Hummingbird Lake

NINE





Since his job often brought him into contact with people in the midst of horrific circumstances, Colt was familiar with tears that poured from the soul. They were different from those that flowed from the heart or those from the part of the brain that registered physical pain. Soul tears had a unique depth, a singular intensity, that signaled pain that almost couldn’t be borne. Soul tears were those that a person saved for the big things and shed on rare occasions.

The first time he’d seen Sage Anderson cry, she’d offered up soul tears. Here again, the same.

His own heart ached a little for her as he held her. His interest in the mystery of her increased. What was the genesis of her pain?

Because he was a man who tried never to overlook any possibility when attempting to solve a puzzle, he entertained the notion that she might have him fooled. Had he read her wrong? Maybe she was no more than a bubbleheaded drama queen who screamed over a kiss and lost it over something no more serious than a parking ticket. After all, the woman painted fairies for a living.

Following a moment’s consideration, he shook his head. It simply didn’t ring true. His instincts were telling him that this woman in his arms carried wounds as deep and as painful as any borne by those he’d encountered through his work.

“Attagirl,” he murmured. She remained oblivious while he eased her out of her coat. “You get rid of all that poison. Just wash it away.”

Her fist held the flannel of his shirt clenched in a tight grip. Her entire body trembled and shuddered. Little kitten mewls of pain escaped her. She was pitiful to behold, a strong woman brought low. He cuddled her a bit more tightly against himself and started to speak.

“I grew up in a midsized town in Texas about an hour from Houston. When I was eight years old, my dad bought a little runabout boat and we spent every day we could steal at the lake. We always packed a cooler with sandwiches and drinks, and we’d tie up or anchor in a cove or creek off the main body of water to have our lunch. After lunch, we’d diaperize—which in the Rafferty family lexicon meant wearing your life jacket upside down, with your legs through the armholes and the jacket around your butt like a diaper. That way you floated with your shoulders above the water without doing much work—it made it easier for my dad to drink a beer. Anyway, we’d float for a while and talk about baseball or the upcoming college football season—important things.”

Sage sniffled and shuddered, and Colt couldn’t tell if she was hearing him or not. Nevertheless, he continued. “My younger brother was one of the most annoying kids on the planet, a total show-off. He also liked to fish. We always kept a fishing pole or two in the boat. So one day during our float time after lunch, he decided it would be a good idea to fish while he was in the water. He diaperized, jumped in with this pole, and started casting. Think he was using a spinner bait, if I remember correctly.”

Colt tugged a tissue from the box atop the lamp table beside the rocking chair. He set it within reach of her hand, then continued his tale. “My aunt and uncle were with us that day, and Uncle John had just climbed back into the boat and begun to towel off when Jason called out, ‘I caught one.’ He’d hooked a six-inch sand bass.”

He saw her fingers snag the tissue, and she brought it up to her face and wiped her eyes. Colt smiled. “Jason held his rod up out of the water and he was turning the reel, winding in the line, when all of a sudden that fish turned on him. Started swimming right toward him. Jason let out a yelp and started paddling backward, backstroking with one arm and holding the fishing pole out of the water with the other.”

Sage held out her hand and wiggled her fingers, and he handed her another tissue. As she blew her nose, he said, “The fish swam right up his swim trunks and got wedged inside because of the life vest. Jason squealed and my mom hollered. Uncle Johnny laughed so hard that he fell out of the boat.” Colt grinned at the memory, then added, “That was a great day.”

A half minute of silence ticked by. Without lifting her head from his chest, Sage spoke in a soft, slightly peeved tone. “Why in the world did you tell me that story?”

“I don’t know.” He combed his fingers through the auburn curls that spilled down her back. “Just seemed like the thing to do.”

“You were trying to distract me.”

Of course. “Maybe.”

Following another half minute of quiet, she added, this time with a bit of petulance, “With a fish story.”

He stroked his fingers up and down her arm. “A good fish story, you have to admit.”

He continued to rock her, and she remained snuggled up against him, limp and relaxed and awash in a fragrance that smelled of springtime. In that moment, Colt wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else in the world.

