by Jean Oram
“Daphne.”
“Causes quite the ruckus, doesn’t she? I suppose that’s what happens when you lose your father so young. Such a shame.” He shook his head. “A crying shame. He was so good at poker.”
“I don’t believe our father’s death had anything to do with Daphne’s passion for animals and the environment. At Halloween, if you’ll remember when she was four—” Melanie laughed lightly, attempting to ease the edge from her voice “—she used to ask for donations for the no-kill shelter in lieu of candy.”
“Oh? She’s diabetic?”
“No.” Melanie sat up straight and placed a stapled document on Mr. Valos’s desk. “Anyway, about this development.”
“Should have sent Belle to that camp for emotional kids, too. It did wonders for you. You’re a lawyer now.”
“Camp Adaker,” Melanie supplied weakly.
“Yeah, yeah. That place. We’ll see what happens with that, then, eh?”
The room felt as if it was spinning. She was missing something. Something important.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s on that island.”
She’d been fund-raising for the camp almost every year since she’d gone there as a camper, and then as a counsellor. To say she believed in the camp and that it meant a lot to her was a complete understatement.
“What’s going to happen?” she asked.
The man stood. “I’m so glad you came in to visit, Melanie. Great to see you.” He placed a hand on her lower back as she rose to her feet, about to argue that she still had a few more minutes in her appointment time. He gave her a gentle nudge forward and she resisted, holding her ground, knowing that once he got her out of the room, it was over.
She needed reinforcements, someone who could sway Mr. Valos’s opinion, since he obviously still thought of her as a grieving child.
“I’d like to talk to the town council at their next meeting, as well. There are some serious environmental concerns, as well as ones regarding heritage loss, bylaw infringements, parking, traffic, noise, lighting, and even the footprint, which, from what I’ve seen, will be quite significant. I—”
“Very nice. Very nice. Create a presentation and we’ll see.”
“I have one.” Melanie held up her briefcase. She’d stayed up until four in the morning creating this presentation, then begged Nora to find a way to slide her into Mr. Valos’s schedule. And for what? Him to kiss her out the door? Not a chance.
She dodged him and headed to his desk, where she placed her laptop on the reflective surface.
Mr. Valos stood at the open door, seeming confused.
Melanie smiled, not making eye contact, so he’d be less likely to try and stop her. “I have all the information right here.”
Hearing Mr. Valos greet someone, she turned, full of smiles, hoping to woo another member of the council into hearing her presentation, especially since the next meeting wasn’t scheduled for a while. Time was of the essence.
Her smile dropped, then picked up along with her heartbeat as she spotted a tall man standing in the door. Tristen. She didn’t know whether to effusively rope him in, or be miffed that he’d refused to help. Either way, judging from the surprised look on his face, he wasn’t here to play hero.
“Ms. Summer,” he said with a slight nod. “I’m sorry, Vincent, I must have the wrong time. I’ll check back with Nora.”
Mr. Valos hauled him into the room by his shirtsleeve, seemingly with the opposite emotion he’d expressed while trying to drag Melanie out. “Stay, stay,” he crooned, straightening the sleeve of Tristen’s crisp dress shirt.
“I’m actually about to do a presentation about my concerns in regards to Rubicore’s proposed resort development on Baby Horseshoe Island.” Melanie turned back to her computer, waking it from sleep mode.
“This would be more appropriate at the next council meeting, Melanie. Ask Nora to be a dear and put you on the list, if we have time,” Mr. Valos said in an authoritative, patronizing tone.
“And will there be any planning meetings between the municipality and the developers before then?”
“Oh, can’t be sure,” he replied, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops.
“Shall we ask Nora? I’m sure she must know.” Melanie reached for his phone, lifting the receiver. “I’d hate for something to be approved that could endanger what everyone loves about Heritage Row. Muskoka is such a unique area of the world.”
“I think I’ll come back later,” Tristen said, turning toward the door.
