She stifled a laugh. “I see your point. But you’re missing the larger picture. You’ve encountered difficulties and you keep coming back anyway. And you took the brunt of that fall, protecting those two girls. I wish we had more parents like you at Woodside.”
“Then you’re out of luck—I think I’m one of a kind.” He’d tried to make a joke but, strangely self-conscious over her praise, his voice was gruff.
She hesitated, agreed softly, “Yes, you are.”
“MOST PEOPLE KNOCK WITH their fist,” Geneva remarked wryly. “Not their forehead. You want to tell me why you’re standing on my front porch banging your head on the door?”
“Last-ditch attempt to knock some sense into myself,” Shay said. It was Thursday evening. They were planning to order a veggie pizza and a couple liters of diet soda, then plop down in Gen’s living room to watch a Hugh Jackman movie.
“Hang on, I’ll go get a baseball bat and help.”
“Ha-ha.” Shay hung her jacket on the rack in the foyer. “It is to laugh.”
“Well, Cade appreciates my sense of humor.” Geneva sniffed, pretending to be offended—an effect she completely ruined with her self-satisfied grin. “Course, that’s not all he appreciates.”
“You may not be the only one with an admirer,” Shay said. “Mark asked me to have dinner with him on Valen—”
“I knew it!” Geneva whooped. “I told you the night of the town council meeting that the two of you had chemistry. Didn’t I tell you?”
“Before you get all carried away, it’s dinner at his house with his six-year-old daughter as de facto chaperone, so—”
“What are you going to wear?”
“I don’t know.” Shay blinked at her. “I only agreed to it a couple of hours ago. And I’ve been having second thoughts ever since.”
“Second thoughts? Why, because— Wait, come with me.” Geneva spun on her heel and headed for the kitchen. “We need wine. White, or red?”
“What happened to the guilt-free diet soda?”
“Please. Good gossip requires wine.” Geneva was already pulling blue-stemmed glasses down from a cabinet. “Besides, we should toast the occasion. Your first date in Braeden, finally!”
In the refrigerator door, Shay found an already opened bottle of Italian pinot grigio.
“So why the doubts?” Geneva asked as she poured. “Is it because you think he’s still too hung up on his wife to be in a healthy relationship?”
“Actually, no. He loved her a lot, but I don’t see that as being an impediment to his getting involved again. They had a great marriage. Mark’s not one of those jaded men who’s been burned and doesn’t even realize how angry he still is.”
Geneva pulled a face. “Dated that guy.”
“Mark’s got other complications, though. Work stress,” she said, keeping it vague since he’d asked her not to tell people about the fate of the store hanging in the balance. “But more importantly, his little girl. He has to worry does Vicki like the woman, does Vicki like the woman too much? What if she gets attached and it doesn’t work out? And then there’s…”
“Yes?”
“Well, I think he’s been reserved because he doesn’t have any practice dating.”
“You mean he’s out of practice because he was married for years.”
“No, I mean his wife is the only woman he dated.”
“Get out!” Geneva’s eyebrows shot up. “So was she the only woman he…? And they had years to get it right.”
“Geneva!” Shay choked on her wine. “What is wrong with you?”
“Many things. But for him to share such an intimate history with one person—and only one person—that kind of puts pressure on the next lady.”
“Stop looking at me like that,” Shay said, blood rushing to her cheeks. “We’re having dinner with his daughter, not running off for a romantic weekend at the Biltmore.”
“So you’ve never thought about it? Not even once?” her friend challenged, the gleam in her eyes devilish.
“What, the Biltmore? No, I can’t afford that on my salary. Where’s the number for the pizza delivery place? I’m starving.”
Geneva chuckled into her wineglass. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
“ALL THIS AND GREAT FOOD, too?” Mark sat back in his chair, trying to remember when he’d had a more satisfying lunch than the one he’d just enjoyed in the Hawk Summit main dining room. The furniture might be deliberately rustic-looking, but the cuisine was top-notch. “This place is fantastic, and I’m not just saying that because I want to do business with you.”
