Raeanne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One: Blackberry Summer

She seemed reluctant to elaborate and Evie, brilliant and insightful friend that she was, stepped away from the counter. “I’m going to run up to check on my dog. Ruth, will you excuse me?”

“Bring him down with you,” Claire said.

When she was gone, Claire turned to her mother again. “Mom, is something wrong? What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Not exactly. I just wondered how you would feel if I took a temporary job.”

Claire gaped at her. “A job.”

“A temporary one. Mary Ella talked to me about it this morning. But I should just say no, especially while you and the children need me so much right now for rides and the like.”

“I’ve certainly been grateful for your help, but I can make other arrangements. What sort of job?”

“Helping at the bookstore. You know Sage has gone back to college for her exams and Mary Ella’s been running Dog-Eared by herself until Maura has a little more time to sort things out. Angie helps when she can, but she’s busy with those kids of hers and of course Alex has the restaurant.”

“I think that’s a terrific idea!” Claire smiled. “You love to read. You would really excel in that environment.”

“I thought about opening a bookstore myself when I was younger.”

She stared. This was the first she’d ever heard that. “Really?”

Ruth shrugged. “I got married instead and then you came along. I wouldn’t want to do it all the time, but it should be fun for a few weeks and if it helps Maura, then it’s worth it. As long as you’re sure you and the children can manage without me.”

“While I appreciate all you’ve done for us, we’ll make do,” she assured her mother, still rather numb. Ruth sometimes helped at String Fever during busy times and she’d worked on and off at the charity consignment store in town, but she mostly lived off the proceeds of Claire’s father’s insurance policy and the sale of a hundred acres in Silver Strike Canyon that had been in her family for several generations.

“When do you start?”

“Tomorrow. Mary Ella’s going to show me the routine there.” She paused. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

“No, not at all! Why would I? I think it will be great for you. You’ll love it, Mom.”

“We’ll see. I probably can’t run Maura out of business in only a few weeks.”

“You’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Her mother decided to stay for a while and work on a few new pairs of earrings to go with her new undertaking. Unfortunately, that meant she was just settling in at the worktable with her findings and the seed beads and Lucite she had decided to use when Evie came down with the her temporary houseguest.

Claire immediately fell in love with the tan, gangly, unusual-looking creature, with a Lab-shaped face and body but tight, wiry poodle hair. Chester, too, seemed to find the new arrival acceptable. His tail even wagged when the dog—whom Evie introduced as Jacques—sniffed around him.

Ruth, not so much. When the friendly animal headed to greet her, her mouth pursed. “I hope you’re not planning to bring that dog into the store with you on a regular basis. Chester is already one dog too many in a place of business, if you want my opinion.”

Because Claire had heard that particular opinion countless times, she only smiled.

“Come on, Jacques,” Evie said. “Out.”

The dog obeyed the command immediately—as did Chester, who apparently wanted to make sure the new arrival knew which of them was in charge.

Evie had just come in from the garden with the dogs when the chimes rang again.

“Claire! You’re back!”

Mary Ella burst through the door, headed straight for her and hugged her close.

“It’s so wonderful to see you here in the store, right where you belong. You must have been more than ready to come back.”

She smiled, resisting the childish urge to give her mother an “I told you so” look. “I was. Thank you.”

“Ruth, did you tell Claire you’re coming to help us out at the bookstore for a few weeks?”

“I did.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Claire said.

“Ruth’s help will be a godsend. Otherwise, I’m afraid we would have to close the bookstore until Sage is done with school.” Mary Ella automatically sat down at the worktable and picked up the beads Ruth was working with and admired them under the light. “These will be gorgeous, Ruthie. Make me a pair, will you?”

“If you help,” Ruth said tartly. Mary Ella smiled and Claire felt a deep wave of gratitude for the other woman. She didn’t know how, but somehow Mary Ella had remained close to Ruth for years, despite her mother’s sometimes-toxic mood. Maybe it had something to do with raising five daughters and a wild son, but Mary Ella, better than anyone else Claire knew, could tease and cajole Ruth out of most bitter moods.

“How are you?” Claire asked the other woman. “I mean, really.”

Mary Ella trickled the cup of seed beads through her fingers and into a tray like water droplets. “My heart hurts all the time,” she said after a long moment. “I keep thinking this has all been a mistake, you know? Someone somewhere made some terrible karmic error and any moment Layla will burst through my front door with that ridiculous purple hair and her fingers with all those rings flying away on her cell phone.”

