Chapter Twenty

Lacy’s hands rested flat on the table, fingers splayed on each side of her tea mug. Her thoughts wandered to her mother, the picture she’d seen at the professor’s of her dancing on the table. The happiness of the picture made the memory that much sadder. Youthful joy extinguished. She inhaled through her nose, breaths so shallow her chest moved more from the beat of her heart gently rocking her body than the air going in and out of her lungs. The tips of her fingers padded on the table, and she stared at the photos of her mother and father spread near her hands. Or whom she’d believed was her father.

“How are you doing, Lacy?” Phoebe’s soft voice floated through the air and reached the top of the stairs before she did.

“I’m...kind of blue this morning.” She looked from her musing and smiled at her friend.

“Actually, that’s a good sign.” Phoebe set her computer case on the floor and sat in the seat across from her. “Better than the standard okay with the blank look you’ve been giving me for the last three days.”

Voices drifted up from the main floor of the Lacy Latte, baristas preparing for the early morning customers.

“Have I been that bad?” She lifted a tendril of hair from her shoulder, brushing the black lock across her chin. Over the last few days, she’d traveled through stages of shock, anger and disbelief until a sense of sorrow greeted her when she’d opened her eyes this morning.

“I’ve been worried about you, Lace. But today you’ve got color in your cheeks. You don’t look half-bad.”

“Thanks...I guess.”

Her heart pattered, uneven and achy. The sorrow bubbled inside her. She needed to let it out. Her friend would listen. By the tapping of Phoebe’s fingers on the tabletop as if her ever-present laptop sat beneath her hands, she was obviously dying to listen.

“I’ve had so much to process, to come to grips with and I think...”

“Yes?”

She took a deep breath and slapped the table. “You need coffee.”

“Lacy!”

She ignored Phoebe’s protest, stood and walked to the railing of the loft. She glanced over the main floor of the Lacy Latte, her business and home away from home. The doors wouldn’t open for another fifteen minutes. Below, her staff readied the coffee shop for morning traffic.

“Hey, Hazel,” she called to her chief barista who fluffed pillows in the overstuffed armchairs on each side of the stone fireplace. “Would you bring Phoebe her usual and me another chai, extra hot.”

She turned, leaning against the waist-high railing, amused with her friend’s less than patient expression. Early morning sun from the floor to ceiling window lit half her face, glinting off a silver earring dangling above the collar of her bright turquoise tunic.

“You haven’t changed out of your running clothes and into jeans and a pair of your expensive shoes. That’s not like you.” Phoebe tipped her head and gave her a sideways, worried glance. “You didn’t actually go running, did you?”

“A walk. I’m healing nicely, but not that good yet.” Better on the outside than the inside.

“And?”

She stretched her arms out from her sides, gingerly testing the still bandaged arm then clasped the smooth oak of the railing. She took a deep breath. “The shooting, mine and I guess even of Myles, has haunted me since I’ve been home. The whole scene...”

“Oh, Lace, I’m so sorry.”

“I know that’s not all of it.” Her chest tightened with the admission of the emotions she’d been ignoring for the last few days. “The whole horrific scene, the moments after I felt the pain, well, that’s a visual I’ll learn to live with. When I think about my mother who must have been a vibrant, creative person, I...I would’ve loved to have met her.” She glanced at the photo of her mother on the table. “Makes me feel so melancholy. And Hartmut. She loved him so much.” Could she have loved Chance that much, if given the opportunity? The melancholy deepened.

Her friend jumped up and strode over. A half-dozen silver bracelets tinkled around each wrist as she tightly hugged her. “I wish I could do more for you.”

“You’ve been here every morning. Just your presence has been helpful.” She hugged her back.

“Here you go, gals.” Hazel reached the top step with their hot drinks. She handed the mug of chai to Lacy, set the scone she juggled on top of the cups on the table for Phoebe and set down a caramel latte next to it. “Got a girlfriend love fest going on?”

“Something like that,” Lacy said. “Your scone.” She turned Phoebe toward the table. “Sit.”

“Maybe you should call the handsome lawyer and have him come back to the café to help. He made such an early morning visit, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind returning.” Hazel winked in Phoebe’s direction at the remark made to her boss.

“Oh, Hazel...” Lacy smiled.

“I would if I was ten years younger and looked like you,” her round, elderly barista offered with a grin.

“Lacy has no idea how beautiful she is.” Phoebe waved a hand through the air, dismissing the woman’s comment.

“Well, that man knows. They were standing toe to toe, eye to eye. Mark ran his hand up and down her arm, and if it’d been me, I’d have felt the heat right through my blouse.”

