Summer by the Lake

by Mandy Baggot

  Also by Mandy Baggot

  One Last Greek Summer

  My Greek Island Summer

  One Christmas Star

  A Perfect Paris Christmas

  SUMMER BY THE LAKE

  Mandy Baggot

  AN IMPRINT OF HEAD OF ZEUS

  www.ariafiction.com

  This edition first published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd

  Copyright © Mandy Baggot, 2020

  The moral right of Mandy Baggot to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781789546330

  Cover design: Cherie Chapman

  Aria

  c/o Head of Zeus

  First Floor East

  5–8 Hardwick Street

  London EC1R 4RG

  www.ariafiction.com

  Contents

  Welcome Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Summer by the Lake Playlist

  About the Author

  Become an Aria Addict

  To Dad, for introducing me to Portage, Michigan and for passing me your firm values, your worldly wisdom and not forgetting the badass attitude!

  One

  Robyn could feel the sweat trickling down her back. It was pooling at the waistband of her jeans, and she also had underarm issues that no amount of Mitchum roll-on was going to cure. She heaved her backpack further up her shoulder and hurried on. There wasn’t time to stop and worry about how rank she felt. The backpack was digging into her shoulder bone and, if she didn’t keep up the pace, she would miss her connecting flight to Kalamazoo, Michigan and be stranded in Chicago for the night.

  She’d already spent eight hours on a plane from London and hadn’t slept a wink. The guy on her left, who was in a business suit, but obviously not wealthy enough for a seat in business class, had spent the whole flight on his laptop, loudly tapping at the keys and saying ‘hmm’ every twentieth tap—she’d counted. The guy on her right, balding yet bearded, had the flu, probably swine or avian or maybe a lethal mixture of the two. He’d gone through a box of tissues in the time it took to cross the Atlantic, and now she could feel the beginnings of a sore throat. Illness was inevitable when you were trapped in the equivalent of a tin can with so many people.

  She checked her watch again and, seeing time was slipping away, she quickened her step. The small jet that would take her back would begin boarding in little more than five minutes.

  As she broke into a jog and maneuvered past other passengers, the strap on her bag gave way and the backpack fell to the floor, almost pulling her over with it.

  ‘Shit!’ Robyn cursed as some of her things fell onto the airport floor.

  That was all she needed.

  ‘Stupid, pathetic bag!’ she cried out loud, giving it a kick and letting out an exasperated hiss.

  ‘Hey, need some help?’ a male voice asked.

  Robyn looked up at the man who had appeared at her side, ready to tell him where to get off. She opened her mouth and then paused, taking in the dark hair, inky eyes and broad shoulders.

  ‘I could tie a knot in it,’ he suggested, picking up her backpack and inspecting the damage.

  ‘No thanks. I haven’t got far to go. It’ll be fine,’ Robyn answered, rescuing her baseball cap and a Haynes motor manual.

  ‘This is a heavy carry-on. Where you headed?’ the man asked, helping put her things back into the bag.

  ‘Terminal three,’ Robyn said, observing him again.

  He was as tall as he was broad and she gauged he was probably in his early twenties. She couldn’t remember seeing anyone so good-looking for quite some time. It was also unusual that she’d noticed.

  ‘I’m terminal three bound too. Let me carry it for you,’ he offered, effortlessly throwing the sack over his shoulder.

  ‘No, that’s okay, I can do it. I mean, it isn’t that far now,’ Robyn started, taking hold of the corner of her bag.

  ‘Hey, I promise I’m not a stalker or an axe murderer, and I don’t have my mother embalmed in the basement,’ the man told her with a smile.

  ‘But you’re at an airport, heading out of town, and that’s exactly what an obsessed son with a mother in the basement would do, and he would definitely make a joke about it. Don’t you watch The Mentalist?’ Robyn asked.

  She stared at him, as if hoping to find the truth in his eyes. They were nice eyes, she decided, but whether they were honest eyes she wasn’t sure. You needed to share at least ten minutes with someone before you knew that.

  The man let out a laugh and nodded.

  ‘Listen, I’m headed to Portage. Apparently, it’s something close to Hicksville. Let me help you with your bag and I promise you’ll never see me again.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it. I’m heading there too. And if I was you, I wouldn’t let the locals hear you call it Hicksville. They sacrifice visitors they take a dislike to,’ Robyn said, applying a poker face.

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  ‘Do I look like I’m kidding?’ Robyn asked him.

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘You can carry the bag, but any more cheap shots about my town and I’ll ask the pilot to drop you off in the lake. The water can be pretty unpredictable this time of year,’ she told him as she started to walk in the direction of the other terminal.