Across the table, Jeffrey Frye, the operations manager, laughed. “Thank you. We started with such grand plans, but we hit a snag with zoning and then construction and by the time we opened…” He looked around forlornly at the dining room, which wasn’t even a quarter full.
“Tough economy,” Mark commiserated. “I can’t help you with national advertising or anything, but there’s something to be said for word of mouth, a grass-roots approach. It’s a start, anyway. I’ve put together some advertising ideas in here to use in Braeden—I have a vested interest in regional outdoor recreation, obviously—but feel free to tweak it and use it in other outlying towns.”
“That’s damn decent of you.” Jeffrey flipped through the red folder. “Some of these are better than what the marketing consults we paid gave us.”
Mark was going to heavily promote the new resort in town and through his store. In return, for customers who brought receipts showing they’d bought outerwear and ski gear from Up A Creek, Jeffrey had agreed that for the rest of this year’s ski season, he’d give a half-off discount on lift tickets or a fifteen percent discount on a room at the main lodge, availability permitting. In addition to the rooms at the lodge, there were two separate smaller hotels on the property, one that catered to families and one that was exclusively for adults. It was a stay in that building which was being raffled at the conclusion of Mark’s Valentine’s Day sale, and Jeffrey had taken him on a brief tour of the romantic inn.
Everywhere Mark had turned, he’d seen Shay. He could picture her relaxing in the chair by the fireplace, laughing at a day’s efforts on the slopes. Was she better on skis than skates? He’d envisioned her rolling her shoulders and declaring she needed a soak beneath the Jacuzzi-style jets. And he hadn’t dared glance in the direction of the king-size bed.
“You married, seeing anyone special?” Jeff had asked amiably.
Mark had started to tell him no, but the words that had come out were, “Maybe. It’s a little soon to tell,” he’d added, sounding far too boyish for a grown man who’d driven up here with business propositions to make.
Jeff had grinned. “Well, keep us in mind should it turn into anything serious. The main lodge can also accommodate small weddings.”
Mark, forcefully pushing aside thoughts of Shay, wondered if the Campside Girls and their parents might want to come up for a family weekend of snow-tubing before the slopes closed at the end of March. On the drive back to Braeden, he thought more about the Campside Girls. Letters had gone home yesterday and sign-up for the troop was supposed to take place next week.
He knew that Vicki’s friends Val and Tessa were both interested and that their mothers seemed to trust him to know what he was doing—more fools, they. Would he get many takers beyond that? He didn’t know which concerned him more, no one joining and the “troop” being deemed a dismal failure or more girls participating than he could possibly handle.
Before he reached town, he needed to make a slight detour to a regional Campside Girls headquarters to purchase supplies and a leadership packet. He could also get Vicki’s handbook and uniform; the rest would have to be ordered by individual parents. The receptionist at the administrative building was a grandmotherly type who proudly wore a Campside Girls butterfly pin on her blouse and waved him inside. She turned him over to a “Miss Temple” for assistance, a pretty dark-haired woman with a friendly smile and dimples.
“A male Campside Girl—very novel,” she teased as she dug through a huge set of double cabinets for all of the paperwork he needed. “Did you have a mom or big sister in the program, someone who sparked your interest?”
“That would be my six-year-old daughter,” he answered.
“Most girls talk their mamas into leading a troop.”
“Vicki’s mother passed away a couple of years ago, so she just has me.”
“Well, bravo to you for stepping in. And if you need any help—have any questions—you just give us a call.” She pulled a business card out of her blouse pocket. “This has my direct number. I could even come out to the school if you want help with parent orientation or need some backup at an event.”
