Hummingbird Lake

TEN





Sage didn’t see or speak to another soul for days. Her friends gave her the space she’d requested. Wanting to avoid any further confrontation phone calls might bring, she sent emails to Nic and the others apologizing for her outburst and asking them to respect the boundaries she’d drawn out of necessity. The notes they’d sent back remained a bit on the frosty side but did indicate a reluctance to allow the situation to permanently damage their friendship. Grateful, Sage told herself that the situation would improve with a little time, and she tried not to let herself fret about her relationships with her friends.

She also tried not to be too curious about the man next door.

She hadn’t seen or spoken to Colt Rafferty, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t made his presence known. The man kept leaving gifts at her front door. A CD of Irish folk tunes. A butterfly carved from wood. A ridiculous four-foot-tall hot pink teddy bear that she knew had been for sale in one of the tourist shops downtown since she moved to Eternity Springs.

She loved it. She loved all the gifts. Each day she looked forward to opening her door. She found herself peeking through the curtains in an attempt to catch him coming or going. Frankly, she enjoyed the attention.

Sage had gone on a handful of dates since Peter’s death. They’d all been casual, and each time she’d felt awkward and unready to resume that part of life. Not only had she needed time to mourn Peter, she also recognized that dating was an exercise in futility. Relationships required openness and honesty, and that she simply couldn’t give. She couldn’t let anyone in.

Look at the damage her secrets had done to her relationships with friends. Imagine throwing a man—a lover—into the mix. Nope. Wouldn’t work. Couldn’t work. Not unless she was ready to pour out the whole ugly story, and even if she summoned the courage to tell it, there was no guarantee that the person who heard it would understand the enormity of what had occurred.

Words couldn’t explain what had happened that day. Her nightmare paintings couldn’t begin to depict the horror. How could anyone understand her, accept her for who she was, without knowing what had happened that hot African morning?

And if she did try to tell people, then what? Would they blame her? Pity her? Hate her?

Just like she hated herself?

No. She wasn’t ready to go there. She simply couldn’t do it. Not that she had abandoned all hope of working past the problem. She would never forget, but she trusted that eventually she’d learn to live with the memories. After all, she’d been doing pretty well before Nic’s babies came. She had to believe she would claw her way back to mental health. She could do it. She simply needed more time.

In the meantime, due to the fact that Colt Rafferty’s time in town was temporary—now less than a week, she believed—she could enjoy his attentions without worrying about the future because the future wasn’t on the table. He was just a visitor. He lived thousands of miles away. He was safe.

Which was why, on the fifth day of her self-imposed isolation, she picked up her phone and dialed the Landry cabin. Colt answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Is this the North Pole?”

He remained silent a beat, but when he spoke, she heard the smile in his low-timbred drawl. “That depends. Are you naughty or nice?”

“I’m nice. Definitely nice.”

“Darn.”

She chuckled at the regret in his voice, then said, “I’m so nice that I’m calling to invite Santa to a pot roast supper tonight if he doesn’t already have plans.”

“Ho ho ho.” Now she heard delight in his tone. “What time should my bag of toys and I arrive?”

“Better leave your toys at home, big guy. This is a dinner invitation only. Seven o’clock would be good.”

“See you at seven, beautiful.”

Sage hung up her phone and glanced at the teddy bear she’d propped in a seated position on her cream-colored sofa. “We have a dinner date. We’d better get moving.”

Not that she had too much to do to get ready. She’d managed six whole hours of sleep last night and she’d awakened in the mood to cook, which was why she already had a pot roast simmering on the stove, homemade bread rising on the counter, and an apple pie fresh from the oven. All she really needed to do to prepare was to primp. With a spring in her step, she headed for her bedroom with the thought of taking a nice warm bath. As she passed her studio, she paused, then stepped inside, grabbed the doorknob, and pulled the door shut. Her nightmare paintings were not for public display.

She added lavender-scented oil to her bath and managed to take a full hour getting dressed and ready. She chose brown slacks and a forest green V-necked cashmere sweater, dangling topaz earrings, and, just for fun, a barrette of fairy wings for her hair. At five minutes to seven, she took her bread from the oven and set it on the counter to cool. He knocked on her door at precisely seven o’clock.

