by Mary McNear
“You know, I’ve been thinking about it since I woke up this morning,” she continued, her tone softer, but still tinged with anger. “And I’ve decided that if our cabin is still there—and that’s a big ‘if’—I should probably just quit while I’m ahead. You know, sell it and head back to the suburbs, where we obviously belong.”
“Allie, stop,” Walker said, holding up his hand. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion. First of all, as I tried to tell you a minute ago, your cabin is fine. There are a few shingles torn off the roof, some trees down on your property, but that’s it. I’m sorry that I made that remark last night about it being a pile of twigs. Obviously, I was wrong.” He almost said something, too, about the other remark he’d made. The one about not having to work that hard to get a date, but he decided to let it go.
“How do you know how our cabin is?” she asked, perplexed.
“I went over there.”
“When?”
“This morning. As soon as the sun came up. I took the boat over there. I tied up at your dock and took a quick look around. You may have some damage I couldn’t see. But all in all, it looked pretty good.”
“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” she said, quietly. But it didn’t sound like an accusation. It sounded more like an apology.
“I couldn’t sleep, remember?” he said, smiling. “And I wanted to make sure you two had someplace to go home to. Unless you’re serious about selling your cabin . . .” He trailed off, afraid of the answer.
She bit her lower lip, considering his question. “No,” she said, finally. “I don’t think so. We can’t move back. Eden Prairie isn’t our home anymore, but this isn’t our home yet, either. We’re sort of caught between two places, Wyatt and me.”
“That must be hard,” he said, and he meant it. But he was relieved, too, that she wasn’t serious about leaving. And then he thought of something. “You know, if you’re going to stick around, I can help you with the whole emergency preparedness thing. I mean, you can start by investing in an emergency weather radio. It’s easy to use, and you can program it to alert you when a storm is coming.”
“Let me guess,” she said, teasingly. “You sell them at the boatyard?”
“As a matter of fact, we do,” he said, smiling. “But that wasn’t a sales pitch.” And then he turned serious. There was something else he wanted to talk to her about.
“You know, in retrospect,” he began, “coming over and getting you two last night probably wasn’t a very good idea.”
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing, your cabin turned out to be a lot better built than I gave it credit for being. And, for another, that drive was dangerous. The visibility on the road was zero. I could have easily driven into a tree.”
“But you didn’t,” she pointed out.
“That’s true,” he said, watching her. Was it his imagination, or had she come a step closer to him?
“But, Walker, why did you come over last night? Why did you really come?” she asked.
He thought of a hundred possible responses, all of them untrue. Instead, he said, “Isn’t it obvious?”
She didn’t answer him. She put her coffee cup down on the counter and took a step closer to him, closing the distance between them. Then she reached out her hand, slowly, and ran her fingertips, lightly, along his razor-stubbled jawline.
“You look so tired,” she said.
Walker stood perfectly still. He knew if he said anything, or did anything, the moment would be over. She was like the doe he’d seen in the woods a few days ago. Alert. Tense. Skittish. One sudden movement, he knew, and she would bolt.
“I’m sorry I left the boatyard in such a huff the other day,” she said now, softly, her fingers still tracing his jawline.
“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured. He didn’t want her to stop what she was doing.
She didn’t. She leaned closer, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him on the lips. Softly, and tentatively. As if she was testing out the idea of kissing him, as opposed to actually kissing him. And, without touching any other part of her body, he kissed her back. As gently as he knew how to.
He was so hungry for her, he wanted her so much, that it took all his self-control to hold back now, to not do what he wanted to do to her. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair. He wanted to pull her, hard, against him, and feel every inch of her body digging into his. He wanted to kiss her neck, the hollow at the base of her neck, and her almost-bare shoulders. But he didn’t do any of these things.
This kiss, though, like most kisses, wouldn’t be contained. Her body swayed gently against his, and he felt her breasts against his chest, soft but firm, her nipples, as hard as pebbles, straining slightly against the thin cotton of her tank top.
And when he couldn’t hold back anymore, he still moved as slowly, as carefully, as he possibly could. He slid his arms gently around her waist, his hands settling on the small of her back. Then he pulled her, almost imperceptibly, against him.
In response, she opened her lips, welcoming his tongue into her mouth. And when his tongue touched hers, it delivered an electric jolt so powerful he almost went reeling back. But he didn’t. He just kept kissing her. Her lips felt so soft under his, and her mouth tasted delicious, too. Not like coffee—which it should, by all rights, have tasted like—but like something sweet and clean.
And as they kissed, she reached up and grasped his shoulders, anchoring herself against his body, and he strained against her, wanting to feel every inch of her softness against him.
And then something happened. He didn’t know what triggered it. One moment she was kissing him with all her heart, and the next she was pushing him away. It was a gentle push, but it was still a push.
“I have to leave now,” she said, breathlessly. “I have to wake up Wyatt.”
“Why?” he asked, mystified.
“Because this”—she made a gesture with her hand that included both of them—“this is wrong.”
“Wrong how?” he challenged, knowing there was no way in hell that something that had felt that right could be wrong.
“Wrong because I . . . I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she said, taking a step back. “It was just me being tired, or impulsive, or, or . . . something.”