  ‘Sure, no problem. I’m Cole, by the way. Cole Ryan,’ he said, hurrying after her.

  ‘Robyn Matthers.’

  ‘So, I guess you’re not on vacation,’ C
ole spoke, catching up to her.

  ‘Nope. I’m heading home,’ Robyn informed him.

  ‘Been away long?’

  ‘Just about nine years,’ Robyn said with a heavy sigh.

  It always surprised her when she said those words. It felt like a lifetime and, in a lot of respects, it was. She was nine years older on the outside, an adult with a life in a different country, but inside nothing had changed.

  ‘So why now?’ Cole asked her.

  ‘My dad’s sick.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yeah, I think I am too. Not quite sure yet. I might want to give him a hug; I might want to rip his drip out,’ Robyn said with half a smile.

  Her relationship with her father had never been straightforward. She loved him, but she found it quite hard to like him. He made most people feel that way with his strong opinions and megaphone-style voice.

  Cole looked at her, seeming uncertain whether she was serious. Robyn laughed out loud at his bewildered look.

  ‘We have a complicated relationship. Gum?’ she offered, taking the packet from the pocket of her jeans.

  ‘No thanks,’ Cole replied.

  ‘So, you know why I’m here… Why are you going to Hicksville?’ Robyn asked in a whisper.

  ‘I got a job there,’ Cole informed.

  ‘Really? So you must be able to repair boats.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Cars?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re not a cop, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you must be a realtor or a bartender, because that’s all that’s left,’ Robyn answered with a confident nod.

  ‘Not exactly,’ Cole answered.

  ‘Can you work a bar?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Then I might need your mobile number.’

  ‘What?’ Cole asked, confused.

  ‘Sorry, I mean cell phone number. Nine years in England and all my terminology is up the shoot,’ Robyn told him.

  ‘I thought you had kind of a weird accent thing going on,’ Cole admitted.

  ‘Yeah, this is what half-English, half-American sounds like. I need to practice getting my pronunciation of “water” sounding right or no one is going to understand a word I say,’ Robyn said.

  ‘So, why would you need a bartender?’

  ‘My dad owns a roadhouse, and things aren’t going so well. Pam—she’s my auntie—says there’s three regulars and a goat in there most nights at the moment. I can’t see three people drinking enough to pay the bills, and I don’t know enough about the drinking habits of goats to comment on him… or her. I guess it could be a her.’ Robyn shrugged.

  ‘So, what are you gonna do?’ Cole inquired.

  ‘I’m going to take charge, of course. Just need to get a team together I can trust and get rid of the deadwood. Apparently she goes by the name of Nancy, and has a tattoo on her navel… Hi there, here’s my ID and my ticket,’ Robyn said as they approached the American Airlines desk.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am. Here’s your boarding pass, you’re all set.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Robyn turned her attention back to Cole. ‘Here, let me take that. I’ll save you a seat,’ she said, as she hauled her backpack from Cole’s shoulder and headed off toward the boarding gate.

  *

  ‘It’s over three hours by car, you know. Three long hours. A thirty-minute plane hop like this is so much more civilized, don’t you think?’ Robyn said, sipping from her can of Coke.

  She was so close to home now, it was both unnerving and exciting. Half of her couldn’t wait to see Portage and all the places she had missed. The other half of her was concerned being there again would bring back memories of the past, and not all of them were good.

  ‘I don’t know. I like seeing new places. You know, little towns along the way you would never normally see,’ Cole replied.

  ‘Three hours on I-94 and you’d change your mind. And there aren’t any little towns on that route, just gas stations and branches of Bob Evans’ diners,’ Robyn answered.

  ‘You’ve done it before?’

  ‘Yeah, when we left,’ Robyn replied as her mind traveled back.

  Her dad had driven her and her mother to Chicago O’Hare airport. Her parents had yelled at each other most of the way, and the rest of the time Country Drive FM was on at full volume.

  ‘He shouted a lot and sang Kenny Rogers,’ Robyn said, thinking out loud.

  ‘He sounds like quite a character,’ Cole answered.

  ‘Sorry, I’m rabbiting on, aren’t I? You don’t want to hear all about my messed up family.’

  ‘Rabbiting?’ Cole queried.

  ‘Going on, talking too much, hind leg, donkey,’ Robyn replied.

  ‘Maybe you’re nervous,’ Cole suggested.

  ‘Nervous? Me! What do I have to be nervous about?’ Robyn exclaimed, taken aback by his suggestion.

  Scared to death was probably closer to the truth, but she didn’t want a stranger getting perceptive. Even a good-looking stranger.

  ‘Seeing your dad again? Taking control of the roadhouse?’ Cole prodded.

