by Vella Munn
By the time she’d completed her assessment of Shaw, Nate had outlined the plans for her dock. To her surprise he said he was going to first section up and split the fallen trees for firewood. Instead of asking Nate why he hadn’t mentioned that part of his plan to her, she kept her features neutral.
“As long as you do it on your own time,” Shaw said to Nate. This wasn’t going well. Did it mean the two men didn’t get along?
Nate’s eyes narrowed.
“I appreciate everything Nate believes he can accomplish,” she told Shaw. “Just looking at the dock overwhelms me.”
“You’re the sole owner,” Shaw said, “so I understand why you feel the way you do.”
“Wait a minute.” Nate broke in. “What makes you think she is?”
Shaw stared at Nate then shifted his attention to her. Bruce had lost interest in the bag and was levelling one of his I’m not sure I trust you looks at Shaw. She couldn’t agree more.
“Tax information is public,” Shaw said. “I know who owns every cabin.”
“Why did you look that up?” If Shaw believed she was a helpless female she could hardly wait to show him how wrong he was. “What business is summer home ownership of yours?”
“Are you interested in selling yours?”
Not long ago she’d told Nate it was a possibility but that had been when it seemed as if the place was falling down around her. At the moment she didn’t know how she felt about retaining ownership.
“Are you making an offer?” She countered.
“I’m willing and able to make it financially worth your while, but I don’t want to waste either of our time. Yours isn’t the only place on my short list.”
A shrewd businessman—except she sensed there was more to him than that. He seemed incomplete somehow, surface presentation with depth hidden away.
“I’ll be honest.” Shaw went on. “The resort owner—maybe you’ve heard that he’s my uncle—wants to offer guests a place to stay away from the activity here. Something for a honeymoon or business retreat.”
She nodded. “But that won’t happen unless you can buy one of the private cabins because there aren’t any vacant lots left at Lake Serene. I suppose once a cabin becomes part of the resort complex you’ll be able to rent it, but I could see that being tricky.”
Shaw’s long blink said he hadn’t expected her to put one and one together.
“I understand,” she said. “My family has dealt with federal regulations here for years. Your hands are tied unless you can get me to sell.”
“You or another cabin owner.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” She was tired of the conversation, weary of having to wear her business hat.
“I hope you do.” Shaw held out his hand and she shook it, finding it dry and strong. “Don’t try to sell it on your own. I can offer more and write a check the same day.”
Chapter Eleven
“I’M SORRY YOU got caught up in that,” Nate told her once Shaw had left. “The man takes his job too seriously. That’s why I didn’t say anything about finding the discarded nail stick. Better to let Rey deal with it.”
“It’s all right. I’ve dealt with his breed before. Who is in charge, him or his uncle?”
Nate considered. Much as he wanted to spend more time with her, he needed to get back to work. He also needed to be alone so he could try to make sense of what had been happening between them before Shaw showed up.
“I’m not sure.” They were nearly back at her car. “Robert’s hardly ever here so that leaves Shaw to handle the day-to-day.”
“Do you think Shaw cares?”
He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“My take on Shaw is that he knows what he’s doing. At the same time, I wonder if he’s going through the motions.”
“Yeah?”
She ducked her head then lifted it. “You and I—well it was kind of personal.”
He couldn’t argue with that. Wished they could go back in time. Knew to take it slow.
“He could have given us some space. I would have if it was me.”
No way would he look at the hand he’d touched not long ago. Neither would he make the mistake of getting any closer to her. If he did, he risked winding up with an erection. It wouldn’t take much.
“Maybe he doesn’t pick up on personal cues,” she said. “Why is he all business?”
Bruce whined and bumped his hand as if announcing he was bored by the conversation.
“Maybe he’s ex-military.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. I wonder what he means by a generous offer?”
“You could ask or throw him a crazy figure.”
“I could, I guess.”
As limited as he considered himself to be at picking up people’s cues, he still bet she’d turn Shaw’s offer down. When Bruce again nudged his hand, he focused on the dog. Why hadn’t he gotten one? Moving around the way he did was no excuse. He could have found a way to incorporate a companion into those moves.
Time to bury old nightmares.
“Bruce trusts you,” Alisha observed. “I think you’re the first man he’s warmed to without taking a while to get to know him.”
He pressed the dog’s big head against his thigh, acknowledged the warmth. “He’s hoping I have more stale fries stashed somewhere.”
“No. It’s something deeper. He senses it when I’m wrestling with something.”
He knew better than to think Bruce had picked up on his mood but that didn’t stop him from wishing he could spend more time with the dog. They could go for a walk. He’d see how Bruce felt about boat rides. There wasn’t room for Bruce on his trail bike so that was out. Maybe they’d go to the lake and look for ospreys or eagles.
Ospreys and eagles? Just sitting. Could he do that?
“What are you wrestling with?”
