TWENTY.

At her cottage beside Hummingbird Lake, Sage's phone rang. She picked it up and heard Sarah Reese say, "He's back. I was coming out of the post office and I saw him drive by. He smiled and waved. Looked like he was headed for the Creekside Cabins."

"Okay, then." Sage exhaled a heavy breath. "He'll find my note. I have to call Rose. Thanks for the heads-up."

"Good luck, girlfriend."

Sage placed the call, and her sister answered on the first ring. Two minutes later the arrangements were completed, and Sage ducked into the bathroom, freshened her makeup and brushed her hair, then checked on Snowdrop, who lay snoozing on her bed in the laundry room beside the spinning dryer, one of her favorite places in the house. Then she exited the cottage and headed for her own favorite place, the private fishing pier on Hummingbird Lake at the tip of Reflection Point.

A quarter of an hour later she heard the car. Since she trusted Rose to have briefed Colt on her intentions, she kept focused on the effort at hand. When she heard footsteps on the pier behind her, she braced herself and darted a quick look.

Rose's eyes appeared anxious, her smile encouraging. For almost the first time since she'd known him, Colt's expression remained unreadable. Well, at least he came.

Sage turned, focused on the water, blew out a breath, and began. "First, I need to tell you, Colt, that I'm so happy to hear that your niece will recover from her injuries. Celeste pa.s.sed along the good news.

"Now, I'm going to talk about Africa, and I'm asking you both not to interrupt me. Rose doesn't know the beginning of the story, so first I need to bring her up to speed."

Besides, she'd told this part of the story before. She knew she could do it. It'll be a good lead-in to the rest of it. In a quiet, steady tone, she recited the events of the day she had dug the bullet out of Ban Ntaganda, thus saving his life. When she finished, she said, "Would you two come sit beside me?"

"Sure, honey," Rose said, her voice heavy with emotion. She gave Sage's right shoulder a squeeze and took a seat beside her. Sage noticed then that she wore flip-flops decorated with silk sunflowers. That was a new look for her sister.

Colt didn't speak, but he took a seat on her left. He had removed his shoes at some point, and now he allowed his feet to dangle in the cold waters of Hummingbird Lake. Sage let out the breath she'd been holding. He'd come this far. Maybe he would listen to her later, too, when she explained that she had at least tried to join him in Texas.

The scent of wood smoke swirled in the air as Sage clasped her sister's hand, then hesitantly offered her other hand to Colt. When after a moment he took it, she closed her eyes, and something within her relaxed. He was here. Despite everything, he was here for her. I just might be able to do this.

Then, for the first time ever, Sage consciously returned her thoughts to that violent day that had changed her life forever.

"It was our second day in the village. We'd arrived shortly before dark the previous day, Peter and me and three nurses, two men and a woman from England. We set up shop in the two-room missionary school and were working before the sun was fully up. We treated cuts and colds and infections. Midmorning, a man ran in and told us his wife was in labor and having trouble. They lived in another village, but once he heard we were there, the husband had borrowed a truck and brought her to us. She'd been in labor three days and was weakening."

Sage took a deep breath and allowed herself to remember.

Shimmering waves of heat rose from the dusty, parched earth and danced to the tune of "This Little Light of Mine" sung by children in the mission school as Sage slipped her arm around the laboring woman, supporting her through the pain of her labor. The summer sun beat down upon them, cruel and unrelenting. Sweat rolled down Sage's face, stinging her eyes as she said to the newcomers, "Let's get into the building and I'll take a look."

If the situation was as the father claimed, she'd be prepping this woman for a C-section within minutes. She'd prefer to avoid it if possible, but if this labor truly had lasted three days, it needed to end.

Blankets draped over a rope stretched between two beams shielded the laboring mother as Sage performed a quick examination. This baby was in the breech position and in distress, and the mother was fading. "I have to do a C-section here," she called out to the other medical professionals in the room. "Can one of you a.s.sist me?"

Peter joined her and they went about preparing the setting to be as clean as possible. This was, she thought, man versus nature at its most basic. If left to nature, both this baby and her mother would die. They might yet-infections in this part of the world were common and brutal-but at least with her help, they had a fighting chance.

This was why she'd become a doctor, why she volunteered with DWB. Her calling, her pa.s.sion, her joy was to save lives.

In some part of her subconscious, amidst the sound of children now singing "Jesus Loves Me" next door, she noted the noise of arriving vehicles, though she remained focused on the task at hand. Peter administered anesthetic to her patient and she picked up her scalpel.

"Yes, Jesus loves me."

The procedure itself would take but a few minutes. She placed the scalpel against the skin and made the cut.

Shouting. Angry voices. Echoes of an argument, she surmised, paying them little mind.

"Yes, Jesus loves me."

As a surgeon at work, she dared not allow her attention to wander. If she stopped, they'd die.

"Yes, Jesus loves me."

