Boone Page 9

  “Why?”

  “To appease me. It’s my favorite dress in the shop, and I haven’t seen it on a single customer yet. It won’t take two minutes. Please?”

  Hannah couldn’t say no to Celeste Blessing. Maybe Boone had taken lessons from her.

  Celeste had been so kind. Like Boone. And Cam Murphy. Maybe it was an Eternity Springs thing. Hannah had somehow managed to find a bastion of kindness in America. Go figure. Nevertheless, she couldn’t refuse the request. As she changed out of the purple and into the chiffon, she wondered if anyone could tell the blue-eyed angel no.

  The chiffon had a side zipper, so no contortions were needed this time. Hannah didn’t bother to look at her reflection before stepping out to show Celeste.

  “Oh. Oh, my, I knew it. Here. Try these shoes with it.” Celeste handed her a pair of heeled sandals embellished with yellow roses. They were feminine and fun and nothing like any shoes Hannah had ever worn.

  “One more thing.” Without so much as a by-your-leave, Celeste gathered Hannah’s hair up and, with a few twists, secured it with hairpins sporting enameled yellow roses. Then she placed her hands on Hannah’s shoulders and turned her toward the mirror. “Now look.”

  Hannah went tense. The woman in the mirror with the tousled updo was a stranger. A stranger who wore a sleeveless springtime print with a sweetheart neckline and fitted bodice and just a hint of ruffle on the hem that hit four inches above her knees. Unable to help herself, she gave her hips a little swish. The skirt swirled before settling around her legs like a cloud of rose petals.

  Staring at her reflection, Hannah felt a stab of an emotion she could not name. She cleared her throat and said, “This isn’t me.”

  “No, it’s not. Not yet. But I want you to take a good look at her and remember her. She’s the woman you are becoming, Hannah.”

  The woman I’m becoming. Hannah’s heart began to pound.

  “You need to recognize that you’ve made a significant step today in Eternity Springs, here in the Angel’s Rest Boutique. You’ve opened yourself to color once again. Take pride in that. Take comfort in it. Take your time. Take your half steps. The whole spectrum awaits you. Whenever you have doubts, you think of this woman in roses, and you believe. A wonderful world of color awaits you.”

  Hannah closed her eyes.

  “You aren’t alone any longer, Hannah,” Celeste assured. “Eternity Springs has your back.”

  It all sounded too good to be true. “How can you say that? I’ve been here one day. You’re only the third person I’ve met!”

  “It’s how we roll here. Besides, I know things.” Celeste chuckled and gave Hannah’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “Now, let me show you what I have in mind for your rehearsal party outfit. There will be dancing. Do you have jeans?”

  “Yes.” After a moment’s pause, she added, “Black ones.”

  “Even better.” Celeste crossed to a rack of sportswear and pulled out a long, violet-colored, loosely woven shirt. She handed it to Hannah. “While you slip into this, I’ll duck into my stockroom for the belt and the boots.”

  “Boots?”

  “It’s a Texas crowd, Hannah. But don’t fret. Dating Boone McBride, you’ll get plenty of wear out of them.”

  “Dating? One date does not make an ing.”

  “Technically, it’s two dates. Friday and Saturday. Unless you’re planning to spend the night with him, in which case I guess one could call it a single date.”

  “Spend the night with him?” Her eyes went round. “I’m not going to spend the night with him. His mother is staying at his house!”

  “Yes, of course. In that case, I guess he’d spend the night with you.”

  With that, Hannah abandoned any attempt to resist the steamroller named Celeste. Twenty minutes later, she walked out of Angel’s Rest Boutique carrying a shopping bag, and dress bag, and wearing new western-style leather boots in order to “break them in.” The boots were two-toned—purple and dove gray.

  The same color gray as Boone McBride’s eyes.

  Chapter Seven

  Half an hour before sunrise, Jackson McBride buckled his eight-year-old daughter into a safety booster seat in the back of Boone’s Land Rover and said, “You be good for Uncle B, Sugar Bug.”

  “I will, Daddy,” Haley McBride said. “I’m so excited. I hope I catch a rainbow. It’ll be my first time!”

