Kitabı oku: «Dockside at Willow Lake»

Acclaim for New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs

‘this is a beautiful book’

—Bookbag on Just Breathe

‘… Unpredictable and refreshing, this is irresistibly good’

—Closer Hot Pick Book on Just Breathe

‘… Truly uplifting …’

—Now Book of the Week

‘A human and multi-layered story

exploring duty to both country and family’

—Nora Roberts on

The Ocean Between Us

‘Susan Wiggs paints the details

of human relationships with

the finesse of a master.’

—Jodi Picoult

‘The perfect beach read’

—Debbie Macomber on Summer by the Sea

Also by Susan Wiggs

The Lakeshore Chronicles SUMMER AT WILLOW LAKE THE WINTER LODGE DOCKSIDE SNOWFALL AT WILLOW LAKE FIRESIDE LAKESHORE CHRISTMAS

The Tudor Rose Trilogy AT THE KING’S COMMAND THE MAIDEN’S HAND AT THE QUEEN’S SUMMONS

Contemporary HOME BEFORE DARK THE OCEAN BETWEEN US SUMMER BY THE SEA TABLE FOR FIVE LAKESIDE COTTAGE JUST BREATHE

All available in eBook

Dockside at Willow Lake

Susan Wiggs

www.mirabooks.co.uk

For boat commutes to our writers’ group in the

summer, for treacherous drives through frozen winter

nights, for sticking together through spring floods and

autumn rains, for my fellow writer

and friend for all seasons—

For Sheila! For Joy!

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Many thanks to the real innkeeper, Wendy Higgins of The Ocean Lodge in Cannon Beach, Oregon. Deepest appreciation to fellow writers Elsa Watson, Suzanne Selfors, Sheila Rabe and Anjali Banerjee; also to Kysteen Seelen, Susan Plunkett, Rose Marie Harris, Lois Faye Dyer and Kate Breslin for their humour, wisdom and patience in reading early drafts.

Special thanks to Meg Ruley and Annelise Robey of the Jane Rotrosen Agency, and to my terrific editor, Margaret O’Neill Marbury.

‘A lake is the landscape’s most beautiful and expressive feature. It is earth’s eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature.’

—Henry David Thoreau

Walden, ‘The Ponds’

Part One
Now

“You are part travel guide, social director, advertising and marketing specialist, housekeeper, chef, accountant, public relations specialist, buildings and groundskeeper, and local historian all rolled into one. If … you are willing to work hard, are dedicated to creating comfortable accommodations for visitors, have a love of your area and a desire to share that passion with others, then you may want to consider owning and operating a bed and breakfast inn.”

—The Bed and Breakfast Association of Alaska

One

After Shane Gilmore kissed her, Nina Romano kept her eyes shut. All right, she thought, so he wasn’t the world’s best kisser. Not every man was born a great kisser. Some had to be trained. Surely, Shane Gilmore was trainable.

She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. He certainly looked like a good kisser, with nicely sculpted lips and a strong jaw, broad shoulders and thick black hair. Maybe he was just having an off day.

“I’ve been waiting a long time to do that,” he said. “Your term in office couldn’t end soon enough for me.”

He didn’t mean it as a dig. Did he? The fact that her term as mayor of Avalon, New York, had concluded in scandal still stung; maybe she was just being paranoid. She decided to laugh it off. “All right, now you sound like one of my political enemies.”

“My reasons are romantic,” he insisted. “I was waiting for the right time. It wouldn’t have looked right for us to be together when you were mayor, not with me being president of the only bank in town.”

You look like such a hunk, she thought. Don’t act like a dork. And yes, she was being paranoid about the scandal, which was odd, because given her background, Nina was no stranger to scandal. As a young single mother, she’d held her head up and gone to work for the town of Avalon, eventually serving as deputy mayor. The salary was almost nonexistent, and hadn’t improved much when Mayor McKittrick fell ill and she became the de facto mayor, the youngest and lowest-paid in the state, as far as she knew. She’d inherited a city-finance nightmare. The town was on the verge of bankruptcy. She’d cut spending, which included her own salary, to the bone and eventually found the source of the leak—a corrupt city administrator.

Enough, she thought. This was a new chapter of her life in so many ways. She’d just returned from three weeks away. She and Shane were on their first date, and quibbling with a first date was a no-no. And aside from that kiss—awkward and way too … slobbery—things were going all right. They had shared a Sunday afternoon picnic at Blanchard Park, on the shores of Willow Lake, the town’s best asset. Afterward they had taken a leisurely stroll along the lakeshore, and that was where Shane made his move. He’d stopped right in the middle of the path, cast a furtive glance left and right and then pressed his mouth in full lockdown mode upon hers.

Ew.

Snap out of it, Nina scolded herself. This was supposed to be a new beginning for her. While she was raising her daughter, she’d never had the time or energy to date. Now that she was making her belated entry into the world of dating, she really shouldn’t ruin it by being hypercritical. She had ruined more first dates by being hypercritical than … come to think of it, she’d ruined all of them. First dates were the only kind Nina Romano ever had, because there was never a second. Except that one, years ago. The one that had resulted in her getting pregnant at the age of fifteen. After that, she’d concluded that second dates were bad luck.

Everything was different now. It was time—past time—to see if a date could actually turn into something besides a disaster. Nina’s daughter Sonnet was grown; she had finished high school early, at sixteen, and had been accepted at American University, neatly avoiding every youthful mistake Nina had made.

Don’t, she thought, feeling herself starting to drown in thoughts of Sonnet. In a moment of insane self-deception, Nina had convinced herself that it would be easy to let go of her daughter. To let go of the child who had been Nina’s whole world until high school graduation a few weeks ago.

Trying to pull herself back into the moment with Shane, she quickened her pace and felt a fiery sting along the length of her leg. Too late, she saw that she had strayed too close to a clump of thigh-high nettles.

Even when she gave a soft hiss of pain, he didn’t seem to notice as he strode along beside her, filling her in on his latest round of golf.

