by Pamela Ford
“I hear you’re a good skier.”
He grinned proudly. “Gib was into photography and I was into going fast and adrenaline rushes.”
“And now?” she asked.
“I’m still into going fast and adrenaline rushes.” He focused on his brother again. “But Gib doesn’t shoot pictures anymore.”
“I thought he just got back from an overseas assignment.”
“He did. But he hasn’t taken a picture since he got home. Hasn’t even taken his camera out of his room.”
“Maybe he wants a break.”
Matt bent to scoop up several broken sticks. “That camera used to be like another appendage for him. He was never without it. Now he’s never with it.”
She closed her eyes a moment. Gib’s injuries went deeper than she’d even realized. “After everything he’s been through, maybe all he needs is more time.”
“I hope so.” Matt used the rake to drag the pile of debris toward the treeline.
Izzy looked between the brothers. She wanted to say she would be here for Gib—
But would she?
For another week.
Much as she liked Gib, she had plans for her life. With any luck, this documentary would lead to better things and bigger cities. Hopefully, Gib would be heading out again, too, to gift the world with his photos.
And if he couldn’t?
The thought almost brought tears to her eyes.
THE SUN HAD GONE DOWN hours ago, but, even at eleven o’clock, its heat still lingered. Gib sat on the veranda alone, drinking a beer as he contemplated the events of the day. Though he tried to stay focused on his discussion with Jack Taylor, memories of making love with Izzy kept hijacking his mind. He wanted to be with her tonight, see her beautiful smile, her dancing eyes. He wanted to put his arms around her and feel her mouth beneath his.
Before she was gone.
Maybe he shouldn’t get any more involved; she would be here only another week at the most. The thought made him vaguely restless, and he set the half-full bottle on the floor next to his chair and stood. Izzy would be here only another week. All the more reason to see her tonight.
Ten minutes later, he knocked on the door to her cottage, fully intending to ask how their shoot at the old brothel had gone today. But when Izzy pulled open the door wearing a little tank top and shorts, her hair tousled around her face and her eyes bedroom sleepy, he lost all coherent thought.
“Gib? Is something the matter?” She cast a glance at her watch.
He snapped his brain back into working order. “No, no, everything’s fine. Did I wake you?”
She wrinkled her nose as she squeezed her eyes shut then opened them again. “I dozed off in the chair watching the news. Shelly’s asleep on the couch. Long day.”
“Yeah, me too.” Suddenly he felt awkward and stupid for showing up at her door this late.
“You want to come in?”
“No. I don’t want to wake Shelly up.”
She squinted at him. He could tell by her expression she was trying to figure out what he was doing here.
“How’d your meeting go this afternoon?” she finally asked.
“Not bad. I’m waiting to hear back from him.”
After a pause, she said, “Okay, so, um, you came by to say hi?” The corners of her lips twitched.
No, he didn’t just want to say hi. He took her hand and tugged her out into the darkness of the stoop, closing the door behind them. “Actually, I wanted to kiss you good-night.”
Her mouth curved into a shy smile as he pulled her close and bent to touch her lips with his. She slipped her arms up his chest and around his neck, leaned into him, and he kissed her harder, experiencing a rush of emotion so fast and strong he actually felt weak. He pressed her back against the building for support, and their movement knocked the hanging metal bell to the ground with a crash and a clang. The sound jarred them apart.
The front door whipped open and Shelly stood in the doorway, hair sticking out every which way, eyes narrowed. “Was that you two?” she demanded before slamming the door shut.
He and Izzy began to laugh.
“Guess I’d better get going,” he said.
“Thanks for stopping.”
He started down the road toward the lodge, all his thoughts focused on Izzy. Everything about her, everything, was right.
Too bad every other circumstance was wrong.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE CALL FROM JACK TAYLOR came in at eleven the next morning. Gib recognized the number on his cell and stepped out of the lodge for privacy.
