by Lisa Plumley
“Good idea,” Gwen volunteered, forced cheerfulness evident in her voice. “Since we don’t have any other groups coming in this week, I’m sure Mack and Bruce would love to help out.”
“‘Mack and Bruce would love to help out,’” Bud mimicked, making a disgusted face. He shifted in his seat, the safety belt chafing against his flannel work shirt. “I guess I’ll be busy working on the water lines.”
“The septic system needs work, too,” Gwen informed him.
Beside Riley, his grandfather put his head in his hands and sighed. A string of muffled obscenities followed, mostly relating to Bud’s opinions of “goddamn plumbers” and his fervent desire not to become one at this stage of his life. Riley patted his shoulder in silent empathy.
“I’m trapped,” Bud said, shifting his bleak gaze to his grandson. “Trapped.”
Riley didn’t need to hear it twice. Trapped was exactly the way he felt right now, and he didn’t like it one damned bit.
Especially once he rounded the last corner and the lodge came into view…along with the women waiting for them.
Baby blue. Riley would have recognized that particular shade of his favorite color anywhere. It was as recognizable as the McDonald’s arches, as familiar as the color of the sky, as memorable as…as the only woman he’d ever known who’d actually possessed a “signature color.”
Jayne.
She was here.
Nah, Riley told himself amid the clatter and chatter of the rest of his family getting out of the Suburban, gathering up packages, slamming their doors. That was crazy.
Jayne Murphy was the least likeliest candidate for a wilderness vacation he could think of. She wore high heels exclusively, except when she was barefoot or in bed. (And sometimes, he remembered with a grin and a stupidly fond mental flashback involving a pair of red stilettos, even then.) She “cooked” by nuking microwave popcorn, ripping open a packet of margarita mix, or (occasionally), pouring some Cap’N Crunch. She wore mini skirts.
Jayne’s idea of wildlife was the abandoned pets she rescued (she had a serious soft spot for mutts and strays of any kind), then dressed up in petwear ensembles—complete with hats—while looking for the best new owner. Her notion of “roughing it” was a vacation spot with no ice machine and an unheated swimming pool. She hiked only to the nearest Nordstrom’s, so far as Riley knew, loved nothing more than being indoors with a flute of champagne and a happening band playing nearby, and avoided all contact with anything that might make her dirty.
There was no way Jayne could be here. She’d sooner chew up her Macy’s card, he felt certain, than voluntarily forgo her God-given right to room service.
And yet…somehow….
He peered closer. The bombshell with the ready smile and the honey blonde hair, the “It” girl with the va-va-voom baby blue dress and the legs up to there, the talking, laughing, guilelessly generous woman who was at this very minute sympathetically patting Bud’s bum shoulder…nah.
Shaking his head, unable to move from behind the steering wheel, Riley squinted through the windshield. All around him, life went on as usual. Greenhorn adventure travelers milled around looking apprehensive, as though Mother Nature meant to spit on them. Alexis alternately sulked and laughed. Gwen greeted and smiled. Bud unfolded his arms and…preened?
Riley blinked. Yep. His grandfather was actually strutting a little, puffing out his chest and putting on his most gregarious expression—the one he used while trying to sucker his doctor into letting him water-ski.
That was when Riley knew it was true. Only Jayne could have had an effect like that on Bud. Only Jayne could have had an effect like this on…him.
Spooked at the realization, Riley made himself unclench his fingers from the wheel. He couldn’t just sit here like an idiot, gawping at her. Gawping at all of them. It was embarrassing. Unmanly. And still, somehow, Riley couldn’t help it. His body refused to cooperate with his brain’s efforts to make him behave normally.
He looked at Jayne again (to be honest, he hadn’t been able to look away). What kind of cosmic “gotcha!” was this? He’d only recently reached the point where a thousand little things didn’t remind him of her, didn’t remind him of all they’d—
No. There was no way in hell he was heading down that path again. Decisively, Riley got out of the Suburban and strode toward the group.