  “Be sure to take a picture.”

  “I will, Daddy.”

  Jackson picked up his daughter’s pink plastic tackle box and handed it to his cousin to stow next to the fishing gear in the rear of Boone’s vehicle. Keeping his voice soft, he asked, “You certain you’re ready for this? Her emotions have been all over the place of late. She goes from adorable to mini-monster in the blink of an eye.”

  “We’ll be fine. It’ll do Haley good to have some one-on-one attention.”

  “Yes, it will. I’ll admit I didn’t expect the wedding to be hard on her. She adores Caroline. They have a great relationship, and Haley seems to be sincerely happy that I’m getting remarried. She loves living in Redemption. Her mother gets along with Caroline as well as Sharon gets along with anybody.”

  “Maybe it’s not the wedding. I wouldn’t be surprised if what you’re seeing isn’t some churning of her grief. It rolled over me in waves, and at the time, I didn’t always recognize it for what it was.”

  “Could be,” Jackson said as the Land Rover’s rear gate clicked shut. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Jackson gave his daughter one more kiss and hug as Boone climbed into the driver’s seat. The stretch of water where he intended to take Haley fishing was about a twenty-minute drive away. They should reach it just as the sun came up.

  He asked her questions about her trip from Texas to Eternity Springs during the drive up into the hills. He wanted to keep things light today. Last September, Haley’s world had changed when the private jet carrying members of her mother’s band and Haley’s beloved nanny, Poppins, crashed in the Nevada desert, killing all aboard. Jackson and his ex-wife had done everything right as far as providing counseling and comfort, but Boone knew from experience how grief could manifest in unusual ways.

  A vision of Hannah Dupree ghosted through his mind just before Haley began chattering about getting grubby with her Uncle T. Technically, Boone and Tucker were cousins to the girl. Still, the McBrides didn’t get hung up on semantics. Getting grubby referred to the wilderness adventures that Haley had shared with Tucker during the past six to eight months. Time outdoors in Enchanted Canyon had proven to be an effective therapy in the girl’s recovery. It was one of the reasons why Boone had suggested this morning’s fishing trip when the family got together at his house last night.

  His parents and sisters had arrived yesterday midafternoon, having dropped Linda Gail Pearson off at Angel’s Rest, where a room vacancy for the wedding weekend had miraculously appeared. He’d given his family the grand tour of his new home, and they’d grilled hamburgers and sat beside the lake catching up on the happenings in one another’s lives. It had been a great evening, though his attention had been divided between his visitors and his new tenant. The light shining in the window at the Serenity Cabbage continued to catch his notice until he’d gone to bed.

  He’d noticed Hannah’s car had been gone when he’d left this morning.

  Boone’s conversation with Haley continued to bounce from one subject to the next. As they approached his favorite fishing spot, a stretch of water on a pristine section of land that Boone had purchased from Cam Murphy a year ago, she was telling him about the two-pound catfish she’d caught two weeks ago using bacon as bait.

  “You know you won’t catch anything nearly that big up here,” Boone warned as he pulled the Land Rover onto the shoulder of the road in his usual spot.

  “But a rainbow will be prettier than a catfish, right?”

  “Guaranteed. Catfish taste pretty, but they’re ugly as sin to look at, don’t you think?”

&nbs
p; “They’re super ugly!”

  They exited the vehicle just as the first rays of sunshine speared above the mountaintop into the eastern sky. They spent the next few minutes getting Haley into her child-sized waders and gathering up the rest of their gear. As he led her toward the bubbling stream, he spoke to her about flies.

  “Why do you make fake flies instead of catching real ones like we do worms?”

  “That’s an excellent question, Sweet Pea. I reckon a fisherman—”

  “Or fishergirl!”

  He grinned. “—or fishergirl could use a real insect, but for a lot of folks, a big part of the sport is tying the flies. It’s rewarding when something you’ve created all on your own proves to be successful.”

  She went silent then. He didn’t think much about it until she turned to him with a stricken gaze and heartbreak in her voice. “Like ‘Wishes for My Angel.’”

