Lake Magic

by Fisk, Kimberly

  “I told you—”

  “Zeke handles the plane. I got it. But he isn’t here, is he?” His smile disappeared. “Look, it’s not like I want to work on the damn plane, but I sure as shit don’t want it to malfunction on my watch either.”

  She wanted to tell him to go to hell. Instead she told him, “Stop swearing in front of Cody. And you don’t have a watch.”

  “As long as I’m here, I do.”

  She bristled. “We’ve never had any maintenance malfunctions. Blue Sky Air—”

  “Has been damn lucky. From what I can tell, you’ve been flying on a wing and a prayer. Your maintenance records are a joke.”

  That was a lie. The maintenance records were in perfect order, but she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming the truth. The last thing she wanted was to get into a yelling match in front of Cody. Somehow she just knew that bit of information would find its way to her sister . . . then her brother . . . then her mother, and so on. But as hard as she tried, everything seemed to come crashing down at once. This sham of a partnership. Her sister. Her fall. An unhappy nephew who she had no idea how to entertain. A man who was not only stirring her ire, but who was also stirring a hell of a lot more.

  Before she could think it through, before she could change her mind, she heard herself say, “Cody can help you.”

  Jared went cold. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Sure it is.” Jenny looped her arm around Cody’s narrow shoulders, giving him a gentle squeeze. “He’d love to help,” she said, putting on an overly bright smile. “Wouldn’t you, Cody?”

  The kid looked like he’d rather parade through his school cafeteria in his tighty whities. But Jared kept his mouth shut. Just like he should have earlier. Engaging in stupid chitchat with the boy had been just that—stupid. Jared didn’t do kids. Period. Hell, he barely associated with adults. If there was one thing his less-than-stellar childhood had taught him, it was to keep his distance, to disassociate from everyone and everything. But remembering what he should do had become damn near impossible around Jenny. Just like it had been when he was with Steven. No, Jared corrected himself, not like Steven. When he was with Steven, he sure as hell hadn’t been thinking about what he thought about every time he looked at Jenny.

  Guilt nailed him. Again. Only a lowlife would lust after his best friend’s girl.

  More than lusted, Jared acknowledged. His thoughts pretty much landed on the down and dirty. It didn’t matter that Steven was gone. Jenny was still his. It was there in her eyes, in the soft timbre of her voice every time she said his name—and even when she didn’t. And it was there on the diamond ring she still wore. “Thanks,” he said at the hallway, “but no thanks. I’ve got it handled.”

  “But you just said—”

  “I know what I said.”

  Cody stopped trying to break free of his aunt’s embrace. “Forget it, Aunt Jenny. He doesn’t want me.”

  A long-buried memory blindsided Jared. Damn it, he’d forgotten the kid was standing there. He tried not to look at Cody, but Jared knew he didn’t even have to look to know what he’d see. He’d heard it.

  Doesn’t want me.

  Cody stood at the edge of the counter, his shoulders stiff and erect, his chin pushed out into the air, his eyes flat and expressionless. From all outward appearances, he looked like he couldn’t give a rip about the discussion going on around him. But all that indifference was just a farce. No one knew that better than Jared. He’d perfected that exact pose by the time he was nine.

  Shit.

  “Hey, kid, why don’t you run out to the fridge in the hangar and grab us a couple of root beers?”

  Cody looked like he was going to refuse, then shuffled his feet and headed out.

  The screen door had no sooner banged shut than Jenny turned on him. “Don’t order him around.”

  He faced Jenny, and every dirty thought he’d had while they’d been slipping around on the floor pummeled him once more. He wanted to strip off her clothes, lay her out on the hardwood, and do every sinfully delicious thing to her that had been haunting his dreams. “When did sending a kid out to get pop constitute ordering him around?”

  Her eyes narrowed, and her full lips thinned into a hard line. It was an expression he was fast becoming all too familiar with.

