by Sue Gibson
A low chuckle generated from Ethan's side of the car. The gentle shaking of his body told her that he was enjoying her agitation.
"It's not funny," she insisted. "First you throw me a lifeline, then laugh when it misses me by a mile."
"I'm sorry. Don't be mad," he apologized. "It's just that I see you as the perfect person to make the pitch for funds" He sobered suddenly. "You're a bright woman working on the front lines. But your most powerful asset"-he covered her hands with his-"is your passion."
Lily looked up. His face was mere inches from hers. "My passion?" Her voice trembled. Surely he meant for fish. She'd been playing it cool all evening, ignoring him just the right amount. Masking her excitement when he arrived at the meeting. Polite, yet removed.
"You are a rare breed, Lily Greensly," he whispered, lifting her chin with his fingertip. Her pulse quickened and she lowered her eyes, afraid to meet his gaze. "Most people have long since lost any enthusiasm for what they do. I see you as the only one ... ," he paused, his gaze tangling with her own, and stumbled with his words, "to make the pitch for funds."
Feminine instinct, as old and as strong as the mountains, told her that by midsentence his head had won a battle with his heart.
His breath mingled with hers and her resolve to remain unaffected dissolved. She ached to be in his arms. A tiny sigh escaped from her lips. All ability to continue with pretense flooded from her body and she leaned incrementally closer.
His lips brushed hers-a whisper of a kiss, a butterfly tasting nectar, then flitting away.
Her arms crept to circle his neck and he tugged her closer, as if any space at all was too much. He groaned softly and her lips softened under his kiss. His heart pounded through his shirt, and their kiss deepened.
Doug's kisses had never made her feel this way. Lost in a completely vulnerable and deliciously exciting place, her worries didn't so much fall away as they imploded on impact.
His hand slid into her hair, caressing the back of her head. Her fingers traced the rough stubble of his jawline before winding into his thick hair. The rain cocooned the car with its steady rhythm, its drumming only white noise.
Yellow light burned through Lily's closed eyelids, dragging her back to reality. Rick's voice crackled through tiny speakers set into the thick privacy glass. "The Hideaway, sir."
Lily stared uncomprehendingly at the tinted glass before locking eyes with Ethan once again. They couldn't possibly have covered the three miles from Buttermilk Falls already. Slowly, her hands slid from his neck and Ethan shifted to the side. Pressing a small button beside the speaker he replied in a strained tone, "Thanks, Rick. Keep the car running, I'm walking Miss Greensly to her door."
"There's no point in both of us getting soaked," Lily protested as Ethan struggled to take off his jacket.
He shot her a look that booked no rebuttal and reached across to pop the door handle open. "Let's make a run for it."
He covered their heads with his leather jacket as they skirted the mud puddles already pooling on the graveled path. Taking the back porch steps two at a time they skidded to a stop under a small canvas awning.
Other than the dim bulb burning above the back door, the house was dark. The Greenslys' door hadn't been locked in her lifetime, but nonetheless she rummaged industriously in her purse for keys.
"Here's Pete Southerland's number, Lily." He handed her a business card. "If you like I can help with the proposal. Not that you couldn't handle it on your own."
The philanthropist looking for a worthy causeshe'd almost forgotten all about him. "Er ... yes. I'd love some help"
"I'm due back in the Toronto office tomorrow afternoon, but how about a breakfast meeting?"
Breakfast with Ethan? In ten short hours? "Sounds good."
"The coffee shop in Buttermilk Falls okay?"
She pushed the door open with her shoulder. "Perfect. I'll be there."
She stuck her nose through the crack. "What time, Ethan?"
"How about I pick you up? Eight too early?"
"I'll be ready"
He peered through the slim opening. "Well. I guess it's good night."
"Yes. Good night and thank you for the ride." Lily called to his departing back, instantly regretting the ridiculously lame remark.
She leaned against the kitchen door and examined the evening. They had been talking business and the next thing she knew she was in his arms. Again.