By the time he returned to the front of the building to pay for Vicki’s stuff, Miss Temple had made several more offers to drive out to Braeden and assist him. It occurred to him, distantly, that she might even like him. She wouldn’t be the first woman over the past two years who’d expressed some degree of interest. He’d rarely felt a reciprocal flare and yet, whenever he was within ten feet of Shay…
I want her. The thought was still so new that it was mildly shocking. Walking out to his car, he glanced around, semiguiltily, as if people could take one look at him and know he harbored lustful desires. What would she do if he acted on one of them, something as basic as a kiss?
He wasn’t sure. But even if she felt differently, he was grateful to her. When she’d asked him about romance in his life, he’d told her that he simply couldn’t picture being with anyone else. That part of him had been dormant for a long time, but she’d changed that. She’d invigorated him, helped him feel whole again.
Now he just had to figure out what to do about it.
AFTER SEVERAL ROUNDS OF POKER at Mark’s kitchen table Friday night, he knew that Cade was perfectly capable of keeping his face blank. There was no outward sign of humor in the other man’s impassive expression. But the mirth in the big man’s voice was downright deflating.
“Just to clarify,” Cade said, “exactly what kind of advice are you looking for here?”
Mark glared. “Never mind. And if you say, ‘It’s just like riding a bike,’ you’re going to be wearing your beer.” He stood, clearing the empty bowls that had earlier held chips and salsa. He should probably also go carry his daughter into her room. Vicki had fallen asleep on the couch watching The Sound of Music for probably the hundredth time. He was going to have that yodeling goatherd song stuck in his head all weekend.
Peeking around the corner, he grinned at the picture she made. Over top of long, footed pajamas featuring rainbow-colored ponies, she wore her brand-new Campside Girls vest. The beret sat crookedly across her head, her curly hair a reddish explosion against the beige couch cushion. One arm was draped over her face, the other flung straight back, still holding her stuffed horse, Pinky.
“Quite a picture,” Cade said fondly. “Want me to take her down the hall for you? The last thing you need is to make that wrist any worse. Get healed so we can go back to our weekly basketball games at the rec center. It’s not the same playing Rockwell. I beat both of you, but he hardly presents enough of a challenge to make it worth my time.”
“Yeah, you’re all talk now, when I can’t even hold the ball with both hands,” Mark scoffed. He went down the hall ahead of his friend, making sure there were no toys to trip over and no talking stuffed animals that would start making noise whenever they sensed motion. Then he bent to plug in Vicki’s barn-shaped night-light in case she woke up in the middle of the night. He kissed his daughter on the forehead and tucked Pinky securely in the crook of her arm.
Once both men had tiptoed back out of her room, Cade asked, “Have you told her yet, about your Big Date?”
“Stop calling it that. And no. I figured I’d tell her closer to the actual day. I don’t want her to spend the next week and a half building up its significance in her head.”
“It is pretty significant, though—all kidding aside. I’m impressed as hell that you asked her out. Isn’t this the first date you’ve been on that someone didn’t either set up for you or twist your arm to make? And Valentine’s Day, no less! The most romantic day of the year, when women’s expectations are high? No pressure.”
Mark’s stomach flip-flopped. “I hadn’t really thought of it like that.” Valentine’s Day had just seemed like a convenient excuse, since she’d lamented that the height of her day might be getting an exercise ball for her friend. “What about you and Geneva, any big plans?”
“I don’t know. Maybe something casual, a movie or ice-skating.”
“A little tip? If you fall, don’t try to catch yourself with your hand.”
Cade gave him a withering look. “Dude, I don’t fall.”
It was on the tip of Mark’s tongue to ask if Cade and Geneva wanted to join them here for Valentine’s Day, make it more of dinner party than an intimate date. But he recognized that temptation for what it was: cowardice. If Mark was going to dive back into the world of dating, then he was going to do it from the high-dive, seize the moment, no reservations—not use his friends as water wings to keep him afloat.
“DECENT TURNOUT, BOSS.” Roddy surveyed the store with satisfaction. “I think the Valentine’s angle worked nicely. Getting recreational equipment so that two people can spend even more time in each other’s company is an inspired romantic spin. Why didn’t we do this last year?”