Eventually she said, “Last time I sat in your lap and cried you kissed me.”

“Yeah.” His smile widened at that particular memory. “Unfortunately, the last time I kissed you, you screamed.”

“I apologized,” she said, stiffening a bit.

“Yes, you did.”

“I wouldn’t do it again.”

He trailed a finger along her arm. “Well now, that sounds like an invitation.”

She didn’t respond, but he sensed her anticipation. It would be so easy to sink into that mouth, but following a moment’s thought, and with a full measure of regret, he said, “As enticing as I find the idea, I think I’ll choose a different direction today. I don’t want to be predictable.”

She sniffed with disdain, and seeing a little of her starch return only made him want to kiss her all the more. While the devastated Sage touched his heart, the prickly woman stirred him farther south, so to speak.

Colt liked puzzles and he loved challenges. Sage Anderson was both, all wrapped up in a gorgeous package. His sojourn in the snowdrifts promised to be more interesting than he’d expected.

He also liked women. A lot. He’d been involved in two separate long-term relationships since his “starter marriage” ended. He’d cared deeply for both women, and each time he’d believed they were headed for marriage. He had a few scars from the subsequent breakups, but nothing that had turned him off the idea of marriage.

Following that twinge of envy he’d experienced in the Callahan kitchen, he’d just about decided that in addition to that home and dog he wouldn’t mind having, he might like a wife and children, too. Once he returned to Washington, maybe he’d step up his participation in the dating scene.

In the meantime, since he wasn’t dating anyone seriously back home, he could consider making a play for the intriguing bundle presently in his arms. Yet he held back. She obviously had some issues to deal with. He didn’t want to do anything that would make her situation worse.

Although sometimes a carefree, no-strings-attached fling improved a person’s outlook. Maybe that was the medicine she needed.

He picked up a strand of her fire-streaked hair and let the silken curl slide along his fingers. “So, are you dating anyone right now?”

“No.” Again she sniffed. “If I was, it’d be pretty scuzzy of me to be sitting here like this. I may be the Wicked Witch of Eternity Springs, but I’m not scuzzy.”

Wicked Witch of Eternity Springs? “Why aren’t you dating?”

“It’s not really any of your business.”

He expected her to push out of his arms at that point, but she remained right where she was, which pleased him. “Now, see, I can’t agree with that. Look at it from my perspective. Say the reason for your, um, distress was a fight with your boyfriend, and you broke up, so you aren’t lying when you tell me you’re single. Say said ex realizes what an idiot he’s been and comes rushing out here to beg your forgiveness. He might see your car stopped in the drive and your footsteps in the snow and follow you to my cabin. If he looked in the window and saw you in my arms, he might burst in and brandish his rapier and challenge me to a duel.”

“Have you been talking to Ali Timberlake?”

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re ridiculous.”

“Made you smile, though, didn’t I? I felt it against my strong, muscular chest.” Her only response was a snort, but since it was a sleepy sort of snort, he allowed the silence to continue. Soon her body relaxed even more and he knew she’d fallen asleep.

Colt would have been content to hold her for hours, but when his phone rang and he recognized his brother’s ring tone, he knew if he didn’t answer, Jason would continue to call until he did. His brother was annoying like that.

Rising, he carried Sage to the sofa and gently laid her down. She stirred but didn’t awaken. He covered her with a woolen throw and moved to answer the phone.

He saw that Jason had left him a voice mail, but rather than answer it, he returned the call.

Jason answered on the first ring. “Hey, bro. Did you get my message?”

“Didn’t listen to it. What’s up?”

“I’m headed your way tomorrow for a meeting at the Pentagon. Gonna be there a couple of days. Are you gonna be around? I’d love to see you.”

Regret washed through Colt. “I’m not in Washington.”

“Well, shoot. I knew my chances of finding you in town were slim, but I had my hopes up. We missed you at Christmas, Colt.”

He closed his eyes. He’d been on call at the office and unable to get back to Texas. “It was a damned lonely holiday.”

“So where are you this time?”

Colt hesitated, uncertain whether he wanted to share his professional frustrations with his family. Every Rafferty in the clan would feel the need to weigh in on the matter. The Raffertys were like that.

