Cabin by the Lake

by Desiree Douglas

  Kendall swung her attention back to Lydia. “Why are you still here?” she snapped.

  “I live here.”

  “You live here?” Kendall said, pointing her finger toward the floor.

  “No,” Mike interjected quickly. This was getting out of hand in a hurry. “She lives in the main house. “I’m staying here. By myself. Just me. Lydia and I are working on this project together.”

  Lydia thought he was over-explaining. Was it too embarrassing for him to let this skinny little snob think that she and Mike were sleeping under the same roof? Not that she wanted anyone to think that. But still, it was not unthinkable, she reasoned wildly. She and Mike could be making passionate love ten times a day here in this little cabin in the woods. Why was he so adamantly denying the possibility of that scenario? Who was this woman to him, and why did he feel the need to clarify their relationship?

  He seemed to read the mixed emotions that ran across her face, because he suddenly said, “This is not your business, Kendall.”

  “Not my business?” she asked innocently. She cut her eyes slyly toward Lydia and said, “My own fiancé is not my business?”

  Before he could even form a thought, Lydia met his eyes, and smiled as if in sudden understanding. She nodded her head slightly, turned, and walked calmly across the porch and down the steps.

  “Lydia,” she heard him call as she crossed the yard. “Lydia!” She didn’t turn around. He watched her disappear around the foliage on the pathway, dismayed at the scene that had just occurred. He’d successfully handled meetings with some of the most cut-throat people in the business, but he’d never felt as inept as he felt at this moment.

  He always knew Kendall was shallow and spoiled. He just never knew how vicious and mean she was. Or maybe he just hadn’t bothered to notice. She wasn’t that different from the other women who inhabited his world. He didn’t realize how inured he’d become to the snobby mannerisms of the elite society in which he was raised.

  His mother had never been there for him. He didn’t know why she’d bothered to have three children when she had no interest whatsoever in raising them. He bonded with nannies and housekeepers and cooks, but there had been no bedtime stories and a soft kiss on the cheek from his mother. The Statue, they called her, back when he and his siblings had still been friends. He dated clones of his mother, and hadn’t really thought much about it.

  Until now. Now that he’d met Lydia and Vivian, he saw a vast difference in the women he’d always been surrounded with and what he now thought of as real. Real, like the people he knew when he was working with the renovation crew, those were people who worked and loved and lived to the fullest. He never remembered laughing so hard as when he was with them.

  He slowly turned around to face Kendall. He was astounded that she could have been so cruel. “Why did you say that?” he asked, helpless to understand.

  “What difference does it make,” she said, bored, looking for a place on which to sit but finding nothing acceptable. She was not even remotely aware of the mine field she had stepped in.

  “You need to go,” he said softly.

  “I agree. I have a rental car waiting, and we can fly back home immediately.”

  “No, you need to go,” he clarified.

  She threw up her hands in disbelief. “Is it true, then? Have you gone insane? I didn’t want to believe it, but that’s what people are saying.”

  “Are they?”

  “Yes! Mike, what’s gotten into you?” She came close and put her hands on his shoulders. “Everything has been cleared up now,” she said in a soothing voice. “It’s okay. We know you’re innocent.”

  He took a sudden step backwards, thrusting her hands away as if they burnt him. “And where were you, Kendall, when all that was going on?” he asked bitterly.

  She had the decency to look down, embarrassed, and fussed with the fringe on her shoulder bag. “I didn’t know what the truth was,” she pouted, knowing she had no defense.

  He shook his head. “And you couldn’t have just trusted me?”

  Suddenly she knew her best defense was anger, and she didn’t hold back. “You looked so guilty, and you wouldn’t tell me anything, and I had a microphone shoved in my face everywhere I went! I looked like a complete fool! How do you think that made me feel?” she shouted.

  He wasn’t rising to the bait. He just didn’t care. She saw in his expression that he was slipping away, and she switched gears.

