He might be saying all the right things, but she very much doubted his heart was in it. He wanted Poplar Cove. Period.
She narrowed her eyes, widened her stance behind the counter. "Enough with the charm. Let's get down to it. What exactly do you want from me?"
"Poplar Cove hasn't been overhauled in two decades at least. Logs need to be replaced before they crumble. The roof is on the verge of blowing off. I need to get in there, do the work."
She was glad that he'd finally dropped any pretense of trying to patch up their rough start. An honest discussion she could do. Not this smoldering, try-to-make-her-swoon stuff. Still, there was no way she was going to let him hang out in the cabin day in, day out, for weeks on end.
"The cabin has held this long," she insisted. "I'm sure it'll make it another few months."
"Ever use the stove? The microwave? A blow dryer?"
Knowing his questions had to be a trick, that with every word he said her perfect summer was disappearing day by day, hour by hour, she reluctantly said, "Of course, all of them."
"The wiring is ancient. Anyone of those appliances could start a fire. You wouldn't know the house was burning at first. The sparks would start behind the walls. They wouldn't kick into overdrive until you were asleep. That's when smoke would start flooding into the room."
He paused. Gave her plenty of time to color in the picture he'd just sketched.
"Odds are you'd never wake up."
He was doing it again. Trying to scare her into giving up her home. To him.
She leaned in closer over the top of the counter, too angry now to remember to keep her distance from all those muscles, all that heat.
"You were sure I wouldn't be able to say no to that, weren't you?" Especially when he was practically a walking billboard for the necessity of fire safety. "Well, guess what? The answer is still no. I can hire an electrician to work on the cabin. I don't need you to do it."
"My grandparents aren't going to pay to rewire the place from the ground up. Not when I'm here and able to do the work for free."
Unfortunately, she didn't have the money either. Not anymore, damn it. Not unless she wanted to ask her parents for a loan, which she definitely didn't.
"Fine," she snapped, loud enough that a couple of customers looked up from their plates to see what the problem was. "You can redo the wiring. And then I want you out." She propped her pencil point hard enough against the paper to make a small hole. "Now what do you want to eat?"
But instead of looking at the menu, he said, "We're not done yet. I'm not just here to fix the cabin's safety issues."
"There's more?" she said, amazed by his nerve. Almost impressed by it, in fact.
"My brother's fiancee is pregnant. It was a long road for them to get there."
"Good for them. But since I don't know your brother or his fiancee," she said, knowing she was being harsh, but hating herself for giving in about letting him redo the wiring, "I'm missing the part where any of this matters to me."
"They want to get married on the beach at Poplar Cove. End of July."
How was it that he seemed to know right where to aim to hit her most vulnerable spots?
He had to mention marriage, didn't he? That elusive happily ever after they were all searching for. That she was searching for. Because even though her own marriage had crumbled to pieces, in her heart of hearts she still wanted to believe that lasting happiness was possible.
Worse, after living at Blue Mountain Lake for eight months she agreed that Poplar Cove would be the perfect place to host a wedding.
Beyond frustrated, the words, "Next thing I know you're going to be telling me you couldn't get a room at the Inn," came pouring out.
"You're right. A big wedding has taken over."
Oh no, she'd completely forgotten that her friend Sue said a Bridezilla was in residence for the next few days.
"What about one of the B&Bs?" she tried, feeling the situation slip even further out of her hands.
"Nope. Nothing on the lake. But there's a room open in Piseco."
"Piseco? That's an hour away."
"At least," he agreed, finally picking up the menu.
The movement drew her eyes down to his hands and she was stunned by how bad his scars were up close. She couldn't pull her eyes away from them, couldn't stop thinking about how much pain he must have endured from not only the burns, but the grafts as well. And then, he rubbed his left hand with his right, as if he were trying to work out the kinks in the muscles and tendons beneath the rough skin.