Sage drew a deep, calming breath, checked her reflection in the hallway mirror, and answered the door. She burst into laughter. He was dressed in jeans and the top half of a Santa suit, and carried a dark pillowcase draped over his shoulder. Stepping back from the doorway, she waved him inside. “Where in the world did you find a Santa costume on such short notice?”

“Costume? What costume?”

She rolled her eyes and eyed the pillowcase. “I thought I told you no toys.”

“No toys. Wine.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a lovely Napa Valley cabernet that he handed to her, saying, “Okay, maybe I did bring a toy, too.” Reaching inside the pillowcase once again, he drew out a small box.

“A Slinky!” Sage exclaimed with delight. “I love these things.”

“I couldn’t decide between that and Silly Putty, so …” He drew out the famous egg. “I got both.”

“You’re crazy.” She removed the Slinky from the box, balanced it in her hands, and played with it. Her grin grew slowly but surely, and she felt a lightness of heart that she hadn’t felt since … well … since the teddy bear showed up on her porch the day before. Glancing up from the toy, she asked, “Why the gifts?”

Unbuttoning the Santa top, he slipped it off, revealing a green cable-knit sweater beneath, and said, “You strike me as a woman who can use a few gifts.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You have a beautiful smile and I haven’t seen it enough. Besides, I’ve had fun picking out the presents. I like thinking about you during my day.”

“You have quite a line, Rafferty.”

“It’s not a line when it’s the truth.”

She fumbled for a comeback to that and settled for inanity, “I’ll go open the wine.”

She escaped to the kitchen where she pulled the cork and checked her roast. She returned to the front room carrying the bottle and two glasses, and found him studying the brochure from Art on the Bricks in Fort Worth.

She folded her arms. “If you’re going to criticize my work, you might want to hold off until after dinner or you’re liable to go to bed hungry.”

He set the brochure down and winked at her. “After spending the evening with you, I rather suspect I’ll go to bed hungry whether I eat your pot roast or not.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for crying out loud.”

He laughed. “Okay, here’s an honest question. I’ve spent a good share of the past week working with wood, and it’s made me curious about your creative process. How did you get started with fairies?”

Sage sipped her wine and savored the taste of cherry and oak as she recalled the day she had produced the work that changed the direction of her life. “It was the first year after I’d moved here. I woke up to a miserable, muddy day in late spring. It was dark outside, I felt dark inside, and I wanted some light in my world. I turned the TV on to the movie channel, and Julie Andrews was singing ‘My Favorite Things’ in The Sound of Music. I picked up my sketch pad thinking I’d sketch my version of the song, and the first thing that came to mind was Tinker Bell. It took hold of me then, and my list of favorite things ended at one.”

Colt studied her thoughtfully. “Define ‘it’ for me.”

“My muse. Sarah calls it my creativity wind. I don’t dial into it every time I work, but when I do …” She shrugged. “I suspect it’s what a crack high must be like. It’s addictive. I think of it as the Force.”

When he frowned thoughtfully, she gave in and acknowledged his own artistry by asking, “What is it like for you?”

Now his frown deepened into a scowl. “I’m a chemical engineer, not an artist. I carve for something to do, to keep my hands busy. Anything I’ve ever carved has been the result of deliberate planning and design.”

Although his sentence ended, Sage sensed that he had yet to complete his thought, so she remained silent. A few seconds later, he added, “Until this week.”

“What happened this week?”

His answer was slow in coming, but he finally replied, “The day I fished the Taylor River I ran into Celeste.” His brow furrowed and his lips tightened, causing those dimples to wink. “She has an uncanny way of cluing into people, have you noticed?”

“Oh, yeah.”

He told her about finding wood and a note on his car. “After I left the flowers on your porch that night, I went back inside and turned on ESPN. I watched a basketball game. I don’t remember picking up my knife or the aspen log Celeste left me, but by the time the game ended, the butterfly I gave you was almost finished.”

