Saving Laurel Springs (2 page)

And the car. Good heavens. Her eyes swept slowly over that now. A classic white Mercedes convertible—certainly a cut above the old junker he'd left Laurel Springs in years ago.

He caught her glance assessing the car. “Nice convertible, huh? It's a 1970 280SE Benz classic, fully restored.”

Rhea tossed her head. “You always did like old cars,” she said in an unimpressed voice.

He chuckled and let his eyes drift leisurely over her again, more intimately than she'd have liked. She crossed her arms defensively and glared at him. “I heard through the grapevine that you finally planned to visit your parents. You sure they'll still allow you home after all the years of neglect?”

A slow grin spread over his face. “My mom said she made me a blackberry cobbler and my dad's cooking ribs. That sounds like a promising welcome.”

“Maybe.” Rhea leaned back against the fence, making an effort to assume a relaxed pose. “Wes and Mary Jane always have been hospitable. Even to strangers.” She stressed the last word.

Carter laughed. “Guess that witch's broom you're carrying sort of fits your mood today, Rhea Dean.”

A small voice piped in. “Are you
really
Rhea Dean?” A dark-haired boy leaned around Carter to study Rhea with wide brown eyes. “Dad said you were his best friend
ever
when you were kids.”

Rhea gripped the fence rail behind her for added support as she realized this was Carter's child. A pain ripped through her heart at the sight of him. He was the spitting image of Carter at the same age. Well, almost. She looked more closely. The child possessed a sweetness and vulnerability she didn't ever remember seeing in Carter. Carter had always been a rogue.

She struggled to find her voice. “Your father and I were friends once in the past,” Rhea said to the child.

Her eyes shifted to Carter's. “But that was a long time ago.” She emphasized the word
long.
“We don't know each other anymore.”

“That could change.” Carter's voice softened as his eyes met hers.

“No. Actually, it couldn't.” She said each word slowly and emphatically, not dropping her eyes from his.

Rhea thought she saw a wince of pain pass over Carter's face before his old smile returned. “Rhea, this is my son, Taylor Layman. Taylor turned six in January and I thought it was about time he got a chance to see Laurel Springs.”

“Well, summer is a good time for it.” Rhea picked up the broom she'd leaned against the fence rail and started around the car, wanting to put an end to this conversation.

A large brindled mutt of a dog—maybe an Airedale terrier mix—lifted a sleepy head to eye Rhea curiously from a backseat carrier. He didn't bark; he just watched her walk by.

Nearing the covered bridge, Rhea paused and looked back. “Why did you stop on the bridge?” she asked impulsively.

Taylor answered before Carter could. “To listen to the water,” he told her with solemn eyes. “It sounds like magic to hear the creek rushing under the covered bridge, and Dad said it was good luck to drop a penny through the bridge cracks into the water below.”

The child leaned over the backseat to pet the big dog's head through the crate. “I dropped in
two
pennies for double luck.” His bright eyes met Rhea's, and then he gave her a concerned look. “Do you think that's all right, to put in two instead of one?”

“Sure. I'd say so. However many you want.” Rhea tried to keep her voice nonchalant. She and Carter used to drop pennies through the bridge rails—making wishes, planning dreams, whispering and talking in the dark shadows of the covered bridge. Touching, kissing when they grew older. Rhea stopped her thoughts from moving on.

She saw Carter's eyes probing hers, watching.

Offering a practiced smile, Rhea turned to start up the road again. “I need to get back to work.”

Carter's voice followed her on a soft note. “See ya later—and love you forever, Rhea Dean.”

She bit her lip not to react to the old greeting they'd always called out to each other through their lifetime, willing away the memories the words tried to conjure up. Increasing her pace, Rhea marched into the covered bridge, leaving Carter Layman and the pain he'd brought her quickly behind.