Taylor wasted no time getting right to the point. “I talked to my partner about your question, Gib, and we’re in agreement. We’d be happy to buy the resort. Our appraiser examined fair market values and we went from there. Building in, of course, compensation for the intangible benefit we’ll receive as the owner. I can fax our offer or e-mail it. Which would you prefer?”
Though this was exactly the response he expected, Gib still felt a jolt at the news. The resort was gone. In a few short weeks—months at most—this wouldn’t be home anymore. He thought he’d come to grips with it yesterday when he was with Izzy, but apparently not.
How could Matt not want to stay here?
“Gib? Did I lose you?”
“No, no, I’m here.”
“You want a fax or e-mail?”
No fax. He didn’t want anyone else to see the offer yet; it made everything too real. He wanted some time to think about it without three other cooks in the kitchen. “E-mail would be fine.” He flatly recited his e-mail address. “Once I print a hard copy, I’ll get the family together—have to see when everyone’s available—and we’ll talk it over.”
“Super. I’ll wait to hear from you.”
Gib closed his phone. “You do that,” he muttered, feeling animosity toward Jack Taylor and not sure why. The guy sounded like he would be pretty damn fair with his offer. Besides, he was making it possible for the family to leave White Bear with something in the bank instead of going away broke.
Couldn’t ask for more than that, could you?
A freshening breeze kissed his cheek, and Gib raised his head to stare out at the lake where whitecaps were skipping across the water and a sailboat heeled in the wind. Above him, the leaves in the trees fluttered and spun dark and light green like costumed dancers in the sunlight. He shaded his eyes with one hand and watched the children leaping from the float and screaming as they hit the cool water, their parents reclining on lounge chairs in the sun, all cares left behind.
Regret skidded through him. White Bear had given so many people memories that would last a lifetime. It had given him and Matt a home when his parents died. A good home. A happy home even though it had changed from being a fun summer vacationland to work camp all in the blink of an eye. Years of doting on guests, serving meals, changing bedding, mowing lawns, hiking, sailing, campfires, gold and red trees in autumn, the leaves spinning to the ground with every fall breeze, snowdrifts reaching up into the lower tree branches, cross-country skiing through the woods and coming back to a fire in the hearth—
He’d hated it here.
Hadn’t he?
It was too late for melancholy visits down memory lane. Everyone wanted out, him included. White Bear Lodge was about to be no more. All he had to do was retrieve the offer from his e-mail and get the family’s approval. Contracts would be drawn, signatures affixed, and it would be finished.
The Gordon family would get the money they wanted. Jack Taylor would get the land he wanted. Grandma and Grandpa would get the retirement they wanted. Matt would get the freedom he wanted. And him, he would get…what was it he wanted?
As though holding a camera, he raised his hands to frame the beach scene in a rectangle formed by his thumbs and index fingers. Then he turned and shot an imaginary picture of the tall pines on the edge of the forest, and yet another of the only log cottage visible from where he was standing.
W
hat he wanted was picture-perfect serenity.
And that was here.
Nah, couldn’t be. He couldn’t be thinking he wanted to stay here. He’d gone halfway around the world to discover the place he wanted was here?
His grandfather came up the hill and gave him a strange look. “What are you doing?”
“Taking pictures so I don’t forget what it looks like.”
“There’s a lot of memories out there. Yours. Mine. Your father’s. My father’s. His father’s. It’s in the trees, the sand, the grass, the water.”
“Our family is this place,” Gib said quietly. “Our DNA is probably all over it. I can’t believe I’m having trouble letting go.”
The older man put an arm around Gib’s shoulders. “To all things a season. Don’t beat yourself up. We’ve had a hundred good years here. That’s a lot more than most families get anywhere. Time has a way of moving on whether we want it to or not.”
Matt stuck his head out of the side door of the lodge. “Hey, Gramps, Grandma said to hurry up,” he called.
“Still have plenty of chores to do even if we are going to sell,” his grandfather said.
Sell. Somehow it felt less like they were selling and more like they were selling out.