Golf, thought Nina, gritting her teeth against the stinging sensation. Now, there was something she’d always wanted to try. There were so many things she’d put off learning and doing. Now that Sonnet was gone, it was Nina’s turn to take her shot.

The thought put a spring in her step despite the nettles. It was a gorgeous Saturday afternoon and people were out in droves, like creatures awakened from hibernation. She loved the sight of couples strolling along the lakeshore, families picnicking in the park, catboats and canoes plying the clear blue waters of the lake. Nina loved everything about her hometown. It was the perfect place to launch the next phase of her life.

Though not financially rewarding, serving as mayor had brought her friends and allies who far outnumbered her enemies, even after the finance scandal. These connections, and Shane’s bank, were the key to her new endeavor. Now that Sonnet was gone, Nina was about to resurrect a long-buried dream.

“So you’ve been waiting for me to free myself of the mayor’s office,” she remarked to Shane. “That’s good to know. How are things at the bank?”

“Actually, there’ve been a few changes,” he said. “I was going to talk to you about that later.”

She frowned at the way his gaze shifted as he spoke. “What sort of changes?”

“We’ve got some new personnel who came on board while you were away. And can we not talk about business?” He touched her arm, sent her a meaningful look. “On the path back there—” he gestured “—it felt like we really clicked. I missed you. Three weeks is a long time.”

“Uh-huh.” She reminded herself to be fair, to give this date a chance. “Three weeks isn’t that long, not to me. I’ve waited for years to get going. This is it. My new life. I’m finally starting a future I’ve dreamed about ever since I was a little girl.”

“Um, yeah. That’s great.” He seemed uneasy, and she remembered that he didn’t want to talk about work, so she dropped the subject.

“I’m glad I got to make the trip with Sonnet,” she told him. “I can’t remember the last time we had an actual vacation.”

“I thought maybe you’d be seduced by big-city life and never come back,” he said.

He didn’t know her at all, then. “My heart is here, Shane,” she said. “It always has been. Here in this town where I grew up, where my family is. I’d never leave Avalon.”

“So you got homesick on your trip?”

“No, because I knew I’d be coming back.” The day after graduation, Nina and Sonnet had taken the train to Washington, and they’d spent three glorious weeks together, seeing the nation’s capital and the colonial monuments of Virginia. Though Nina wouldn’t admit it, she was also reassuring herself about Sonnet’s father, Laurence Jeffries, and his family. Sonnet would be spending the summer with him. Laurence was a high-ranking army officer, a military attaché. He’d invited Sonnet to travel with him, his wife and two daughters to Casteau, Belgium, where Laurence was assigned to the Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe.

Having a father who worked at SHAPE was a wonderful opportunity for Sonnet, who would be serving at NATO as an intern. It was a chance for her to get to know Laurence better, too. Laurence and his trophy family. He was a shining star, an African-American graduate of West Point. His wife was the granddaughter of a famous civil rights leader, and his daughters were honor students at Sidwell Friends School. Yet they genuinely wanted to make Sonnet feel welcome, or so it seemed to Nina. At summer’s end, Sonnet would matriculate at American University. Simple, thought Nina. All kids left home, right?

The fact that Sonnet would be living with her father, step-mother and stepsisters was simple, too. Blended families were the norm in this day and age.

So why was it, every time she imagined Sonnet in that so-perfect Georgetown brick house or the quaint Belgian town filled with SHAPE and NATO personnel, that Nina panicked? She felt her daughter becoming a stranger, more distant with each passing day. Stop it, she admonished herself again.

Letting her go was a good decision. It was what Sonnet wanted. It was what Nina wanted, something she’d been waiting for—freedom, independence. Still, saying goodbye had been a leap of faith. Thank goodness, Nina thought, she had something to come back to besides an empty house. She had a new life, a new future planned, a new adventure. Nothing could take the place of her daughter, but Nina was determined to move forward. There were things she’d given up, things she’d missed by becoming a mother at such a young age. No, she reminded herself. Not given up. Postponed.

Shane was talking again, and Nina realized she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was telling you, I’m pumped about going kayaking. I’ve never been.”

Pumped? Had he really said pumped? “The lake’s a good place to start. The water’s pretty tame.”

“Even if it’s not,” he said, “I’m prepared. I bought some gear, just for today.”

They arrived at the town dock and boathouse, busy with people out enjoying the best weather of the year so far. She saw couples and families strolling or splashing in the shallows. Her gaze lingered on a couple sitting on a bench at the water’s edge. They were facing each other, holding hands, leaning forward in earnest conversation. They were ordinary people—he had thinning hair, she had a thickening waistline—yet Nina could sense their intimacy, even from a distance. There was a certain posture people took on when they loved and trusted each other. The sight of them made her feel wistful; she was no expert on romantic love, having never experienced it firsthand before. One day, though, she might unveil that mystery for herself.

Glancing over at Shane, she thought, probably not today.

He mistook her glance. “So after we go kayaking,” he said, “I thought we’d go to my place. I’ll fix you dinner.”

Please, she thought. Please stop trying so hard. She smiled up at him. “Thanks, Shane.” Once again, she reminded herself to loosen up. In a way, dating was like being an explorer, setting off into unknown territory.

“Nina,” someone called. “Nina Romano!”

There, in the picnic area near the boat shed, was Bo Crutcher, the star pitcher of the Avalon Hornets, a Can-Am Baseball League team. As usual, the long, tall Texan was drinking beer and hanging out with his buddies.

“Hey, darlin’,” he drawled. His accent flowed like sun-warmed honey.

“I’m not your darling, Bo,” she said. “And isn’t there a rule about drinking before a game?”

“Why, darlin’, I reckon there is. How’d you get so smart?”

“I was born that way,” she said.

“Seems like you know everyone in town,” Shane remarked.

“That was my favorite part of being mayor—meeting so many people.”

Shane looked back over his shoulder at Bo. “I don’t know why he hasn’t been fired from the team.”

“Because he’s good.” Nina knew Bo Crutcher had been cut from other teams thanks to his party-animal ways. The Can-Am League was pretty much his last chance. “When you’re good at something, people tend to overlook a lot of other flaws. For a while, anyway. Eventually, though, they catch up with you.”

