“I have to show this to you,” he said, pointing to an old photo on the wall by a pair of antlers. “It’s a picture of Ezra Hawkins, my great-great-grandfather. He founded Hawk’s Lake in 1865. This is a picture of his old smithy. It was on the same site as Hawkins’s Garage.”
She was a little surprised that he wanted to show her his connection to the village, his family’s history. Leaning closer, she studied the picture.
“He looks so…distinguished. I can see the family resemblance in this picture.”
His hand slipped possessively around her waist as she straightened. She should have stepped away, but it felt so natural, so good.
“It must be amazing being a direct descendant of the founder of this town. This is your history! All this is here because of your ancestors, and your family.”
He thought for a moment. “I guess when you put it that way…”
She’d love to find a way to connect him to his own hometown. At least he was thinking now. Maybe what she’d been saying was sinking in. That was a start.
“I just wish that someday you’d realize how much you’ve done for the village and how much you are appreciated.”
“But, Mari—”
“You’ve also tried to preserve the history of Hawk’s Lake. Sherwood Lodge is a perfect example. You even kept the original color scheme.” She wanted to take his hand, but she was afraid he’d read it the wrong way.
“I own several historical properties. I believe in preservation.”
His blue eyes sparkled at her praise, and she knew he was pleased.
As they walked through the restaurant, every waitress greeted Brian and motioned for him to sit in their area. He picked a spot by the window that overlooked a little waterfall and what must be a trout stream. Fishermen dressed in waders were casting in the water and on the bank of the stream.
Children frolicked in a fenced-in playground to the left as their mothers watched from a bench.
One little boy was crying as his mother comforted him. She rubbed his back with one hand and reached into her purse with her other hand. She wiped off the boy’s knee with a tissue that she’d wet with her water bottle, and gently taped on a plastic bandage.
She dabbed at his eyes with another tissue, and soon he was smiling and showing off his new bandage to his playmates.
Mari’s chest constricted. She wanted to make her own children smile, to comfort them when they were hurt, to hold their little bodies close to her and shower hugs and kisses on them throughout the day and night.
She wanted to help them with their homework and watch them grow into happy adults with their own families.
Would she ever get that chance?
Reluctantly, Mari pulled herself out of her daydream and brought herself back to the restaurant.
This certainly wasn’t one of the fanciest restaurants she’d ever been in, but it definitely had an interesting view.
“I’d love to live here,” she blurted without thinking.
Brian leaned back in his chair. “Wow. That was quite the announcement. We didn’t even order yet. But you aren’t telling me anything that you haven’t said before.”
She glanced out the window. “Look outside, Brian. Tell me what you see.”
He followed her line of vision. “I see guys fishing. Kids at the playground. Just the usual spring activities, after everyone thaws out after winter.”
She’d give anything to be one of those mothers watching her children playing on the playground. Hawk’s Lake would be a perfect place to raise a family.
One of the men was reeling in a fish as the others watched. She could just picture Brian standing on the riverbank, patiently showing their children how to fish.
Their children? Her face heated. Okay, she had to admit that, lately, he’d been on her mind, too—but this was carrying her dreams a bit too far.
She might want to sleep with him, but another engagement? Marriage? She’d been burned too many times to even add that to her ever-growing list of things to think about.
“What do you see, Mari?” he asked.
“I see families together, taking time out to enjoy life. Fresh air. Nature.”
“Okay.” He shrugged.
“You just don’t get it, Brian,” she snapped, trying to get her emotions under control. “For example, Aunt Betty offers pancakes, but she also serves everything else you can think of. And look at these prices. They’re so low, it’s unbelievable.”
“They’ll raise the prices in the summer, when the tourists hit. You can be sure of that. And Aunt Betty is really an ex-sailor by the name of Melvin Ray. Those fishermen on the river there are probably avoiding their wives, and those ladies on the bench at the playground are gossiping and avoiding their husbands.”
Her blood began to boil. “Just stop. Why do you have to be so cynical?”
“You’re romanticizing Hawk’s Lake. I’m just pointing out what’s wrong with it.”
“Well, don’t do that anymore. Okay?”
“If that’s what you want.”
The waitress came and Mari was glad for the interruption. She just couldn’t understand Brian’s thinking. He had the best of everything right here.
Obviously, the two of them didn’t want the same things.
Her throat tightened, and she didn’t think that she could swallow the chicken-salad sandwich that she’d planned on ordering.
Glancing at the menu again, she ordered chicken soup instead. Brian got a burger with the works and some fries. The waitress didn’t seem in a hurry to leave their table, and kept smiling at Brian, checking several times as to how he wanted his burger cooked. She was obviously attracted to him.
Who wouldn’t be?
Mari remembered being fascinated with him, too, as they rowed on the lake under the stars and worked together at the scene of the accident. However, right now at Aunt Betty’s Pancake House, she wished she could get Brian to see Hawk’s Lake through her eyes.
But why was that so important to her?