Sage nodded. “The Force.”

He glanced at her easel, where a half-completed painting of a rose garden sat. “I’m not sure I like your Force.”

“Oh, I do. There is nothing I like better than losing myself in the work.”

With a smile, Sage suggested they sit down to dinner while the bread was still warm from the oven. They discussed college basketball while they ate, arguing potential selections for the upcoming NCAA tournament. He was sufficiently complimentary about her cooking and had second helpings of everything and thirds of her bread. When she politely but firmly refused his help dealing with the dishes, he asked if she minded if he started a fire in the fireplace. She joined him a few minutes later carrying slices of apple pie.

Welcoming flames crackled in the fireplace and Norah Jones played on the stereo. He sat on the couch with his boots off and his feet propped up on the ottoman. He idly pulled and stretched the Silly Putty while he stared into the flames. He looked totally comfortable, totally at home. As if he belonged here.

Sage handed him his pie, kicked off her own shoes, and sat beside him—not too close—curling her legs beneath her. “So, when are you heading back to D.C.?”

“Sunday.”

“Are you anxious to get back to work?”

“I should be. My team deployed to an incident in Alabama this morning. Ordinarily I’d be chomping at the bit to join them.”

“And you’re not now?”

“Nope.” He took a bite of his dessert, hummed appreciatively, and added, “I’m blaming it on Celeste and her block of wood.”

“My butterfly?”

“The myriad of possibilities.”

“I don’t understand.”

He didn’t respond right away, but instead finished off his pie in three quick bites. Sage was wondering if she’d given him too small a piece when he set aside his plate.

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” He reached for her with one hand and smoothly took possession of and set aside her dessert plate with the other. Tugging her toward him, he suggested, “Let’s neck instead. You won’t scream, will you?”

He had the prettiest eyes. “Probably not.”

He captured her mouth with his.

As far as changing the subject went, his method proved first-rate. Since Sage had been anticipating his kiss from the minute she dialed the Landry cabin to invite him for dinner, she neither resisted nor protested. She relaxed into the moment and allowed him to lie back and pull her atop him, sweeping her away into a warm, rolling river of pleasure.

He buried his fingers into her hair as he moved his lips over hers. His tongue explored her, stroked her, stoked her passion. He tasted of cinnamon and smelled like sin and felt like heaven pressed against her.

Sage sighed into his mouth. He growled in response. His hand began to move, skimming up and down her back. He slipped his hand beneath her shirt and caressed the sensitive skin at the small of her back with the callused pad of his thumb until she shuddered.

It had been so long since she’d indulged in any intimacy with a man—even intimacy as relatively innocent as this. When his mouth released hers and his lips trailed across her face, she tilted her head, offering her neck.

He nipped her there, and again she shuddered, sensation washing over her in waves like a sun-warmed surf caressing the sand. Pleasure. Yearning. Arousal. Delight. His hand slid down and cupped her butt, his fingers kneading her softly. When she realized she no longer felt his lips on her skin, she opened her eyes to see him watching her, an enigmatic look on his face. “What?” she asked.

“I’m trying to decide.”

“Decide what?” When he failed to either reply or look away, she added, “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

His lips twitched. “I’m not going to ask you to.”

Okay, that was insulting. But when she pursed her mouth, preparing to fire a comeback, he put a finger against her lips and said, “Tonight.”

She bit his finger and he laughed, then managed to flip their positions so that he lay atop her. He rose on his elbows and stared down into her face. “This is our first date. I won’t take your clothes off. I won’t let my hands stray to second-date territory. I won’t let my mouth go the places it wants to go so badly that I’m shocked I’m not drooling. While I would love nothing more than to strip off your clothes and have wild mountain-goat sex with you, I’m trying to have more respect for us both.”

Sage blinked. “Wild mountain-goat sex?”

He ducked his head and buried his face against her neck. “You smell and taste like summertime. Think that’s why I’m so hot?”

“It’s lavender and apples,” she replied, deliberately ignoring the question.

“I love lavender and apples.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You want to neck some more?”