On the other hand, his relatives were smart, savvy, and for the most part happy with their lives. He could use their guidance. “I’m in Colorado. Actually, Jason, I’m in Eternity Springs. Wait until you hear why.”

Warm and relaxed and oh so comfortable, Sage drifted awake slowly, an unfamiliar scent teasing her nose. Citrus, sandalwood, and musk—a masculine scent. A man. Her eyes flew open. Oh, dear.

A man’s bed.

Colt Rafferty’s bed.

Yesterday’s events roared down upon her thoughts like an avalanche and made her want to burrow under the covers and never come out. The snit she’d thrown at quilt group. Sobbing on Colt Rafferty’s shoulder. She’d been embarrassed the last time she’d done it. This time she was mortified.

She didn’t remember him carrying her to bed. He’d taken off her shoes, but nothing else, thank goodness. How long had she slept? An hour, maybe? Two?

At that point, it registered that the light in the room was coming not from a lamp, but from the sun. Sage rolled over and sat up. Sunlight? She’d slept the whole night?

“I slept the whole night,” she said aloud.

No wonder she felt so deliciously comfortable, so wonderfully rested. She’d almost forgotten how great sleeping through the night felt. Glancing around the bedroom for a clock, she spied one on the dresser to her right, read the time, blinked, then looked again. Eight-thirty? She’d slept, what, twelve hours? Wow. Just wow. If she hadn’t been so mortified about the circumstances, she’d have leapt up and shouted hurrah.

She did allow herself a silent fist pump before throwing back the covers and quietly rising from the bed. With any luck at all, Colt would already be out and about for the day, and she wouldn’t have to face him. Or he’d still be asleep in one of the loft bedrooms upstairs.

After a quick stop in the master bathroom, she took a deep breath and opened the door. The aroma of frying bacon swirled in the air. She probably wouldn’t be able to slip out unseen. Okay, then. No big deal. She could handle a little mortification after twelve hours of sleep. Sage squared her shoulders, braced herself, and walked toward the living area—where she encountered a sight that took her breath away.

Wearing nothing but gym shorts and sneakers, Colt Rafferty sat with his back to her on a weight bench doing biceps curls with dumbbells. For a long moment she stood and stared. Heavens, he was gorgeous, the scars on his back notwithstanding. Old scars. Burns, she realized. Wonder how he got them?

Colt’s muscles bunched, then released, bunched, then released, and Sage stood mesmerized. She wished the owner of this cabin weren’t such a fitness buff that he’d outfitted his vacation cabin with exercise equipment.

She thought she might have made a little strangled sound, because Colt turned and gave her a slow grin that displayed those faint dimples of his to perfection. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

She swallowed hard. “Good morning.”

“Do you feel better?”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure what I feel is mortified.”

“Don’t be.” He set down the weights, then stood facing her. Sage swallowed hard a second time. The man had a six-pack.

To her relief, he grabbed the T-shirt draped over the handle of a treadmill and slipped it on. “Last night was the nicest evening I’ve spent in a long time. Nothing to be mortified about.”

The nicest evening? Warily she said, “All I remember is crying on your shoulder.”

“You were soft and warm and you smelled delicious. I enjoyed holding you.”

The wicked glint in his eye compelled her to ask, “And that’s all you did? Hold me?”

His expression went innocent. “What? You think I’d do something rude like cop a feel once you’d fallen into an exhausted sleep?”

She narrowed her eyes but decided to drop it. It was a no-win situation for her. “Well, I need to get home. Thanks for your patience, and I promise not to bother you like that again.”

“Stay and have breakfast with me, Sage. It’s ready, and I waited for you.”

Under the circumstances, she couldn’t bring herself to be boorish enough to refuse, though she had little appetite. “I’m not hungry, but I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea,” she conceded.

“Bacon and biscuits are ready. How do you like your eggs?”

“I don’t—”

“I’m having mine scrambled. That okay with you?”

Why did everyone in town persist in fixing breakfast for her? Did they think she didn’t eat?

“I have a jar of homemade raspberry jam that Nic gave me for the biscuits,” he added.

