by Raina James
Despite what she'd told Finn, her only purpose for coming into Wolf Lake was to get away from him for a while. She'd give him the credit of being smart enough to realize that, which was likely why he'd given up the Crossfire's keys without argument. Mission accomplished. Now what?
She was about to drive to the park, with the vague idea of sitting on a bench and watching the ducks swim in the pond, when she spotted a coffee shop on a street corner. Like the fast-food places, it was another big-chain outpost in the wilderness. What really drew her eye were the words, "internet access available." Serena quickly found a parking spot on the street and slid the Crossfire into the slot.
The first thing she did was rent some time and sit down in front of one of the café's computer terminals to check her messages online. Thankfully, she was able to bypass all the media requests for interviews—and a shocking number of e-mails of the "I hate you for stealing Riff!" variety—and go to her personal folders to see messages waiting from the kids and Maddie. Surprisingly, there was also a message waiting from Grace, not normally one of her better correspondents.
"Rina," it began. "Heard about your news all the way here in London. What, you figured you needed some excitement without me around to live vicariously through? Ha ha. Just kidding. Anyway, big sister, just wanted to check in and let you know I'm thinking of you. Hope things aren't too crazy. Shoot's going well, so I should be home on time, if not a little before. Love and all that jazz, Gracie."
Touched by her sister's show of support, Serena quickly went through the short remainder of messages that interested her. The kids were doing great—how could they not, after only one day? —and Maddie was holding down the fort and fighting off the barbarian horde, aka the media. Apparently, the end was in sight, thank God.
Logging off the machine, she decided she deserved to splurge on something special. The barista mixed and stirred and foamed and sprinkled, then handed over Serena's grande and a huge slice of white chocolate truffle cake. Mmmm. Chocolate. Boy, did she need the promised surge of happy hormones right now. Nothing like a chocolate Valium to make darn near any bad situation seem better. Sweeter, anyway.
Serena sat in a comfy chair by the window and proceeded to get quietly buzzed on caffeine. Her face burned as she considered how easily she'd fallen into Finn's arms. Hadn't she learned anything? Instead of slamming the door in his face—rather, keeping it slammed in his face—and waiting for the story to blow over, she'd let him talk her into going away with him. She had to admit, after that mob scene at her in-laws' it had seemed easier to let Finn handle everything. Brilliant idea to let him sweep her off to the very place where he'd won her heart fifteen years before, then tossed it away like a used paper cup.
There had to be a bit of poetic irony in the fact the man she'd ended her self-imposed celibacy for was the same man she'd given her virginity to. Not that she'd considered herself deliberately celibate. Things had been worse between her and Michael than she'd let on to Finn. She hadn't completely lost all sense of self-preservation. She still had her pride.
She and Michael had never had a chance to try to fix whatever had gone wrong in their marriage. Their lives had gotten busy, Michael with work and his friends, Serena with all the activities that revolved around the children. And then he was gone. The doctors had said there was no way to predict or prevent the brain embolism that had killed him. It was just one of those medical mysteries they were still trying to solve.
It had taken Serena a long time to forgive herself for not trying harder to make their marriage better. When the guilt finally eased, she'd been too busy getting Simple Pleasures off the ground to bother with something so trivial as a social life—her less-than-memorable encounters with Richard notwithstanding. He was a nice guy, but no sheet stud.
Serena took another fortifying slug of her grande. Now that she'd had a chance to calm down, she was a little embarrassed by the way she'd acted this morning. At first, Finn had been oblivious to her distress. He'd worn the happy, sated expression of a man who'd been well laid. Okay, he had, but still. Couldn't she have handled the situation a bit more smoothly? Yes. And if she were honest, she hadn't felt the least bit sorry about sleeping with Finn until she'd woken up this morning. It had been beyond fantastic.
She needed to rein in her stupid emotions, go back to the cabin and act like nothing had happened this morning. And if Finn wanted to pick up where they left off, she could do the adult thing, have an adult affair and enjoy another night of write-it-in-your-diary, never-forget-it, existence-altering sex.
