by Jen Gilroy
She flushed pink, as sweet and innocent as the seventeen-year-old he’d known. Back when it had been her first time and his too. “No need to go easy on me.” She gave him the cocky grin that always hid the vulnerable girl beneath. “You have a spare racket?”
“Sure do.” He moved to the MG and grabbed his tennis bag from the back. “A sun visor as well.” He tossed it to her and she caught it one-handed.
“You want to take the shortcut?” Charlie fell into step beside him.
They rounded the corner beside the craft shop and followed the narrow path behind Main Street to cut across lots toward the park.
He remembered all the times he and Charlie walked this way together. Times when there weren’t memories and mistakes and hurting piled between them. The times he’d held her hand and snuck a kiss when they got to the alley between the movie theater and Simard Creamery.
He glanced her way, her head level with his shoulder, face shadowed by the brim of his visor. And for a crazy moment, Sean wondered what might have been. What if they’d stuck it out? What if she’d settled down here and they’d made a family together?
He tightened his grip on the tennis bag, glad Charlie didn’t seem any more inclined to talk than him. They came out of the alley and crossed the street to the courts on the edge of the park. Red, white, and blue petunias out front banked three rows deep.
“You can still change your mind.” He pushed open the gate to the court he’d reserved and let her go ahead of him. He wouldn’t think about kisses past or present, quick or hot. Or the way those pants outlined her curvy butt. Who’d have thought yoga pants could be both functional and sexy?
She slid her sunglasses into her purse and left it by the gate. “Not a chance. I’ll even let you serve first.”
Sean took his racket, handed her the spare one, and grabbed a tennis ball, then jogged to the other side of the net. Guilt clashed with desire. Maybe Charlie wasn’t up to this. Maybe he’d pushed her too hard.
Then she swung the racket and eyed him like she used to, looking for his weak spots. She was up for this all right. “What are we playing for?”
Sean gulped. When he and Charlie had played tennis, they always played for stakes, and he’d usually get her naked. “You choose first.”
She balanced the edge of the racket on the sunbaked court. “If I win, you get whoever started that petition to back off.”
“You, of all people, should know I can’t do that.”
“You didn’t start it?” She raised the racket and eased her legs apart. When she leaned forward, he caught a tantalizing glimpse of the sweet slope of her cleavage.
“No.” Sean bounced the ball once, twice.
“You know who did.” She bent her knees, those pants hugging the mouthwatering curve of her hips.
He looked into the endless blue of the sky where an aircraft had left a thin white trail.
“Okay.” She jogged on the spot, her pert breasts bouncing like twin flags waving him over. “If I win, you’ll back off about us selling the cottage. Maybe you can’t do anything about certain members of your family.” She gave him a stern look over the net. “But you personally will back off.”
“If I win, you’ll tell me the truth about why you’re so keen to sell the cottage to a developer.” He flexed his arm, ready to serve. “From what I hear, not a local outfit either.”
She hesitated. “Deal.” She moved into position. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Sean sent the ball over the net in a slow, gentle arc. It bounced once before Charlie returned the serve, nice and easy.
Sean hit the ball back to her, still keeping the pace slow. Again she returned it, just as slow. Sean’s racket connected with the ball as he put some weight into it. Charlie whacked it back with a cute little hip wiggle that cranked his lust up another notch. The ball skimmed the top of the net.
“You okay?” He dragged his gaze away from her hips and then her breasts and, with a wiggle of his own, sent the ball back to her.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Again she returned it. “I was the Inn on the Lake girls’ tennis champion six years in a row. Remember?” She eyed him over the racket, and then her tongue darted between her teeth to moisten her lips.
“Old news, Gibbs.” Sean copied her sensual gesture and her eyes widened. Then he gave her a bland smile and got into the rhythm of the volley.
He reached over his head to hit the ball, sending it high. He clocked Charlie tracking the distance. He had her. The ball was going wide.
Before Sean registered how she’d done it, the ball shot back toward him. A yellow missile headed straight for his crotch. He jumped to one side and the ball bounced out of bounds.
