by Bella Andre
"No. Everything's just the same as always."
Only it wasn't. Not at all.
Kelsey glanced up from the scarf she was working on, a knowing sparkle in her eyes. "Really? Exactly the same? Even with Connor staying with you?"
Ginger couldn't control the flush that hit her smack in the middle of her cheeks. "How do you know about Connor?"
"He picked up one of Tim's cars."
"And I met him at the Inn," Rebecca added.
Ginger had a crazy urge to stick each of her friends with a needle.
"Stu was going to give him the couch in his room until the bride from hell left, but--"
Kelsey finished her sentence, "I guess he got a better offer."
"He didn't tell me about Stu's couch," Ginger said. "He made it sound like he was going to have to go all the way to Piseco."
Rebecca's grin grew bigger. "Can't blame a guy for stretching the truth a bit."
"Not when he looks like that, anyway," Kelsey joked.
This time, Ginger couldn't resist a jab in each of their arms.
"Ow!" they chorused.
"You're testy," Rebecca said. "Something's definitely up."
Thirty-three years of feeling one thing and saying another had her on the verge of holding her friends at bay again with a Really. Nothing's up, nothing at all.
But this wasn't her old life, these weren't her old friends where everything was supposed to stay on the surface. These were women that she'd bonded with over too many margaritas in a party boat. They'd shed tears together over their past mistakes, which was how she knew Rebecca's past hadn't exactly been rosy either.
Her friends wouldn't judge her. And maybe, if she talked through what she was feeling with them, they could help her get her head back on straight.
Still, she didn't want everyone else in the yarn shop to know her business, so she lowered her voice and kept her head down over a half-finished sweater.
"You're right. Something has changed."
She'd been thinking all day about this, yet it was still hard to figure out how to put it into words. "All my life I've done the safest thing, followed everyone else's rules. The only impulsive thing I've ever done was marry Jeremy, but that was just a weird blip on the radar screen, something I think I did more to piss off my parents, to show them I could make my own decisions. And then it was ten more years of safe. Of boring."
"Safe doesn't always work out, does it?" Rebecca murmured, her fingers flying over wool and wood tips as she asked the question.
"No," Ginger said. "It's never gotten me anywhere. The best thing I ever did was chucking it all in and coming here."
She looked at the needles and yarn in her hands, realized she hadn't done so much as one knit or purl stitch yet.
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Kelsey asked, not bothering to hide the excitement in her voice.
Of course all her friends saw was Connor the gorgeous firefighter. But it was so much more complicated than that.
Knowing she had to be honest, not just with her friends, but with herself most of all, Ginger said, "The odds of anything working out long-term with Connor are slim to none. He's going back to California soon and he's already made it perfectly clear that he's not the least bit interested in a wife and kids. But--"
Her friends had both stopped knitting now, too, all smiles gone as they listened intently.
"I'm sick of trying so hard to make the right decisions all the time." She nodded at the four-times-pregnant woman across the room. "She has everything I want. I thought if I followed all the rules, I'd get it too." Bitterness came at her again. "I'm thirty-three years old. I'm sick of waiting for the perfect moment, for the perfect situation, for the perfect man. All I know is that I've never felt an attraction like this before."
She took a deep breath. And then another.
"All I keep thinking is that even if it all ends up being a huge mistake, at least I'll know I really lived, for once in my life. Because damn it, this time I want to leap."
Not to piss anyone off this time. Not to prove anything to anyone. But simply because everything in her head, heart, and body was drawn to Connor. Because she'd pleased everyone else for so long.
And this time, she wanted something for herself.
Rebecca grabbed her right hand. "Then I say you should leap."
Kelsey took her left hand. "And know that we'll be here to catch you if you need us."
The next morning, Connor slid his saw into the soft wood of the log he'd punched a hole in that first day on the porch and began the painstaking process of cutting off the rotted parts. He'd finished most of the rewiring the night before and relished digging into the grueling job of cutting into the logs by hand, just as he'd always enjoyed working as a hotshot in a forest cutting down brush and dead trees.
If he couldn't fight fire, he wanted to be sweating in other ways.
After only four days of working on the cabin, he was impressed with the work his great-grandparents had put into building this house. If renovation took this much sweat-equity, he was certain building from scratch--without the help of carpenters and architects--was a thousand times harder. And all that more satisfying.
One day, he'd started to think, he'd like to build his own log cabin out in Lake Tahoe. Working on Poplar Cove was like taking a hands-on class, the best possible way to learn what needed to be done.
Working on the cabin gave him plenty of time to think. Enough time to come up with a plan for dealing with Ginger.
During the day he was going to keep his head down in the cabin, focus on the work that he needed to get done. No more shared meals. No more cozy chats. And at night, when a full day of pent-up desire had him bursting at the seams, he'd get the hell out of Poplar Cove and stay away until he was sure Ginger was safely tucked into bed.
Last night, he'd headed into the local watering hole at the end of Main. Fourth of July preparations were heavily under way along Main Street with large groups of kids and parents working to decorate floats. He'd been one of those kids once, had looked forward to the parade and fireworks all year.
