He made it to the lake’s edge and leapt across the two-foot gap between the shore and the dock. His movements made splashing sounds that were an affront to the quiet morning. Every step to the far railing made ripples in the clear water, telling him the dock floated and wasn’t anchored down.
He took a deep breath in, allowing the mountain air to reach into his soul.
As the sun began to rise, the fog went from gray to a rosy salmon shade. The beauty of it was enough to take his breath away, and he stayed there until the fog burned off, mostly, and his stomach growled.
He smiled, satisfied in a way he hadn’t been for so long.
He turned to go back to shore only to realize the gap between the dock and dry land had increased to fifteen feet. He knelt down to see thick cables running underneath the dock. He followed their line to a wench on shore. As he watched, the handle unwound, letting him out another foot.
He stared, wondering if the end of the cable was actually attached or if he’d end up floating out to the middle of Beaver Lake.
His stomach growled again, reminding him that the only thing he’d eaten the night before was a sample of fudge. Fudge reminded him of Brooklyn, and Brooklyn reminded him of the email he’d sent.
He checked his back pocket, then his front pocket. No phone. Fabulous.
He cupped his hands around his mouth and called, “Hello!” His voice echoed off the canyon walls. A flock of birds took flight, screeching back at him. He stared harder and found that they were turkey buzzards. “That’s great. I’ll be buzzard bait by the middle of the day.”
The dock was empty. Not even a discarded piece of driftwood to help him get back to shore.
The soft sound of a paddle cutting through water reached his ears. He strained to find the source. “Hello?” he called toward the lake. A few moments later, someone on a paddleboard appeared. He fist-pumped in triumph. A rescue!
“Hey! Over here!” He waved his hands over his head. “Help!”
The boarder saw him and changed directions. She came into view, wearing a large, floppy hat and one of those belts that could turned into a flotation device at the pull of a rip cord. She pulled alongside the dock and lifted her chin, allowing him to see past her wide brim.
“You?” they exclaimed at the same time.
The sight of Brooklyn Triggs brought back the shame of being kicked out of a shop in public. “Jinx,” he said. Immediately, he felt ridiculous for being childish. She just made him so mad. The way she acted like she was queen of fudge just because she owned a candy store. No, not even owned it—worked in it.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked, her gaze traveling over the dock and the distance to shore.
“I could ask you the same thing. This area is privately owned.” He pointed down. According to Adam’s papers, he owned the land and the water—or at least access to this part of the lake.
Brooklyn scowled. In a heartbeat, he realized that look was foreign to her features. They didn’t fall into it easily, which meant she was probably a happy person in general. It was only around him that she was upset.
The feeling was mutual.
“I guess I’ll leave, then.” She put her paddle against the dock and pushed away.
“Wait.” He swallowed crow that went down about as easily as it sounded. “I’m stuck. Can I—” He looked over the board. While it was large enough to fit two, he didn’t have a desire to be that close to her. Something inside of him said that would be a bad idea. “—borrow your phone?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I didn’t bring it.”
He jammed his fingers in his hair. “I don’t suppose you could fix the dock?”
She shook her head. Her hair, bouncing on her shoulders, caught the sunlight, turning it a deep red color. He scolded himself for even noticing details about her. She was a gold-digging scam artist. “The mechanism is motorized. There’s no way I could turn it myself.”
“It unwound easily enough.”
“The dock weighs over five hundred pounds.” She lifted her free hand as if asking, what she could do about it?
He sighed. She wasn’t giving him an idea, a plan, or even an inch. If he was going to get help from her, he’d have to beg for it. “How—” He swallowed more pride. “How about a ride back?”
She puffed out air. “Seriously?”
“I’ll pay you.” He patted his empty back pocket. “As soon as I get my wallet.”
She used her paddle to splash water at him. He jumped back to avoid getting his shoes soaked. “I don’t want your money.” She tipped her head back and groaned. “But I can’t go to church this Sunday if I leave you stranded.” She growled. “Bleeding hearts … Get on.”
She came closer and scooted forward on the board to give him room. He’d seen paddleboarders before, but he had no idea how to get on one. He ended up stepping with one foot, expecting it to remain flat like the dock. Instead, it wiggled and jerked under his weight. He lost his balance and fell into the cool water. A second later, he heard another splash. He burst through the surface, sputtering.
Brooklyn came up right next to him and splashed him in the face. “Are you kidding me right now?” She lunged for her floppy hat, which was barely floating a few feet away. Another moment and it would have sunk.
“I’m sorry!” He really was. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, clearly having planned to stay on the board for her trek around the lake and not go swimming. He needed to smooth things over with her, to make up for his mistake. He should have been more careful or asked for advice. “If it makes you feel better, you’re beautiful when you’re wet.”
She gaped at him.
They reached for the board at the same time. “Shoot.” She lunged after the paddle, which had gone quite far.
Her wake filled his nose with lake water, and he coughed. He debated between going after the paddle as well or holding onto the board. She was a good swimmer and was there and back in no time.