Jayne’s profile faced to the left, slightly away from him. She spoke animatedly with Bud and Gwen, saying something about how the group hadn’t minded their hosts’ lateness, because they’d “bonded” during the wait.
It was more than a polite excuse, Riley considered as he came closer, because the women’s behavior did match his somewhat-limited notions of feminine bonding. They stuck close to Jayne’s side, listened avidly when she spoke, watched her with obvious fondness. Clearly, they’d fallen under her spell, too.
In the dozen or so steps it took him to reach her, Riley had time to notice the changes in Jayne. The longer length of her hair. The glossier look of her clothes and accessories, as though her ad agency art department work had suddenly turned more profitable. The sadder curve to her smile. For that last, he felt suddenly responsible—then remembered nearly two years had passed since their time together. By now, whatever blunted Jayne’s smile owed itself to something—or someone—else.
He remembered what his grandmother had said about the self-help guru’s touchy-feely “heartbreak” workshops, and guessed Jayne must be a participant. Jayne, now a woman with a hurt so deep it required special help—and seven hundred miles of travel from her home in San Francisco—to overcome it.
At the realization, two conflicting emotions struck him. First, regret—that Jayne had suffered at the hands of some thoughtless, relationship-challenged lunkhead. And second, eagerness—to pound the lunkhead until he apologized for hurting her, at the least.
He stopped beside them, just as Bud demonstrated the size of his biceps for Jayne. With Gwen’s permission, she squeezed it, making appropriately impressed sounds.
Riley fought an insane urge to flex.
The last thing he needed was Jayne’s hands on him, he told himself. Reminding him of all they’d—
Stop it. “Welcome to the lodge,” he said gruffly, offering a handshake.
Automatically, Jayne put her hand in his to accept. Riley felt the contact warm him, wend through him…remind him. At the same moment, she glanced upward.
Recognition swept the smile from her face. Shocked silence stretched between them. Too much silence.
He empathized with her inability to speak. He’d been similarly dumbstruck upon seeing her. But with Gramps and Nana and Alexis and five women watching, Riley doubted Jayne wanted to run through the whole stare-blink-gawp routine he had perfected back in the Suburban. He decided to help her out.
“Can anybody compete in this Mr. Universe contest?” He mustered what he hoped was a happy-go-lucky smile and nodded toward his grandfather’s still-crooked biceps. “Or have I been outclassed?”
Joking, he extended his left arm and struck a pose. The short sleeve of the T-shirt he’d pulled on with his jeans rode up just high enough to reveal his biceps. “What do you think?”
Jayne’s mouth opened and closed, but no words emerged. A spark of something dangerous glimmered in her eyes.
“Ooooh,” cried one of the other women—a petite brunette with a nose ring. She rushed forward to squeeze his muscles. “Nice. Very nice.”
As though her declaration were a signal, they all surrounded him, loosening his grasp on Jayne’s hand. The gum-popping redhead admired his delts. The mousy, glasses-wearing brunette engaged him in small talk, all the while eyeballing his T-shirt hem as though wondering if he’d notice if she stripped it off for a look at his abs. The nose ring girl murmured something encouraging about his chest. The two gray-haired, similarly-featured women debated the tightness of his backside versus the width of his shoulders, and came to no agreement whatsoever—which didn’t stop them from
urging him to turn this way and that for display.
They sounded like connoisseurs evaluating wine. Stark, with a hint of chiseled-ness. Lean and cheery, almost too accessible. A smattering of just-fixed-the-radiator bouquet, with subtle washes of Safeguard for balance.
Riley knew he should put an end to it, before his intended ice-breaker got out of hand…but he was still hoping Jayne would weigh in with an opinion, too.
Familiar, but elusive; an almost-forgotten favorite.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, she straightened. He stilled, waiting to hear what her first words to him in twenty-one months would be.
Jayne’s gaze swept up and down, measuring him with something between curiosity and…confusion?
“Imagine seeing you here,” she said.
Her voice, sweet and faintly husky, sounded exactly as he remembered it. Hearing it, he wanted to smile, to shout, to develop a rare case of twenty-one-month amnesia. God, but it was good to see her.