Becoming a hotshot had changed fireworks for him. Even before he'd gotten burned, the first two weeks of July were rough. Constant fires, both accidental and intentional. He hadn't enjoyed watching a Fourth of July show in years. But last summer had been the worst, knowing there would be fires and that he wouldn't be out there to put them out. He wasn't looking forward to tonight's show, was already thinking about getting out on the roof and dock and watering them down.
He tensed as he heard the screen door open, knew it was time to put his plan into action. To stay on his side of the room. Looking up at the clock he saw that it was only 11 a.m. Ginger must only be working breakfast today.
What was he doing following her schedule so closely?
She put her bag down on the nearest chair and smiled. "Hi."
The tightness in his chest opened up when he saw her. He drank her in, forgetting everything for the moment but the pleasure of being in the same room.
She moved closer, looked at the new hole in the wall. "Wow, you really are going to replace the logs, aren't you?"
A strand of hair was in her mouth and the next thing he knew he was hooking a finger on it, his knuckle sliding against her cheek.
He made himself move away from her. "I told myself I wasn't going to touch you."
"No," she said softly, "this is good. We need to talk about this. What's between us."
"There can't be anything between us."
She nodded, but said, "Why not?"
Before he could remember any of the reasons, she was moving closer to him, saying, "No, don't answer that. I already know why we shouldn't do this. But do you really think we can stop it?"
He couldn't look away from her mouth, from the soft, pink flesh. There wasn't enough self-control in the world to stay away from her, but just before he gave in to the thing he most wanted, h
e heard her voice in his head from last night.
"I wasted thirty-three years. I came here to finally get it right."
Getting involved with him would be getting it all wrong.
"We've got to stop it."
Hurt flashed in her eyes so quickly that he almost missed it. But not quite. He couldn't let her think she wasn't desirable like her dickhead of a husband had.
"Don't think that I don't want you, Ginger. I've wanted you from the first moment. You know that."
He watched her swallow, lick her lips. "I do know it. But I don't know why you have to be so hell-bent on doing the right thing. Most guys would just take what they could get and not worry about consequences."
"I like you," he said slowly, knowing he was trying to remind himself as much as her of his reasons. "If we had met in a bar, if I knew I was never going to see you again, if we weren't sharing this cabin for the next month, if I didn't know about your marriage, then things would be different. But we both know I'm heading back to Tahoe soon. We both know that this isn't going to work."
But even as he said it, he was getting lost in her eyes, could feel his fingertips start to burn with the need to touch her.
It would be so easy to get lost in Ginger.
Again and again she pulled things out of him he'd never said to anyone, was forcing him to look at things he'd thought he knew for sure in a new light. And when he'd tried to turn the tables on her by making her confess her own secrets, instead of closing the intriguing circle, learning more about her had blown the mystery wide open.
Sure, she'd had money. But it hadn't made her life any easier. It hadn't made her husband any less of an asshole.
All his life he'd been a master of control. There was no reason Ginger should be any different. He just needed to take the reins back.
"You have my word that I won't touch you again."
He'd never been a liar. And until this moment he hadn't thought he'd ever become one. But he was very much afraid he just had. Because after only the smallest taste of her sweetness, he could see keeping his word might very well be impossible.
She was so easy to read, her expressive face telling him she was disappointed. But after their discussion last night, staying away from her had turned into more than just keeping his focus on firefighting, on getting back on his crew. He liked her too much to use her, to give in to the urge to take her when he barely had one foot in the door. Liked her too much to be one more dickhead in her life.
He watched her pull in a shaky breath, look at the floor, say in a low voice, "So much for taking chances."
When she looked back up at him, her once bright eyes had dimmed. "So what else is on the agenda with the cabin after you replace the logs?"
He hated to see the life go out of her, but knew it was for the best, that they had to stay in neutral territory.
"I'll have to rechink between the logs, then strip off the soot and age so that I can revarnish them. I'd been hoping to get to the furniture too, see what I could do to fix it up as a surprise for my grandmother. Now I don't know if that will happen."
She made a sound of pleasure that set off another inextinguishable spark behind his breastbone.
"Actually, I've been dying to get my hands on some of the old furniture. It's all so classic and beautiful and I know with a light sanding and coat of fresh paint, I can probably make some of the side tables and dressers look like new." Her words were coming out in a rush. "And I've seen some really gorgeous retro fabric in town that would look great on the cushions. It isn't hard to do and probably wouldn't take me much time at all."
The furniture really needed refurbishing, but something told him this was a bad idea. That once Ginger had put her permanent mark on his family's things, it would be like she was a part of the family. And that would only make it harder to leave her behind when he went back to Lake Tahoe.
"Thanks for the offer, but I wouldn't feel right asking you to do that. You're already paying to live here."
"Please, Connor," she said softly, her eyes shining again at the thought of refinishing the furniture his great-grandfather had built by hand. "I'd like to help."
"What about your painting?"
"Actually, I'm kind of in the thinking and planning stage with a couple of them right now. Might be nice to work on something else for a few hours. How about if I start to strip and repaint the dresser in my bedroom?"