“They’re just friends.” Phoebe took a healthy bite of the scone. “Not her type.”

“A good looking man like that? Wears a suit better than most, graying temples, dazzling smile. How’s any woman with warm blood and a bed not going to find him her type?”

Lacy stood away from the railing, hands on hips and said in her most exasperated tone, “Excuse me, you two. If you’re done talking about my love life...”

“Hmph.” Hazel turned toward the stairs. “Or lack thereof.”

The two friends smiled at each other as she disappeared down the steps.

Phoebe’s grin faded, and she motioned for Lacy to join her at the table. “Are you okay?”

She unzipped her hoodie as if to release the lingering tightness in her chest and swallowed the emotion bubbling up. The flap of the shades being raised on windows downstairs caught her attention. She looked through the slats below the railing to the burgundy walls and lace topped windows below. The doors of the Lacy Latte opened on a sunny Sunday morning. A normal conversation with friends hadn’t dispelled the sense of loss.

“I’ll be okay.” She shuffled to the table and sat across from her friend.

“Why was Mark here so early?”

“I hadn’t returned his calls. He wanted to discuss the land and estate in Austria, but I can’t think about that yet.”

She scanned the photographs of Scottsdale on the wall behind her friend, photos her parents helped her hang, photos of Conrad’s favorite city sites. They reminded her of her once upon a time present and future. Now, the past.

More had been added to her past.

“Do you want to talk about him?”

“Which him?”

“Which?”

“Hartmut, Myles or Chance?”

“You choose.”

She picked the photo of Hartmut from the table.

“What a handsome man,” Phoebe blurted. “Judas Priest, Lacy. Those are your eyes.”

“Maybe.”

“Go on.”

“Professor Myles Sheffield had green eyes, too.” She flicked her hair from her face and met her friend’s questioning gaze. For the first time since she’d uttered her suspicion to Chance, she spoke of her fear. She didn’t want the professor to be her father, but the timing and his damnable green eyes cast a heavy doubt. “I may never know. I should’ve told Mark to stop pursuing the Austrian connections.”

“Is that why you’re so sad?”

“No. You’d think it would be, huh? But I feel the same as I felt when I woke up in the hospital. It doesn’t matter.”

“Then?”

She sipped her tea, and the tightness in her chest came back. She recognized the sense of loss had everything to do with Chance and what might have been, not with her elusive heritage.

“What happened with the sheriff?” Her voice spoke gently, not Phoebe’s usual method of inquisitiveness.

Lacy shrugged and took a deep breath. Maybe it would be better to get it out. “You know, I’d almost like to rail on the unreliability of the male species. Would you mind if I used a few four-letter words?”

Phoebe’s eyes lit up, the old mischievous grin spreading across her face. She swallowed a bite of scone. “Rail on, I’m all ears. Judas, Lacy, this is the part of the tale I’ve been waiting to hear.” She waved the scone in the air.

“It’s my own fault.” The admission deflated any idea of verbally abusing the male gender. “I knew about his other woman, even though he more or less said she didn’t mean anything to him.”

“It did appear differently at the hospital.”

“Yes.” She sniffed. “At least I had one gloriously sexy night.”

Phoebe’s eyes grew round.

“I thought it meant more, meant as much to him as it did to me.” Regardless of her saddened state, she felt a ripple of remembered pleasure.

“Now, that’s an age old story.”

“He did try to warn me off. I thought I could be all casual—like you.”

“Fat chance.”

“Hmm. Right. I tried, it didn’t work. He disappointed me. Pretty much end of story.”

“Are you sure you shouldn’t speak to him again?”

“Yes.” Tears came to her eyes. “I guess I’m just a very poor judge of character where men are concerned.”

“Aw, honey.” Phoebe reached across the table and patted her hand.

“I’m not sure when I’ll get the sketches back.” She wiped a hand across her eyes and nose. “I should call, but I haven’t wanted to talk about anything connected to those days in Flagstaff.” She gathered the pictures in a pile.

“I wonder why the cops bothered sending your photos back.”

“I’m not sure.” She hadn’t thought about it.

“They didn’t. I did.”

The familiar, deep voice made her jump, shaking her hand loose from her friend’s. The quiver that tickled deep, below her breastbone, caught her breath.

Phoebe’s mouth dropped open as her eyes focused over Lacy’s head. She didn’t need to see at whom her friend gawked. She nearly laughed from the obvious appraisal. Phoebe’s expression changed from admiration of a good-looking man to recognition of who stood behind her. “Looks like you have company, Lace.”

Chance stepped up beside her. “Hello, Lacy.”

