Hummingbird Lake

FIVE





Colt winced. Ah, hell. She’d heard him. Pasting on a smile, he turned … and all but swallowed his tongue. She wore a green cocktail dress that hugged her delicious curves and made her eyes glow like emeralds.

Or maybe it was the temper snapping in her eyes that made them gleam.

“Hello, Sage.”

Sage folded her arms, lifted her chin, and demanded, “What do you mean ‘nice’?”

Colt faced a choice. He could lie to her, tell her she misheard him, slather her with flattery, and perhaps pull himself out of this hole. But, frankly, he didn’t want to do that. He tried never to lie, and he thought this woman deserved better than that from him.

“It’s … pretty,” he said. Glancing around the gallery, he spied another five or six paintings and had the same reaction. Pretty and whimsical. Passionless. Not the sort of thing he’d expect from a woman who’d shown the depth of emotion she’d demonstrated when he found her crying behind the carriage house at Angel’s Rest. That woman had emoted from every pore. “They’re pretty.”

“Pretty,” the artist repeated as if he’d insulted her firstborn.

“Hey, the world needs pretty.” He snagged two glasses of champagne from the tray of a circulating server and handed one of them to Melody, asking, “Don’t you think?”

“Well, um, yes,” his clearly uncomfortable dinner date replied.

Sage’s eyes narrowed to slits and raked him head to toe. Colt wondered if he should check himself for laser burns.

Her voice tight, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a public gathering. I saw the ad in the paper. I’m in town for a meeting.” He gestured toward the ill-at-ease woman at his side and added, “Sage Anderson, meet Melody Slaughter. Melody has visited Eternity Springs and she knows Bear.”

At that, Sage dismissed him, turned to Melody, and spoke graciously. “It’s lovely to meet you. Thank you so much for coming.”

Melody’s distress disappeared. Curious amusement replaced it as she glanced from Sage to Colt, then back to Sage again. Then with genuine warmth she said, “I’m so glad to be here. I want to tell you that your work”—she gestured to the centerpiece—“warms my heart and lifts my spirits. It makes me smile.”

Sage beamed with pleasure. She shot Colt a look just short of smug. “Let me show you a painting over here. It’s my favorite.”

She slipped her arm through Melody’s and led her away from Colt. As he watched the women go, his gaze dipped to the swing of Sage’s hips while his lips twitched with a smile. He sipped his champagne and wandered in the opposite direction, thinking he’d take a closer look at these fairies of hers.

The majority of her paintings sported tags marking them as sold. Appreciating that success, he lifted his glass in silent toast to her marketing acumen, then studied the work. He’d give her an A+ on effective use of color and texture, an A on composition, an A- on originality. But where was the emotion? Where was the energy?

The Sage Anderson he knew could do better than this.

He moved closer to one work and read the label. Pixies at Play. How ridiculous was that? What was the difference between a pixie and a fairy anyway?

Not that he had anything against fantasy. Colt liked a good fantasy as much as the next man, but this work simply didn’t do it for him. He studied the painting in front of him, noted the tiny eyes and little wings peeking out from behind a pink hibiscus flower, and shook his head. Maybe it’s a girl thing.

Or maybe painting fluff is how she copes. “Hmm,” he murmured to himself. Interesting idea.

Turning away from the paintings, he glanced around the room looking for both Sage and Melody. The crowd had thinned out in the few minutes they’d been here. He glanced at his watch. Only fifteen minutes left if they kept to the advertised time.

He didn’t see the guest of honor, but he did spy Melody conversing with an older couple. He wandered over to join her, and she introduced him to a local oilman and his wife. Colt learned that the couple already owned two paintings by Sage Anderson and had purchased another here tonight. “I smile every time I look at an Anderson,” the oilman said. “In this day and age, smiles are something to value, don’t you think?”

“I can’t argue with that,” Colt said, meaning it. That was the second “smile” comment he’d heard. Maybe he should give his position a bit more thought.

They made small talk for a few more minutes, and then the other couple took their leave. Melody turned to Colt and said, “I probably should be going soon, too.”

“All right. Why don’t we track down the elusive artist and say goodnight?”