“Yes,” Melanie chirped. “I believe we’re going to need some time here, and since I know you’re afraid of developments and developers, this might make you uncomfortable.” She punched a button she figured would get her through to Nora.
Tristen gave her a parting glare, jaw clenched hard. He slammed the door behind him, making the framed pictures rattle.
“Ms. Summer,” Mr. Valos said, his voice low with anger.
Oh, it was Ms. Summer now. Nice.
He gently took the phone from her and placed in its cradle. “Mr. Bell has been waiting to see me about a very important matter and I don’t recall seeing your name on my schedule. I think it would be best if we did this at another time.” He opened the door. “Mr. Bell. Please. Ms. Summer and I are done. Your time is valuable, and I apologize for the mix-up and to have kept you waiting.”
Butt kisser.
Tristen reappeared in the doorway, his expression livid. Melanie had to admit it was a terribly sexy look on him. It tightened his jaw in a way that made her long to run her hand down it. Slowly. And maybe follow up with her tongue and some love bites. Oh, heck. She was going to need a cold shower if she kept staring at his jaw.
Focusing on the space just beyond Tristen, she said, “Mr. Valos, I feel Mr. Bell could provide valuable input on this issue. Should he deign to weigh in.”
Silence stretched in the spacious room.
“Mr. Bell?” Melanie asked, hoping her voice didn’t betray her desperate need to have him not shut her down. To help her out.
The man in question looked away and Mr. Valos gave an embarrassed cough.
Fine. She’d show the wimps that she could do this without them.
She snatched her briefcase from the desk and said, “I’ll set something up with Nora—again—on my way out. Thank you for your time, Mr. Valos. Oh, and tell your wife that I would be happy to help her sort out the fender-bender she had last week if her insurance company is still giving her troubles.”
Head held high, Melanie stomped from the room.
“Nora?” She snagged her friend on the way out. “I’m going to need another appointment. One where Mr. Bell can’t shoo me out.”
“I’m so sorry. He was early. You should have had another ten minutes.” Nora’s cheeks flushed as her long nails clicked across the keyboard. “Let’s see what we can find.”
“And can I get a slot at the next council meeting to do a presentation, too?”
“You bet. Just give me a minute.”
Melanie hefted her briefcase, which was too light. Her computer. She’d left it in Mr. Valos’s office. “Excuse me.” She pushed open the door, not caring if she was interrupting some oh-so-important meeting between the two men.
“The land out by the highway. Did the rezoning go through? A client was wondering…” Tristen trailed off, looking away as Melanie strode back into the room.
She shot him a dirty look as she made her way to Mr. Valos’s desk.
So much for Tristen leaving his developer side behind. The liar.
“Sorry, boys!” she chirped. “Forgot my computer.”
“Dear, this isn’t the best use of your time,” Mr. Valos said gently, pushing her computer closer to the edge of his desk so she could grab it.
“Let me worry about how I spend my time.” She gave him a bright smile and tried not to kick Tristen as she passed him again.
He kept his eyes averted, jaw set, but she could feel his attentio
n follow her as she crossed the room. She wished she was wearing something more adorable than the same dress she’d worn when they’d met yesterday. Why couldn’t she ever be that amazing woman in front of others? In command and in control?
And that better not be pity she saw in his eyes as he glanced up.
She glared at him and shut the door behind her, barely refraining from sticking out her tongue.
She needed to show that I’m-so-great-and-too-good-to-help-you man that she could do this. Would do this. Without him.
CHAPTER 5
Tristen walked the docks, eyeing the antique boats that had been entered in Port Carling’s annual boat show while trying to clear his mind of Melanie Summer and the nasty look she’d given him as she’d stormed out of Vincent Valo’s office. The guy had been a condescending prick and it had been nearly impossible for Tristen to sit there, acting as though he wasn’t insulted on her behalf. The problem was that the real estate office he moonlighted for needed Vincent as he was the man who could get things rezoned faster than anyone else on the council. Today it had been Tristen’s job to schmooze, and he’d walked right into that wave of anger coming from the woman whose image had kept him tossing and turning late into the night.