Sage couldn’t help it—she laughed. “Are you seventeen, Rafferty?”

“Twice.” He grinned slowly and winked wickedly. “I’m experienced.”

The glint in his eyes appealed to the part of her that had never met a contest she didn’t want to win. “Experienced enough to handle me, big guy?”

His eyes widened, then gleamed. “Try me.”

Sage placed her hand against the back of his neck and pulled his head down to hers, then proceeded to give him a blistering kiss. From that moment on, it was a battle. She wiggled and rubbed and worked her way back on top of him, which allowed her better access to his body. He’d promised not to strip off her clothes, but she had made no such promise, so soon she had his shirt open and her hands splayed across his chest. He had great pecs, firm and covered with a light layer of dark hair. His nipples were small and hard, and when she flicked her thumb across one of them, he sucked in an audible breath past gritted teeth.

Sage wanted to taste him, to tease him, so she trailed her mouth down his neck, gently nipping her way to his collarbone, then finally to his breast. His hands were clamped at her hips, his fingers tightened around her like a vise.

The bulge in his jeans was prominent, and Sage couldn’t deny that seeing it, feeling it against her, both stirred her and satisfied her. She liked the fact that this man was that hard for her.

“You smell good, too, Rafferty,” she said, blowing softly on the flesh she’d sampled. “Taste good, too.”

“It’s not lavender,” he responded, his voice rough and raspy. “Irish Spring.”

Sage grinned impishly and adopted an Irish brogue as she quoted an old commercial. “For the manly man.”

Then she leaned down and licked the nipple she’d previously neglected.

“Ah, Sage. Please.” His eyes shut, he grimaced. “You’re killing me here.”

“Crying uncle, Rafferty?”

“Uncle and aunt,” he groaned. “Cousin. Niece. Nephew.”

Then he opened his eyes, stared up at her, and said, “I could probably be talked into being easy.”

Sage wavered. Being easy sounded awfully good to her right about now, too. She was hot and humming with arousal. Her bed was only steps away. It had been so long since she’d rolled naked with a man, and she’d never rolled naked with a guy as hot as Colt Rafferty.

But his line about respect had made an impression, and this was indeed their first date. She never slept with guys on first dates, and she suspected that if she indulged tonight, she wouldn’t like herself tomorrow.

Besides, as long as she walked away right now, she could claim victory. That settled the question. “Nope. I’m done with you for tonight, Rafferty.”

She sat up and stood, then turned away so that he wouldn’t see her ogling his chest as he buttoned his shirt. To give herself cover and time for her breathing to return to normal, she picked up the dessert plates and carried them to her kitchen. She rinsed the plates and added them to the dishwasher, then turned to grab a dish towel to dry her hands. Colt stood in the doorway, holding the Santa suit top and his empty pillowcase in one hand. He watched her with a smoldering gaze.

“Leaving?” she asked, lifting her chin, proud that she managed to keep a tremor out of her voice.

“Yep.” He strode into the room, his gaze locked on hers. She couldn’t have looked away if her life depended on it.

He stopped close, too close. In her space. “I enjoyed this evening, Sage.”

She forced herself not to back away. “I did, too.”

“Thanks for the invitation.”

Her mouth had gone desert dry. “You’re welcome.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You will?”

The dimple in his cheek deepened as his mouth stretched in a slow, sensual smile. “Oh, yeah. I definitely will. G’night, Cinnamon.”

Then he leaned down and kissed her, hard and fast, crushing her mouth with his, invading it with a plundering tongue. Her head began to buzz, her heart thundered. Her knees turned to water, and just as she reached for him to hold on for dear life, he stepped away. “Tomorrow.”

Then he was gone and Sage was alone.

For the first time in a long time, she was lonely.


The frigid night air helped Colt cool down as he walked back to the Landry cabin, though he briefly considered stripping naked and walking into a snowbank. That mental image made him laugh, and he entered the cabin feeling pretty darn pleased with himself. Sage Anderson might be the most complex woman he’d ever met. She did it for him in so many ways.

