by Pamela Ford
“Menkesoq Lake.”
“What does it mean?”
“Blueberry Moon. The Indians called the August moon blueberry moon, because that’s when the blueberries ripen. Legend has it that an Indian princess met her true love during the blueberry moon and christened the lake such, so their love would be eternal.” He put a hand on the ground next to him. “Have a seat.”
She sat beside him cross-legged. “When you left the cottage, I got the feeling something had gone wrong with your plans…Has it?”
A pained expression flitted across his face. “Yes. And no.”
She frowned, confused.
“Turns out, my brother is leaving for Montana in a couple months. Has a job lined up in Big Sky. He has no interest in running the resort. And my grandmother, well, she’s right there with him.”
“Moving to Big Sky?”
He pictured his grandma whipping down the mountains on skis. “Not hardly. She just wants out. Sick of changing sheets, making meals, the whole shooting match. When she heard Matt was leaving, she couldn’t say she wanted to quit fast enough.”
“Quit? You mean let the resort go? No one wants to stay?”
At his nod, relief rushed through her. They wouldn’t lose the place they loved because of her family. This was their choice. The land could be sold. She and Shelly could make the documentary. Gib could go back to the other side of the world.
She felt a fleeting ache in her chest at that last thought.
“Funny thing is, I’m the only one who seems to be struggling with it,” he said. “I’m meeting with a developer in a couple of hours to see if he wants to buy the resort from us, and it feels like I’m going to a wake.”
“You’ll always have the memories even if you don’t own the resort.”
“Yeah, I know.” He rubbed a hand absently over the scar on his knee.
“This place doesn’t define you or your family, Gib. It’s just where you hung your hats awhile.”
“Yeah, like a hundred years.”
“Okay, a long while.”
“I feel like I didn’t do enough.”
“You’ve only been home a few days. You’re expecting too much of yourself.” She pulled at the grass in front of her.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have left in the first place. Or I should have come home more often and paid attention when I was here so I would have known how much they were struggling the past few years. I just feel like I could have done more.” His voice was so low she had to strain to hear him.
Somehow she knew he wasn’t just talking about the resort. “You gave everything you could at the time. I’ve been thinking about this on and off since you brought it up the other night. What the meaning, the purpose of life is.” She put her hand on his. “And I realized it’s this—you do the best you can. If at a given moment, you can only give eighty percent, then that’s the best you can do. If it’s fifty percent, then it’s that. You can’t look back later with the benefit of hindsight and say, I could have done better. You did the best you could at the time. That’s what life is all about, Gib, doing the best you can.”
He faced her, his emotions raw on his face, and she leaned forward to press her mouth to his as if to say it was time to replace bad memories with new ones. He kissed her back hard, the sort of kiss that begins with an almost desperate need to connect—intense, mouth open, tongues meshing, as if the contact could dull the pain. The day blurred and their surroundings disappeared, and it felt like the only things that were real were the two of them. Gib pulled back to look at her, and she felt the world begin to focus and she didn’t want it to. She let herself sink into his gray eyes, his lashes so dark they were like a storm sweeping the sky.
His gaze was riveted on her face. She reached out to trace his lips with her fingers, and it was then she knew she wasn’t doing this only for him, she was doing this for herself, as well.
“Izzy,” he said, and the way his voice caressed each letter made a hot shiver skitter down her spine. Her body tightened from wanting him.
He bent to kiss her again, lightly touching one corner of her mouth and then the other, the line of her jaw, her throat, her lips. He drew her closer and she could feel the strength in his hands, and the tenderness. She sighed, loving the warmth of his mouth on hers, the heat of his body beside her. His fingertips traced the curve of her breast, slipped over her belly, and she felt every inch of her body constrict and soften at once.
“God, Izzy, stop me now or don’t stop me,” he murmured.
“No.” She pulled him closer. “No stopping. No regrets.”
His face was inches from hers, his eyes narrowed, the gray now almost invisible behind his lashes. He ran a thumb along her jaw and lips and followed it with his mouth. The heat from his touch skidded through her to settle in her core. Then he slid his hands up her back under her tank top, unclasped her bra and drew everything over her head. His T-shirt was soft against her skin, just a thin layer between them, but now even that was too much. She reached for the hem of his shirt and he raised his arms to let her pull it off. Then he pressed her down and onto her back in the soft, warm grass, the hair on his chest coarse against her breasts. He popped the button at the top of her capris and pulled down the zipper. “I want to see you naked in the sunlight,” he murmured, and tugged them off her, his fingers touching her, making her wonderfully crazy.
“Ditto.” She reached for the buckle of his belt and pulled it open.
“Ditto?” he said as he lifted his hips to let her strip off his shorts. A cloud passed in front of the sun, darkening the day and his face for a moment, making him appear dangerous and mysterious and sexy all at once. He kissed her breast, teased her with his tongue until she shuddered with wanting him. She skimmed her hands along his hips, up the muscles of his arms as she pulled him toward her, so she could taste the heat of his mouth again.
“You’re something else,” he murmured, his breath tickling her cheek. “My blueberry moon princess.” He cupped her face with his hands and kissed her until she was dizzy.