But now he was done work for the day, had let Dot loose on the boat show for a half hour, and had time to ponder an idea he wanted to try. Working with stone always cleared his mind and today he was counting on it.
He continued walking along the docks that wrapped along the one side of the small island park that had been cut off from the mainland by the larger steamship locks behind him. He remained on the lookout for the boat that had inspired his latest idea. It was a long shot, but he thought he might be able to use the boat’s hewing, notching, and joining technique with stone. A way to naturally fit several rocks together without the use of anything but skill.
And there it was. The Winged Goddess. An exceedingly rare wooden boat from the 1930s. Tristen waited for a group in tennis whites to move past, stealing the opportunity to check out the boat while a woman wearing a baggy shirt and shorts had the owner distracted.
Wood was different than stone, but it was also surprisingly similar. You could alter it. Carve it into almost anything if you were patient and knew how to finesse it. But you couldn’t just jump in and do whatever you wanted to any kind of stone. And sometimes, if you tried to do too much without paying attention to the individual rock’s internal cracks and striations, it broke. Kind of like a marriage.
“Sunk her this spring,” the owner was saying.
The woman gave a shocked squeak, and Tristen let out a huff of a laugh at her indignation and horror.
“Yep,” the man continued. “Mouse hole I didn’t notice when I put her in. I gunned it to shore when I realized I was taking on water. Sunk her less than ten feet from land. Boy, that water was cold!”
“You and the boat are obviously okay, though?” she asked, her voice kind and soft. Caring. Familiar.
Later. Tristen needed to focus on the boat. The voice could very well belong to a woman he was avoiding—and there were several.
Their conversation grew more distant as they moved to the other end of the boat to check out the supposed damage, and Tristen crouched by the bow, inspecting the woodworking techniques.
“Well, hello!” cooed a voice dangerously close to his ear.
That was not the same familiar one he’d heard a few moments ago.
He cut a glance to the side. Crap. Alice Estaire. Stalker extraordinaire. Okay, not stalker. Just overly friendly and clueless. Sort of like a puppy. She ran a finger across his shoulders. Not surprisingly, she found a knot and began kneading it. He stood abruptly, smoothly displacing her hands. Nice enough lady, but not the one for him.
“Hi, Alice.”
She squeezed her arms together in a way that made her breasts push higher in her pink tank top. “I see you’re back at the real estate office.”
He gave a tight smile, turning on his heel to hurry away. “Lovely to see you. Must meet up with someone. Sorry.” He nervously toyed with a polished stone in the pocket of his shorts and scanned the crowd for his daughter. Now would be the perfect time for Dot to show up. Striding down the dock, he made obvious phone-checking gestures. He felt bad for the way he’d brushed off Alice, but what was a man to do? They’d already had the it’s-not-you-it’s-me talk. She didn’t take his hints, and if he was any more obvious he’d hurt her feelings. If he did that she might cry. And that would be uncomfortable for everyone.
At the end of the dock, still not spotting Dot, he paused beside an old schooner, taking in the way it had been put together. He still wanted a few more moments with the Winged Goddess, but didn’t dare backtrack.
After asking permission, he took a few photos of the joints at the schooner’s stern. Pretty standard and nothing exciting, but he felt the need to do something as he waited out Alice. A woman was bending to chat with a man sitting in the boat docked in front of the schooner, her laughter washing over him. That laugh. Melanie.
Beautiful, beautiful Melanie.
Tristen resisted the urge to run.
Away.
Fast.
“Beautiful lines,” she was saying, her hands out as though fighting the temptation to run them over the boat’s curves. A surge of jealousy swirled within Tristen and he tamped it down, crossing his arms, wanting to turn away but unable to. He couldn’t possibly be jealous of a boat. How ridiculous was that? He faked further interest in the schooner as he watched her chat, animated and happy. In her element.
