Boone Page 4

  But back to the discussion at hand. “I think the name needs to be something Texan.”

  “I don’t know much about Texas. I’ve never been there, but I do know something about their sports teams. Ranger is a good dog’s name. I don’t know if that has any family connotation to you, however.”

  Hmm. Ranger. Maybe that was a better name than Lucky. For his dog. Not his boy.

  He gave Hannah a considering look. “Never been to Texas?”

  “Nope.”

  “You should pay us a visit. Lots to see and do in Texas. Our state motto is ‘Friendship.’”

  “You’re a friendly guy,” she observed with a wry smile.

  “I am. And you’re right. Ranger is a good name for a dog, only if I chose to name my dog Ranger, it’d be in honor of the law enforcement Texas Rangers as opposed to the baseball team. The baseball team broke my heart in the 2011 World Series, and they haven’t made up for it yet. Also, the McBride family has some Texas Rangers in their past—rangers, not ballplayers. That’s a definite possibility.”

  For the puppy, not the boy. Though he still liked Lucky.

  However, her suggestion had sent his thoughts in a direction that offered interesting possibilities. “My McBride ancestors came to Texas from South Carolina in the 1870s. The first was a widower with three young daughters. His journals say he came with little more than lint in his pocket. He won a saloon in a card game, renamed it The End of the Line, married a dressmaker, and had a passel of boys. His name was Trace. Trace McBride.”

  The name had been passed down through the generations in the family, but it had not been used recently. There was not a Trace McBride alive today.

  “I like the name Trace,” Hannah said, brushing pebbles into a little pile in the space between them.

  “Me too. It’s a definite possibility. Thank you for asking the right questions to help me think of it.” He threw another rock, then figured he wouldn’t get a better segue. “I’ve yammered on about my family history. Why don’t you share something about yours?”

  She closed up like a chickweed flower right before a rain.

  Well, there’s your sign. Boone figured he had two choices, retreat or charge ahead. He’d always been a hard-charging type of guy. He set his hand atop hers. “Where are you from, Hannah?”

  She stared down at their hands. She didn’t jerk hers away, but he didn’t think she was going to respond to his question. He gave her hand a squeeze.

  Her voice came soft and heavy with emotion. “New England.”

  He wanted to cheer. Atta girl, Hannah.

  “I thought I heard a hint of the Northeast in your voice. Just a hint. Boston is one of my favorite cities to visit. Love watching baseball at Fenway.”

  She nodded. “My dad and I attended at least one game together every year until he passed in 2010. I haven’t been to a game since then.”

  “I’m sorry.” Had Boone not been a virtual stranger, he’d have given her a hug. “You’re a long way from home, Hannah.”

  The smile that flittered on her face was so full of pain that he winced. She repeated, “A long way from home. No. A lifetime.”

  A lifetime away from home. That could be interpreted in a number of different ways. Boone seldom felt at a loss for words, but right now he was fumbling. Should he gently prod? Boldly ask? Sit and say nothing as a way of offering silent comfort?

  Hard-charging guys didn’t sit and say nothing.

  “I may be reading this all wrong, but I really don’t think so. You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, Hannah. Just so you know, I’ve been there. Lived it. Crawled my way from one day to the next just to survive. I couldn’t talk about it to the people who loved me. I wouldn’t talk about it. I shut down every attempt anyone made to prod me into opening up.”

  Hannah said, “So can you recommend a good restaurant in Eternity Springs?”

  Boone McBride was nothing if not persistent, so he ignored her attempt to shut him down. “The thing is, I found that it did help to talk about it as long as the person with whom I was speaking didn’t have a dog in the hunt.”

  “You do like dogs, don’t you, Mr. McBride?”

  He squeezed her hand again. “What brings you to Lover’s Leap today, Hannah?”

  She closed her eyes and seemed to fold in on herself. Boone held his breath.

  Finally, she exhaled sharply. “Today is the anniversary of…” Her voice trailed off; half a minute ticked by. She cleared her throat. “Well, leave it at an anniversary. It’s a difficult time, and it’s possible that I could act irrationally. I haven’t slept.”