And no mention of Osprey Island. Wait till Delaney heard about this. But did that mean it was off the table for good?
Hope streamed into her heart. He kissed her because he wanted to, not to sway her decision to sell.
She glanced at the clock. Ten-thirty. She chewed her lip. Tomorrow was Delaney's day to pack her scissors and curlers and visit the seniors in Tay Valley's nursing home. The owner of Buttermilk Falls' beauty shop/art gallery traveled the thirty twisting miles twice a month and put in a marathon day of sets and perms.
Not a good time for a late-night conference with her best friend, Lily decided, and began to spread her damp notes to dry on the table, her gaze lingering on the scrawled details of the dance.
Her hands stilled as she pictured slow-dancing with Ethan on the town hall's deck, a warm breeze drifting in from the lake. In her mind, they swayed to a bluesy love song.
Don't be silly. Her hair flew around her face as she shook her head. He's probably way too busy. She'd glanced his way during the discussion about the dance and he'd looked disinterested, preoccupied. Whatever he had been thinking about, it sure wasn't the dance.
She stood frozen on the black-and-white vinyl tile, the ticking of Grandpa's clock the only sound, and realized she was falling for a guy she knew basically nothing about.
Except that for the moments she was in his arms she felt safe, special.
"Is that you Lily?" Jared Greensly called out in a sleep-heavy voice.
Her hand jerked from the pile of papers. "Yes, Dad. It's me."
Twenty four-year-old me, who likes quiet country living, drifting across the lake at dawn and eating beans straight out of a can while sitting on the rocky ledges of Loon Lake.
Her life read like an ad in the paper's personalswell, except for the bean lunches, she decided. Just tack on: "Seeking a man who believes in unconditional love and happily ever after." Yes, and the men will be lined up from here to Buttermilk Falls. She snorted softly and began to tread up the worn wooden steps. Pausing at the landing window, she cleared a peephole in the fogged glass with the tip of her finger. She peered into the darkness.
Was there anybody out there for her?
Lights twinkled on from across the bay. She pressed her nose to the glass. It was the first time she'd noticed the Nirvana's lights. A long sigh escaped, refogging the pane.
Was Ethan the one? Longing welled in her heart and she struggled to control the sudden onslaught of emotions.
Her hands balled to fists at her sides. No. I won't put myself through misery a second time.
They lived in different worlds, needed different things. He'd never be happy living quietly on the shores of Loon Lake. She wouldn't survive in a noisy, dirty city schmoozing nightly with the who's-who crowd. And how could she expect him to understand the loyalty she felt to her parents and Grandpa Greensly when he was so disconnected from his own?
She plodded upward. Notwithstanding the fantastic kisses, they were completely incompatible. It was hopeless. Anyway, with Osprey Island off the table and the Nirvana almost finished he'd be out of her life soon enough.
Ethan maneuvered through stacks of unpacked boxes and plastic-wrapped lobby furniture as he hurried toward the lobby's front windows. Hot coffee sloshed over his fingers, leaving a trail of amber drops to mark his path. But even the disgusting brew from the canteen truck tasted great this morning.
He raised his arm and waved hello to the construction crew gathering on the deck.
He'd fallen asleep listening to the loons and had woken thinking about Lily. It was clear
she wasn't mad at him anymore. Her response to his kisses had proven that, but did she trust him? He was determined to keep their private and business mat ters separate. He wanted her trust, even if she never agreed to sell the island.
He slowed his steps. Abandon the helipad idea? The concept that had brought his father onboard?
Just yesterday, his father had called from England and had inquired about the acquisition. The senior Weatherall's derisive snort had traveled easily from across the ocean when Ethan told him it wasn't a done deal.
He studied the island directly in front of him. There has got to be a way.
Streaks of orange and yellow colored the lake as fingers of light stretched across the bay. A flock of tiny black birds fluttered through his view and quickly disappeared into the dark forest.
Abandoning his island dilemma for the time being, he wondered, could the hotel prepare a directory of sorts for their guests? Something to identify the local birds and animals for patrons who didn't come to the Nirvana just to fish?
