Angel's Rest (11 page)

“That’s a problem,” Sage said.

Sarah swiped at the tears with the back of her hand. “It just makes me so angry. I feel old and I’m not even thirty-five yet.”

“Close to it,” Nic pointed out, trying to distract her.

“Oh, hand me a tissue.” When Nic did just that, she continued. “All I’ve ever wanted to be is a mom. Nothing against you two, but I never needed the validation of having a career outside the home. That was never my thing. Motherhood fulfilled me.”

“That’s true,” Nic agreed. Glancing at Sage, she added, “Her mom always said the women’s libbers wasted their burning bras on Sarah.”

“I was born to be a homemaker, and I’ve done a darn good job of it—despite the fact my home was missing a penis,” Sarah said.

“The visual on that isn’t attractive,” Sage observed. “However, you shouldn’t be defensive. I think you’re lucky that you know what you are supposed to do, what you were born to do. I’ve spent most of my life trying to figure that out, and I still don’t have the answer.”

Nic held up a palm. “Okay. Hold on. I’m confused. Sage, you have to be the most self-assured woman I’ve ever known. I’ve looked at your work, and I’ve observed your work method. If you weren’t born to be an artist, then I don’t know a Holstein from a Hereford. And I’m a vet!”

“It’s complicated.”

“Excuse me?” Sarah folded her arms. “This is
my
crisis. I would appreciate it if we can keep the focus on me, please?”

Nic sighed. “It’s gonna be a long year and a half, isn’t it?”

“This is our next-to-last Christmas together!” Sarah said.

“News flash!” Nic waved her hands. “College students come home for Christmas break.”

“But it’ll be different. I don’t want it to be different. I love life the way it is, and it just ticks me off that it has to change. Now, I know that’s a bad attitude, but it’s my attitude and I own it!”

“Well, that’s honest, anyway,” Sage said. “Futile, but honest.”

“Unlike others among us who pretend they are just fine with being lonely, I choose not to lie to myself.”

“Okay, now that’s just mean.”

“Sorry. Not.”

“One good thing about Lori growing up is that with any luck, Sarah will quit talking like a teenager.”

“Excuse me?” Sage interrupted. “Can we pause the bickering for more important matters, please? Look. There’s a time-out on the court.”

Which meant more Coach Romano camera time. The three women focused on the TV.

“OMG,” Sarah said, the slang usage obviously for Nic’s benefit. On the screen, the man in question had slipped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, and he was holding a basketball in a one-handed grip. “Look at the size of those hands.”

Sage fanned her face. “Think of what he could do with them.”

“At the risk of sounding crude, this is the first time in my life my boobs ever wished they were a basketball,” Nic observed.

Out in the hallway, something heavy thumped to the floor. Nic recognized the voice that muttered the epithet that immediately followed. Gabe Callahan.

She glanced in the wall mirror and smoothed her flyaway hair, catching Sarah’s knowing smirk as she did so.
She stuck out her tongue at her best friend and sent up a little prayer that his hearing wasn’t all that sharp.

“Gabe?” Sarah called out. “Everything all right?”

Footsteps approached and he came into sight, pausing in the doorway. He wore a blue-and-gray plaid flannel shirt tucked into a snug pair of faded Levi’s. He had a stained and scruffy pair of lined leather work gloves tucked into a back pocket of his jeans, and his steel-toed boots showed plenty of wear. He might be stopping for dinner at the Bristlecone most nights these days, but he still hadn’t managed to find his way to the barbershop. His hair brushed his shoulders now, curling slightly on the ends.

And dang it, her fingers itched to play with those thick silken strands.

Until he turned a wickedly amused gaze her way and dashed her hopes about his hearing. “Sorry about the noise. That piece of lumber slipped right out of my hands. You know …” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I have to tell you that, while men are often accused of thinking with body parts other than their brains, this is the first time I’ve ever heard women admit they have parts that think for themselves, too.”

He heard, all right. Nic closed her eyes and flushed with embarrassment.
They not only think for themselves, they blush
.

Sage saved her by laughing. “You like basketball, Gabe?”

“Not the same way you ladies do, apparently.”

“We’re just having a little fun. Would you care to join us? I promise we’ll keep all our leering to ourselves.”

“You know, I’d enjoy that, but I’m up to my gym shorts in drywall upstairs.”

“I haven’t looked beyond this room for a while,” Sarah said. “How’s the cleanup progressing?”