He’d begun the gift giving on a whim with that bowl of chili. He’d continued because he enjoyed it, and because searching out the day’s gift provided a welcome distraction from the storm of confusion Celeste Blessing had stirred up with him.

Consider that this piece of aspen represents your path, your dreams and desires, known and unknown. Open your mind and your heart to all the possibilities.

Celeste and her hunk of wood had him exploring all sorts of paths. He wasn’t simply standing at a crossroads choosing whether to go north or south. He had east and west and every line of latitude and longitude on earth to consider. While he wasn’t ready to commit to anything, he’d come to realize that exploring possibilities had its own rewards.

Colt slept well that night and awoke with a sense of purpose. He made business calls in the morning, worked on his latest carving project for an hour, then grabbed up the day’s gift for Sage and headed next door.

This time, instead of leaving his gift for her to find, he set it to one side, then knocked on the door. When she answered a few moments later, the pleasant greeting on his lips died. She had dark circles under eyes that were red with fatigue. “What’s wrong? You look terrible.”

“Gee, thanks, Rafferty.” She slammed the door in his face. Of course, he didn’t let it stop him. He opened the door and walked right inside, following her back to her kitchen. For a beautiful woman, she looked like hell. How could a medical doctor allow herself to get into this position? “You didn’t sleep again last night, did you?”

“I slept some.” She shrugged. “I had a nightmare.”

He frowned. “About me?”

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t suffer from a lack of self-esteem, do you?”

He ignored that and pressed, “You should have called. I’d have come over.”

“Go away, Rafferty. I don’t have the energy for you today.”

He folded his arms and studied her, debating whether or not it was a good idea to go forward with his plan for the day in light of her obvious fatigue. “When was the last time you got any exercise?”

She shot him a disgusted look and he clarified. “I’m not talking about sex, Sage. I’m talking about strenuous outdoor activity. Hiking. Skiing. Skating. Have you done anything physical since that walk you took around the lake last week?”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but—”

“Want to see today’s gift?”

She hesitated at that, which made up Colt’s mind. She wasn’t going to let him in, so he’d draw her out. He retrieved the gift from the front porch and dangled it in front of her. “Wanna play a game?”

“A hockey stick?” She gave him a look that said, Are you crazy? “You got me a hockey stick?”

“Celeste confirmed that you already have skates. I’ve been watching, and the kids don’t show up to play until around four o’clock.”

She took a step back. “I’ve never played ice hockey. I don’t know the rules.”

“We’ll make up our rules.” He could see that she was tempted, so he took a step forward and urged, “C’mon, Cinnamon. Come out and play with me.”

She nibbled her lower lip, hesitating, before she visibly relaxed. “All right. For a little while, I guess. I need a few minutes to finish up something here. How about I meet you at the end of the point in half an hour?”

“I’ll be there.”

They spent an enjoyable hour on the ice. Sage proved to be an excellent skater and she quickly got the hang of using a hockey stick. The first time she managed to shoot the puck past him, she shouted with glee, did a spin, and gave a smile as big as Texas. With her rosy cheeks and the sunlight glinting off the red in her long curling hair, she was so beautiful that she made Colt’s teeth ache. It was all he could do not to grab her and yank her into his arms right then. She declined his dinner-and-dip-in-the-hot-tub invitation, and he didn’t press her. The fragile look she’d had earlier was gone. That was enough for now.

The following day he gave her a pack of peppermint-flavored lip balm and took her snowmobiling. The day after that he gave her a set of waders and coaxed her into fishing with him at the Taylor tailwater, which turned out to be a huge mistake because the darned woman caught one! He, once again, came up empty. How humiliating was that?

And yet the circles beneath her eyes didn’t appear quite as dark as they had before.

The next day he showed up at her door, gave her earmuffs and mittens, and challenged her to a snowball fight. That ended when the sexual hum he’d been feeling all week got the better of him and he charged her, knocked her down, and kissed her senseless.

After a few minutes of rolling in the snow with her, he lifted his head, stared down into her lovely eyes, and said, “I’ve never been this cold and this hot at the same time in my life.”

