All Shook Up

by Susan Andersen

  SUSAN ANDERSEN

  ALL SHOOK UP

  This is dedicated, with love, to the women around Sue’s table, for years of laughter, conversation, and spectacular meals.

  To

  Mildred and Mom,

  Monica and Jenny,

  Tara and Renee,

  Sari and Karen,

  Lucille and Thelma,

  Neesa and Rachel and, of course, Sue herself

  And to girls who wear glasses

  —Susie

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  Dru Lawrence’s uncle Ben came to the monthly meeting armed…

  1

  The gas gauge on J.D. Carver’s vintage Ford Mustang read…

  2

  Supporting the warm weight of her ten-year-old son by linking…

  3

  Dru’s uncle stepped out of the gift shop just as…

  4

  She wore a faded black tank suit with red piping.

  5

  Butch hung up the phone receiver and threw himself back…

  6

  Dru rose from one of the leather love seats bracketing…

  7

  The following afternoon Sophie heard the screen door creak open,…

  8

  J.D. pulled out his watch and checked the time. Blowing…

  9

  Dru watched a shaft from the lowering sun gild J.D.’s…

  10

  Dru had known Kev Bronsen forever. They’d gone through school…

  11

  J.D. thought about her words off and on all that…

  12

  Dru did a fairly decent job of avoiding J.D. for…

  13

  A couple of days later Sophie knocked on the door…

  14

  Butch stopped to pick up a six-pack of beer on…

  15

  A drop of rain fell on Butch’s head and he…

  16

  Kev watched Char remove the octopus’ hand from her ass…

  17

  J.D. lowered Dru to the bed and followed her. His…

  18

  J.D. stretched out on top of Dru’s round, soft body…

  19

  “Come on, Mom! We don’t wanna be late—J.D. might leave…

  20

  Sophie and Ben were waiting on their dock when the…

  21

  J.D. carefully straightened and, with Dru’s arms still looped around…

  22

  When someone started banging on Dru’s apartment door as if…

  23

  Ben swore too, then said, “My car is closest.” The…

  24

  “I hope it keeps you warm at night,” J.D. mimicked…

  25

  Dru had one foot on the front porch step and…

  26

  The minute the deputy bundled Butch into his cruiser, Dru…

  EPILOGUE

  It had been an eventful week and a long drive…

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  OTHER BOOKS BY SUSAN ANDERSEN

  COPYRIGHT

  ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

  PROLOGUE

  Dru Lawrence’s uncle Ben came to the monthly meeting armed with a police report on J.D. Carver. “He’s clean,” he said, slapping it down on the long, rustic conference table. “He hasn’t been arrested as an adult, and his juvenile record is sealed.”

  “You needn’t sound so disgusted, darling,” Aunt Sophie said, reaching across the table to pat his hand before she snagged the report to read for herself. “That’s very good news.”

  But Dru could understand where her uncle was coming from. Star Lake Lodge had been a family-owned business for four generations, and they’d all been shocked right down to their flip-flops to discover that Great-aunt Edwina had left her share of it to an outsider. And an urban outsider, at that. Edwina had been an absentee co-owner for so long, leaving them to run it as they’d seen fit for so many years, Dru had nearly forgotten it wasn’t theirs alone.

  “Maybe,” she said slowly, “Carver’s just stopping by to get a peek at what he inherited. He probably won’t even stick around—and we’ll end up sending his checks like we did Edwina’s.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it, hon,” Uncle Ben said. “I got the impression from his terse note that he’s ready to settle right in and take up the reins.”

  Sophie suddenly pushed back from the table and walked over to the open window. She bent in front of it and held the neckline of her blouse open to catch the breeze blowing the green-and-tan gingham curtains into the meeting room. Dru got up and went to the built-in oak buffet against the far wall. Reaching past a collection of native baskets, she picked up a pitcher of water and splashed some into a glass. She carried it over to her aunt, stopping along the way to align an oil painting of snow-covered birch trees with the other landscapes that adorned the barnwood-paneled wall.

