Fresh Tracks

by Georgia Beers

  Synopsis

  Seven women, seven days. A lot can happen. There are three things that Amy Forrester loves most in the world: Jo, her wife of fifteen years; spending time with her closest friends; and her cabin in the woods. What better way to spend the week between Christmas and New Year's than having all three! When she invites her three best friends to join her and Jo in their mountain hideaway, all she expects is good food, fine wine, and lively conversation. Unfortunately for Amy, there are three things that she doesn't count on: her best friend's relationship is falling apart; her two other friends share a secret that causes nothing but conflict and discomfort; and the arrival of Jo's fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants niece Darby, who has a habit of leaving broken hearts in her wake. Childhood friends, new lovers, and old rivals share beginnings, endings, and the uncommon bonds of friendship in a story filled with romance and possibility.

  Fresh Tracks

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Fresh Tracks

  © 2006 By Georgia Beers. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-316-7

  This electronic book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.,

  New York, USA

  First Edition: November 2006

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editors: Jennifer Knight and Stacia Seaman

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design By Sheri (graphicartist2020@hotmail.com)

  By the Author

  Too Close To Touch

  Fresh Tracks

  Mine

  Finding Home

  Acknowledgments

  My posse came through for me yet again. Most sincere thanks to Stacy Harp, Steff Obkirchner, and Jackie Ciresi. Their sharp eyes, warm hearts, and honesty made this a much better book.

  Once again, thank you to Jennifer Knight, my editor and Guru of All Things Writing. I couldn’t ask for a better teacher and hope she’s always up for helping me with the next lesson. She sees things I miss, she suggests things I never thought of, and just when I’m ready to throw in the towel and give up on writing altogether, she comes through with a compliment or a pat on the back and I’m her willing student once again. Anything Jennifer misses (and there isn’t much, believe me), Stacia Seaman picks up with her Eagle Eyes of the English Language. Because of these two amazing editors, my story is so much more than it was when I started and I owe them both a world of thanks.

  As always, unending appreciation to Radclyffe and the entire staff of Bold Strokes Books. Every day, I realize how lucky I am to be part of such an incredible publishing company. Connie, Lori, Sheri, Lee, Paula, and the whole gang that works behind the scenes: thank you for taking such good care of us authors. You are all inspirational.

  Forever and always, my eternal, loving gratitude to my partner and wife, Bonnie Mowry. I don’t know how she’s put up with me and my idiosyncrasies for all these years, but I’m so glad she has. She’s not the luckiest girl in the world. I am. I love you, baby.

  Dedication

  To Bonnie

  I don’t know how,

  but it just keeps getting better...

  Monday, December 26

  Preparations

  “The weather looks like it’s going to be beautiful for the whole week, babe.” Jo Cooper sipped her coffee as she read the paper. She was a beacon of calm in the otherwise hurricane-like whirlwind of her wife. Whenever they had to ready the house for guests, Jo affectionately referred to Amy as The Cleaning Machine. The rules were simple: stay alert and stay out of the way or you’d be sucked up and disposed of with the rest of the grime.

  “Any snow?” Amy whipped a cloth over the small dining table as she asked the question.

  Jo raised the paper and her cup without missing a beat, her eyes never leaving the column she was reading. After fifteen years with Amy Forrester, she knew the maneuvers well. “Probably around Wednesday and then a little more toward the end of the week. No big storms in the area, though. Should be perfect.”

  “Thank God.” The last thing Amy wanted was for her friends to either be snowed in and regret ever coming, or to not be able to get there at all. The cabin wasn’t terribly far from the city--a little over an hour--but the snow could be a very deterring factor when it came to driving any farther than a few minutes, even for those born and raised in upstate New York and used to the winters. Driving in a snowstorm was nothing to fool with, and their location was fairly remote. Better safe than sorry. “I’m going to need you to get the extra table leaf—maybe two of them—from the basement for me,” she said as she regarded the small table. “And the chairs.”

  “Whatever you want.” Jo finished reading and folded the paper neatly, holding her lukewarm cup between her hands while she watched her wife with a smile.

  Amy’s wavy red hair was pulled back into a haphazard ponytail, wisps of it escaping and dangling around her ears. Her face was devoid of any makeup, the peaches-and-cream complexion dotted all over with faded freckles. Nobody would ever peg her for a day over thirty-five, but in reality, Amy was forty-two and just as sexy and beautiful as the first time Jo had ever laid eyes on her. Dressed in what she called her “cleaning sweats,” she flitted around the house, dusting tabletops and straightening knick-knacks. She’d pulled the sleeves of her long-sleeved black T-shirt up to her elbows and the old, ratty gray sweatpants clung to her hips like a small child to its mother. Jo felt a familiar tingle low in her body as Amy bent to pick up a dust bunny from the floor. When she made her way past the table, Jo hooked a finger into the waistband of the sweats and pulled back until Amy plopped into her lap.

  “Honey, I’m cleaning,” Amy whined in protest.

  “I see that.” Jo buried her face in the crook of her neck and nuzzled.