  Good. Stay pissed. Maybe it would keep his thoughts where they belonged.

  She crossed her arms under her chest, pushing her breasts higher, exposing a fair amount of cleavage.

  No, his thoughts weren’t going anywhere. Nowhere they should.

  “It’s not even ten. A little early for a can of pop, don’t you think?”

  He dragged his gaze off her chest. “Are you kidding me?”

  She stared at him like he was an idiot. And frankly, he was beginning to think she was right. Especially when he was around her. “No one drinks pop at this time in the morning. Don’t you remember anything your parents taught you?”

  “Right. My parents.”

  She looked at him for several long moments, and slowly the angry expression eased from her face to be replaced by one of puzzled confusion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Listen,” Jared cut in. He knew that look, that I’m-about-to-ask-you-all-kinds-of-questions look. Questions he had no intention of answering. Long ago, he’d learned how to bury his past. But somehow Jenny seemed to see past all the walls he’d fortified over the years.

  He had to get out of here. Out of this kitchen, out of this town. “I’m sorry about the kid,” he said, turning the conversation. “About offering him a soda. I just wanted him out of earshot.”

  “Why?”

  Doesn’t want me.

  “Because no kid should have to listen to two people arguing about him.”

  Jenny opened her mouth, then closed it, clearly baffled. “We weren’t arguing about Cody.”

  “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

  She narrowed her eyes again. “Do you always have to be so vulgar?”

  He almost laughed. If she thought that was vulgar, it was a damn good thing she couldn’t read his thoughts. “Can’t help it. I’m a guy.”

  “Like I haven’t noticed.” The moment the words were out, she took a step back.

  He knew he should let it go. Leave it alone. Leave her alone. But just like every other time he was around her, doing what he should never worked out. He closed the distance between them. Awareness widened her eyes. “And here I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I’ve noticed. But not like that. I mean . . . you’re not . . . we’re not . . .” She blew out a long breath and gave him an exasperated look. “You understand, right?”

  He was playing with fire, but he couldn’t make himself stop. “You better explain it to me.”

  She rubbed her palms on the front of her shorts. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

  If she only knew what was harder than it should be.

  His gaze followed the up and down motion of her hands. She was nervous, and he knew he was the reason why. He should back off, back away from her. He’d been around a lot of beautiful women in his day, but Jenny was different. Beautiful, definitely. But there was something else . . . something more. All the years Jared had been in the military, he’d never received a letter, a care package. But Steven had. Lots of them. And the vast majority had come from Jenny. When Steven realized Jared never received anything, Steven—being Steven—insisted on including Jared during mail day. Whatever treats he’d been sent (now Jared understood why they’d been store-bought) he’d shared; he’d also read parts of his letters out loud. Before then, Jared had been able to endure mail days. When you didn’t expect anything, you were never let down. But through Jenny’s letters, Jared had glimpsed a way of life he’d long ago given up on. Her letters had been filled with stories about life on Hidden Lake. Listening to the world she’d weaved, it had been almost impossible not to fall under her spell. With distance, he’d managed to resi
st. But now, being here, being in the world she had unknowingly woven around him years before, Jared felt that allure pull at him. Felt Jenny pull at him.

  He tore his gaze off her legs and changed the conversation back to where it should never have strayed from. Being around Jenny was becoming dangerous. “All I’m saying is, I know what it feels like to be passed around like you aren’t wanted. To have grown-ups talk about you like you weren’t even there,” he said with a candor that was unexpected, even to him.

  “Cody’s wanted,” she said softly. “I just thought he’d have more fun with you. You were a kid once. A teenage boy.”

  “I was never a kid.” His words were light, and his smile was bright. The combination had never failed to reroute a woman’s thoughts to where he wanted them to go. But Jenny wasn’t biting.

  She searched his face. “What do you mean—?”

  The screen door opened and banged shut.

  Startled by the sound, her eyes widened and she moved away from him as if only just realizing how close they’d been standing to each other.