CHAPTER 2

C
arter wished, at that moment, he could do something to change the pained look he'd seen in Rhea's eyes. He knew Taylor's words had ushered in an unwelcome rush of intimate memories of the two of them stopping underneath that dark old bridge to listen to the water, to make wishes and share dreams, to kiss and discover the sweetness of first love. Carter felt the fingers of the memories stir him as pictures flooded his mind—of the spreading maple and oak trees around the old bridge a blaze of red and orange, aflame like their young passion. He never saw autumn colors or a scene of a covered bridge anymore without remembering.

Taylor turned and gave him a sweet, young smile. “I like Rhea, Dad. She's nice.”

“Yeah, Rhea's something else.” He grinned.
Nice
was hardly a word to ever describe Rhea Dean. Strong, passionate, intense, competitive, loyal, aware, zealous, determined—those were all words he might use. And he knew yet another side of her few others saw, too. Tender, shy, sometimes sentimental, full of wonder, hard-working, curious, intelligent, eager to be understood but never acting as if she cared what people thought.

How he'd missed her.

Taylor's words interrupted his thoughts. “Dad, can I walk Jinx for a minute? He needs to get out to—you know.” He rolled his eyes. “I'll walk him around near that tree.” He pointed toward a big maple off the side of the road.

Carter nodded, leaning over the seat to open the crate, snap a leash on Jinx, and help the big dog out the door with Taylor. It wouldn't hurt the boy to walk around, too, before they headed on to his parents' house.

He'd watched Taylor squirm restlessly in his seat for the last hour. Carter felt grateful he hadn't tried to drive all the way from California to Tennessee. Originally, he'd thought it might be fun for him and his son to see the USA together, to travel across country, enjoying an adventure—especially after the hard year since Judith died. Instead, he'd arranged a deal to get his car on an auto transport load going to Nashville, flew in to meet the car, and then drove from Nashville over to Cosby. It had been a long enough day for the boy, and for Jinx, confined first in the airplane and later in the car.

Taylor walked the dog nearer the car now, zooming his arms out like an airplane. “How many miles did we fly today, Dad?”

“We flew about two thousand miles from Sunnyvale to Nashville.”

“That's
far.
” Taylor blew out a breath. “And it took forever.”

“It took about four hours, buddy—not forever. And the drive from Nashville took another four.” Carter grinned at his son. “You slept through most of it, anyway. I don't know why you're grumbling so.”

“Because I wanted to
get
here.” He glanced back toward the long rustic bridge over Little Cascades Creek. “Can I drop another penny through the bridge into the creek for luck? Rhea didn't think it would be bad luck to do more than one.” He dug into his shorts pocket and fished around. “I have
one
more penny, too,” he announced, holding it up with a big smile.

“Sure, sport, but stay toward this end of the bridge and watch for cars.”

It didn't take a lot to make a kid happy, Carter thought. He remembered those innocent days when life held so few problems and every day seemed filled with possibilities. He wanted to taste that kind of joy again—and he wanted his son to have more innocent pleasures.

He closed his eyes, remembering the scene that had just occurred with Rhea. She certainly hadn't expected to see him today—that was obvious. But like a hungry man before a feast, he'd let his eyes examine every inch of her. She'd matured, filled out richly in several delicious places—but still had those full, pouty lips and that pert nose. She looked more beautiful than ever, if that was possible, her skin tanned from the summer sun, her honey-brown hair falling down over her shoulders. It was longer than he remembered, and a messy tumble today. Carter had longed to put his hands in it, to straighten it and comb it through his fingers. When his gaze touched her eyes—still smoky blue with flecks of gold—she'd glared at him in suppressed anger and resentment. He shouldn't have felt so surprised to see the anger there. He'd expected it, hadn't he?

She'd assessed him, too, the minx. He chuckled to remember it. She did it in defiance to let him see he hadn't gotten one up on her. Typical of Rhea. She'd always been like that. Never giving an inch. Never letting him know she cared a whit. Always a challenge. Other girls would flirt with him. Simper and flatter. But never Rhea.