She snorted. Yeah, sleeping with Finn Logan—what a sacrifice!
"Serena, is that you?"
At the sound of her name, Serena looked up to see a plump woman her own age standing beside her chair. It took a moment for the face to click with a name, but when it did, Serena's eyes widened with delight.
"Kelly Lewis! How are you?"
The other woman laughed. "It's Kelly Stepaniuk now, and I'm great."
"Can you sit down and talk?"
"Of course! Let me just get a cup of tea and I'll be right back."
Serena smiled and watched as Kelly went to the counter and ordered. Hers was the first familiar face Serena had seen in Wolf Lake. Within moments, the other woman was sinking into the deeply cushioned chair across from Serena and popping the lid on her paper cup to give her teabag a few vigorous dunks.
"So how are you? I haven't seen you in, gosh, I don't know how long."
"About fifteen years," Serena said. "A long time since I've had to fight with a snow-cone maker, anyway."
"You always had the worst luck with that thing! Remember the time it spewed Blue Buster all over you? It looked like you'd been slimed by an alien from the planet Gross."
They laughed at the reminder of their summers spent working behind the counter at Aunt Ida's Ice Cream Shoppe. As they caught up, Serena couldn't help glancing around to see if anyone was watching her.
"I don't think anyone will recognize you."
"What?" She focused on Kelly's amused expression.
"You look like you're expecting to be jumped at any second. Just guessing, but does that have anything to do with the stories about you and Riff Logan?" Kelly rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know about that. Who doesn't right now?"
Serena blew out an exasperated breath. "You wouldn't believe the last few days I've had."
"Nope, I can only imagine. But don't worry. Like I said, not too many of the old crew are still around. Most of them moved away to go to school and stayed away. I don't think too many other people around Wolf Lake would recognize you unless they were looking for you."
"Finally, some good news."
"I guess I know now why Riff came in for ice cream so much that summer, huh?"
Serena blushed and Kelly play-punched her in the biceps. "Why didn’t you tell me you guys were dating? Geez, when I think about how I used to go on and on about what a cute butt he had …" Her voice trailed off and she covered her face with one hand and let out a self-mocking groan. "What an idiot!"
"I'm sorry, Kelly. Really. We just thought it might be easier if other people didn't know. You remember how it was—everyone liked to talk about Finn and what he was up to all the time. That Logan kid, and his long hair, and his music and hanging out in bars and all that. And my parents, well, they liked Finn's grandparents but I knew they'd give me a hard time about him, too. So we just wanted to keep it to ourselves for a while. It seems kind of stupid now."
"Not stupid," Kelly said with a soft smile. "No. I think it's … nice."
Serena idly scraped her fork through the cake crumbs on her plate. "Yeah," she said softly. "It was kind of nice, just the two of us."
"And definitely not stupid when you consider what's going on right now. Just think, you could have had to deal with reporters calling you all the time in the past decade or so instead of going gonzo on it now. I guess now that the cat's out of the bag, you'll have to get used to fame." Kelly sighed dramatically, making Serena
laugh.
"Bite your tongue! God, I couldn't deal with this all the time. No way. It's going to blow over, then I can go back to my quiet little life and Finn can go back to his loud, big life."
"So," Kelly said, dragging out the word, "when you say, ‘Finn can go back to his life,’ does that mean he's doing something different right now?"
Serena winced. "Yes. I'm staying at his grandparents' cabin with him."
Kelly gave a low wolf whistle. "You guys are back together?"
"No, not at all." Her tongue tripped over the lie, but the other woman didn't seem to notice. "He just found out what a hard time I was having and decided to come to my rescue. He said if the press couldn't find me, the story would die down and everything would go back to normal. He suggested no one would think to look for us here."
"Your knight in shining armor!"
"Hmmm. I guess. Look, I hate to ask, but would you mind not telling anyone I'm here for a few days? Finn doesn't want anyone to know he still owns the cabin, and if that gets around—"
"No problem, sweetie. Your secret is safe with me."