  “I don’t know much about Carver,” Dru admitted as she resumed her seat. “Except that he was one of Great-aunt Edwina’s ‘boys.’ To tell the truth, I don’t even remember her all that well, aside from bits and pieces.” Edwina had been like Dru’s parents, a sometime visitor who’d flown in and out of her life. She’d known her great-aunt mostly as a sophisticated, soft-spoken summer drop-in, here for one week each August and then gone again, back to her plush home in Seattle.

  Sophie rolled the glass back and forth against her temple and smiled in fond reminiscence. “You would have liked her, if you’d gotten to spend a little more time with her.” She returned to the table and gave the report a delicate nudge with her fingertips. “I always admired Edwina a great deal. And J.D. was special to her. He was the first boy she ever took in.”

  “And the one she fretted over having mismanaged,” Uncle Ben added.

  “I do remember that!” Dru straightened. “At least I remember sitting at your kitchen table as a kid while you grown-ups visited, and I remember her worrying over the way she handled some boy. The boy with her father’s watch.”

  “That was J.D.”

  “I got the impression she cared for him a lot.”

  “Yeah, she did. He’s pretty much the reason she got into taking care of all those troubled kids.” Ben sighed. “Edwina had excellent instincts about people. And I guess when it comes right down to it, the shares were hers to do with as she wished.” He looked at Dru. “Soph and I aren’t as hands-on around here as we used to be, though, hon, so you’re the one who’s gonna have to work with J.D. on a day-to-day basis. What’s your vote on all this?”

  “Well, contesting the will is pointless—from everything I’ve heard, Great-aunt Edwina retained her full mental capacity right up to the day she died.”

  “The woman was sharp as a tack,” Ben said.

  “Then I don’t see where we have any choice but to respect her wishes.”

  “I agree,” Sophie said. “And if we’re going to do this, let’s do it right and give J.D. a warm welcome.”

  “Of course,” Dru added dryly, “I also think I deserve a huge raise for taking on a new headache.”

  Ben looked up from his notes, peering at her over his reading glasses. “We’ll definitely look into that—at next month’s meeting. This month, though, we’ve got a big problem. The repairs needed around here are mounting up. We’ve got to find a way to hang on to competent workmen.”

  1

  The gas gauge on J.D. Carver’s vintage Ford Mustang read “Empty” when he arrived in Star Lake, Washington, one day ahead of schedule. But then, it never read anything else—the needle had been stuck there since he’d bought the car in ’93. The car’s trunk held a few of his favorite power tools, a tool chest, and a fully loaded carpenter’s belt. The backseat held two table saws. He also had an antique gold wa
tch in his pocket, an old canvas army duffel containing everything else he owned in the world, and a raft of emotions he’d give a lot to deny sitting heavy in his gut.

  His life back in Seattle had gone to hell. It was his own fault, but knowing that didn’t help. His friend Butch he didn’t even want to think about right now. And Bob Lankovich, the man who’d given him his start in construction—and through whose company’s ranks J.D. had risen to become foreman—was in prison. J.D. didn’t want to think about Bob, either. Or his idiot son, Robbie.

  He was just tired of the whole freaking mess—the threats, the being a pariah. In Rat City, for chrissake. How could anyone do anything bad enough to be a pariah in a neighborhood known as Rat City? His unexpected inheritance from Edwina Lawrence was nothing if not timely. It was an excellent time to get out of town.

  He laughed without humor. Of course, Edwina was just another can of worms. He ought to open a damn bait shop—between her, Butch, and the Lankovich mess, he was ass-deep in worms.

  J.D. rubbed at the tension knotting the back of his neck. He was pretty much down to his last option. He’d given up his studio apartment, sold the tools he couldn’t fit in the car, and cleaned out his bank account. There was nothing left for him in the city where he’d grown up, and nowhere to go if this didn’t work out. So he planned to make it work, come hell or high water.