“What attracts you to cities?” she asked, coming at it from another direction. “Granted, cities are fabulous, but they’re tough places to raise a family.”
He shrugged. “I had the best time when I was living in New York with three other guys. We worked long hours—days, nights, weekends—and somehow we still partied and had a great time. When the boss needed us at any time of the day or night, we were there. And the money was incredible.”
“So was your rent, I’m sure. I’ll bet you had to live four in an apartment to make the monthly rent. And I’ll bet it was a dump, and on the top floor, without an elevator. But you were young and just out of college, so you didn’t care. And just how long do you think you could’ve kept up that pace?”
“Who knows?” He shrugged. “But it was the best time of my life.”
“Why isn’t now the best time of your life?”
“Time flies, Mari. And I have a lot of unfinished plans.”
Lunch came and it was just as well. Their discussion was getting too heated.
They discussed lighter topics after their food was served, and even lingered over pie and coffee. Mari couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a long, leisurely lunch. Usually, she had Julie order her something from the basement cafeteria or from a local deli and had it delivered to her office. More often than not, she skipped the meal altogether.
This was a much nicer way to spend her lunchtime, even if they had to agree to disagree.
“I have a meeting at four at the village hall, but if you’d like, there’s still time to sit on one of the benches by the river for a while and watch the guys fish,” Brian said.
“Great idea.”
He shed his jacket and tossed it in the backseat of his car. Then they walked to the side of the building.
It was a beautiful day, and he planned on enjoying every second with Mari that he could.
“So you have a meeting to go to?” Mari faked a big shudder. “I hate to even say the
word meeting. It’s been great not even thinking of having to attend…those things.”
“But this is a fun meeting. We are going to be scheduling the village events for next year and discussing some new ideas.”
“What kind of events?”
“The usual ones—the Snow Festival, the Fourth of July fireworks and parade, the craft weekend, the sidewalk art show—things like that.” He smiled, thinking of the full calendar.
“I’d like to attend every one of them. And you’re smiling, Brian. You love doing things like that.”
“I guess I do. It’s great to see the village full of families enjoying themselves. And some of them are fund-raisers for good causes. I’ve got a couple of great ideas for a couple of new things to try.” He felt his blood pumping, excited.
He was starting to sound like Mari about Hawk’s Lake.
“Tell me about your ideas.”
“An old-fashioned barn dance for Halloween, with games for the kids and their families. And I’ve been trying to get a big bass fishing tournament here. I got word today that it’s a go. That’ll bring in a big crowd, and it will benefit everyone. The residents will make money, and the contestants will take back a ton of memories.”
“Those are great ideas.” Mari put a hand on his arm, and the heat hit him immediately. “I wish you could hear the enthusiasm in your voice. You just love doing things like this—organizing activities and working to bring in tourists and spectators. And that’s great for Hawk’s Lake.”
“And you’re not doing what you like at Sherwood, right?”
“We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.” She nudged his shoulder with hers. “In spite of how you bash this place, it’s your own personal playground.”
“I just pitch in. Do what I can. Project the expenses and profits. Whatever.”
“Don’t be so modest, Brian. I’ll bet you do a lot more than you’ll admit.” She put her hand on his chest, and he thought he was going to melt. “And you do it from your heart.”
He was speechless. If Mari was right, it would mean that he was trying to escape a place that he really loved. It would also mean that he’d been dreaming of another job—another life—when he already had everything he’d been working for.
Damn.
Chapter Nine
Mari slowly spun the clay on her wheel. This was the critical time, when she was going to pull up the side of the bowl, and she wanted it to be as even as possible.
She heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel, saw Brian’s reflection in the side window. “Come in,” she yelled. “I can’t open the door right now.”
He stood behind her, and his special scent of pine and spice drifted over her.
“I’ll be right with you.” The bowl did exactly what she wanted it to. Perfect.
She looked up at Brian. He seemed to be mesmerized. She lifted her foot and the wheel stopped. She found her wire and carefully cut the bowl from the remaining clay.
“Hello.” Just looking at him signaled the butterflies in her stomach to start fluttering. He was wearing faded jeans that were a perfect fit, along with a black T-shirt. His sneakers were barely scuffed.
“What brings you here?” she asked.
“I wanted to paint and caulk a couple of window frames that I noticed needed some work. I won’t bother you.”
His mere presence would bother her, in more ways than one.
Brian looked around at the completed pieces. “This is beautiful work.” He walked around the porch and looked at her finished pottery. “May I pick it up?”
“Sure.” It pleased her that he was interested. “It’s pretty sturdy.”
“I love this heron that you painted. And the ducks in the cattails are wonderful. And the colors and sheen. What’s it called?”
“Glaze. My grandmother taught me how to mix and what to add for the best results.” She winked. “I’d tell you my recipe, but it’s a family secret.”
“I wouldn’t know what to do with it, anyway.”
She smiled. “Would you like something for yourself?”
“I’d love this heron mug. Or maybe the one with the ducks.”