Because he’d been deliberately oblivious to Valentine’s existence, Mark admitted to himself. “Well, cross your fingers. Maybe we can make this an annual event. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see Lydia Fortnaut.”
Roddy smirked. “Gonna go help her with more fishing equipment?”
“No, I’m going to hide in the supply closet,” Mark said, only half kidding. Thank God Lydia had sons and would not be getting involved with Campside Girls.
With the minor exception of being stalked by occasional rapacious divorcées, Saturday was a moderate success. He wasn’t sure whether or not the traffic would continue throughout the week—last-minute shoppers desperate for gift ideas might provide a boost—but he was pleased by the steady stream throughout the day. Even more pleased when the front door opened around three in the afternoon and Shay Morgan stepped inside.
She was pink-cheeked from the cold, her hair pulled into a high bouncy ponytail, and she smiled as soon as she saw him.
He made a beeline straight toward her, hoping his impatience to be near her wasn’t patently obvious to everyone else in the store but not caring enough to actually slow down. “Hi.”
“Hi back.” She glanced around, seeming impressed. “So this is the store. Show me around?”
“Love to. Want to start with exercise stuff? It’s a pretty small section, just one aisle.” They carried limited basics—yoga mats, weights that could be worn around wrists or ankles and the inflatable exercise balls she’d mentioned wanting—but Up A Creek was more specialized in outdoor activities.
“No, let’s finish our tour with workout supplies. I want to look at everything else first.” She lifted her chin toward a bike rack. “That stuff’s more exotic.”
He laughed. “Mountain bikes are exotic?”
“I come from a very bookish family,” she admitted. “My brother and I were more debate team than soccer team, and all four of us were more likely to be inside arguing about whether a word counted in Scrabble than playing lawn golf. I’ve never once been camping in my entire life.”
“Seriously? That’s just plain wrong,” he declared. “Come on, we’ll start over in camping goods then.”
She arched a brow at the netting that was meant to keep away bugs and the battery-powered hose contraption that could be used to convert lake water into an impromptu shower. Then she looked at Mark as if he were a lunatic. “Yeah, camping sounds like a riot. Mosquitoes and questionable hygiene—sign me up!”
She paused at an end-cap display of small camping stoves surrounded by copi
es of The Manly Men’s Ultimate Foil Cookbook.
“Don’t laugh,” Mark said, “some of my most successful grilling recipes have come from that book.”
Her teeth sank into her full lower lip. “Is it too late for me to change my answer about dinner at your place?”
“You wouldn’t back out of a promise. You know how I know?” Mark asked, completely deadpan. “You’re far too principled.”
Shay groaned, covering her face with her fingers. “You know how sometimes friends will advise each other that they need to joke around more? Take it from someone who cares about you, if those are the best you’ve got, you should joke around less.”
He laughed. “Noted. Speaking of our Valentine’s dinner, there’s something I… Would you mind stepping in the back with me for a second?”
“Okay.” Her turquoise eyes registered curiosity as she nodded. “Nothing’s wrong, is it?”
“Just the opposite.” He stole a glance around the floor, hoping not to be obvious about the fact that he was taking Shay to his private office.
“Not as fancy as yours,” he told her as he shut the door, “but this is where I do my work when I’m not out front.”
She picked up one of the framed pictures on his desk. It was one of his favorites, taken when Vicki was three and a half. Jess had purchased matching mother-and-daughter sundresses and had a professional photographer take their picture in the park to give Mark for Father’s Day.
“They do look just alike!” Shay said. “Both beautiful.” She started to give him the photo to return, and her eyes widened. “I can’t believe I haven’t asked about your hand yet. You must think I’m completely insensitive.”
“Actually, I’d almost forgotten about it myself,” he admitted. Her company was the best organic painkiller he knew of. “I’m really glad you came here today.”
“Me, too.” She smiled, tilting her head back to look up at him as she leaned against the desk. “So, what did you need to…tell me? Show me?”
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