  A chill slithered down his spine. She might have jumped. He narrowed his eyes and studied her. “Since when?”

  She shrugged. “I had a hotel room, um, Saturday night. Dozed some in my car.”

  “I won’t scold,” Boone said. “Been there, done that, have the good ol’ T-shirt. Tell me why you came to Lover’s Leap?”

  She slipped her hand out from beneath his and began tossing pebbles like he’d done moments before. “Your tourist map. Like I said, I had to be somewhere today. There was a detour on the main highway due to a rockslide last night, and I ended up here just as the sun came up.”

  He put this together with what she’d told him earlier and said, “So you drove through the night? And the night before that?”

  “Running away from myself.” She shrugged. “Like I said, I catnapped. I did make use of my membership privileges at a national chain of fitness clubs to shower and change clothes when I went through Colorado Springs. I may be crazy, but at least I’m clean.”

  “And exhausted.” When her only response was a weary smile, he added, “I have a suggestion. I haven’t had breakfast. How about you join me for a meal? I happen to know a place right on the lake that serves awesome omelets. It’s quiet and peaceful. If after breakfast, you wanted to sit in the sunshine and nap, no one would bother you.”

  “Boone, thank you. That’s very nice, but I couldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  She opened her mouth, then shut it.

  Halfway there, he decided. “Look, you’ll be doing me a favor.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s difficult to explain, and it may sound a little strange because you haven’t met our Celeste. Are you a spiritual person, Hannah?”

  “I believe in hell,” she said flatly.

  The DON’T GO THERE signs flashed so brightly that they all but blinded him. Even hard-charging men knew when to slow down, so Boone proceeded carefully. “I do too. I also believe in kismet, UFOs, and guardian angels.”

  “UFOs?”

  “I believe there’s a lot going on in the universe that is beyond humankind’s knowledge or understanding. I’m okay with that. I also believe that there’s a reason you and I crossed paths today, and I’m not going to ignore it. Today is a dark day for you. I can be your light and help you to see your way through it. I need to be a light for you today.”

  “If this is a pickup line, I give you points for originality.”

  “No pickup. A lift-up. A friendly hand to hold when you need to feel not so alone.” Boone rose to his feet and extended his hand toward her. “You are safe with me, Hannah. Let me be your safe space today.”

  Chapter Four

  Hannah was exhausted. It was easier to go along with Boone McBride than to try to resist him. When he asked for her car keys, she handed them over. Honestly, if she’d read him wrong and the man actually was a Ted Bundy wannabe, well, she’d been thinking about making the Lover’s Leap splat, hadn’t she?

  He chatted about his friends and neighbors on the drive down the mountain into town, though she only partially listened to what he was saying. Hannah felt numb, and she was content in her numbness.

  “Heavenscents is the handcrafted soap shop owned by Savannah Turner,” Boone said, pointing out a shop as they passed. “Whimsies Gift Shop is a great place to find some wonderfully unique items made in Colorado. If
you’re into art, we have Vistas Art Gallery, and the famous glass artist Cicero has a studio here too.”

  Art. Hannah almost laughed. What need does a woman who lives out of her car have for art?

  Her interest did pick up when their route took them to the shore of the lake. Hummingbird Lake was a deep sapphire blue and, at the moment, a little choppy from the breeze sweeping through the valley from the north. Half a dozen sailboats with bright-colored sails zipped across the surface of the water. A flotilla of canoes filled with children wearing orange life jackets over yellow T-shirts paddled their way along the lake’s shoreline.

  Hannah leaned forward, her heart reaching out toward the lake. It was so beautiful. She’d been headed here this morning before the road closure changed her route. “Is swimming allowed in the lake?”

  “It’s allowed, but most people in town claim you have to be a little crazy to do it, even in the middle of summer. The water is icy.”

  She pulled her gaze away from the water long enough to give him a sidelong glance. “Something tells me you go swimming in Hummingbird Lake.”

