Summer at Willow Lake (21 page)

“Right. And I’m Prince Charming.”

“A girl can pretend.”

He let go of her hand. “She sure as hell can.”

She leaned against the railing of the gazebo and inhaled the aroma of cut lumber. Shading her eyes, she said, “They were probably married on a day like today. My grandmother said it was a perfect summer day.”

An old black-and-white photograph had been tacked to a post. It was a shot of her grandparents, young and dazzlingly in love, with their wedding party, under the original gazebo. The new structure appeared to be a close replica.

Connor mistook her expression. “Don’t worry. It’s a copy.”

“You put the photograph here?”

“That surprises you?”

“It’s just…yes.”

“Well, I did it. What’s that look?”

“Nothing. You turned out to be a cool guy, Connor. That surprises me, too.”

“And you turned out…sexy,” he countered, “which doesn’t surprise me at all.”

She sniffed. “You didn’t even recognize me when you first saw me.”

“You were hanging from a flagpole. I wouldn’t recognize my own mother under those circumstances.”

She felt herself opening up to him. Trusting him. And wasn’t that a curious development? For some crazy reason, she harbored a palpable trust for Connor Davis.

She studied the photograph. It showed a moment of such joy, naked on their faces, bright in their eyes. Her grandfather looked so proud and handsome in his tuxedo, her grandmother utterly blissful. Their friends, gathered around, wore clothes so crisply tailored and pressed that they had the flat, cartoonish look of drawings. Both her grandparents were younger than Olivia herself was now. Even though the shot was clearly staged, there was an innocence and purity in their faces that touched the heart. It must be magical, she thought, to share a moment of such simple happiness and hope, to know you had found the person with whom you wanted to spend the rest of your life.

They were young and totally in love. There was no hint of the struggles they had endured with Granddad’s family, who had bitterly opposed the marriage. There was no foreshadowing of the life that awaited these two, the good times and bad. Vietnam and the oil crisis, unimaginable prosperity and unbearable tragedy. The moment the photograph was taken, there was only the innocent, soaring joy of embarking on a lifelong adventure together.

She recognized her other grandparents in the photograph, too. Samuel Lightsey was the best man in the wedding. A few years after the photograph was taken, he had married his date, her maternal grandmother, Gwen.

With a wistful smile, she said, “I want the day of their anniversary to be as perfect as their wedding day.”

“I have a feeling you and Dare are going to make sure of it.”

She sank deeper under his spell, trusting him more with every word he spoke. All right, she thought. Deep breath. “I was engaged,” she said softly, watching his face. “In case you were wondering.”

His expression didn’t change. “I take it things didn’t work out.”

“That’s right.”

“Freddy told me you’d been hurt, but that’s all he would say.”

She shuffled her feet, cleared her throat. Why not? He’d probably hear the story anyway, eventually. “Three times,” she added.

“I don’t get it.”

“Three times. That’s how many times I was engaged. To three different guys. Well, the third one wasn’t technically an engagement. I sort of…headed that one off.” And Freddy was right. She
had
been hurt, and with each successive failure, she became more and more convinced that the trouble was with her. She seemed to have a knack for picking the wrong guy. She made herself hold Connor’s gaze. She searched his face for some kind of reaction but saw nothing. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. How about, ‘Sorry to hear that’?”

“I’m not sorry to hear it.”

“What?”

“If any of those engagements had worked out, you’d be married now, and that would mean I’m standing here lusting after a married woman.”

His bluntness took her breath away. “You’re lusting after me?”

He laughed. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Who says
lusting
anymore?”

“Pretty much any guy who’s being honest.”

“Lusting,” she repeated, feeling her skin heat with embarrassment. “You should quit right now.”

“Yeah,” he said, “I’ll get right on that.” He laughed at her. Laughed. “Not going to happen, no way.”

“You’re never going to get any satisfaction,” she said.

“Damn, Lolly, you’re so quick to take offense. I’m not trying to get engaged to you. I just thought you might want to be my girlfriend for the summer.”

An unbidden spasm of response reverberated through her but she quelled it. “What a treat.”

“I take it that’s a no.”