The sound of boyish laughter carried across the water, catching Nina’s attention. She immediately recognized Greg Bellamy and his son, Max, launching a canoe.

Every unattached woman in town recognized Greg Bellamy, the ultimate in recently divorced guys. He was ridiculously handsome in a white-teeth, sparkling-eyes, broad-shouldered, six-feet-something way. For a long time, Nina had had a secret crush on him. He wasn’t for her, though. He came with too much baggage in the form of two kids. Nina knew and liked Max and Daisy, but she kept her distance. She had finally reached a place in her life where she could just be by herself. Taking on another woman’s children was not in her plans.

Besides, Greg wasn’t interested. When he first moved to town last winter, she’d invited him to coffee but he turned her down. Nina reminded herself of this when someone else joined Greg and Max—a woman in breezy white capri pants and a lime-green sweater. She appeared to be about eight feet tall and very blond. Although she wasn’t close enough to see, Nina knew she was attractive. That was the only type Greg Bellamy seemed to favor. Italian-American women under five foot two, known for their fiery tempers, cropped hair and lack of fashion sense, didn’t appear to interest him.

Resolutely pulling her attention from Greg Bellamy, Nina led the way to the boat shed where she kept her kayak. She’d had the kayak for years because she loved being on the water. Willow Lake—the Jewel of Avalon, as it was known in chamber of commerce brochures—was ten miles long, fed by the Schuyler River and bordered by the wooded rise of the Catskills. One end of the lake faced the town of Avalon and was fringed by the popular city park, which Nina had been instrumental in funding when she was in office. Farther along the lakeshore were summer homes and the occasional bed-and-breakfast hideaway. Privately owned property on the lakeshore was exceedingly rare, since the land was now part of the Catskills Forest Preserve. The few places that had been built before the preserve stood like storybook settings from another time. In the shape of a long, curved finger, crooked as though beckoning, the lake stretched deep into a pristine wilderness. At its northernmost reaches nestled a place called Camp Kioga. The property had been in the Bellamy family for generations. Of course it had. Sometimes, it seemed to Nina, the Bellamys owned half the county. The camp had recently reopened as a family resort. At summer’s end, it would be the setting for a much-anticipated wedding.

As she and Shane brought the kayak from its berth in the boat shed, she felt a surge of nostalgia. She had bought the two-man kayak years ago at the annual Rotary auction. It was perfect for her and Sonnet. Remembering those rare summer days when she stole time from work to go paddling on the lake with her daughter created a pang of longing so unexpected that Nina caught her breath.

“Something the matter?” Shane asked.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Just excited about getting out on the water again.”

He went to his car to get his gear. While Nina launched the kayak at the dock, she tracked the progress of Greg Bellamy’s canoe. He and his boy, Max, paddled in tandem while the blonde sat like a Nordic princess in the middle. Wasn’t she bored? What fun was it to just sit there, keeping every hair in place, white pants unwrinkled?

Nina wondered who the woman was. Thanks to the upcoming Bellamy family wedding, there had been lots of visitors to town and to Camp Kioga—event planners, florists, caterers, decorators. The bride-to-be was Greg’s niece, Olivia. Perhaps the Nordic princess was going to be his wedding date.

Since she came from a huge family, Nina was no stranger to weddings. But of course, she’d never been a bride. Maybe now that she was truly on her own, she would get married. Turning away from the scene on the lake, she glanced at Shane Gilmore, returning from the parking lot. Then again, she thought, maybe not.

He had geared up for kayaking in a crash helmet and float coat, a protective spray skirt that circled his waist like a floppy tutu, a VHF radio and amphibious shoes.

“Well, look at you,” she said. Fortunately, serving as mayor had taught her to be diplomatic.

“Thanks,” he said, preening in his gear. “I got everything at the preseason sale at the Sport Haus.”

“Lucky you,” murmured Nina. “You probably won’t need the helmet and skirt today. Those are usually only needed for extreme whitewater kayaking.”

He disregarded her advice and eased into his seat while she held the boat steady. “Ready?” he said, banging the fiberglass hull against the dock as he settled in.

“Not quite,” she said, and picked up the paddles. “We don’t want to be without these.”

“Dang,” he said, “I feel like this is going to tip over any second.”

“It won’t,” she said. “I had Sonnet in this when she was five years old. In good weather, there’s no safer way to be on the water.”

He clutched at the side of the dock as Nina got in. She told herself not to be so critical of this guy. He was the bank president. He was educated and good-looking. He said things like, “Do you know how long I’ve waited to ask you out?”

She showed him how the rudder worked and demonstrated a simple paddling technique. So what if he was a dork? So what if he was wearing a crash helmet and spray skirt? There was something to be said for exercising caution.

Besides, she could tell he was enjoying their outing. Once they paddled away from shore and glided across the smooth surface of Willow Lake, he relaxed visibly. This was the magic and beauty of being on the water, Nina reflected. This is why the lakes of upstate New York were so legendary, having been sought after by harried city dwellers ever since there was a city. The water was dotted with catboats with sails like angels’ wings, other kayaks, canoes and rowboats of all sorts. The weeping hills, veiled by springs and waterfalls, were reflected in the glassy surface of the lake. Paddling across the sun-dappled lake was like being in an Impressionist painting, part of a peaceful and colorful tableau.

“Let’s go over here,” she suggested, indicating with her paddle. “I want to take a look at the Inn at Willow Lake—my new project.”

A beat of hesitation pulsed between them. “It’s kind of far,” he said. “Clear across the lake.”

“We can be there in just a few minutes.” She tried not to feel annoyed by his hesitation. The Inn at Willow Lake was going to be her life. As bank president, Shane was one of the few people who was privy to that dream. The inn had gone into foreclosure and the bank now held the title. Thanks to Mr. Bailey, the asset manager, Nina had been given the management contract for the place. She would oversee its reopening and operation. If she did a good job, if things went as planned, she’d qualify for a small business loan and buy the place for herself. That was what she wanted. It was something she dreamed of doing all her life.

