by Susan Wiggs
They were young and totally in love. There was no hint of the struggles they had endured with Granddad’s family, who had bitterly opposed the marriage. There was no foreshadowing of the life that awaited these two, the good times and bad. Vietnam and the oil crisis, unimaginable prosperity and unbearable tragedy. The moment the photograph was taken, there was only the innocent, soaring joy of embarking on a lifelong adventure together.
She recognized her other grandparents in the photograph, too. Samuel Lightsey was the best man in the wedding. A few years after the photograph was taken, he had married his date, her maternal grandmother, Gwen.
With a wistful smile, she said, “I want the day of their anniversary to be as perfect as their wedding day.”
“I have a feeling you and Dare are going to make sure of it.”
She sank deeper under his spell, trusting him more with every word he spoke. All right, she thought. Deep breath. “I was engaged,” she said softly, watching his face. “In case you were wondering.”
His expression didn’t change. “I take it things didn’t work out.”
“That’s right.”
“Freddy told me you’d been hurt, but that’s all he would say.”
She shuffled her feet, cleared her throat. Why not? He’d probably hear the story anyway, eventually. “Three times,” she added.
“I don’t get it.”
“Three times. That’s how many times I was engaged. To three different guys. Well, the third one wasn’t technically an engagement. I sort of…headed that one off.” And Freddy was right. She had been hurt, and with each successive failure, she became more and more convinced that the trouble was with her. She seemed to have a knack for picking the wrong guy. She made herself hold Connor’s gaze. She searched his face for some kind of reaction but saw nothing. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. How about, ‘Sorry to hear that’?”
“I’m not sorry to hear it.”
“What?”
“If any of those engagements had worked out, you’d be married now, and that would mean I’m standing here lusting after a married woman.”
His bluntness took her breath away. “You’re lusting after me?”
He laughed. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Who says lusting anymore?”
“Pretty much any guy who’s being honest.”
“Lusting,” she repeated, feeling her skin heat with embarrassment. “You should quit right now.”
“Yeah,” he said, “I’ll get right on that.” He laughed at her. Laughed. “Not going to happen, no way.”
“You’re never going to get any satisfaction,” she said.
“Damn, Lolly, you’re so quick to take offense. I’m not trying to get engaged to you. I just thought you might want to be my girlfriend for the summer.”
An unbidden spasm of response reverberated through her but she quelled it. “What a treat.”
“I take it that’s a no.”
“With a capital N. God, Connor. Why would I want to be your girlfriend?”
“So we can hang out, have some laughs, make love in every conceivable way and then some.”
She nearly choked on her lemonade.
“You all right?” He patted her on the back, and she nodded but couldn’t speak. He asked, “Was it something I said?”
Another nod. “Guys don’t talk to me like that.”
“I guess that’s the problem. No wonder you dumped the last three.”
“It’s kind of you to assume I dumped them.”
“Doesn’t matter. The good news is, they’re gone.”
She reluctantly had to agree. As perfect as Rand had seemed for her, she didn’t actually miss him. She kept bracing herself for moments of weakness, when she thought about calling his voice mail just to hear his voice, but those moments never came. She didn’t lie around with a hole in her heart, missing him, wishing they could still be friends, aching to feel his arms around her. This was not good news to Olivia. It meant she didn’t know her own heart. The only man she had ever yearned for that deeply was—
Connor handed her a bandanna. “It’s clean,” he said. “Wipe your face.”
Fourteen
Olivia’s most unsettling memories tended to hit in the darkest hours of the soft summer nights. Most days, everyone worked themselves into exhaustion and turned in early—with the exception of Olivia. Ordinarily, she had no trouble sleeping, but here at Camp Kioga, she often found herself wide awake. Her mind was on fire. Not just with unanswered questions about Jenny Majesky or with enthusiasm for a challenging job, but with memories. She walked outside with them. They flickered in the stars, which were so plentiful they seemed to spray the night sky with glitter. Through the mist, the white sliver of the moon cut an arc upon the black table of the lake.
A breeze rippled the water and she shivered, drawing her denim jacket more securely around herself. Living in the city, she forgot that there were places like this, places where she could be completely alone while her thoughts swirled through her head like a scream. It felt strange to hear only the singing of frogs and the rustle of wind through the trees. Strange, and maybe a little ominous.
She ought to head for bed. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day. Connor Davis was coming first thing in the morning with contracts from the plumbing and electrical subcontractors. A business meeting, she told herself. It was just a business meeting. Yet in her mind, she was already picking out her outfit. How pathetic was that?
Connor Davis. Why did she remember every touch, every kiss they had shared, years ago? Why could she still feel the exact imprint of his lips on hers, the precise taste of him, the rhythm of his heart as they embraced? It was crazy. Life had given her so much since she had come of age here at Camp Kioga, and then walked away. Why did she still feel trapped in that moment with him?
