by Jill Snow
“The last time I had dial up I was twelve,” she muttered under her breath as she examined the ports on her laptop. The phone jack looked as though it would fit in one along the back, so she slipped it in and held her breath. Having spent her entire life with computers, she found the Network and Internet settings in the Control Panel easily. Lo and behold, when she clicked to add a new connection, “Dial up” was an option.
One thing she hadn’t missed in the past fifteen years was that ear-splitting screech. Wookie whimpered and hid beneath the chair.
“I don’t blame you, girl.”
When the connection prompted her for the admin name and passcode, she found both on a paper taped to the screen of the computer. It still took a minute for the internet to connect. It was better than nothing, wasn’t it?
She nearly amended that opinion when it took over a minute for her to load her email. As she waited for the page to refresh, she stood and turned to the boxes again. How personal could the contents be? They were right next to the kitchen -- they probably held old pots and pans, stuff that Ruby didn’t have room for in the cupboards.
When Lily opened one, seeking confirmation, instead she found a neat stack of picture frames. She glanced at her laptop, finding that the page had finally loaded. Resisting temptation, she returned to the agonizing task of composing a new email and attaching her first of seven articles. As it loaded, she found her gaze returning to the cardboard box.
Those pictures were personal, but the reporter in her had questions. Why were they relegated to the never-used computer room? They had been stacked neatly, lovingly in the box before being packed away. Lily still had five minutes, at the least, before her attachment finished uploading. Glancing at the door, she listened for sounds beyond that of her dog’s snuffling. She didn’t hear Ruby.
She peeked into the box, overturning the top picture frame. It showed an old photograph of a lake that looked like the same one the cabins at Pinecrest Lodge overlooked. Poised in front of that lake, Ruby, a much younger woman, laughed in her wedding dress as her husband kissed her cheek.
“No wonder Ruby refuses to give up on the campground,” Lily whispered, emotion choking her. She stroked the glass of the picture. “She was married here.” In Ruby’s place, Lily wouldn’t want to admit defeat, either.
Hyper-aware in case she was disturbed, when movement flickered at the edge of her vision, a figure was outside near the tree line, Lily jumped. She placed the frame back into the pile and shut the box, her heart beating fast. Had it been Ruby? Ethan? When she peeked out the window, she saw no signs of the figure.
Thoughts of Ethan distracted her. It had been nice of him to move the spider. Even though he’d poked fun at her a little, he hadn’t been too mean about it. And he’d helped her build that fire. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as she’d first thought. She glanced out the window again. Still nothing.
What was she expecting to see? Hopefully not Ethan. The last thing she needed was to start looking for him around every corner. Nope. She was here for one purpose and one purpose only. She had a contest to win and she couldn’t do that while mooning over her neighbor.
Chapter 9
As Ethan threw the truck into park outside his cabin, a familiar furry shape burst through the trees in his peripheral vision. He opened the door, shaking his head with a small smile as he unloaded the supplies he needed to fix the plumbing in the far cabins. With a delighted yip, Wookie charged across the open expanse of brittle grass and packed earth to flop at his feet. Tail wagging, she rolled onto her back, showing him her fluffy belly. His smile growing and his heart expanding, he set down the bag with his supplies and knelt to give her the attention she craved.
She was so easy to please. A moment of his time was all she desired from him, and in return, she gave him her full attention. No ulterior motives, just the affection infused in the wag of her tail or the short, wet kiss she gave his hand before rising. Dust clung to her long fur from the roll. He patted her, trying to shake most of it off. Maybe he should think about getting a dog. Not that he was lonely or anything.
When footsteps alerted him to Lily joining them, he looked up and smiled. She looked worried. Nibbling on her lower lip, she tucked one foot behind her ankle. With difficulty, he raised his gaze from her bare legs above her tennis shoes, up her shorts and blouse to her face once more. The shorts were a little inappropriate for the early fall chill, but Ethan didn’t mind.