She'd been upset he'd seen her in old work clothes, too, after so many years apart. Angry that he'd caught her off guard—not ready for him, not giving her time to bury her emotions carefully below the surface where he couldn't see them. As if she could do that.

They'd played together since their toddler years, known each other the way only longtime friends could. Yet, once they'd matured and discovered each other in a new way, their relationship took on a new dimension, strong and intense, with passion and sexual tension always sizzling just below the surface. Powerful feelings always welled between them—sometimes exploding and stunning them both.

Lord, there was no one like Rhea.

Just as saucy and as much a smart-ass as the day he left.

Taylor came running back to the car, pulling Jinx along. “I made an extra special wish, Dad.”

“Good,” he said, opening the door for boy and dog to climb in. “Let's get on over to your Mamaw and Papaw's place now, Taylor. They'll be eager to see you.”

Carter drove from the bridge down to the beginning of the loop road that circled Laurel Springs Lake and then swung left. He could see the rutted bike and walking trail along the side of the road.

“This will be a good place for you to practice riding your bicycle, sport.”

Their bikes were strapped securely on the bike rack on the back of the car. “The trail goes all the way around the lake.”

“I
know,
Dad.” Taylor heaved a sigh. “I've heard a million-zillion stories about Laurel Springs. You've drawn me maps, showed me pictures, and told me about
everything.
Remember?”

Carter bristled defensively. “Well, it's my home, Son.”

“I know that, too, Dad. It wasn't boring or anything. Don't worry.” Taylor patted his arm in an overly adult fashion for a six-year-old. “I like hearing about it. And it was neat seeing the big sign over the road you always told me about when we drove up. It said ‘Laurel Springs Camp Assembly Grounds—Retreat Center, Campgrounds, and Rental Cabins'—just like you said it would—and I knew most all the words myself.”

“So you did.” Carter grinned.

“The Laurel Springs Market was right across from the sign and the other buildings, too.”

“The bike rentals shop and the coin laundry.”

Taylor nodded. “And the road after the entrance was all shaded over with trees like a tunnel, just like you told me.” He pulled a metal airplane from his pocket, a gift from the airport, and launched it into the air from the dashboard. “All the roads were exactly like on the maps you drew me, Dad, the East Camp Road and the West Camp Road where people come with their tents and campers and stuff and the other roads after the bridge with the cabins and houses on them for people to rent. It's neat.”

“You have a good memory, Son.”

Taylor rolled his eyes. “You've been telling me about Laurel Springs since forever, Dad.”

“Yeah, I guess I have.”

“Look, there's a tractor!” Taylor pointed toward the farm field with excitement. He loved vehicles of all kinds at six—and as a city boy was eager to point out tractors, mowers, and farm machines.

As the road circled around the side of the lake, Carter watched for the familiar turn leading to the Layman farm and house. A two-storied white farmhouse soon welcomed them at the end of the lane, with a rambling front porch, a high front gable, black shutters, a red front door, tall brick chimneys, and soft gray roofing. Big red barns and weathered gray farm sheds dotted the landscape around the farmhouse—and as they drew close to the house, the car slid under a row of overarching shade trees along the drive.

Carter's father, Wes Layman, and his Grampa Preston, or Preacher Layman, as everyone called him, sat on the porch—obviously watching for them. They must have called out to his mother, because she flew out the door with her face wreathed in smiles as they drove up. The homecoming had started. And it felt good to be back.

An hour later, after Taylor set off to explore the farm and ride the tractor with his Papaw and Great Grampa, Carter sat in the kitchen, finishing off a glass of milk and an uneaten half of one of Taylor's cookies. His mother caught him up on family news while working on preparations for dinner.

“Have you been over to the Deans'?” she asked. “Nana Dean is looking forward to seeing you.”

Carter picked at the chocolate chips in his cookie without answering.

His mother turned to study him. “Are you worrying about seeing Rhea?”

