Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
ABOVE HER, ONLY BLUE SKIES . . .
Some things were more valuable than money, and Jenny knew if she asked her parents for this loan, she’d end up paying them back with more than just money. Always before when she’d screwed up, flunked, or just plain failed, her parents had been there, bailing her out. And each time they rescued her, she could see the ever-sinking disappointment in their eyes. She was twenty-six years old. Too old to be running to her mom and daddy every time she got into trouble. It was time for her to stand on her own two feet. For no reason she could explain, a vision of Custer and his last stand flashed before her eyes. But that’s what saving Blue Sky Air felt like to Jenny. Her last stand—the last chance she’d have to prove to her family that they were wrong about her. This time she wasn’t only fighting for her self-respect, she was fighting for her and Steven’s dream.
Jared Worth might have thought he had all the answers, but he was wrong. Jenny was in the driver’s seat now, a place she intended to stay.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
LAKE MAGIC
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / January 2010
Copyright © 2010 by Kimberly Fisk.
All rights reserved.
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eISBN : 978-1-101-19548-2
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For Roger
Rachael, Brandon, and Colton
I love you all so very much
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to everyone at the Jane Rotrosen Agency, especially Christina Hogrebe and Andrea Cirillo for their guidance, support, and encouragement.
And to Kelly Harms for being there at the beginning.
To Wendy McCurdy for believing and giving me what every first-time author dreams of—a chance.
To Tracy Montoya and Pipper Watkins. Friends and critique partners extraordinaire.
And to Kristin Hannah. I will never be able to thank you enough.
ONE
The drone of a single-engine plane drew Jenny Beckinsale’s attention. Hurrying to the water’s edge, she cupped her hands over her eyes and gazed upward. Bright sunshine had scrubbed the gray skies clean, and a sea of endless blue stretched before her. Her pulse quickened and her heart raced as her eyes searched the sky. Maybe . . . just maybe. . . . And then her mind remembered what her heart refused to forget: Steven was never coming home again.
She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. She was not going to fall apart. Not again.
Nearby, waves lapped against the weathered dock. Overhead, crows chattered noisily. And off in the distance, the hum of the plane continued on.
With renewed determination, she turned away from the shore, and her gaze fell on the home she’d inherited from her grandmother, then on the airplane hangar that had been built three years ago.
Sunlight glinted off the metal siding, making the green paint sparkle. A large sign, trimmed in gold, hung with prominence near the building’s peak: Blue Sky Air. Underneath those black letters were smaller ones that read: Seaplane Charter Business.
A familiar sense of pride filled her. We did it, Steven.
“You done lollygagging?”
Zeke Phillips stood in the hangar’s large opening wiping his hands on a rag. With his shoulder-length graying hair and stained mechanic’s overalls, he looked like any other grease monkey, but Jenny knew that underneath his frumpy appearance was a sharp mind and a quick wit. And also one of the best seaplane pilots on the West Coast.
“You done fiddling with that engine?” she asked, sidestepping the concern in his voice, just like she’d been doing for the last nine months.
The left side of his mouth curved into a grin. “Just ’bout.”
“Good. We have a charter at ten tomorrow.”
“Since it’s the only one on the books this week, don’t reckon I’d forget it.”
Jenny flinched and all but groaned at his emphasis of the word only. “Don’t remind me.”
“Don’t s’pose I have to. But I think I should remind you that it’s Wednesday.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “I’d say you have about twenty minutes.”
“Wednesday?” She started running toward the house. “You could have reminded me earlier.”
“And miss the fun?”
Ignoring his laughter, she ran through the front door and up the stairs. The smell of the toast she’d burned at breakfast still hung in the air.
Her clothes were already half off by the time she reached her bedroom. Dropping her shirt onto the floor, she began to tug on the cuff of one pant leg as she hopped over to her bed. Clothes, books, and God only knew what else all but obscured the faded pink chenille comforter. Without bothering to push anything off to the side, she flopped down and finished wiggling out of her jeans. If she were late again this week, she’d never hear the end of it. She started to reach for a pair of capris, then stopped. She could still hear her mother’s comment from last week: “Shorts, Jenny? Really. Could
n’t you at least try?”