“This place is quickly losing its splendor.” He wiped his face down. His pants were awkward to swim in, and he’d lost one shoe.
“Wonderful!” She smiled sweetly. “Be sure and tell all your developer friends how horrible it is here. Okay?” She laid her arms across the board and swung one leg up.
Asher didn’t want to notice the way her clothes clung to her nice, tight little body, but that seemed to be all his eyes could focus on. “What’s your problem with progress?”
She settled on her knees and motioned for him to come up. Her face was young and her skin soft. The smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose was adorable.
He followed her example of laying one arm across the board, making the whole thing rock precariously. This time she was ready and shifted her weight to keep them from dropping back into the water.
“I like progress,” she replied. “I set New Year’s goals every year, and I even stick to them. What I don’t like are people who come to our small town and see dollar signs.”
She grabbed his other arm and pulled, giving him the leverage he needed to get his legs out of the water. His skin warmed at her touch. He lifted his head, and their faces were mere inches apart. His stomach dropped out, and he nearly lost his hold on the board. She was pretty. Too pretty for his own good.
“Slippery,” he muttered as he dropped his eyes. He grasped for some way to safer ground, because her blue eyes had made him feel more unstable than this blasted board. “Businesses mean jobs. Development means jobs.”
“We have jobs aplenty.” She wiped the hair off her neck and put the paddle in the water. She stayed on her knees, and he had to admit that it was probably a smart idea.
“Yeah, I bet you’re raking it in at that candy shop.”
Her lips gathered together. “Keep it up, buster, and I’ll let you swim back.”
He glanced down at the water. The initial drop in was cold. Too cold. The sun, on the other hand, was warm and inviting. He had no desire to go back in the lake, and he
had no doubt that she would shove him off without notice. He pantomimed zipping his lips shut.
She maneuvered the board around the dock, careful to avoid the cables, and pointed them to shore. Her movements were strong, and he admired her form before realizing what he was doing and cutting his eyes away.
“You never said what you were doing out here,” he prodded.
She glanced over her shoulder with a look that said, Wouldn’t you like to know? He’d seen images of women doing that look in travel magazines and online. They had heavy makeup and scarves and were all about allure. She wasn’t even trying, and she outdistanced them easily, momentarily making him forget his question.
She found a way to get him right next to a rock so he wouldn’t have to step in the water at all. He scooted his bottom onto the flat surface first and sighed when he was on solid ground. The sensation was enough to loosen his tongue. “Thanks for the ride.”
She was staring up at the house, her eyes calculating. “This is your mansion?”
He turned to look up the hill. The house was even more spectacular than he remembered. “A friend’s.”
“No one’s been here for years. Except the staff.” She turned her careful eyes on him.
He squirmed, feeling like a kid caught jumping in the lake when he should have been posing for family pictures.
“What, exactly, are you planning to develop?” she asked, her voice low.
She’d dismissed him when she thought he was after her shop; he could only imagine what she’d do when he said they planned to build thirty mansions on the quiet hills surrounding them. It wasn’t like there wasn’t enough room, and then some. The homes would be tucked away and empty most of the year. Still, he couldn’t in good conscience spill Adam’s secret. “Good day.” He smiled easily and then limped his way up the stairs, wearing one shoe.
He made it up a flight before hearing her paddle away. He turned to watch her leave. As she hit the bend in the lake, she looked back at The Cove, but he could swear he felt her eyes on him.
He’d have to keep his eyes on her. She was full of fire.
He smiled to himself. Fire was the most attractive feature in a woman.
If she weren’t such a pain, he’d ask her out.
Chapter Seven
Brooklyn
The ancient door to the Sunny Side Up Café creaked loud enough to announce Brooklyn’s arrival to the owner and waitress, Mabel Marsh.
Mabel glanced up from where she was making a fresh pot of coffee and smiled. She was going through a phase where she fought aging tooth and nail. One of her tactics had been teeth whitening so her smile was ultra bright. Another was having her eyebrows tattooed on, and they were ultra dark. She claimed the woman who’d done them said the ink would fade, but they were midnight black nine months later. Instead of getting upset, she’d dyed her chin-length hair to a silvery gray—said it was all the rage in California—and went on with life.
Who was Brooklyn to argue?
“Hey, hon, you want a plate?”
A plate meant two eggs, two strips of bacon, and two pieces of toast—Brooklyn’s regular order after a morning on the lake. If she was going to eat protein, it should taste like bacon.
Today, however, her stomach was in knots. Ever since she’d watched the rich guy climb the stairs to the mansion.
Actually, it had tied up before that, when he’d called her beautiful. Sure, he’d dumped her in the lake, but there wasn’t really a reason for him to say that—unless he believed it. Maybe the cold water had shocked his brain and he’d blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
So why would he be thinking about how pretty—or not pretty—she was?
She’d barely made it through a shower, her mind was so wrapped up with the question. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had called her beautiful—except for the tourist types that wanted an extra sample of fudge.
She was in such a state, there was no way she could eat. “Not this morning. Thanks, though.”
Mabel winked and went back to her task.
