Hummingbird Lake Page 0,25
when it’s easier to bribe an inspector instead?”
That was the piece of news he’d received that had led to the meeting that led to his blowup. Were there no good, honest people in the world anymore?
Yes, there were. That’s why he was headed to Eternity Springs.
Having been given two weeks of forced leave, he’d booked his flight to Colorado, and since his usual rental was closed for the winter, he’d called Celeste Blessing to arrange for a place to stay. He’d asked for one of the outlying cottages on the Angel’s Rest property, but after Celeste explained that a church group from Kansas had rented the entire facility for a week, she suggested alternative lodging that she believed would suit his needs perfectly. She’d volunteered to make all the arrangements for him and instructed him to stop by Angel’s Rest to pick up a key.
He couldn’t wait to get there. He’d flown to Denver last night, then headed into the mountains this morning. He’d added at least an hour and a half to the trip by stopping to admire the snowy vistas at least half a dozen times since entering the mountains. He was hungry, craving a strong cup of coffee, and nursing a strong sense of anticipation. He loved Eternity Springs, its people, and their small-town values.
Life wasn’t gentle in the mountain valley—especially not this time of year, he imagined—but in many ways, life was kinder there than elsewhere. People didn’t cut other people off in traffic in Eternity—there wasn’t any traffic. They weren’t rude to strangers, because the only strangers were tourists and tourists were the economic lifeblood of the area. And of special appeal to him, here people said what they meant and meant what they said. The only spinning done in Eternity Springs was done by skaters on Hummingbird Lake in winter. They damn sure wouldn’t take bribes and look the other way, putting lives at risk.
Finally he rounded the hairpin curve that offered the first sight of the little town nestled in the narrow valley. Once again he pulled to the side of the road and took a moment to soak in the view. “It’s a postcard,” he murmured. Gorgeous. Beautiful.
Special.
Mountains filled with evergreens and snow ringed the narrow valley with a small town nestled at its center. Unlike other times of year when nature painted a myriad of colors across the landscape, today white was the predominant color, with a spattering of blue, green, and yellow on the wood siding of the Victorian-era homes in the center of town. Smoke rose from redbrick chimneys, and he counted five snow-dusted church steeples reaching toward heaven. At the far end of town, Hummingbird Lake lay beneath a sheet of ice.
As Colt watched, the doors to the school opened and children came pouring out. He grinned like a kid himself as he pulled back onto the road and completed the final short leg of a long journey.
When he drove past the city limits sign, tension rolled off his shoulders and his spirits lifted. Coming here had been a good decision. The right decision. He’d always wanted to see this place in winter. And he had a score to settle with the redhead, too.
“Sage Anderson,” he said aloud. He’d thought about her off and on since their little tête-à-tête at the Fort Worth Water Gardens in December. Once he got over the shock of having the woman let loose with a bloodcurdling scream while he was kissing her, then being called out by the cops before he figured out what was wrong, he’d recognized that she’d provided him a big fat piece of the puzzle she presented.
Consider the circumstances. They’d been alone together in a dark outdoor venue. She’d gone from being enthusiastically responsive to scared to death in a heartbeat. That pointed to a flashback of some sort. He suspected the odds were pretty good that at some point in her past she’d been sexually molested or assaulted.
Some men were pigs. Some men were even worse. With any luck, during the next two weeks he’d have the opportunity to prove to her that he was one of the good guys.
Just another reason to be happy to be here in Eternity Springs.
He made his way down Cottonwood Street, then crossed the bridge over Angel Creek to Angel’s Rest, where he glanced with a sense of artistic pride at the sign he’d carved. Damn, but he did good work. During the design process he had envisioned it with snowdrift