It hadn’t escaped Colt’s notice that while Sage continued to work the room, she managed to avoid whatever section he occupied. He wished she hadn’t heard him express his reaction toward her work, but at the same time, her hostility intrigued him. Challenged him.

He positioned their approach so that Sage couldn’t see them coming and scoot away. Eavesdropping on her conversation, he discovered that she, too, was staying in a downtown hotel. Well, now. That’s convenient.

He smothered his grin when Sage turned toward them and her smile momentarily faltered. Melody said, “I need to get home, but I wanted to tell you I’m so glad to have met you. I would love to own a painting of yours someday, and that I absolutely plan on visiting your gallery next time we’re in Colorado.”

“Thank you so much,” Sage replied. “It’s been lovely to meet you, too, and I do hope to see you in Eternity Springs.”

She once again favored Colt with one of those fake smiles. “Have a good trip back to Washington, Rafferty.”

“Why, thank you, Sage. I so appreciate your good wishes.”

Colt took her hand, brought it up to his lips, and kissed it. “It’s been a revelation.”

She snatched her hand back, and Colt halfway expected to see her wipe it off on her dress. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he and Melody made their way back to her car.

“That was entertaining,” the lady observed as she slipped her key into the ignition. “I am so glad you accepted our speaking invitation, Colt. For many reasons.”

“I take it as a personal challenge never to bore my dinner dates,” he drawled. Melody laughed and pulled out onto the road, and Colt added, “Seriously, though, I appreciate having had this opportunity. You’ve given me something to think about where the job is concerned. I can see that doing this sort of outreach might be effective for our team.”

She dropped him off at his hotel with the promise to stay in touch, and Colt watched her car pull away from the curb. After checking with the bellman for the address he needed, Colt decided to walk. It was a great evening weatherwise, with mild temperatures and only a gentle breeze. Strings of white lights hung in the trees lining the streets, and an active nightlife gave Fort Worth an appealing downtown. He’d always liked visiting here as a boy. It’s a shame he didn’t get here more often.

He arrived at his destination in under ten minutes, and he was pleased to discover a restaurant next door with outside seating. Colt ordered a beer and sat down to enjoy the evening and await Sage Anderson.


“You were a rousing success, darling,” Steve Montgomery said as he pulled his car to a stop on the side street next to Sage’s hotel. “Are you absolutely certain I can’t take you to dinner to celebrate?”

“I’m certain. I’d probably fall asleep in my salad.” Sage leaned across the seat and kissed his cheek. “Thank you again for everything, Steve. You are my hero.”

“I love you, too, dear. Have a safe trip home and I’ll talk to you next week.”

Sage waved good-bye as he drove off, then turned the corner to enter her hotel. She hadn’t lied about being exhausted, but she was always exhausted. Mainly she’d skipped dinner because after two days away from Eternity Springs, the walls of the city were closing in on her. And this was only Fort Worth, Texas. Imagine what she’d feel in New York. As nice as the reception had been—well, except for that one not-so-nice surprise—she’d had her fill of people. Right now all she wanted was to hole up, order room service, and find her quiet.

Then a voice intruded. “Well, now. Isn’t this an amazing coincidence?”

Sage froze in her tracks. Colt Rafferty stood on the other side of a short iron fence marking a bar’s sidewalk seating. “No. I can’t be this unlucky. I can’t!”

He tossed cash onto his table, then easily swung his long legs over the fence. “Now that hurts my feelings.”

“Good. We’re even, then.” She started to brush past him and into the hotel lobby, but he caught her arm.

“Let me buy you dinner?”

“No, thank you.”

“C’mon. I want to ask you about your art.”

She gaped up at him in amazement. “I’m tired. I want peace and quiet. Why in the world would I let you browbeat me about my work?”

“I don’t intend to browbeat. I have honest, serious questions. This is your opportunity to show me what an idiot I am.”

“Now that has some appeal,” she admitted.

He grinned. “If you want peace and quiet, then walk with me down to the Water Gardens. It’s only a couple of blocks and it makes you forget you’re in the middle of a city. It’s a shame not to enjoy weather like this. Why don’t you go up and change and I’ll get the restaurant here to make us sandwiches?”

She hesitated, wondering why she even considered it, but finally agreed to go. “Give me ten minutes.”