“Well, it wasn’t just you,” he chided her, gently. “Trust me, I was a more than willing participant.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head, dismissing his playfulness. “Look, Wyatt and I need to leave now. Just . . . trust me, okay? We can’t stay here.” She went to put her empty coffee cup in the sink, and he saw, to his astonishment, that her hands were trembling. She was afraid, he realized. Not afraid of him, but afraid of what had happened between them.
“I’ll take you two back in my boat now,” he said, feeling a wave of sympathy for her. “You wake up Wyatt, and I’ll get the keys.”
She nodded, wordlessly, and left the kitchen.
He opened a kitchen drawer and took out the boat keys. As he slammed the drawer shut he felt his cell phone vibrate in his front blue jeans pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID. It was Reid. He let the call go to voice mail and put the phone back in his pocket. He couldn’t think about anything right now but Allie. He could still feel her, resting lightly against him, and he could still taste her lips on his own.
His phone vibrated again almost immediately. This time he answered it. “What is it, Reid?” he asked, without ceremony.
“I need a damage assessment on the Butternut Boatyard,” Reid said, curtly.
“I’ll call you back in fifteen minutes,” Walker said, slipping the boat keys into his pocket and pouring himself a third cup of coffee.
“It can’t wait,” Reid barked. “We need to file insurance claims as soon as possible. And don’t think Butternut was the only boatyard damaged, either. Those storms wreaked havoc with the whole northeastern part of the state.”
“I can’t talk right now,” Walker said, fe
eling weariness wash over him for the first time that morning. Until this point, he realized, he’d been running on pure adrenaline. “I’ll call you back, okay? There’s something I need to do first.”
“The hell there is,” Reid growled, impatiently.
“Good-bye, Reid,” Walker said, pressing end, and he walked over to the kitchen door, opened it, and pitched his cell phone into the nearby woods.
CHAPTER 17
We were lucky that none of those tornados touched down in populated areas,” Caroline said, leaning against the counter at Pearl’s. It was late afternoon, and she and Allie were sipping iced teas while Wyatt played with his Hot Wheels on the floor nearby.
“Very lucky,” Allie agreed, toying with the straw in her iced tea. “It could have been much worse.”
“I still can’t believe it took them three days to clear Butternut Lake Drive, though.” Caroline clucked disapprovingly. “You and Wyatt must have been going stir-crazy.”
“Actually, Wyatt was in heaven,” Allie said. “All I could think about when I saw the downed trees on our property was how much it was going to cost to have them all cut up and hauled away. But all he could think about”—she gave a little laugh—“was all the new fort-building opportunities they presented.”
“Still, didn’t you need anything when the road was closed?” Caroline asked.
“Not really,” Allie said. “We lost power during the storm, so I had to throw the melted ice cream in the freezer away, but we salvaged enough to tide us over. And Walker Ford called, too, to see if we needed anything else.” She added quickly, “I told him we were fine, though.”
Was it her imagination, Caroline thought, or had Allie colored slightly at the mention of his name?
“And, by the way,” Allie continued, “thank you for asking him to check on us the night of the storm.”
“He said he was already on his way to your cabin.”
“He was. And he didn’t just check on us, either,” Allie said. “He took us back to spend the night. Then he went out the next morning, before we were even awake, to assess the damage to our cabin. I’d say he went above and beyond being a good neighbor.”
“Well, I’m not surprised,” Caroline said, staunchly. “I mean, I know some people around here find him a little . . .” She searched for the right word. “Standoffish,” she decided. “But he’s not. Private, maybe. Reserved, definitely. But he’s not uncaring. He cares a lot about this town, and the people in it. He’s just prefers to keep to himself, that’s all.”
Allie nodded, pensively. “There was something else about that night, though, I wanted to talk to you about,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Wyatt. He was totally absorbed in his cars. She turned back, sighed, and shook her head. “I kissed him, Caroline,” she said simply. “Standing in his kitchen at eight o’clock in the morning, I kissed him. I have no idea why.”
“Well, I imagine it was because you wanted to,” Caroline said, trying not to smile.
“Well, of course I wanted to,” Allie agreed. “But why did I want to?”
“Because you’re attracted to him?” Caroline supplied. She knew Allie was not an unintelligent woman. Far from it. But on this particular subject, Caroline thought, she was being a little slow.
“Oh, I’m attracted to him all right,” Allie said, with a rueful smile. “In fact, if Wyatt hadn’t been sleeping in the guest room at the time, who knows where it would have ended?”
Caroline said nothing. She had a pretty good idea, though, of where it would have ended.
“Anyway, since then I’ve been so confused,” Allie continued. “I want to see him again. I don’t want to see him again. But either way, I’m terrified.” She added quickly, “Not of him. Of the way he made me feel.”
Caroline hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Allie, is it that surprising that you’re attracted to him? I mean, he is an attractive man.”
“I know he is. I mean, I knew it before that night. But I knew it intellectually. I didn’t know it . . . physically. And Caroline?” she said, her eyes widening. “I wasn’t prepared for it. I really wasn’t.”
