Larkspur Road (2 page)

But lately he hadn’t been able to spend as much time with his son. His latest investigation with the FBI, the death of his former partner, and Val marrying some corporate bigwig and moving with Grady to L.A. last year had made visits a lot more difficult to come by.

“I was just leaving for the ranch, Val, but I’ll come to L.A. first and pick Grady up,” Travis had told her.

“The ranch? You’re going to the ranch?”

He hadn’t bothered explaining that he’d taken an extended leave of absence from the FBI two weeks before, had found someone to rent his house outside of Phoenix, and was headed home to Lonesome Way to take some time, figure things out, and make a new start.

“Yep,” was all Travis had told his ex-wife. “I’ll see to it Grady gets back on track over the summer. In Montana.”

After that, Val hadn’t asked any questions. She’d been too relieved that Travis was taking the boy off her hands for the entire summer. Before he could say another word, she told him that he didn’t need to drive all the way out to L. A.—she would put Grady on a plane, get an airline escort for him. It was as clear as daylight to Travis that all she really wanted was to ship the kid the hell out as fast as she could.

Travis’s heart had plummeted when he’d picked Grady up at the airport and had seen how much his son had changed
in just the past three months. For one thing, he’d shot up a couple of inches—the very beginnings of a growth spurt. But there was also scant trace of the happy kid who’d read all of the Harry Potter books twice and seen all of the movies, and who had joyously biked with Travis up and down Venice Beach last summer.

The boy who stepped off that plane and was now slouched in the passenger seat of the Explorer was withdrawn, wary, on the verge of being surly.

And Travis knew he should have been there for him—FBI or no FBI.

“Things will start looking up tomorrow,” he said conversationally as they swung down the main street of his hometown of Lonesome Way. The sidewalks were deserted at this time of night, though he noted with not the slightest bit of surprise that there were lights blazing and cars crammed in the parking lot of the Double Cross Bar and Grill, the town’s most popular watering hole.

When Grady didn’t answer, Travis continued easily as he took the turn that would lead to Squirrel Road. “You’ll have a good bed tonight, not like that lumpy one at the motel last night. You had a great time at the ranch when you were there before, remember? And Uncle Rafe’s new wife, Sophie—she owns that little bakery we just passed in town. A Bun in the Oven. She makes cinnamon buns that you won’t believe. Melt-in-your-mouth good. Bet she’ll have some on hand tomorrow for breakfast.”

“Yeah?”

For the first time Travis heard a note of interest in the boy’s tone.

Food. Food is the way to a growing boy’s heart.
He’d have to remember that. Grady had wolfed down two burgers and a greasy bag of fries at the drive-through in Crystal Springs that afternoon.

“Sophie—she’s your aunt now—usually has a chocolate cake or an apple pie around the house, too. At least that’s
what my niece, Ivy, tells me. You won’t go hungry at Sage Ranch, that’s for sure.”

“I don’t really remember it.” Grady stared out into the darkness, a frown puckering his mouth. “I remember horses, that’s about it. You put me up on a horse called Gum…Gumball or something, and I almost slipped off. But you caught me.”

“Gumption,” Travis corrected with a grin. “You were only seven. You got the hang of it before too long. You actually did great for a tenderfoot. And this summer, you’ll get to do some real riding. And some real work.”

Grady looked interested, and just a tad scared.

“What kind of work?” he bit out.

“Taking care of the horses, mucking out stalls, pitching hay. I haven’t checked out my cabin in a while and might need some help making it habitable again. Stuff like that.”

“And what if I don’t want to muck out stalls and clean up crap?”

Travis shot him a measuring glance and Grady glanced away, his hands clenched in his lap.

“It’s going to be a good summer, Grady,” Travis told his son quietly.

“Yeah, right. Aren’t you going to yell at me—for getting a D in English, and flunking earth science and getting suspended? Everyone else does. That’s all they do.”

“We’ll talk about all of that. But not tonight.” Travis kept his tone steady. “You’re beat and so am I. It can wait. Unless there’s something you want to say.”

Grady shook his head.

“You sure? I’m listening.”

“How much longer ’til we’re there? I just want outta this car.” Grady’s tone was defiant again now. But Travis heard the misery and uncertainty beneath the words as the boy hunched his shoulders and turned away, staring out the window into the black moonless night.

Travis said nothing, merely drove another mile and then
turned into the long wide drive leading to the ranch. When Grady made out the ranch house just ahead, he stiffened and peered through the darkness at the huge rambling structure looming up in the darkness.

The porch light was on. And light gleamed in the kitchen window. For a moment Travis could almost imagine it was a dozen years earlier, that his parents were still alive, sipping coffee in the kitchen, waiting up for him and his brothers, Rafe and Jake, to get home from a date or a dance or a movie.

He shook himself back to the present and wondered how much of the ranch his son remembered. Being back in Lonesome Way was stirring his own memories big-time.

All those squabbles and tussles and laughs with Rafe and Jake. Hours spent swimming in the creek with his sister, Lissie, or racing on horseback across the pasture. Midnight poker games with his high school friends in Mick Peterson’s barn. The exhilaration that had rushed through him every time he threw a winning touchdown pass or charged down the field at a football game.

And Mia. Mia Quinn.

Mia had been best friends with his younger sister, Lissie, since as far back as he could recall. She and Lissie—along with Sophie McPhee, who’d married his brother Rafe last year—had been inseparable growing up, and he’d regularly encountered Mia darting around every corner of his house when he was a kid. She’d been a scrappy little tomboy in those days, two years younger than Travis—just his sister’s tiny, fast-talking friend. And Travis had never looked at her twice.