“One nothing, my serve.” Charlie’s voice had a throaty, teasing note, but despite her naughty grin, her eyes had a steely glint. Perhaps the old Charlie was still there beneath the veneer of Charlotte. “Unless you’ve had enough? Maybe my last shot was too much for you? You’re older than me.”
She stopped, her racket raised in midair, the ball in her right hand. She was left-handed and always used it to her advantage.
“Older and better, Gibbs.” Sean flexed his shoulder muscles and waited for the serve.
Charlie had a strong serve, but she had a weak backhand. Which he’d always used to his advantage.
By the time the score was tied at four, Sean’s shirt was soaked, his hair plastered to his head, the tendons in his right arm on fire. Charlie’s white pants were streaked with dirt and her top clung to her breasts, her bra outlined beneath. It was a sight he’d have appreciated more if his lungs weren’t about to burst from his chest.
“Ready to call it?” Poised to serve, Charlie spoke in a breathy whoosh. And it was Charlie’s voice, low and as sexy as whipped cream on hot cocoa, not the voice of the unknown Charlotte.
“Did I ever call a game?” Sean crouched, ready to hit the ball back.
She shook her head and served another blistering shot across to him. The kind of shot the kids she’d played against in tournaments used to dread. But Sean was ready, and he grunted as his racket connected with the ball.
“Charlotte, what are you doing?”
Charlie swiveled and the ball bounced past her.
Mia Gibbs stood on the other side of the chain-link fence. A couple of inches taller than Charlie, her white dress unwrinkled, her dark hair covered by a wide-brimmed straw hat, Mia looked a lot like she had eighteen years ago. Still a mirror image of Beatrice Gibbs. Beside her, Naomi held the hand of a cute little blond girl.
“Playing tennis.” Charlie dropped the racket. “And you made me lose.”
As Sean walked around the net, Mia shot him a wary glance. “Sean?”
“Mia.” He inclined his head. He’d never had much to do with Charlie’s big sister. She’d kept herself apart from the locals and stuck close to the cottage and her mom.
Mia turned back to Charlie, and her expression softened into one that was almost pleading. “You should be taking things easy, honey.”
“Who said?” Charlie stuck her chin out, pulled at her shirt, and peeled it away from her skin. “My doctor said I could do what I want, within reason.”
Mia put an arm around Charlie and Sean caught his breath. Mia’s brown eyes were warm and loving, and her beautiful face wore an uncertain expression. Had he been wrong about her years ago? His sisters had called Mia stuck up, but maybe she was shy and, in her own way, as vulnerable as Charlie.
“Tennis, your leg, and you and Sean were…” Mia stopped and pressed her lips together.
“I’m tired of sitting around like some invalid.” Charlie handed Sean the sun visor. “I wanted to play tennis, and I’m fine. Besides, it wasn’t even a real game.”
“Hi, Mr. Carmichael,” Naomi said in that sweet Texas drawl. Her brown eyes shone like a hopeful puppy.
“Hi.” He swallowed a sigh. She’d come by the marina a couple of times in the last few days looking for Ty. Although Sean couldn’t prove it, he suspe
cted his son had been dropping by the Gibbs cottage.
“This is my little sister, Emma.” She patted the girl’s shoulder.
He crouched to the smaller girl’s level to say hi and Emma grinned. Freckles dusted her button nose.
“You won, Sean, fair and square. I’ll keep my part of the bet.” Her voice got tight.
He looked up, but the expression in Charlie’s eyes was unreadable.
“What bet?” Mia shepherded her daughters toward the black BMW. The kind of car that stood out in Firefly Lake, even in summer.
“Nothing. I’ll be with you in a minute.” Charlie pushed her hair back behind her ears; sweat-dampened strands clung to her neck. “Thanks for the game. It reminded me…” Her breath hitched.
“Of what?”
“Forget it.” Her expression turned wistful and her eyes grew sad.
“Honey?” Mia said. “We should get back to the cottage. The Realtor and land surveyor are coming by again this afternoon.”
“I have to go.” Charlie handed Sean his racket.