As she bent to retrieve her dog, her hair fell into her face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were back or I would have kept a closer eye on her.”
He unfolded his frame and met her gaze as she adjusted her hold on Wookie.
“It’s okay, she’s growing on me.” Then at her skeptical look he blurted. “Hey let’s combine forces tonight and cook dinner over the campfire together.”
Well, that hadn’t been what he’d intended to say at all. He’d simply meant to ask if she needed help with a fire for dinner. Hadn’t he? But it had come out like he was asking her on a date. Judging by the way her mouth fell open, she hadn’t expected it, either. She was cute when she was shocked. His smile grew. Maybe the company of a pretty woman and her dog wouldn’t be so bad.
“I … I can’t.”
His good mood plummeted. He hadn’t been turned down in … well, since he had become a billionaire. If she’d known about his money, she wouldn’t have turned him down. He’d bet her dog wouldn’t have refused a meal with the “handyman.” His surliness returning, he bent to retrieve the supplies he’d bought out of pocket. Ruby had given him a budget and asked him to request that the hardware store charge the supplies to her account and send her the bill. By the time she realized that he hadn’t done so, the cabins would be fixed and she would have nothing to complain about.
Although he tried hard to ignore the attractive woman who insisted in lingering near his truck, she made it difficult by stepping into his path as he tried to step around her on the way to his cabin. She’d threaded her fingers through her dog’s fur and seemed to be holding on like a lifeline.
He opened his mouth to tell her that he forgave her for not keeping an eye on her darn dog, even though it seemed to be a recurring theme, but she spoke first.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer. I do. It’s just…” When she lifted her pet, the dog’s furry ears obscured her mouth and muffled her voice. Color flushed her cheeks, not quite hidden by the dog. “I have to find food on my own.”
What? That was the flimsiest excuse he’d ever heard. He almost walked away, but … for once, he wanted to spend time with her. He sensed there was more to her than her superficial, city girl exterior. Beneath that, she was stubborn and apparently wanted to learn to be self- sufficient, and that was a quality he liked. Take the fire—she could have accepted his handout, but she had insisted that he show her how to do it herself instead.
Maybe she only did that so she wouldn’t have to see you again next time she needed to build a fire.
It might be his ego talking, but Ethan liked to think that he was an attractive man.
“It’s not a big deal,” he answered, hesitant. “I just figured since the only way to eat is the open fire there was no sense in both of us making one. We could each contribute some of the food and make a pot luck out of it.” Yep, that was exactly what he’d meant.
She turned redder than the cherries dotting her blouse. Burying her face in her dog’s fur, she mumbled something he couldn’t catch.
“What was that?”
When she lifted her face, she didn’t meet his gaze as she repeated, “I don’t have much food. Frozen dinners. That’s it.”
Who brought frozen dinners to a campground? Perhaps those who bought them at a bargain and couldn’t afford fresh meat and produce. Maybe that’s why her clothing wasn’t exactly what one would wear camping either. Her car was nice, but a rental. Maybe she didn’t even have one of her own. He had money now, but his family hadn’t always. It was how he’d gotten
so skilled at home improvement projects. He knew how it felt not to be able to afford things like food. Sympathy for her bloomed.
If she didn’t want to have a meal with him, no problem. His dating skills were rusty anyway. But he wasn’t uncaring enough to make her try to cook frozen dinners over an open campfire. Not to mention the freezer in the tiny cabin fridges only held one dinner. Where had she put them?
“I just bought groceries yesterday. If you want, you can cook my food over your campfire.”
When a sheepish little smile spread over her face, he took that as encouragement. She did want to have dinner with him, after all. She’d just wanted to cook it herself. Who knew why. Maybe that stubborn side of her that wanted to be self-sufficient again.
“Okay.”
Her voice was so timid, that he barely heard her whisper over the sigh of the wind through the trees.