"When I was a little girl," she found herself saying in a much softer voice, "I reached up to the stove and knocked over a pot of boiling water onto my shoulder. I still remember how much it hurt."
It had been only a first degree burn, and the scar had almost completely disappeared by now, but it had been one of the most painful physical experiences in her life.
"For so long afterward," she continued, "it hurt. So badly. Do your hands hurt anymore?"
When he didn't reply, she looked back up into an expression so intense her skin prickled, her palms started to sweat. She couldn't look away as his eyes dilated, the black pushing nearly all the blue away. She held her breath, waiting for his answer. And then she heard it, low and raw.
"Yes."
From the tense lines of his shoulders, the tendon jumping in his forehead, she could see how much the admission had cost him. And that was when she realized, for the first time, that he wasn't just some big, gorgeous guy intent on ruining her summer.
Connor was human.
He was a man who had obviously survived something horrific, who was just trying to deal with what life threw at him.
She had to ask herself why she'd decided she needed to act like such a bitch about letting him work on the cabin. Even staying there a couple of nights until the Inn opened up.
Was she being strong? Tough? Taking a stand, claiming what was hers because she wasn't a pushover anymore?
Or--and this was the worst possible option--was it the exact opposite? Was she afraid of herself? Afraid that her new life wasn't quite as settled and solid as she thought it was? That the addition of a stranger into her cocoon might break it apart completely?
No, she told herself. The life she was building at Blue Mountain Lake was a good one. And really, the more she thought about it, Connor had come all the way from California with no idea that his grandparents had rented out their house. Under the fluorescent lights she could see how tired he looked.
"You know what, this is stupid. You're not going to drive all the way to Piseco tonight. There are plenty of empty bedrooms upstairs at Poplar Cove. Until the Inn empties out again."
He was silent for a long moment and although she'd been expecting to see victory in his eyes, there wasn't even a hint of it.
"I appreciate that, Ginger."
Knowing she was repeating herself, but wanting to make sure she was being perfectly clear--not only for his sake, but for hers too--she said again, "But just until you find a new place to stay."
"Sure." He smiled, then, for the very first time, and even though it was only the smallest upturn of his lips her breath went. "Only until then. And I'll have the special."
Going back into the kitchen, she gave Isabel the order, then said "I need to get some air," and walked out the back door into the parking lot.
The sun had set and in the darkness Ginger looked up at the thick clouds that were blanketing the sky while wind whipped her ponytail against her face.
A storm would be hitting soon.
Tonight.
Normally, Ginger loved the changing weather. She got such a thrill every time she watched the crashing thunder duel with the lightning while she sat safe and cozy beneath a thick blanket on the screened porch.
But she didn't feel safe anymore.
All these months she'd thought she was so perfectly settled. That Blue Mountain Lake was an impenetrable retrea
t. She'd told herself nothing could rock her again, that she was steady now, that she was the one in control.
Had she been living a fantasy?
And yet, thinking of Connor sitting at the counter waiting for her to come back with his food sent a shiver of sudden anticipation running through her. Almost as if some secret part of her, deep inside, was hoping for trouble. For something to shake up her lakeside idyll.
Which was crazy. She was perfectly happy. Of course she wasn't looking for anything--or anyone--to shake things up.
But if that was totally true, she had to wonder, then why was she buzzing head to toe at the thought of Connor sleeping under her roof?
He wanted her.
The moment he walked into the diner and saw Ginger standing behind the counter, desire had hit Connor square in the groin. And all the while they were talking, while he'd been hammering on her about getting into Poplar Cove, sex had been running a constant current between them.
She'd changed out of the skimpy tank and shorts combo she'd had on earlier, but the fitted white shirt and black pants weren't too bad either, managing to nicely highlight her ample breasts. The half-mirrored walls gave him a good opportunity to appreciate the curve of her hips, the slight bounce of her breasts as she sparred with him.