Her voice hitched a little on the last word and Ruth reached a hand out and squeezed her friend’s fingers.

“We all wish that, more than anything.”

“The worst thing is, I feel like this dark cloud has descended on the whole town, affecting us all. Everyone just seems so sad. Even the Angel’s wings seem to have been clipped, have you noticed? I haven’t heard about a single visit since the accident.”

Claire thought of that night when Riley responded to her flickering porch lights. “I had a visit.”

The three women stared at her. “What!” her mother exclaimed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

That night when Riley had fallen asleep in her family room seemed such a precious memory, one that still seemed not quite real. “I don’t know. I guess I wanted to savor it myself. Anyway, it wasn’t a big deal. He…the Angel left a basketful of magazines and books and other cheer-up treats on the front porch one night the weekend before last.”

“Did you see the Angel?” Evie asked, her eyes bright and intent, which made Claire wonder once more if her friend could be behind the mystery. Evie had arrived in Hope’s Crossing not long before the Angel first started appearing and even though she lived a low-key life, Claire had picked up a few clues here and there that Evie might be secretly affluent, someone who could afford the kind of generosity the Angel had displayed.

Besides, Evie certainly knew her reading preferences and her favorite kind of goodies from Sugar Rush.

She searched the other woman’s face for some hint that she might know more about the Angel of Hope than she let on but saw nothing more than curiosity.

“Just a shape in the darkness,” she finally said. “Not much more than that. Riley checked around the house and the yard for me and couldn’t find any clues.”

She probably shouldn’t have added that little detail, judging by the various reactions. Ruth’s mouth pursed as if she’d smelled something particularly foul. Mary Ella gave her a long, speculative look. Evie, drat her, looked as if she were barely hiding a smile.

“Riley?” Mary Ella said.

Claire cleared her throat. “Funny story. I saw a shape out there and thought it might be an intruder. I flicked my porch lights a couple of times to maybe scare him off or something. Riley happened to be passing by just then and stopped to make sure everything was okay.”

“Nice of him,” Evie murmured.

“Right. Um, well, he checked around the house and the yard for me and couldn’t find any clues.”

She decided not to mention that he’d fallen asleep or that when he’d awakened he said wholly inappropriate things to her she couldn’t stop thinking about. Or the subsequent times he’d dropped by and kissed her until she couldn’t remember her name.

Changing the subject right now would probably be a good idea. “You know, whoever it is,” she said quickly, “there’s something so magical about the whole thing, don’t you think? The mystery of an unexpected kindness. I’m glad I didn’t see who it was. I’m not really sure I want to know. Don’t you think something will be lost if we ever figure it out?”

Mary Ella nodded. “You know, I think you’re right.”

“You’re both crazy. I want to know who it is,” Ruth said.

“But this way, we all think the best of each other,” Claire said. “We wonder if it could be our neighbor. We look at people in the street and wonder, is it him or her? It could be anyone. Or everyone.”

“What are you talking about?” Ruth gave a baffled frown.

Mary Ella smiled. “She just means all the speculation is part of the good the Angel is doing in town. Maybe we all think a little more kindly toward each other and have become a little more aware of each other’s needs. The Angel has lifted all of us, whether we’ve been direct recipients or not.”

Claire stared at the other women as random ideas that had been floating through her mind suddenly coalesced in one grand vision. “That is exactly what Hope’s Crossing needs!”

“What? A visit from the Angel?” Ruth asked.

“No. We all need to be angels of Hope!”

The three women stared at her. Ruth still looked confused, but Evie looked intrigued and Mary Ella’s features lit up with excitement.

“That is sheer brilliance, Claire,” she exclaimed.

“What are you thinking? A ‘random acts of kindness’ sort of thing?” Evie asked.

Ideas raced through her head, faster than she could sort them out. “No. No, but I think that could definitely be a component. We need to do something to bring this town together. Everyone in Hope’s Crossing has been affected by the accident in some way or another. Don’t you feel like something has been shattered?”

“Other than your arm and your leg?” Ruth said caustically, gesturing to her respective casts.

“Besides a few bones. We’ve all suffered a great loss.”

“We should do whatever we can to heal it,” Evie said quietly and Claire smiled at her, grateful beyond words for whatever twist of fate had brought her friend here to the mountains of Colorado.