Her laughter sounded like music on the air.

He stood and reached for her hand to pull her to her feet, saying, “Want to go into town for supper with me? I haven’t eaten at the Bristlecone since I’ve been here, and I’m in the mood for one of Mrs. Hawkins’ pork chops.”

She hesitated, and he added, “C’mon. We can stop at the video store afterward and rent a movie.”

An impish look entered her eyes. “I think the latest Nicholas Sparks movie is out in video this week.”

He grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. “You like those sappy romances with the unhappy endings?”

“Occasionally.”

“Will watching it help my chances at wooing you into the hot tub?”

She gave him a considering look, and damned if his pulse didn’t speed up. “Do you really want to be a stand-in for a Gerard Butler fantasy?”

“Hey, a good fantasy life is a sign of sexual health.” He checked his watch. “How about I pick you up in an hour?”

“That’ll be good.” She gave a wave and headed for her house. Colt turned toward the Landry place, and she caught him completely by surprise when she pegged him between the shoulder blades with one last snowball. Her laughter rang out like church bells on the brisk winter air.

At the cabin, Colt thawed out in a long, hot shower, then checked his stock of wine and—just in case—changed the sheets on his bed. He drove over to Sage’s cottage and knocked on her door precisely an hour after they’d separated.

He waited. She didn’t answer. He knocked again. Still she didn’t answer. “You are not going to stand me up.”

He knocked one more time, then began fishing in his pocket for his cellphone. Suddenly the door swung open. She was barefoot, wearing a green silk robe and a fluffy white towel wrapped around her head. “Come in. I’m sorry. I’m running late. One of the galleries that shows my work called with a problem and the call dragged out. Give me ten minutes. Make yourself at home.”

As she rushed back toward her bedroom, he watched the robe cling to her butt and called, “I’d be glad to come help.…”

She shot him a disdainful look over her shoulder and he grinned and added, “No rush, Cinnamon. Take your time.” When she disappeared into her bedroom, he picked up the remote and turned on the television to fill the quiet. Thumbing through the channels, he paused at a station out of Denver.

The local news was on. A reporter was covering a charity event taking place at the Brown Palace hotel, and she was interviewing someone familiar—Ali Timberlake. When she mentioned a new children’s program being established in Eternity Springs, Colt sauntered down the hallway toward Sage’s room, intending to knock on her door and tell her what was on the television.

But as he approached her room, he saw that the door to her studio stood halfway open. Every other time he’d been inside her home, she’d kept the door to this room shut. Curiosity got the better of him and he peeked inside.

The painting on the easel stopped him in his tracks.

It was the last thing he’d expect to see on Sage Anderson’s easel.

The canvas was large, maybe three feet square. She used shades of only two colors, red and black, and the images she’d fashioned had nothing to do with fairies or pixies or butterflies.

The images weren’t even images, but rather impressions, bold strokes and slashes and circles that were raw and harsh and violent. Haunted and haunting. He was reminded of Edvard Munch’s work The Scream. It was difficult to look at, but Colt found it impossible to look away. The work was as powerful as anything he’d seen hanging in a museum.

He shifted to one side to gain a different perspective and spied a stack of paintings leaning against the wall. Curious, he flipped through them. More of the same. All red and black. All violent. All terrifying.

Colt exhaled a harsh breath and murmured, “Dear Lord.”

Was this what she saw when she shut her eyes? No wonder the woman didn’t sleep. She was haunted by something far deeper than he had imagined.

Colt knew without a doubt that she’d be angered by his snooping, and for the first time, he wondered if he truly wanted answers to his questions about Sage. Disturbed, he exited the studio and returned to the living room.

He sat in front of the television and stared at it without seeing. What sort of hell had she gone through?

He once again took stock of what he knew about her and realized that despite the time they’d spent together the last few days, he hadn’t learned all that much. Not about who she used to be, anyway. He’d discovered a lot about Sage Anderson of Eternity Springs, but for the most part, Dr. Sage Anderson still remained a mystery.

