Willowleaf Lane (26 page)

He was confusing friendship and gratitude and maybe pent-up sexual desire for something deeper.

When he went back to the world where he belonged, he would see the ridiculousness of ever thinking he had feelings for someone like her.

The thought of him and Peyton leaving ripped across her like a sudden blizzard, leaving icy desolation in its wake.

How ridiculous she had been, to ever imagine she had loved him when she was fifteen. She hadn’t known anything about love. Compared to how she felt now for this man, that was nothing, the difference between a pitcher’s mound and the vast looming splendor of Woodrose Mountain.

She loved him more than she ever believed possible. How could he possibly share the same feelings?

“I believe you
think
you might...care for me,” she said slowly. “That means the world to me. I’m flattered. I am. But when you get back to Portland, I’m sure you’ll quickly see you were mistaken. Now that everyone knows you didn’t do anything wrong, you could have any woman you wanted. You’re Smokin’ Hot Spence Gregory, for heaven’s sake. And I’m...me. Why would you pick the shy, quiet,
inexperienced
owner of a candy store when you could have anybody?”

He stared at her blankly. “I don’t want anybody else. I want you. How could I not? You believed in me when nobody else did. You made me laugh when the world seemed a pretty miserable place. You were kind to my daughter even when
I
didn’t like her very much. I love you, Charlotte.”

The words tried to mend the broken cracks in her heart. She wanted so desperately to believe him but the fear was too huge. How could she ever endure the pain when he realized his mistake and left?

Her throat was thick with tears. They burned behind her eyes but she forced them back. She needed to go now before she lost the battle.

“Take the job, Spence. Go back to Portland. I’m sure Peyton’s specialists can recommend an eating disorders program for her there. She can reconnect with her friends and you can return to the world you love.”

It took every limited acting skill she might have ever possessed but she managed to summon a tiny smile that felt as if it might split her face apart. “Hope’s Crossing will be a better place because you were here. We’ll take what you’ve started with A Warrior’s Hope and run with it. You know we will. Take the job. I wish you the very best with it.”

Because she knew she couldn’t stand here and talk to him another moment without breaking down, she leaned on tiptoe, kissed the corner of his mouth with the last of her strength and walked away as quickly as she could.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“T
HIS
IS
SO
not going to work,” Spence stated.

Alex McKnight hung one last tea light lantern to go with about a hundred more that bobbed from the ceiling. She adjusted it a little and then climbed down the ladder with an amused look that made Spence grind his teeth.

“Will you just relax, oh, ye of little faith. Don’t you trust us?”

He looked at the group of women scurrying here and there throughout the ballroom of the Silver Strike Lodge.

Katherine Thorne and Mary Ella McKnight were hanging yards of silver-spangled tulle, Maura Lange was primping one of the glorious flower arrangements that were probably costing him a fortune. Even the immensely pregnant Claire McKnight was there, directing Evie Thorne on the placement of one of the twenty or so little fairy-light-bedecked trees that lined the edges of the vast ballroom.

He couldn’t believe how much effort they had put in today. The ballroom looked spectacular, he had to admit. Romantic and elegant. He had it on good authority all the decorations except the fresh flowers were the same ones used for the last Giving Hope Day gala and dragged out of storage for a good cause.

The string ensemble he hired, recommended by Maura Lange, was warming up on the dais. There seemed nothing left for him to do but stand and fidget.

“What if she doesn’t come?”

“She’ll come. You really need to relax, Spencer.” Claire McKnight gave him a warm smile, even as she stretched a little and pressed a hand low on her belly. He really hoped she didn’t go into labor right now.

If not for Claire, none of this would be happening.

It had been a miserable week. Just about the worst of his life—and that was saying something from a man who had once been arrested and charged with multiple drug counts.

After Charlotte walked away from him in her neighbor’s backyard, he had figured he would give her a little while to think about things but she refused to take his phone calls and wouldn’t answer the door.

He felt as if he had been living in a weird state of limbo. He couldn’t make any decision, despite the increasingly frantic phone calls from Pete. He knew he couldn’t stay here under the current circumstances but he couldn’t seem to generate any enthusiasm for taking a new coaching job somewhere else.

Finally, Peyton—probably in desperation—had asked him to take her to the bead store two nights earlier to pick out a couple things for the earrings she insisted she had to have to start school the next week.

He had gone with her on the vain hope that Charlotte might be there.

Claire McKnight had taken one look at him and dragged him into a little garden behind the store. He found himself telling her the whole story and asking if she had any advice to help him convince Charlotte he was in love with her.

Claire had made a quick phone call and, the next thing he knew, the garden was filled with lovely chattering women filled with terrifying plans and schemes.

