Sweet Laurel Falls Read Online Free PDF Page A

require strict adherence to
building codes. Even in the few strip-mall-type developments they passed with
pizza places, frozen yogurt shops and fast-food places that might appeal to
tourists, the buildings had cedar-shake roofs and no flashy signage to jar with
the setting.
    As he drove up the hill toward Mountain Laurel Road, the
surroundings seemed more familiar, even after twenty years. In his day, this
area of town had been called Old Hope, a neighborhood of smaller, wood-framed
houses, some of them dating back to the town’s past as a rough and rugged mining
town. A few of the houses had been torn down and small condominium units or more
modern homes built in their place, and many had obviously been rehabbed.
    He could easily tell which were vacation homes—they invariably
had some sort of kitschy decoration on the exterior, like a crossed pair of old
wooden skis or snowshoes, or some other kind of cabin-chic decoration. He saw a
couple of carved wooden bears and even a wooden moose head on a garage.
    “Turn here,” Sage said. “Our house is the small brick-and-tan
house on the right, three houses from the corner.”
    From what he had just seen in town, Maura ran a prosperous
business in Hope’s Crossing. According to the information he had gleaned from
Sage over the past few days, she had been married for five years to Chris
Parker, frontman for Pendragon, a band even Jack had
heard of before.
    She must have received a healthy alimony and child support
settlement from the guy when their marriage broke up. So why was she living in a
small Craftsman bungalow that looked as though it couldn’t be more than nine
hundred square feet?
    Despite its small size, the house appeared cozy and warm
nestled here in the mountains. Snow drifted down to settle on the wide, deep
porch, and a brightly lit Christmas tree blazed from the double windows in
front. The lot was roomy, giving her plenty of space for an attached garage that
looked as if it had been added to the main house later.
    He glimpsed movement by the side of the house and spied a
couple of cold and hungry mule deer trying to browse off the shrubs, which
looked as if they had been wrapped to avoid just such an eventuality. The deer
looked up when Jack’s headlights pulled into the driveway, then it turned and
bounded away, jumping over a low cedar fence to her neighbor’s property. Its
mate followed suit and disappeared in a flash of white hindquarters.
    Now, there was an encounter that brought back memories. When he
was a kid and lived up Silver Strike Canyon, he and his mother would often take
walks to look for deer. She would even sometimes wake him up if a big buck would
wander through their yard.
    “Thanks for the ride. I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”
    “I can walk you in. Help you with your bag and your
laundry.”
    “You don’t have to do that.”
    He hadn’t been given the chance to do anything to help his
daughter in nearly twenty years. Carrying in her bags was a small gesture, but
at least it was something. He didn’t bother arguing
with her; he only climbed out of the SUV and reached into the backseat for the
wicker laundry basket she’d loaded up at her apartment in Boulder, hefted it
under one arm and picked her suitcase up with the other.
    Sage made a sound of frustration, but followed him up the four
steps to the porch and unlocked the house with a set of keys she pulled from her
backpack. Warmth washed over them as Sage pushed open the door to let him
inside, and the house smelled of cinnamon and clove and evergreen branches from
the garlands draped around.
    Jack found himself more interested than he probably should have
been in Maura’s house. He took in the built-in bookshelves, the exposed rafters,
the extensive woodwork, all softened by colorful textiles and art-glass light
fixtures.
    “Looks like Mom went all out with the Christmas decorations. A
tree and everything.”
    He glanced at his daughter. His
daughter . Would he