“With a capital
N
. God, Connor. Why would I want to be your girlfriend?”

“So we can hang out, have some laughs, make love in every conceivable way and then some.”

She nearly choked on her lemonade.

“You all right?” He patted her on the back, and she nodded but couldn’t speak. He asked, “Was it something I said?”

Another nod. “Guys don’t talk to me like that.”

“I guess that’s the problem. No wonder you dumped the last three.”

“It’s kind of you to assume I dumped them.”

“Doesn’t matter. The good news is, they’re gone.”

She reluctantly had to agree. As perfect as Rand had seemed for her, she didn’t actually miss him. She kept bracing herself for moments of weakness, when she thought about calling his voice mail just to hear his voice, but those moments never came. She didn’t lie around with a hole in her heart, missing him, wishing they could still be friends, aching to feel his arms around her. This was not good news to Olivia. It meant she didn’t know her own heart. The only man she had ever yearned for that deeply was—

Connor handed her a bandanna. “It’s clean,” he said. “Wipe your face.”

Fourteen

O
livia’s most unsettling memories tended to hit in the darkest hours of the soft summer nights. Most days, everyone worked themselves into exhaustion and turned in early—with the exception of Olivia. Ordinarily, she had no trouble sleeping, but here at Camp Kioga, she often found herself wide awake. Her mind was on fire. Not just with unanswered questions about Jenny Majesky or with enthusiasm for a challenging job, but with memories. She walked outside with them. They flickered in the stars, which were so plentiful they seemed to spray the night sky with glitter. Through the mist, the white sliver of the moon cut an arc upon the black table of the lake.

A breeze rippled the water and she shivered, drawing her denim jacket more securely around herself. Living in the city, she forgot that there were places like this, places where she could be completely alone while her thoughts swirled through her head like a scream. It felt strange to hear only the singing of frogs and the rustle of wind through the trees. Strange, and maybe a little ominous.

She ought to head for bed. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day. Connor Davis was coming first thing in the morning with contracts from the plumbing and electrical subcontractors. A business meeting, she told herself. It was just a business meeting. Yet in her mind, she was already picking out her outfit. How pathetic was that?

Connor Davis. Why did she remember every touch, every kiss they had shared, years ago? Why could she still feel the exact imprint of his lips on hers, the precise taste of him, the rhythm of his heart as they embraced? It was crazy. Life had given her so much since she had come of age here at Camp Kioga, and then walked away. Why did she still feel trapped in that moment with him?

Because, when he’d taken her into his arms that day on the dance floor, all those feelings had come rushing back at her.

She sighed and turned to go into the dining hall, now the command center for the project. Might as well get some work done, since sleep was impossible. She turned on a light and perused the sketches and plans laid out on the tables and tacked to the wall. Maybe she would fix a pot of tea and mull things over.

She was going over her uncle’s plan for the gardens when a loud noise nudged her from her reverie. It took less than a second to identify it as a motorcycle engine. Oh, boy, she thought, unable to quell a thrill of nerves as she went to the front of the building to wait for him. She checked her watch—10:30 p.m. What was going on?

He drove up to the main entrance, killed the engine and light, and pulled the bike up on its kickstand. “Hope I didn’t wake you,” he said, taking off his helmet.

“I was up.” Mystified, she followed him inside. He smelled of old leather and wind, and his boots thudded on the planks of the floor as he crossed to the dining hall. He peeled off his gloves and flexed his fingers. “Colder than I thought tonight,” he said. “Froze my nuts off driving up here.”

“Sorry to hear it,” she said, feeling awkward.

“You planning on putting in phone service anytime soon?”

“It’s scheduled for next week.”

“Good. I don’t like driving ten miles up the mountain every time I need to talk to you.”

“So you need to talk to me.” She sat down on a bench. “What’s up?”

“I’ve got unexpected company coming for the summer. Just found out about it.” He sat down beside her, steepled the tips of his fingers together. “My brother, Julian.”

“You’re kidding. I remember Julian.” Did she ever. He was Connor’s half brother, and they’d grown up separately, Connor with their mother in Buffalo, and Julian…Gastineaux—she still remembered that name—with his dad in New Orleans. “That’s great,” she said. “Isn’t it?”