"What's that?" Peter asked as his big, tanned hand dabbed the seeping blood away with white gauze. "Sounds like a fight."

"What?" Sage lifted the child-a girl-from her mother's womb.

"The Bible tells me so."

With sharp, shining scissors, Peter cut the umbilical cord.

The bullet struck him in the forehead and blew off the back of his head.

From that moment on, seconds pa.s.sed like days. Before Sage could even process what had happened, before Peter's body toppled to the floor, before the new life in her arms let out its first cry, the room was overrun with men wielding guns and machetes and shouting loudly.

Pop pop pop. Rat-a-tat-a-tat. "No!" cried one of the British nurses. "Please, don't. Please, I have children. I-" Rat-a-tat-a-tat.

The baby breathed and cried and Sage brought her up to her chest, cradling her against her own bosom. She saw the gun barrel turn her way. Funny how smoke curled up from the end of the gun that way. The black hole.

The children next door were crying and screaming. Rat-a-tat-a-tat. Sage started to sing, "Jesus loves me, this I-"

A gruff voice shouted, "No. Halt. She's Dr. Sage."

The gun lowered. The baby continued to cry.

Outside, the blended sounds of gunfire and screams abruptly cut off intensified.

The gruff-voiced man grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her away. Sage turned her head and looked back at Peter's body just as the machete came down on the neck of her patient, mercifully still asleep from the anesthetic. Her arms clasped the child more firmly in reflex. So tiny. So helpless. So innocent.

Outside, she saw two flatbed trucks stopped in the center of the road in the middle of the village and ... carnage. Blood splattered the hard-baked earth. Bodies lay everywhere. Men. Women.

Children.

The volume of gunfire, of screams, decreased. For the most part, the screams had gone silent. All around her, villagers lay either dying or dead. The physician in Sage told her to run to the injured, to attempt to save the dying. The punishing grip around her upper arm wouldn't allow it.

One by one, the Zaraguinas returned to the trucks, lining up behind them, good little tin soldiers all. She saw one villager alive and standing, a boy of about eleven or twelve. He didn't appear to be afraid, but rather in shock, unable to comprehend the butchery that he'd witnessed. Sage suspected her own expression looked the same.

Now the gunshots came in singular pops, moving from the far end of the village toward her. The baby in her arms found her own fist, and sucking it quieted her cries.

The sun baked down. Sage sang softly, "Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me."

The pa.s.senger-side door of one of the trucks opened. A man stepped outside. Ban Ntaganda.

Sage's gaze dropped to his left leg as he sauntered toward her. No limp. She'd done a good job. She hummed the children's hymn softly as her body trembled.

The stench of death filled the air as he stopped ten feet from her. His gaze raked her up and down. "Dr. Sage. You saved my life. I return the favor."

Sage closed her eyes in Africa.

In Eternity Springs, Colorado, she opened her eyes and said, "They took the boy with them, the eyewitness, to announce the ma.s.sacre, which was punishment for the village elders having refused to pay the demanded tribute to the rebels. Cattle. They'd asked for twelve head of cattle. The village leaders refused because those cattle were the source of income for the village. So Ntaganda murdered everyone in the village. Men. Women. The children in the mission school. Everyone except for their witness and me. We were the only ones left."

"The newborn?" Rose asked, horror in her tone.

Sage realized then that her sister had been squeezing her hand hard. She shook her head. That part she couldn't say. She couldn't bear to go there in her mind, and she never would.

She stole a glance at Colt. He stared straight out at the lake, his lips set in a straight, firm line, his expression as hard as granite. But his hand held hers with tender, gentle care.

She swallowed hard. "I don't know how long I stood there. I've never heard such quiet in my life. Utter stillness. No animal sounds. No birds. Nothing. Everything was silent." She drew a deep breath, then exhaled harshly. "Until the flies began to buzz."

"What did you do, Sage?" Colt asked, his voice raspy. "How did you get out of there?"

"The missionaries had a radio. I sent out a mayday. It took two days for someone to show up." Sage released Colt's and Rose's hands, then rubbed her eyes.

"You were there with all those bodies? All alone?" Rose cupped her hands over her mouth. "Oh my G.o.d, Sage. I can't imagine. The heat ... the stench. What did you do?"

There simply weren't words to describe it. In fact, she was fairly certain that she'd blocked a lot of the time out. So she simply said, "I waited. They finally came and, well, that's my story, the source of my, well, weirdness."

"It isn't weirdness. You lived through something unspeakable. Something so horrible, I can't even begin to wrap my brain around it. I'm so, so sorry." Rose threw her arms around her sister and hugged her hard, then leaned back. "And you told this to Dad?"

Wearily, Sage nodded. "I did. He's the only one I told."

"And he reacted poorly. Shame on him. But after hearing this, I'm more certain than ever that he simply couldn't handle the hurt he felt for you. Then before he could make it up to you, he had the stroke."

