Currant Creek Valley Read online

  Was that what he called it? She smiled. “I thought we were done.”

  “What time am I picking you up tomorrow night?”

  Oh, she really, really liked a man who took the initiative.

  “I’m working tomorrow night until nine.”

  “Perfect. I’ll probably be busy here until late and will need to unwind a little before I head to the hotel.”

  “Do you play pool, Army Ranger Delgado?”

  “I’ve been known to chalk a few cues in my time.”

  “Great. Why don’t I meet you at The Speckled Lizard? It’s on Front Street, two blocks west of the center block of Main Street. It’s one of the few places that stays open late on a Thursday night during the off-season.”

  “I’ll see you then. Tomorrow, twenty-two hundred, Speckled Lizard. It’s a date.”

  She smiled and headed out the door, anticipation winging through her.

  All in all, she was very glad she hadn’t hit him with a two-by-four.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SAM WATCHED BRODIE’S CHEF walk down the hill toward town swinging a picnic basket at her side, her blond curls bouncing behind her as she walked.

  His heartbeat was still racing and he didn’t know what the hell just happened there. Right now, he felt as if he’d just spent the past thirty minutes tumbling around in a cement mixer.

  This surge of adrenaline and anticipation and life churning inside him was unfamiliar, uncharted territory.

  When he walked into this old firehouse, he certainly never expected to stumble across a woman like her, brash, funny, brimming with energy.

  What was it about her? She was beautiful, yes, with those huge green eyes and the endless spill of hair, but he knew plenty of beautiful women.

  Though he continued to insist it wasn’t necessary, Nicky’s wife, Cheri, was always trying to hook him up with some friend of hers or other. For a stay-at-home mother, his sister-in-law seemed to know an unusually large number of lovely women, many from her previous job as a public-relations executive.

  While he might have been attracted to a few of those women Cheri had found for him, none of them had ignited these wild sparks that still snapped and buzzed through him, even after Alex McKnight had turned down a side street and disappeared from view.

  He would have to tread carefully here. The situation had the potential to spawn a whole morass of complications.

  For the next month, he would have to work closely with her on the Brazen project. She was the chef, after all. Not only that, he knew from conversations with Brodie that Alex was good friends with Brodie’s wife, Evie.

  His whole life hinged on making a success of this project, on finishing the work on budget and on time and on doing a good enough job that Brodie would continue to contract with him and would recommend him to his friends around Hope’s Crossing.

  Sam couldn’t afford to screw things up.

  He looked at the scene below him, the neatly quaint downtown with its wide streets and graceful old historic buildings, the rows of established clapboard houses mingling with higher-end log homes.

  Colorful spring blooms already burst out in patches, and the trees leading down the street had new pale green buds on them. He could imagine the place would be spectacular in the summer, with those raw, rugged mountains looming as a backdrop.

  He breathed in the high mountain air. It seemed sweeter here, though he knew that was probably just the abundance of pine and fir trees around, sending out their citrusy fragrance.

  This was the new start he wanted, that he needed, and he couldn’t afford to screw up his chances of making a life here.

  A couple kids rode down the hill on bicycles, legs sticking out as they let gravity take over and flew past him, their laughter ringing loudly.

  Across the street, an older lady with snow-white hair tended to flowers in a box hanging from her porch railing, and farther down from that, a couple people stood talking beside a mailbox.

  It looked peaceful, comfortable. Perfect.

  A few weeks ago, he had come up from Denver to check things out. From the moment he had driven into the city limits, he had felt the tension in his shoulders relax, the dark edges retreat.

  He wasn’t naive enough to think trouble couldn’t find him here. While the surface of Hope’s Crossing might look like something out of a Norman Rockwell illustration, the reality was never as ideal.

  After all, he had met Brodie at the Denver Children’s Hospital when Sam had been working on renovations to an office suite there at the same time Brodie’s teenage daughter was a patient, after she had suffered a terrible accident here in Hope’s Crossing.

