Читать книгу Woodrose Mountain - RaeAnne Thayne - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

EVIE AWOKE EARLY the next morning tired and gritty-eyed. Jacques stuck his nose into the curve of her neck and she laughed hoarsely.

“Yeah, okay. I know what you want,” she muttered. She sat up gingerly, her body aching a little from the long weekend. Jacques needed to go out and an early-morning hike up the Woodrose trail would be just the thing to shake the cobwebs away.

She dressed quickly, especially since the dog was prancing around anxiously by now, and ten minutes later she grabbed the dog’s leash and they headed out just as the sun peeked above the mountains.

By the time they reached the trailhead to Woodrose Mountain, both of them were a little more settled. The trail was wet from a predawn storm and she wondered if it were possible to become intoxicated from the scent of rain-washed sage and tart pine.

The farther she hiked up the trail, the more stunning the view. It never failed to move her. Hope’s Crossing looked small, provincial, especially with the vast shadows of mountain ranges rippling out in every direction.

The quiet stillness was a far cry from the traffic and craziness of L.A.—and she wouldn’t trade it for anything. When she arrived in Hope’s Crossing, she had been battered and lost. Somehow here in this space where she could breathe and think, she had reconnected with herself, and the aches and pains and scabs of grief and self-doubt had begun to heal.

Not completely. She sighed, lifting her face to the sun just barely cresting the mountains. Just when she thought she was finally in a good and healthy place, content with the world and her place in it, reality had smacked her upside the head like an unexpected branch stretching across her life’s trail.

Despite her exhaustion from the busy weekend, she hadn’t slept well, her dreams fragmented and jagged, a tangle of memories and ghosts. No surprise whom to blame. Brodie Thorne’s unexpected request had ricocheted through her mind all night.

She felt like a coward for saying no to him but she knew she wasn’t. It had taken great courage to walk away from a career, a home, friends she loved, in search of something she knew she could no longer find in L.A. She had worked too hard to achieve homeostasis—harmony, balance, equilibrium, whatever word fit best. Although some part of her felt guilty for saying no to him and refusing to help with Taryn’s rehabilitation, she knew it had been the most healthy answer she could have offered.

After she and Jacques had both worked out their edginess, she headed back down the mountainside, passing a couple of tourists who were obviously continental, with their walking sticks and their Birkenstocks and that indefinable élan. They greeted her in heavily accented English then said something quickly to each other in musical French, gesturing toward Jacques, with his Labrador body and his wool-like poodle coat, which she kept groomed short in the summer for his comfort. He gave them a regal nod before padding down the trail behind her and Evie smiled, rubbing his head with affection. Boy, she loved this mutt.

Back at her apartment, she spent the morning working on the instructions for a couple of bead designs she planned to submit to an industry magazine, then grabbed a quick sandwich before heading for work.

It was impossible not to compare her commute now—sixteen narrow steps down the back stairway and then through the String Fever rear entryway—to the endless lifetime she used to spend in the stop-and-go nightmare of Southern California traffic.

A teenage girl was poring over the wires, and a couple of young mothers sat in the reading corner leafing through the bead pattern books while their children explored with the toys Claire had provided in the playroom.

Evie’s employer was on the telephone in her small office. Through the open doorway, Claire Bradford waved at her as she crossed to the rack hanging behind the big worktable for the multipocketed half apron that came in so handy for holding her beading tools.

By the time she returned, Claire had finished her phone call. She glowed today, her eyes shining and her smile bright and cheerful. She wore her new happiness like a brilliant tiara and Evie was thrilled for her. Claire was the most generous, giving woman she knew, always reaching out to lift someone else. Though she didn’t seem bitter that her ex-husband had married someone ten years younger shortly after their divorce and seemed to flaunt it in her face by settling into Hope’s Crossing with his bride, Evie knew it must have stung.

Riley McKnight made Claire happy. Everyone in town could see that, and the man plainly adored her.

“You’re not supposed to be here for—” Claire checked her watch with its band of gorgeous pink-toned Murano art glass “—another hour.”

Evie smiled. “I wanted to double-check the kits for my class tonight.”

“Probably a good idea. We had a rush on last-minute sign-ups over the weekend. I think we added six more Saturday alone. Your classes are always full. Face it, honey, you’re a rock star among the beaders of Hope’s Crossing.”

Evie laughed. “That’s something, right?”

“I hope we’re going to have enough room at the worktable. Let me know if you think you’ll need a second one. So how was Grand Junction?”

“Much better than I expected. So good, in fact, we’re going to have a crazy time replenishing the inventory before the last show over Labor Day weekend.”