Maybe that was for the best. She obviously had her reasons for the actions she’d taken and for the privacy about those actions that she’d maintained. Maybe he should respect that. Maybe he should wait and let her come to him when she was ready.

On the other hand, given what he was considering, maybe he should redouble his efforts to discover what she was hiding.

What was best? How should he play this? She was beginning to trust him. If he pushed her, he might blow it. Maybe if he asked around the question, eventually he could get to the core.

Colt was still wrestling with the question when Sage came out of her bedroom looking like a million dollars in black slacks and a purple sweater. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I hate being late.”

“Not a problem,” he said, rising. He tried to regain his earlier, casual attitude. “You look great, Sage.”

“Thank you. I feel great.” Her smile was carefree, the look in her eyes warm. “You’ve been good for me, Rafferty. All the exercise has worked wonders. I’ll need to be sure to keep it up once you’re not around to make me do it.”

Colt considered taking the opening she’d inadvertently offered, then decided to keep it light for now. Instinct told him not to push. Besides, he really was hungry, and he didn’t want the conversation taking an appetite-spoiling turn. “I’ll call you and remind you to go throw snowballs at somebody.”

“You’re such a friend.”

“I am,” he responded, meaning it.

The Bristlecone was surprisingly busy for a winter evening, with only two available tables upon their arrival. Colt ordered the pork chops he’d been craving while she selected chicken, and the dinner conversation revolved around normal date topics such as favorite movies and books. They were halfway through their meal when the front door opened and Nic and Gabe Callahan walked in.

“Oh, dear,” Sage murmured.

Colt watched as, upon spying Sage, Nic hesitated. Gabe touched her on the shoulder and said something, then Nic nodded and veered toward their table. Sage wiped her lips with her napkin, then squared her shoulders. “Hello, Nic.”

“Hello.” Nic nodded at Colt, who stood and gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek. As he and Gabe shook hands, Nic continued, “I’m glad to see you out and about, Sage.”

Colt wondered if anyone else noticed that his dinner date subtly relaxed. “I’m feeling better.”

“Good.”

“Would you two like to join us?” Colt offered, gesturing toward their table, which could easily accommodate four.

Gabe placed his hand at Nic’s back and said, “Thanks, but my bride and I are out on a date. Nic’s mom and aunt are visiting for a few days and they’re babysitting.”

“That’s nice.” Sage drew a deep breath, then met Nic’s gaze. “I’d like to babysit for you sometime, Nic.”

Nic’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes.” Sage’s smile turned a little wobbly as she added, “Although probably the first time out I should try it one baby at a time. Or maybe ask Sarah or Celeste to team up with me to watch them both.”

Colt was surprised to see tears pool in Nic’s eyes as she responded, “We could try that. Thanks.”

“Good.” Sage cleared her throat. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Colt thought he spied a sheen in Sage’s eyes, too. He waited until the Callahans took their seats at a table across the room to ask, “Want to tell me what just happened here?”

Sage picked up her fork and pushed a green bean around on her plate. “Nic gave me a chance to apologize for a hurt I caused her, I did so, and she accepted it.”

Colt frowned, then topped off her wineglass and his. “Women are the most fascinating creatures. So are the two of you okay?”

“Well …” Sage glanced across the restaurant toward the table where the Callahans sat. “We’re better. It’s complicated.”

“Men would throw a punch or two and the trouble would be over.”

“Women are more civilized,” she said, shrugging. Then after a moment’s hesitation, she added, “But they carry grudges longer. Sarah might like to go the punch-throwing route.”

“You had a dust-up with her, too?”

“Like I said, it’s complicated. Are we going to order dessert?”

He might be a man, but he was smart enough to recognize that she’d changed the subject. “Absolutely. What do you suggest?”

As they rose to leave after dinner, they waved to the Callahans and walked out into the cold. “So, are we still on to watch a video?”

“I’m counting on it.”

“Thinking about Gerard Butler, huh?”

“Maybe.”