“Considering everything that’s happening at work I should be at my office, not here. I’m usually very organized. A get it done kind of person.”
“Do you have an assistant? You could—”
“I’ve had a couple but right now I’m winging it. There’s the matter of my parents’ place. It’s been sitting there since my father died.”
“You don’t live there?”
“No.”
No with an exclamation point tacked onto the end. “Complicated?”
“How did you guess?”
“Your tone of voice.” And your expression and how you’re clenching and unclenching your fists.
She sighed. “I was raised in it.”
“Sentimental attachment?”
“No,” she said at length. “Not really. My father’s office has so much stuff in it. Sorting through years of records gives me a headache just thinking about it.”
Something wasn’t being said there. If they knew each other better or for longer, he might understand what was behind her reply. “Do you need them for tax or corporation reasons?”
“No. That stuff’s at my office.”
She was still trying to avoid something. It wasn’t his business and yet it was. Besides, talking kept them together. “Sounds like you need to be ruthless. Bring in a dumpster and start throwing stuff away.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Maybe you need to hire someone to do it.” Like me. I’m not attached to anything—or anyone. Yet.
“I can’t let an outsider…” She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “It’s a matter of getting started. All of the furniture’s still there, Mom’s sewing machine, my bedroom just like it was when I moved out.”
“Seriously? Was that your mother’s doing? She wanted to keep you a little girl?”
“She wanted to live in the past. I didn’t push her.”
“You don’t have to worry about that anymore.” He hoped she heard compassion and not criticism in his voice, hoped she understood he was trying to help.
Something he hadn’t done enough of in his life.
She squared her s
houlders. “I’m a doer. I don’t know why I’ve been putting it off.”
“Because you’re human.”
Her expression became wary. “What’s your point?”
Darn it, getting things right where she was concerned was complicated. “Your parents’ home isn’t the same as an office. Cut yourself some slack.”
“I don’t know how,” she whispered.
There it was, a layer peeled off, her core getting closer to the surface. He who was a stranger to that thing called compassion wished he knew what to say and do. If he embraced her, she’d probably think he was coming onto her. There’d be some of that, no denying it, but he wanted more than sex from her.
“Here’s a suggestion,” he said. “I’ve got to get back to work, but I have a couple of steaks in my refrigerator. What if you come back later and let me barbeque for you. I have something I’d like to show you.”
“Here?”
Home was a forty-year-old studio apartment with a small chunk of cement for a patio. He kept his barbeque, a chair, and a metal table there, hardly the ideal setting for entertaining a member of the opposite sex. Despite the limitations, he wasn’t sorry he’d given into impulse.
“I cook a mean steak. Between that and potatoes wrapped in foil and a bag of mixed greens—”
“What if you bring those things to my place?”
Her suggestion, alive with possibilities and problems, hung in the air. “I can do that.”
Then because he could spend the rest of the day regretting it if he didn’t do it, he placed his hands on either side of her neck and kissed her forehead. Light. Quick. Easy, maybe. She shivered, a slight tremor he wanted to hold onto. When he backed away he noticed that her hands were fists. Maybe she was forcing herself not to push him back but maybe that was the only way she could keep from touching him.
Tonight. At her place. Both dangerous and the only thing he wanted to do.
*
ALISHA’S PLAN FOR the afternoon had been to burn more debris but work-related calls kept interrupting her. Her father had lectured her at length about the competitiveness of the business they were in. There were only so many commercial possibilities within a certain geographical area and any number of realtors eager to get in on the development end of things. He’d made no secret of his belief that commercial realtors would either try to roll over her or work behind her back. He wouldn’t have thought that way if she’d been male.
She was tough darn it! If she committed to putting a deal together nothing stopped her from seeing it through. More than once she’d succeeded when even she’d doubted it would happen.
It had taken her father’s death for her to realize how much of her drive had come from wanting his respect. And from not allowing sorrow over her mother’s life to swamp her. Even though she had every intention of seeing her current projects through, she didn’t care whether her clients wound up with the perfect clinic. Nate would understand.
He was on her mind and his voice was in her head when she returned the call from earlier.
“Don’t let me throw this thing in the lake,” she told Bruce when the phone conversation was over. “It’d feel darn good but eventually I’ll regret it.” Besides, she silently added, she’d given Nate her number.
After dragging yet another limb over to the fire, she checked the time. Nate could be here in less than a half hour and she was a smoky mess.
“Come on,” she told Bruce. “I have to get presentable.”
Maybe Bruce understood because he led the way to the cabin. The day was still warm and the breeze was blowing away from the cabin, allowing her to leave the door open without worrying it would fill with smoke. The pesky mosquitoes would return with the shadows but she’d gotten all the screens up. The fit at the front door wasn’t perfect, leaving a crack she had no doubt the mosquitoes would find.
Nate could remedy that.