  He pulled up in front of the fieldstone-and-timber lodge that he now had a half interest in, and parked the car. Then he simply sat there for a moment, breathing in the rich scent of evergreens and lake. Reaching into the watch pocket of his jeans, he stroked a finger over Edwina’s father’s gold timepiece, which she had left him along with her share of the lodge.

  The same watch she’d once accused him of stealing.

  More than Robbie Lankovich’s threats or J.D.’s disillusionment over Butch’s collecting on a debt he’d always known would one day be collected, Edwina’s ancient betrayal still had the ability to bother him.

  He snorted softly. Bother. There was a nice, understated way of putting it.

  It still had the power to twist his gut into a mass of knots, and that wouldn’t do. Climbing out of the car, J.D. shouldered his duffel and stared up at the imposing shingle-roofed fieldstone porch that ran across the entire front of the inn.

  It was bad enough that he still allowed a childhood injustice to color his life after all these years. But right now, he particularly needed to focus his concentration.

  Because five would get you ten that he was about two minutes away from a no-holds-barred dog fight with Edwina’s relatives over the share of this lodge that she’d bequeathed him.

  Dru thanked the front-desk clerk and hung up the phone. Oh, God, he was here. She straightened in her chair, aware of her heart rate bumping up a notch. J.D. Carver was out in the lobby. He wasn’t supposed to be here until tomorrow.

  She’d believed she was fully reconciled to the new situation. She’d honestly thought she was prepared to meet Edwina’s beneficiary and welcome him into both the business and the Lawrence clan. But if the sudden, apprehensive tripping of her pulse was anything to go by, she’d merely been fooling herself.

  Standing, she checked to see that her sleeveless white polo shirt with its discreet lodge logo was neatly tucked into her walking shorts, then smoothed her hands over the crisp hunter-green material that skimmed her hips. She took a deep breath and blew it out. Okay, she was ready. She just wished he hadn’t arrived early; it destroyed their plan to greet him as a family.

  Dru squared her shoulders. Big deal; she’d just have to tough it out on her own. She’d been meeting and greeting people professionally since she was sixteen years old. Besides, Aunt Soph and Uncle Ben were just over at the cabin they’d reserved for Carver’s use, putting on a few finishing touches to make him feel at home, so she’d have backup shortly. Not that she’d need it. She headed for the lobby. Just think of him as a long-lost cousin.

  Easier said than done, Dru decided a few moments later as she looked at the man squatting in front of the massive fieldstone fireplace. Even from the back, he didn’t look like her idea of a cousin.

  He appeared to be one supercharged mass of muscularity—from the spot where his dark hair brushed the tanned skin of his neck, right down to his work-boot-clad feet. A pristine white T-shirt stretched across wide shoulders and clung to the narrowing wedge of his back until it disappeared into a worn pair of jeans that hugged his muscular thighs and butt. Her heartbeat inexplicably picked up.

  She cleared her throat. “Mr. Carver?”

  He twisted to look at her over his shoulder. His dark eyebrows met over his nose, and for just a moment he seemed to still. But it must have been her imagination, for he said in a neutral tone, “Don’t call me mister. My name’s J.D.” He rose to his feet in one smooth, powerful movement.

  He was downright intimidating at his full height when faced head-on. His T-shirt hugged the planes of his chest and the six-pack of muscles in his abdomen; it stretched thin over his biceps. Energy poured off him in almost palpable waves. Dru took a reflexive step back.

  Then she caught herself and thrust out her hand. “J.D., then. And I’m Dru Lawrence. I’m the general manager here.” Looking up into his eyes, she discovered that what she’d mistaken for brown was actually a dark hazel-green, ringed with an even denser green. “Welcome to Star Lake Lodge.”

  Nerves zinged when he wrapped his callused hand around hers and shook it firmly, and it was all she could do not to jerk free. What was the matter with her? She’d met plenty of well-built guys before, for heaven’s sake—it wasn’t like her to act like a high school girl confronted with the star jock. Resisting the urge to rub her hand down her shorts to remove the heat that lingered when he relinquished his grip, she dragged her think cousin advice to the forefront of her mind and mustered up a courteous smile.