“I’ll put out a notice by the checkout that you’ll be taking consignment items. This is a great thing you’re doing, Evie. I can’t believe how the scholarship fund has grown in just a few months. Between the ginormous amount we collected at the benefit auction in June and the money that’s come in since then because of everything you’re doing, as well as the other fundraisers around town, we might have enough of an endowment to be able to fund a couple of scholarships a year in Layla’s memory. You’re doing a wonderful thing, Evie.”

“I’m not doing much. You’re the one handling all the organizational legwork. Selling jewelry is the fun part.”

“I’ve done arts-and-crafts fairs before. Parts of it are fun but it’s hard, intense work.”

“So far I’m enjoying it. Almost done now. Only the Labor Day festival in Crested Butte.” She quickly shifted the subject. “How are the wedding plans coming?”

“Whose?”

Evie laughed. “Um, yours. What wedding did you think I meant?”

“As far as certain people are concerned, the Beaumont-Danforth nuptials are the only game in town, even though it’s still nine months away. Gen Beaumont has been in once a day, looking for that order of art glass she placed last week for the jewelry sets she’s making for her bridesmaid gifts. I keep telling her it takes two weeks for delivery but she seems to think she can make the process move faster by sheer force of will.”

“If anyone could manipulate the space-time continuum, Genevieve Beaumont would get my vote.”

Claire’s laugh had a wild edge. “I think I speak for all the merchants in Hope’s Crossing when I say how happy I will be when her wedding is a distant memory.”

Genevieve Beaumont was the daughter of the Hope’s Crossing mayor and the town’s most prominent attorney. Her society wedding had been in the works for months. It was supposed to be a lovely fall wedding, set for October, but Gen had postponed it after the tragic accident that had impacted the entire town three months earlier.

“Have you had any time to plan your own?” Evie asked.

“It’s coming. We’re looking at December now, with a small, intimate dinner and dance afterward in the Silver Strike ballroom.”

“Lovely. I can picture it now. Everything silver and white and blue, with fairy lights and acres of tulle.”

Claire’s features turned dreamy for just a moment before she shrugged. “I’ve already done the big-reception thing once. I don’t want to go overboard this time around.”

“Riley hasn’t, though.”

“He doesn’t care. He would run off to Vegas tomorrow if his mother and sisters wouldn’t kill us later.”

Evie smiled, though she was disconcerted by a sudden, completely unexpected twinge of envy at Claire’s bubbly happiness.

Where did that come from? She wasn’t jealous of Claire. Absolutely not. While she was certainly delighted for her friend, Evie wasn’t in the market for a relationship. Hadn’t she just decided the night before that she was completely happy with her single, unencumbered life here? She had Jacques for company and he was far more comfortable than any romantic entanglement of her experience.

“You both deserve a lovely wedding. You know I’m here for whatever help you need,” she assured Claire.

“Be careful what you offer.” Claire laughed. “I might take you up on it when the date gets closer.”

“You know perfectly well I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to help.”

Claire started to answer but paused when the teenage girl approached them, her plump features hesitant. “Sorry to interrupt. I can come back.”

“Not at all,” Evie said quickly. “Hannah, right? You’re friends with Lara, who works here sometimes.”

“Not really. We just know each other from school and stuff.”

Something about the girl’s unease, her hesistance bordering on gawky awkwardness, tugged at Evie’s heart.

“How can we help you?” Claire asked just as the phone in the office rang.

“I’ve got this,” Evie answered. “Go ahead and take the call.”

“It’s probably Gen again,” Claire said with a reluctant sigh, but she crossed the showroom to the phone at her desk.

“If you’re busy or whatever, I can come back another time.”

“Not at all,” Evie assured the girl. “I’m all yours. How can I help you?”

“I don’t know anything about beading but I think it looks kind of neat. I’d like to learn, I guess. I was thinking about trying to make some earrings for my mom. It’s her birthday next week.”

“Lovely!”

“She’s been, you know, kind of sad lately and I sort of thought, you know, that some new earrings would cheer her up.”

Kirk. That was her last name, Evie suddenly remembered. Hannah Kirk. Evie didn’t know the family well but she suddenly recalled the buzz around town had it that Hannah’s father had walked out on them right after Christmas for another woman, leaving her mother to struggle alone with Hannah and three younger siblings.

If rumor could be believed, the Angel of Hope—the mysterious benefactor who had been busy around town for the last six months or so helping families hit hard by the poor economy or by health concerns or family issues—had paid more than one visit to the Kirks since Christmas. She hoped so. Gretchen Kirk and her children were just the sort of down-on-their-luck family that deserved a helping hand.