She loved how his hard body felt pressed to hers, loved the feel of his calloused fingers on her soft skin, loved the heat between them. He slid a hand lower and she closed her eyes and gave herself up to the moment, to the pressure building inside her. He stroked her until she was nearly out of her mind, her blood thickening, every nerve screaming. He rolled onto her, and she arched up to meet him, reveling in the feel of him, his lips, the weight of him pressing her back, the rest of the world gone missing. His hands were holding her head, fingers twined in her hair. “Come on, Izzy,” he breathed into her ear. The tickle of his breath was the last thing she could handle, and she broke with him, like the sun shattering into a million little pieces. She gasped at how right he felt, how she could feel him in every cell of her body as though he should have been there all along and she’d only just realized he’d been missing.
She kept her eyes closed, basking in her joy, feeling more free than she ever had in her life.
“Izzy.”
She cracked her eyes open.
“You’re incredible,” he said, awe tingeing his voice.
“We were incredible.”
“Yeah.” He rolled onto his side and wrapped her in his arms, and she let herself relax against him, content. She could smell wildflowers and leaves and blossoms on the breeze and the smell of the two of them mingled with all of that and she took it in, let it fill her. She thought to herself that it had never been like this with Andrew, and marveled that, in the past few weeks, everything had gotten sharper, as if her life had been a movie out of focus and someone had finally showed her how to get rid of the fuzzy edges.
Gib nibbled at her ear. “I never guessed there was such a wild woman inside you.”
Neither had she. No regrets, she’d said. And she had none. Not where Gib was concerned. This was just another step along her path to taking back her own life and following her dreams. She thought of how she would leave here in a week—and n
ever see Gib again. A tiny doubt tried to rise in her and she shoved it down. She’d made her decision and there was no room for second-guessing.
Gib ran a hand down her arm, fingers touching the sensitive skin on the inside of her elbow. Her breath caught. He put his lips to the spot and tickled it with his tongue. She shivered and curled toward him, relishing the nearness of him, not wanting to let him go.
He chuckled softly. “Honey, you are awfully tempting. Too bad I scheduled that meeting because I’d much rather stay here with you.”
“Ohmigosh, what time is it?” She sat up and scrambled for her clothes. “Shelly and I are supposed to be in Minocqua to do an interview at a brothel from the thirties.” She brushed the grass off her clothes and ran her fingers through her hair. “How do I look?”
“Like a million bucks.” Gib pulled on his shorts and T-shirt.
“Thanks for that lie. Now, how do we get out of here?”
As he led the way into the brush, she admired his strong legs and his broad shoulders, the way he moved through the uneven terrain so easily. He reached for her hand and she took it, not quite ready to let go of him, her heart still warm and full with what they’d shared. This had been one of the most wonderful, spontaneous times in her entire life. Just she and Gib. And the resort and the land and Elizabeth Gordon and the documentary and his memories of Iraq and—
In the distance, thunder rumbled.
“Sounds like more rain coming,” Gib said.
Didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the Murphys didn’t want the land. Her family could sell and she didn’t have to worry about Gib’s grandparents losing everything they’d ever had. She could make her documentary and move forward with her own life, without having to worry about leaving carnage in her wake.
THEY BROKE OUT OF THE WOODS near the main lodge, and Gib grabbed Izzy by the arm and pulled her round the back of the work shed to kiss her one more time. The sky had darkened ominously and a couple of rogue raindrops splashed onto them.
“Hey, I thought you had a meeting to get to,” she said. “And I have a movie to make. And we’re both going to get drenched if we’re not careful.”
“Who cares?”
She punched his shoulder playfully. “I do. If I’m late, I’ll lose my interview. I hate to damage your male ego, but it’s the most important thing to me right now.”
He put a hand on his heart as though mortally wounded. “Go, then. Go and leave me to suffer here by the wayside.”
She took a couple of half skips away and he thought to himself that for the first time in a long time, he’d caught a lucky break. More raindrops splashed down and he took the steps to the lodge veranda. “Good luck with the interview,” he called after her.
She waved to him over her shoulder and he pictured her captured in the lens of his camera, her eyes dancing, the wind tossing her hair, her smile wide and happy, and a well-loved look of contentment on her face. He thought of how she’d been less than an hour ago, naked in the summer sun, loving him outside with abandon. The rain began to fall harder, and she dashed to the trail leading to her cottage, both hands on top of her head as though she could keep herself dry that way.
He stayed there, watching, long past the point when she disappeared into the trees. Overhead, lightning sliced open the dark clouds, releasing a torrent of water that poured from the sky in great silver panels and rolled in rivulets down the gravel drive and into the grass. It was cooler now and fresher, the cleansing rain washing away the dust clogging the air.
Like beautiful Izzy Stuart had done with his day. He didn’t know where this was going, wasn’t sure there was anywhere for it to go, but he knew, without a doubt, right now he wanted more of Izzy Stuart in his life.
JACK TAYLOR WAS SAYING something sympathetic about all the years the Murphy family had lived on the land at White Bear. His white shirt was perfectly starched, his collar open and his tie loosened around his neck like some GQ model.