As their grandfather went into the lodge, Matt came out. “You heard back from that developer yet?”
“Nope,” Gib lied.
“Wish he’d hurry up and put us out of our misery.”
“For some reason, I’m not feeling the misery anymore.”
“That’s because you’ve been gone so long. Me? I can smell liberty already. I feel like the chains that bind me are loosening.”
Gib opened his arms wide. “Be strange not to call this place home, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. But I’ll get over it.”
“That’s an awfully cavalier attitude.” Why was he looking to his brother for validation? The kid was too young to realize what he was losing.
“No, it’s not. I’ve had plenty of years here to think about what I want. And what I want is to be free.”
“Regular jobs tie you down, too.” An idea rooted in his mind and he took several steps in either direction as he surveyed the land, the lake and the main lodge.
“Not like a resort does.” Matt went up the stairs and opened the door. “You coming inside?”
Gib shook his head and watched the screen door swing shut behind his brother. “Not yet. There’s something I have to check out.” He set off down the path that led to Izzy’s cabin.
AFTER HALF A DAY SPENT filming at two other locations reputed to be gangster-vacation hideaways, Izzy wanted nothing more than to lie in her chaise longue in the late afternoon sun. She couldn’t stop thinking about making love with Gib yesterday afternoon, about how he’d come to the cabin to kiss her good-night.
Shelly was stretched out on the adjacent lounge chair, Cosmo magazine open on her lap. “Can you believe we’ve been here seven days already? We’ve accomplished almost everything we wanted to do.” She perused the checklist they had started the first day at White Bear, a list that had expanded quite a bit in the past week. “Interview the grandfather,” she read aloud. “Follow up on other alleged stories and locations. Track down family members of former resort owners who may have stories to tell. Dump Andrew.”
“That’s on the list?”
“It was always on my version of the list.” Shelly tapped a finger against her lower lip. “Let’s see, what else? Meet some handsome guys at the resort.”
Izzy sat up straight and grabbed for the notepad. Shelly held it away from her, then brought it close enough to read aloud again. “Interview owners of a former brothel. Investigate Murphy family’s current organized crime connections.”
“Of which, if there are connections, we don’t want to know, so that we don’t end up in a block of concrete,” Izzy said.
“Agreed. I’m not up for taking on the mob.” Shelly ran a finger down the sheet. “Screen music. Begin to edit on the computer. Oh, and have a vacation relationship with Gib Murphy. Yes, I think all our plans are coming to fruition nicely.”
“It’s not a relationship. You didn’t actually write that down, did you?” Izzy tried, again unsuccessfully, to snatch the pad.
“What’s wrong with having a relationship with Beautiful Boy? You sure didn’t have a problem having one with Andrew. Anyway, you haven’t given me many details about what’s going on, so how would I know?”
“Shelly.”
“Yes? Did you have something you wanted to share with me?”
Izzy huffed and dropped back against her chaise longue. “Well, he can kiss, believe me—”
“And?”
“That, too.” Oh, yeah, that, too. “But he’s got so much stuff on his mind and in his life. And I do, too. After two stifling years with Andrew—”
“Funny, you never called it ‘stifling’ before.”
Izzy felt her eyes widen in amazement. “I never thought of it that way before.”
“Leaps and bounds forward. Nice to see.” Shelly flipped another page in the magazine.
“Anyway, I’ve only just gotten my freedom and I like it.”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”
“No, really. I like being able to decide what I want to do each day. It got old always deferring to Andrew on things.”
“Somehow, I can’t picture Gib ever telling you not to wear flip-flops in public because the flipping noise is classless.”
Izzy frowned at the memory of that conversation with Andrew. It had come on the heels of another discussion about wearing beaters, the tank tops modeled after men’s sleeveless undershirts. “Well, the point is, I just got rid of Andrew. I don’t need to tie myself down with someone else right away—especially now when I’m going after a new career.”
“Girlfriend, you’ve been getting rid of Andrew for months. You just didn’t realize it. That’s why you’re not having any second thoughts.” She paused. “You’re not…are you?”