She was wearing scruffy, loose clothes, so unlike the dress he’d seen her in just forty minutes ago. Her face was open, relaxed. Was one of the Summer sisters Melanie’s identical twin?
And yet he knew this was his Melanie. The same woman who’d had bikers eating out of her hand only yesterday.
“So Tristen Bell is into old boats?” she asked, coming over. Was she swaggering? He could swear that was a swagger. Why was she acting as though she had something on him?
She hated him. He’d seen it in her eyes, so why wasn’t she avoiding him?
He glanced behind him, aware he was backing away.
“Funny,” she said. “I hadn’t guessed that—despite your truck. Although that thing is just old. Nothing like this boat.” She did a little move as though she was a model showcasing the antique craft. He’d never seen a woman act sexier, even in that horrible old T-shirt that was much too large for her luscious form.
Which meant there was something wrong with Tristen’s brain. Seriously wrong.
This woman had the potential to push him into something that could destroy him, and all he could do was stand there and smile.
Managing to snap out of the hold she seemed to have on him, he said, “Was that a dig, Melanie Summer?” He sounded almost breathless, and cursed himself. Where was the suave dude he used to be? Had he inadvertently locked him away with his playmate—the monster side that had destroyed his life?
He couldn’t be sure, but Melanie seemed half pleased to see him and half hopeful that she could find a way to shove him between the dock and boat, hold his head below the lake’s surface and see how long it took him to drown.
The fact that her expression suggested his life was in imminent danger really shouldn’t be a turn-on. But it was.
“A dig?” She placed a finger to her chin and stared upward, coy and cute. “Hmm. Possibly.”
Oh, she was going to kill him. Definitely. Something scary had switched on within her and there was a flicker of the devil in her gaze. She wanted to get even for something. It was a look he’d received a lot back in Toronto for crossing people or signing contracts with new companies before his competitors even had a chance to say hello.
“They don’t make them like they used to,” he said, clearing his throat. He pointed to the boat in front of them. Then, hesitantly, and with enough time to second-guess himself, he jerkily leaned in to give her a light kiss on the cheek. “Good to se
e you.”
She smelled good. Like cookies.
Her danger face melted and she blushed, unable to meet his eye. “You know it makes you sound like an old man when you say ‘they don’t make them like they used to.’”
He grinned. He knew he was supposed to stay away from her, but couldn’t quite remember why.
Oh, right.
Land developments, possible relationship expectations, et cetera. She was so fun to toy with though. All he had to do was compliment her or show her a minor courtesy and she melted like sugar. The old Tristen would have used that against her in some way.
“I am an old man,” he said. “Haven’t you noticed?”
“Did you know that I happen to like older men? They are more stable and kind.” She gave him a shrewd glance. “Usually.”
“I thought you liked bikers.”
“They’ll do in a pinch, but I prefer men who are little more refined. And I must say, your manners are impeccable. Generally speaking.”
There was a hazardous element to her words, but that flirty smile… She could punch him in the nuts, but if she gave him that smile he’d ask for a repeat.
Stupid, stupid man that he was.
His voice dropped. “Are you flirting with me, Melanie Summer?”
She turned away, addressing him over her shoulder. “Maybe.”
Hello, flight control? Yeah, we have trouble on the runway. Despite being grounded it seems Tristen is gearing up for takeoff.
He took in her tatty outfit, carefully noting every worn detail. “You like old things?”
“I like things that are…experienced.” She turned back to him, not touching, but acting as though she would play with his necktie if he’d been wearing one. The idea did funny things to his groin.
“You are a beautiful and dangerous woman, Melanie. You would never need a man like me.” He wanted to touch her, move close, tell the world that she was his and that this was their little corner of the planet, and to go away.
She laughed, a high flush dancing across her cheeks. “I’m just playing, Tristen. Besides, I’m sure you and your actions won’t ever show up on anything but my hit list.” She gave him a smile brimming with moxie, but something had changed her eyes. They looked less playful and devilish. More hurt somehow.