“Your mother will love new earrings, especially handmade ones.”

“It was just a crazy idea. Like I said, I don’t really know what I’m doing or anything. I would need a lot of help.”

“You’ve come to exactly the right place.” Evie smiled. “We love to help beaders, trust me. Especially beginning beaders. We’ve got a worktable here with all the supplies and tools you need and there’s always someone around who can give you a hand with any project.”

Hannah’s face lit up with relief. “Really? That would be great. Thanks. Thanks a lot. You’re right, my mom will love them, I think.”

“Moms go crazy for the handmade stuff. Trust me on this. Do you want to get started now? We can look through the beads and get an idea of colors that your mom likes to wear, if you want.”

Hannah pulled out an older sort of flip phone and looked at the time on it. “I’d better go. I have to go to work. Um, I work at the shave-ice stand over by the hardware store and afternoons are kind of busy for us. Can I come back another time?”

“Sure. If I’m not here to help you, Claire should be or one of our other resident beaders. You think about what kind of earrings your mom likes and we’ll look through the books and come up with some killer designs.”

“Something easy, though, right?”

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks. That’s really nice of you.” Hannah’s sweet smile transformed her rather plain, round features into someone young and bright and pretty. “I don’t have much money, though. I can probably only make one pair.”

“We’ll figure something out. We’ve probably got some overstock we can swing a good deal on.” If Claire objected—though Evie knew she wouldn’t—Evie had samples from her own huge inventory of beads she would be willing to donate to the cause.

“I’ll see you later, okay?”

The girl smiled again, looking much happier than she’d been earlier. “Great. Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

She headed for the door and reached to pull the handle just as it was pushed in from the other side and Katherine Thorne walked into the store.

Evie’s stomach plummeted, all her angst of the long, sleepless night returning in spades.

While Katherine always looked elegant and put-together, from her streaky ash-blond hair, cut in a chin-length bob, to her strappy sandals and blush-painted toenails, the last three months since her granddaughter’s accident had definitely taken a toll. She was thinner than ever, her sixty-year-old skin showing a few more wrinkles.

The little happy buzz Evie had been enjoying at the prospect of helping a very needy young girl make a birthday present to lift her mother’s spirits fizzled away. Saying no to Brodie Thorne had been as easy as adding beads to a basic earring headpin, something she could do in her sleep. Katherine’s inevitable disappointment was a different matter altogether.

Hannah brushed by her with a flash of that hesitant smile, and Katherine closed the door behind her while Evie tried to come up with some excuse to avoid her dear friend. She could always use the other customers as a reason but with Hannah gone, that left only the two young mothers who, unfortunately, seemed perfectly at ease poring over magazines while their children giggled in the play space.

Evie was stuck. With as much grace as she could muster, she greeted Katherine with their customary warm embrace, sweet with the scent of blooming fresh-cut flowers from the Estée Lauder Beautiful fragrance Katherine used. The other woman felt fragile somehow, her bones sharp and defined. She wasn’t eating like she should, Evie fretted. How much more of a burden would Katherine take on after her granddaughter returned to Hope’s Crossing for rehab?

“How was your trip, my dear?” Katherine asked.

She pulled away. “Great. They had big crowds this year and people were actually willing to spend money again.”

“I did that show once or twice and always loved it.”

She didn’t seem angry. No yelling or asking how Evie could disappoint her like that. Maybe she didn’t know what Brodie had asked of her—or that Evie had refused.

No. She couldn’t believe that. Katherine had a purposeful look in her eyes and Evie wasn’t naive enough to think she was only here to look at beads.

They traded pleasantries for a few more moments until Evie could barely wade through the murky currents of subtext between them.

Finally she sighed. “All right. Have pity on me, Kat. You might as well come out with it. Brodie knows exactly what he’s doing, doesn’t he, sending you in as his reinforcement?”

Katherine sniffed. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ha.” Evie straightened some of the inventory hanging on the wall, just to keep her hands busy and for an outlet to the tension in her shoulders. This was what had kept her restless and uneasy through the night, this terrible fear that she would be forced to choose between her self-preservation or losing a dear, dear friend.

In a way, Katherine had become a surrogate mother to her. After Cassie’s death, their email correspondence had provided a spark of life, of hope. When Katherine encouraged Evie to come to Colorado for a few weeks as her guest, she had jumped at the chance and instantly fallen in love with the town and the people here.

Most of them, anyway.

“You want me to believe Brodie didn’t send you.”

“No. In fact, he told me not to come.”

“Yet here you are.”

“Only because we’re desperate, my dear. Brodie and I both want the absolute best care available for Taryn. Surely you can understand that.”