Sage surrendered. “Scrambled is fine.”

The tea was strong and hot and hit the spot and, to be honest, the food did, too. She expected to sit down to bacon and the third degree. Instead, to her surprise, he took the conversation in a completely different direction. “I talked to my brother last night and told him I was here and why. I realized my stress level already has dropped significantly. From the time I hit the city limits sign, I’ve hardly worried about my work. I’ve spent my time visiting with old friends and catching up on local news. It’s been great. Just what I needed. I’ve decided to go do some Taylor River fishing today. The weather looks good for it, and maybe this time of the year, it won’t be combat fishing out there.”

“Combat fishing?”

“Battling for a fishing spot. Too many fishermen on the river in the summer anymore to be any fun. Anyway, the guys at the outfitters shop fixed me up with some Gore-Tex waders and the other cold-weather gear I’ll need. I’m excited. It’s hard not to relax when you’re fishing. So what are your plans for the day?”

She thought about her explosion at quilt group and knew she probably should make the rounds to apologize, but she needed to think through what she wanted to say first. “It’s a workday for me today.”

“I need to stop by and see your gallery while I’m here. I’d have stopped in yesterday when I visited Gabe’s building, but you had a Closed sign hanging on the door.”

“The gallery is open by appointment only this time of year,” Sage replied. She almost mentioned the remodeling that would begin today, but stopped herself just in time. She didn’t need him wandering over for sugar of any sort while he was renting the house next door. “There’s nothing to see there now, anyway. I send most of what I exhibit to another gallery during the off-season, although now that Angel’s Rest is open and so well occupied, I don’t plan to do it again next year.”

Which was why she’d decided to remodel this winter.

He kept the conversation to small talk as they finished breakfast. She helped him clean up, then eyed her coat, which was hanging by his front door. “I need to get to work, and you need to catch some trout.”

“Absolutely.” He wiped his hands on a white flour-sack dish towel, then slung it over his shoulder and shot her a friendly grin. “You know, the spot I’m fishing is strictly catch and release, or I’d invite you over to dinner tonight for a fish fry.”

While she searched for something noncommittal to say, he continued, “Although I’ll bet there’s a restaurant in town where we could get trout. My mouth will likely be watering for it after a day on the river hauling them in. How about it?”

“Thanks, but I already have plans,” she replied, smiling weakly.

It wasn’t strictly a lie. Tonight she had reserved for a chick flick DVD marathon.

“All right.” He flashed an easy grin. “Maybe another time.”

Sage slipped into her coat, reached for the doorknob, and paused. “Colt, I … um … about last night. I … well … you were very kind. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” He waited until she’d stepped out into the cold morning air to add, “Sage, in my job, I do a lot of listening. I’ve heard some seriously difficult stories. If you decide you want to talk, I’m here. If you don’t want to talk, I’m still here.”

She paused, looked up at a brilliant blue winter sky, and felt a wave of memory roll over her. She smelled the blood. Tasted the metallic flavor of fear. Terror and horror and grief all but brought her to her knees.

Sage swallowed the lump in her throat and fought her way back to the moment. Then, glancing over her shoulder, she met Colt Rafferty’s solemn gaze. “You’ve never heard a story like mine. Pray that you never will.”


Writers dream of making The New York Times bestseller list. Football players imagine how a Super Bowl championship ring would look on their hands. Poker players wait for the hand that draws a royal flush. Trout fishermen—serious trout fishermen—dream of landing a Taylor River rainbow.

The fish grew to record size and glorious color as a result of a steady diet of mysis shrimp flushed through the Taylor Reservoir dam’s bottom-release tube and served up as easy prey to the trout below the dam. Seven summers ago, Colt had watched another angler pull a twenty-pound rainbow from the water, and he had vowed to land one himself. Despite numerous tries since then, he’d never managed to coax one of the monster rainbows into taking his hook, much less actually land one. His excuse had been the wall-to-wall fishermen at the catch-and-release section right below the dam.