It took a great deal of effort to raise her chin, look into those copper eyes and speak. Her tongue had thickened and gone dry. “Hi.” Involuntarily, her stomach muscles clenched and her breathing labored. She felt her nostrils flare in an effort to take in oxygen.

His smile, warm and sympathetic, showered her for a moment before turning his attention to her friend.

“How are you, Phoebe?”

“If it isn’t the handsome Paul Bunyan in the flesh.” She held a hand out to him. “Sheriff Meadowlark.”

He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“And I’ll scoot out of here.”

A rush of fear put Lacy into motion. “No, don’t go.”

“Oh, yes, lady. I have a book to finish. No time to pass pleasantries.” She batted her lashes at Chance. “No matter how great the scenery is.” Her eyes narrowed at Lacy with a different message. “I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything. Working on chapter eighteen.”

A sudden case of nerves stirred her at the thought of being alone with Chance. “If you must.”

“I must.” She gathered her laptop and purse, paused, then moved extremely close to Chance.

Lacy’s face grew hot. Judging from Phoebe’s stance, she wasn’t sure what would come out of her mouth.

“She’s been through enough.” Her friend’s voice lowered, but she heard the seriousness in her words.

Chance met her glare with a wilting gaze, copper eyes smiling under a cocked brow. At least it would’ve wilted her if she’d been in her friend’s shoes.

“I’m in total agreement. You’re a good friend.”

Taken aback, Phoebe, for once in her life, appeared lost for words. But only for a moment. “You have any brothers, Sheriff?”

He laughed. “As a matter of fact, I do. A twin brother named Mason.”

“We’ll talk.” She winked at Lacy and headed down the stairs.

Her face still flamed hot when Chance sat down in the chair Phoebe vacated. She wanted to pinch herself. Seeing him here in the Lacy Latte, here in Scottsdale, didn’t feel real. She didn’t think she’d ever see him again. Perhaps this was a follow up professional visit?

His eyes smiled, but he glanced away when she stared back.

“Thank you for the photos.” Her stomach churned. She grasped her teacup with both hands.

“I hope you don’t mind too much that I came here.” His eyes changed to serious cinnamon, dousing her with memories that seemed ages ago.

“I’m open to the public.” It came out snide, and she frowned at herself.

“I hoped—”

“That was rude. I’m sorry.”

A few moments of awkward silence filled the space between them. She sipped her tea and kept him in her peripheral vision. He stirred her every bit as much as the visions that filled her dreams. In between the nightmares.

“You have a nice place here. Comfortable.” He looked directly at her, so deep she averted her eyes. “Classy like you.”

“Thank you.” He shouldn’t do that. She couldn’t stand the warmth. She ached.

The sounds of customers ordering drifted into their space. “Would you like something?”

“Will you let me have it here, or do I have to get it to go?”

She couldn’t help laughing. God that felt good. “Let’s see if I remember. Sumatra?”

“Actually, I’ll try the chai. I hear it’s the best in Arizona.”

“It is.” Surprising herself, she managed to walk to the banister without her knees buckling. He didn’t come all this way to have a chai at her café. She stood at the railing waiting to catch Hazel’s eye. If here on official business, she wished he’d say so and get on with it. Although, she hadn’t exactly urged him to get to the point and leave. When her chief barista turned in her direction, she waved and mouthed her order. Hazel beamed and Lacy sighed. The woman was incorrigible.

She wanted to go down and get his tea, not stand at the railing with his eyes on her back. And she didn’t want to sit across from him, those same damned eyes melting her when it would only lead to renewed disappointment. She couldn’t trust her legs or her shaky hands to complete the task, and she couldn’t tear herself away from the torture of his presence either.

“How are you doing, Lacy?”

The simple question, spoken with his deeply passionate voice, encouraged her to let down her guard. She took a deep breath, pivoted on her heel and faced him.

“Like I just awoke from a bad nightmare.”

“It’s over, honey.”

His words slipped out easily, naturally. She must have flinched because he fidgeted and looked away. Too late. The butterflies had taken flight.

“I have your sketches and chest in my truck.”

That’s why he came. The impersonal statement made her want to cry, to tell him thanks and please leave now.

“Is that part of the Coconino County sheriff’s duty? Returning Flagstaff Police evidence?” Her sharp tone couldn’t undo the twinge of pain his official visit caused.

Something close to pain furrowed his brow, but when he opened his mouth to respond, Hazel’s footsteps on the wooden stairs stopped him. He continued to study her face; a sorrow of his own reflected in his eyes that she couldn’t understand. Then his mouth tightened, and the man disappeared behind the sheriff.

