stared at her. “You what?”
“I thought I did, anyway. It took me a while to realize it was mainly that I wanted what Hope had. The love, the feeling, not necessarily…the person.”
It happened so fast Gabe could barely keep up, the astonishment at her admission, and the sudden refutation of it. To his amazement, he found himself feeling oddly disappointed when she explained she’d essentially been in love with the idea of what he and Hope had, not him.
This was a revelation he didn’t quite know what to think about; he’d never thought of himself as the kind of man who needed women falling all over him. He’d wanted Hope, and he’d gotten her, and that had been more than enough, while the good part lasted. So why this sense of letdown because Cara Thorpe had decided she hadn’t had a crush on him? Especially when he’d never known she even thought she had?
“So we know Hope was really here the day she disappeared, and she bought, wrote and mailed that card the same day.”
Cara had obviously moved on, perhaps embarrassed by what she’d admitted. Since he wasn’t at all sure how he felt about it, he welcomed the change of subject.
“Yes,” he agreed. “But we still don’t know why she was here.”
“Or where to go from here,” Cara said.
“Well, if she stopped here to get and mail that card, maybe she did something else, too. Let’s ask around, maybe—”
“Hello?”
They both turned at the hesitant interruption. It was the woman who’d been after them at the postal counter. The child she held, a dark-haired little girl who looked about two, was dozing on her shoulder.
“I’m Laura Ginelli. Mr. Woodruff said you were asking about Hope Taggert.”
Gabe and Cara exchanged a quick glance. He chose his words carefully, using present tense, for reasons he didn’t stop to analyze. “You know her?”
“I haven’t seen her in years, since she stopped coming up here.”
Gabe went still. He knew Cara had picked up on the same thing he had, when she asked, “Stopped?”
“Yes. Without a word. I always thought that was strange, but she was kind of…flighty that way, my grandmother would say. No offense, if she’s related to you or something.”
“I’m Gabriel Taggert,” Gabe said, watching the woman for a reaction.
“Oh! I should have guessed,” Laura said with a flashing smile that lit up her dark eyes. “She said you were the personification of tall, dark and handsome.”
Gabe blinked as Cara laughed. “Isn’t he just?” she said to the woman.
Gabe was rarely at a complete loss for words, but he was now. Not that he didn’t appreciate the compliments, but he was never sure how to deal with such open admiration. Was he supposed to say thank you, or what?
Fortunately, Cara saved him from the awkward moment. “I’m Cara Thorpe,” she said to the woman. With a glance at Gabe, she added, “Hope…was my best friend.”
He noted the change of tense, and agreed with her; this woman obviously had no idea anything unusual had happened. Cara quickly explained about the much-delayed postcard.
“Oh, you’re the one she wrote to, then?” Laura said after marveling at the belated delivery. “I wondered who on earth she’d been sending a postcard of this little burg to, and she said she hadn’t been able to reach you by phone.”
“You seem to remember pretty well, for something so long ago,” Gabe said, careful to keep his tone merely curious.
“I do,” Laura said. “I’m good with that kind of thing, and besides, I remember because it was the last time I saw her, and I always wondered why she never came back.”
“So you saw her that day?” Cara asked. “The day she mailed that card to me?”
Laura nodded, and gestured across the street to the small coffee shop they’d noticed when they arrived. “I used to work over there, until my older son was born. Hope would come in when she was in town, for a milkshake. She loved them, and they make them the old way, with a big blender, not out of a machine.”
“Strawberry,” Gabe said softly.
“Yes,” Laura said with a smile. “Anyway, she came in for one, and was writing on a postcard. When she finished, we chatted a little, like always.”
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