He capitalized on it nonetheless. “Great. Let me put this away and I’ll show you what I’ve got.”
When she followed him into the cabin, he felt a bit self-conscious. The hairs prickled on the back of his neck as he checked the main room for the major women turn-offs. No dirty socks on the floor or dust bunnies playing in the corners of the room, so he thought he was in the clear. He shoved the supplies into a corner and indicated his fridge.
“Help yourself.”
She had to set Wookie on the floor, her cheeks pink as she stared anywhere but at him. The dog was far more shameless and trotted up to Ethan immediately. With a chuckle, Ethan bent to give her a scratch.
“So, what’s with this insistence on doing everything yourself?” he asked, sneaking a sidelong glance at Lily.
Dangerous, but he liked to look. He knew that in a few short days, she would be out of his life, and he should feel grateful that there was no chance of something more lasting. Or of her finding out about his giant bank account. After all, he knew firsthand how everyone took advantage of him the moment they knew about his wealth. Well, everyone but Wookie, here. She would just as happily take advantage of his idle hands no matter the number in his bank account.
What’s the harm in one evening? There was none, that he could find. Lily had no idea who he was—she didn’t even know his last name. She thought he was a handyman, for goodness sake! For the moment, he could pretend that they were two ordinary people, on vacation in the Montana mountains. He had no intention of taking things any further than that. No intention of opening himself up... of taking a risk only to find out that he was nothing more than a means to an end.
“What’s wrong with it?” Lily asked, her voice sharp and her chin set as she raised her gaze from the fridge.
What had he said? He stopped petting Wookie, dumbfounded. The dog whined, drawing his attention again.
Lily continued, “Independence is a good thing.”
Right. Her insistence on doing everything herself. As she rummaged through his food, frowning, he had to wonder how long it had been since she last cooked. She held up a bell pepper, drumming her fingers against the skin as she pursed her lips.
“Shish kebabs can be cooked over an open flame, right?”
“Yes. I have a few metal skewers in the drawer.”
She smiled, disarming him. “Great. That sounds easy.”
That didn’t inspire a lot of confidence in her campfire cooking skills. Though, come to think of it, if she hadn’t known how to start a campfire, how would she have cooked on one before? “If you’d rather, you could also use the woodstove and cook something in a skillet. I could light the fire.”
She continued to pull items from the fridge. “No, campfire kebabs sound good.” She found a knife and cutting board in the cupboard and took up residence at the one little spot where there was open counter space. Wookie trotted up next to her, looking up eagerly for scraps to drop.
“Are you sure I can’t help preparing the food?” Ethan asked. When she paused, reluctant, he added, “Independence is all well and good, but there’s no shame in accepting help where it’s offered and I am going to eat half the meal so I should work for it.” Not to mention, he felt awkward standing in his cabin while she did all the work.
After a moment’s thought, she nodded. He fetched a second, smaller knife and stood next to her to use a corner of the same cutting board.
Under her breath, she muttered, “I’m not afraid to accept help, but there are some things I need to do on my own.”
“Are you so independent in…” He left the sentence hanging as he realized that he didn’t know where she was from. She had a familiar way of speaking, so it couldn’t be terribly far from here.
“Butte,” she supplied, but she didn’t answer the question. “Do you live around here?”
He smiled, but it felt brittle. He didn’t want her asking questions into his past. It could lead to dangerous things, like his last name. Things she could use to identify him and then his peaceful time at Pinecrest Lodge would be over. “Just recently,” he answered, evasive. “Have you always lived in Butte?”
“All my life.”
“What made you decide to come all the way up here?”
“What made you?” she countered, her gaze sharp as she carefully divided her attention between preparing the food and him.
He couldn’t tell her the truth so instead, he said, “I like nature.” It wasn’t a lie.
She shrugged, but didn’t answer with the same. Figures.
“What about you?” he asked again. “Did Mother Nature call? You don’t seem like the camping type, if you’ll forgive my saying.”