  ‘No, piece of cake! Now the ice hockey team, that might be more of a challenge,’ Robyn answered, finishing her drink.

  ‘Hockey?’

  ‘Yeah, my dad manages the local team, the Portage Panthers. My dad’s friend, Grant, has been looking after things while Dad’s been ill and results have taken a real nosedive. I haven’t been able to do that much checking up in England, but Pam taped a couple of games and sent them to me. They were dire,’ Robyn said.

  Dire was actually verging on the optimistic side. It was so awful, she’d sat in her flat at home, viewing the game through her hands. The team seemed to have forgotten how to play. They lost the puck constantly, couldn’t seem to stand up to the slightest challenge, and as for actually netting anything—well, it seemed beyond them.

  ‘So what are you gonna do?’ Cole asked.

  ‘I’m going to take charge, obviously. Aren’t you getting the whole theme of my visit yet?’

  ‘I should have guessed. But do you know anything about managing an ice hockey team?’

  ‘About managing? No, absolutely nothing. Apart from what my dad does. That’s basically scream a lot and bang his fists against the Perspex. I play though… well, I used to play,’ Robyn said.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You didn’t try very hard to keep the patronizingly surprised tone out of your voice. I think you need some practice with that,’ Robyn said.

  ‘Whoa! Are you trying to say I’m sexist?’ Cole asked.

  ‘Aren’t you?’ Robyn raised an eyebrow at him.

  ‘No,’ Cole insisted.

  ‘Not convincing me,’ Robyn said.

  She looked out of the window and saw Lake Michigan slip out of view and Kalamazoo County come into sight. Familiarity tugged at her. She was nearly home.

  ‘So where are you staying?’ Cole asked.

  ‘With Pam and my Uncle Bob. Nancy, with the decorated navel, lives with Dad now, apparently. She’s probably turned the house into a piercing parlor or a dope den or something,’ Robyn answered.

  ‘You don’t have a very high opinion of her,’ Cole stated.

  ‘I’ve never met her, but in the last nine years, my dad’s had a succession of unsuitable women. I can’t imagine she’s going to be any different,’ Robyn said.

  ‘You need a ride anywhere? I’m picking up a car,’ Cole told her.

  ‘No thanks, I’m good. Anyway, here’s you knowing all about me and my character of a father… I still want to speak to your mother. I need reassurance that she isn’t decomposing in a cellar,’ Robyn reminded him.

  ‘She was very much alive when she was bear-hugging me at the airport and ordering me to vacuum at least twice a week,’ Cole assured her.

  ‘Twice a week, huh? She has high expectations.’

  ‘And what did your mom say to you before you left?’ Cole wanted to know.


  Her mom. It sounded strange someone referring to her mother. She hadn’t thought about her for years, hadn’t seen her for longer. She was like someone who had been there in name only. Then, when Robyn hit eighteen, she considered her role had come to an end and she terminated the part like an employment contract.

  ‘We’re not in contact. She married husband number three and they moved. Wales, I think, but who knows? She could be in Vegas or somewhere. That would be right up her alley.’

  ‘Oh man, sorry, I just assumed…’ Cole began to apologize.

  ‘It’s fine. I don’t need anyone to tell me how many times to hoover,’ Robyn replied with a smile.

  He smiled back at her.

  ‘You’re cute. Are you married?’ Robyn asked bluntly, looking at Cole and noticing again the dark eyes and wide mouth.

  ‘Married? No!’ Cole said, laughing.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Robyn wanted to know.

  ‘Well, because I’m only twenty-five and… well, I’ve never really thought about it,’ Cole answered.

  ‘Everyone thinks about it.’

  ‘Girls maybe, not guys.’

  ‘My friend, Sarah, she talked about it all the time in high school. She even had a folder with magazine cuttings of potential dresses and some silver tuxedo gross outfit thing she wanted her groom dressed in. Ugh!’

  ‘So that must mean you think about it.’

  ‘Yeah, I think about it. I think how glad I am I’m never going to go down that road. What a ridiculous situation to be in… tying yourself to someone else forever. Besides, it never works.’ Robyn scoffed.

  Cole smiled at her.

  ‘Girlfriend, then? I mean, you can’t look like you do and not have a girlfriend,’ Robyn said, still absorbing the firm jaw and well-built shoulders.

  ‘No. Not at the moment.’

  ‘Ah, so you’ve just broken up with someone.’

  ‘No,’ Cole denied.

  Robyn raised her eyebrow at him, unconvinced. She could read him already, and the eyes were honest, she was sure of that now.

  ‘It was a few months ago,’ Cole admitted.

  ‘Was it serious?’ Robyn asked.

  There was something in his tone that made her curious. There was definitely more to his story.