Hummingbird Lake by Emily March Page A

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 on the flat edges, but the reality of it looked even better than he’d imagined.
    He continued up the drive to Cavanaugh House, the original structure at Angel’s Rest and the hub of the healing center. Parking his rental in the designated parking area, he was pleased on the town’s behalf to see so many other vehicles in the lot. He opened his door, took a deep breath of the clean, crisp mountain air, and smiled. How could fifteen-degree weather make him feel so warm?
    His heart lighter than it had been in weeks, Colt walked up the front walk and climbed the porch steps. The small sign beside the doorbell read Welcome to Angel’s Rest. May your visit here be peaceful .
    Colt stepped inside and was greeted by a teenage girl he recognized from his last visit. She’d worked at the local ice cream parlor. “Hey, Mr. Rafferty.”
    “Hi … Elizabeth, isn’t it?”
    “Yes sir. Ms. Blessing said I should expect you. She’sin the upstairs parlor, and she said to send you up after I present your special welcome gift.” She stepped from behind the desk and gestured toward the library. “If you’ll wait for a moment?”
    “Sure. Thanks.”
    Colt went into the library and smiled at the collection of angel figurines decorating the fireplace mantel. Also new to the decor were a trio of framed historical photographs depicting scruffy-looking men in front of a mine shaft, St. Stephen’s church, and a view of the valley he recognized as having been taken from Murphy Mountain. He stepped closer and studied the men in front of the mine. Could these be the town’s founders? He tried to recall what he’d learned from visits to the local museum, where his mother had dragged her uninterested offspring who wanted nothing to do with learning on vacation days. Hadn’t there been three men in on that silver strike?
    At that point he heard Elizabeth’s footsteps and he turned toward her to see