  Bad things happened in small towns just as easily as big cities like Denver. Marriages still fell apart, plenty of kids dabbled in drugs and alcohol, people still got cancer and died.

  He grimaced at that thought and turned around to head back into the restaurant just as his cell phone rang. After a quick glance at the caller ID, his frown disappeared.

  “Why, hello,” he answered. “If it isn’t my favorite son.”

  “Favorite and only,” Ethan said primly.

  Sam smiled, picturing his nearly seven-year-old’s dark curls and the blue, blue eyes he had shared with his mother. “Maybe so. But even if you had a half-dozen siblings, you’d still probably be my favorite.”

  “That’s hypothetical, though. We can’t really know that for sure, can we?”

  Hypothetical was apparently the word of the week. Last week it had been enumerate and the week before precocious. Spoken in that sweet young voice that still had a trace of a lisp, the hundred-dollar words always made Sam smile.

  Love for his terrifyingly brilliant son was a sweet ache in his chest. “How is everything at Uncle Nick and Aunt Cheri’s?”

  Ethan’s sigh was heavy and put-upon. “All right, I guess. I had to play Barbie dolls today with Amanda. I was Malibu Ken and she had Hula Barbie and they were supposed to be going on a date. I decided they should go on a date to the beach and we had them go surfing down the rain gutter in front of the house. How was I supposed to know Malibu Ken would fit down the sewer grate?”

  “I bet that went over real well with your cousin.”

  “Aunt Cheri made me stay in my room for an entire half hour. I don’t see why I had to be punished when it was simply an estimating error.”

  “Life isn’t fair, is it?”

  “Rarely, in my experience,” Ethan said glumly.

  His son was six for a few more weeks but acted as if he was thirty-six most of the time.

  “When can I come see Hope’s Crossing again, Dad?”

  He grimaced, though there was no one but the lady across the street with her flowers to see. He missed his son already. “I’ll bring you up first chance I get, I promise.”

  “I want to live with you for good in our own house, where I don’t have to play Barbies or share a room with somebody who still watches Barney.”

  “I want that, too, more than anything. I’m working on it, I swear. Soon, okay? Six weeks. You have to finish the school year first and I need to find a decent place for us to live.”

  “Six weeks seems like forever.”

  “I know. To me, too. But we’ll spend every weekend together and before you know it, school will be out and you can come here for the summer when Uncle Nick and Aunt Cheri take off to Belgium. Then next fall you’ll have a whole new school and new friends.”

  “I don’t want to go to a new school,” Ethan said, that stubbornness creeping into his voice.

  “I know you don’t, son. But Hope’s Crossing is too far for us to drive to St. Augustine’s every day. If we’re going to live here, we’ll have to find a school here, too. Don’t worry. I’ve heard this one is terrific. You’ll see.”

  Beyond the two-hour distance involved, Ethan attended a very elite private school. He had thrived at St. Augustine’s, where they celebrated his brain and had spent the past two years trying to stimulate it.

  Move or
not, he couldn’t continue there now. For one thing, Sam’s former in-laws had insisted on paying the hefty private school tuition but those funds had dried up a year ago.

  They loathed Sam now. While they claimed they wanted to continue a relationship with Ethan, he couldn’t allow it, not when they filled his son’s head with lies and vitriol.

  The whole thing was such a mess. When his late wife’s father had been arrested, the tuition payments stopped. Sam had managed to scrape together enough to keep Ethan at St. Augustine’s this year but he certainly couldn’t continue paying that much unless he wanted to deplete Kelli’s entire life insurance policy before Ethan even reached college age.

  “You were going to have to go to a new school either way, kid. You know that. You couldn’t stay at St. Augustine’s. The schools here in Hope’s Crossing are supposed to be excellent. We’ll have all summer together to get ready for second grade.”

  “I miss you,” Ethan said, his voice small.