“It’s been a long time,” Jayne went on. Inexplicably, she paused for the merest instant, her gaze meeting with those of the women who still clustered around him. Then she fixed him with an indecipherable look. “How have you been…Riley?”
At the sound of his name, all the women stepped back. Their expressions turned from lighthearted to revelatory to downright murderous. They shared a brief, silent communion. They nodded.
Puzzled, Riley watched as five pairs of arms crossed over five feminine chests. Five heads shook sorrowfully side to side. Five equally-hostile expressions pinned him there, with his formerly-cooed-over masculine assets figuratively flapping in the breeze.
“What’s the matter, ladies?” With a sideways glance at his befuddled family, Riley spread out his arms. He took another stab at that happy-go-lucky smile. “Just because I already know Jayne doesn’t mean the six of us can’t still be friends.”
The minute it left his mouth, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.
Chapter Three
She needed a fix. And she needed it fast.
Hands trembling, Jayne rummaged through her carry on luggage bag, the one that held all her most important possessions. Around her awaited the down-home charm of the Hideaway Lodge’s private bathroom. Its plain fixtures, log cabin walls, and single lace-curtained, multi-paned window said rustic as sure as the rooms she’d traversed to get there had.
A tube of mango body scrub tumbled to the rag rug atop the polished plank floorboards. Jayne glanced down. The economy-sized tube barely missed smashing her stiletto-wearing foot. She was reminded that her cute shoes probably didn’t speak Rustic, either.
Heeeelp!
At her side, Gwen Davis looked on with a puzzled expression. A jar of honey smoothie lotion followed the body scrub to the floor. Various mesh scrubbers of all sizes were pushed aside. Finally, Jayne located the elixir she sought: a container of Bathing Beauty Bubbles.
Just looking at it, she felt a little better. Calm was at hand. Evidently, her relief showed, because her hostess turned away to finish the job she’d followed Jayne into the bathroom to accomplish.
“Towels are right here.” She patted a thick stack of burgundy terrycloth. “There’s extra soap beneath the sink. Plenty of hot water to fill that old tub, too.”
Gwen gestured toward the old-fashioned, four-legged white porcelain bathtub. At the sight of its comforting curvy lines and pampering depth, Jayne nearly burst into tears.
It had been a very trying day.
“Just help yourself. Nobody will bother you,” Gwen added, moving closer. She gave Jayne a tentative pat. As she had since she’d helped Jayne sneak away during the Riley-inspired mêlée, she gazed at her guest with concern. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? My grandson can be a stinker, but he’s usually not—”
“Thanks, no. I really can’t.”
A pause. “All right, then. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”
Jayne sniffed, clutching her Bathing Beauty Bubbles. She nodded. This was awfully nice of Gwen. Offering to listen to her troubles and volunteering the use of the lodge’s only full-fledged bathtub (the rest of the accommodations had showers) went far beyond the call of duty. She probably thought Jayne was some sort of compulsive bather, unable to hold out longer than a couple of hours without a dose of steamy suds and the honesty of 99 and 44/100% pure Ivory soap.
Actually, that wasn’t far from the truth. Especially today.
Especially after seeing Riley.
“Thank you, Gwen. This really means a lot to me. You don’t know how much. After what just happened, I—”
“There, there.” Another gentle pat. A smile. “We can talk about it when you’re feeling better.”
Gwen went to the tub and dropped the rubber stopper in place to block the drain. Efficiently, she worked the taps. They complained with a creak, then issued forth a steady stream of water. With a few uncertain steps, Jayne joined her at the side of the bathtub. She sprinkled in some Bathing Beauty Bubbles, which lathered themselves into a wonderful froth within seconds.
Her hostess raised an eyebrow. “Impressive. I haven’t seen that much foam since the last time I tackled shaving my legs.”
“It’s my favorite brand,” Jayne confided. They shared a smile. “Smells like sugar cookies, moisturizes your skin, and makes you feel like a princess. The bubbles are practically indestructible. Here, you can try some if you want.”
