ve been wondering what I have to offer. If I’m crazy to take this job, to come back here.”

“Why did you?” she couldn’t help asking. He could have gone anywhere. He had to know people here in Hope’s Crossing would have taken the scandal, the criminal charges, harder than someone in some small nameless town back East. He had been a hometown hero here. Children had Smoke Gregory’s poster on their bedroom walls, housewives kept scrapbooks full of his newspaper clippings.