by Pamela Ford
“Amen, sister, I’m with you there.” Shelly fanned herself with both arms. “I love wide-open spaces. When is the last time you saw a view like this? Wide open for as far as the eye can see.”
The lake stretched out before them, shimmering in the moonlight, tall pines on the far shore stretching into the star-studded sky. Even with the dark line of a storm front on the horizon, the view was breathtaking. Izzy felt a twinge of wistfulness. “Paradise like this is getting hard to find.”
“Might I point out that your family owns this piece of paradise?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Shelley set off toward their cottage. “If I had your parents’ money, I wouldn’t be in any big rush to sell this off. There’s a way of life here that’s disappearing. No worries except whether to swim, canoe or lie in the sun. The dinner bell rings at five. Breakfast made to order.”
“Yeah,” Izzy said thoughtfully. “All’s right with the world.” Doubts about her parents’ decision began to cloud in her mind. Until this moment, she’d never fully appreciated what the Murphys had here and the magnitude of what they were losing.
Maybe she should talk to her folks about extending the lease. She shook her head. That would never be an option; her parents had been waiting for this lease to come due for years so they could end being landlords. The only way they’d ever consider working something out with the Murphys was if a land sale was involved.
“Check out Hickory Hollow.” Shelly pointed at the cottage down another path, its every window aglow. “Lit up like the stage of a Broadway musical. Someone’s afraid of the dark.”
“That’s the cabin they’re remodeling.” Izzy slapped a mosquito on the back of her hand. “The boys are probably working late.” She wondered whether Gib was inside and mentally chastised herself for the thought.
“Maybe you should check on their progress. See if B.B. can paint as good as he looks,” Shelly said with a smirk.
“Maybe we should both check.”
“I was asleep until someone decided they wanted to go spelunking. I’d like to be asleep again. You go.”
“Matt’s probably in there, too.” No way should she knock on that door.
Shelly sighed melodramatically and waved a dismissive hand. “If only he were ten years older. Go on. Don’t stay out too late.” She disappeared down the path, the faint light of her flashlight the only visible sign she was in the woods. And then even that was gone and Izzy was standing alone on the cottage stoop, her heart skipping every third beat. From inside came the sound of a radio DJ chatting away the night. She raised a hand to knock on the door then froze, her fist inches from the wood. This was ridiculous. Less than twenty-four hours after she decided she should keep her distance from Gib, she was knocking on his door? What did she think she was going to say once she got inside? How’s it going in here? That’s a lovely paint color? Want to kiss me again?
No, that last wasn’t even an option. She dropped her hand and took several steps along the path before stopping. Gib did tell her to swing in if she saw them working, she rationalized. So, there really was nothing wrong with her saying hello. Just drop in for a howdy-doody, guten abend, what’s shakin’, aloha kind of thing.
That should be a hit.
Before she could waste another moment vacillating, she turned back to the door and rapped soundly, then stepped inside without waiting for a reply. The odor of wet paint hung in the air and music blasted from the boom box in the living room, but no one was around. She stuck her head through the open doorway of the nearest bedroom and spotted Gib up on a stepladder.
“Well, hello. What are you doing here?” he asked over the sound of the radio. Paintbrush in hand, he backed down the ladder.
“I was taking a walk,” Izzy lied. “Saw the lights on and thought I’d see how things were going.”
“They’re going. Once I finish this room, we can start putting it all back together again. New curtains, some better furniture…”
“I like the color.” Izzy studied the pale blue-gray wall he’d already finished.
He didn’t reply and the silence stretched between them awkwardly, like a rubber band ready to break. She began to wish she hadn’t stopped in.
“So, how’s the filming coming along?” Gib finally asked.
“Good. We were reviewing some footage earlier tonight and it’s…pretty good.” Maybe she could research synonyms for good on the computer when she got back to her cottage.
“As long as White Bear Lodge comes off looking great.”