“One nice hot chai in our best mug.” Hazel beamed as she set it on the table in front of him.

“Thank you.” He didn’t smile, yet his words were friendly enough. “You must be Hazel.”

Her grin turned into what Lacy figured was her flirtatious smile. She wondered how Chance remembered her chief barista. She couldn’t have mentioned her more than once. Had he been that attentive...ages ago?

“Nice to meet you...” Hazel wiped her hand on her apron and offered it.

“Chance Meadowlark.”

Her employee lingered.

“Thanks, Hazel.” Lacy tried to sound cheerful, dismissing her without sounding dismissive.

She couldn’t drag out this surprise meeting any longer than necessary. She’d reached a sorrowful mood she’d hoped would lessen. This torture only promised prolonging her pain.

From the smirk on Hazel’s face, she interpreted the words correctly, but for all the wrong reasons. Bringing the sketches and the chest, seeing him again—he didn’t play fair. The barista nodded and made her way back down the stairs.

He blew across his tea, glanced at her and blew again. His brow furrowed as he stared back into the spicy liquid.

“Why are you here, Chance?”

Without warning, he scooted his chair from the table and stood. “I guess I made a mistake coming here.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Her heart had risen in her chest as he’d stood to his full, sumptuous height.

She needed him to leave.

She needed him to stay.

He raked a hand through his gold-streaked hair, loose around his neck. Her hands twitched to do the same, remembering the night she did.

“I didn’t have to come. I’m the sheriff of Coconino County. I don’t do the Flagstaff Police Department’s bidding.” He circled around the table. “I offered.”

In two strides, he reached her. When he stood so close his warm, damp breath touched her forehead and his hearty, mountain scent took the air from her lungs, her knees sagged.

“I pulled a few strings.” He took an envelope from his pocket. “Your birth certificate.”

She glanced at the paper, peered into his face and looked back at the envelope.

“And results from a DNA test.”

Turmoil bubbled just below the surface. She’d convinced herself she didn’t need to know. And now? “You had my DNA analyzed?”

“He wasn’t your father, Lacy. Hartmut Luschin is named on your birth certificate, and the professor’s DNA is not a match with yours.”

It was as if someone had stamped “the end” on a book she’d not been able to finish. At once relieved and unsatisfied, she felt the weight of not knowing lifted, yet not gone. “Is this standard...did you do this because...” She couldn’t focus. Tears blurred her eyes and astonishment muddled her head.

What he presented meant nothing without knowing the reason for his actions. If only his actions spoke more to his feelings. She should thank him, turn away and ask him to leave. But she couldn’t.

She swayed with the effort, and his arms went around her waist.

“I couldn’t let the last time I saw you—be the last time I saw you, Lacy. You said you never wanted to see me again, in so many words, and I should respect that, but I can’t. I’ve been miserable.”

Her knees buckled, but his quickness tightened the hold.

“What about Kitty?”

He brushed the hair from her forehead, wiped the tears from her cheeks and let go of the proof of her heritage as his arms encircled her.

“Kitty’s just a friend. But I had to let her down easy. She was so upset over Clark. If only I’d not been an idiot and had told you sooner how I felt about you the morning after, hell, how I’d felt days before.” His voice grew husky. “I want you, Lacy.” Sultry lips kissed away the tears on her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. So sorry for all of it.”

The kiss on her lips, a peace offering, lightened her heart and stilled the trembling. Her eyes opened to his serious, sorrowful expression.

She clung to him, desire firing every inch of her. “I want you, too, Chance.” She tilted her head, brought her lips to his as he lowered his head and kissed her lightly.

“Will you come back with me?”

“Now?”

“You haven’t met Jenny. And my house seems empty without you.”

She smiled. “I only spent one night.”

“What a night.” He caressed her waist.

His fingers were electric. Her neck tingled with kisses he spread from her collarbone to her chin and another light kiss.

“I want you back in Flagstaff. For good.”

“I...don’t know. I can’t just walk away from the Lacy Latte. From my life... Can I?”

“Your life could be in Flagstaff, with me. We can figure it out.” His kiss, this time deep, breathtaking, made all things seem possible. “I need you. I want you with me.”

Her hands cupped his face. “Oh, Chance, I feel the same. In fact, I...not only want and need you, I—”

“No.” He pulled her closer until not even air could pass between them.

His mouth came hard on hers, and she let him in, at first welcoming then responding until the kiss became so much more. The ache of desire tangled with joy and when he broke the kiss, she couldn’t let him go easily.

“Let me say it first.” He smiled. His copper gaze caressed her face, and settled on a soul-deep stare. “I love you.”