Without meaning to, she went faster, her rhythm out of sync with Shane’s so that their paddles clashed. “Sorry,” she said. But she wasn’t really. She was in a hurry.

As she paddled toward the historic property with its long dock projecting out into the lake, her heart lifted. This was the only hotel on the lake, thanks to deed restrictions that had been enacted after it was built. The property consisted of a collection of vintage residences around a magnificent main building, which lay upon the emerald slope like another place in time. The Stick and Italianate architecture was a superb example of the irrational exuberance of the Gilded Age. There was a wraparound veranda and gables along the upper story. There was an incredible belvedere rising like a wedding cake, its turret crowned by an ornate dome. The mullioned windows offered a matchless view of Willow Lake. From her perspective on the water, Nina could imagine the place in the old resort days, when the grounds were dotted by guests sunning themselves or playing croquet, and lovers walked hand-in-hand along the shady paths. There was a part of Nina that was a shameless romantic, and the inn fed that fantasy; it always had. Her favorite building was the boathouse, built in the classic style of the lakes of upstate New York with covered boat slips at water level, and living quarters above. It was made of the same whimsy and luxury as the main building of the inn.

In accordance with her agreement with the bank, the upper level of the boathouse was to be her private residence, and she had plans to move within the week. The boathouse had originally served as a lavish playroom for the children of the original owner, with quarters for the nanny. Lately, however, it had been used for storage.

Ever since she was a little girl, she’d pictured herself here, warmly welcoming guests from the world over as they gathered for lemonade and croquet on the lawn in the summer or for hot chocolate and cozy reading by the library fireplace in winter. She had always known exactly how each room would look, what low-key music would be playing in the dining room, what the baking muffins would smell like in the morning.

Her plans had been derailed by a teenage pregnancy and the responsibility of raising a child alone. No, she thought. Not derailed. Delayed. Now an opportunity had opened up and Nina was determined to seize it. She was ready for something new in her life. With Sonnet gone, she needed it.

To some people, being an innkeeper might not have sounded like much. To Nina, it was the start of a long-held dream. As they glided close to the dock, she felt a warm thrill of excitement, not unlike the sort of thrill she was supposed to feel for her date.

“So there it is,” she said. “I can’t wait to get started.”

He was quiet. She wondered if he was checking her out and twisted around in her seat. “Shane?”

“Yeah, about that,” he said, jerking his helmeted head in the direction of the inn. “There’ve been some interesting developments at the bank.”

Nina frowned. “‘Interesting’ sounds a bit ominous.”

“While you were away, Bailey retired and moved to Florida.”

She relaxed. “I know. I sent him a card.”

“And we brought in a new asset manager from the main branch, a woman named Brooke Harlow. She made some changes in her department. She had orders from the home office to improve her bottom line.”

Nina’s heart faltered. “She’s still going to honor my contract, right?”

“Rest assured, that contract is considered a valuable part of the package. You have a fantastic reputation. No question you’re the best general manager for the job.”

“Why doesn’t this sound so good to me, Shane?” she asked.

“Well, actually, it could be very good. The Inn at Willow Lake has been sold, and your contract with it.”

She turned again and scowled at him. “Not funny.”

“I’m not telling you to be funny. It’s just something that happened.”

“It can’t happen.” Yet the churning of her stomach told her that indeed, it could. “I expected the bank to give me the option to buy the place as soon as I’m able to qualify for a loan.”

“I’m sure you knew it was a possibility that the bank would divest itself of the property if a buyer came along.”

“But Mr. Bailey said—”

“I’m sorry, Nina. That’s what happened.”

She’d been aware of the risk. She’d known it when she signed her contract, but Mr. Bailey had told her the possibility was highly unlikely. As soon as Nina qualified for a small-business loan, she would be in a position to buy the place.

The Inn at Willow Lake. Sold.

For a few moments, she couldn’t get her mind around the reality. It just seemed like such a foreign concept. Of course the inn would be sold one day—to her. That had always been the plan.

“Anyway,” Shane went on, ignoring the fact that every word that came out of his mouth was another hammer blow, “it belongs to someone else now. You won’t believe who the buyer is.”

Nina Romano felt something snap inside her. This clueless man, this spray-skirt-wearing lousy kisser, was sitting there informing her that her entire future, the one thing she had counted on to fill her life now that Sonnet was gone, had been taken away. It was too much.

“Hey, are you all right?” he asked.

Not the smartest question to ask an Italian-American woman with steam coming out of her ears.

Nina’s body was not her own. As though possessed by demons, she reared up in the kayak and went for his throat.

Two

“Isn’t it a bit early in the season for swimming?” Brooke Harlow asked Greg Bellamy.

Curious, Greg turned to see what she was pointing at—a couple with a kayak in the distance. A dark-haired woman and a guy in a crash helmet appeared to be locked together in the kayak in a passionate embrace, churning up water all around them as the craft bobbed and rolled. Stillwater kayaking was supposed to be a relaxing sport, Greg thought. But it was none of his business. Whatever floats your boat. Ha, ha.

He tried to shake off his sour mood. It was a blue-sky, summer’s-coming day and he damn well better enjoy it. He was spending the afternoon with a woman who looked like a lingerie model. His twelve-year-old son was actually behaving like a human being for once. It didn’t take long for Greg to figure out why. Max was … Damn, he was checking out Brooke Harlow. The kid was only twelve. That was way too young to be interested in women. Wasn’t it just yesterday that Max was playing with Tonka trucks, making motor sounds with his mouth?

Brooke shook the water from her hand. “Brr. I think I’ll wait until later in the season to try swimming. How about you, Max?”

“I don’t mind cold water,” he said.

Greg suspected Max would be agreeable to walking across hot coals if Brooke suggested it. He tried to send his son a telepathic message—you’re too young to be thinking what you’re thinking. But Max was oblivious to everything except Brooke.