“Pretty good. We’ll finish up restoration this week,
and we should be able to tackle the north wing rebuild right after Christmas.”

“That fast?” Sarah asked.

“Celeste was able to articulate what she wanted, and the town delivered the permits all wrapped up with a bow.” He focused on Nic as he added, “I was hoping to talk to you, Nic.”

Oh?

“You have to do something about that dog.”

Oh. “Tiger?”

“What other dog roams this town at will and always manages to get in my way? This must be the last town in America not to have leash laws on the books.”

“Actually, I agree with you about that. It’s not safe for the animals, and it’s something Eternity Springs will need to address once we have more visitors to town. What did he do now?”

“I had a breakfast meeting at the Mocha Moose this morning. He was sitting at the door when I left, and he followed me back here. He’s been hanging around all day. You were supposed to find a home for him. That was the deal, was it not?”

“Yes, and I’m still trying.” She licked her lips, then offered a smile just shy of sheepish. “Dale Parker has agreed to consider taking him.”

Gabe jerked his stare away from her mouth as he asked, “So why is he underfoot every time I turn around?”

“I explained that to you before. He’s adopted you.”

“He’s a dog. It’s not his choice!”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Sage said. “Give it up, Callahan. I saw you slip that dog a hunk of your sandwich earlier. Way to chase him away.”

Gabe didn’t bother defending himself, but watched Nic for a long minute before asking, “And where might I find Dale Parker?”

“He owns the Fill-U-Up.”

“That grumpy old son of a gun? No wonder the mutt has taken to hiding out with me. Is he the best you could do?”

She watched it register on his face the moment he realized the mistake. Nic decided to take pity on him, mostly because her embarrassment lingered and she needed distance. “Where’s Tiger now?”

“Here, at the foot of the stairs.”

“He can stay with us.” She lifted her voice and called, “Tiger? Here, boy. C’mere, boy.”

Four paws’ worth of nails clicked against the wooden floor. The boxer paused in the doorway and rubbed up against Gabe’s legs. “Awww,” Sage crooned as Sarah said, “He’s so cute. Gabe is right. He’s too sweet to hang with Dale Parker.”

Nic dropped her hand and wiggled her fingers. Reluctantly the boxer approached. “You willing to take him home, Sarah?”

“I can’t. Daisy and Duke are all I can handle. You know that.” She referred to the three-year-old golden retrievers who refused to leave the puppy stage behind.

Nic scratched the boxer behind the ears and said, “What about you, big guy? Wanna watch the basketball game with us?”

When the boxer climbed up on her knees and licked her face, she smiled and looped a finger through his leather collar. “We’ve got him. Sorry for the trouble, Callahan.”

Gabe nodded, then glanced at the television and fired a parting shot. “You do know that Coach Romano has a twin brother who coaches at Southern Cal, don’t you?”

Seated at the lunch counter at the Blue Spruce Sandwich Shop, Gabe sipped his coffee and watched the
weather report on the muted television hanging in one corner of the restaurant. “Looks like we might have some weather headed our way,” Hank Townsend said as he took the seat beside him. “Finally. Ski resorts need the snow. Other than that storm over Thanksgiving, this has been a scary-dry winter so far.”

“Maybe so, but it’s worked out for the Cavanaugh House project. We’re ahead of schedule.”

“You have motivated help. She’s paying her contractors top dollar. Folks are anxious to work for Mrs. Blessing.”

“That’s true.” Almost too true, in fact. Most days he had more help than he knew what to do with.

The mayor then asked Gabe’s opinion about a proposed park addition at Hummingbird Lake. By the time Hank Townsend’s lunch and Gabe’s own order of a turkey sandwich and fries arrived, three more business owners had joined them, and he’d somehow ended up seated at the center of a table for eight. He left the sandwich shop forty-five minutes later with one invitation to poker night, one to go ice fishing, three invites to dinner, two to church, and a sexual proposition from a seventy-two-year-old waitress with bold hands and a ready wink.

The temperature hovered in the twenties, and during lunch the snow the mayor had been waiting for had started to fall. Gabe looped the hand-knitted brown muffler Celeste Blessing had given him around the lower half of his face, shoved his hands in his coat pockets, and shivered his way up the street toward Cavanaugh House.

How in the world had a Texas boy ended up living in the tundra?