Oh, she hated this. “Any parent would want the same.”

“You’re the best,” Katherine said simply. “Can you blame us for wanting your help?”

“Whatever I might have once been is a long road away. That’s not me anymore, Katherine. I’m a beader. I make jewelry.”

“I thought you might make an exception in this case, if not for Brodie than maybe for me and especially for Taryn.”

The tension in Evie’s shoulders tightened to a fine and exquisite pain. No wonder Katherine made such a good Hope’s Crossing Town Council member. She knew exactly which buttons to push.

“Not fair,” she murmured.

“I know.” Katherine looked unapologetic. “My son is not the only ruthless one in the Thorne family.”

Evie was trapped in an unwinnable dilemma. Refuse and hurt a dear friend. Accept and hurt herself.

Claire’s approach was a welcome reprieve. “Katherine! I didn’t hear you come in. Hello, darling! How’s Taryn?” she asked instantly.

Katherine aimed a quick look at Evie and then turned back to Claire. Evie’s tension tightened a few more screws.

“She’s coming home at the end of the week.”

Claire’s mouth sagged open and a fierce joy lit up her lovely, serene features. “You’re kidding! I never heard a word. This is fabulous! We need to celebrate! Fireworks, confetti. Throw a parade or something!”

Katherine shook her head slightly, squeezing Claire’s fingers. “I’m afraid we’re not breaking out the champagne yet. The doctors and therapists in Denver are basically kicking her out of the rehab center, saying they’ve done all they can with her. She’s become what the experts call a recalcitrant patient.”

A little of Claire’s ebullience faded but she was enough of a natural optimist that Evie could tell she wouldn’t let that minor setback completely dim her happiness. “Well, it will be wonderful to have her back in Hope’s Crossing anyway, right? What can we do? Do you have any idea yet what Brodie’s going to need help with at first?”

Claire’s instant willingness to step forward, no matter the cost, left Evie feeling small and ashamed. That was always her friend’s way, always thinking about what she could do to help someone else. As much as she loved Claire, sometimes she privately thought her friend carried that whole give-of-yourself thing a little too far.

Katherine hugged the other woman again. “We don’t know yet. We have so many details to figure out. We’ve been looking ahead to this day for some time. Over the last month or so, Brodie has been having Paul Harris do some work on the house, knock out a couple walls to put in a roll-in shower, install a couple of ramps, a lift system, that sort of thing.”

Katherine’s gaze slanted quickly toward Evie. That tension gripped her and she drew in a ragged breath. Here we go.

“Actually, we’re trying to persuade Evie to help us set up a home-based rehab program.”

Claire gasped, her eyes bright. “Oh, brilliant!”

“That’s exactly what Brodie and I think. I’m afraid Evie isn’t as convinced.”

Claire’s gaze zinged from one of them to the other and Evie knew precisely the moment she picked up the undercurrents of tension seething between them.

“Is it the store?” she asked. “If that’s the case, don’t you worry about us for a moment, Evie. I know I said you’re a beading rock star and all that but we can get along here at the store without you if we have to, especially when it’s for such a good cause. I’ve got a couple of teenage girls who’ve been in a half dozen times since the beginning of the summer with their résumés, looking for part-time work. I can use them until school starts in a few weeks and then figure something else out. You take as long as you need with Taryn.”

“Actually, that’s one of the reasons I stopped in,” Katherine said smoothly. “I don’t want you to think we’re trying to steal Evie away from String Fever during the rest of the busy summer tourist weeks before the shoulder season. I wanted to offer a trade.”

When Evie was a girl, their nanny used to take her and her younger sister to the park near their home in Santa Barbara. Lizzie would beg her to come with her on the merry-go-round and Evie would always eventually relent, though she always hated that out-of-control feeling, that whirling, churning, wind-tossed disorder. This conversation felt very much as if she was clinging tightly to the bars, trying to keep from being flung into chaos.

Claire smiled at Katherine. “Tell me more.”

“I want to apply for a temporary job as Evie’s substitute here at the store,” Katherine said. “I can even take over some of her classes. That would free her schedule so she can work with my granddaughter.”

Evie fought the urge to close her eyes. She was well and truly trapped now. Claire looked delighted at the offer. Why wouldn’t she be? Katherine was the founder and original owner of String Fever. She’d sold the store to Claire a few years ago after Claire’s divorce. Nobody in town—least of all Evie—knew more about beads than Katherine.

“Again, brilliant, Kat. You’re a genius.”

“I was going to say, positively Machiavellian,” Evie muttered.

