by Munn, Vella
As it eased around partly-submerged trees and closed in on her dock, she concentrated on the man with his hand on the steering wheel. It was hard to be certain, but she guessed him to be in his early thirties. The wind had been having its way with his longish, dark brown hair while his slightly canted nose and cheeks were wind-chapped. He had a square jaw, deep-set eyes shielded by shaggy brows, and a serious slant to his mouth.
Over a blue T-shirt, sporting a motorcycle logo, he wore an unsnapped grey windbreaker that speed had pushed away from a chest made for physical labor. This was no indulged teenager, not this man with his broad shoulders and big, strong, tanned hands. Because he was sitting low in the boat, she couldn’t see his lower half.
Wanted to.
Easy girl. Get your libido under control.
“Where’s your life vest?” Doc called out.
When the man didn’t immediately respond, she wondered if he was debating answering. If he gave Doc a hard time, she’d give him a piece of her mind.
He shifted into neutral and indicated behind him.
“Crazy as you’ve been driving, I’m surprised you thought of safety,” Doc grumbled. “There’s a speed limit here.”
The man shrugged. The boat had started to turn away from the shore; it swayed with the waves it had created.
He put the motor back into gear and came alongside the dock. He stood and reached out so he could grab the one remaining cleat. He wrapped a tie rope around it and sat back down.
“This yours?” he asked Doc, indicating the listing dock.
“No,” she said. “It’s mine.”
“Needs work all right.”
The understatement almost made her laugh. “Thanks for pointing that out. Winter’s been a little rough on it.”
He turned his attention to her. There was an intensity in his eyes and something arresting about him, something on the wild side perhaps.
“It took more than one winter to do that much damage,” he said after a short silence. The comment wasn’t judgmental, just a stating of facts.
“Yes, it did,” she admitted. “Are you from the resort? You wouldn’t be able to do a little maintenance on it, would you?”
To her surprise he gave the dock a long, appraising look. “It depends. Are the pilings wood? They might have rotted.”
“I don’t know. I never thought to—I haven’t spent much time here for several years.”
The moment the words were out of her mouth she felt vulnerable. She might have said enough for him to conclude she was alone. Determined to get across the point that she could take care of herself, she walked over to where Bruce was studying the newcomer, and rested her hand on his head. Bruce was a contender for the guard dog of shame award, but with his black coat and bulldog build, he looked intimidating.
“If you work at the resort,” Doc said, “didn’t your boss educate you about proper conduct when you’re on the lake?”
Nothing in the man’s demeanor hinted at his reaction to the criticism. In fact, she couldn’t guess at his thoughts.
“This boat’s built for speed,” he said after a short silence. “It’d be a crime to rein it in.”
“Crime or not,” Doc said, “Lake Serene’s for fishing, not racing.”
“Okay. I get it. My name’s Nate. And for the record, my boss asked me to take a look at this dock. However, I started work at six this morning. Seeing what this boat’s capable of was more interesting than reporting back to him. Are these cabins privately owned? You don’t have anything to do with the resort?”
“You’re right,” Doc answered. “We aren’t part of the resort. There aren’t that many of them, and we look out for each other.”
Nate folded his arms across his impressive chest. “My boss wouldn’t have selected me if he didn’t believe I could be trusted. I can. He’s committed to a positive relationship with everyone who has a stake in Lake Serene.” He looked back over his shoulder at Mount Lynx. “Believe me; I’d never do anything that might lead to me being locked up.”
“Interesting way of putting it,” Doc said. “Maybe because you’ve experienced being behind bars...”
Nate’s mouth tightened. Nostrils flared, he studied Doc who did the same in return.
“I’m going to ignore that,” Nate muttered.
She’d been working for her father’s commercial real estate development business starting when she was in high school and was accustomed to intense conversations but, darn it, she was at Lake Serene, land of well-defined seasons, wood stoves, pure well water, moonlight reflecting off the lake, and sitting around a campfire roasting marshmallows, not tension.
When Doc didn’t respond, Nate turned his attention to her. He still looked angry or upset or defensive but not as much as he had a few moments ago. Much as she wanted to defuse the situation, she couldn’t think of anything to say. “I appreciate that you agreed to come over here,” she said.
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “I’ve been curious about what’s going on. I noticed a couple of newer cabins but the rest look as if they’ve been here a long time. I figure either the owners pull water out of the lake or have wells. Lake water’s useless in winter, thanks to the ice-over. The access road’s in marginal shape. There’s no fire protection or medical facilities. What’s the appeal?”
“The appeal?” She echoed.
“Yeah. Glacier National Park isn’t that far away. The park’s spectacular, not that Lake Serene doesn’t have a lot going for it because it does.” He leaned forward. Even though a good fifty feet separated them, she felt a connection, a desire on his part for more than a casual explanation. “I’m trying to wrap my mind around what, other than visiting Glacier and the other parks in this part of the state, cabin owners do with their time.”
“Do? For one, we deal with water leaks,” she blurted. “We also hide from tourists and escape the rat race.”
“Plus we scrape paint,” Doc said. “We also chop wood, chase mice out of the cabin and bats out of the attic, replace shutters, screw down ridge caps, clean chimneys, replace old windows, repair siding.”
He frowned at her. “Water leaks?”
“Unfortunately. I mustn’t have gotten all the water out of the lines the last time I drained them.” She shrugged. “Ice swells. Old pipes don’t.”
“You don’t have to tell me. You have cracked lines?”
This was no casual question. He really wanted to know. Maybe she shouldn’t go into details but, darn it, his eyes had a great deal going for them. Besides, if she was going to hire him to right the dock—if he agreed to do the job—she needed to get to know him.
“I’m not sure how much damage there is,” she admitted. “There are some products that promise to seal—”
“They won’t work. To do things right, you need to replace all of the lines with something flexible.”
“You sound as if you know what you’re talking about,” Doc said while she groaned. “Are you a plumber?”
“Yeah.” He slapped at something on his neck, probably a mosquito. “I am. Licensed, bonded, and all that.” He addressed her. “If you want, I can give your husband some suggestions about how to go about it.”
“Tell me.” She didn’t add that she didn’t have much confidence in her ability to tackle plumbing issues. More to the point, she didn’t have a husband.
“How about you show me what we’re talking about?”
“You’re sure? After all, the only thing you thought you’d be doing today is seeing if my dock is salvageable.”
“How about we look at the problem first?”
Feeling a little off balance, she nodded.
Find out what happens next in Redeeming her Montana Love...
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About the Author
Vellla Munn writes contemporary and historical romances to satisfy the insistent voices in her head. She’s convinced she has the best career in the world. Also thanks to those voices, she no longer has any other marketable skills.
She’s had more than 50 books published and is beyond exited to have joined the Tule Publishing family with a contemporary romance series set at Lake Serene, Montana. The series draws on her love of the wilderness as backdrop for new beginnings and love.
Vella lives in rural Oregon, is married, has two sons, and four grandchildren. She’s owned by two bossy dogs and is working on her master’s degree as a certified hermit. email: [email protected]
Visit her website at www.vella-munn.com
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