“What about a day of service? Neighbors helping neighbors,” Mary Ella suggested. For the first time since she came in, her lovely green eyes looked clear and unclouded by sorrow.

“Yes. Yes!” Claire thought of the possibilities. Fences that needed to be painted, windows to be washed, blankets to be knitted. “We could involve every one. Children, families, youth groups.”

“We should have something special planned for the teenagers. They’ve lost so much,” Evie said.

Claire thought of Taryn, a cheerleader and popular girl at Hope’s Crossing High School, lying in a hospital bed in Denver, of Charlie Beaumont, facing serious charges in the accident, of the other teens involved.

And, of course, of Layla.

She leaned forward suddenly, an abrupt movement that sent a pain rippling up her leg that she ignored. “What if we end the day with a dinner dance and benefit auction. The proceeds can go to a charity that benefits the entire community. Maybe something with particular impact on the young people.”

“A scholarship in Layla’s name,” Ruth said abruptly.

“Oh.” Mary Ella’s features softened.

Claire beamed at her mother. “Oh, perfect, Mom. Just perfect.”

“Maura would be touched, don’t you think?” Evie asked.

“How soon could we throw it together?” Claire asked. “Would a month give us enough time?”

“Layla would have turned sixteen on June forth,” Mary Ella offered.

Claire calculated. Three and a half weeks. Could they make it happen in that short amount of time? “A little less than a month, then.”

“It’s too much work,” Ruth said.

“No, we can do this. I can’t imagine a better day for it.”

She pulled the rolling table with her laptop toward her, excitement flooding through her. This is what the town needed, something to hold on to. The bright beam of hope piercing the dark clouds that had lingered since the tragedy.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EVENINGS LIKE THIS SEEMED surreal to him. A little spooky even.

Riley drove toward his rented house past the close-set Victorian houses of Old Hope, down streets where he saw neighbors out front talking to neighbors, lawns being mowed, kids riding skateboards on homemade ramps in their driveways.

Through the open window of his patrol vehicle, he could smell fresh-cut grass mingled with the sharp sweetness of blooming sagebrush and the delectable aroma of steaks on the grill somewhere close.

It was about as far from the gritty, dark world of an undercover narcotics cop in the inner city of Oakland as anything he could imagine without leaving the planet.

With all the changes the town had seen in the twenty years since he’d been a kid, the particular sweetness of a warm spring evening seemed timeless.

Oh, he wasn’t naive enough to think all was Mayberry-perfect in Hope’s Crossing. After a month as police chief, he knew the usual elements of human ugliness simmered under the surface. Domestic violence, assault, embezzlement. Even illegal substances. On his desk right now were reports about ongoing investigations featuring all of the above.

He supposed the difference was that in Hope’s Crossing, those things were the exception, not the norm.

It was a nice town. The influx of tourists made life a little more interesting and had certainly changed the dynamics, but Hope’s Crossing was still a good place to live.

For most people anyway. The jury was still out for him. Maybe he wouldn’t even have a job in a month’s time when his sixty-day probationary period expired. J. D. Nyman was certainly doing his best to stir up trouble and raise doubt in people’s mind as to his competence.

As he turned onto Blackberry Lane, he lifted a hand to wave at Mrs. Redmond on the corner, pruning back a leggy forsythia of bright blooming yellow. She gave him a sour look and deliberately turned her back.

Lisa’s grandmother was one of those old-timers who had genuine reason not to want him there, he admitted, reasons not based on prejudice or malice. He had genuinely wronged her family in his wild youth, something he couldn’t repair no matter how many hours of service he gave to the town.

Still, others in town somehow had come to blame him for everything that was wrong with the community, regardless of any rational reason. Somehow they seemed to think he was responsible for a group of teens who had suddenly gone off track, although how the hell they thought he had anything to do with Charlie Beaumont and his band of troublemakers other than being uncle to one of them, Riley had no idea.

He sighed as he drove past Claire’s house, the brick a warm, weathered rust in the evening light. A basketball suddenly rolled out of her driveway and he hit the brakes just seconds before he would have rolled over it.

“Hey, Chief,” Owen called from the edge of the driveway, where he had safely waited instead of chasing into the road after his ball.

“Hey, kid.”

He glanced up at the house and saw her there, sitting on a wicker chair on her front porch. She shaded her eyes against the light filtering through the trees and although her smile was guarded, it was still about a hundred degrees warmer than the look he’d just gotten next door.

He lifted a hand in greeting and she waved back with her broken arm.