There was no use arguing with her mother that capris were not shorts. When Catherine Beckinsale made up her mind, that was it.
She grabbed one of only a handful of items hanging in the closet—a pink linen sheath with a designer label given to her as a birthday gift from her mother.
The dress seemed to mock her with its feminine perfection. Before she could change her mind and grab the pants on the floor, she slipped it on. It couldn’t have fit better if it had been custom-made for her. She had to give her mother credit. Whatever Catherine did, she did to perfection. Whether it was raising her three children, running her own business, or picking out a gift for her youngest child.
Jenny glanced at her bedside clock.
Ten fifty.
Ten minutes until she was supposed to meet her mother.
Who ate lunch at eleven anyway?
Her mother, that’s who. She scheduled their luncheons at that early hour so it wouldn’t interfere with Catherine’s schedule.
For the last nine months, Jenny had dreaded their Wednesday luncheons. But today—this Wednesday—was going to be different. Blue Sky Air had two charters scheduled, and somehow she was going to find a way to work that into the conversation. She knew it wasn’t earth-shattering, but it was a start. And proof that her new advertising plan was working.
A quick search of her bedroom produced one sandal, and a few moments later, the second. She seemed to recall a delicate knit cardigan had been included with the dress, but she had no idea where it was. And there was no time to look. She also knew she didn’t have time to find a pair of run-free nylons, so she slipped on her shoes and made it downstairs without a moment to spare.
She hopped into the Corvette—a luxury to her, but a necessity to Steven. If we’re gonna land the big accounts, baby, we need to look like money. This car is just the ticket. She smiled as she ignited the powerful engine.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” she called to Zeke as he came out of the hangar to wave good-bye. “But if something comes up, I’ll have my cell phone.”
Zeke chuckled again and rubbed a finger across his chin. “Never have needed to call you before, don’t s’pose today’ll be any different.”
“Miracles happen.”
As she hit Lakeshore Drive, she yanked hard on the gearshift and winced as the gears collided and ground. She wasn’t sure what upset her more—knowing that Zeke’s laughter was deserved or that in only a few minutes she’d have to endure yet another hour of Oh, Jennifer, if only . . . from her mother. A girl could only take so many Oh, Jennifer s, and at twenty-six, Jenny figured she’d received her lifetime quota.
Through the tall evergreens that hugged the shoreline, Jenny caught patches of glistening blue water and the jagged tops of the Olympic Mountains. Even in these last few days of May, snow frosted their sharp, uneven peaks. In less than five minutes, she was pulling off the road and onto the paved drive that led to her mother’s restaurant—correction bistro—and art gallery. Sunlight filtered down through the massive firs and dappled the road as she wound her way down. Taking the final bend in the road, Hidden Lake came into view. As always, the sight of the lake made Jenny catch her breath. A lifetime of memories were in those waters.
She chose one of the angled parking spots on the far side of the building, not surprised to find several other cars already there. Even at this early hour, business was brisk.
Only her mother could open an art gallery and restaurant in a secluded bit of wilderness on the outskirts of Seattle and make it a resounding success. Catherine never failed at anything—except turning Jenny into the perfect daughter.
She glanced at her watch—11:09—then grabbed her purse and rummaged around in the bottom for an elastic band. With a couple of deft moves, she’d pulled her hair up into a messy bun. Not the best of looks, but the best she could do at the moment.
With a final grimace at her appearance, she twisted the mirror back into place and got out of the car.
Before Jenny reached the porch, the main door opened, and her mother stepped out. For just a moment, her mother’s expression brightened as she caught sight of the dress Jenny was wearing. Then Catherine’s sharp gray eyes narrowed in on Jenny’s hastily done hair and bare legs, and the pursed expression Jenny knew only too well was back.
She should have just worn her capris.
“Jennifer, there you are. It was getting so late, I was beginning to worry.”
As usual, her mother looked as if she’d just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Her auburn hair fell in a soft pageboy that framed her face and made her look younger than her fifty-seven years. A once-a-month trip into the city—that her mother believed was as sacred as church on Sunday—kept any traces of gray at bay. Her St. John knit pantsuit was as timeless and elegant as she was. Its soft plum color complemented her complexion. With the exception of her wide wedding band and tasteful gold hoops, she wore no other jewelry.