  He gave a charming, crooked smile. “Most summer mornings, yes, I do. I’m trying to cut back on caffeine. Diving into Hummingbird Lake will sure wake a fella up.”

  “Hmm…” she murmured, turning her attention back to the lake. She spied half a dozen boat docks, twice that number of fishing piers. Most of the shoreline remained undeveloped. She wondered if any of it was public land. She remembered seeing a national forest listed on the tourist map, but she didn’t recall where. Not that the map had been anything close to scale.

  “Here we are.”

  Boone turned into a driveway that led to a sprawling, two-story wood-and-stone house built in the traditional mountain-log-cabin style. It was obviously a private home. “This isn’t a restaurant.”

  “I promised you awesome omelets on the lake. I happen to have a wicked way with eggs and a fully stocked fridge because I have family showing up here beginning tomorrow for that wedding I mentioned.”

  Another time, she might have protested or argued with him. Right now, she didn’t have either the energy or the desire to do more than ride along. In fact, she wasn’t sure she had the power to get out of the car.

  “I’ll have you know that you are my first official guest. I moved into the house last week.” He kept up a constant patter about design choices and his contractor and his cousins and his mother. “I know you’re probably wondering why a single guy built a house this big. You have to understand that we’re wall-to-wall Texans from Memorial Day to Labor Day. Our motels and inns and bed-and-breakfasts are booked with waiting lists months in advance. I can’t tell you how many times friends or relatives call from the front porch of hell to tell me they’ve had a sudden hankering to see me.”

  “The front porch of hell?”

  “Texas in the summertime.”

  She smiled. She actually smiled!

  “We designed the house to sleep a lot of people, but still be functional for me to live in during the off season. Which, to be honest, gets shorter every year. Eternity Springs has been discovered. The length of our tourist season has just about doubled in the five years since I’ve been living here.”

  He stopped the car at the center of a circular drive. Before Hannah had quite managed to stir herself to move, he’d walked around to the passenger door and opened it like an old-fashioned mannerly man. When was the last time a man had opened a car door for her? High school, maybe? Andrew never did that.

  Although maybe the rules had changed, and men weren’t supposed to open doors for women any longer. Female empowerment and all. That was sort of a gray area to Hannah these days.

  But then everything was a gray area, wasn’t it? Gray or black, anyway.

  “Hannah?” he asked, jerking her attention back to him.

  His hand was extended toward her. She took it and allowed him to assist her from the car. He kept his hold on her hand as he escorted her up the wooden staircase that led to the home’s main entry. Walking inside, she stopped abruptly. “The view!”

  “Isn’t it great? Best lot on the lake, in my opinion, because I’m at the point where the lake bends. Three-quarters of the house has a water view.”

  “It’s spectacular,” she said. The great room ceiling was vaulted, the walls mostly windows. A stone fireplace stretched two stories tall. Boone had used an earth-tone color palette, his furnishings a pleasing mix of traditional and midcentury styles.

  “Thank you. I wanted the house to blend modern lines with old log cabin style, and I think my architect did a great job.” He pointed out the powder room and invited her to make herself at home. “I suggest the sunroom. It’s through the kitchen. The two chaises facing the lake are the best seats in the house. You want coffee? Tea? Juice?”

  “Coffee, please. Black.”

  Hannah admired the large kitchen as she walked toward the sunroom. A master chef would be happy working here, she decided, before her first glimpse of the sunroom wiped all else from her thoughts. “Oh.”

  The room was octagonal in shape, with floor-to-ceiling windows. Here earth tones gave way to—summer. Yellows and greens and pinks and blues. It made her think of an alpine meadow covered with wildflowers. A pair of chaise lounge chairs sported thick, daffodil-colored cushions and called to her. She sat and stretched out, looked to her left, and made a slow sweep to the right. From this vantage point, one could see the entire lake, snowcapped mountains rising behind, and—oh, wow, that was a bald eagle soaring over the lake. The majestic sight brought tears to her tired eyes.