  “Oh, darling, I love you,” she said, finally able to wring tears from her eyes. “Please forgive me. You can’t blame me for—”

  He once again removed the hands that were clutching at him. “Go back home,” he said calmly, a defeated look on his face, a look that Kendall had never seen before.

  “But—”

  He took her upper arm and led her firmly through the door, down the steps and into the yard. “Follow the yellow brick road,” he said and disappeared into the cabin, closing the door behind him.

  Lydia and Vivian were sitting in the backyard when Kendall came wobbling through on heels that weren’t meant for hiking. She didn’t look at either of them, but her arms were pumping vigorously with each step and Lydia thought she looked like a spoiled child about to throw a temper fit. They watched in silence as she climbed the slope up the side yard and finally started her car, driving away with a screech of tires.

  “What did Barbie want?” Vivian asked.

  “She wanted Mike, apparently.”

  “I see. And?”

  “And I don’t think Mike Rodgers is homeless.”

  Chapter 14

  A lone boat droned across the lake in the distance as an early morning fisherman came home with his catch. Soon there would be much more traffic on the lake as the surrounding vacation homes filled with summer tourists. Lydia sat on the end of the pier with her feet dangling in the cold water. Dog lay in the sun beside her, opening one eye occasionally whenever she mumbled something aloud—and she was doing a lot of mumbling. It was already unseasonably warm for early spring and it looked as if it was going to be a hot day.

  She had not seen Mike since that disgusting scene with Kendall Riley the afternoon before. Vivian had called him to ask if he was coming for supper, and he turned her down, saying he had some work to catch up on. Her aunt walked over with a basketful of leftovers later, and had been quiet on the subject of Mike when she returned.

  Lydia hadn’t felt like talking anyway. She felt like a big schmuck, as if she’d been lied to. She had to admit that he hadn’t technically lied about anything. But she felt he had led her on to think that he was a poor drifter, just picking up odd jobs on his way to the next stop. Thinking about it now, she could see little things that she ignored because she had already made up her mind about him.

  But now things were coming together in her mind to make sense of him. She knew there were things she still didn’t know about him. She didn’t really know anything for sure. But when Kendall Riley showed up, she’d been smacked in the face with the realization that whatever world Mike had dropped out of, it was one she never imagined for him.

  Kendall Riley was a polished blue blood if ever she saw one. So what did that make Mike Rodgers? Out of her league, that’s what. And the real kicker, the fact that he was engaged, was what she couldn’t seem to get past. And he was engaged to that… that manicured monster?

  She could only assume that he had been slumming when he kissed her so passionately that night. She was merely handy, right there in the middle of a very romantic setting, and the kiss just happened. She could have sworn that, in that moment, Mike felt what she was feeling, but she was wrong. That meant that he was not the man she thought he was. He was a cheating dog, taking what he wanted whenever he wanted it, no matter who got hurt.

  Obviously he regretted the kiss; it had been an impulsive act, and that’s why he had the sudden turnaround the next day. He cooled it for a reason; he was engaged to Kendall Riley!

  She irritably kicke
d her foot out of the water sending beads of sparkling droplets into the sunlight. Of all the women in the world, she would never have matched up Mike with Kendall. “Kendall,” she muttered in a high-pitched imitation of the socialite’s voice. “Hi, I’m Kendall and I’m prettier than you.” Dog opened his eyes, decided that everything was okay, and went back to sleep.

  Of course she was jealous. That didn’t make any sense because she never had a chance with Mike anyway. And who would want that cheater? she reminded herself. Still, the worm of jealousy ate into her brain as she compared herself to that snooty socialite and found herself coming up short.

  Kendall’s sun-streaked hair had been blown out to perfection, swinging around her shoulders when she walked, like a model in front of a wind machine. Lydia slipped a rubber band from her wrist and pulled her own hair back into a low pony tail.

  Enough! She was going to the cabin. She had more right to be there than Mike, and if her presence made him uncomfortable, then he could just go back to wherever he came from. He could go back to Kendall Riley and they would all be happy. What was he doing here, anyway! She growled in frustration.