Brooklyn found her target and wove through the shiny red vinyl seats. She pulled out a chair and sat across from Norm just as he was forking a large piece of ham into his mouth. He choked on it in surprise and reached for his water.
“What’s going on?” he rasped. Coughing a couple of times into his napkin, he then drank half his glass before gasping for air.
Brooklyn frowned. Norm was her age. A good guy. They’d grown up together and he’d asked her to homecoming their senior year, but she was already dating Billy and turned him down. He’d avoided her ever since. Which was hard to do in a high school and town this small, but he’d managed.
If there was anyone else she could talk to, she would have. But desperate times and all that. She wasn’t here to rehash or reopen his high school crush. Better to just talk to him like a member of the city council, which he was. The one over building and permits and the like. “We’ve got some big problems coming our way,” she chose as a conversation starter.
He leaned back, like he was trying to avoid getting drawn into her drama.
She pressed on. “You know the old mansion on the lake?”
“Yeah?” His reply was slow and somewhat skeptical.
“Someone’s staying there.”
Mabel stopped by to top off Norm’s water. “Bring them in; I’ll make them lunch today.” Her acrylic nails were painted bright green.
“And then send him on over to my studio and we’ll get the old place updated with some modern art,” added Art, sitting two tables away. His black goatee hung down to his chest now. He’d been growing it out for years.
Brooklyn didn’t mind them listening in at all. The more people aware of the issue, the better off they’d be. “He doesn’t want food or art. I think he’s here to buy up our businesses. He was snooping around the fudge shop yesterday.”
“That’s the guy you kicked out? He’s staying in the mansion?” Art asked.
Mabel plopped the water jug on the counter, and a small wave splashed over the side.
“Who told you I kicked him out?” She knew the story would get around, but Art was holed up in his studio all day and only came out to eat. Of course, if he came to the Sunny Side Up, then he could get the scoop on things.
“Viola.” His face flushed as they all stared at him for a moment, working out why the two of them were together.
Viola was the town restoration specialist. She was in her early twenties, friendly and outgoing. Basically, the complete opposite of Art. Plus, there was no reason the two of them would cross paths … unless they were seeing one another.
That was a juicy bit of gossip, but Brooklyn wouldn’t be deterred. She had a mission to save her hometown.
She waved her hands like she was scrambling an Etch A Sketch. “We can’t let this guy take over.” And he was the total alpha type who thought that he owned the world. He was staying in someone else’s house, but he had money and he had power, and he knew it. Truth be told, his confidence was a bit overwhelming—like walking into a cloud of cologne, but in a good way.
No. Not in a good way. There was nothing good about being around this guy.
She really should have asked his name.
Norm cut his ham. “I don’t think there’s a need for widespread pandemonium and panic.” He ate as if he had all morning to work on his breakfast.
Brooklyn stifled her frustration. She was worked up, but only because she cared about this place. Eureka Springs had been a haven for her broken heart when her dad left, and the town carried her when her mom died. Mabel gave her free hot chocolates for years, said they could soothe a troubled soul—and they did. She’d felt special sitting at a table here, like someone could see her at a time when her foundation had been yanked away.
She lowered the pitch of her voice to make it sound less crazed and more thoughtful. “You’re the first person I’ve told.” She smiled at Norm. “I’m hardly panicking.”
; “I’ve seen her panic,” added Mabel. “Remember that time she ran down Main Street screaming about the ghost of Nick Bradshaw?”
“I saw something in the catacombs,” she defended herself. “Plus, I was in seventh grade!” Under their pretty little town was a series of tunnels and caves, used by bootleggers, outlaws, and even murderers. They were notorious for their supernatural activity. They’d even been featured on Ghost Hunters.
Mable shrugged. “I’m just sayin’. When she’s panicked, we’ll know it.”
Mabel might have thought she was helping, but Brooklyn didn’t feel helped at all. “Thanks so much.” She glanced around at the bored faces. “You guys! This is serious. The person who owns a whole finger of the lake has enough money to bully his or her way into this town.”
Norm lifted one cheek noncommittally. “There’s nothing to do about it if he does.”
Brooklyn pointed right at him. “When those no-good bank robbers came to town, did your great-grandpa walk away and let them clear out the bank? No, he didn’t. He pulled out his six-shooter and protected what was his.”
An energy began to flow in the room—it was charged with action and history and pride.
Brooklyn rounded on Mabel. “And Mabel, your grandpa Buddy grabbed the shotgun off the wall of this very café and charged inside the bank.” She drew a much-needed breath. “We are not a town that rolls over when our way of life is threatened. We take action.” She made a fist in front of her, riding high on the sense of justice coursing through her veins.
Norm threw his napkin down on his empty plate. “You’re right! Great-Grandpa would stand up and stare down trouble, and that’s what I’m gonna do. You can bet ol’ Moneybags will be sorry he came to town when I’m through with him.”
Mabel’s eyes doubled in size. “What are you gonna do?”
“We’ll block his permits and licenses. That’s what.” He smacked his hand on the table.
Her Billionaire Mistake (Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove Book 1) Page 5