  Boone turned his head to hide his grimace. “Wishes for My Angel” was the song about Haley’s nanny that Jackson and his ex had written and recorded shortly after the plane crash. A haunting, beautiful tune, the recording had gone platinum and won a Grammy.

  Following the mention of her parents’ song, Haley’s mood deteriorated. She went from bubbly and enthusiastic to moody and sullen. Catching her first rainbow brightened her up a bit, but the effects of that proved temporary, and she soon sank back into grumpiness. Over the next forty minutes, Boone tried all the tricks he knew, from teasing and telling jokes to ignoring Haley’s grouchy attitude completely. Nothing worked, so he turned to gently probing questions. “You want to talk about what’s making you sad, Little Bit?”

  She shrugged.

  “I know what it’s like to lose somebody you love. Sometimes it helps if you talk about what you are feeling. It helps me.”

  Again, she shrugged.

  “I have big ears and wide shoulders.”

  She glanced up at him with her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Your ears are not big. They’re regular-sized ears.”

  “You think?” Boone cupped his ear and turned it toward her. “All I know is that I can listen pretty good if you want to talk about what has made you sad.”

  Again, she shrugged her little shoulders. Her bottom lip quivered a tiny bit. Emotion squeezed Boone’s heart. He wished he had a better handle on how to deal with children. Guess he’d better develop one fast since he was about to become a dad.

  But right this moment, Haley was the one who was hurting. He circled back to a distraction attempt with some bad jokes. “Knock knock.”

  “What?”

  “Knock knock. You’re supposed to say, Who’s there?”

  “I know that, but aren’t we supposed to be quiet when we’re fishing?”

  Boone made an exaggerated purse of his lips, then he nodded and whispered loudly, “Knock knock.”

  She giggled and whispered back. “Who’s there?”

  “Canoe.”

  “Canoe who?”

  “Canoe hurry up and catch a fish, please? I’m bored.”

  Haley’s grin was Boone’s reward. A moment later, she whispered, “Knock knock.”

  “Who’s there?”

  “Anita.”

  “Anita who?”

  “Anita you to catch a fish first. It’s your turn!”

  “Good one.” Boone winked at her and added, “Think it’s time to switch out a fly. The fish don’t seem to be hungry for what I got.”

  “Me too!”

  Boone supported Haley’s arm as they stepped toward the creek bank. “I want to try the one that Daddy says is called a Woolly Bugger. I think that’s so funny. Don’t you think that’s so funny, Uncle B?”

  “That’s pretty funny. I’m kinda partial to the Squirmy Worm myself. I think I’ll try that.”

  Once on the riverbank, they made their way back to the spot where they’d left their tackle boxes. “Will you help me with my Woolly Bugger, Uncle B?”

  “As long as it comes out of your tackle box rather than your nose.”

  “Gross! I don’t pick my nose. I’m a girly girl.”

  He winked at her. “But you do like to get grubby.”

  “I do with Uncle Tucker, but getting grubby is digging for worms and hiking and gathering firewood. It’s not picking your nose!”

  “Ah.” He winked at her, and she giggled again. He sensed that the tension had eased. Spying the bubblegum-pink tackle box a few step ahead, he said, “Let’s see what we can do with your Woolly Bugger.”

  Haley darted around him and went to pick up her tackle box. Unfortunately, she’d left it unlatched. As she lifted it, the bottom dropped, and the contents of the box spilled. Boone saw in a glance that the little girl had much more than fishing tackle in her box. She had a hairbrush and a comb, a Barbie, a roll of Life Savers, and—

  “Oh, no!” Haley cried, alarm in her voice. “I had them all organized!”

  Boone’s gaze zeroed in on the plastic tube whose cap had come off. “Lipstick, Haley? Does your daddy know you have red lipstick?”

  “Mama gave it to me.”

  She’s only eight. Poor Jackson. “Something tells me I’m going to be real glad that Trace is a boy.”

  “Who’s Trace?” she asked as she knelt and began returning items to the box.

  Unwilling to lie or to answer the question truthfully to this precious little blabber box, Boone deflected. “Careful there. Lots of hidden barbs in your flies. We don’t want you getting stuck.”

  “Don’t worry, Uncle B. I’ve stuck myself four times when I’ve been fishing with Daddy or Uncle T.”