Not only was Ginger his perfect type, lush and soft and sure to be wild in bed, but she was clearly smart too. Tough. He couldn't stop himself from appreciating--despite his irritation at having to work for it--how quick she was to cut his attempt at charm off at the pass, when any other woman would have folded at his initial apology.
And then there was the way she'd responded to his scars, the fact that she experienced some of the hell he'd lived through personally.
No one knew how much his hands still bothered him. No one had the guts to ask him outright if they hurt. He'd been surprised enough by her question to answer.
And afterward, he'd actually been disappointed when their conversation had ended and she'd gone back into the kitchen.
Since puberty he'd had plenty of experience with lust, but rarely had any of his attractions gone beyond the superficial, beyond the bedroom.
Fuck. He couldn't afford any distractions from his ultimate goals for the summer: continuing his intense training regimen so that he would be in peak physical condition for his upcoming Forest Service reinstatement, first, and fixing up Poplar Cove for the wedding, second.
There was no room for third.
He took a twenty out of his wallet and threw it down on the counter, then got the hell out of the diner.
CHAPTER FOUR
ALL NIGHT, Isabel had thought there was something not quite right with Ginger. She hadn't been able to put her finger on it exactly. Just that she looked different. Brighter, somehow. But also, unsettled.
Eight months ago, when Isabel first met Ginger, she'd had the same impression--that Ginger was a woman in dire need of calm. Living on Blue Mountain Lake had clearly done wonders for Ginger's nerves, just as it did for most people who settled in long enough to slow down to the pace of local life. So, then, what on earth could have happened to Ginger to send her back to that unsettled place?
Telling Scott, her fry cook, to man the stove for a minute, Isabel headed out after Ginger.
"What's wrong?"
Ginger shoved the curly hair that had escaped her ponytail back from her face. "I had an unexpected visitor this afternoon."
Unexpected visitors were rather common in a place as beautiful as Blue Mountain Lake. Friends from the city who'd decided to drop by for a couple of days and relatives looking for a private beach to park their kids while they raided the liquor cabinet were par for the course. But Ginger wouldn't be looking so worried if a gaggle of girlfriends had descended on her.
"Who? Don't tell me your ex came all the way out here?"
Ginger had told her all about her marriage to Jeremy, that her relationship had fizzled out pretty much right after her new husband slid the wedding ring onto her left hand. And even though Ginger said they were both to blame for it not working out, Isabel had painted a fairly vivid picture in her head of the ex-husband as a self-obsessed bully who had once masqueraded--very briefly--as Mr. Right. She didn't have a much better image of Ginger's parents.
Ginger made a face. "No. Jeremy wouldn't come all the way out here to see me. From what I've heard he's already moved on to a tiny little brunette with a button nose and hollow cheekbones. And my mother would absolutely lose it out here with all the bugs, so no chance of that."
And yet, Isabel noted, Ginger's cheeks were growing more flushed in the empty space between sentences.
"His name is Connor. Connor MacKenzie. His grandparents own Poplar Cove. He thought he was going to be moving in today. Until he found me on the porch. He's here now, in the diner. Sitting at the counter."
Isabel heard her own sudden intake of breath and had to ask herself why it felt like her world had just been rocked, why she was reaching for the hood of the nearest car with a death grip.
So one of the grandkids next door was in town for a visit. So what?
"Do you know why Connor came back to the lake?"
"He wants to fix up the cabin for his brother's wedding."
Isabel felt the rock sink deeper into her gut. Weddings meant family. Mothers.
And fathers.
"When's the wedding?"
"July thirty-first."
Four weeks away. Long enough, Isabel reckoned, to get a new haircut. No, a complete makeover. To make sure she blew Andrew away when she saw him.
If she saw him.
God, what was wrong with her? She hadn't seen Connor's father in thirty years. Ancient history. She had a full, wonderful life; a thriving business, lots of friends, and a great son.
"Connor told me the house is unsafe. That it's a fire hazard and he needs to work on it. But even though he's probably right, I'm freaking out about having a guy all up in my space. Especially him."