Claire looked startled but Katherine only gave a smug sort of smile. “When I have to be, my dear.”

“You don’t have to be in this case. I’m a beader now, not a physical therapist,” she repeated for what felt like the umpteenth time. “I have no experience here in Colorado.”

“But you are licensed, right?”

“Katherine. You know why I quit.”

For the first time, she saw a glimmer of sympathy in the older woman’s eyes but it quickly hardened into more of that steely determination. How could Evie blame her? She understood Katherine’s perspective. Her granddaughter was facing months—possibly years—of painful, difficult rehabilitation with no guarantee of a rosy recovery.

Evie could empathize. She would have done anything to help those she loved, would have traded on every possible friendship to help Liz after the fire that had severely burned her and their mother.

And Cassie. In the two years she had with her daughter, she had fought fiercely to provide the best possible care but in the end none of her efforts had worked.

“I know. I’m sorry. You know that. But we need you, Evie.”

Claire looked from one of them to the other, her expression confused. “I don’t understand,” she said. How could she? Evie had never shared all her reasons for leaving her practice in L.A. As far as Claire knew, she had dropped out of her practice and moved to Colorado only because she needed a change.

Katherine knew, however. She had been there to comfort and lift Evie through a very dark and ugly time. Evie heartily wished she could do the same now for her friend.

“I understand your reluctance, my dear,” Katherine went on. “This is a big commitment with a great deal of pressure attached to it.”

“You know that’s not it. If I could help you, I would.”

Katherine nodded and to Evie’s dismay, her friend pulled her into another hug. “I do understand,” she murmured. “I’m sorry I’ve put you in a difficult position.”

“You’re the only one I would consider coming out of retirement—or whatever you want to call it—to help. You know that, don’t you?”

Katherine eased away. “I do. And I’m going to presume on our friendship terribly to ask you one more favor.”

Evie braced herself.

“Will you at least consider helping us for a week or two, just while we find our feet and start a treatment plan for Taryn?” Katherine asked. “With your knowledge and experience, you can make sure Brodie has retrofitted the house with everything we might need for her care. A few weeks would give us a little breathing room so we can take our time looking for the best possible person for the job.”

The request was reasonable and certainly made sense. Refusing to give up a few weeks of her life for her dear friend would make her sound churlish. Immature, even.

“When is Taryn being transferred from Birch Glen?” she asked, doing her best to keep the weary resignation from her voice.

To Katherine’s credit, not so much as a trace of victory flashed in her expression, even though she must have known Evie couldn’t say no. “Friday.”

“I suppose I could give you a week or two, as long as you can help Claire with my responsibilities here.”

Claire squeezed her arm. “Of course. Take as long as necessary. Whatever Taryn needs.”

“Just a few weeks. No more than that. I’ll help you hire another therapy coordinator and set up the treatment plan, but that’s all.”

She could handle anything for a few weeks, couldn’t she?

“That should be plenty of time to point us in the right direction.” Katherine pressed her cheek to Evie’s, filling her senses with flowers and guilt. “Thank you so much. I know it’s difficult for you and I’m very sorry, but believe me, we’re so grateful. I don’t know how we’ll ever repay you for this.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Katherine,” she answered, taking a subtle step back. “Tell Brodie to donate whatever fee he would have paid someone else for those few weeks to the scholarship fund.”

At least something good should come of this, she thought, as Katherine and Claire began discussing another fundraising event the high school student body officers wanted to sponsor for the Layla memorial fund.

Evie let their conversation drift around her, focusing instead on double-checking the kits for her class that evening to help beat off the residual twinges of panic. After a few moments, one of the mothers asked a question about their display of Greek worry beads and Evie was grateful to help the customers, an excuse to leave her friends and the heavy weight of their expectations.

“They’re called komboloi,” she explained. “Traditionally, they’re made with an odd number of beads and then a metal spacer in between. Touching them at various times throughout the day is believed to help with relaxation and stress management.”

“I certainly need that,” the woman said, rolling her eyes at her busy preschooler in the play area.

Evie smiled. “They’re easy to make and they can really relieve tension. There’s something very soothing about working the beads between your fingers. Lots of people even put them on their key chains. Want to try one?”

The two women exchanged glances. “Sure. Sounds like fun,” the other young mother said.

“You can use any kind of bead, though usually people use amber or coral because of their soft, comforting texture.”

Evie pointed them toward the beads, then went to gather the basic supplies for them. While she was helping them, she would make one for herself, she decided on impulse. It had been too long since she had crafted a piece simply for her own enjoyment—and she had a very strong feeling she was going to need all the stress management tools she could find in the coming two weeks.