was a lot like this guy when I was young. Sometimes I had more curiosity than common sense.” He peered down at the boy in his arms. “Pal, you’re gonna have to work on curbing that before it gets you into major trouble.”
“You’re right about that,” Cayden’s mother said when she reached them. She tucked stray strands of hair that had come loose from her sloppy ponytail behind her ear before she took her son from Jamie and introduced herself. She then hugged the boy so tight he squealed in protest. “I can’t thank you enough for snagging him. My friend was supposed to meet us, but she must be running late. We’ve been in New York visiting my parents. I turned around to grab my suitcase and Cayden was gone. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
“Glad I could help, Dana,” Jamie said.
“Do you need a ride? Are you sure your friend’s coming?” Emma asked.
Before Dana could answer, her cell phone pinged. “I bet that’s her now.” She dug through the diaper bag, located her phone and checked her texts. After discovering her friend was waiting outside the airport, she thanked Jamie again, and then before she left, she leaned over to whisper in Emma’s ear. “He’s going to make a great father. Don’t let him get away. There aren’t a lot like him left these days.”
Even if Emma was looking for someone to spend the rest of her life with, she wouldn’t chose a musician. They were too temperamental and the business was too demanding. Making it and staying anywhere close to the top took everything a person had to give and still the business wanted more. Two people with those kinds of pressures couldn’t maintain a relationship.
Too bad because unless he’d changed a lot, Dana was right. Jamie still looked like one of the good guys.
* * *
EMMA DONOVAN. JAMIE had almost stopped cold when he saw her in the baggage claim at the airport. How he’d managed to act nonchalant, even going so far as to pretend he didn’t remember her name, he didn’t know. Especially when his heart had been banging against his ribs like cymbals during a John Philip Sousa march.
Slender, yet curvy enough to fill a man’s hands, she’d filled out in all the right ways and looked even better than she had in high school. With her long black hair and shining green eyes, Emma sure could get his pulse going. He remembered her all too well...and the fact that he’d been more interested in her than she’d been in him when they’d dated. She’d been seventeen and he nineteen. When he’d heard she’d broken up with her boyfriend, he’d jumped at the chance to ask her out. They’d gone out a few times, and then she’d ended things with him. Emma had taught him a valuable lesson: never be the first guy a woman dates after breaking up with her boyfriend. In this case, being number one was not what a guy wanted.
“When did you move back to town?” he asked in a lame attempt at conversation as they made their way to the parking lot and her car.
“It’s been almost two years.”
“Mick said you were in Nashville singing with a band, and that things were going well. What brought you back?”
“This and that.” She unlocked the doors and got in her car. The door closed with a quiet thud behind her. “How about you? What brings you to Estes Park?”
Her short comment, combined with how she gripped the steering wheel so tight her fingers whitened, sent a message even a guy with the social skills of a Neanderthal could read. He’d touched on a sore subject.
“Doesn’t the Philharmonic have a tour coming up? Mick’s been telling anyone who would listen all about it. I’m surprised you could get away.”
Now he cringed. Discussions about his career and its impending doom were exactly what he’d come to get away from, but what did he expect? When people hadn’t seen each other for years or just met, what did they ask about? A person’s career. What could he say that was the truth, yet wasn’t, and didn’t lead to any further discussion?
“They didn’t have a problem with me leaving.” He tried not to wince at what he’d said, since technically it was true. He was just leaving out the more important details.
He stared out the window as they left the airport parking lot and turned onto Interstate 270 West. As the Denver city lights faded into the distance, the sun turned the rugged Rocky Mountains all orange and yellow. The beauty of the land still amazed Jamie. The constant strength of the mountains tapped into a part of him that craved stability and certainty. The Rockies would always be here. He liked that. They gave him something to come back to again and again.
“It’s been raining a lot in New York lately,” he said when he couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “I’m glad to be getting away from that. Hopefully the weather will stay nice so I can do some hiking and horseback riding while I’m here.”
“If the weather forecasters are right, you should be fine.”
It was going to be a long hour and a half to Estes Park. They could only talk about the weather for so long.
* * *
WHEN EMMA TURNED onto the drive leading to Mick’s house, Jamie thanked her again for the ride. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“In a small town it’s hard not to.”
Don’t sound so excited. More disappointment than he wanted to admit spun through him. Message received. He opened the car door, grabbed his suitcase and headed up the walkway to Mick’s house as Emma drove away. Too bad, though. They could have had some fun, and he could use a little of that right now.
Mick sat waiting for him, perched in his rocking chair on the front porch. “So life’s been a little rough lately.”
“It could be better, but then I guess it could be worse.” And would be if his hand failed to regain its strength and dexterity.
His grandfather nodded toward the front door. “You know the way to your room. Drop your stuff off and meet me back here. I swear there’s no better place to think than this front porch.”
As Jamie walked into the house, he smiled at the pictures of Mick when he’d played with his band, ones of his life with his wife and events at Halligan’s displayed everywhere. The progression of a life. One that meant something. Like his parents’ house, this place was a home filled with memories where love lingered in every corner.
Once upstairs in the spare bedroom, he placed his suitcase in the corner. Nothing about this room had changed since the first night he’d slept here. The antique furniture so like Mick himself—Western in style, strong, sturdy and able to stand the test of time—had belonged to Mick’s parents, a tangible link to past ancestors. He ran his hand over the quilt his grandmother had made, wishing he’d had more time to get to know her.
Once back on the porch, he sank into the weathered rocking chair Mick had given his wife when they’d moved into the house as newlyweds, and he stared at the mountains looming around him.
“Emma really helped me out, but then, that’s what she does. She’s a good girl, that one. She’s held her family together over the past two years.”
Was that what had stolen the sparkle he used to see in her eyes? She’d seemed different from what he remembered. Subdued. Distant almost.
“She needs to have a life of her own,