  “Oh, son. I miss you, too. It’s only a few weeks and then things will be better. You’ll see.”

  “I guess.”

  “Hang in there and be good for Uncle Nick and Aunt Cheri. I’ll call you every night to check on your homework and I’ll come home next weekend, okay?”

  After a few more moments, he hung up with his son. As he gazed down at the picturesque little town, he decided he could use some of the town’s eponymous Hope.

  He sincerely hoped he was making the right move here. He had to make a living and that was becoming increasingly difficult in Denver. His reputation in Denver construction circles suffered coming and going.

  From J.T.’s friends, he was considered a traitor for whistle-blowing on his own father-in-law and starting the chain of events that had led to J.T.’s conviction. Sam still didn’t know what else he could have done except go to authorities in Denver with his suspicions about his father-in-law. After all, Sam had first given J.T. the chance to make things right when he had discovered Tanner and Sons Construction was dangerously cutting corners—and using shoddy imported materials—but billing full price on government contracts.

  From the honorable contractors left, Sam was painted with the same ugly brush as his father-in-law because he had been J.T.’s second-in-command for the last three years and should have known what was happening under his nose at the company. They didn’t seem to make allowances for a floundering man who had been helping his wife fight cancer and then grieving when she lost the battle.

  Hope’s Crossing offered a chance to make a new start, away from all that ugliness. Thanks to Brodie and a few of his contacts, he had jobs lined up for several months. He had no doubt he could keep them coming, as long as he focused on the work at hand.

  That was all the more reason to keep things casual and friendly with Alex McKnight. He couldn’t afford the distraction and the complication of a woman like her. He would meet her the next night for a game of pool and some friendly conversation, but that was as far as he would let things go.

  His future—and, more importantly, his son’s—depended on it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE NEXT NIGHT, THURSDAY, Alex escaped to the employee restroom after her shift and quickly changed out of her white jacket and black slacks to jeans and a tailored soft green shirt. She added a chunky hammered silver necklace she had made a few months ago and a matching pair of earrings and bracelet.

  Much to her dismay, she had spent hours before her shift trying to figure out what to wear for her little outing with Sam. Discarded clothes were still strewn all over every flat surface of her bedroom.

  She wanted to set just the right tone for the way she had decided the evening should proceed. She would be friendly and fun but completely casual. No more of that high-octane flirting from the other day.

  She couldn’t deny she was fiercely attracted to Sam. He was big, gorgeous, tough...but he was also building the kitchen of her dreams. She couldn’t afford to screw this up.

  Earlier that day she had stopped in at Brazen to check things out and had been astonished at the progress he and his crew had made in just a single morning of work. They already had one whole section of cabinets installed and had been close to finishing another.

  A gruff guy named Joe—who hadn’t met her gaze more than a millisecond when she talked to him, and who had only said three or four words at a time—told her Sam had been out picking up a few things at the building supply store.

  She tried to convince herself she wasn’t at all disappointed to miss him but she recognized that for a lie. She had been disappointed, seriously bummed, which was when she had decided she needed to think twice about entangling herself with him.

  Any man who could make her react like a teenager driving by her crush’s house a half-dozen times a day spelled trouble.

  The door opened and Lucy Martineau, the pastry chef, walked in and headed for the open stall. “You look great. Hot date?”

  “No. Not a date,” she was quick to assure her friend. “I’m just meeting somebody at the Lizard for drinks and some pool.”

  “Anybody I know?” Lucy asked. “Stupid question. Of course he wouldn’t be. Let me guess. Is he in town on business or fun?”

  Mascara wand in hand, she paused her quick makeup job long enough to make a face in the mirror at Lucy, who was washing her hands at the other sink.

  “Very funny.”

  “Which is it? You know you never date anybody longer than a few weeks, Alex.”

  “Not true,” she protested.

  “Isn’t it?”

  “I went out with that musician for nearly a month, until his gig up at the lodge ended.”

