“Hannah?” he asked, jerking her attention back to him.
His hand was extended toward her. She took it and allowed him to assist her from the car. He kept his hold on her hand as he escorted her up the wooden staircase that led to the home’s main entry. Walking inside, she stopped abruptly. “The view!”
“Isn’t it great? Best lot on the lake, in my opinion, because I’m at the point where the lake bends. Three-quarters of the house has a water view.”
“It’s spectacular,” she said. The great room ceiling was vaulted, the walls mostly windows. A stone fireplace stretched two stories tall. Boone had used an earth-tone color palette, his furnishings a pleasing mix of traditional and midcentury styles.
“Thank you. I wanted the house to blend modern lines with old log cabin style, and I think my architect did a great job.” He pointed out the powder room and invited her to make herself at home. “I suggest the sunroom. It’s through the kitchen. The two chaises facing the lake are the best seats in the house. You want coffee? Tea? Juice?”
“Coffee, please. Black.”
Hannah admired the large kitchen as she walked toward the sunroom. A master chef would be happy working here, she decided, before her first glimpse of the sunroom wiped all else from her thoughts. “Oh.”
The room was octagonal in shape, with floor-to-ceiling windows. Here earth tones gave way to—summer. Yellows and greens and pinks and blues. It made her think of an alpine meadow covered with wildflowers. A pair of chaise lounge chairs sported thick, daffodil-colored cushions and called to her. She sat and stretched out, looked to her left, and made a slow sweep to the right. From this vantage point, one could see the entire lake, snowcapped mountains rising behind, and—oh, wow, that was a bald eagle soaring over the lake. The majestic sight brought tears to her tired eyes.
Music drifted from somewhere above her, a harp and other strings playing a soothing Celtic sound. Spa music, she thought. Peaceful and relaxing.
She stared at the sapphire lake, yearning, needing, and grieving. She made another left-to-right sweep, and that’s when it hit her. There’s no bridge over Hummingbird Lake.
Silently, tearlessly, Hannah cried herself to sleep.
She dreamed of the neighborhood playground, of towheaded toddlers and strawberry-blond girls whirling on a merry-go-round wearing grass-stained britches, chubby cheeks red with exertion. And giggles. Oh, God, the giggles. Around and around and around they went. It was real and wonderful, and she wanted to stay there forever.
Inevitably, the dream began to fade. Hannah fought to follow, to dissolve into the mist, but tragically, she woke. It took a moment to recall the events of the morning and for awareness of place to return. Time, not so much. How long had she been asleep?
Long enough for Boone to cover her with a lightweight throw and place a glass of water beside her. She threw off the blanket, lifted the glass, and sipped the water as she rose and went looking for her host. The soundtrack from Last of the Mohicans played from a hidden sound system, and the aroma of bacon lingered in the air. Her stomach growled.
Boone wasn’t in the kitchen. She didn’t hear any noises to suggest where she might find him either. Hannah glanced at the digital clock’s red numerals, and her eyes went wide. “Three o’clock!”
She’d slept for at least six hours.
Her ponytail had loosened during her nap, and a fistful of long auburn strands had escaped the tie. Impatiently, she tugged the band from her hair and finger-combed it as she assessed the situation.
Then her gaze snagged on the bar where a sandwich and potato chips sat on a plate beneath a domed glass lid. Beside it, she spied a note written in a firm, masculine hand.
Hannah, I had to run into town to take care of a bit of business. I won’t be long. I brought your suitcase in from your car and placed it upstairs in the first guest room on the right if you want to freshen up. Please, make yourself at home. The BLT is to tide you over until dinner. I’m planning on steak unless you don’t eat beef. We didn’t cover that in our conversation. I have pasta as a backup. Hope you enjoyed your nap!
Boone
“He brought in my suitcase?” she murmured. The man was nothing if not assuming.
Her stomach growled again, and she eyed the sandwich. She did love BLTs. When was the last time she’d eaten? She lifted the dome from the lunch and took a seat at the bar facing the lake.
The water and mountains beyond looked different in the afternoon light. Just as beautiful, but softer, and even more peaceful. The sailboats were gone, as were the canoes. Hannah wanted—actually, she needed—to walk down the gently sloping lawn and sit on the end of the fishing pier. First, however, she would take advantage of Boone’s absence to grab a shower. She didn’t feel as weird about getting naked in a stranger’s house if the stranger wasn’t around.
The sandwich was delicious, and the shower, divine. Hannah walked down to the fishing pier feeling better than she could have imagined when the sun rose this morning. She sat cross-legged at the end of the pier, stared at the blue water, and allowed the memories to wash over her.
* * *
Boone was glad to see the sandwich gone when he arrived home. He had not liked the idea of leaving Hannah alone, but he’d felt voyeuristic hanging around and watching her sleep. She’d been sound asleep, and he’d figured he’d be gone an hour at the most. He climbed the stairs and listened for the sound of the shower, but all was silent. The house felt empty.
His stomach took a nervous roll. Had he misjudged the situation? As he descended the stairs, his gaze went toward the windows. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spied her sitting on the pier.
Once again, uncharacteristically, Boone hesitated. He wasn’t at all sure what was the best approach to take with the woman at this point. Should he leave her be? Should he join her and ply her with patter? Should he at least check on her and reassure himself that she wasn’t about to take a header off the pier?
No, he was confident that this particular crisis had passed. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have left Hannah for even a short time.
The ringing of his cell phone interrupted his musings. He identified his cousin Tucker’s ringtone. He connected the call saying, “Hey, Vegas. What’s up?”
Vegas was a reference to the sweet bit of family gossip Tucker had shared during Boone’s trip to Texas over the weekend. In response, Tucker made a vulgar anatomical-related suggestion, then changed the subject. “So how did it go?”
“How did what go?”
“Your trip to Fort Worth.”
Ah. Well. Boone had managed to bury thoughts about his own unsettled situation while in the company of Hannah Dupree. Tucker’s question brought it right back to the forefront of his mind. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t go.”
“Oh.” There was a moment of silence as Tucker absorbed Boone’s answer. “You’re not taking the baby, after all?”
“I am taking him. Trace. I’m gonna name him Trace.”
“Trace,” Tucker repeated, approval in his tone. “Good choice. The family is due for another Trace McBride.”
“That’s what I thought. I talked to the foster parents and my friends at CPS, and we all decided it made more sense to wait until after Jackson’s wedding to make the trip to Fort Worth. The legal stuff needed a little more time, and honestly, I was afraid that if I’d gone to visit him, I wouldn’t have wanted to leave him behind. Can you imagine what the family would do if I showed up at Jackson’s wedding, and my plus-one was an infant son?”