*Grace. The word came to Mark so quickly as he watched Lauren walk down the veranda steps and make her way to one of the cabins where the Buckners had begun clearing it out, that he paused to let the deduction sink in.
It was the right word for Sage Springs, too. An effective and evocative adjective that implied emotion, not just a visual depiction. The house, and its owner, was graceful and elegant. Poised. Soft of limb, strong of heart.
He raised a hand to block the sun when its rays fell on Lauren, cloaking her slim frame, lighting up the tips of her chestnut hair, and making her look like a lifeforce, a guiding light.
What facets of the Mackillop gift did she possess? Were they visible or hidden beneath a cloak of secrecy?
He’d probably never find out, but if he were to write about this town, like Ava had said he would, he’d show that graceful elegance in Lauren. That meant he’d also have to marry her off to some guy who wandered into town one day, because there was no chance a woman like Lauren wouldn’t get a marriage proposal—or a dozen. But what sort of guy would he write for her? What sort of man would capture her heart?
He was sure she was more than slightly attracted to him and their attraction to each other was an unusually heightened thing. Something bigger than both of them, regardless of the deceit on his part and the need to fight it out on her part.
How could his relationship with her possibly end well? He’d teased and flirted from the start, but it had been an involuntary need to reach out to her, to communicate with her, although he could only now see the truth of that. Now that he knew her, he respected and admired her, and he also thought her the loveliest woman he’d ever met, inside and out. His desert sage.
Wow, he’d wanted to say when she stood on the street earlier, looking at the new sign on the bar, her hair cascading around her shoulders and her face a picture of surprise. His heart had billowed, and he’d felt as though he’d been brushed with the wispy trails of a bewitching spell.
He was his own man and had always been proud of that, of never having to rely on others. Never begging for a loan or sleazing his way in or out of a situation. This morning, he was a changed man. He was ready for anything, and he was going to write his own story—and, by God, he’d make sure it was a good one. A happy, fulfilling story of real life.
The early morning clouds moved and the sun’s rays streaked across the rooftops of his town.
His—again, he was making pronouncement out of nowhere. His town. His girl.
He didn’t know what it meant, but he wasn’t going to question it. He liked her. He more than liked her; he practically adored her. Suddenly, as though out of nowhere, certainly since he’d been in her ballroom, his heart had gotten involved with the town and with the town’s beautiful daughter.
He thumped the veranda railing with a fist.
Donaldson’s be damned. Whatever he had to do, he was going to do it. “Bring it on,” he murmured.
His cell phone rang.
Boomer.
Hell. What now?
*
Lauren checked her watch. They had less than half an hour until Donaldson’s arrived.
“Sure you don’t want breakfast?” Ingrid asked. “Kid and Butch are going to do chef duty for us all day.”
Lauren shook her head. The flutter in her belly was nerves and she couldn’t have forced down even a white-fudge pretzel. She’d have to put on the professional persona soon. The woman who knew exactly what was happening in her town—and she’d only just discovered most of it two hours ago.
She’d left the cabin in the capable hands of Doc and Butch, after making a few suggestions for her initial needs. They’d cleared the cobwebs, brushed and washed the tiny veranda, and Mr. Fairmont had given the interior a swift coat of calm, cream paint.
She’d returned to the bar to check with Mark about what else was needed, but he wasn’t around.
She glanced up the stairs to his private rooms where she’d been told he’d gone. What was he doing?
“So we’re selling food?” she asked Ingrid, bringing her attention back to the goings on in the Desert Sage Saloon.
“Only staples, like burgers, fries, chili—and our famous flapjacks. Turns out Kid Buckner’s got a baker’s hand. He’s the one who made the flapjacks. Three hundred of them!”
Three hundred? The flutters got worse. How many members of the press would turn up? A handful of half-hearted reporters? Or a dozen keen, perceptive journalists looking for a real story? One they could get their teeth into.
“How’s the cabin?” Hortense asked. “Need any ornaments? Old swivel chairs? Books? Maps of the world?”
“Thanks, no. I’ve got a desk and a noticeboard. Miss Flores is printing off leaflets for me at Duggan’s General Store and I’ve got vases of sage and honeysuckle.” It helped take away the smell of fresh, still-wet paint.
She glanced at the staircase again. Was Mark up there, alone, worrying about his father, or his mother and three sisters?
Knowing he had all those females in his life gave her one more decent perspective of him. What unpleasantness could he bring down on them? He wouldn’t have been up all night, working so hard, spending his money on expensive coffee machines if he was conning them. Although if her visions were true, he was leaving. Even Ava said he was going to leave. Why would he, after sinking so much into the saloon and the regrowth for Surrender? How would she feel if he did leave?