He sat opposite Gib in a booth at a family restaurant two hours south of Menkesoq Lake, tapping his yellow legal pad with the tip of his pencil, then the eraser, then the tip again. As though he were in a hurry.
Not that he was a bad guy. Maybe for him, life was best lived in a rush. Finish up one job and on to the next. No time to waste. No time like the present to make a shitload of money. Wasn’t Gib’s cup of tea, but it took all kinds to make the world go round. He’d sure been in a hurry to meet again once Gib called him about the family’s decision.
“I like it. I become the sole owner of White Bear Lodge. Then I assume the existing lease and have first rights to match any offer the landowners get.” Jack nodded appreciatively. “I really like it.”
“My grandparents haven’t said anything about wanting to retire,” Gib lied, not wanting Taylor to think the family was so desperate to get out they’d accept a lowball offer for the resort. “They don’t even know I’m proposing this. But they’re getting to that age, and if they got an acceptable offer for the buildings, my brother and I think they might see things differently.”
“I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” Jack said. “I’ll have to have the place appraised—quickly. The cottages are all pretty old, aren’t they?”
The waitress arrived with their order—two cups of coffee and a plate of cherry Danish kringle—and put everything dead center on the table, including their check.
Gib sipped his coffee and frowned at the taste, strong and bitter. “With all due respect, our buildings are worth a lot more than their appraised value. Because…without them, you can’t get the land.”
Jack scribbled some notes on the paper. “Absolutely. I know that. But a brick-and-mortar appraisal will give us a jumping-off point.”
Better be a big jump.
“I know this must be for hard for you after all the years your family’s been on the land,” Jack said. “I was thinking on the way here, I’d throw in a week’s vacation for your family every year at the condos, dinners included. I’m hoping to get approval for a rib-and-steak house overlooking the water. It’ll draw customers from all around the area.”
Gib gripped his coffee mug with both hands. One week. Lifetimes of his family’s memories distilled down to one week. No more breakfasts on the veranda, lazy quiet days at the beach, no more hikes through the woods. He’d never show his own children the secret place at the top of the hill—for them, it would have to be just another story their father had to tell.
No. No one-week vacations here for him. When this was over, he didn’t ever want to come back.
“Let me get back to my office, get an appraiser on the job and see what we can come up with.” Jack took a bite of kringle. “I take it you’re selling the place complete. All the canoes, kayaks, paddleboats, equipment, you name it?”
“I’m sure there’s some furniture and other things my grandparents will want to take with them.” Gib tried to shake off the feeling that he’d just learned of another death.
“That’s fine. As far as what my company would keep…we much prefer to start with things new. If you want, you could have a big sale before we take ownership. Clear everything out before we clear the land.” Jack took another bite of kringle.
“Clear the land?”
“Take down the buildings,” he said once he swallowed his food.
Of course they’d raze the buildings. Why wouldn’t they? Way more money to be made with rows of condos than with little cottages scattered in the woods.
“We may have to clear out some trees, too, but we won’t know that until the architectural design is finished.” Jack popped the last bite of kringle into his mouth and licked his fingers. “This is delicious. Famous Racine kringle,” he said. “Have some.”
Gib shook his head, unable to speak for the pictures in his head. He couldn’t eat right now if his life depended on it. “I’ve got to get back,” he finally said. “Still have resort guests expecting dinner even if we are planning to sell out soon.”
“The w
ork is never done, I imagine. When you tell your grandparents that I’d like to buy the buildings, tell them that peace, quiet and a rocking chair are right around the corner.”
Gib slid out of the booth and shook Jack’s hand. Peace, quiet and a rocking chair. They already had that. At one of the best places you could ever find.
AFTER FINISHING THE INTERVIEW at the former brothel, Izzy and Shelly drove an hour to Elcho to check out the rumor that the town had housed a medical way station for Prohibition-era mobsters escaping to and from Wisconsin. They caught dinner at a diner along the way and didn’t get back to White Bear until early evening.
By then, the rain was long gone, the sky clear, the temperature comfortable. Izzy left Shelly reading in their cabin and walked briskly along the lakeside trail, past white birch trees and maples and evergreens. The smell of pine hung heavy in the air. Though she’d always loved the outdoors, she’d spent less and less time there the past few years. Lately, it had been Andrew’s fault—air-conditioning and central heating were his favored climes. But she couldn’t blame this all on him; somehow, even she always had something else to do.
She spotted Matt raking the sand, cleaning up pine needles, sticks and leaves that had blown onto the beach during the storm. He stopped working as she drew near. “How’s the movie business?”
“Wonderful. There are so many gangster stories up here, we could stay a month.” She gazed out onto the lake and saw Gib giving a kayak lesson. Warmth spread across her chest as she watched him, admired his confidence, his strength, remembered making love with him that afternoon.
“He’s a man of many talents,” Matt said.
She felt a blush race up her cheeks. He couldn’t possibly know, could he? “What? Oh, I’m—”
“Whatever Gib decides to do, he does well. Used to drive me crazy when we were younger. I was always the tagalong trying to keep up with him.” Matt leaned on his rake. “Until he took up photography. I couldn’t have cared less about taking pictures.”