He patted his breast pocket for his e-pad and realized he'd left it in his briefcase.
The sun climbed higher. Would Lily guide Hideaway guests later today? He banked down a jealous stirring as he thought of Lily sharing her day with some lucky fisherman.
He checked his watch and his mood brightened. With a final glance to the eastern view he turned and headed to the rear of the hotel and the waiting limousine.
Marion Greensly's head turned toward the sound of crunching gravel. "He's here," she called out to her daughter. "Even his car sounds expensive. My, you're going to make quite a stir when you two pull up in front of the Bluebird Cafe."
Lily knew her mother was referring to the group of woman who met each morning at the Bluebird for steaming coffee and hot gossip before striking out on their morning constitutional. The Gad-About Girls, mostly blue-haired and dressed in pastel tracksuits, liked nothing better than a fresh snippet of news to discuss while they walked the village streets.
Lily reached for her sweater, a shiver of excitement shooting down her spine, and grinned. "I know. But it's worth it, Mom. If Ethan can help me put a proposal together that will bring money to our project, then it's worth braving the Gad-About's lair.
Marion opened her arms to her daughter and Lily stepped into the embrace. "It's great to hear you so excited," the older woman whispered and gave her a gentle push toward the door.
"I could never do something like that," Lily stated, shaking her head and pressing her palms against the chrome tabletop.
"Of course you can. Everybody does it. I did it before I left the hotel this morning." Ethan shoved his fork into the heaping mound of home fries. "These potatoes are great. I usually just grab a coffee for breakfast, but I'm starving this morning."
"It's easy for you to be so . . " She searched for the right word. "Offhand. But I'm not sure it's even allowed out here"
He glanced up from his plate at her indignant comment, grabbed a paper napkin, and pressed it to his mouth as laughter shook his body.
Lily knew all eyes were on their table and lowered her voice. "It was only last May when our phone lines were upgraded to Internet capability. And it still takes hours to download files sent from Dr. Nesbitt's office. A three-way conference call with Mr. Southerland in Alberta? I don't think so, mister."
"You may have a point. The lines at the Hideaway probably don't support call-conferencing, but the Nirvana's certainly do. We paid good money for the feed line in from the main highway. Wouldn't have built the hotel without it."
He broke a strip of bacon with his fork as he considered the problem.
His face cleared and he touched the napkin to his lips. "Just use the phone in my suite at the Nirvana."
Lily slumped in her chair before rebounding with, "Why don't I just send Mr. Southerland an e-mail explaining our mandate?" The idea of Ethan listening in while she blathered on to a complete stranger was unnerving, to say the least.
He reached across the table and captured her fidgeting fingers, the laughter gone from his eyes.
"I'm sorry I laughed, Lily, but if my years in the hotel business have taught me anything, it's this: The personal touch, the inside track, the right introductions are essential tools. Use them" His eyes pleaded with her. "Let me help you make that first step. I'll mention a charity golf tournament we both attend"-he threw his arms up, palms flattened-"and then I'll back right off. Hang up, even. You're on your own after that."
She considered his words in silence, aware he was watching as she struggled with her decision.
Did she want to be in debt to Ethan Weatherall? Even owe him a favor? Their relationship was muddied enough. Neither one had mentioned the kiss.
He broke into her thoughts. "The conference call is important. I want you to hear everything I say to him. If he decides to direct some funds to the Friends of Loon Lake it will be your doing, not mine. All credit goes to you"
Could she turn down this opportunity and live with the consequences? She glanced through the window toward the Tay River that fed into Loon Lake. The water trickled over the glistening rocks. The bubbling falls the village was named after only appeared in the early spring, during the spring runoff.
"Maybe if I wrote out some notes first, you know. In case my mind goes blank," she said tentatively.
He smiled and tipped his head to the side as he studied her face. "I knew you had it in you. Last night, when you were talking about your work, your face lit up, your hands were flying. All eyes were on you, and I bet you didn't even notice."