She took them both off the shelf and handed them to him. “Take them both.” Their fingers brushed, and she got some clay on his. “I’m sorry.” She found a clean rag and brushed the dirt from his hands.
“Let me wash up,” Mari said, “and I’ll show you something in the boathouse. It’s my favorite thing. Do you have time?”
“I do.”
From the sink in the kitchen, she could see him walk around and examine more of her pieces. Moments later, she joined him on the porch and they walked to the boathouse, where her kiln was stationed. She unlocked the latches and pulled up the lid. “Now look.”
They both peered into the six-sided barrel. “Isn’t it amazing—all the colors?” she asked, hoping that he’d think so, too.
Brian let out a long whistle. “I can see why you think that this is the best part.”
She pulled out piece after piece—different colors, the same colors, experimental shapes and sizes. Brian helped her load everything into a cushioned wheelbarrow.
“Mari, if you’re interested in selling your pottery, I can think of several gift shops in the area that would love to carry it.”
Her heart beat faster. “Really?”
“Absolutely.”
“That’s just how Great-Great-Grandma Violet Sherwood got started. Well, mostly.” Mari chuckled. “She had a carriage house, I have a boathouse.”
“I happen to have some boxes in my car. We’ll pack up whatever you want to sell, and I’ll make some calls at the gift shops in town. Or maybe you’d like to handle it yourself.”
Mari shook her head. “I’ll pick out some pieces, but if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you would do it.” She didn’t know if she could handle rejection—not of something so personal as her art. Besides, he knew everybody.
That was a new feeling. She didn’t care when a store chose not to carry Sherwood Enterprises products or rejected certain collections. She just had her sales staff move on.
Sherwood was her family legacy, just as Brian had pointed out. But her pottery was hers. It was something that she’d always longed to do, but had never made time for.
Without Sherwood, she had the time. Her life could be hers to live as she chose, and luckily, she had saved enough money to last several lifetimes.
Then what was so hard about making a decision?
Brian was a good sounding board, and he was easy to talk to. He also knew her family background, her history.
Mari took a deep breath. She enjoyed Brian’s company and his sense of humor. He was dependable and caring, that was evident when he returned home to be with his family when they needed him. He had yet to realize how much Hawk’s Lake actually meant to him, but she was trying to help him with that.
And undoubtedly, she was definitely physically attracted to him, and she knew that the feeling was mutual.
There was nothing wrong with a few kisses—or more—to satisfy their desire.
She’d love to trust her old friend, but to do that would take a leap of faith, and Mari didn’t know if she had that kind of trust in her anymore. She’d trusted one too many times, and a person could only take so much hurt—so much betrayal. Sometimes it felt as if she didn’t have it in herself to believe one more time that someone could love her just for herself.
Up on his ladder against the wall of Sherwood Lodge, Brian worked on a couple of windows, digging out old caulk and applying the new. When done, he looked around at the landscape.
It was turning into an unseasonably hot afternoon, which was good. It’d dry up the lawn and tweak the wildflowers into blooming sooner. He had to admit that, after a long winter, he liked seeing all the flowers.
Knowing Mari, she’d like that, too. She always used to pick wildflowers and bring them back to Sherwood Lodge for the kitchen table.
He unscrewed one
of the shutters on Mari’s front bedroom window. He might as well paint them, too. He couldn’t help but look into the room as he did it, and noticed that the bed was perfectly made up. There was a book open on the desk right beneath the window.
“Brian?”
The shutter dropped out of his hands, slid down the roof, hit the ladder a few times and rested on the grass. If it didn’t need painting before, it did now.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Mari said, looking up from the ground. “I just wanted to know if you needed anything.”
“You know, Mari, it’s such a nice day. Want to row over to Secret Island?” he asked. “We could have a picnic.”
“Secret Island? But what about mean Mr. Yeller—you know, the guy who always shooed us away?”
“I bought the island from him.”
“You did?” She grinned. “When we were kids, you always said that you were going to own it one day.”
“I thought it’d be a good investment.”
The truth was, he couldn’t stand the thought of someone else making memories on their secret island.
She shaded her eyes and looked west toward the slice of land floating in Hawk’s Lake. The tip of it stuck out like a finger.
It seemed like she was contemplating whether she should go or not.
“Oh, Brian! Let’s go!”
“Good,” he said, glad that he’d made her happy and eager to show her the island.
“I’ll pack us some things to eat.”
“Okay. I’ll drive over to Hawk’s Roost and get the speedboat. I’ll pick you up at the dock here.”
“Great.” She turned to leave.
“Oh, Mari?”
She stopped. “Yes?”
“Bring a bathing suit.”
“You can’t be serious. It’ll be freezing.”
“Trust me.”
He watched as she hurried to the cottage, a happy bounce to her step.
Picking up his pace, he hurried to his car. He’d take care of the shutters another time. Right now, he had better things to do.
Mari couldn’t believe how great it felt to skim across crystal-clear Hawk’s Lake in a lemon-yellow boat. It was a sleek, shiny craft that would be perfect for waterskiing.
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