by Bella Andre
But even as he thought it, he hoped to hell he was wrong. Otherwise there was no point in sticking around, no point in trying to grow a pair of balls and try again with his son.
But first, he would start his day at Blue Mountain Lake the way he always had as a kid. With a dip in the lake. Quickly putting on his bathing suit, he jogged to the empty beach, down the Inn’s dock, and splashed into the water. He was grateful for the rush of adrenaline that shot through him when he submerged beneath the cool waters.
Making his way out of the water, he looked up and saw Rebecca standing on the Inn’s porch watching him. Clearly embarrassed to have been caught, she smiled and waved, then disappeared back inside the building.
The funny thing about discontent, Andrew had discovered over the years, was that he tended to notice it in other people, particularly people who were trying to hide it. Something in the innkeeper’s eyes, the set of her mouth, told him that she wasn’t happy. Not, of course, that it was any of his business. Still, he knew what it was to search for happiness and come up empty.
After a quick shower and shave, he got dressed and headed into town on foot. The Inn was at the end of Main Street. Isabel’s diner was on the opposite end of the two-block center of town. He’d promised he wouldn’t bother her, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t stand across the street, see what she’d done to the place.
His heart was pounding and his palms were sweating as he passed the small tourist shops, the ice-cream store window, the café/bookstore, the knitting shop, the public dock that ran the historic boat tours of the lake, and a handful of business offices.
Arriving at the diner, he was amazed by its transformation. When he and Isabel were kids, the place had been a run-down teenage hangout. From where he was standing it almost looked like she’d rebuilt the whole damn place from the ground up. Why was he surprised? Even as a girl, she’d been remarkable. Smart and funny and talented. Not to mention so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her.
She still was.
And it still did.
A crowd of people was gathering outside and when he caught snippets of conversation about how the diner was never closed at this time, Andrew wondered if something was the matter. A hand-printed sign on the door said, TEMPORARILY CLOSED—WILL OPEN SHORTLY.
And then he heard it, Isabel’s voice, frustrated, a few random curses thrown in for good measure.
Before he could think better of it, he was crossing the street and going behind the building. Isabel was kneeling beside an open pipe that was pouring water out all over the parking lot, a wrench in her hands.
“Where are the mains?”
Looking up, her face twisted with surprise—and then annoyance. “Two feet from where you’re standing. I couldn’t get it to turn. Here.”
She threw the heavy wrench at him, and he grabbed it a split second before it hit him between the eyes. Another time, he’d be happy to let her get some much due satisfaction from taking her anger out on him with a hand tool, but right now he needed to get her water shut off before her well emptied out completely.
Someone had painted the valve closed and he had to bear down hard to get it to twist. Thankful that he was religious about going to the gym—otherwise he would have looked like the biggest loser in the world in front of the one woman he most wanted to impress—he cranked down on the valve until not even trickles were leaking out of the tap.
“Thanks.”
The word may have been grudging, but he knew he deserved that.
“You’re welcome.” He tried to hold her gaze, tried to make her see how much he wanted her forgiveness, but she refused to look at him. “I’d be happy to head over to the hardware store for a new pipe, if you’d like.”
“This has happened before. I had the plumber leave me some replacements.”
“I’ll do it for you.”
She didn’t bother stopping as she walked through the back door. “No thanks. I saw how he did it last time. I can take care of it myself.”
But he couldn’t let her go so easily. Not when he refused to believe that last night had been it for them.
“There’s a line out on the sidewalk in front of the diner. You need to feed those people. I’ll get your water up and running quickly. I know how to do this, I promise.”
At the word “promise” her eyes narrowed. Damn it, maybe that hadn’t been the best word to use.
“Please, Izzy, let me help.”
“Isabel.” The door slammed.
Why couldn’t he, just once, say the right thing?
But then the door opened again and Isabel dumped a plastic bag at his feet. “Don’t screw it up.”
As the door slammed behind her again, Andrew smiled. Letting him fix her pipe wasn’t a big deal, but it was something. A step in the right direction. And a hell of a lot better than being thrown off the property.
He’d take what he could get and he’d work from there.
A car pulled up in the parking lot and Ginger stepped out. After the way she’d found him yesterday at Isabel’s house, pride made him want to walk away before she saw him. But that was what he would have done before.
What he’d done before hadn’t worked. It was time to stop repeating the same screwed-up patterns and learn some new ones.
When Ginger was within hearing distance, he said “Good morning.”
She jumped. “You startled me.”
“Sorry. I’m just helping Isabel with some broken pipes.”
She frowned in obvious confusion. “Oh. That’s nice of you.”
He took in the dark smudges beneath her eyes, her puffy eyelids. It would be easiest just to pretend he hadn’t noticed. But then he remembered the way she had reached out to him at Isabel’s.
“Everything okay?”
She wasn’t a large woman, but up until now she’d struck him as steady. Solid. This morning, however, she seemed shrunken, looked like someone who’d just thrown in the towel.
She swallowed. Shook her head. “No. But I’ll be fine.” She nodded toward the diner. “I’d better get in there.”