"Great. I really appreciate this."
As Kelly started talking about the sports camp her children were spending a few weeks at, Serena felt an uncomfortable, twitchy sensation that sent goosebumps skittering up her arms. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a man sitting alone at the next table. Was he staring at her? Nodding at something Kelly said, Serena met the stranger's eyes. He quickly glanced away, but Serena couldn't shake the suspicion he had been watching her. Her eyes drifted down to the magazine spread open before him. It was hard to see exactly what he was reading, but she knew the article and photos well enough to realize it was the Celebrity expose about her and Finn. She felt a prickle of unease.
Looking around the café at the other patrons, the baristas behind the coffee counter, Serena wondered how many of them had read or seen reports about Riff Logan's Beautiful Girl. Crap. That's all she needed. She trusted Kelly not to say anything, but it was more than possible someone else might recognize her from the published photo or television footage. They could sic the press on her, which would pretty much shoot to hell whatever excuse she had for being alone with Finn, and here, of all places.
Kelly stopped talking as Serena leaned forward and whispered, "I think that guy at the table beside us recognized me."
Her friend shot a quick glance at the stranger, noted the magazine he was reading, and huffed out an irritated sigh. "I think you’re right."
"I'm sorry, but I've got to go."
"That's okay. I understand."
"It's been really great talking with you, Kelly. Here, let me give you my number. When this is over, I'd like to talk again."
The two women stood and hugged. "Don't worry, Serena. Riff's right—this'll all be old news by next week."
"I hope so."
Serena gathered up her purse and dumped the rest of her coffee in the trash. Turning at the door to wave at Kelly, she didn't see the tall, skinny man coming in and backed into him. "Oops. Sorry." Detecting a strong odor of grease and gasoline rising off his dirty coverall, she hoped she hadn't gotten any on her clothes.
The man just grunted and held the door to let her through.
"Thanks."
Glancing furtively up and down the sidewalk, worried that she might be recognized after all, Serena hurried to the Crossfire. Fishing Finn's keys out of her bag, she unlocked the car and slid behind the wheel. Enough procrastinating. Finn had to be wondering where his rental was. She'd better get back there and face what she had coming to her. A pleasant shiver rippled down her back as she thought of exactly what that might mean. Hoo boy.
* * * *
Derek Randall watched Serena Harper drive away in the hot silver Crossfire. He'd read her name was Jeffries now, but he still thought of her as Serena Harper. She hadn't even looked at him when she'd run right into him in the doorway. Not that she ever had. He seemed to slip under the radar of most women, and not in a good way.
With nothing left outside to hold his interest, he let the door swing shut and went to the counter to order his coffee. None of that whipped shit. Just straight black, nothing fancy. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter as he waited for his order. He'd been walking by, on his way to his shift at the gas station, when he'd seen Serena through the window. He'd stood on the sidewalk waffling about what to do before deciding to come in for a closer look. He'd hesitated too long, though, since she was coming out by the time he was going in. Now he was going to be late for work for nothing. Not that he gave a shit about that either, but the old man would give him a hard time about it.
Serena had chunked up a bit over the years, but he liked women who had something for a man to hold on to. And her tits looked as squeezable as ever. Oh man, he remembered those little strappy shirts she used to wear around town. She'd come into the station every once in a while to gas up her parents' car. Leaning against the open window of her car to ask how much she wanted gave him an almost perfect view right down her top. It was too bad she'd cut her hair. He'd had some pretty good fantasies about what he'd like to do with that long blond mane.
He paid for his coffee and walked out without dropping any change into the tip cup on the counter. He pried up the little flap on the lid, then cursed when the hot coffee sloshed onto his hand, burning him. Sucking his fingers, his stride slowed as a thought occurred to him.