  “Here,” Cody said as he entered the kitchen. He handed Jared a root beer.

  Jared took the can automatically, though what he really wanted was a straight shot. Maybe two. In less than a handful of minutes, he’d revealed more to Jenny than he’d ever told anyone else.

  Before his aunt could tell him no, Cody snapped his can open, and a fizzy hiss filled the suddenly silent room. With his can of pop halfway to his mouth, Cody looked to each of them. “So, did you figure out who gets stuck with the booby prize?”

  Jenny avoided Jared as she wrapped her arm around Cody’s shoulders, gave the top of his head a playful tousle. “You are a prize, kiddo. Don’t forget that,” she said sincerely. “So here’s the deal. I need to do some work in the office for a couple of hours, but then I’m all yours. You can either hang out in here with me or work on the plane with Jared. It’s up to you.”

  Through the screen door Jenny watched Cody follow Jared across the yard. Jared walked like a man with a purpose, a man who knew exactly who he was and what he wanted. His long legs made the distance seem short, while Cody hustled to stay abreast. For every one step of Jared’s, Cody took two. His small head was cocked to the side, turned toward Jared, and even from here, she could tell Cody was jabbering away. From the stiff set of Jared’s shoulders, Jenny had a pretty good idea her nephew was nailing him with one question after another. She probably should feel bad for Jared. Probably, but she didn’t.

  She braced her arm near the door, squinting into the bright sun. Twice she’d headed out to call Cody back, and twice she’d stopped herself. He’d made it more than clear he wanted to spend the afternoon outside with Jared. But that didn’t stop her from feeling guilty. Less than an hour ago, she’d vowed to be a better aunt, to find a way to bridge the gap between them. But then Jared had walked into her kitchen, and all of her good intentions had flown out the window.

  She rested her head near her shoulder. He infuriated her . . . annoyed her . . . flustered her. But most of all, he scared her. Around him, she was finding it impossible to stay numb like she had for the past nine months. Each heated look he gave her seemed to thaw her heart a little more. When he’d first arrived, Jenny’s only worry had been about Blue Sky. Now . . . now she had a far greater scare.

  Jared reached the hangar first and disappeared into the long shadows. A few moments later, Cody followed.

  Jenny dropped her arm and went into her office. She turned on the computer, and as she waited for it to boot up, her gaze slid to the desk’s bottom drawer. Staring at it, her heart began to race and her palms sweat. She reached out, intending to open the drawer, only to draw back her hand. She sucked in a deep breath. Ever since Steven’s death, she’d been avoiding this moment.

  She lifted her gaze and stared out her window to the hangar. Even though she couldn’t see Jared, she knew he was there. Where he would stay until she repaid him. And while she still had four months to come up with the money, she was beginning to realize there was no way she would survive that long. His loan and the letter from Steven might have brought him here, but it was up to Jenny to make him leave.

  Steeling herself, she opened the desk drawer and withdrew her camera. The moment her hand closed around the cool metal, her heart kicked into overdrive. Her breathing became short and choppy, and she fought hard to drag slow, even breaths into her lungs.

  She stared at the camera, marveled how something so light could feel so heavy. But then she knew. It wasn’t the camera itself that weighed so much; it was the memories it held. She tried not to think about the last time she’d held the camera in her hands . . . the last time she’d snapped a picture. She tried . . . and failed.

  She’d been outside, under a hot summer sky. Steven had been getting ready for a charter.

  Snap some pics of me taking off, Jen-Jen. We’ll need ’em for the website.

  She’d clicked away, nearly filling the memory card, never realizing that would be the last time Steven would ever fly. A day later, he’d been gone.