  She reached over and ruffled the fur on the dog’s neck. “Come on, Dog,” she said. “Let’s get at it.” Dog got up slowly and stretched, and she thought he must be getting pretty old. He ambled along beside her as they walked the length of the pier, setting the pace at an easy stroll. Neither of them wanted to break a sweat.

  Before they reached the path, she saw Mike headed their way. This is it, she thought. Would he have explanations? Apologies?

  He threw up his hand and smiled. “I was just coming to look for you,” he said easily. “I’m headed up to the garage. I saw some paint in there the other day, and I thought we should have a look to see if anything is usable.”

  “Sounds good,” she said, changing her direction to match his. Dog peeled off and headed for his spot on the back porch.

  So, this was the way it was going to be. Just ignore everything that happened with Kendall at the cabin yesterday like nothing was wrong. She could do that. In fact, it would probably be much easier than talking everything to death. Really, he was nothing to her now except a source of expertise and muscle to help get the cabin in shape for Aunt Vivian to rent out.

  The wooden double doors swung out from the middle on hinges, letting sunlight pour into the dark garage. Dust motes swirled as they entered. There were years of accumulated tools, machinery and stored items, but everything was neatly arranged, just like Uncle Todd left it. Tools were lined up, hanging from pegboards, each tool carefully outlined with a marker to show where the hammer or adze or screwdriver should be replaced when done. Several outlines showed missing items and she recognized them as tools they were using at the cabin.

  Mike led her to a neatly stacked shelf of cans along the left wall, drips of dried paint on the sides of the cans indicating the color inside.

  “How much do you think we’ll need?” She picked up the closest can and shook it. “This one sounds nearly empty.”

  “There are not that many cabinets, so anything close to a gallon should be more than enough, even with two coats.”

  “Here’s a beige color.” She set it on the floor.

  “This one may be too dark, but here’s one that looks like it may be in the ballpark.” He took a screwdriver from his back pocket to pry up the two lids. “Let’s have a look.”

  Inside, the paint was coagulated and smelled sour in one can and the other was more of a brown color. “Next!” he said, setting the can aside and picking up another. “Hey, here’s your red.”

  “Nope, that’s raspberry, so keep looking. Oh, I found black. That might come in handy.”

  “Found a can of primer; we’ll need that.” He peered inside and sniffed. “Looks good, too.”

  Lydia pulled down a heavier can. “I don’t think this one’s even been opened. There’s a little paint smudge on top and it looks pretty good, but the lid is too dirty to tell for sure.” She pried the lid off and looked in. “I need something to stir with.”

  “Here’s a whole stack of stir sticks,” he said, selecting one from a pile next to the cans and handing it over. “Your uncle Todd was a very organized man.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “He was OCD about neatness. Everything had its place and everything should be in its place. Drove Aunt Vi crazy in the house. But here in the garage, it was his domain and he kept it the way he liked it.”

  “It sure did make it easy for me. I just came in here and shopped like I was at a hardware store. I haven’t thought of a thing yet that we’ll need that I haven’t already seen in here.”

  “He was quite the woodworker,” she said, checking to see if the paint was mixing well. “He made those Adirondack chairs on the pier.”

  “Nice work.” Mike bent his head to look into the can, his face close to hers.

  Too close.

  “Here,” she said, suddenly abandoning the wooden stirrer and shifting back on her heels. “My arm’s getting tired. It’s your turn to stir.”

  He noticed her abrupt move, and took over. But not before he caught a whiff of that fresh scent of—what? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, some kind of citrus, he thought, but it reminded him of that night on the shore when he was drawn to her like a moth to flame. The scent was so subtle, he had the urge to lean over and smell it again so he could zero in on exactly what it was, but thought better of it.

  While he took his turn stirring, she looked uneasily over her shoulder toward the back of the garage where the sunlight didn’t reach. Her eyes scanned the shadowy loft and she had that odd sensation of being watched again. Ridiculous. When did she get so jumpy?