“You won’t stand me up, will you?”

“While the idea amuses me, no. I’m not rude.”

Upstairs, she pulled on jeans, a knit shirt, and sneakers. The casual clothes immediately relaxed her, and she decided she was glad she’d accepted his offer. She’d intended to visit the Water Gardens on previous trips to Fort Worth, but she’d never followed through, mainly because she seldom had free time during the day and she wouldn’t go into any park—no matter how closely patrolled—by herself after dark.

Sage took the stairs down and spied Colt waiting for her by the elevator. The man truly was hot. He’d been fine to look at wearing jeans. In a suit, he was GQ-cover-model pretty.

Seeing her, he grinned, and she decided that the wink of a dimple at the corner of his mouth made him dangerous. She’d always been a sucker for dimples.

He’d come up with a canvas backpack that he carried slung over one shoulder, and his suit coat and tie had disappeared. The sleeves on his white dress shirt were turned up, the top two buttons released. Despite her best intentions to resist his charm, her stomach did a little flip-flop.

“Ready?” he asked.

Sounds of laughter and music floated on the evening air, and they walked without exchanging conversation. By the time they approached the entrance of the park, Sage’s appetite had returned. “What’s for supper?”

“Turkey sandwiches.”

“Cool.”

Colt placed his hand at the small of her back and guided her toward the Active Pool, designed as a canyon lined with rushing water. Rectangular stone blocks created a staircase of viewing platforms that allowed water to travel beneath visitors who descended to the bottom pool, almost forty feet down. Nighttime lighting made the spot breathtakingly lovely. “This is nice.”

“Yeah, it is. I love the sound of rushing water. It relaxes me.” He pointed toward the lower pool. “Would you like to go down there to sit and eat, or do you prefer it up here?”

“Here is good.”

He led her around the edge of the stone canyon to a spot away from another couple and a family with two young children also enjoying the site. They sat, and he unzipped his backpack and handed her a paper-wrapped sandwich. “So, Anderson, talk to me about your work. Why fairies?”

“Why not fairies?” she fired back. “They are fun, fancy, fantasy. They play to my strengths as an artist. I get to experiment with color and motion.” She gestured toward the water spilling down the steps. “What has the architect achieved with this creation? Speaking for myself, his work inspires me. It soothes me. It speaks to my senses and it makes me smile. I’ve had people use those same words in response to my pixie paintings.”

He nodded. “I heard people say it tonight, that your work makes them smile.”

“That’s a wonderful compliment.”

“Yeah, it is. I’m not saying otherwise.”

Sage took a bite of her sandwich, then sipped from the bottle of water he’d provided. “No, you used the words okay and nice.”

“And pretty. I said they were pretty, too.”

“Careful there, Rafferty,” she drawled. “Your effusive praise will embarrass me.”

“Hey now. For a creative person, aren’t you being a bit thin-skinned? Isn’t putting up with criticism part of the job?”

She wrinkled her nose and shrugged. “Frankly, that depends on who is doing the criticizing and whether or not I respect him.”

“Zing.” He made a show of wincing.

“Look, I will admit that finances play a part in what I do. Making one’s living as an artist requires a measure of practicality to coexist with the artistic muse. I paint what I paint now because I’m building a brand that’s been well accepted by the art world. I’d be a fool to abandon it at this point.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yes, it does,” she replied, proud of the way she’d made her points.

She took another bite of her sandwich and focused on the water cascading down the terraces and steps below her. The effect was mesmerizing, and she could feel the tensions of her day melt away. She’d enjoyed the reception. She’d been thrilled by the positive responses and sales, but being “on” wore a girl out. It was nice to sit here and share a sandwich and trade insults with a handsome man. Almost made her feel mellow. “This really is a great spot.”

“I’ll show you the rest of the gardens after we finish supper. If you’re still talking to me, that is.”

Sage gave him a sidelong look. “Are you gonna make fun of my paintings?”

“Nope. But I am going to confess that I went to the reception tonight with the thought of buying one. I’ve thought about you a lot since September. I liked the idea of having one of your paintings hanging on my wall.” He finished off his sandwich, then added, “But I can’t do fairies, Sage. Or butterflies. Don’t you paint anything else?”