Because, when he’d taken her into his arms that day on the dance floor, all those feelings had come rushing back at her.
She sighed and turned to go into the dining hall, now the command center for the project. Might as well get some work done, since sleep was impossible. She turned on a light and perused the sketches and plans laid out on the tables and tacked to the wall. Maybe she would fix a pot of tea and mull things over.
She was going over her uncle’s plan for the gardens when a loud noise nudged her from her reverie. It took less than a second to identify it as a motorcycle engine. Oh, boy, she thought, unable to quell a thrill of nerves as she went to the front of the building to wait for him. She checked her watch—10:30 p.m. What was going on?
He drove up to the main entrance, killed the engine and light, and pulled the bike up on its kickstand. “Hope I didn’t wake you,” he said, taking off his helmet.
“I was up.” Mystified, she followed him inside. He smelled of old leather and wind, and his boots thudded on the planks of the floor as he crossed to the dining hall. He peeled off his gloves and flexed his fingers. “Colder than I thought tonight,” he said. “Froze my nuts off driving up here.”
“Sorry to hear it,” she said, feeling awkward.
“You planning on putting in phone service anytime soon?”
“It’s scheduled for next week.”
“Good. I don’t like driving ten miles up the mountain every time I need to talk to you.”
“So you need to talk to me.” She sat down on a bench. “What’s up?”
“I’ve got unexpected company coming for the summer. Just found out about it.” He sat down beside her, steepled the tips of his fingers together. “My brother, Julian.”
“You’re kidding. I remember Julian.” Did she ever. He was Connor’s half brother, and they’d grown up separately, Connor with their mother in Buffalo, and Julian…Gastineaux—she still remembered that name—with his dad in New Orleans. “That’s great,” she said. “Isn’t it?”
&nb
sp; “Who knows? It’s Julian, after all.”
He was a good ten years younger than Connor, she recalled, and had been a camper at Kioga back in 1997, the summer she and Connor had been counselors. “He was a handful when he was little,” she said.
“He’s seventeen now, just finished his junior year in high school. He and our mom live in California now, since she divorced Mel. Julian’s father died a few years back, so he’s with Mom now.”
To Olivia, the idea of losing her father seemed like something she would not survive. “How is he doing?”
“He took it hard, and yeah, he’s still a handful.”
“So he’s coming to visit you.”
“All summer long. He’s going to be working for me.”
“Well, that’s good. I’m sure we can keep him busy on this project.”
“It’s court ordered,” Connor said.
“Excuse me?”
“Julian tends to get in trouble. A lot. After his latest stunt, the juvenile-court judge gave him a choice—time in juvey, or he could remove himself to a different environment for the summer. This is a hell of a lot different from Chino, California.”
She couldn’t imagine taking in a teenager in trouble, even if he was a brother he barely knew. The responsibility must feel crushing. “That’s…very nice of you.”
“Yeah, well. I’m a very nice guy.”
“You always were.” She almost added, Up until you humiliated me and walked away, but refrained.
“He’s flying into LaGuardia on a red-eye and will take the early train up from the city, and I have to meet him.”
“Of course,” she said.
“I didn’t see this coming.” He blew out a weary-sounding breath.
“You couldn’t have. So, um, what sort of trouble is he in? If you don’t mind my asking.”
He flashed a grin. “How long have you got?”
“All night. Remember, no TV at Camp Kioga.” She shivered, hugged herself against the chill night air.
“I’ll make a fire.”
Now she was totally intrigued. And for the first time in her life, she was thrilled to be without phone service. If he had been able to call her, he wouldn’t be here now, lighting a cozy fire and pulling two armchairs close to the hearth. There was something elemental and, all right, fundamentally sexy, about a guy building a fire for a woman. Maybe it went back to caveman times. She felt a natural attraction to a man with the instinct to make a fire for her.
The dry logs caught quickly, and flames and sparks danced up the chimney. She watched the play of light on Connor’s broad shoulders. The flames danced over him, and her gaze was drawn inexorably to the shadows the firelight carved in his face.
All right, she thought. The first step was admitting it. She had a thing for Connor Davis. Again. Still. And this would not do at all. She was supposed to hold herself aloof, showing him what he’d missed out on when he’d blown his chance with her all those years ago.
“You all right?” He was looking at her strangely.
She realized she had been caught staring. “So you were going to tell me about your brother.”
“Right.” He lifted one hip and took out a wallet that had shaped itself to his body, a detail Olivia tried not to notice but couldn’t help herself. Connor handed her a photograph. “His school picture from last year.”
Julian Gastineaux had turned into one of the most singularly attractive boys she had ever seen. He had a perfect symmetry of bone structure and his smile was a sweet Cupid’s bow. He was biracial, with creamy skin the color of café au lait, dark eyes fringed by long thick lashes and an abundance of dreadlocks.
“He’s gorgeous,” she said. “Looks like an angel.”