With another shrug, she finished slicing up her vegetables and started threading them along with unseasoned chunks of meat onto the metal skewers. “There’s a first time for everything.”
Maybe he’d better move away from that topic of conversation, if he didn’t want the evening to turn frosty. “After we’re done here, I can show you how to properly gather kindling.”
She looked at him like he’d just announced they’d be digging for truffles. “There’s a proper way?”
He shut his eyes for a moment as he struggled not to laugh. When he had himself under control, he said, “Yes.”
“But … it’s just sticks.”
“Well, they have to be dry sticks, for one thing. If they’re the least bit damp, the fire will be too smoky.”
Her carefully-groomed eyebrows knit together as she processed that information. “Huh. Okay. Let’s go twig hunting, I guess. Are you about done there?”
“All done,” he said, as he quickly strung the last few pieces of meat and vegetables onto the skewer. She’d made hers visually appealing by alternating, even though it would have been more practical to cook the different ingredients on separate skewers. Some things took longer to cook than others. Luckily, he liked his steak rare. He hoped she did, too. When she looked ready to take the prepared skewers and hurry next door, he added, “I don’t know how salty you like your meat…”
“Oh, right! Salt. That’s a good idea. Maybe pepper too, just a little bit.”
At least she wasn’t forgetting the spices entirely, even if he would have dressed the meat beforehand. He was helping, he told himself, not controlling the meal, but it was difficult to do. He’d cooked for himself for a long time, and meat cooked outdoors was something of a specialty. But this time, he stepped back and let her take the lead.
If she wanted to do it herself, he’d let her. He was more than happy to sit back and give Wookie the attention she desired. Since it seemed a safer topic of conversation, he resolved to keep the conversation to more neutral topics tonight, like Wookie.
“Do you think Wookie will run off if we let her help us find some sticks?”
Lily flashed him a smile as she bent to fish the spices out of the cupboard beneath the fridge. “She’ll be fine. For some reason, the only man she runs to is you. Is there some secret you’re hiding?”
Yes. But it had nothing to do with the dog, so Ethan made a joke and let the conversation slide.
Ethan was still mulling over the fact that Lily and he had managed to eat an entire dinner together and keep the conversation in neutral territory as he sat in the Greendale diner the next day. He’d gotten the impression she was holding something back, like she was on the verge of opening up about something but kept deciding not to. Just as well she didn’t, that might have brought them closer and that was definitely something Ethan did not need.
Nevertheless, she’d been good company and he’d enjoyed himself. Maybe a little too much. If he were smart, he’d steer clear of his pretty neighbor for the rest of the week. He had no intention of “putting himself out there” any more than he already had. He knew all too well what happened once he got too close. Best to keep his distance.
As much as Ethan appreciated Ruby’s cookies, they couldn’t compare to a good piece of pie. Slicing off the tip with his fork, he popped the bite into his mouth and savored the tart taste of apples and spice of cinnamon. Heaven. Swallowing, he took a sip of his coffee and let his gaze meander around the Diner.
It had a ’50s vibe with the black and white checkered linoleum floor, bright red booths, and out-of-order juke box in the corner. When he’d first stepped into the diner a week ago, he wouldn’t have been surprised for a bubble-gum chewing waitress with bold makeup to come out to serve him wearing roller skates. Instead, the majority of waitresses seemed to be bored high school students or the tired, middle-aged woman who had served him today.
She’d made only a cursory effort to ask about his week, which was more than she’d made last week. It seemed that, after a week of coming here periodically for a meal or piece of pie, the locals who frequented the diner were slowly warming up to him. He’d gotten a nod from the old man on the farthest stool from the door as he’d walked in.
The bell on the door jingled. In a good mood, with a mouthful of pie when the new arrival entered, Ethan raised a hand in welcome. It was one of the few men in town he could actually put a name to.