She offered the container.
Gwen looked as though she’d been offered a one-way ticket to Sin City. She shook her head. “Oh, I couldn’t.”
Jayne could tell she wanted to. “Sure, you can. My treat.” She nudged the Bathing Beauty Bubbles into Gwen’s hand and closed her fingers around the container. “Enjoy.”
“All right. I’ll try.” The words sounded doubtful. But her expression was hopeful, even a little eager. “Thank you.”
She left, having accepted a bonus packet of lavender bath salts and a trial-sized mud masque, too. Five minutes later, Jayne had taken full advantage of the resulting privacy. She’d piled her hair in a loose knot atop her head, stripped to her birthday suit, and lost herself in the soothing warmth of her bath.
Naturally, that was when it happened.
Footsteps pounded down the hallway outside the bathroom. Since this part of the lodge housed the Davis family’s private living quarters, Jayne wasn’t concerned—only hopeful that she hadn’t inconvenienced someone with an (ahem) urgent need. But there were plenty of additional bathrooms, including one just off the lodge’s wide-beamed, antler-decorated reception area. Surely anyone who needed—
The doorknob rattled. The door pushed open. Slapped against the opposite wall. A large body filled the opening, one both broad-shouldered and familiar. An instant later, her unexpected visitor entered the room fully and slammed the door behind him. Before she could so much as gasp in surprise, he flattened himself against its face, looking vaguely panicky.
And completely gorgeous.
Riley.
How had she have forgotten the impact his presence had? Tall, dark, and thoroughly at ease with the world around him (maybe a little less so today), Riley Davis had a low-key confidence that seemed contagious. It invited laughs and good times. It offered strength and masculine competence. It suggested something adventurous was right around the corner.
In this case, adventure probably was right around the corner. It looked as though he were being pursued.
Feminine voices sounded in the hallway outside the door. Hearing them, Riley grew alert. He canted his head to the side, listening.
His absorption gave Jayne plenty of time to recover from the shock of his unexpected intrusion—and to assess the changes in him. His hair, dark and buzz-cut when she’d known him, had grown into shaggy, appealingly-tousled layers. His face, all rugged angles and assertive nose, sported a new, faint scar near his squared jaw. His body, always well-muscled, showed the effects of further hard use—probably in service of the adventures he’d had
since they’d split. She wondered if he’d enjoyed those adventures alone…or if he’d had company.
Feminine company.
Not that it mattered to her, Jayne assured herself. She was over him. So over him that she could admire the width and sculpted definition of his chest dispassionately, like a student of the art of wearing a T-shirt and well-fitted jeans. So over him that she could trail her gaze down those jeans, sideways to the chiseled forearms Riley had flattened against the door frame, and simply savor the sight of a nicely developed man. So over him, in fact, that she could even take in the shoulders she used to lean her head against, the mouth that had once kissed her senseless…and feel nothing at all.
Okay, so she was a big, fat liar. She did feel something. But Jayne told herself it was merely hunger for emotional closure she felt (and possibly a craving for a cheeseburger), and nothing more. Probably, once she talked things over with Riley (and had lunch), it would go away. And that would be that.
The sooner, she decided, the better. She double-checked her bubble cover, listened as the voices outside moved further away. As they did, Riley sagged with relief.
Jayne made her move. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
“Aaah!”
He jerked, searching for the source of her voice. His hazel-eyed gaze found her, pinned her, examined her. For one frantic moment, Jayne feared her Bathing Beauty Bubbles had failed her for the first time ever and dissolved beneath the strength of his interest. Then she remembered she had the upper hand here—at least so long as he was trapped on her side of that door, hiding out. She surprised herself by feeling almost cheerful about that fact.
Riley Davis deserved everything he had coming to him for walking out on her. And more.
He’d left no explanation, no forwarding address. And, to be fair, no promises. Only memories, and hope. Hope that he’d come back. Jayne had clung to that hope, waiting and wondering…until she’d finally come to her senses and gotten over him.