“I've seen her.” He told his mother briefly about their encounter at the bridge. “She isn't happy with me. I wish we'd had more time to talk. But with Rhea, things don't always work out like you plan.”

His mother chuckled. “That's a fact. But I think it's never a good thing to avoid what might be unpleasant or uncomfortable. Take the courageous route, Son. Go right on over to the Deans' and pay your respects, despite what things happened in the past to create some misunderstandings. I know for a fact that Nana will be glad to see you. And perhaps you'll get another chance to talk to Rhea.”

She looked toward the kitchen clock. “It will be at least two hours before we have dinner. And Taylor is well occupied. We'll look after him and keep him entertained until you get back.”

Carter blew out a breath. “I think I've dreaded seeing Lillian as much as Rhea. She can be a hard woman.”

His mother shook her head. “Lillian is all business and has always been as tough as nails. Not the type to be warm and emotional. But she's intelligent and fair. She won't roll out the red carpet to you, Carter—not as Rhea's mother. You shouldn't expect it, but she won't fail to offer you welcome. The Deans and the Laymans share a long history. And she's known you since you were a baby. She may never let you know she's glad to see you, but she will be.”

Carter stood up. “I guess you're right. The visit there will hang over my head until I get it past.”

His mother came to give him another hug. “It's good to see you here again, Son. I keep wanting to pinch myself every time I look at you. I can't tell you how happy I am that you've come.”

“Well, at least someone is glad to see me.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“I know someone else who will be pleased to see you again.” She smiled at him. “See if you can slip out the back way so Taylor doesn't see you and head down to the barn. Traveler could use a run today, and he'd be pleased to take you over to the Deans', don't you think?”

Carter grinned in answer.

“His saddle and bridle are in the usual place. You'll get there and back quicker if you ride.” She looked out the kitchen window toward the barn. “But be sure to ride out the back way up along Low Ridge, Carter. If the boy sees you, he'll want to go, too, and I think this visit is something you need to do by yourself right now.”

Carter soon learned that horses have a long and warm memory. Traveler, one of the Laymans' matched pair of red chestnuts, remembered Carter easily, nuzzled him with affection, and readily welcomed him as a rider. He acted as though it had been only yesterday since the two of them galloped across the back field to the ridge, the horse little more than a yearling then.

They climbed Low Ridge behind the farm to follow the well-worn path along the banks of a shallow stream called Grassy Branch. The trail led through the woods to a break in the old rock wall between the Laymans' and the Deans' properties, crossed a back road, and wound appealingly through more woods to finally emerge behind the back fields of the Deans' home on the other side of the assembly grounds.

Carter made his way down to the house and tied Traveler to a fence post under a shady maple tree where he could munch a little green grass. Where the Laymans' farmhouse was white and trimmed in black, the Deans' place was a soft gray trimmed in barn red. It had picturesque front and side porches and several small gables around the upper story. The barns and outbuildings, like those at the Layman farm, were rusty red or weathered gray. In a side field, one old barn still had the words
See Rock City
painted on the side of the building. No one could ever bear to think of taking that barn down.

Under Nana's nurturing hand, an abundance of flowers bloomed in the front yard, and Carter knew a profusion of herbs flourished in a garden around the back porch.

Rhea's grandmother, Nana Dean, opened the door to him with a warm smile and stretched out both arms to hug him before he could even walk inside. She'd grown older, her hair fully white now, her face and hands more wrinkled—but her smile was still the same.

“You're a sight for sore eyes.” She patted his arm with fondness. “And I'm mighty glad to see you, boy.”

She stepped back to study him once he stood inside the entry. “I think you've grown even more handsome. And you always were a pretty thing.”

She gestured toward the hallway. “Go on back to the sitting room beside the kitchen. You know the way. I was in the midst of a phone call.” She caught his expression. “No, nothing of importance. Just prattling with one of the ladies in my church group. I'll go hang up and be right on back. Lillian's there, and she'll be wanting to see you.”