“No.” Realization smacked Izzy hard. Shelly was right. Her relationship with Andrew had been over a long time ago, but she’d refused to see it. Because everyone thought Andrew was perfect. She could almost cry. Thank goodness, she’d found her way out of that.
“‘Ten Things He’ll Never Tell You But Wishes You Knew,’” Shelly read aloud.
“What?”
“Headline story. Hmm. These are interesting. I never knew you could do that with a shoestring….”
Izzy opened her book. She heard Shelly turn several pages.
“Not to mention ‘Hot Tips to Make Your Nights Sizzle.’ Any interest in hearing more?”
Izzy ignored her.
“Because you know, sizzling nights are always nice to have. Sure beats nonsizzling nights. Of course, here at White Bear Lodge, some of the guests have sizzling days and nights, while others of us are left searching for any lukewarm attention we can get.”
“Lalalalala,” Izzy sang, sticking her fingers in her ears. “I can’t hear you.”
“Hey, I’m not the person who bought this magazine in the minimart—”
“It had an interview with Matt Damon—”
“And a few other articles, as well. How about “Techniques to Make Him Putty in Your Hands.” Hmm, I wonder what parts will be like putty. It would seem that the goal wouldn’t be to have your man like putty but rather—”
“Stop!” Izzy sat up. “He needed me at that moment. And, maybe I needed him, too. At that moment. But nothing can—or should—go on between us. I’m building a new life and it can’t involve being tied down.” Though she was saying all the right words, none of them felt true. She threw her arms skyward as if to toss away her doubts. “You and I are aiming for the stars with this documentary, and I intend for us to land in the Milky Way. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a little nap here in the sun.” And daydream about making love with Gib.
After a long pause, Shelly said, “Okay, I can take
a hint. No one ever said I was totally dense. But I have to ask one more thing, because this truly is important. And then I won’t bother you again.”
Izzy didn’t open her eyes. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
“What’s the question?” She heard the sound of pages flipping.
“So, what about ‘Sexy Moves to Spice up Your Love Life’? You do want to keep Gib happy, don’t you?”
Izzy glared at her friend.
“Hello, ladies.” Gib’s voice came from somewhere not very far behind them.
Izzy bolted upright, heart pounding into overdrive. God help her—God help Shelly—if he’d overheard any of this conversation. “The list! Where’s that list?” she hissed. “Get that thing hidden.” She turned quickly and almost gasped at the sight of Gib, more Beautiful Boy than ever, a stripe of sunburn across his nose underlining those luscious gray-blue eyes. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his baggy shorts and she remembered how those hands had made her shiver yesterday. She didn’t think she could speak more than one word without her voice trembling. “Hi.”
Shelly swung her legs over the side of her chair and, in one fluid movement, scooped up the magazine, the notepad and her towel. She sashayed toward the cottage door. “Hello, Gib. Go ahead and take my chair. Time for this bathing beauty to take a break. I think I’m getting sunburned.”
As the cottage door banged shut behind her, Gib sat on the edge of the longue. “Sunburned? She’s fully dressed. And it’s four o’clock.”
Izzy cast a sideways glance at his muscular legs, visions of yesterday crowding her mind again. “She burns easily—pale skin, you know.” She met his eyes and felt her stomach flop. This was ridiculous. She couldn’t like him. He had too much baggage and she was a free woman with no ties. Free.
“Filming going okay?” He clasped his hands together, strong hands that had made her shiver with joy yesterday. What had Shelly been saying about a shoestring? For goodness’ sake, she knew better than to go down this path. “Uh, we got some great footage today in Woodruff.” She blathered on nervously. “At the Plantation Supper Club—used to be a fancy nightclub casino in the twenties. Then we stopped by the library and found a bunch of old newspaper stories. And called the museum for old letters people may have donated.” She clenched her teeth together to stop her rambling. “How about you? Have you heard anything from that developer you met with?”