She smiled. “I don’t think you have to worry. Especially because the main focus is the gangsters and their holidays. How they lived…”
“And died,” he said in a strangled voice.
“Well, no, we’re not going to get into—” She broke off at the expression on Gib’s face. “What’s the matter?”
“Remember my friend, Dave, I told you about? He died last night in a motorcycle accident,” he said dully. “No helmet, dry pavement, no alcohol. Just a sharp curve taken too fast on a road he’d traveled many, many times before.”
“No,” Izzy whispered.
“He didn’t come out of that explosion unhurt, after all.” Gib stood there clutching a paintbrush in his left hand, his grief almost palpable.
Izzy’s heart wrenched at the naked vulnerability on his face. “Oh, Gib. I’m so sorry.” She searched for something to say that might help him, then realized it wasn’t words he needed. Taking the brush from his hand, she set it across the top of the paint can. Then she wrapped her arms around him and held him close.
“I talked to him only once since I got back,” he said against her hair. “I thought he was doing okay.”
“You couldn’t have known. You have your own things you’re dealing with here.”
In the background, the DJ blabbered on about a party he’d gone to last weekend, then put the next song into play, dedicated by some girl named Haley to her boyfriend. The strains of “My Heart Will Go On” filled the room. “Takes me back to high school,” Gib said. “Once Titanic came out, the girls practically fainted whenever this song played.”
He tightened his arms around her and began to sway with the music and she followed his lead. The haunting words and melody filled her with melancholy, a longing for all the hopes and dreams that were launched during those teenage years only to die a premature death.
“I bet they all wanted to dance with you.” She wished the two of them were dancing right now because he wanted to dance with her and not because he needed the comfort of someone’s arms around him.
She felt him chuckle.
“I’m sure there were plenty who couldn’t have cared less,” he said.
“Where did you grow up?”
He didn’t answer right away. “We lived outside Madison until I was ten. Used to come up and stay here with my grandparents for a month every summer. Then my parents died in a small plane crash and Matt and I moved here permanently.”
“I’m sorry.” Her words felt so inadequate.
“They’d taken a trip, were going to hike up Mount Rainier to celebrate their anniversary. My grandma says they gave me my adventurous soul.”
Izzy swallowed the lump in her throat. “I used to think things happened in life to teach you something. But the older I get, the more I wonder.” The song ended and she stepped out of his arms, wanting to put some distance between them. She leaned against the doorjamb. “But what’s a ten-year-old supposed to learn from his parents dying?”
Gib pulled the canvas drop cloth back from the end of the bed and sat down. “I’ve spent the past couple of hours trying to figure out what the point is, why some people die and some live. What’s the meaning of life if you can’t ever count on life to hang around as long as it’s supposed to?”
If only she knew how to help him.
After a minute, Gib stood. “I’d better start painting again before my brush gets hard.”
“It’s almost midnight. Are
you planning to stay up all night?”
“Probably.”
“And then go fishing in the morning to get some sleep.”
“You’re catching on.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s easier, sometimes, to stay up.”
“Maybe TV would help. It puts me to sleep fast enough.” She didn’t feel comfortable leaving him alone, not with all the jagged edges in his life right now.
“It’s not the falling asleep that’s the problem. It’s the staying asleep. It’s the dreams, the waking in the darkness disconcerted, disconnected and…” He shook his head. “Drenched in sweat like a kid having a nightmare. About monsters in the closet, under the bed, coming through the doorway. And nowhere to hide.”
That settled it. She wasn’t leaving him alone. She picked up the clean paint roller from the paint tray and held it up. “I’ve been told I’m one step away from professional,” she exaggerated. “Must have been a skill I was born with. So…how about I lend you a hand?”
GIB FELT HIS MOOD LIGHTEN. As much as he wanted to be alone, he didn’t want to be alone. “You sure?”
She nodded. “What else have I got to do?”
“Sleep.”