“Who knows? It’s Julian, after all.”

He was a good ten years younger than Connor, she recalled, and had been a camper at Kioga back in 1997, the summer she and Connor had been counselors. “He was a handful when he was little,” she said.

“He’s seventeen now, just finished his junior year in high school. He and our mom live in California now, since she divorced Mel. Julian’s father died a few years back, so he’s with Mom now.”

To Olivia, the idea of losing her father seemed like something she would not survive. “How is he doing?”

“He took it hard, and yeah, he’s still a handful.”

“So he’s coming to visit you.”

“All summer long. He’s going to be working for me.”

“Well, that’s good. I’m sure we can keep him busy on this project.”

“It’s court ordered,” Connor said.

“Excuse me?”

“Julian tends to get in trouble. A lot. After his latest stunt, the juvenile-court judge gave him a choice—time in juvey, or he could remove himself to a different environment for the summer. This is a hell of a lot different from Chino, California.”

She couldn’t imagine taking in a teenager in trouble, even if he was a brother he barely knew. The responsibility must feel crushing. “That’s…very nice of you.”

“Yeah, well. I’m a very nice guy.”

“You always were.” She almost added,
Up until you humiliated me and walked away,
but refrained.

“He’s flying into LaGuardia on a red-eye and will take the early train up from the city, and I have to meet him.”

“Of course,” she said.

“I didn’t see this coming.” He blew out a weary-sounding breath.

“You couldn’t have. So, um, what sort of trouble is he in? If you don’t mind my asking.”

He flashed a grin. “How long have you got?”

“All night. Remember, no TV at Camp Kioga.” She shivered, hugged herself against the chill night air.

“I’ll make a fire.”

Now she was totally intrigued. And for the first time in her life, she was thrilled to be without phone service. If he had been able to call her, he wouldn’t be here now, lighting a cozy fire and pulling two armchairs close to the hearth. There was something elemental and, all right, fundamentally sexy, about a guy building a fire for a woman. Maybe it went back to caveman times. She felt a natural attraction to a man with the instinct to make a fire for her.

The dry logs caught quickly, and flames and sparks danced up the chimney. She watched the play of light on Connor’s broad shoulders. The flames danced over him, and her gaze was drawn inexorably to the shadows the firelight carved in his face.

All right, she thought. The first step was admitting it. She had a thing for Connor Davis. Again. Still. And this would not do at all. She was supposed to hold herself aloof, showing him what he’d missed out on when he’d blown his chance with her all those years ago.

“You all right?” He was looking at her strangely.

She realized she had been caught staring. “So you were going to tell me about your brother.”

“Right.” He lifted one hip and took out a wallet that had shaped itself to his body, a detail Olivia tried not to notice but couldn’t help herself. Connor handed her a photograph. “His school picture from last year.”

Julian Gastineaux had turned into one of the most singularly attractive boys she had ever seen. He had a perfect symmetry of bone structure and his smile was a sweet Cupid’s bow. He was biracial, with creamy skin the color of café au lait, dark eyes fringed by long thick lashes and an abundance of dreadlocks.

“He’s gorgeous,” she said. “Looks like an angel.”

Connor pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his jacket pocket and spread it on his knee. “He was cited for skateboarding down a spiral parking lot ramp, which actually sounds kind of fun to me, except he hit an oncoming car and went flying over the hood and roof.”

“Was he hurt?”

“No, but he damaged a late-model Lexus and scared the crap out of the driver. He was ordered to pay for repairs to the car, so he got a job as a lifeguard.”

“Makes perfect sense.”

“He was fired from that when they caught him doing gainers off the ten-meter diving platform.”

“I thought that was what a diving platform was for.”

“After hours, in the dark.”

“All right, maybe not that. So what else?”

He ran down a list of hair-raising adventures, each more dangerous than the last. Julian had “borrowed” a hang glider and went soaring off the Sansovino cliffs, dislocating his hip on landing. He had gone surfing in twenty-foot waves, bungee jumping off a bridge, spray painted his initials on a water tower and, on a dare, had ridden a stolen bike into the La Brea Tar Pits.