Lost. Sad. And somehow—responsible.
People survived decades of marriage because they shared things. Secrets, wishes, desires. What did she and Mark share? Lies. They were opposites and a terrible match.
She had to step back from him and not allow him to flirt or behave in a romantic way until she was sure she wasn’t capable of changing his future. Because it looked like her crush was back.
Why couldn’t she have been an ordinary woman who hoped the man of her dreams might one day turn up, but who didn’t really expect him to? Hope was a much better emotion than guilt. If she was changing Mark’s future, there was a lot to feel guilty about.
“Uh-oh!” Hortense called out. “Here comes trouble!”
Lauren spun to the windows as the blogmobile ground to a screeching halt outside.
Marie got out, a vision in Chanel-style silks and tweeds. She slammed the driver’s door, marched up the steps to the veranda and through the open saloon doors, waving a newspaper above her head.
“Sweetie! Don’t panic. I can control this.”
*
Mark gritted his teeth as he answered Boomer’s call. He’d jogged up the stairs to his rooms for privacy but could still hear the activity and voices from the bar below.
“Your father’s gone missing,” Boomer said without preamble.
“He’s what?”
“A little mishap our end. You need to find him.”
“How the hell can I do that?” He hadn’t even spoken to him for twenty years, let alone seen him. He didn’t have a clue what the man was like or the way he thought. “I can’t leave town. Your men are turning up any moment. I need to be around.”
“You’re going to fix this little problem for us, Sterrett.”
He’d guessed that Donaldson had his father imprisoned somewhere in Bermuda, waiting to be flown to California and the crime scene the hit guys had set up if Mark didn’t come up with the intelligence about what the Mackillops were planning to do with Surrender. But maybe there was a chance to get out of this mess now. Own up to his own deceit, take the consequences, but be assured his family and the people of Surrender—and Lauren—were safe.
“How about I just call the cops?”
“You do that and maybe someone you know will turn up dead at the crime scene.”
“You touch anyone and I’ll find you. If it takes me the rest of my life, I’ll find you.”
Boomer laughed, deep and rumbling. The sound now so familiar it made Mark’s teeth hurt.
“You’re not in control though, are you, Sterrett?”
Neither was Boomer, since he was requesting Mark’s assistance. “Where were you holding my father?”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s on the run.”
“I need a place to start. You have to give me more. Does he have money? Does he have access to his bank accounts?”
Boomer didn’t answer for a few seconds. “He spent the cash he had on an airfare. We closed his accounts when we discovered his crime against Mr. Donaldson.”
Then opened a new bank account for him—with a fake charitable name. But this intel gave him something to start on. Johnson Sterrett was out there, with nothing in his pockets and nobody to turn to.
“Where did he fly to?”
“California,” Boomer said, his voice hard.
Mark felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. “Where in California?”
“We don’t know.”
“How did he get away from you?” His father’s escape indicated they’d either been soft on him or his father had genuinely given them the slip. Was he that smart?
“Stop with the questions! Just find him.”
Boomer cut the call.
Where would a criminally intent, broke, ageing playboy go in California? Unfortunately for Mark’s heart, the one person Johnson might think still cared enough about him to help him or hide him was the wife he’d left high and dry two decades ago.
He punched in his mom’s number on the cell phone.
“Darling! How lovely to hear from you again so soon. Still working hard?”
“I sure am.” He made himself smile so he didn’t sound like he was clenching his back teeth. “Mom, there’s something I want to ask you, and it’s going to be a bit of a shock. Do you know where Dad is?”
The silence pinned him to the spot. His mom’s brain would be ticking as she attempted to figure out why he was asking. “I just wondered, because I’m working on this story for some guy, and the plot is turning out to be a little like our family’s. You know—a mom left with four kids, Dad does a runner…” He didn’t need to remind her of what that particular plotline entailed.
“Bermuda,” she answered, sounding cautious. “You know that.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from him recently?”
More silence, then an intake of breath. “Mark, if you suddenly feel the need to get in touch with your father, I will not stand in your way.”
“No! It’s nothing like that.” He didn’t want to get in touch with the man. He certainly didn’t want to meet up with him. He’d likely kill him and end up doing time for it.
“You’ve gotten me a little worried recently, darling. You fly into LA unexpectedly, then you disappear. I haven’t called you because I don’t want to interfere, but I hear nothing for over a week, then I get a text message and now a phone call the next morning.”
His mom was a loveable, engaging woman, but when it came to her children, she was a bear. The weekly call was a ritual. Just a few words to let her know he was fine, he was working, and usually to also let her know that he hadn’t met a nice woman he was planning on settling down with. But the last few days he’d been remiss, with a lot more on his mind.