"If you're right and he was upset about me, maybe the extra stress ...?"

"Absolutely not." Rose shook her head. "His blood pressure was off the charts and had been for some time. He and I discussed it because his treatment regimen wasn't proving effective, so don't add that worry onto your shoulders. They already have enough to bear."

Sage gave a little sigh of relief, and Rose continued, "This is the most horrible story I've ever heard. I'm so, so sorry you went through this, Sage. It's no wonder you laid down your scalpel and picked up a paintbrush. I'm amazed you came out of that village able to speak a coherent sentence. Going through what you went through would have driven me insane."

"I'm not mentally healthy."

"Maybe not entirely, but you're getting there. I think you took a great big step here today." Rose gave her sister another hug, then looked from Sage to Colt and back to Sage once more. "Now, I think I'll mosey back to Angel's Rest. I have a chapter to finish, and you two need to talk. Colt, you can find your own ride back to town, right?"

Continuing to stare blindly out at the water, Colt nodded. His voice sounded scratchy and rough when he replied, "Thanks, Rose."

Sage stole a glance at Colt, then said, "I'll walk you to your car."

Once the sisters were out of earshot of Colt, Sage asked, "Well, what did you have to promise him to convince him to come?"

"Nothing at all. He acted like he wanted to talk to you."

Glum, Sage kicked at a stone. "Probably can't wait to call things off between us."

"Now your self-pity is showing. Stop it. It's unattractive."

"It's not self-pity. It's sadness. I can't be the woman he needs and deserves."

"Sure you can," Rose scolded. "You took a big step forward just now. You are healing, little sister. Slowly but surely. I am so proud of you. I admire you so much."

"I love you, Rose."

"I love you, too. And so does that man down by the lake. Have faith in him, Goober, and in yourself."

Sage sighed and smiled. "Are you ever going to quit calling me that stupid name?"

She is an amazing woman. Colt was shaken down to his core. Poor, poor Cinnamon. He'd known that whatever had her spooked was bad, but he'd never guessed it would be this horrific. And here he'd been pushing her into therapy. Who would want to talk about that? Who would want to remember it? No wonder she painted nightmares. She'd lived them.

He needed to move, to run, to exorcise the anger and the images her words had placed into his brain. His gaze landed on the rowboat tied at the end of their pier. That'd do. A minute later, he'd loosened the line, manned the oars, and headed out.

He rowed hard and long, digging the oars into the water, wishing the ungainly rowboat was a slim skiff that he could send skimming across the lake. As it was, he got the boat going a decent enough speed. Most important, he drained himself of the sharp edge of his anger. He could probably talk to Sage now without erupting like an idiot.

He was still furious, and if he could transport himself to Africa and stab this Ntaganda guy through the heart, he'd do it in an instant.

The world could be an evil place with evil people doing evil things. To think that gentle, tender-hearted Sage witnessed something like that, lived through something like that, made him want to howl to the moon.

Thinking about that poor newborn baby brought tears to his eyes.

Now he understood why delivering Nic's babies had caused such a reaction in Sage and why babysitting the pair had taken so much out of her. The woman had grit. Pure grit. He'd never admired her more. He'd never loved her more.

He gazed toward Reflection Point. Sage wasn't waiting for him on the pier. Okay, then. She'd probably gone looking for Snowdrop to hug. He'd hunt her down. He had something to say to her. Something he'd considered long and hard during the trip from Dallas back to Eternity Springs.

He rowed back to the pier, secured the boat, then walked with steady determination up to her cottage. There, he made a perfunctory knock on her back door, then stepped inside. He found her in her studio, working on a portrait of Snowdrop.

"No b.u.t.terflies? Fairies?"

"Just Snowdrop."

"Comfort painting."

She smiled a little sadly, but didn't respond. Colt stepped farther into the room. He knew what he wanted to say, but he didn't know the best way to say it. Ease his way in, or just say it flat out? He watched her add a spot of white, a bit of light, to the chocolate brown of Snowdrop's eyes, and decided to jump into the deep end of Hummingbird Lake. "I love you, Sage Anderson. I want to spend my life with you. Make a family with you. Look at me, please?"

Slowly she turned, and their gazes met and held. "Marry me, Cinnamon. Let me be your soft place to fall."

The paintbrush slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. The pain in her eyes caused his stomach to drop to his knees. "Oh, Colt. Don't do this, please. I am nowhere ready for this. I am the most screwed-up person in the world. I let you down when you needed me the most. That's what I do. It's who I am. I'm trying to change, but who knows if I'll ever pull it off."

"I saw you outside the hospital."

Her eyes rounded. "You did?"

"It was a few minutes after Rachel first moved her toes. I ran down to find you, but you were gone."

"I stood out there for over an hour, Colt, but I couldn't make myself go inside. It perfectly ill.u.s.trates my point. I travel all the way to Texas, but I can't go the last few steps. Like I said, I am the world's most screwed-up person."