“Allie?” Caroline asked, gently. “Is Walker the first man you’ve been attracted to since . . . since losing Gregg?”
Allie lowered her eyes. “Yes,” she said.
She’s ashamed, Caroline thought, with surprise. She’s ashamed that she’s attracted to him.
“But it must have occurred to you that you might be attracted to someone else again one day,” she said, gently.
Allie shrugged. “Maybe if I’d thought about it, it would have. But I didn’t think about it. When Gregg didn’t come back, I stopped thinking about men. Or, at least, I stopped thinking about them that way. It was almost like I didn’t even really see them anymore, if you know what I mean.”
Caroline, it turned out, knew exactly what she meant. Something similar had happened to her after her husband, Daisy’s father, had left. She didn’t mean for it to happen—not exactly, anyway—but she was so exhausted during those early years, raising a child, running a business, that she’d put the idea of men right out of her mind. And later, when she could conceivably have made room in her life again for a man, she discovered she’d gotten out of the habit of thinking about them as potential love interests. Instead, she was apt to think of them only as customers whose empty coffee cups needed refilling, or whose eggs needed to be served over easy with a side of bacon.
But it was one thing for her to see men that way, and another thing for Allie to see them that way. Allie was still so young—just thirty—and she had a young son, too. Caroline, of course, had raised Daisy without a father, and she’d turned out all right. In fact, she’d turned out just about perfect. But boys were different, Caroline believed. They needed a father, or a father figure, anyway. Someone to throw a baseball around with them.
So she decided to weigh in with an opinion, something she was usually reluctant to do. Most people, she knew from experience, wanted someone to listen to them, but they didn’t necessarily want that someone to tell them what to do. In Allie’s case, though, she decided to make an exception. There was too much at stake not to.
“Allie, listen,” Caroline said, picking up the iced tea pitcher and topping off Allie’s glass. “I do know what you mean—about forgetting about men, that is—but here’s the thing about men. When you remember them again, they’re still there. And it turns out they’ve been there the whole time, whether you realized it or not.” She continued, “And as men go, Walker’s a good one. You could do a lot worse if you’re ready to test the waters again.”
“You make it sound so simple.” Allie sighed.
“That’s because sometimes it is so simple.”
“But it’s not for me,” Allie persisted. “Being attracted to Walker makes me feel . . . disloyal somehow. Like I’m being unfaithful to Gregg. Or unfaithful to his memory, anyway.”
Caroline sighed. This, she knew, was beyond her understanding, and she hated it when people pretended to understand things they didn’t. So she reached over and squeezed Allie’s hand, which was resting on the counter. “I can’t say I know what you’re feeling, honey. Not exactly. But I can imagine it must be very confusing. And very hard.”
Allie exhaled slowly. “So what do I do?” she asked, looking directly at Caroline.
“What do you want to do?”
“Right now?”
Caroline nodded.
“I want to have him over for dinner. Partly to thank him. And partly because I’m hoping that I imagined that that kiss was as good as it was.”
“So you’re hoping he’s a bad kisser?” Caroline asked, smiling in spite of Allie’s serious tone.
“Yes. A terrible kisser. Disgusting, actually. Then I can just put that first kiss out of my mind. Permanently.”
“And that would make it what . . . a fluke?”
“A complete fluke,” Allie agreed.
Caroline laughed, and even Allie had to chuck
le. “I guess my logic is a little flawed,” Allie admitted. “But right now, it’s the only plan I’ve got.”
“Well, the asking him over for dinner part is a good idea,” Caroline said. “But I wouldn’t count on him being a bad kisser. He doesn’t seem to me like the kind of man who does anything halfway.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Allie agreed, suddenly serious again. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the engine noises Wyatt was making for his cars.
“Thank you, Caroline,” Allie said, a little while later. “Thank you for listening to me. And not judging me.”
“I try not to judge people,” Caroline said. And it was true. If she had a philosophy in life, that was probably it. Don’t judge people. Not if you could possibly help it.
The jingle of the front door opening interrupted her thoughts. She’d forgotten to flip the Open sign to Closed after Allie and Wyatt had come in at three o’clock. But when she glanced over to see who her customer was, she smiled with pleasure. It was Buster Caine. She hadn’t seen him since the first time he’d come in last month, and she’d started to wonder if he’d changed his mind about buying a cabin up here after all.
“Mr. Caine,” she said, as he walked up to the counter.
“Please, call me Buster,” he said, smiling, his blue eyes crinkling pleasantly, exactly as she’d remembered them doing.
“Buster,” Caroline repeated, feeling suddenly shy in a way she seldom, if ever, did. “Buster, this is Allie Beckett,” she said. “Allie, this is Buster Caine.” Buster and Allie shook hands.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Buster said, glancing politely at Allie, who was looking from Buster to Caroline with interest.
“Not at all,” Allie said, sliding off her stool and helping Wyatt gather up his cars. “Wyatt and I have to be getting back to the cabin now anyway.”
“Well, you’re welcome to stay longer,” Caroline said, pointedly. If Allie was leaving because Buster Caine was here, she thought, she was being ridiculous. There was absolutely no reason why the two of them needed to be alone with each other.