Of course she did. In the end, Charlie always did what her family wanted. Why did one game of tennis, that wasn’t even a game of tennis, make him think this time could be any different?
Over by the park, Charlie got into the car beside Mia, while Naomi and Emma scrambled into the back. She turned and, for a brief instant, her gaze caught his before she looked away.
Sean rubbed his chest. He should have left well enough alone. In making Charlie remember how she used to be, how they used to be together, he’d made himself remember everything he’d once felt for her. If he wasn’t careful, what he could feel for her again.
He grabbed his tennis bag and left the court, slamming the gate so hard behind him the fence rattled.
Despite everything, spending time with Charlie still made his heart beat faster. One look from her chocolate-brown eyes still had him thinking about wanting her, having her.
He pulled a water bottle from his bag and drained it as he followed the path back to the car. He was older, smarter, and his priorities were different. Stopping the cottage redevelopment for a start. That was business.
And when it came to business, Sean prided himself on always knowing what and who he was dealing with.
Her aching muscles would heal. If only Charlie were as sure about her aching heart. She shifted on the couch and rested her head against the cottage’s mellow pine wall. Twenty-four hours after that tennis game with Sean, she’d rediscovered muscles she’d forgotten existed. Feelings she’d gotten good at forgetting existed too.
“You said we own the wooded lot?” In her black trousers, red silk top, and kitten heels, Mia looked like an exotic bird that had flown off course and ended up beside Charlie by accident.
Charlie jackknifed upright, and her leg and every other part of her body protested.
“Yes. You also own the wooded lot.” In front of the fireplace, Nick McGuire sat in the oak armchair that had belonged to Charlie’s dad. Nick’s blue shirt, the same color as his eyes, was open at the neck, and he wore a pair of sand chinos. “You own an extra hundred feet of lakeshore too, because the woodlot borders the lake.”
The woodlot between the Gibbs cottage and Carmichael’s place. Memories Charlie had made herself forget reared up to choke her. She and Sean had built forts there and used fallen branches to make secret hideouts. They’d pretended they were explorers in search of buried treasure. When they were older, they made love under the big maple tree, and sunlight had filtered through its canopy of leaves, dappling Sean’s strong body, slick against hers.
“That can’t be right.” Charlie picked up her glass and sipped iced tea. “The woodlot is state forest land.”
“We checked the records. Twice.” Nick cleared his throat. “The new survey is correct. The state land is on the other side of the road.”
“If we’ve got more land, we should get more money for the cottage.” Mia waved her hand, and her diamond engagement ring sparkled in the light that streamed through the living room windows, open to catch the afternoon breeze off the lake. The ring that symbolized the gaping void between her sister’s life and hers. The husband, family, and home Charlie didn’t have. “If Tat Chee Properties still wants to buy the cottage,” Mia added.
“They still want to buy it all right. I’ve already had Brent Michaud, your Realtor, in my office.” Nick drummed his fingers on the file folder on his knees. “The Tat Chee team’s coming up from Boston tomorrow, and Brent said he’d bring them over around noon. Tat Chee wants more land here. Now they’ve got the option to get some.”
“Mom and Dad never told us.” Charlie pinned Nick with the look she used sometimes in interviews. The look that most of the time got even reluctant people to talk. “All the years we came here, everybody said the woodlot was state forest land and couldn’t be developed.”
“Your father might not have known.” Nick’s gaze slid to her mom’s piano, which hugged the wall opposite the couch. “This property was always solely in your mother’s name. Your grandfather left it to her. I’ve seen a copy of his will.”
“You can’t be serious.” Mia’s laugh was brittle, and Charlie’s head snapped around. She sucked in a breath at the fear and hurt on her sister’s face, wan despite the skillful makeup. “Mom never said a word and she, we…were close.”
“I am serious,” Nick said.
“And?” Charlie searched Nick’s face, strong features framed by short, dark hair.
Nick looked from Charlie to Mia and then back to Charlie. “There by the lake, the property line between your place and Carmichael’s runs within ten feet of Carmichael’s workshop.”