“She’ll be here,” Maura added her assurance now. “How could she refuse? Harry basically commanded her to come. I heard his end of the call and it was masterful as only Harry could be. You should have heard it. He told her he was so impressed by her speech at the ribbon-cutting that he insisted she come up to the lodge to help him wine and dine some potential big-money donors to A Warrior’s Hope. Even I was half convinced he was sincere. She won’t refuse, not if she thinks for a moment it would help the cause.”

“Relax,” Alex said again, giving him a peck on the cheek. “By the way, you look fantastic. Trust me, Smokin’ Hot Spence Gregory looks much better in a tux than he ever did in those cute little tight pants you baseball players wear.”

“Ex-baseball players,” he corrected, ignoring the rest of what she said.

The title should have stung. Once, it would have, but he had come to accept that part of his life was over. He had finally called Pete this morning and told him he wasn’t taking the Portland job or any other. He loved baseball, loved being part of the game. He always would. But he had other dreams now. Whatever came of tonight, he was committed to A Warrior’s Hope. The first group of six veterans was coming in a few weeks, and they had events planned from now until Christmas. He couldn’t wait to see all their plans come to fruition.

Anyway, he had heard through the grapevine that Hope’s Crossing High School had a struggling baseball team. He figured they might be able to use him somehow.

“She’s coming! The valet said she just parked her car.” This announcement came from Maura’s twentysomething daughter, Sage, whom he had just met this afternoon and who grinned broadly every time she looked at him.

Peyton and Macy let out little squeals, and Peyton even clapped her hands. He loved seeing her so excited about something, even what he was very much afraid would be his impending humiliation.

What if it didn’t work? What if she took one look at him and walked away?

His heart wouldn’t be the only one broken.

He felt a moment of sheer panic. He wanted to call the whole thing off, just tell everybody this had been a huge mistake. How could he, though? They had all gone to so much work. He was committed, whether he wanted to be or not.

“Okay, that’s our cue.” Alex made a grand sweeping gesture to the women still putting up decorations. “We’ll have to leave it how it is. Sage, help me with this ladder. Come on, everybody. Let’s get lost.”

“Oh, come on,” Peyton begged. “I want to stay. We could hide behind the curtains!”

Oh, man. Wouldn’t that just add to his misery, to have all these women witness him falling on his face? Claire must have seen the moment of panic. She gave him a sympathetic look and made a shooing gesture to both girls. “Not this time. Your dad can tell you what happened later.”

In that moment, he was filled with a vast rush of affection for her—for all of them. How had he been so lucky to count them as friends?

For a guy who had grown up with a poor excuse for a mother and then married a troubled, lost soul, he was overwhelmed with affection for these strong, beautiful, wonderful women who had gone to so much trouble for something he was very afraid was a losing effort.

“Thank you all. I don’t know what to say. Only thank you.”

“Just don’t screw this up!” Alex ordered.

“No pressure, right?”

She grinned at him and gave him another kiss on the cheek. Claire gave him one, too. Everybody else waved, except Peyton. She ran back and gave him a tight hug that just about made tears come to his eyes.

“Good luck, Daddy,” she whispered and ran to catch up, leaving him standing alone in the ballroom with his heart pounding out of his chest.

* * *

C
HARLOTTE
PAUSED
INSIDE
the vast soaring lobby of the Silver Strike Lodge to quickly adjust her panty hose.

Was the dress too much? She hoped not but Harry had told her the last-minute cocktail party was a fancy affair. Anyway, it gave her a chance to wear the sleek midnight-blue waterfall of a dress she had worn exactly once, the last time she was here at the resort, for the Giving Hope Day gala.

Despite the undeniable fun of dressing in something that made her feel confident and pretty, she was in no mood to make nice with a bunch of moneybags. But when Harry Lange called and asked a favor—no,
demanded—
it was really hard to say no.

She looked around, realizing she had no idea where to go. She had assumed Harry would have someone to greet her and direct her to the penthouse apartment she knew he kept here at his hotel but no one readily stepped forward.

After a moment’s hesitation, she headed to the concierge desk. “I’m sorry. I hope you can help me,” she said to the twentysomething man seated there whose name tag read Jason.

“I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

“I’m supposed to be meeting Mr. Lange and his party for cocktails here at the hotel but I neglected to ask him where. Do you have any idea or could you contact someone to find out?”

The man’s polite but impersonal expression instantly melted. “Oh! You must be Ms. Caine.”

His broad smile took her aback. “Yes.”

“I can help you. If you’ll follow me, I’ll be delighted to show you the way.”

Okay, weird. Before she could protest, the guy jumped up and started heading through the lobby quickly, leaving her no choice but to hurry to catch up in her high heels.

“This really isn’t necessary. I’m familiar with the lodge. I’ve been here many times. I’m sure if you give me directions, I can find the gathering myself.”