Connor pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his jacket pocket and spread it on his knee. “He was cited for skateboarding down a spiral parking lot ramp, which actually sounds kind of fun to me, except he hit an oncoming car and went flying over the hood and roof.”
“Was he hurt?”
“No, but he damaged a late-model Lexus and scared the crap out of the driver. He was ordered to pay for repairs to the car, so he got a job as a lifeguard.”
“Makes perfect sense.”
“He was fired from that when they caught him doing gainers off the ten-meter diving platform.”
“I thought that was what a diving platform was for.”
“After hours, in the dark.”
“All right, maybe not that. So what else?”
He ran down a list of hair-raising adventures, each more dangerous than the last. Julian had “borrowed” a hang glider and went soaring off the Sansovino cliffs, dislocating his hip on landing. He had gone surfing in twenty-foot waves, bungee jumping off a bridge, spray painted his initials on a water tower and, on a dare, had ridden a stolen bike into the La Brea Tar Pits.
“And those are just the things we know about,” Connor finished. “When he turns eighteen, the record will go away, but only if he keeps his nose clean this summer. That’s where I come in.”
“The judge feels he’ll stay out of trouble if he spends the summer with you.” It sounded logical enough to Olivia.
“Honestly, I think the judge is trying to keep my mother from throwing him out.” He wadded up the printout and tossed it in the fire. “Anyway. Looks like I have a new project for the summer. And you’ve got a decision to make.”
“About…”
“Working with me.”
“You don’t think you can juggle Julian and this project?”
“I’m going to have to.”
“Then there’s nothing to decide. He’ll probably love it here.”
“Maybe you’d better think about it. The kid’s a maniac for risk taking.”
“This will work. And if his thrill seeking gets him in trouble, well, we have liability insurance.”
Connor looked startled, as if he hadn’t expected her to be so cooperative. “Thanks for understanding. I’ll be back tomorrow after I pick Julian up from the station.” Then he frowned.
“What is it?”
“Trying to figure out where to put him.”
“He won’t be staying with you?”
“I’ll have to find a rental for us in town, because I don’t have room. My place is a bit on the small side.”
“Your place.”
“It’s on the river road, between the glass art studio and Windy Ridge Farm.”
She now knew exactly where he lived. It was riverside land, a high meadow and sunny glade surrounded by maple and birch trees. The tiny Airstream trailer in the woods. “That’s your place?”
“Uh-huh.”
She tried not to appear startled, but failed.
He noticed her expression, and offered a grin that disappeared too quickly. “Home sweet home.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know.”
She felt badly, though, and blurted out, “Your brother can stay here. We’ve got nothing but room. Bunkhouses, staff cabins and that whole row of bungalows—”
“Thanks, but he’s going to need close supervision.”
“You could stay with him.” She tried to act as though this was all about being accommodating. In reality, it was all about getting Connor Davis to spend the summer at Camp Kioga instead of driving down the mountain every day at sunset. “It makes perfect sense,” she said. “You’re working here every day, anyway, and this will save you the commute.” Oh, smooth, Olivia. Very smooth.
“This is your family’s place,” he said. “You don’t need to provide housing for the help.”
She recognized the look on his face. It was the same look he’d worn when he was a kid, and people talked about his father. Terry Davis used to be the “help.” “Listen to you,” she said lightly. “Are you really that uncomfortable with this arrangement?”
He sat back in his chair, stretched his booted feet toward the fire and crossed them at the ankles. A silence stretched out to the point of discomfort. Each crackle of the
fire sounded like a gunshot.
“I guess I’m not, Lolly,” Connor said finally, amusement evident in his voice. “And what’s that look?”
“I wasn’t giving you a look.”
“Sure you were.”
She was, and he’d caught her. “You could have told your mother no,” she said. “You don’t have to take care of your brother for the summer. You know what I think? I think you act like a tough guy but it’s just a cover.”
He scowled. “A cover for what?”
“Your sweet, creamy center.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s me. Sweet.”
He was, she thought, even though he’d die before admitting it. Ever since she’d known him, he was keenly aware when someone was hurting. “Julian is the same age as Daisy,” she said, intending to seal the deal before he changed his mind. “They can keep each other from getting bored. It’ll be the bungalow colony all over again. Just like when we were their age.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Hey, we survived, and kids these days seem a lot more sophisticated than I was. If you share a cottage with Julian, you can keep tabs on him. Assuming,” she quickly added, “we have a deal.”
He stared at her for a long moment. His gaze seemed to be lingering on her mouth, and then her eyes. She had nearly forgotten his silences, forgotten that way he had of studying her as if he actually cared about was going on in her head. She felt her neck and cheeks growing warm.
“I guess we do, Lolly,” he said. “I guess we have a deal.”
Oh, God, she thought. What have I done?
“Now you’re staring,” he pointed out.
“Oh.” She blinked. “Sorry.”
He turned to walk out the door.