Mia shrugged, elegant as always, but her shoulders were tight and her mouth was pinched. “It’s only a lot of forest.”
Charlie fisted her hands to stop them trembling.
“Brent didn’t know the details, but if they can get ahold of more land, Tat Chee’s considering a much bigger operation. Maybe even a full-service marina.” Nick looked down at his empty tea glass. “It’s only a guess, but Tat Chee might want to develop right to Carmichael’s. Maybe make an offer to buy Carmichael’s place, at least the workshop and marina portion along the lake. That lot’s an odd shape. By Sean’s house the property line’s farther away.”
“Does Sean know?” Charlie forced the words out.
“Not yet.” Nick shifted in the chair and didn’t meet Charlie’s gaze. “You’re my clients. It’s your property. I had an obligation to tell you first.”
Mia refilled Nick’s glass from the pitcher on the coffee table, her hand shaking. “You’ve told us, so we can all move on.” She set the pitcher down with a thud. “In the long run, Sean and his family might even benefit.” Her voice hitched.
Charlie turned to her sister. Mia’s face wasn’t only pale. It was as blank as a doll’s and her eyes were empty. “You know how much Carmichael’s means to Sean. His grandfather and his dad built that business. He’d never sell it.”
“If Dad were still alive, he wouldn’t worry about sentiment.” Mia twirled her engagement ring, which was loose on her finger.
“Mom would have worried because Mrs. Carmichael was her friend.” Charlie’s chest got tight.
“Mom’s gone, and she and Mrs. Carmichael fell out years ago.” Mia’s voice was devoid of emotion. “It’s up to you and me to do what’s best for our futures.”
She was thinking about her future. Except, in only a few days, the future had gotten tangled in her past. Charlie glanced at Nick. “Can you wait until after Tat Chee visits before you tell Sean? So we have a better idea of what they intend, if the marina story is true.”
“I’ll try, but you must remember what Firefly Lake’s like. News gets around fast.” Nick studied his shoes. “Sean’s a buddy of mine. I’m close to a conflict of interest here.”
“As you said, we’re your clients.” Mia’s smile was as sweet as honey, and her eyes were bright. Too bright. “Charlotte and I are sisters. We’l
l work this out.”
“Absolutely.” Charlie flashed Mia a smile almost as sweet and twice as fake. “Mom left this property to both of us, which means one of us can’t sell unless the other agrees.”
“But we’re on the same side, aren’t we?” Mia reached for Charlie’s hand and squeezed it.
Charlie squeezed Mia’s hand back, hard. “Family is family.” Although she and Mia might disagree in private, her loyalty would always be to her sister, not Sean.
Chapter Five
Charlie shook a blanket across a smooth patch of sand in front of the cottage and weighted the corners with stones. She knelt beside the fire pit and stacked the kindling and wood she’d gathered from the pile out back. The sun nudged the hills on the other side of the lake and stained the western sky pink.
“Charlie?”
Sean’s voice was deep and comforting, like a fleece blanket on a winter night. “Hi.” She rocked back on her heels, conscious of her windblown hair and the JOURNALISTS FOR HUMAN RIGHTS sweatshirt she’d paired with the sweats that didn’t rub against her scar. “Come to collect on our bet?” She kept her voice light.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay. We gave each other quite a workout yesterday.” Sean crouched beside her. He wore a pair of faded Levi’s with a blue T-shirt the same color as his eyes, CANOE WHITE WATER in black letters across his broad chest.
Her throat got tight. He’d thought about her, worried about her even. “Apart from some sore muscles, I’m fine.”
She’d never admit how the pain in her leg had kept her awake most of the previous night. She’d sat at the window of her old room as the sky changed from dark to light, thinking about Sean, about what it would mean to sell the cottage to Tat Chee. Thinking about Mia, and how she could bridge the distance between her and her sister to ask Mia what was wrong. Thinking about her mom and how she’d never really known the woman who’d given her life. And thinking about her job. She’d always loved her work, so why did it seem like it no longer fit? But if she told anyone about her doubts, she wouldn’t fit in the one place she’d always truly belonged.