“I’m starting to depend on him,” she told Bruce. “I’m not sure that’s wise but…”
Screen security wasn’t the issue. The greater question was how she felt about the peck on the forehead he’d given her.
Her instinctive answer was simple enough—she’d loved it. Responded to it. Wanted a repeat. Something deeper next time. However, on a more rational level, she acknowledged that their relationship had crossed over a line. It would never return to what it had once been.
Was she ready for the new chapter?
*
SHE’D JUST PUT on mascara when she heard a vehicle approaching. When she looked out the window, she saw a full size pickup with a dirt bike in the bed. Growling, Bruce rested his chin on the windowsill.
“It’s all right. It’s someone you know.” And like. Nate pulled in next to her car. She wanted to ask Bruce about his take on Nate but then she’d have to try to explain how complicated things could be between men and women. He was here to repay her for feeding him. It wasn’t as if this evening would end in something complicated like sex.
Except it might.
Maybe.
“You sound like an idiot,” she muttered. Fortunately, Bruce didn’t ask for an explanation.
Nate opened the truck door. Nondescript tennis shoes were followed by long, strong legs encased in faded denim. She ran her hands over her thighs. Why had she selected a long peasant dress with short sleeves and not entirely modest neckline instead of practical jeans?
Because she wanted to feel feminine tonight.
Just feminine. Not seductive.
Maybe.
Acknowledging it was too late for second-guessing, she slipped on leather sandals and went outside. When Nate spotted her, his eyebrows lifted while his attention went from her face to her ankles. She felt as if his gaze was stroking her, acknowledging the warm body beneath the fabric.
“Nice.” He was having trouble keeping his attention off the barely visible tops of her breasts.
“This old thing.” She stuck her hands in the skirt pockets and demonstrated how the gauzy fabric moved.
“It doesn’t look old.”
She winced. “Figure of speech.” For too long she couldn’t think of anything to say. “How did the day go after I left? Any issues with either Shaw or Rey?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.” Needing to keep the conversation going. “Is Rey always so short and to the point?”
“He knows what he’s doing and expects his crew to do their jobs.”
“Then he’s been a contractor for a long time?”
Nate frowned. “I think he used to have his own company. Don’t know what became of it.” He started toward her. Then apparently he remembered why he’d come and opened the tailgate. When he pulled out a cooler she saw he’d also brought a small charcoal barbeque. The man did plan.
“He’s committed to a long-time project—if he can get along with Shaw and Robert.”
“That’s his problem.”
Nate was right. Neither of them needed to concern themselves with the resort manager or head contractor. No reason to fill the air with words so she wouldn’t think. Most of her time here she’d been skinned-knuckles deep in physical projects. Standing there in a swishy dress with her hair smelling of shampoo felt strange. Good strange. Off balance.
Nate was coming toward her. She could either continue to stand in the middle of the walkway or she could step aside and let him pass. She moved out of the way but just a couple of feet, still close enough to feel his presence.
“Where do you want me to set up?” he asked.
“How about out front so we can look at the lake. You are serious about doing the cooking.”
When he stopped and turned around, she saw he was smiling—and that his gaze again took in more than her face. Having him acknowledge her as a woman took her out of her comfort zone and into something exciting.
“I’m a bachelor. Learning how to cook was essential.”
There. He’d said it. She now had official notification that he wasn’t married. “Th
at makes two of us,” she said as he headed around the cabin on those long, strong legs of his. “For me it was either know my way around a kitchen or survive on cereal.”
He deposited the cooler on the decades of pine needles and other forest debris that covered the ground then once more faced her. There they were, two people alone, getting to know each other.
“What about your mother?” he asked. “Didn’t she cook?”
She winced because she’d unthinkingly taken the conversation in a direction she didn’t want but what better way to get him to reveal something personal than by doing the same herself?
“I told you my mother was depressed, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
Do it. Let him into your world.
“She was like that all the time I was growing up. For years we didn’t have a diagnosis. She’d spend days in bed.” Suddenly restless, she went to where she’d placed a couple of folded lawn chairs and brought them near the cooler and barbeque.
“When I was little I thought all mothers slept a lot,” she continued. “Then Dad lost patience and started ordering her to get a grip. A neighbor asked me about the fights. I told her what they were about and she said my mother was sick. I think that’s when it struck me that she was different.”
Nate took hold of her wrist and guided her in front of the chair. Grateful that he understood how much the admission was taking out of her, she sank into the chair. He positioned the other so it was facing her and sat.
Locked his gaze on her.
Chapter Twelve
“DID SHE GET help?” Nate looked tired but she couldn’t put her mind to what she might do to help soothe away his long day. The majority of her conversations were matter-of-fact, practical, and to the point. This was different, intense and revealing, unless she chickened out which she wasn’t going to do because Nate deserved to know what kind of person he was having dinner with.
And because she needed to trust him.