Why was she letting him help her, Isabel wondered? She could have fixed the pipes herself. And yet, her feet had carried her back inside, her hands had grabbed the pipes and given them to him.
She hadn’t been lying to him yesterday. She wasn’t going to forgive him.
Even if he redid the diner’s entire plumbing system.
Her fry cook came in from the restaurant where he’d been guzzling his first Coke of the day. “People are about to riot out there. Can I let them in?”
Isabel nodded and moments later, a sea of grateful faces rushed in to take their usual a.m. seats. And although she knew that everyone inside the diner would surely be happier if she had water to make their breakfasts and coffee, nonetheless, a part of her hoped that Andrew wasn’t able to fix the pipes. He’d always been handy, even as a teen. With cars, pipes, hammers. Just once, she wanted to see him fail at something.
But a few minutes later, when she momentarily forgot that the water was off and turned on the faucet, it ran beautifully.
Andrew had, once again, succeeded. He’d arrived unannounced like a knight on his shiny white horse to save the damsel in distress.
Damn him.
The orders poured in and soon every burner was covered and she was in the zone where the only thing she should be thinking about was the next order. And yet, every second she was on guard, waiting for him to come through the back door, triumphant. Expecting her thanks. Thinking they could forget everything that had been said.
But breakfast turned into lunch, and still he didn’t come. Midway through the rush, the phone rang in her office. Scott picked it up and handed it to her, even though she was in no mood to be friendly to whomever was on the line.
“Blue Mountain Lake Diner. This is Isabel.”
“Oh great. I’m so glad I’ve caught you. My name’s Dianna Kelley and I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me. The caterer for my wedding just b
acked out and after asking around, I’ve heard you’re an amazing chef.”
“I don’t normally do weddings,” Isabel said, more curt than normal. “What’s the date?”
“July thirty-first.”
That was the same date Andrew’s oldest son was getting married. Sitting down heavily in her office chair, she asked, “Do you have family at the lake?”
“No, but my fiancé spent summers there as a child. You might know their cabin? Poplar Cove. I know this is short notice, and I completely understand if you can’t accommodate us, but Sam and I would really appreciate it if you’ll at least consider it.”
The woman had just given Isabel a clear out. Sorry, I’m too busy. I’m afraid it’s just not possible. So then, why wasn’t she saying no and hanging up the phone?
The answer hit her clear between the eyes: because she wasn’t a coward. So she wasn’t going to run. Instead, she was going to face her fears head-on. And she was going to triumph, goddamn it.
A few minutes later they’d worked out the initial details. Isabel was going to cater Andrew’s son’s wedding.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ALL HIS life, people had told Connor how brave he was. And he’d believed them. He’d done things no one else could, faced impossible risks and walked out grinning on the other side. He’d skimmed off the surface of life’s high moments. Moved from one victory to another.
No question, the fire in Desolation had rocked his world. It was his first-ever brush with his mortality. The first time it had ever occurred to him that he wasn’t Superman. And still, he’d thought—no, he’d known—that once he got back out there things would be just as they had been before. That he’d be afraid of nothing. That he’d still be invincible, and when push came to shove he’d still know how to make all the right decisions, every single time.
The Forest Service phone call had been the start of his fall. But it was hearing Ginger say “I love you” that had sent him all the way over the edge.
Because the truth was that he’d never wanted anything, never needed anyone as much as he needed Ginger. He’d never been completely ruled by something that he couldn’t control. Even fire had rules. Sure it stunned you every now and again, but for the most part you only paid the price when you’d pushed the boundaries.
But what he felt for Ginger had no boundaries.
Which was why he’d tried to fuck away his feelings for her. It was why he’d tried to make her run. And when she hadn’t, he’d done the very thing he’d been afraid of all along, the very thing he’d seen coming.
He’d hurt her.
“Why haven’t you come upstairs?” she’d asked him that morning when she’d come down to the living room.
He sat up on the couch in the living room, stunned to see Ginger standing at the foot of the stairs as faint light from the rising sun came in the windows.
God, she was beautiful.
So damn beautiful.
“I can’t trust myself with you.”
Not after last night. And still, she’d told him she loved him. When he’d deserved it the least.
He stood up, told her, “I can’t take the chance that I’d hurt you again. You’re the last person on the planet that I’d ever want to hurt.”
She came at him as if she didn’t hear him, didn’t understand that he was trying to protect her from the deep, dark rage that he’d couldn’t push down. He hadn’t known how bad it was until last night.
The bruises on her wrists had showed him the truth.
She stopped just inches from him, so close that all he could think about was pulling her against him, begging her forgiveness with his mouth, his hands, worshipping her the way he should have last night.
“I’ve been waiting for you to come to bed, Connor. All night. To come upstairs and talk to me. To talk with me. I didn’t want to have to do this. To come down here and force you.”
Suddenly, she seemed to realize how close they were, and took one step back, then another. Every inch she put between them made the ache inside his chest grow bigger.
And then her hands moved to her chest, almost as if she were shielding herself from him and she said, “I wanted sharing yourself with me to be your choice.” He watched her walk out the door, heard her car start, pull out of the gravel driveway.