Until she hit high school. Then he’d looked, all right. Because sometime over the summer between eighth grade and her freshman year, the messy-haired tomboy had transformed into a petite blond bombshell, with pin-straight hair that flowed to her slim little waist, a gorgeous face with a mouth so lush he could almost taste its pillowy sweetness
before his lips ever actually touched hers, and a body as curvy and distracting as any Victoria’s Secret model.

Travis had fallen for her. Fallen hard.

They’d started dating in November of her freshman year and he’d known he loved her by Christmas. They’d been a couple all through the rest of Travis’s time in high school. And not just any couple. Travis and Mia had been “the” couple—the one everyone was sure would get married and have a ton of kids.

Pulling up in the dark at the house with his son beside him, Travis flashed back for a dizzying moment on all the dates and dances and picnics he and Mia had shared—afternoons sipping Cokes and eating chocolate cream pie at Roy’s Diner, weekends kissing and laughing on her front porch swing on Larkspur Road. Or all those evenings in the hay-scented barn at Sage Ranch, making out in the hayloft when no one was around. Stroking her hair, touching her beautiful, trusting face, breathing in the summer-flower scent of her, whispering how much he loved her on those hikes up to Larkspur Point.

Mia was the girl he’d planned to marry.

The girl he’d promised undying love.

And the girl he’d walked away from the day after his prom without a single backward glance.

When he’d come home a little more than a year and a half ago for Rafe and Sophie’s wedding, Mia had been there, looking more gorgeous and sexy than ever in a delicious red dress, but she hadn’t even glanced at him.

It was as if for her, he might never have existed.

And every time he’d tried to seek her out that day at the wedding, she’d managed to elude him. She was always busy talking to someone else—her smile breezy, happy. Her attention riveted on Sophie, or on Lissie, who’d been nine months pregnant and in fact had delivered her little girl, Molly, the very next day.

It had bothered him that he and Mia never spoke that day,
but he hadn’t forced the matter. They hadn’t exactly been on good terms for years now, so he knew he had no right to push himself on her, even to say hello. He’d thought he would forget all about her after he returned to Phoenix following the wedding, but that hadn’t happened.

Could be a part of him had never forgotten.

“C’mon, buddy,” he said as the front door opened and light spilled from the living room of the ranch house, as warm and welcoming as a fire in the hearth. Rafe, at six foot three, two inches taller than Travis but not as powerfully built, ambled out onto the lit-up porch, a welcoming grin on his face.

“There’s your uncle.” Travis put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “We’re home.”

“It’s your home, not mine.” The sadly muttered words from the boy who unsnapped his seat belt and shoved open the Explorer’s door felt like a baseball bat swung hard against his chest.

He reminded himself that bringing Grady around would take some time. Loneliness, anger, sadness…whatever was eating the boy from the inside out couldn’t be undone in an instant.

Neither can betrayal.
The thought popped into his head. He’d betrayed Mia all those years ago when they were teenagers—when he was a reckless, stupid kid in a panic over the thought of a lifetime commitment.

That kind of betrayal couldn’t be undone quickly. Who was he kidding? It probably couldn’t be undone at all.

Besides, the girl he’d hurt was all grown up now—and not his responsibility. Hell, when he’d come back from college the following summer and gone to see her, hoping she might give him another chance, she’d frozen him out. Looked at him like he was a chunk of crud on the bottom of her shoe. She was dating Curt Hathaway by then so she hadn’t exactly been languishing after he left her. She’d gotten married to some business whiz sometime after she finished
college and though from what he’d heard it hadn’t ended well, she’d clearly moved on.

You can never go back. Only forward.
The words that his former partner at the bureau, Joe Grisham, had told him often enough echoed through his ears. After the turmoil of the last few months, including Joe’s sudden, devastating death, Travis sensed Joe was right.

He had his son to focus on now. And his future. There was an idea for a new business circling through his head. It was time to get started on building a new life for himself and Grady.

There’s no going back.

He swung his long legs out of the car, grabbed Grady’s duffel, and followed his son up the steps of Sage Ranch.

Pale glimmers of dawn stole across the peaks of the Crazy Mountains as Mia Quinn sat with her legs curled beneath her on her front porch swing, sipping coffee from her favorite pink mug and seeing stars.

Not celestial stars—those had faded with the sunrise. Mia saw imaginary stars, glowing like brilliant sparks in a dark blue sky. Exactly like the ones in the Van Gogh painting
Starry Night
. She saw them in her mind as she envisioned the design of the quilt she’d sew this summer for her quilting group’s exhibition fund-raiser.

Her grandmother, Alicia Rae Clayton, had been the undisputed leader of Bits and Pieces—Lonesome Way’s quilting society—for six years before her death three years ago. It still felt a bit strange to go to meetings in the paneled basement of the community center and not have Gram there, front and center. But it was what it was, Mia always told herself as she mingled with her grandmother’s closest friends and the younger quilters like herself.

She’d initially only joined the group for her grandmother’s sake. It had seemed a simple enough way to make Gram happy and to spend more time with her, but she’d soon found herself fascinated with the lore and history of quilts and with the women who created them—as well as with the pleasure of comparing notes with a circle of women all devoted to creating something both useful and lovely.

Then something unexpected happened. She came to treasure it. All of it.

The hunt for just the right fabric. The excitement of mastering appliqué. The joy of seeing her design spring to life as she sat at her sewing machine for hours, feeling as if she were spinning straw into gold.

And then there was the tea and lemon scones, or coffee and pie, from A Bun in the Oven served at every Bits and Pieces meeting. Not to mention the encouragement, advice, and conversation that swirled around her like a cozy shawl.

Her heart would sing as she sketched, cut templates, and measured seams, striving to make every quilt as unique as her grandmother’s while transforming simple cotton fabric into a work of lasting beauty.