“Should I wait for you to go past before I get the ball?” Owen asked him.

“No, go ahead.”

The boy hurried to the side of the car and scooped it from where it had come to rest against the front tire. “Hey, you want to play?” he asked. “Macy’s not home and my mom can’t. I’m tired of just shooting by myself.”

He should give some excuse—just let the boy grab his ball, wait for him to return to the safety of his driveway, then drive on by. That was the smart thing to do. The safe thing. But he was feeling reckless suddenly and a quick game of hoops wouldn’t hurt anything, right? And besides, he had more or less promised Owen he would play sometime.

“Sure,” he answered and was rewarded with a gleeful shout.

He parked his patrol vehicle and saw Claire’s wary surprise when he stepped out.

Chester greeted him with as much enthusiasm as the hound could muster, then plopped back in the cool green grass.

“Watch this!” Owen said, going for the freestanding basketball standard next to the driveway.

“Wow, Kobe Bryant. Your left-handed jump is wicked.”

Owen grinned and tossed him the ball. Riley fired it off and was gratified when it swooshed through the net.

“Nice.” Owen grabbed the ball and took a ten-foot jumper. It bounced on the rim for a minute with a boing sort of sound, then fell through.

At his suggestion, the two of them played an informal game of PIG—the younger brother of HORSE—for a while and it was close to a perfect moment for Riley. The warm evening, the setting sun turning every thing golden, the sweet Rocky Mountain air that smelled of home and peace and summer just around the corner.

Claire had put down whatever she’d been working on, though she said nothing, only watched them.

He was showing off for her, he realized after one particularly hotdog shot, a one-handed, behind-the-back throw that landed in the sweet spot. It was a rather embarrassing realization, a reminder of all those times when he was a kid trying desperately to make her notice him.

What would she say if she knew he still probably had the road rash scars on his back from a spectacular bike crash when he was twelve, trying to pop a wheelie in front of her house and failing spectacularly?

Hunger curled through him, slow and insistent. Stupid. She’d warned him away the last time he was here, told him plainly she wasn’t interested in any kind of one-on-one with him. He would do well to keep that in mind.

“Okay, what’s a hard one you can’t hit?” Owen said, considering his options. While he set up the shot, Riley risked another glance at Claire and found her watching him. Their gazes locked for a moment, then she quickly looked away, a blush staining her cheeks.

A tensile thread of awareness stretched between them, taut and shimmery, and he was so busy trying to figure out what the hell to do with it that he completely missed Owen’s shot except for the swish of the net.

“That’s G for you. I win!” Owen exclaimed after Riley took a wild shot and completely missed the hoop.

“Good game, kid.”

“How about two out of three?” the boy said.

Riley looked at Claire. “How about another day? I should go say hello to your mom.”

“Okay. I have to pee anyway.”

Riley set the ball down on the standard’s base, paused to pet Chester’s brown droopy face, then headed up the three porch stairs, the memory of the kiss they had shared the last time he’d seen her playing over and over in his head. He relentlessly tried to shut it down by reminding himself of all the reasons why kissing her was a lousy idea.

Still, he couldn’t resist brushing her cheek with a light, friendly sort of kiss when he reached her. If he inhaled the scent of her, fresh and lovely as the spring evening, that was nobody’s damn business but his own.

“Thanks for playing with him for a few minutes,” she said and he wondered if he was imagining that slightly husky note to her voice. “It’s a little tough for me to go in for a layup right now.”

“And I would guess the cast on your arm probably plays havoc with your shooting percentage.”

She smiled. “I guess I’m a wuss in that respect. A cast doesn’t seem to bother Owen, obviously.”

“I hear you went back to work today,” he said after an awkward pause, perching on the white gingerbread railing that encircled the house.

“Wow. Really? I wasn’t aware it made the Hope Gazette.”

“I sometimes think the Gazette is a waste of paper around here. I mean, who really needs it because everyone knows everything anyway? Donna Mazell apparently stopped in on her lunch break. She told me about how you’ve got a nice comfortable chair set up by the register like the Bead Queen of Hope’s Crossing.”

“Queen Claire. That’s me. I forgot Donna came in. She was looking for polymer beads for a project she’s doing with her grandkids.”

He didn’t know polymer beads from pinto beans, any more than he’d been able to figure out just how exactly Donna had guessed with such accuracy that he might have a particular interest in the comings and goings of a particular bead-store owner of their mutual acquaintance.

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