Colt told himself that today, with the temperature gauge in his SUV reading right at eleven degrees, he’d be shocked to find another fisherman on the river. After all, only an idiot would voluntarily wade into water to fish under these conditions. When he arrived at the Taylor River tailwater and spied half a dozen cars, he sighed aloud and prepared to join the other idiots. Luckily, the temperature had risen to a balmy seventeen by the time he gathered his gear and exited his SUV. It was a beautiful day, without a breath of wind or cloud in the sky, and he paused a moment to get his bearings. Multiple sets of footprints in the snow led toward the water’s edge, but he recalled a particular pool a little farther downstream he wanted to try, so he struck off through the three-foot snowdrifts in the hope of finding an unoccupied spot.

The exercise, along with his cold-weather gear, kept him relatively warm despite the winter chill. He arrived at the riverbank and smiled to see that this stretch of the Taylor remained empty of fishermen. Excellent. Provided it wasn’t empty of fish, too.

Colt spread out a waterproof tarp, set down his gear, climbed into his waders, then mulled a moment over his tackle. On the advice of Randy at the outfitters shop, he’d laid in a supply of long leaders and small tippet. This time of year, the fish hung out in the long, deep runs, where they could conserve their energy, so he planned to get down and dredge the bottom with nymphs such as midge patterns, worms, eggs, and other small beadheads.

Finally, with a grin on his face and hope in his heart, he waded into the river with his sights set on a flat-topped rock that rose out of knee-deep water. Randy had also advised that he’d last a lot longer on the river if he could keep his feet out of the water. Gore-Tex could only do so much.

Within minutes, he made his first cast and finally got his hook wet. By the fourth cast, a lingering tension flowed from his muscles, and as Colt relaxed, he started to think.

To be precise, he started to remember. He recalled fishing here with his dad and brother. As boys, he and Jason hadn’t had the patience for fly-fishing, so after half an hour or so of casting but not catching, he and his brother would set down their fishing poles and go exploring.

He’d never forget the time they stumbled across Bear while out in the woods. Upon seeing Eternity Springs’ own authentic mountain man—a tall, hairy bear of a man—they truly believed they had encountered Bigfoot. Colt laughed aloud at the memory.

“Now, that’s a lovely sound to hear on a winter morning,” came a feminine voice off to his right.

He turned to look, and his jaw dropped. “Celeste?”

She was dressed in white cold-weather gear but for a pair of gold waders. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, her eyes shone a happy, brilliant blue, and her smile was the warmest thing in the county.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Her look went droll. “I’m baking cookies, of course.”

Colt winced. “Right. Dumb question. I’m surprised to see you here, that’s all.”

“I try not to be predictable. It’s one of my charms.”

He nodded in acceptance, then asked the usual fisherman’s query. “Having any luck?”

“Well now, that depends on how one defines luck. I have yet to catch a fish, but I have seen an elk this morning, and I’ve been able to listen to the music of water rushing over rocks. That’s something I treasure, and I miss it this time of year when Angel Creek is frozen over. I’m here in this majestic place with a bright sun shining above, doing something that brings me pleasure, while my wool socks and waders have kept my feet relatively warm. I believe I’m having exceptional luck.”

“You make an excellent point,” Colt conceded.

They fished in companionable silence for a time. The sunshine warmed him, and Colt had a couple of nibbles, but he never managed to land a thing. In addition to being supersized, the Taylor River rainbows were smart, which made landing one all the more challenging.

As time passed, Colt’s thoughts drifted to the last summer he’d spent in Eternity Springs. If he’d known then that he wouldn’t make it back for three years, he’d have spent more time that summer fishing. He missed that particular perk of being a college professor.

What about the rest of it? As he pulled in his line to change flies, he considered the question. Did he regret leaving Georgia Tech? No. The academic world had its own brand of politics that he didn’t like any better than Washington’s. It certainly had its own overflowing supply of red tape, too.

He did miss the kids—well, some of them, anyway. Unfortunately for both students and professors, too often true learning was sacrificed to the work of making grades. What he’d enjoyed most was finding the occasional student whose mind was turned on to learning.

He’d recruited a few of those types of minds to the CSB over the past couple of years, and he had great teams working with him—smart, dedicated, compassionate people. Not a slacker among them. With specialized work such as theirs, people made all the difference. They were a joy to work with, and he needed to remember them when the bureaucrats—or bureau-rats—dragged him down.