What was Serena doing in Wolf Lake? The cabin her folks had rented was long gone, torn down to make room for some city snot's mansion away from mansion. What would bring her back after all these years? Riff Logan had sold his grandparents' place years ago. Hadn't he? Derek's eyes narrowed, the expression making his pinched features look even more rat-like. Was it possible that Serena wasn't here alone?
"This isn't a drop-in, Randall!"
Derek exchanged glares with the old man stationed behind the register. His thin grey hair was Bryllcreemed over an age-spotted dome, and his coverall was several degrees cleaner than Derek's.
"I'm here, aren't I?" Derek only mumbled the retort. Not that his boss was paying attention. The old man was already stripping off his coverall—he never wore them home, since his wife didn't like the smell of "gas station" in her house.
"I don't have time for this. Laura's got an appointment with a specialist in Bowman, and we're going to be late as it is."
Derek gulped his coffee to choke down a comment. Like he cared about the old bitch and her problems. Probably faking it to get attention. He sullenly watched his boss leave before sitting down in the duct-taped office chair behind the counter. Tilting it back until it squeaked in protest, he propped his scuffed work boots on a convenient shelf and went back to considering what Serena was doing in town.
The stories he'd heard about her lately weren't news to Derek. She'd been pretty hot and heavy with that bastard Logan all those years ago. Oh, they thought they were so smart, playing it cool around town and fooling around in private. Or so they thought. He leered. That prick Logan didn't have a clue.
Derek, otherwise unaffectionately known around town as "Dick," thought it might be an idea to swing by the old Logan place and see what was up. And maybe, like Riff Logan with Serena Harper all those years ago, he just might get lucky.
The insistent dinging of the air bell signaled the arrival of someone waiting for "full service." Derek considered ignoring it. Folks usually gave up waiting and served themselves. When the driver came in to pay, he could always say he'd been tied up with something out back. But the old man had been pretty pissed. Wouldn't be a good day for him to get a complaint that his employee was sitting on his ass while the customers were pumping their own gas and washing their own windows.
With a long-suffering sigh, Derek put down his cooling coffee and left the office. As he pulled the trigger on the fuel nozzle and watched the numbers rack up on the pump, he consoled himself by making plans for the best way to see what was up with Serena Harper.
Chapter
14
After Serena fled the cabin and he'd been—figuratively, if not literally—sent to the showers, Riff found himself wandering around looking for something to occupy his mind. Though she'd been in residence less than twenty-four hours, reminders of her presence were everywhere.
In the kitchen, the rich scents of Italian spices and melted mozzarella spiked with sweet, cinnamony apple was enough to make his stomach growl. A glass of cold milk and four pieces of toast slathered with peanut butter stilled the pangs, if not satisfying what he was really hungering for. His inner-Neanderthal wishing his woman were serving him eggs and bacon, preferably wearing nothing but a smile—and maybe an itty-bitty apron—Riff shoved his plate in with the others in the dishwasher.
He paused in the doorway before entering the living room. It looked almost untouched, considering the tempest of passion that had swirled through it last night. The fire had burned down to ashes, but there was no escaping the homey, woodsy smell that lingered in the room, teasing him with a sensory flashback of what it had smelled like mixed with the musk of Serena's arousal. His jeans and shirt were tumbled together in a pile beside the couch like so much forgotten laundry. A faint bit of baby blue snagged his eye. Moving closer, his lips quirked with amusement when he recognized what it was. Serena's lacy slip of a bra. It had somehow gotten caught on the end table's bottom shelf, which he suspected explained how Serena had missed it this morning in her rush to clear her own clothes from the room.
He picked up his clothes, shook them out and draped them over the back of the couch. Sitting down, he let his head fall back against the comfortable cushions and stared sightlessly at the exposed, age-darkened rafters in the ceiling. His fingers flexed against his thighs, unconsciously working through chords, strumming invisible strings—he always thought better when he was playing, even when it was only all in his head. The habit wasn't helping as much it usually did. Instead of sinking into that creative state that perversely let him think the most logically and clear-headedly, it eluded him. It didn't take much creative thinking to reason out why, either.