  “Four times, hmm?”

  “It’s just a pinprick, and a little blood doesn’t hurt. You’re gonna get a few bumps, scratches, and pokes when you’re out gettin’ grubby.”

  “That’s my girl.” Boone bent over, plucked one of Haley’s Woolly Buggers from the clutter, and then picked up her fly rod from where she dropped it. He’d just finished switching out the fly when Haley cried out.

  “Ouch!” She shoved to her feet, shaking her hand vigorously. Sure enough, a fishhook speared between the knuckles of her left hand. “Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! That hurts!”

  Boone moved swiftly to the rescue. “Hold still, sweetie. Let me help you.” Catching hold of her flailing hand, he stilled her and assessed the situation. “It took some talent to catch yourself there.” It was a barbed hook too, unfortunately, which surprised him. McBrides were strictly barbless for freshwater fishing. “Did Tucker give this to you?”

  Haley bravely looked at her hand. “I think this is one of the ones Mama gave me. It’s called Princess.”

  Boone made a mental note to talk to Jackson about the contents of his daughter’s tackle box. “I see. Well, hold what you got there. I’m going to clip the end before we pull it out.”

  Boone released her hand long enough to open his tackle box and remove his pliers and his first-aid pack. Seconds later, Haley calmly watched bright-red blood pearl on the back of her hand as he opened an antiseptic wipe.

  “Now I’ve poked myself five times while I’ve been fishing,” the eight-year-old said. “I need to be more careful.”

  “I’ll second that. However, I’ll take you fishing anytime. You’ve stayed calm, cool, and collected. I’ll admit I was a little afraid that a self-professed girly girl might get upset at the sight of blood.”

  “No. I’m a tough girly girl.”

  She was that. Therefore, Boone was caught off guard ten minutes later when a beautiful red cardinal lifted from his perch in the upper branches of an aspen tree, swooped over the creek, and in a flash of unfortunate timing dropped a payload right on top of Haley’s head.

  All hell broke loose.

  * * *

  Hannah heard the screams and dropped the fish she’d just released from the hook. She looked at her guide and said, “That’s a little girl. From which direction is that coming? Can you tell?”

  He shook his head. “Can’t be sure. Sound does weird things in the hills.”
>
  The sense of urgency sweeping through Hannah was unlike anything she’d experienced in the past three years. “Maybe she’s fishing. Or is there a campsite close? A trail?”

  “This is private land.” The guide winced at the shrill screams as his brow furrowed in worry. “Most likely spot is the stretch we call Goldmine. It’s not all that far from here, but you can’t reach it along the creek. We’d have to go up the hill and down.”

  “Show me,” Hannah demanded as she began stripping out of her waders.

  “I don’t know, Hannah. Maybe—”

  “That is the sound of a terrified girl. She needs help. We need to help her.”

  The guide nodded, shucked out of his gear, then started off. Hannah followed quickly on his heels.

  The screaming didn’t stop, and as they topped the hill’s rise, direction proved easier to determine. In only a few minutes, they spied the pair standing in the middle of the stream. Boone McBride stood four feet away from the young girl, his hands held up and out in surrender, panic in his expression. Hannah could see that he was constantly talking to the girl.

  She wasn’t listening. Her hands were flailing at her head.

  “That’s Boone McBride and his niece,” the guide told Hannah. “He’s not hurting her.”

  No. But he didn’t appear to be helping her either. Hannah’s fear subsided, but her concern did not. She descended the hill as quickly as possible. Growing closer, she could make out Boone’s words.

  “Sweetheart, it’s okay. Everything is okay. Haley. Honey. Hush now. Please, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

  He wasn’t getting through to the girl. His body language conveyed that he’d tried approaching her without success, and when he heard their approach, recognized Hannah, his silver-gray eyes pleaded for help.

  Hannah didn’t hesitate, stepping right into the icy mountain stream and approaching the girl. “Haley, my name is Hannah.”

  “Poppins!” The girl turned a wild-eyed gaze her way. “The airplane blew up, and it’s dropping on me! Get it off. Please, get it off! Please, Poppins. I need you!”