  As the pictures uploaded into the computer, tears pooled in her eyes. Each image cut deeper than the last, but she refused to look away. She drank them in. The first dozen or so were close-ups of Steven. Silly, candid shots of him smiling, goofing off. She soaked up each picture, finding it all but impossible to move on to the next. When a new photo loaded on to the screen, she laughed out loud. It was another shot of Steven, one of him just before he was about to board the plane. With his hand braced on the door, he’d turned around and stuck out his tongue at her. The camera had caught it all: the sunny day, his sandy blond hair that always needed to be trimmed, his bright green eyes, and that big-as-the-sky smile. She laughed again, even as fresh tears filled her eyes.

  For months, she’d avoided looking at these pictures, not wanting to feel the pain of them. And while her heart still ached, there was also an unexpected joy. She was shocked to realize that looking at the still images of him didn’t crush her like it once would have. Now, instead of remembering only the pain, she was also remembering all of the good times, too.

  She wiped at the tears on her cheeks and finished saving the images. Then she picked up the phone.

  “Barb,” she said when the line was answered on the other end. “It’s Jenny Beckinsale. I’m ready to finish the website.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Jared swore as the wrench busted free and his knuckles scraped against a bolt.

  “You shouldn’t swear. My mom says so.”

  Jared picked the wrench off the hangar’s cement floor and looked at the back of his hand. Welts were already beginning to form. A thin gash beaded with blood. He sucked at the wound. If he’d been paying attention to what he was doing and not to the kid, he wouldn’t have made such a careless mistake. But Cody hadn’t stopped yammering since they’d left the house almost an hour ago. “Yeah, well, your mom isn’t here, is she?”

  “She never is. Neither is my dad.” Cody pushed off with his feet and sent the office chair careening across the open expanse of the hangar.

  Jared braced himself for the inevitable crash. When he’d first brought the chair out for Cody to sit on, he’d never considered the wheels to be weapons of mass destruction. He was quickly rethinking his tactical error. “Sounds like they both have pretty important jobs.”

  “That’s what everyone says.”

  Jared refitted the wrench on the bolt.

  “What did your parents do?” Cody asked.

  The wrench paused. “Nothing much.” Nothing at all.

  “I bet they didn’t treat you like a baby. I’m thirteen. I don’t need a babysitter.” Again the chair went flying. “You’re mom was probably cool.”

  “Yeah, cool.” That was the last way Jared would describe Nancy.

  “Your mom probably let you stay home all the time by yourself.”

  Jared nearly laughed. “Kid, my mom split when I was eight. I haven’t seen her since.”

 
; The chair stopped. “Never?”

  “Never.”

  “How come?”

  Jared knew he should just shut up, but there was something about this kid, this place . . . Jenny . . . that was making him remember a past he fought hard to forget. “She didn’t want to be a mom,” he said with enough finality to end the conversation. Cody didn’t take the hint.

  “That sucks.” Using the toe of his tennis shoe, Cody spun the chair in a circle. “Do you want to see her?” he asked when the chair stopped.

  “I saw a small rowboat behind the hangar,” Jared said, sidetracking the conversation. “Why don’t you ask your aunt if you can take it out?”

  “I can’t go on the water, remember?”

  No, Jared didn’t remember. The only thing he wanted to remember was a way to get the kid out of here.

  Cody leaned down staring sideways at Jared. “Do you have a dog?”

  “No.”

  “A cat?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  Christ, did the kid ever shut up? Jared retightened the wrench on the bolt. He glared out the hangar’s door, toward the house. He scowled against the bright sun, scowled at the woman who had put him in this position. Babysitting hadn’t been part of the plan. And Jenny damn well knew it. But the minute Cody had said booby prize, Jared felt himself cave. And like a predator, she’d sensed his weakening and pounced. “Just because.”

  The chair rolled away and then came back to a stop near where Jared was working. From under the plane, he looked up at the kid. There was nothing about Cody that should stir up memories from Jared’s past. Nothing at all. So why was it the more time he spent with the kid, the more old memories resurfaced?

  “There are worse things than not having a dog and parents who work,” Jared said.

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  Hadn’t the kid been listening?