  “Stop it. I’m gross.”

  “You’re never gross. You’re gorgeous.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “I love the way you smell.” Jo inhaled deeply to prove her point.

  “Like Pledge and Windex?”

  “Exactly. It’s intoxicating.”

  Amy slapped playfully at her. “I’ve got work to do, you brute. Let go.”

  Jo nipped at the side of Amy’s neck as her long fingers ventured under the hem of the T-shirt, gently teasing over the bare skin. “Nobody will be here until later.”

  Amy squirmed and her voice was suddenly hoarse as she felt Jo’s hand sliding up her torso. “Joanna.” Trying for sternness and failing miserably.

  “There’s plenty of time.”

  Amy closed her eyes. She was used to her inability to resist Jo’s touch, but her brain surprised her by taking control away from her untrustworthy libido. She caught Jo’s hand through the fabric and stopped its progress just before it could close over her bare breast. She pecked Jo on the cheek and hopped off her lap. Jo blinked in surprise and then narrowed her eyes, smiling with playful wolfishness.

  “Later.” Amy held her hands up in a placating gesture. “I promise.”

  “Don’t think I’m not going to collect on that.”

  “I’m counting on the fact that you will.” Amy’s eyes twinkled.

  “It’s really not fair that you wear your cleaning sweats with
no bra or underwear. You know that, right?”

  Amy winked and dragged the vacuum cleaner from a nearby closet. “Hey, I have to keep the upper hand somehow.”

  “You always have and always will have the upper hand. And you know it.”

  Amy clicked on the machine, the smug expression of satisfaction on her face saying she knew Jo was exactly right about that.

  “And you use it to your advantage every chance you get,” Jo shouted over the humming. Amy grinned, but didn’t look up from the floor.

  Jo got to her feet and headed for the back hallway, reluctantly moving her thoughts to the tasks she needed to complete outdoors. The cold air would do her good, help to cool her heated blood. Her sexual attraction to her partner had never let up, not once in all the years they’d been together. They seemed to have the healthiest sex life of any of their friends, a fact of which she was absurdly proud. She knew how common it was for the sex drives of women to taper off as they aged, but hers had stayed strong through her forties. Turning fifty last year hadn’t changed a thing--she still felt the urge to chase Amy around the bedroom, and did just that.

  Smiling at the thought, she stepped into her boots, donned her coat, and tromped through the snow in the back yard of the cabin to the giant pile of split wood stacked neatly near the edge of the trees. Although she loved their house in the city--there was something wonderful about the hustle and bustle, being five minutes from everything, knowing your neighbors-- the peacefulness she felt at the cabin was incomparable. She could literally feel herself breathe a sigh of relief whenever she pulled into the driveway, every muscle in her body relaxing and every worry on her mind flying right out of her head to be dealt with at another time. She needed this respite from everyday life and tried to get out to the cabin as often as possible.

  Jo stopped walking and stood completely still. The sky was a brilliant blue, the fresh snow blanketing the ground in a blinding white, glistening as though there were tiny pieces of cut glass sprinkled across the surface. She inhaled the cold, crisp air, letting it freeze her lungs and awaken her senses. The gentle quiet filled her ears, broken only by the chattering sound of the winter birds feasting at the feeders Amy had scattered around the property. In the distance, she could hear something else, another inhabitant of the woods working diligently. A squirrel, perhaps? A small deer? She let the peace of nature wash over her and felt…home.

  The cabin had belonged to Amy’s family for more than a century. It started out as nothing more than a shack and gradually, additions were built, walls and foundations were reinforced, the garage was added, more land was cleared.

  The Forrester family owned a total of seventy-five acres around it, so the peacefulness was guaranteed. Nobody would be building next door. Ever, if Jo had any say. Amy’s mother had died when Amy was just a teenager and ownership of the cabin was passed down to Amy, her brother, and her sister in equal shares after their father died five years ago. It soon became clear to everybody that Amy’s siblings had neither the time nor the desire to visit the cabin, and it made perfect sense for Amy to buy them out. She had done so happily and over the past three years, she and Jo had spent as many weekends and vacations as possible fixing, repairing, and remodeling the place.

  Sometimes Amy was too busy with the restaurant she owned and Jo came up alone, whiling away her spare time by lovingly transforming the house into what they wanted. It could hardly be called a cabin at this point. It was nicer than most people’s homes. The giant master suite in the back on the first floor was Jo’s pride and joy. She had surprised her wife with a sunken Jacuzzi tub surrounded by windows and skylights. Soaking in the tub encircled by candles was Amy’s favorite way to relax after a long and stressful day; Jo would never forget the look on her face and the grateful tears glimmering in her eyes when she saw the newly remodeled master bath for the first time. It made her thank all the gods above that she’d decided on a career as a contractor.

  The second floor held two more bedrooms and a full bath tucked between them. A large stone fireplace and hearth was the centerpiece of the living room, perfect for creating ambiance at this time of year. There was a furnace, but Jo preferred to heat with wood whenever possible. The beige and deep hunter green kitchen was state-of-the-art, with nothing but the best Corian countertops, ceramic tile floor, and the most modern appliances for Amy, who was the most fantastic cook Jo had ever known.