“Had too much Coke with dinner. I’m not going to be sleeping anytime soon.”
He felt absurdly happy that she’d insisted. “Okay, you’re hired.”
Two hours later, they finished the job amid spirited discussions about the state of the union, world politics, global warming, and which famous actor was dating which famous actress.
For a while, anyway, he forgot about death, forgot about life, forgot about everything but Izzy. He watched her as she rinsed the roller out in the kitchen sink and wished, just for tonight, he had someone to climb into bed with, someone to wrap his body around so that when the nightmares came, so, too, would come reassurance that everything was okay. God, now he sounded like a kid. He’d survived long nights alone before; he’d get through tonight.
Izzy went into the living room to peek out the window. “Looks like we never got the storm Shelly was predicting.” She glanced at her watch and yawned. “Jeez, it’s almost two.”
“You’d better get home or you’ll be exhausted tomorrow.” Gib rinsed his paintbrush under the faucet. “Thanks for helping. And for keeping me company.”
“Anytime. You going up to the lodge?” She picked up her flashlight and absently played with the on-off button as he walked her to the door.
“Yeah. As soon as I close this place up.” With the windows open and the warm night air blowing in, the paint smell was already dissipating. No reason to go to the lodge right away—if at all. He shut the door behind her, stretched out on the brown plaid couch and began to channel-surf with the remote—a few minutes of CNN, an old black-and-white Jimmy Stewart movie, a little South Park, a reality dating show, an infomercial about skin care products—
“I thought you were going home,” Izzy said.
He twisted around to see her in the doorway. Hell, he hadn’t even heard the door open. “I am…eventually. Thought I’d do like you said and watch some TV.”
“Until dawn?”
He ignored her and refocused his attention on the infomercial.
“Does anything help?”
“Nope.”
She took the throw off the arm of the rocking chair, then snapped off the end table lamp. “Move over.”
He didn’t budge. “What?”
She sat on the edge of the couch and nudged him with an elbow. “Move over,” she said more forcefully.
This time he did as he was told. She opened the throw and covered him, then slid beneath it, stretched out beside him on the couch, her back to his front. Reaching behind her, she took the remote from his hand and clicked the television off. Darkness engulfed them. “Now, go to sleep,” she said.
He drew a breath, inhaled the scent of her, cocoa butter on her skin and lime in her hair. He wrapped his arm around her and nestled her into the curve of his body. Then he kissed the back of her neck, closed his eyes and surrendered to the exhaustion he’d been holding at bay.
EYES OPEN, IZZY LISTENED to the soft, steady rhythm of Gib’s breathing and hoped he would be able to sleep until morning without any of the nightmares he’d become so accustomed to. She could only imagine his grief, the ache that must have begun when his parents died and only got worse with each friend’s death. Add to that his fears about losing the resort that had been in his family for almost a century and it was no wonder he couldn’t sleep at night.
She dreaded the day he learned her parents owned the land. The more she got to know him and his family, the heavier this secret weighed on her. Better that Gib Murphy never find out Izzy Stuart was really Elizabeth Gordon. That way, when she left here, they would remember each other as friends.
When she left here.
The thought bared a hollow spot in her chest, the way a chill wind skims the surface water off a lake. She closed her eyes against the feeling and forced herself to think about her documentary. About all the success she would find once she and Shelly finished production.
Somewhere deep inside, she could feel the hollow spot grow.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A RIFLE CRACKED AND GIB startled to half-awake, every muscle tensed, ready for action. Where? It cracked again, sharp and clear, and he jerked, struggling to pull his mind to consciousness. Sniper. “Move! Get out of here!” he mumbled.
He felt a gentle hand on his forearm.
“It’s a storm,” a woman said in a voice soft with sleep.
He waited, confused. Into the silence came the splat of bullets against the roof, first only a few, then more and more. “We need to go—”
“It’s just rain,” she murmured, rubbing his arm. “Nothing to fear.”