A blush of color warmed her face and she shook her head. "That was easy. I knew everyone"
He pushed a large envelope toward her. "I printed off Pete Southerland's bio for you. There's personal and business stuff in there. Put you more on an even footing in the conversation."
"Thanks" She slid the envelope from the table into the cotton bag nestled between her feet. "That actually helps a lot. Is there a picture of him in there?"
"There is. A shot of him with his wife and children, I believe." Ethan smiled, apparently very pleased with his attention to detail.
"Okay. I'll do it." Lily pushed her plate to the side with a shaking hand.
"I'll have Callie, my assistant, call you later today with the details." He slid his hand into his pocket and produced a key. "Go ahead and let yourself into my office. I'll tell the crew you'll be dropping in later today.
Lily felt for the thin strip of web cord around her neck and pulled a bunch of keys from under her sweater. Each small bronze key had a number, one through seven, written in black marker. They clanged against the chrome edge of the table as she pried the metal hoop apart and added the slim silver key.
"The key to your young man's heart," Hilda proclaimed loudly as the Gad-Abouts milled around the cash register. Hilda was considered the comedian of the group.
And I was so close to getting out of here. Lily smiled at the group and quickly countered Hilda's wit. "It's just the key to his office. You see, I need to
"No need to explain, dear. Not our business what you young people are up to these days" Hilda shot a glance to her band of followers, most of whose penciled brows had raised a fraction, and like a mother hen attending to her chicks, urged them toward the door. "Have a good day, you two," Hilda cooed as the screen door slapped closed.
Ethan set his fork on his empty plate and patted his midsection. "Excellent food. I'll have to remember this spot" He cast a perfunctory glance around the room.
Lily followed his gaze and wondered what he really thought of their only restaurant.
The room wasn't quite vintage, just a hodgepodge of older pieces punctuated with tacky fleamarket finds. A counter, lined with bar stools, faced a wall covered in dusty souvenir calendars and post cards. A bulletin board smothered in business cards swung precariously on a single nail. The room's open area was populated with red-topped chrome tables, each surrounded by a mix of plastic stacking chairs. The cash machine, wedged again
st the till, hummed and clicked industriously, while a couple of carpet steamers, their daily rental rate added to the bottom of the menu placards, lurked in the hallway leading to the bathrooms.
"Look, I need to take off," Ethan said, pushing away from the table. "My plane is fueled and waiting over at Martin's Airstrip, but I'll look forward to our call later today" His questioning gaze asked for something, but she wasn't sure of the answer.
Seconds ticked past. Somebody had to say it. "When are you coming back, Ethan?" She hated how much his answer mattered to her.
"I'm meeting with the public health inspector out here about the septic system on Friday," he supplied eagerly. Flipping open his PalmPilot, his eyes raced over the dates. He peered at the tiny digital numbers. "At ten thirty. Hopefully, that won't take long"
"Oh, I'm sure everything will be fine. You followed the code to the letter," she tossed out nonchalantly. Only two days to wait, she thought, a smile on her lips.
"Would you like to go on a picnic with me?" she blurted out. "On Friday, after your meeting. You know, in return for breakfast" She nodded toward their vacated table, already reset for the next customer.
His hand returned to his breast pocket again. His fingers touched the edge of the day-timer and held there for a second. "Sounds great, Lily," he answered without removing the device. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, a casual stance she hadn't thought him capable of, and looked past her face to the horizon. "I've never been on a picnic, believe it or not"
"You're kidding." As far as she was concerned, it was the best way to eat a meal.
"Why don't you come by the Nirvana on Friday," Ethan suggested. "Around eleven thirty?"
"Perfect" It's just to thank him for his generosity, she told herself, justifying her impulsive offer. I'll take him to Osprey Island.
It was her turn to share a piece of her world. Who knows, maybe it'll help him understand why I can't sell the island?
"Thanks for breakfast. And your advice." Lily knew she should stop talking now, but continued as they exited the cafe. "And for the ride home last night." Stop babbling and let the man leave.