"Why?" Isabel asked, feeling very protective of her friend. "What did he do? Did he try something?"
Ginger blushed. "Oh God, no. Of course not. It's just that ..."
"What? You can tell me." And then Isabel would head back into the restaurant and kill him.
The last thing she was prepared for was Ginger saying, "Oh Isabel, there's just something about him. Not just that he's big and strong and gorgeous, but it's like there's this weird connection between us. Like we're supposed to be ..."
Isabel tried to think how she would have normally responded if she didn't know the MacKenzies. Probably would have encouraged Ginger to break her year of celibacy with the guy.
Fortunately, Ginger was already laughing at herself. "Listen to me. You'd think I was fifteen again with a crush on the quarterback. Talking about how the stars are aligning to bring us together. Could we both forget I said any of that?"
But the thing was, Isabel remembered what good-looking kids the MacKenzie boys were. There was a reason for Ginger's bright eyes and flushed skin. MacKenzie men were a force to be reckoned with. As a teenager, Isabel had half wondered if their father did indeed hold the strings to the stars.
"Hey, your family has lived next door to the MacKenzies for a long time. Is there something I should know about them? Some sort of warning you should be giving me about him?"
Isabel shook her head no, but she put too much force in it and ended up feeling dizzy. "Well, Helen and George are great. But you already know that from dealing with them over the phone."
She should stop there, shut her mouth. But somehow, she couldn't.
"I knew Connor's father, Andrew. We dated for a while. A very long time ago."
Seeing the interest on Ginger's face, Isabel moved to quickly stamp it out. "We were just kids. Like Josh and the girl he went to the movies with. I haven't thought about him in years. I probably wouldn't even recognize him if he walked into the diner."
Too late she realized it sounded like she wa
s trying way too hard to convince Ginger about just how no-big-deal it was. A clear case of "she who doth protest too much."
Fortunately, Ginger was too wrapped up in her own problems to pay much attention. "Guess I'd better get back out there before the customers start a mutiny."
Isabel said "Sure" in an easy voice. But when she went back into the kitchen and picked up her knife, her hands were shaking.
This was usually the time of day she liked best, when the dinner crush had erupted in organized chaos; but it was hard to focus on her job, impossible to stop her brain from rewinding, from retracing the steps that had brought her here. To this diner on the lake.
Ten years had passed since the day she'd bought the run-down building on Blue Mountain Lake's small main street. At that time, the town had barely been more than a grocery store, a post office, a liquor store, and a gas station. Lately, though, she'd step outside to mail a letter and surprise would catch her at just how far the small town had come.
A bustling cafe that often housed live music occupied an old white post-and-beam house on the corner. Anderson's Market, a grocery store that had been around since her grandparents had built their cabin on the lake, had done major upgrades in the past couple of years, going so far as to stock organic fruits and vegetables all year long, rather than just July and August to appease the summer folks. And the Inn now had huge plantings of bright flowers all along the fence that bordered the street.
Only the knitting store was showing signs of wear and tear. Isabel remembered learning to knit on the comfortable couches in the middle of the store one summer when Josh was still an infant--mostly for the help of extra hands to take her baby, less because she had any affinity whatsoever for yarn.
After her divorce, the only thing that had made sense was to leave the city and settle in Blue Mountain Lake permanently. Her heart had always been there, waiting September through May for June fifteenth to roll around again. By the time she and Brian split, she'd been a full-time mom for five years, but everything changed once she took off her wedding ring. It wasn't okay to let her ex support them anymore.
Josh had made it through his childhood and early teens relatively unscathed, in large part, she believed, because Blue Mountain Lake was a world apart from the fast-moving city she'd grown up in. It helped a great deal that cell phones hadn't made their way into town until recently. Because of the thick forests throughout the Adirondacks--and a blanket unwillingness to rent out land for cell towers on the part of the locals--cell reception had been little to none in most parts of town.