It was the best idea of the day, sending her out to the workshop in the woods. Far away from the cabin.
Far away from him.
"I'll go upstairs and grab it right now. Put it in the workshop for you to work on."
"The workshop? Oh, do you mean the red barn in the woods?" When he nodded, she said, "I've walked by it so many times, and even though I longed to go inside and look around, it felt too much like trespassing."
He was glad for the heavy weight of the four-drawer dresser, for the fact that carrying it down the stairs and through the woods was making his hands hurt like hell. Anything to distract him from what being around Ginger made him feel.
The workshop was a good quarter mile back from the house and the smell of sawdust and oil was strong as they entered the large dark barn. Connor put the dresser down outside the big doors, his palms burning. After opening one, he found the light switch on the wall and flicked it on to illuminate the rows of lights that hung from the open beamed ceiling.
"Wow, this place is incredible," she said as she slowly walked around the large space. "Every time I walked by I sensed that there was magic inside."
"Sam and I were always begging to come out here when we were kids," he told her, trying not to wince as he picked the dresser back up to bring it inside. "That was the lathe my grandfather used to turn all of the legs on the chairs and tables and beds. He taught me how to use it when I was five."
Her eyes widened. "Five? Wasn't he afraid you'd hurt yourself?"
"He believed in having us learn from our mistakes. Knowing we could slice open a hand was a pretty big motivator not to goof around while using his tools. Plus," he said, running his hand over the dusty tool, "I wanted to be just like him."
"What did he do the rest of the year?"
"High school principal. My grandmother taught French and German. The past couple of years they've both been pleased to have me follow in their footsteps. Finally."
She cocked her head to the side. "You're also a teacher?"
"Since the accident, that's what I've been doing. Teaching rookies the ropes, leading safety seminars. My scars scare them enough to make sure they really pay attention. Same principle my grandfather worked off of, I guess."
She came to a stop in front of a half-built sailboat that was flipped upside down in the middle of the room. "What's this?"
"A boat my grandfather never finished building. It was always just there. Sam and I offered to finish building it for him a couple of times, but he said no, he'd do it himself. Guess he never got around to it."
He walked over to a large rolling toolbox pushed up against the wall and yanked out several drawers, the rusty metal protesting his rough touch.
"Here's some sandpaper to get started. Let me know if you need more. I can pick up some paint at the hardware store when you're ready for it."
And then he got the hell out before he could come up with an excuse to be near her a little while longer.
Over the course of his career, he'd been called a hero countless times, but this was the first time Connor had ever wondered if he had it in him to do the right thing.
CHAPTER TEN
GINGER PULLED out the top drawer and began the painstaking job of sanding off the rough edges of peeling paint, making sure to scuff up every inch of the surface so that the new primer and paint would dry. One by one, she worked through the drawers.
It was good, hard work. The perfect project to take her mind off Connor.
She supposed she should have been embarrassed by what she'd
said to him about her frustration over all of his respect for her, but she wasn't.
Yet again, it had felt surprisingly good to put voice to what she wanted. Even if being turned down flat had been a pretty crushing blow.
Then again, she suddenly realized, hadn't she'd known all along that she was safe? That Connor was so damned noble there was no way he'd ever take advantage of her.
In the same way the wood had revealed itself beneath the cracking paint, her hours of sanding had slowly uncovered the truth: She hadn't risked much at all.
Not when she'd known all along that Connor would be a hero.
Beyond irritated with the train of her thoughts, she yanked hard at the stuck bottom drawer. She heard a sharp crack.
"Oh no," she cried, instantly assuming she'd snapped off a hunk of old wood. But when she pulled the drawer all the way out and put it on the floor, she was surprised to see a stack of letters tied together with a string sitting at the bottom of the dresser's now-empty shell.
A secret romantic who'd always had a stash of romance novels tucked away in a bag in her closet to read when no one was home, Ginger's fingers trembled with excitement as she reached for the bundle.
Love letters. They had to be love letters. Otherwise why would someone keep them, hide them away?
The papers looked water-stained and crispy, the rope hard and brittle. Although she picked up the package carefully, the white binding crumbled in her hands. One opened in her hands and, unable to help herself, she started reading the neat cursive.
Andrew , These have been the worst two weeks of my entire life. I can't sleep. I can't eat. All I want is to be with you . Last night when I called home, I begged my parents to let me come back to the lake early. It's not like I'm good enough to go pro or anything, so why do I have to go away to tennis camp for three weeks? I told them I'd much rather be out at the lake spending time with them. They didn't buy it and said no . I think they're suspicious about us. Even though we've been so careful. I don't know what they'd do if they found out we're spending so much time together . Every night I lay awake in bed thinking about when I snuck out and we drove up to the pond. Can you believe I've spent fifteen summers at Blue Mountain Lake and never knew it was there? I'm so glad you showed it to me. I loved night swimming with you. And I loved everything else we did that night too . Especially the way you kissed me and said I'd be yours forever . Love, Isabel Oh my God. She'd accidentally found love letters her friend Isabel had written to Connor's father.