“Been a little busy,” he explained. “This script is a difficult one. Lots of twists and I haven’t quite nailed it. I’ve been holed up.”
“Are you at your apartment?”
“I’m at a friend’s place. So—you haven’t heard from him? No phone call out of the blue? A letter? A note? Anything?”
“Mark, what’s going on?”
“I told you. It’s this storyline. It’s the first time I’ve had such a block.” His mom was already involved in this thing more than he would like. Worst of all, she didn’t know it and he couldn’t tell her. Not while he was still in the game and had some means to maneuver Donaldson.
But he’d worried her.
“Actually, Mom, you’re dead right. My mind’s all over the place. I have met someone. She’s getting under my skin.”
“Oh, Mark!”
“It’s nothing yet. You know how these things are. I like her. I think she likes me…”
“Who is she?”
“Someone I met at LAX.”
“Does she live in Laredo too?”
“No. I’m—I’m at her place. Look, I’ve got to go. Let me know if you hear from Dad, would you?”
“Darling,” his mom said, sounding guarded suddenly. “It’s odd that you ask about your father, because Mrs. Rosemont—she’s the one whose second cousin burned down the video rental store ten years ago because his DVD kept jamming—well, she knocked on my door yesterday, totally surprising me, and told me her cousin had seen your father.”
Mark’s heart palpitated.
“I said it wasn’t possible,” his mom said. “But it’s a coincidence that you’ve now asked me about him.”
“Must have been someone who looked like him. He’s in Bermuda, like you say. There’s a lot to keep him there.” Or there had been, like lonely, wealthy widows looking for holiday romance and a man to spend their money on. Like a great job as a property manager, before he embezzled half a million dollars.
“I expect you’re right,” his mom said, sounding relieved. “Although Mrs. Rosemont said he’d told her cousin he was going to Venice Beach.”
He could get lost and stay lost in that area. But only if he had enough cash. Unless he was intending to worm his way into the affections of some wealthy widow or divorcee. “Did this man who looked like Dad ask Mrs. Rosemont’s cousin for money? Did the cousin say anything else?”
“Not a thing.”
It was all he was going to get, but it was a start. “Okay, Mom—gotta go. Love you.”
“Wait! What’s your lady’s name?”
“Um—Lauren.”
“Am I about to gain another daughter, darling?”
“Mom, please. You’re getting way ahead of me here.”
“But, Mark—”
“How are the girls?” He wasn’t going to get off this phone call until he’d gone through all the rituals and conversations, but while he listened to the account of what his sisters were up to, he had a brain wave.
“Mom, I’ve got a friend, Big Sam, who’s in your area. Thought I’d send him over to meet you. He’s heard all about your fried chicken.”
“Your friends are always welcome. And really, my fried chicken isn’t any better than anyone else’s.”
“It’s the best in LA. Mom, look, Big Sam is—” How did he describe him? “Pretty rough looking. But he’s a lamb. I promise.”
“Darling, I don’t care what people look like, so long as their heart’s in the right place.”
Big Sam’s heart filled his chest. But no matter how much of a softie, he looked like a biker—and was acquainted with a few of them.
“I’ll give him your number and your address. You’ll like him.” He’d look out for her, and Mark’s sisters. Big Sam would do anything for him since Mark had listened to his sorrows one night in the local bar in Laredo. Sam had been going through a breakup in his relationship which had hurt him badly, so Mark had taken him back to his place, where they’d drank coffee until three a.m. while putting the world to rights.
“He sounds lovely, darling.”
Maybe some woman might see him that way. He had a tendency to cry if he watched a sad movie, his blubbering so loud on occasions that he had to be removed from the entire cinema complex. He rented a room in LA now, and shared his takeout meals with the homeless. He’d likely get on well with the Buckners.
A couple of minutes later, he managed to end the call to his mom on a reasonably cheerful note.
Next, he punched in Big Sam’s number.
“Buddy, how are you?” Sam answered in his softly spoken, gravelly voice.
“I need a favor.”
There was a pause and Mark could practically see the big guy squaring his shoulders.
“Name it.”
“I’ve got a job for you. Two jobs. My mom’s in trouble, and I need to find a guy in Venice Beach.”
It only took a few minutes to explain the basic facts. Big Sam had already begun packing his gear for the drive to Venice Beach where he’d try to find Johnson Sterrett before heading to Mark’s mom’s place and checking on her.
Mark pocketed his phone when he ended the call.
At some point he’d have to tell his mom what was happening. Maybe she and the girls could go to Granny Dubois’s place in Idaho and ride out the shame in relative privacy and safety until this was all over.
The unexpected developments put him in a real tight spot. But he’d managed it, as best he could. Now, it was up to fate.
All he had to do was get through today without being discovered.