A vision of her nightmare paintings floated into her mind, but she firmly shut them out. “I don’t want to be on your wall, Rafferty.”

He waggled his brows. “Holding out for my bed, are you?”

“Very funny.”

He rolled to his feet and slung his backpack over his shoulder, then held out his hand to her. “Let me show you the other pools. The Quiet Pool at night is one of my favorite places in town.”

She put her hand in his, and he pulled her to her feet. He kept a firm grip on her hand as they crossed an open area to a pool with multiple fountains, and Sage’s artist’s eye noted the visual illusion of a floor of tiles created by sprays of water collapsing in on itself. “How fun. It looks as if you could walk right across it.”

As they moved closer, their path took them beneath the spreading branches of oak trees. Away from the cascading water of the Active Pool, Sage now became aware of the squeaks, whistles, and croaks of birds in the trees above. Must be dozens of birds, she thought.

“Down this way,” Colt said, leading her toward a set of stairs that narrowed as they descended, the spatial change intensifying the noise made by the birds. At the bottom, a turn took them into a sunken garden where water flowed down angled walls and tall, knobby-kneed cypress trees ringed a rectangular turquoise reflecting pool like sentries. “Oh, the colors,” she murmured.

“I knew you’d like this.”

They were alone. Hand in hand, they strolled beside the pool, where an elevated bank rose a foot or so off the ground. The nighttime lighting was muted but for the underwater lights that caused the water to shimmer. Despite the noise from the flock of chattering birds above, the place was tranquil and serene—and also the most romantic spot she’d found herself sharing with a man for years.

She turned to discover him watching her. “You brought me here with an ulterior motive, didn’t you, Rafferty?”

“Yep.” He reached for her free hand and tugged her around to face him. “I’ve replayed that kiss we shared in September dozens of times in my mind. Refresh my memory, Cinnamon.”

Rafferty wasn’t the first man to assign her a nickname based upon her hair color, but he did get points for originality. Cinnamon. She kinda liked it.

His hands moved to her waist and he pulled her close, aligning her body to his so that her soft, feminine curves met his firm, masculine angles. Her heartbeat began to thrum and she lifted her arms, swaying into him, clasping her hands behind his neck.

His lips brushed across hers, just a whisper, but enough to cause heat to flare within her. Then, again, as soft as a feather, testing and teasing and prolonging the anticipation.

She’d missed this, Sage admitted as she allowed her hands to skim across the breadth of his shoulders. His clever fingers answered by skimming up and down her spine, leaving tingles in their wake.

He nibbled her lips, traced them with his tongue, then finally, finally, fitted his mouth against hers and swept Sage into a storm of pleasure.

A glorious warmth flowed out from her center as she lost herself in the moment. Colt Rafferty might be at times obnoxious and infuriating, but my oh my, the man knew how to kiss. He bombarded her senses in a way that praised and promised and proved irresistible. Only a fool would avoid this caress, this mouth, this man.

He wasn’t in any hurry, savoring her mouth in such a way that allowed her to savor in return. To take pleasure in the strength of his embrace. To relish the taste of him, the scent of him, and to bask in the sound of his desire.

He wanted her. She felt it in the taut muscles and hard angles pressed against her, heard it in his low-throated moan. She listened to him. Listened to the sound of … birds … hundreds of birds above her. Around her. Screeching birds. Shrieking monkeys.

Stinking bodies.

Harsh hands.

Brutal men.

The rebels’ truck threaded its way through the jungle on the rutted road. Sage sat wedged between two dirty, sweaty men in the cab. The driver never looked her way. The other man never stopped leering.

The sound of the jungle closed in on her—pants, snorts, caws, chatters, cackles, and roars. Her mouth was dry. Her heart pounded. She’d never been so frightened in her life. A brutal hand grabbed at her breast. Sage closed her eyes and prayed.

The driver barked an order too fast for her to follow with her limited command of the language, but after giving her one more squeeze, the hand released her. She released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

They traveled for an hour, then two. She needed to pee. Between the stink and the fear, she feared she might vomit. The damned monkeys were driving her mad. Finally the driver braked and turned onto a path, then stopped. The men in the truck bed bailed out. Groper opened his door, grabbed Sage by the upper arm, and pulled her from the truck. He shoved her in front of him, pointed toward an armed gunman, and barked a word she did understand. “Go.”