“I have a fishing tip for you,” Celeste said. “You can’t frown a fish onto your line.”

He glanced up to see that she’d moved to stand on a rock a few feet away. She fished in the opposite direction from him.

Colt grinned ruefully. “Maybe not, but nothing else seems to be working, either.” He hesitated a moment, then confessed, “I was thinking about my job.”

“Yes, I suspected as much.”

“Working in Washington is as frustrating as trying to land a Taylor River rainbow.”

“And yet you stand here in freezing water on a cold winter’s day.”

He sighed heavily. “I think I have a chance to catch a fish. I’m not so sure about getting the necessary safety regulations passed.”

“You thrive on challenge, Colt Rafferty. Therein lies your answer.”

Colt was about to ask her to elaborate when her line went taut. Over the next few minutes, he watched her pull in a huge, colorful Taylor River rainbow. It was so big, in fact, that she needed help holding it while she freed the hook.

“I swear these fish are on steroids,” Colt said. “I’ll bet this one weighs twenty-five pounds.”

“It’s certainly one of the heavier ones I’ve caught here.”

He gave her a sidelong look. “How many is that?”

“Hmm … I haven’t been able to get away as much as I like since Angel’s Rest opened. This is only my third time up here in the past six months. I think I’ve caught seven fish, counting this one.”

“You average two a trip?” He didn’t know whether to congratulate her or whine. “Whoa. What do you fish with, Celeste?”

“I tie my own flies, and it’s my own special design. I call it an angel kiss.” She gestured to the tackle box at her feet. “Would you like to try one?”

“I absolutely would. Thanks.”

While Colt set about changing his tackle, he brought the conversation back to the question he’d been poised to ask before she hooked the monster. “What did you mean a few minutes ago about an answer?”

Satisfaction flickered in Celeste’s blue eyes. “You fish for answers. Perhaps you’ve landed red herrings and you should try your luck elsewhere.”

“Red herrings?” he repeated. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Think about it, dear.”

At that, her line again went tight, and after she landed an even bigger trout, she declared she’d had enough fishing for the day and took her leave. Determined not to be outdone by a woman twice his age, Colt redoubled his efforts to catch one of the wily rainbows and tried every type of tackle in his box. Still, the fish eluded him.

When he reached the point of fearing frostbite on his toes, he admitted defeat and pulled in his line. He gathered up his gear and trudged back through the snow toward his car, cold, disappointed, but already thinking about the next time out. Arriving at the SUV, he spied something sitting on the center of the hood and he pulled up short. “What in the world?”

A hunk of wood—aspen—weighted down a piece of paper. He lifted it and removed the note, recognizing Celeste’s handwriting.

“Of course. Who else would it be?” he murmured. He opened the driver’s-side door, slipped inside, and started the engine. As he waited for the vehicle to warm up, he studied the wood for a long moment, then read the note.

Dear Colt,

Do you recall the conversation we had when I first spoke with you about creating the sign for Angel’s Rest? I asked you how you decided what to carve from any particular block of wood. You offered me a lovely explanation about how you’d hold a block of wood in your hands and open your mind to possibilities, and soon the image you were meant to carve would take shape.

I spied this piece of aspen as I left the river, and it occurred to me that you might find the exercise beneficial in regard to your current dilemma. 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.

Something wonderful is waiting for you, Colt. Open your eyes and see it.

Your friend,

Celeste

“Hmm,” he murmured, folding the note and tossing it on the dashboard.

He glanced at the aspen log and shook his head. Celeste Blessing was a sweetheart, but she was also one strange bird. See his path in a hunk of wood? Path to what?

“I could carve a club to beat up the nine-to-fivers with, I guess,” he muttered.

The auto heater began blowing warm air. Colt tugged off his gloves and held his half-frozen fingers up to the vent. Once he’d thawed out enough to feel again, he put the SUV into gear, pulled out onto the road, and headed for Eternity Springs. While he drove, he reflected on the day. Life should be full of days like today. Beginning with sharing breakfast with a beauty, then communing with nature for the majority of the day—even if the trout whipped his ass. Topping it off with a fish dinner with Dr. Sage Anderson would have been nice, but hey, no sense being greedy.