Greg told himself not to worry about the situation. But of course, these days, he worried about everything, including the fact that later in the summer, Max would be going overseas to visit his mother. Which was more depressing for the kid: having his parents together, but miserable, or having them an ocean apart? Also depressing—the fact that Greg was thinking about these things when he was supposed to be on a date.

This wasn’t a date, not technically. That wouldn’t happen until Greg took her to dinner tonight. She was the new asset manager of the bank, and she’d recently overseen a major transaction for him. For better or worse, Greg now owned the Inn at Willow Lake. He had paid cash for the place and Brooke had expedited the transaction so it took place in a matter of days. His ex, Sophie, would probably be the first to tell him he was crazy, which was why he hadn’t told her yet. The place had been vacated and was now closed for renovations. He’d dived in headfirst, hiring a contractor and spending his own days—and nights—hard at work on the place. The idea was to reopen as quickly as possible. Greg and his kids, Max and Daisy, had already moved to the premises and now lived in the owner’s residence at the edge of the property. The boxy Victorian house was a far cry from their first home, a luxury high-rise in Manhattan, but the three of them were adjusting well enough, all things considered.

He dug in his paddle and, at the front of the boat, Max did the same. Working as a team, they paddled in tandem and soon had the canoe gliding through the clear water. For a few blessed seconds, Greg felt connected to his son, the two of them engaged in a rare moment of cooperation. They used to live their lives according to the same rhythm, but since the divorce, they’d been out of sync.

“Holy crap, Dad,” said Max, pointing at the people in the kayak. “I think that guy’s in trouble. We should go check it out.”

“No, they’re just horsing around,” Greg said. Seconds later, the woman went overboard. A fount of water exploded around the kayak. The woman in the water was trying to hold the kayak upright while the guy flailed and shouted.

The kayak bobbed, then toppled sideways in a roll. The guy in the helmet yelled a word Greg liked to pretend Max didn’t know, then crashed into the water.

“Oh, my lord,” Brooke said, “I think that’s Shane Gilmore.”

The bank president. And, as Greg and Max paddled closer, he realized that the woman in the water was Nina Romano. Damn. What were the chances?

The dude in the crash helmet seemed to be shoving at Nina with a paddle. Maybe he knew something Greg didn’t about her.

“You guys need some help?” Greg shouted, bringing the canoe alongside the kayak. Stupid question. He extended his oar toward Nina.

She ignored it and said, “Help me hold this upright. He’s panicking.”

Great, thought Greg, his skin shrinking as he thought about the water temperature. “Hang on,” he said, then sucked in a big breath of air and dove into the lake. He emerged a few feet from the rolling kayak.

“The kayak’s taking on water,” Nina shouted. “He’s stuck and he won’t stay still.”

“Get him the hell out, then,” Greg said, going numb from the shock of the cold water.

“His spray skirt is caught on something,” she yelled.

The guy was flailing and coughing. “Can’t … swim.” His face was white, his lips a chilly blue. The crash helmet was knocked askew. His hands were locked like vise grips in the cross straps of the kayak.

“You don’t need to swim,” Greg said. “We’re going to get you to that dock over there, okay? But you have to sit still.” In his mind, he added, you pussy. A grown man who couldn’t swim, even with a flotation vest. What was up with that?

They made it to the dock quickly because it was so damn cold that Greg kicked at high speed. The dock, projecting from the grounds of the Inn at Willow Lake, had definitely seen better days. Some of the planks were warped and the nails rusted, and a fine film of algae covered the piers. A rickety ladder was attached to the side.

Shane clung to it, shivering, while Nina hoisted herself out of the water and bent over the hull of the kayak. “Hold still,” she said. “Let me figure out what you’re caught on. I think this cord—”

“Screw the cord.” With safety assured, anger took over. Shane clawed a pocket knife from his pants.

“Hey, don’t—”

Ignoring her, he sawed through the carrying cord of Nina’s kayak and clambered out onto the dock. “Thanks, Nina,” he said. “It’s been … real.”

“I’m sorry,” she said faintly. “I had no idea you didn’t know how to swim. You should have said something before we launched.”

“Nobody can swim hanging upside down underwater.”

“I know. I said I was sorry …” Nina gazed up at Greg, her eyes watering and her chin trembling. Poor thing, Greg thought. He was confused by a sudden urge to pull her into a soothing hug. He wanted to tell her the guy was being a jerk, not worth crying over. Then, seeing a tremor in her throat, he realized she wasn’t fighting tears, but holding in laughter. In the spray skirt and crash helmet, Gilmore looked like a grotesque, angry ballerina.

Don’t make eye contact, Greg cautioned himself. Too late. He and Nina looked straight at each other and immediately lost it. Between guffaws, Greg saw the bank president’s color turn a furious red.

“Happy you’re so amused,” Shane said.

Greg struggled for control. “Hey, it’s just relief, buddy,” he said. “We’re glad you’re okay.”

Nina giggled helplessly while still shivering with cold.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Gilmore muttered.

Brooke and Max arrived in the canoe. She clambered out and ran to Shane, clucking over him like a mother hen.

“You’re freezing,” she said.

“So am I,” said Greg, but she almost stepped on him as she rushed toward Shane.

Greg eyed Nina, who was hugging herself, teeth chattering. She was a small, intense-looking woman. He found her oddly attractive—oddly, because he wasn’t usually drawn to her type. Yet there was something about Nina. He’d always been intrigued by her. And now he had big news to share with her. He’d pictured a different sort of meeting about the inn, though.

“Is he the first to wear a crash helmet on a date with you or have there been others?” Greg asked.

“Very funny. And clearly, it doesn’t help.”

“Listen, I’m parked at the inn,” Brooke said to Shane. “If you want, I can give you a lift to your car.”

Shane’s lips had turned from blue to indigo. “That’d be good.”

Brooke said her goodbyes to Greg and Max. Then she turned to Nina, offering the dazzling smile that had inspired Greg to ask her out in the first place. “I’m Brooke Harlow.”

“The bank’s new asset manager,” Nina said, her eyes narrowing. “And you’ve parked your car at the inn.”