Okay. I’m okay. She silently repeated the words she’d kept running through her mind since they marched her away from Peter. This isn’t a random kidnapping. They want me for a purpose.

Noting that the rebel who took up position behind her carried her medical bag reassured her that it was the truth.

Sage swiped a hand across her sweaty brow, then swatted at an insect the size of a small bird buzzing around her. Okay. I’m okay. I’m done being afraid. They’re gonna do what they’re gonna do and I’ll deal with it.

If only the birds and the monkeys would stop their incessant clamor.

After what was probably a fifteen-minute hike, they broke from the trees onto a clearing. Sage counted seven huts. The Zaraguinas led her toward the largest of the huts, set off to one side, where the leading man knocked on the door.

A moment later the door opened. Murmured words were exchanged, then Sage was shoved inside—where the rebel leader, Ban Ntaganda, lay on a blood-soaked bed. He pointed a bloodstained finger toward her and said, “Dr. Sage.”

“Sage? Sage?” Hands gripped her shoulders and shook her. “Sage! Holy crap, what did I do? It was a kiss. Just a kiss. I didn’t grope you or anything. Don’t scream like that.”

She emerged slowly from the flashback. Not Africa, but not home, either.

“Sage?”

Not Ntaganda. Rafferty. Colt Rafferty. I’m in Fort Worth. Those weren’t gunshots. City workers fired air guns downtown at night to chase the grackles away. The birds made a huge mess and created a health hazard. She’d read about it in the newspaper.

“Okay. I’m okay,” she said, repeating her litany aloud.

“Why did you scream? What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m okay.”

“So you’ve said a dozen times, but I’m not believing it. I think we’d better get you to a doctor and—”

“I’m a police officer. Step away from the lady, sir,” demanded a loud, forceful voice.

“Hey, I need help here,” Colt replied.

“I said step away, sir.”

Colt muttered a curse beneath his breath, then held up his hands and backed away.

“Ma’am? You screamed. Can you tell me what’s wrong? Was this man attacking you?”

She’d screamed? Sage glanced to the right to see a uniformed officer walking toward them. “No, no. I’m fine. I’m sorry. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why the scream?”

Sage looked back toward Colt. His jaw was set, but beyond that, she couldn’t read his expression. Clearing her throat, she offered the cop a shaky smile. “It was a rat. A rat ran across my foot. It scared me. I’m sorry for the commotion.”

He continued to look suspiciously at Colt, who hadn’t moved. Sage moved forward and slipped her arm through his, adding, “I’ve always been deathly afraid of rodents.”

After a long moment, the cop nodded. “All right, then. We haven’t had a rodent problem here, but I’ll be sure the right people hear about this. You two enjoy your night.”

“Thank you, we will,” Sage said. Turning to Colt, she asked, “Ready to go?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, his voice grim.

They headed for the nearest exit, a staircase across the pool from the one they’d descended, and they didn’t speak again until they’d exited the Water Gardens and were back on the city street. There, Colt shoved his hands in his pockets and asked, “Do you want to explain what just happened?”

Sage opened her mouth to speak, but then exhaustion overcame her. Muscle-draining, bone deep, debilitating. She didn’t think she could move another step. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Talk to me, Sage.”

“I can’t. I’m so tired. I need to go to bed. Could you help me get a cab?”

“Your hotel is two blocks away.”

“I can’t make it, Colt. Please? Just … forget it. Forget me. I can’t deal and I need to go to sleep.”

Sage knew that cabs weren’t all that easy to find in Fort Worth, but luckily, they were across from a high-rise hotel, complete with a cab queue. Colt set his jaw even harder, then nodded curtly. He whistled and waved over a cab, and when it arrived, he opened the door for her, then shut it behind her, not quite a slam, but close.

He gave the driver a twenty and her hotel’s name, saying, “Keep the change but watch and make sure she gets inside, okay?”

“Sure, man. Thanks.”

To Sage, he said, “This is my hotel, so I’ll tell you good-bye here.”

“Colt, I’m sorry, I’m just so tired.”

“Doesn’t matter. Goodnight.”

Then he was gone.