She smiled a cat-and-cream smile that sparked heat in his belly—a good thing, since it was cold enough outside to turn his balls blue beneath three layers of clothes. “All right, but since the temperature is hovering somewhere around ten degrees, why don’t we drive to the video store rather than walk?”

“No need to do either,” Sage said as he helped her into her coat. “I have a DVD at home for us to watch.”

“Oh?” Great. He’d hoped to influence the choice. “Let me guess—it’s P.S. I Love You?”

A wicked smile flirted at her lips. “You’ll see.”

The ride back to Hummingbird Lake was made primarily in a comfortable silence. Under other circumstances, Colt’s thoughts would have been centered on seduction, but tonight his mind kept returning to the paintings he’d seen in Sage’s studio. He couldn’t decide if he should ask her about them or not.

He was an old-timer here in Eternity Springs. He didn’t have much time to ferret out her secrets—if ferreting was what he wanted to do. He wasn’t so sure anymore.

At some point during the past week—maybe when they played hockey or when she lit up like a schoolgirl over the Slinky—Sage had become more than a puzzle for him to solve. She was no longer a beautiful woman who intrigued him, or fun company on days when solitude held no allure. She was more than a woman he wanted—rather badly—to sleep with. Sage Anderson meant more to him than that. She’d become important to him. He cared for her.

Which made his hesitation all the more confusing. Since he cared for her, shouldn’t he want to know everything about her? Shouldn’t discovering her secrets be of even greater concern to him now than when curiosity alone guided him?

This indecision wasn’t like him at all. Seeing those paintings had truly thrown him off his game.

So ask her. Be blunt. Be direct. You’d better get the details before you go back to Washington and burn bridges.

He sucked in a breath, then blew it out harshly. He would ask her. He’d pick his time and bring up the paintings and see what he could glean from her response.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“No. Not at all.” Having reached the turnoff to Reflection Point, he glanced to his right, where Sage sat in shadow, and added, “Today has been a nice day.”

“Yes, it has. It truly has.” She turned her head, and he could just make out her smile. “I’m glad you asked to borrow that cup of sugar, Rafferty.”

“Yeah?” He arched a brow. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t believe you came across with any sugar.”

“Well, play your cards right, G-man, and you might be surprised what you can beg from the neighbors.”

In the process of turning into his drive, he almost turned into a snowbank at that. He shot her a look and wished for more light to see her better. Had she meant that to sound suggestive? With this woman, he simply couldn’t tell.

He pulled the SUV to a stop and hit the remote to open the garage door, then glanced at her as soon as the automatic light pierced the darkness. She wore an enigmatic smile that told him nothing.

Once the car was parked, he walked around to open her door. “Be careful where you step. I found a leak out here earlier. There’s some ice on the ground.”

“Thanks for the warning.” She took hold of his hand and didn’t let go. His pulse jumped and he stifled a self-mocking snort. Good Lord, she had him revving like a seventeen-year-old again.

Inside, he gestured toward the great room. “Do you want to start the movie now or—”

“Now is good. Here.” Holding his gaze, she reached into her purse, pulled out the DVD, and handed it over.

Colt glanced down at the box and frowned in confusion as he read the title aloud. “Raising Cane. The story of sugarcane production in nineteenth-century Texas?”

“It’s a documentary about raising sugarcane. I’ve watched it before. It’s very boring.”

“O—kay.” He looked at the blank screen on the television, then back at her. “I don’t like my dates to be bored.”

“Oh?”

There came that damned smile again, and Colt was suddenly reminded of the look in her eyes when she’d thrown that last snowball at him. He’d had it all wrong. Forget the nickname Cinnamon—he should call her Vixen. She’d been leading him down the pine forest path all along, and he’d been too dense to recognize it.

Well, the blinders were off now.

“No. Boredom won’t do.” He reached out with his index finger to trace the V of her neckline, where her skin was as soft as the cashmere that caressed it. “Gonna let me entertain you?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I thought we’d start with that dip in the hot tub.”

“I didn’t bring my swimsuit.”

“That’s handy.” He skimmed his hand down her torso, grabbed the hem of her sweater, and whipped it up over her head. “You’re not gonna need it.”