“Sure. I drove myself over.”

“Shane was just telling me about you.” Somehow, despite being soaked to the skin, Nina managed to summon a kind of icy dignity. “Nina Romano.”

“Oh, you’re Nina! I’ve heard so much about you. We’ll have to catch up, but I should give poor Shane a lift before he freezes.”

“You do that,” Nina said.

Brooke offered Nina an uncertain smile. “Nice to meet you. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

“Count on it.” Nina thrust up her chin as though trying to make herself taller.

“I’ll call you,” Brooke said to Greg.

No, you won’t, he thought. He could see it in her eyes, because he’d seen it before. His life was way too complicated to appeal to a woman like Brooke Harlow, a fresh transplant from the city, looking for a simpler way of life. He was divorced, had custody of two kids and was about to launch a new business, all of which meant he didn’t have unlimited time to give to a relationship. Okay, he had maybe five minutes a day to give to a relationship.

Still, he watched Brooke leave with a twinge of regret. She had runway-model legs, long blond hair, a great smile and … He tried to figure out if he liked her personality. Did she have one? With those looks, did she need one?

Max tied the canoe to a cleat. “I’m going to go fishing, okay, Dad?” he asked.

“Okay, but stay on the dock,” Greg said, glad that the kid wanted to do something more wholesome than checking out Brooke Harlow.

Greg turned to Nina. She was facing the inn, her dark eyes diamond-bright with … He couldn’t read her expression, but he could tell she wasn’t happy. Dripping wet, she looked even smaller than she usually did, her jet-black hair hanging limp and her spandex shorts and T-shirt clinging. He could tell at a glance that under the shirt, she was wearing one of those heavy-duty athletic bra things. Whoever invented that garment lacked imagination.

“Well,” Nina said as she bent down and started bailing water from the kayak. “Well, doesn’t this just make my day?”

Greg wondered why—besides being soaked to the skin—she was acting so hostile. This was not a good sign, since they would soon be working together. One thing he had never figured out was how to penetrate a woman’s anger. He hadn’t been able to do so back when he was married, and he wasn’t able to do it now. He’d known Nina off and on over the years—mostly off. He remembered her as a lively kid some years his junior, a local girl he saw when he came to spend his summers at Camp Kioga. He recalled more about her than she could possibly know, but it was probably not a good idea to bring that up, especially with her in this mood. When he’d first moved back to town last winter, she’d made what he thought might be an overture, but he’d been reeling from the divorce and hadn’t taken her up on it. Now, looking at her, he called himself a fool. There was more fire and appeal in a wet, angry Nina than in a hundred blond Brookes.

The old planks of the dock creaked as Nina bent to hoist the kayak out of the water.

“I’ll give you a hand,” said Greg. He felt mildly annoyed that she hadn’t asked for help. The kayak was heavy, and as they upended it a slew of water soaked their feet all over again. They set it up on the dock to drain some more. Greg watched Brooke and Shane cross the broad lawn. For their first—and apparently final—date, Brooke had brought her own car to the inn. Although he hadn’t been divorced for long, Greg had learned the separate cars ploy right away. When arranging a rendezvous—date, hookup, whatever—it was safer to arrive and depart separately. This evening, Greg had planned to leave Max with his older sister, Daisy, and take Brooke to dinner, after which—please God, it had been so damned long—he would get laid.

But no. Clearly, that was off the table. Now he was wet and cold and stuck with an equally wet, cold and ticked-off Nina Romano.

The last time he’d seen her was at high school commencement a few weeks before. He and Nina each had a graduating senior. Sonnet Romano and Daisy were friends, but the future lying before each girl couldn’t be more different. Sonnet was headed for travel and adventure and college, as he recalled, while Daisy was—

“I’d better be going,” Nina said, interrupting his thoughts. “My car’s clear across the lake at the municipal boat shed.” She bent to relaunch her kayak.

“Forget that,” Greg heard himself say. “Let’s go inside and dry off.”

He gestured toward the inn. The main building was a house of wonders, having been built in the 1890s as a vast family summer compound by a railroad baron with more money than common sense. Over the generations, the place had undergone a number of transformations, ultimately becoming the sort of cozy lakeside resort people thought of when they needed to escape somewhere.

“What do you mean, let’s go inside?” Nina asked. “The place is closed.”

“True.” He dug in his pocket. “Luckily, I have a key.”

She gaped at him. Her face paled and her voice was a rasp of disbelief as she said, “I don’t understand. What are you doing with the key?”

Oh, boy. This wasn’t the way he’d planned to tell her. He’d envisioned a business meeting, both of them in dry street clothes. What the hell? he thought. “The Inn at Willow Lake belongs to me now.”

Not only did Nina Romano have a Sophia Loren face, with those large, gorgeous eyes and full lips; she had an expressiveness about her that showed every emotion. She wasn’t reserved and cool like the girls Greg had grown up with—bloodless, sleek-haired schoolgirls or the queen of all suppressed emotion, his ex-wife, Sophie. Nina instantly expressed everything she felt. Maybe that was why Greg found her a little scary. Unlike the Brooke Harlows of the world, he sensed Nina could be a real threat, because she might actually make him feel something besides plain lust.

At the moment, she had an entire succession of emotions on display—shock, denial, hurt, anger … but no acceptance.

“So you’re the one who bought this place while I was away,” she said, anger shaping every word.

“Gilmore didn’t tell you?”

She glared at him. “I didn’t actually give him a chance.”

Greg didn’t know why she was so pissed off, or why he felt defensive. “It’s probably serendipitous that we both ended up here. I know you hold the general management contract. We’ll need to renegotiate that.”

Still radiating fury, she said, “Renegotiate.”

“You made the agreement with the bank. The contract was sold with all the other assets, but we’ll have to change some things.”

“No shit,” she said, and marched toward the inn.

The moment she stepped from the wraparound porch into the sunroom of the inn, Nina was transported. Even though the place had seen better days, an air of faded gentility and elegance lingered in the arched doorways and carved wooden mouldings and railings, the tall ceilings and carpenter-Gothic window casements. She had spent a lot of time here, both in person and in her dreams. The smell of fresh plaster and paint indicated that renovations were already underway.