  He indicated the fireplace with a jerk of his square chin and didn’t bother smiling back. “That andiron is nearly in two pieces. It needs to be pulled out and soldered back together.”

  Good God, the man certainly didn’t lack brass—he hadn’t even been here ten minutes and already he was offering criticism? An uncharacteristic impulse to invite him to kiss her rosy-red cheeks—and she wasn’t talking the ones she could feel glowing with temper here—surged up Dru’s throat. “I’ll make a note of that,” she said evenly, and forced another smile. “Is this your bag?”

  She’d already bent to pick up the canvas duffel when his hand whipped the bag out from under her nose. Stuffing her own hands in her shorts pockets, she straightened. Smacking him would not be an auspicious way to start off the partnership. “I’m sure you’d like to freshen up after that long road trip. I’ll show you to your cabin.”

  “Dru!” Sally Jensen, their front-desk manager, rushed up. She flashed an apologetic smile at J.D., got hung up gawking at his chest for a moment, then dragged her gaze back to Dru.

  A genuine smile quirked Dru’s lips for the first time since she’d clapped eyes on her new partner. Whew. For a moment there she’d thought she was sliding into something risky, and she didn’t do risky. Clearly, J.D. Carver was simply one of those men who elicited strong female reactions—she probably would’ve had more to worry about if she hadn’t noticed his hunky body. “J.D., this is Sally Jensen, our desk supervisor. Sally, J.D. Carver, the new part-owner.”

  J.D.’s dark eyebrows drew together, but Sally had already turned back to Dru. “Brian Kebler just called in sick.”

  “Wasn’t he scheduled to take a party of water-skiers out today?”

  “Yes, the Jacobsen clan at three o’clock. I’ve already tried to get a replacement from the backup list, without any luck. If you can’t think of anyone else I can call, we’re going to have seven disappointed kids.”

  “How about Monica White? Is she working the lunch shift today? She’s been driving boats since she was old enough to see over the steering wheel, and she expressed an interest once in filling in.”

&nbs
p; “I’ll check to see if she’s here. If she’s not, I’ll give her a call at home to see if she can come in. But what do I do if she’s unavailable?”

  “Comp the kids an ice-cream party in the Eagle’s Nest.”

  “Okay; that might work. Thanks.” Sally spun on her heel and hustled off.

  “Oh, Sally, wait.” When she turned back, Dru said, “Make Uncle Ben Plan B instead of the ice-cream party. He might be available if Monica can’t do it. If neither of them are free, though, go to Plan C.”

  Sally flashed her a thumbs-up.

  Dru turned back to J.D. and found him watching her with those aloof hazel eyes. He had a strong blade of a nose, the bridge of which looked as if it had been broken more than once, and a wide mouth with a full bottom lip. “Are you ready?”

  He shouldered his duffel and nodded curtly.

  “You’re not exactly Smiley the Social Hound, are you?” Oh, shit, where had that come from? Generally she was diplomacy personified, but something about this guy just breezed right past the guards she normally placed on her tongue.

  His gaze did a fast slide over her, then returned to her eyes. “Depends on the situation.”

  Dru shrugged and headed down the hallway to the wing exit. It was no skin off her tush if he never smiled. Maybe he had bad teeth or something.

  Which didn’t quite explain why she felt so overheated.

  Injecting an almost military erectness into her posture, she coolly informed him, “Star Lake Lodge has been in business since 1911.” Dru opened the door to the stairwell. “It has thirty-one rooms, including four suites, and we have eight cabins, seven of which are available this summer. The one we’ve prepared for you was put out of commission this past winter when it sustained storm damage.” It most likely would’ve remained closed had they not been pressed for a place to put him up. In recent years, repairs and maintenance had turned into their largest headache, since craftsmen who could handle the jobs were scarce around here. “I’m afraid the porch roof is still a mess.”