  I am a lucky woman. The thought crossed her mind as she loaded up an armful of logs. Life had been good to her. She didn’t like to dwell on the fact, for fear she might jinx things, so when the phrase did go zipping through her brain, she’d often freeze and then glance around in paranoia as though expecting a bus to come speeding out of nowhere and run her down or a plane to plummet from the sky and squish her into a pancake.

  Back in the cabin, Amy was still cleaning feverishly, a fine sheen of sweat covering her forehead. Jo dumped the logs into their cast iron holder near the fireplace.

  “Do you want me to start the fire now, Your Highness?”

  Amy quirked a brow at the title. “Why yes, lowly servant. That would be lovely.”

  Jo shed her winter outerwear and went to work with newspaper and kindling. “Who’s coming first?”

  “Molly and Kristin should be here this afternoon.” Amy ticked the guests off on her fingers. “Sophie will be here tonight. Laura can’t make it until Wednesday morning.”

  “Well, the place looks terrific.”

  Amy looked around. “I hate to say it, but I think I’m done.”

  Jo grinned as she struck a long match against its flint. “Honey, you’ve been cleaning nonstop since six o’clock this morning. The place isn’t that big.” She set flame to paper. “And frankly, it wasn’t that dirty.”

  “All the sheets are clean. All the rooms are vacuumed. Everybody’s got fresh towels. I’ve got enough food.”

  “More than enough food.”

  “We’ve got enough alcohol.”

  “More than enough alcohol.”

  “More than enough alcohol.” As if pulled magnetically, Amy dropped her butt onto the plaid couch and finally let out a whew.

  “Nice work, baby.”

  “Right back atcha, love.”

  “I didn’t do much. Watching you clean is hardly work.”

  “Snow-blowing the driveway is tough. Don’t sell yourself short. Plus, the way you build a fire is practically an art form.” Amy watched her wife’s hands as they expertly placed small logs, coaxing the fire to consume more. Could it be considered an art form? Fire building? It should have been, as far as Amy was concerned.

  She studied Jo as she crouched in front of the fireplace. Jo’s curly, chestnut brown hair just brushed along the nape of her neck and had begun to show just the slightest sprinkling of gray over the past couple years. Her skin was smooth and her brown eyes were soft and kind. Amy allowed her eyes to linger on Jo’s strong back before traveling along the deceptively powerful body. Jo was nearly six feet tall and very lean. But lean wasn’t the same as skinny, and her wife often shocked onlookers with her strength and vigor. It was a good trait to have up her sleeve working in the male-dominated field of contracting and construction. Jo always pulled more than her weight, much more, and Amy admired her like no other. She had fallen head over heels in love with Jo fifteen years ago and that hadn’t changed, not even a little.

  When the flames were steady and a pleasant crackling emanated from the fire, Jo set the black screen in place and stood, brushing her hands along her jean-clad thighs. She surveyed her handiwork for several minutes before giving one quick nod of satisfaction. She stepped back and sat next to Amy, automatically lifting an arm so Amy could tuck herself against the body she knew and loved so well.

  “How’s that for a fire?”

  “It’s perfect, as usual.” They sat quietly, mesmerized by the hypnotic blue and orange of the flames licking sensuously along the wood. “I feel like we’ve been running nonstop for days.”

&n
bsp; Jo smiled against Amy’s hair. “That’s because we have.” From two days before Christmas until the previous night when they’d arrived at the cabin, their schedule had been jam-packed. “You want me to call everybody and tell them not to come? That we’re too old for this shit and the week in the woods has been cancelled?”

  She felt more than heard Amy chuckle. “After all my work today? Have you lost your mind? What good is my spotlessly clean house if nobody sees it but you?”

  “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

  “It’ll be fun. I’m looking forward to having an uninterrupted week with our friends.”

  Jo nodded. “Me, too.”

  After a few beats of silence, Amy said, “I hope they like each other.”

  “It’s not like they’ve never met.”

  “I know, but a fleeting introduction at a couple of parties isn’t quite the same as spending a week holed up with one another.”

  Sensing her wife careening down a new path of worry, Jo headed her off at the pass. “It’ll be fine, baby. Don’t worry. Our friends are all good people. Good people like one another. It’ll be fine. Okay?”

  Amy inhaled deeply and let her breath out a little at a time until she felt relaxed. She burrowed farther into Jo’s embrace. “Okay, boss.”

  Molly

  The day was gorgeous and went a long way toward helping Molly DiPrima take a deep breath and relax as she drove along the country roads that would lead her to Amy and Jo’s cabin in the woods. The sky was so blue it almost seemed artificial, and she’d been pleasantly surprised to have to don her sunglasses as she settled into the driver’s seat. Gray was the common color for this time of year in upstate New York, and an appearance by the sun did much to lighten moods. The farther away from the city she got, the more relaxed she felt. Actually, the farther away from her life she got, the more relaxed she felt, and that made her sad.