When she was a little girl, she and her best friend, Jenny, used to watch the Rainbow Girls in their white dresses and gloves going there for their monthly meeting. The Rainbow Girls were a group of privileged young ladies who gathered to work on charitable pursuits, and they’d always seemed like a breed apart to Nina, like fairies who lived on a special diet of meringues and cream. She never actually wanted to be one of them—they seemed a bit boring to her—but she wanted to be their hostess. When she and Jenny would ride their bikes past the inn, she’d say, “I’m going to own that place one day.”

The owners, Mr. and Mrs. Weller, lived on the premises and ran the place as a quiet retreat for tourists and people from the city. Nina had worked there each summer, beginning when she was thirteen. The work was not glamorous, but she’d been fascinated by the operation of the hotel, the array of guests from all over. Later, as a young mother, she’d moved up from housekeeper to desk clerk, bookkeeper and assistant manager, learning every aspect of the business. Even dealing with plumbing woes and cranky guests hadn’t discouraged her. After Mr. Weller died, Mrs. Weller carried on, but never with the same spirit she had when he was alive. When she passed away, she left the place—along with its mortgage—to her only living relative, a nephew in Atlantic City. He entrusted its management to a contract firm that let everyone go and sent in their own staff. Nina went to work as the mayor’s assistant while she finished her education. The experience had led to her being appointed to office when the mayor had been incapacitated by illness. Her friends and family thought her head would be turned by city politics, but she always came back to the idea of the Inn at Willow Lake.

Due to neglect and mismanagement, the inn went into foreclosure. It seemed a perfect opportunity for her, a time to take a risk, to start something new.

Her first step had been to approach Mr. Bailey, the bank’s asset manager, and propose to him that she reopen the inn, managing it on behalf of the bank while she applied for a small-business loan. It seemed like the perfect arrangement.

Now she stood dripping on the faded cabbage-rose carpet in the salon and stared at Greg Bellamy, the new owner of the inn.

Funny, he didn’t look like the kind of guy who stomped people’s dreams into the ground. He looked—God—like Mr. Nice Guy. Like Mr. Nice Guy with an incredible body and killer smile and hair that was great even when it was wet.

Still, she had no trouble hating him as he hurried to a supply closet and grabbed some towels and a spa robe and slippers. “You can dry off and put these on while I throw our stuff in the dryer,” he said.

The man was clueless, she thought, grabbing the bundle and heading into the closest guest room. The Laurel Room, it used to be called. Oh, she remembered this place, with its beautiful woodwork and lofty ceilings, the white porcelain sink set into an antique washstand. Apparently, Greg had wasted no time fixing the place up. The walls bore a fresh coat of sky-blue paint and a new light fixture hung from the ceiling. From the window, she could see Max out on the dock, casting with a fishing rod.

She tried to numb herself to all feeling as she peeled off her cold, clammy things and put on the robe. The thick terry cloth fabric felt wonderful against her chilled skin, but she was in no mood to feel wonderful. Bitterness and resentment filled her up like poison, and it was hard not to feel utterly persecuted by fate. It seemed that every time her turn came up, something happened to snatch it away.

All her life, she had made every choice for practical reasons, governed by what was best for Sonnet. Finally she had reached a point where she could take a risk. If not the inn, then something else. It was true that because of area covenants, there could never be another inn on the lake, but there were other options. She could become a painter, a bookseller, she could train for a triathlon, open a dog-grooming parlor, drive a bus … a thousand possibilities lay before her.

The trouble was, she wanted this. The Inn at Willow Lake. Nothing else would do. Only she wanted it on her terms, not Greg Bellamy’s.

Snap out of it, she scolded herself, cinching the robe’s belt snugly around her waist. She had a great kid, a loving family, the chance to serve as mayor. She ought to be counting her blessings, not tallying up her losses.

Yet when she marched back to the lobby with her clothes in a squishy bundle, she was far from calm. She was still a seething ball of fury.

Greg had managed to scrounge up a pair of painter’s pants and had paired them with a slightly-too-tight T-shirt. His hair was attractively mussed. The fact that he looked completely hot only made her madder. The friendly, warm gas fire he’d ignited in the salon’s fireplace made her madder still.

“I’m glad I ran in to you,” he said. “I’d heard you were back from your trip. Is Sonnet okay?”

“She’s fine.” All right, so he was being nice, asking about her daughter. Of course, he could afford to be. He already had what he wanted.

“I wanted to set up a meeting this week. We have a lot to talk about.”

Hugging the oversize robe around her, she went to the settee in front of the annoyingly cheerful fire. “I don’t think there’s anything to say.”

He smiled. Smiled. “This is an opportunity for both of us. I’m going to need a general manager, and the bank already had a deal with you. Now, about your contract—”

“The contract.” She rubbed her temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “It was supposed to be so simple. How did this happen?”

“It is simple. Bailey retired from the bank and Brooke took over the asset management. She sold me the inn.”

Nina glared at him. “What did you do, sleep with her to get a good deal on the place?”

He glared back. “That’s none of your business.”

All right, Nina thought, that was probably a low blow, but she didn’t care. “I don’t get it. What on earth do you want with this place?”

“It’s exactly what I’ve been hoping to find. A business that keeps me close to home for my kids, something I like doing. And I know you’re the ideal manager. You’ve got a history with the place, experience running it. You’re perfect.”

This was so classic. The Bellamys were a favored family. It seemed to Nina that every last one of them had been born with a silver spoon in their mouth. It seemed that fortune denied them nothing. While ordinary people like the Romanos struggled for everything they had, the Bellamys swept in and helped themselves.

For Nina, even traveling was bad luck. “The deal’s off,” she said tightly.

“Are you always this angry, or is this something special, just for me?”

“I had plans,” she snapped. “I know that doesn’t matter to you, but—”

“Come on, Nina. At least hear me out.”

“Why should I?”