“It’s no problem at all, Miss Caine.”

The lodge was renowned for its outstanding service but this seemed excessive. Perhaps the concierge thought she was one of the muckety-muck benefactors, ready to write a big check.

She didn’t have a chance to ask as he led her down a long hallway. She knew this route. Strange. He was leading her to the ballroom, the site of the Giving Hope Day gala.

She couldn’t help remembering the last time she was here with Sam Delgado and her own ridiculously high hopes. She hadn’t known at the time—how could she?—that Sam was already deeply in love with Alex.

What a lifetime ago that seemed. Her pride had been pricked a little when he had told her later that night about his feelings for Alex but her heart certainly hadn’t been involved. She could barely remember that sting, compared to the vast aching pain that had come since.

“I think there’s been a mistake,” she finally said to the concierge. “I was told this was an intimate cocktail party.”

Jason gave her a bright smile full of teeth and charm. “There’s no mistake. This is exactly where you’re supposed to be. I hope you have a lovely evening.”

He opened one of the doors to the ballroom for her, and she frowned at the weirdness of this whole thing but walked through the door.

The first thing she registered was the ballroom decor. It was exactly as it had been two months ago for the gala. With a sense of déjà vu, she recognized the gauzy, glittery tulle, the lanterns she herself had hung with Alex and Maura, the little fake trees around the perimeter, lit up with twinkly lights.

Only the flower arrangements were different, roses instead of gardenias.

The moment she walked through the door, music rose to greet her, a soft, sweet ballad from a live string ensemble, and a man wearing an elegant tuxedo walked toward her.

She froze, trying to process what was happening. She couldn’t seem to make her brain work as he moved closer.

“S-Spencer,” she managed to squeak out. “What’s going on? Where’s Harry? I’m supposed to be at a cocktail party.”

“There’s no cocktail party and no Harry. Only me.”

Her pulse was so loud in her ears, she couldn’t think over each beat of her heart. He looked wonderful in the tuxedo, big, muscled, gorgeous. She hadn’t seen him in a week, and she suddenly realized how very much she had missed him. Every night had been worse than the one before. Ignoring his calls had been the hardest thing she had ever done.

She couldn’t talk to him. Not yet. Afraid he would come to her house, she had even taken to staying with Dylan up in Snowflake Canyon. At least her brother didn’t ask any questions, though she knew he wondered why he suddenly had a silent houseguest who cried herself to sleep every night.

“What is this?” she whispered. She would have gestured around to the ballroom except her hands were shaking, like the rest of her.

“You owe me a dance.”

She stared at him. “Excuse me?”

He gazed at her with an intense expression that sent butterfly wings fluttering hard in her stomach. “A long time ago, I was an idiot and because of that I missed out on my one chance to go out with you. You asked me to a dance and it didn’t happen. I’m more sorry for that than I can ever say, but the fact remains, you asked me to go with you to a dance and for various reasons, we didn’t go. I’m taking you up on the invitation now.”

She swallowed. “This is ridiculous.”

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t play these games, couldn’t let him hold up her dreams for ridicule. She turned and ran to the door but the man she had seen snag an infield pop-up and turn it into a triple play moved far faster than she ever could.

He blocked her exit and she was forced to stop her momentum or crash into him.

“Charlotte. Dance with me. Please.”

“This isn’t going to change anything.”

His mouth twisted into something that looked like sorrow. After a long charged moment, he nodded slowly. “Okay. I respect that. I don’t understand where you’re coming from, but I’m not going to be arrogant enough to tell you your feelings don’t matter.”

He gestured to the band. “I would still love it if you danced with me. I went to all this trouble, after all. Well, your friends went to all this trouble, anyway.”

She should have known her friends had been up to something. When she stopped to think about it, everyone had been acting very strangely the past few days—whispered conversations that abruptly ended when she showed up, pointed looks exchanged behind her back but witnessed when she gave a nervous backward glance.

Darn their romantic little hearts.

She looked around at the ballroom, remembering well how long it had taken to set this up the first time around. And a band. He had brought in a band—a small string ensemble, four men and two women, playing something exceedingly romantic. She thought it might be Vivaldi.

Charlotte drew in a ragged breath. He had gone to all this work. For her. He said it was her friends’ doing but she knew they wouldn’t have hung the first lantern unless Spence had agreed.

And Harry. She remembered that strange phone call. Harry Lange had apparently created the cover story that compelled her to show up here tonight. He wouldn’t have done that either without Spence’s knowledge and approval.

Why? Why would he go to so much trouble?

Because he loves you.

A tiny corner of her brain whispered the words to the rest of her but she still was afraid to believe.

“One dance. That’s all. Please, Charlotte.”