Thoughts of his neighbor at Hummingbird Lake lingered in his mind as he drove toward Eternity. Sexy Sage. Brokenhearted beauty. He’d been shocked to find her at his door last night. Despite the fact that she’d cried in his arms on two separate occasions, something about her made him doubt that she indulged in tears all that often. She was a mystery, an enigma.

She’d screamed when he kissed her, but she’d cuddled against him and slept like a kitten.

He blew out a heavy sigh. Shoot, it might be easier to get all the safety measures he wanted adopted by the appropriate agencies than to piece together the puzzle that was Sage Anderson, physician and artist. The woman had DEFCON 1 defenses.

Colt’s route took him through Gunnison, and in the middle of town he stopped at a red light. As he waited for it to change, a display in the window of a flower shop caught his attention. He grinned. When the light changed, he claimed the parking spot in front of Columbine Flowers.

When he walked in, the woman behind the counter set down the paperback book she’d been reading and smiled. “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”

“I hope so. Could I get a flower arrangement made right away?”

“Absolutely. What would you like?”

“Something for a woman. Bright and cheerful. Friendly rather than romantic. And I’d like it in that vase.” He pointed toward the ceramic vase in the window that had lured him into the shop.

The woman behind the counter blinked. “We usually send that to men.”

“I can see why you would, but it’s perfect for my purposes.”

“All right, then. I’ll have it ready for you in …” She glanced at the wall clock. “Twenty minutes?”

“Excellent.” Colt flashed a satisfied smile, then asked, “I missed lunch, and I noticed the café across the street. Food any good there?”

“It’s wonderful. I had today’s special for lunch and it was beyond excellent.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s the special?”

“Fried trout.”

Colt laughed. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect. I’ll be back for my flowers after lunch.”

“They’ll be ready.”

Colt gave the flower lady a quick salute, then exited the flower shop and crossed the street to the restaurant. Sometimes things simply fell into place.


Following a full and rewarding day at the easel, Sage fixed tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich for supper, then sprawled on the sofa, remote in hand, and was preparing to indulge in some University of Colorado basketball and their too-hot coach, Anthony Romano, when her phone rang.

For a long moment, she didn’t move but simply allowed it to ring. It was probably Sarah calling, maybe Nic. She should answer and apologize for her outburst last night, but she simply didn’t have the heart for it. So she let the phone ring until it stopped.

It rang again five minutes later. Again she allowed it to go on until it went silent after ten rings. When it sounded again two minutes later, she gave up and switched on her answering machine.

To her surprise, once her leave-a-message recording played, the voice she heard wasn’t one of her ticked-off girlfriends.

“I know you’re there,” Colt Rafferty’s voice rumbled from the answering machine. “I see the lights.”

Listening to him, Sage felt her pulse rate speed up.

“I’m not gonna bother you tonight,” he explained. “However, you need to go check your front door. I left something for you.”

“More chili?” she said aloud.

“It’s not supper,” he continued, as if he’d heard her. “I had a trout dinner in Gunnison, and I all but licked my plate clean. Still, you need to bring it in before it freezes. I hope you had a great workday today and that whatever plans you have for tonight are pleasant ones. Speaking of pleasant plans, I’m gonna go soak in the hot tub and think of you. You’re welcome to join me if you’d like, but I probably should warn you—I won’t be wearing swim trunks.”

Standing in the middle of her living room, staring at the answering machine, Sage swallowed hard. No trunks? Now that was just cruel.

“G’night, Cinnamon,” he continued in a low, intimate tone. “Don’t forget to check your front porch.”

The machine clicked and fell silent. Sage sucked in a deep breath, then hurried to the front of her cottage. She flipped on the porch light and opened the front door.

Spying his offering, she began to laugh. Daisies, sunflowers, spider mums, and greenery emerged from a truly hideous ceramic flower vase that depicted a Taylor River rainbow trout.

Seeing it, Sage fell a little bit in love.