He didn’t react to her challenging tone. Instead, he said simply, “No reason. We barely know each other. For what it’s worth, I had plans, too.”

Plans. “You probably want to turn this place into some kind of overpriced corporate retreat,” she said. “And wouldn’t that be just charming.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“I’ve seen the numbers. It’s the best way to turn a profit.”

“And that’s what I’m all about. Turning a profit.”

To be honest, she didn’t know what he was about. She didn’t know much about him at all. That hadn’t stopped her from jumping to conclusions about him. She took her fury down a notch.

“So tell me. I really want to know.”

He studied her, and there was something in his gaze, some level of trust and confidence. “All my life, I’ve done what I thought I was supposed to do. Ten years ago, I started my own firm in Manhattan because it seemed like the responsible thing to do. What I ended up with was a job I didn’t like and one that made me ignore my family.”

All right. So he wasn’t a complete selfish bastard. But why on earth did his act of redemption have to step on her toes? “There are lots of ways to do that,” she told him. “You don’t need this place.” I do, she thought. I always have. When she was fifteen years old, the roadmap of her life had unfolded, and she’d always known her final destination was here.

“You don’t know what I need. Maybe this will give you an idea.” He went to the front desk, already furnished with computer and phone. She heard the breathy whisper of a printer, and then he brought her a copy of the contract. She’d been so excited the day she’d signed it. Now she felt sick to her stomach.

“The modifications are in bold,” he said.

“You think you can come in here with your money, buy this place and me along with it, a single woman with limited options,” she said. “Well, think again. You can’t—”

“When you buy a business, you buy all its assets and liabilities. This contract with you is one of its assets.”

She grabbed the document from him and studied his suggested changes. She blinked to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks. He had increased the salary and added a profit-sharing option and pension.

Just for a moment, she wavered. This was real money. For once in her life, she would be financially secure. She could help out Sonnet, because even with the scholarships she’d won and her father’s contributions, it didn’t mean her education would be without cost.

No, Nina thought. No. She recoiled from the contract as though it had turned into a snake. For all the incentives he’d added, he’d still taken away the one thing worth having—the possibility of owning the place one day.

She got up and went to the window, knowing she probably looked completely undignified in a robe three sizes too big, but she didn’t care. She studied the view outside—a broad, sloping lawn dotted with Adirondack chairs, the belvedere, carriage house and caretaker’s quarters, the boathouse, dock and the lake in the distance. Max had apparently grown bored with fishing. A pole lay abandoned on the dock. “I’m not signing that,” she said over her shoulder. “Find someone else.”

“I suppose I could opt for a commercial management company from out of town, but I’m hoping to avoid that. I want you,” he said simply.

She swung around to face him. “You can’t have me.”

His expression indicated that this was not something he often heard from a woman. Well, of course not. He was a Bellamy. He looked like the American Dream come to life. He was not the kind of guy a woman refused. “You were perfectly happy to make a deal with the bank,” he pointed out.

“That was different. I—” She stopped herself. She wasn’t going to tell him her hopes, the future she’d imagined for herself. It was none of his business, and she already looked pathetic enough, standing here in her borrowed robe. “I have to go,” she said, heading down the hall to the laundry.

“Your clothes aren’t dry yet.”

“I’ll live.” She’d survived worse.

He intercepted her in the hall. For a second, his nearness shocked her and she didn’t know why. Her skin flushed and her heart sped up, and all he was doing was standing there. He smelled of the freshness of the lake, and unlike some guys, he looked even better up close. Kissing Shane Gilmore hadn’t affected her like this, and Greg wasn’t even touching her.

She glared at him. “You’re in my way.”

“I’m just not getting the rage, Nina. What is up with you?”

“You don’t get me, that’s what. This was supposed to be my time to shine. My whole life has been reacting to a change of plans. I never dreamed I’d be realigning my thinking about this and now here I am … I don’t walk away from a challenge.”

“Then why would you do that now?”

“There’s nothing here for me, nothing but a job, working for you. I don’t need this. I don’t need you. I have options.”

“I want you to stay,” he said, still close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath. “Let’s talk about this.”

She suspected he started a lot of sentences with “I want.” She kept her gaze steady as she said, “There’s really nothing to talk about. I suggest you get busy trying to find someone to sign your contract.” With that, she pushed past him with as much dignity as she could muster, and ducked into the laundry. She slammed the door and opened the industrial-size dryer. Sure enough, her clothes were at that lukewarm, half-dry stage that made them clammy and supremely uncomfortable. She didn’t care. She had to get the hell out of here.

She could feel the fury and resentment pouring off her as she returned to the salon with the damp clothes stretched over her, probably in the most unflattering fashion. Greg either didn’t notice or didn’t care about her appearance or her state of mind as he followed her outside, across the lawn and down the dock.

“Let’s put the kayak on my truck and I’ll give you a lift back to your place.”

“No, thanks,” she said pulling on her vest. Such a gentleman, ripping her future to shreds while offering her a lift to nowhere. In one angry movement, she launched the kayak, got in the rear seat and pushed off.

“Nina,” he called.

Forget it, she thought. He can beg all he wants. In so many ways, he was still that too-handsome, too-lucky guy she remembered from the past. She wondered what he remembered about her. Sure, it was a long time ago, but still…. Clearly the meetings had meant more to Nina than to Greg, which only fueled her anger at him.

“Nina.” His voice was a bit more urgent. “I don’t care how pissed off you are,” he said. “You won’t get far without this.”

She glanced back in time to see him standing on the dock, holding out a double-ended paddle.

So much for her exit. Leaning forward, she reached for the paddle. She couldn’t quite touch it, so he leaned a little farther over the water until she was able to grasp the blade. At the same time she gave it a slight tug—an accident, of course. For a split second, they engaged in a tug-of-war, angry gazes locked, the paddle between them. Seized by a childish impulse, she gave one final tug on the oar. He wobbled for a moment, then pitched forward into the water, making a splash that didn’t quite drown his curse.

“Nice, Greg,” she murmured, then dipped in her oar and glided away.