Even in the dress her mother had selected for her, Jenny felt dowdy.
After a quick hug, Catherine led them past the reception area and down the long hallway that served as an extension of the gallery. Art, ranging from modern to traditional to local pieces, was tastefully displayed along the corridor. The room’s soaring ceilings, crisp white walls, and dark mahogany floors were the perfect backdrop for the unique and diverse collection. While most people remarked on the varied and exceptional works of art, for Jenny the special appeal of her mother’s business would always be the smell. No matter what time of day she visited, there were always the most wonderful aromas drifting out from the restaurant’s kitchen.
Their usual table along the far wall was waiting for them. As Jenny took her seat, she didn’t bother to ask for a menu; she knew it wouldn’t do any good.
As if reading her mind, her mother said, “André has outdone himself today. Salade Niçoise. The tuna is lovely.”
Jenny gave the required: “It sounds perfect.”
“André is a master in the kitchen. I don’t know how the bistro would survive without him.”
Jenny did. While it was true that the French chef her mother had charmed and wooed away from an exclusive restaurant in the heart of Seattle was a magician when it came to cuisine, Jenny knew that even if her mother lost André, her business would continue to flourish.
“Unfortunately, we’ll have to hurry through lunch,” her mother said. “A party of eight has reservations for noon. We would have had plenty of time if . . .”
If you’d been on time. The words were in the air as clear as if they’d been spoken.
“Well, no matter. You’re here now.” Her mother unfolded the pressed linen napkin and placed it on her lap. “Was there traffic?”
“The roads were fine.” As they both knew.
Rush hour in Hidden Lake consisted of two cars going in opposite directions. It was just one of the many things Jenny loved about the small lakeside town. The only time there was ever a backup was when Mr. Wilson made his bimonthly run into town for staples: bread, milk, cheese, eggs, and a bottle of rum (for medicinal purposes, of course). And the only reason that caused a slight hiccup was because Mr. Wilson insisted on driving his tractor.
Thankfully, the waitress arrived with their lunch, stalling her mother from making any further comments on Jenny’s tardiness. Jenny picked up her fork, but before she dug in, she paused in admiration. Not only did André’s food taste out of this world, he managed to make a few bits of potato, a couple of olives, and some fresh fish look like art.
Spending an hour alone with her mother once a week might not be on Jenny’s top one hundred list, but the food always softened the blow.
“How have you been?” Jenny asked in between bites.
“Frantic.” Her mother said with a serene smile. “Business is up nineteen percent from this time last year, there’s your father’s birthday on Friday, our trip to Alaska, and the annual Seattle Art Museum charity ball is less than a month away.” She
laughed softly. “Remind me to say no next year when they ask me to chair again.”
Jenny stabbed at a piece of hard-boiled egg. “You say that every year.”
Her mother smiled again. “You’re right, I do. But it’s for charity, and as long as I organize my time accordingly, I’ll be able to accomplish everything.”
Criticism duly noted. Jenny pushed at a piece of seared tuna on her plate.
“I spoke with your brother this morning.”
“How is Perfect Paul?”
“Jennifer, really.”
“Sorry.” But she wasn’t. Living in the shadow of her “gifted brother” and “brilliant sister” had left her . . . faded. It was as if by the time the sun shone upon them, it lost all of its warmth when it finally reached her. She knew her parents loved her, but she often wondered how many nights they went to bed scratching their genius heads and wondering how they’d ever ended up with such a daughter.
“He’s narrowed the candidates to two and believes he’ll have made a decision by the end of the week,” her mother said.
“How nice.”
“His law practice is expanding so quickly, he can’t keep up.”
“Lucky for him.” Jenny tried to sound sincere, but she could tell she’d failed when her mother arched one perfectly sculpted eyebrow in her direction.
“Really, Jennifer. You could at least try to show some interest.”
Jenny stuffed a forkful of salad into her mouth to save herself from having to make any further comment. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her brother and sister; she did. It was just hard to keep up an enthusiastic front year after year when all their triumphs were put on display, and she had nothing to add to the ever-increasing collection.
Lake Magic Page 1