Gabe didn’t let himself think about the days of his youth very often. A couple of times when weakness got
the better of him, he had Googled his brothers, but like the ancient mapmakers had written, that way there be dragons. Learning that they’d married and started families hurt more than it helped, and made the lonely hole in his heart grow bigger. John Callahan had “died” a long time ago.

Last winter, after the accident sent Gabe spiraling downward, Jack Davenport had attempted to help him by floating the idea of making contact with the Callahan family. As the CIA superspook responsible for the charade in which John Callahan had died, Davenport had the power to make the resurrection happen. He hadn’t gone into much detail other than to say that world players had changed and that it no longer served a useful purpose for John G. Callahan to remain dead. Once, Gabe would have jumped at the chance to reclaim his old life, but times had changed. He had changed. He’d refused his friend’s offer.

Gabe didn’t want the Callahans in his life. They would love him and expect his love in return. Well, he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t the same person who had grown up in a little hill-country town in Texas. The six months in an Eastern European prison had damaged him. Losing Jen and Matt had destroyed him.

The familiar cold, dark cloud descended on him, and despite the bitter chill, Gabe’s steps slowed. What was he doing down here in town, eating lunch with people who invited him to go fishing? Why was he working again? Sure, he’d decided not to die—for now, anyway—but what about that decision made it okay to start living again?

Stepping carefully around an icy patch on the sidewalk, he scowled. It was one thing to use his professional talents to help Celeste Blessing and Eternity Springs. It was something else to invest himself in the
town’s recovery, to include himself in its social life. To become part of something again.

The warmth of this town and its citizens threatened to thaw the numbness within him. He could not allow that to happen. That way there be dragons.

Gabe tugged down the muffler and sucked in a deep breath, welcoming the cold sting in his lungs. He ignored the friendly wave from a driver making his way slowly up the block and turned his head away from the laughter of a pair of women struggling to hang Christmas garland around the doorway to their flower shop.

Christmas. He closed his eyes.
Oh, joy
. He might be beyond suicide at the moment, but nothing said he wouldn’t welcome a good old fatal heart attack.

In that moment, he found himself bombarded with the Christmas season. Holiday flags on lampposts. Twinkling lights in shop windows. Christmas carols piped through outdoor speakers. Red and green everywhere you turned.

God help me
.

He wished he could leave Eternity Springs. Get out of here and go somewhere warm with a beach where dark rum flowed like water. He’d do it in a heartbeat if he hadn’t promised to spend Christmas with Jen’s sister and her family.

Pam and her husband, Will, had been lifesavers for Gabe during the brutal months of Matty’s extended hospitalization following the accident. They’d pitched in every possible way to help, and Gabe owed them. Pam and Jennifer had been closer than most sisters, and as a result, the two families had spent their Christmases together. When Pam called asking him to continue the tradition for at least this first tough holiday, he couldn’t refuse her, though no way on earth could he have joined his in-laws at their home. Instead, after an enthusiastic endorsement of the idea by Jack Davenport, he’d invited
Pam and her family to join him at Eagle’s Way for Christmas, followed by a few days on the slopes at Crested Butte, going so far—in a moment of strength or weakness or idiocy, he wasn’t sure which—as to have the Christmas boxes from his attic at the house in Virginia sent to Colorado. Now, bombarded by red and green and Santa Claus and carols, he feared he’d made a big mistake.

Gabe completed his walk to Cavanaugh House and entered through the construction entrance in the back. Once again the boxer was there to greet him. The two of them had reached a compromise over the past week. Gabe allowed the dog to be underfoot at work, but he made certain he didn’t have a stowaway when he headed up Murphy Mountain at the end of the day. Apparently the animal spent his night at Nic’s.

This afternoon Gabe had decided to tackle the wallpaper in Celeste’s bedroom suite. It was a good time to do it, since she was away for the next three days on what she was calling her undercover trip to Sedona.

He plugged in his iPod earbuds and went to work stripping paper. It was a messy, tedious job, but he was glad to have the distraction. It took him most of the afternoon to remove the old paper and prep the walls, and as he stuffed scraps into big black trash bags, he heard the grandfather clock downstairs chime five o’clock. He eyed the rolls of new wallpaper—a vintage cabbage rose pattern that fit the house but made him wince—and debated whether to knock out a wall or two tonight or wait and do it all tomorrow. Before he could make up his mind, he turned toward the door at the sound of a knock.