  Music drifted from somewhere above her, a harp and other strings playing a soothing Celtic sound. Spa music, she thought. Peaceful and relaxing.

  She stared at the sapphire lake, yearning, needing, and grieving. She made another left-to-right sweep, and that’s when it hit her. There’s no bridge over Hummingbird Lake.

  Silently, tearlessly, Hannah cried herself to sleep.

  She dreamed of the neighborhood playground, of towheaded toddlers and strawberry-blond girls whirling on a merry-go-round wearing grass-stained britches, chubby cheeks red with exertion. And giggles. Oh, God, the giggles. Around and around and around they went. It was real and wonderful, and she wanted to stay there forever.

  Inevitably, the dream began to fade. Hannah fought to follow, to dissolve into the mist, but tragically, she woke. It took a moment to recall the events of the morning and for awareness of place to return. Time, not so much. How long had she been asleep?

  Long enough for Boone to cover her with a lightweight throw and place a glass of water beside her. She threw off the blanket, lifted the glass, and sipped the water as she rose and went looking for her host. The soundtrack from Last of the Mohicans played from a hidden sound system, and the aroma of bacon lingered in the air. Her stomach growled.

  Boone wasn’t in the kitchen. She didn’t hear any noises to suggest where she might find him either. Hannah glanced at the digital clock’s red numerals, and her eyes went wide. “Three o’clock!”

  She’d slept for at least six hours.

  Her ponytail had loosened during her nap, and a fistful of long auburn strands had escaped the tie. Impatiently, she tugged the band from her hair and finger-combed it as she assessed the situation.

  Then her gaze snagged on the bar where a sandwich and potato chips sat on a plate beneath a domed glass lid. Beside it, she spied a note written in a firm, masculine hand.

  Hannah, I had to run into town to take care of a bit of business. I won’t be long. I brought your suitcase in from your car and placed it upstairs in the first guest room on the right if you want to freshen up. Please, make yourself at home. The BLT is to tide you over until dinner. I’m planning on steak unless you don’t eat beef. We didn’t cover that in our conversation. I have pasta as a backup. Hope you enjoyed your nap!

  Boone

  “He brought in my suitcase?” she murmured. The man was nothing if not assuming.

&nb
sp; Her stomach growled again, and she eyed the sandwich. She did love BLTs. When was the last time she’d eaten? She lifted the dome from the lunch and took a seat at the bar facing the lake.

  The water and mountains beyond looked different in the afternoon light. Just as beautiful, but softer, and even more peaceful. The sailboats were gone, as were the canoes. Hannah wanted—actually, she needed—to walk down the gently sloping lawn and sit on the end of the fishing pier. First, however, she would take advantage of Boone’s absence to grab a shower. She didn’t feel as weird about getting naked in a stranger’s house if the stranger wasn’t around.

  The sandwich was delicious, and the shower, divine. Hannah walked down to the fishing pier feeling better than she could have imagined when the sun rose this morning. She sat cross-legged at the end of the pier, stared at the blue water, and allowed the memories to wash over her.

  * * *

  Boone was glad to see the sandwich gone when he arrived home. He had not liked the idea of leaving Hannah alone, but he’d felt voyeuristic hanging around and watching her sleep. She’d been sound asleep, and he’d figured he’d be gone an hour at the most. He climbed the stairs and listened for the sound of the shower, but all was silent. The house felt empty.

  His stomach took a nervous roll. Had he misjudged the situation? As he descended the stairs, his gaze went toward the windows. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spied her sitting on the pier.

  Once again, uncharacteristically, Boone hesitated. He wasn’t at all sure what was the best approach to take with the woman at this point. Should he leave her be? Should he join her and ply her with patter? Should he at least check on her and reassure himself that she wasn’t about to take a header off the pier?

  No, he was confident that this particular crisis had passed. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have left Hannah for even a short time.

  The ringing of his cell phone interrupted his musings. He identified his cousin Tucker’s ringtone. He connected the call saying, “Hey, Vegas. What’s up?”