Rain? Slowly he came awake. He blinked his eyes open and focused. Izzy. He was with Izzy. He let himself relax against her. He was at home in Wisconsin. They were sleeping in the cottage. Iraq was half a world away. “We’d better close the windows.”
“Did that an hour ago when the wind picked up,” Izzy said.
Lightning cracked again, closer, almost directly overhead. It was a classic Midwestern summer storm, the kind he used to love as a kid. Thunder roared and wind rattled the windows.
“There’s nothing like the sound of rain on the roof,” Izzy murmured. “When I was young, I liked riding in the car in rainstorms at night. Especially when we were on a road trip. Made me feel protected.”
Gib pushed up on one elbow. Her face was soft, flushed creamy pink with sleep, her eyes sultry under heavy lids. He almost kissed her but stopped himself, not wanting to make her uncomfortable when she had stayed out of concern for him. “I bet your parents didn’t feel the same way about it.”
“Yeah, now that I’m the driver, I hate being on the road in rainstorms.”
“Where’d you grow up?”
“Down south.” She rolled to sitting and looked at her watch, then showed it to him. “It’s past seven-thirty—”
“I slept that long? It’s so dark I didn’t realize how late it was.”
“Did you dream?”
He sat up beside her. “If I did, I don’t remember it. Man, do I feel good. That’s the best sleep I’ve had since…before I got back.”
“I hope you’re not supposed to be working the breakfast shift.”
“No. I’ve got a meeting at the bank at nine-thirty.”
“About the resort?” Izzy tossed off the blanket and stood, stretching to one side and then the other.
“That’s all I meet about these days.” Suddenly he missed her beside him, wished she could stay every night so he could feel this refreshed each morning. He swung his feet to the floor and went to the door to watch the storm. A driving wind whipped the tree branches and slapped the rain against the leaves. “I missed these storms when I was away.”
Izzy joined him at the door. “I’d better get back before Shelly calls the police because I didn’t come home last nigh
t. We’re supposed to interview the owner of Lost Loon Resort later this morning.” She put a hand on the doorknob.
“What time?” he asked, stalling so she didn’t leave. He hadn’t slept with a woman in a long time—sex or no sex—and he didn’t want to lose the connection he felt with her.
“Supposed to be at ten, but with this rain, we’ll probably have to reschedule.” She twisted the knob and he took hold of her arm to stop her. She raised her face, lips softly parted in surprise. He knew he should let her go, but all he wanted right now was to take her back to the couch and make love to her.
AT THE EXPRESSION ON Gib’s face, Izzy gently tugged her arm free, regret shading her thoughts. If only she’d met Gib Murphy under other circumstances. If only he already knew her parents owned the land. If only…Too many if onlys. She had to get out of here. “I have to go,” she said softly, and let herself out of the cottage.
She welcomed the drenching rain, the cold that seeped beneath her skin to numb her growing feelings for Gib. Halfway to the cottage, she slipped on the woodsy path and landed on her knees in the mud. A sob escaped her throat and she held back the tears that threatened to follow. For the first time since arriving at White Bear, she wanted to leave. Wanted to run away from the monster that had been born the day she decided to come here. She got to her feet, hands now as muddy as her knees. There was no one to blame for this disaster but herself.
Reaching the cottage, she charged through the doorway, leaving a trail of mud. She stood on the mat inside the front door, shivering, water running off her legs and pooling at her feet.
“Nice to see you again.” Shelly grabbed a bath towel and tossed it her way. “Have fun last night?”
Izzy draped the towel over her shoulders. “It’s not what you think. A friend of his was killed yesterday.” She told Shelly about the motorcycle accident. “It didn’t seem right to leave him alone. Not with another friend dying.” She went into the bathroom to take a shower and wash her hair, letting the hot water pound on her head until her skin began to prune. Then she got out and wrapped a clean towel around herself.