  “It’s coming together,” he said, holding up the stick and letting it drip into the can.

  “You don’t think it’s too light?” She looked at it dubiously. “We don’t want white.”

  “It usually dries darker,” he explained. “Let’s let this stick dry and we’ll be able to tell then.” He wiped the excess paint from the stick on the lip of the can and handed it to her while he hammered on the lid.

  “Okay, so we’ve got this and a small can of black, and the primer. We’ll need brushes and rollers.”

  As expected, they were able to choose what they needed from a wall of carefully cleaned brushes that looked old, but had been well taken care of. They placed them in a couple of paint trays, loaded everything into a wheelbarrow and headed out with their haul.

  He stopped, snapped his fingers, and grabbed three pints of different shades of stain, adding them to the pile. “Can you think of anything else?” He looked around.

  She shrugged. “How about this tarp?”

  “Throw it in; it can’t hurt.” He steered the wheelbarrow out of the garage and she closed the doors, careful to hold the wet paint stick away from her clothing.

  As the doors closed behind them, Rocco stood up in the loft. He stuck the gun back into the waistband of his pants. He could have easily shot them both, right then and there, but he wanted some hands-on time with Lydia. He needed it. He grinned in the darkness as he lit a cigarette, and anyone watching would have seen the insanity burning in his eyes.

  Stalking Lydia was a full-time job, one that he found greatly rewarding. He fingered the binoculars hanging around his neck. He’d found them, along with the gun, in the cabin he’d broken into. Rich people were so stupid, he thought, leaving their valuables just lying around for the taking. He was amazed at his good fortune. God was on his side for sure, and soon—very soon—Lydia would get what she deserved.

  As Rocco smoked, Mike and Lydia arrived back at the cabin. By then, the paint stick had dried, and she was over the moon with the color. “It’s perfect,” she said. “And more importantly, it’s another free thing that Aunt Vi won’t have to shell out money for.”

  “It’s a little thing,” he agreed, “but every cent counts.”

  She wondered at his statement. He definitely knew how to stretch a doll
ar, but from the impression she got yesterday, seeing him with that Kendall Riley, she suspected that he didn’t have to count his pennies. Whatever. It was none of her business.

  He had completed sanding the inside cabinets the night before, so they were ready to begin priming. She wanted to continue to work on the doors, so he primed the cabinet boxes inside while she stuck with the sawhorse area in the yard. It was better, she thought, to work separately when possible. He’d set the tone for the day, and she was grateful that they could just avoid unpleasantness and continue with the work. Most of their conversations had been impersonal, and directly related to the renovation.

  He had asked her why she was free this morning, and she’d explained that she worked late into the night and was all caught up. She didn’t say that the work she did was on her own self, trying to heal her wounded ego. But that was the extent of their personal conversation, and she meant to keep it that way. Strictly professional.

  His phone had rung several times this morning and he either ignored it or checked it quickly and returned it to his pocket. She guessed that after Kendall’s visit, things were heating up for him. She herself had once again forgotten her phone back at the house. She didn’t know why carrying a phone at all times was so hard for her to remember. She supposed she wasn’t used to it yet, and the phone was just too much trouble to keep up with.

  The morning passed quickly and when Vivian and Dog showed up, she was finishing the last door and was ready for the sandwiches her aunt brought. Mike came outside, primer smeared on his hands, and gave Vivian a kiss on the cheek. “It’s about time,” he said. “I’m starving.” He came down the steps and knelt beside Dog, ruffling his coat and making his tail wag back and forth.

  Lydia wondered at the easy affection she saw taking place between Mike and her aunt. She no longer considered him to be any kind of threat to Vivian, and she was now sure he was not playing at some kind of catfish game. But she also was not sure that Vivian wasn’t going to be hurt in the long run when everything about Mike Rodgers came to light and he went back to his real life—whatever that was—leaving her aunt feeling as if her adopted son abandoned her.