Everything had been a blur since she’d left. He’d gone out to the workshop, grabbed the heaviest ax he could find, and started slamming it into a thick tree trunk. But all the sweat in the world couldn’t push Ginger out of his head, couldn’t erase the feeling that everything he wanted was right within his grasp.
Only, in the end, he didn’t have a damn clue how to hold on to any of it.
* * *
Stepping out of his rental car behind Poplar Cove, Andrew saw Connor dragging a huge tree stump out of the woods onto the beach. He rushed over to help.
“I’ll grab this end.”
Connor didn’t say anything, but he did wait for Andrew to grab the log. Sweet Lord, Andrew thought as he heaved the tree up off the ground, it was heavy. Within seconds he was breathing hard, sweat pouring into his eyes. It was all he could do just to try to keep pace with his son. At the same time, he relished the work.
This was the first time he and Connor had ever worked together as a team.
Finally, they put down the log in front of the cabin. Andrew wanted to throw himself down on the sand and figure out how to breathe again, but Connor was already heading back into the woods.
When he’d offered to help out with the cabin, he’d been thinking about a hammer and nails. Not this he-man stuff.
Time to suck it up, he quickly decided as he watched his son disappear between trees.
But two hours later, Andrew was pretty damn sure he was going to have a heart attack. The pain in his arms and shoulders and legs was relentless. A grunt accompanied every step. But he refused to give up, to cry uncle, to show his son just how weak he was.
And then, Connor dropped the log they were carrying, so suddenly it almost broke Andrew’s foot. Cursing as he jumped out of the way, he scowled at his son. “Damn it, you should have said something before you dropped it like that.”
But instead of tossing back a retort, Connor was standing in the sand clenching his hands into fists, then flexing his fingers over and over again.
Oh shit. Connor’s hands. They’d been wrecked after the fire, were still badly scarred, but Andrew had assumed they were okay now. Because Connor had never said otherwise.
And he’d never asked.
Moving to his son’s side, he said, “It’s your hands, isn’t it?”
“Comes and goes,” Connor grunted.
“What does?”
“The numbness. The pain.”
Andrew’s first instinct was to protect his son. To take care of him in all the ways he hadn’t as a boy.
“We should hire someone to do this.”
“Like hell we will.”
Andrew nearly jumped back at the ferocity in his son’s voice. “Not that you can’t do it all. I know you can. Just that maybe it’ll be easier if—”
“Fuck easy,” Connor said.
But Andrew had seen the pain on Connor’s face. “Don’t be an idiot. You could do more damage to your hands.”
“I’m fine.”
“No,” Andrew said, looking his son straight in the eye. “You’re not.”
Connor started to walk away, but Andrew grabbed his son’s arm and didn’t let go.
“Do you have any idea what it was like to see you in that hospital? Lying there wrapped in bandages. Not knowing how bad the damage was. If you’d ever be able to use your hands again or if they were gone. Do you have any idea how hard it is to see your own kid hooked up to machines in that amount of pain?”
Saying the words brought it all back, took Andrew back into those first few horrible hours, where the only thing he did was make deals with God.
“I wanted to be there, in your place. I told God I’d give myself up for you,
that he could take me right then if only we could trade places, but he wasn’t listening, didn’t seem to care that my son was lying there unconscious. I saw everything so clearly. All those years, all those Little League games, Halloween costumes, they were all gone.”
He tightened his grip on Connor’s arm, gave silent thanks to the man in heaven he’d cursed so thoroughly that Connor was here at all.
“I don’t want to lose the next thirty years too.”
Connor shook his hand off. “You want to come back here, be a hero, say how sorry you are. But sometimes sorry isn’t enough. I should know.”
His son’s message couldn’t have been clearer. Didn’t matter what he said, how hard he tried, Connor wasn’t going to forgive him. Fine, then there was no reason to pussyfoot around. He hadn’t forgotten how upset Ginger had looked in the diner’s parking lot that morning.
“What happened with you and your girlfriend?”
Connor had started walking away, but now he stopped cold, turned around. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I saw Ginger this morning. At the diner. She looked upset. Something happened between you two, didn’t it?”
“You want to know what the hell happened? Last night she asked me how things had gone with you.”
“With me?”
“She didn’t like my answer. Didn’t believe a word I said. And when she was right about it all, I lost it. Attacked her.”
Andrew recognized the remorse ravaging his son. Thirty years ago, it had been him, hating himself with every breath.
“You were angry at me, so you hurt her?”
“Angry at every fucking thing.”
This conversation was like quicksand. But that was good. Because it meant he and Connor were going to have a hell of a time trying to get out of it without each other’s help.
“What else happened, Connor? Tell me.”
“She said she loves me.” Connor stood perfectly still now, almost as if he were bracing himself for impact. “She can’t love me. It isn’t possible.”
“Jesus, Connor. You can’t think like that. Can’t go into a relationship with a wonderful woman thinking love is impossible. Go to her. Tell her you fucked up. Tell her you’re sorry. That you’ll spend the rest of your life making it up to her.”