  “I forgot about him.”

  So had Alex, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Lucy. “It’s easier to date somebody who’s moving on anyway. We both know where things stand from the outset and nobody develops unrealistic expectations. It’s cleaner, all the way around.”

  “If you say so.” Lucy looked doubtful, but then, she had been married for a decade. “So who’s the guy?”

  She didn’t want to answer but since others would probably see them together at The Speckled Lizard, she didn’t see any reason to lie. “He’s the contractor finishing up the remodel at Brazen. Our relationship is strictly professional. I figured I would introduce him around, help him feel welcome here, that sort of thing. I figure if he’s happy during his stay in Hope’s Crossing, he’ll be more motivated to make sure he does a good job on my kitchen.”

  Lucy didn’t lose her skeptical expression. Alex couldn’t really blame her since it all sounded like a load of manure to her, as well.

  “Well, have a good time.”

  “I intend to.” Even if that meant backing away from the flirty fun of the day before, she thought with a sigh.

  To her amazement, she quickly found a parking place right by The Speckled Lizard. This was a happening spot from December to March, jam-packed with skiers and boarders looking for somewhere to relax after a hard day on the slopes. The bar served generous drinks and usually had live music on the weekends.

  During the summer months, it wasn’t quite as busy but still did a lively business, both tourists and regulars. They grilled a mean burger out on the patio in warm weather and it was always a fun place to meet up with friends.

  Like many establishments in town, the shoulder seasons—April to early June and then September to mid-November—belonged to the locals.

  She was early and didn’t see any sign of Sam Delgado, of the broad shoulders and warm dark eyes. She waved to Mike from the bike shop in town, who was sitting with Cathy and Jonah Kent, both paramedics.

  She always hated sitting by herself at the bar and was about to ask if they minded if she joined them while she waited when someone walked right in her path.

  “Hey, there, Alex.”

  She gave a mental cringe. “Hi, Corey.”

  He had a tumbler of what looked like whiskey in his hand and a bleary-eyed look that indicated it wasn’t his f
irst of the night. No surprise there.

  “You look fantastic,” he said, stumbling a little over the adjective as he threw an arm around her shoulder.

  Her mental cringe turned into an actual one but Corey Johnson didn’t seem to notice. He never did. To Corey, the three dates they went on in high school twenty years ago apparently left him feeling entitled to paw at her whenever he wanted.

  “Pat, bring the lady a drink. My treat.” He beamed at her as if he were bestowing a huge honor and she squirmed a little more.

  How was she going to play this? Being firm was generally not a problem for her but she had to admit, she felt a little sorry for Corey. About six months ago, he had lost his job as a mortgage loan officer because of the struggling economy and hadn’t been able to find anything since.

  Though he’d been scrambling to make ends meet and the family had even had a few visits from the Angel of Hope—the mysterious anonymous benefactor who went around town doing good deeds—his wife had finally tired of their ride to Nowheresville and had taken their kids to Grand Junction to stay with her mother.

  Things weren’t going all that great for old Corey, but that didn’t mean she was willing to be his consolation prize. He was still married. Even if he wasn’t, she hadn’t been interested enough in anything but a handful of dates in high school and she was less interested now.

  “I’m good, Pat. I’m just having mineral water tonight,” she told the bartender, who lived down the road from her.

  “Oh, come on.” Corey leaned in close and the blast of liquor on his breath seared her nasal passages. “You need something more than that after a hard day.”

  “No, really. Mineral water is enough.”

  “You’re no fun anymore, Al. You used to be fun.”

  “I’m still fun. I’ve just never needed alcohol to get me there.” She forced a smile, which in retrospect was a bad idea. Corey took that as encouragement.

  “What do you say you and me go out back and see just how much fun we can have together?”

  Eww. Seriously? She tried to edge away but Corey had won second place in the state wrestling championship for his weight class their senior year and still had a pretty darn good half nelson.