Lake Magic (6 page)

Taking off his helmet, he got off the bike and surveyed the area. When he’d been here yesterday, he’d barely looked around. Now he took a longer look. And what he saw confirmed his suspicions: without Steven at the helm, the place was all but dead.

Yesterday, the plane had been in the hangar off to his left. Today, it was anchored at the end of the dock. He eyed it with contempt. Once more he wondered how his friend had gone from flying jets to flying charters.

The hangar, like the home and yard, had an air of recent neglect. Trim was missing around the windows, and on the side there was a gaping hole, which Jared could only assume was meant for a door.

The house was as quiet as the rest of the place and also in need of attention. The cedar-shingle siding was weathered and grayed, the trim in desperate need of a fresh coat of white paint, and the roof in dire need of attention. But even with all that obvious maintenance needed, he had to admit that the sprawling home had a decidedly comfortable look, as if whoever built it took their cue from the surrounding landscape and strived to find harmony between the two. A large front porch wrapped around the bottom story of the house. On the far end, several rocking chairs were grouped together. A gentle breeze coming in from the lake tipped and rocked the chairs. Just past the lawn’s tall grass and on the beach, Jared could make out a large fire pit, the rocks black from years of use. And then there were the flowers. Normally Jared didn’t give a crap about flowers—much less notice them. But it was impossible to ignore these. While the house and hangar needed some work, the garden was perfection. Even this early in the morning, the air was heavy with their fragrance.

Once, a long time ago, when he was just a kid, he’d dreamed about living in a place just like this. What an optimistic fool he’d been.

“It’s you.”

Jared turned toward the sound of the voice. Jenny stood in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the open screen door. She looked different than she had yesterday, as if she’d just rolled out of bed. But even sleep-rumpled, she was just as gorgeous. He couldn’t help but think she’d look completely at home frolicking around Hugh Hefner’s mansion in a bunny suit. Her honey blonde hair fell past her shoulders in a mass of untamed curls. Instead of the pink dress and high heels, she wore shorts and a faded gray sweatshirt that said Go Huskies! in purple letters. Her feet were bare, with one foot resting on top of the other. The only thing that reminded him of the made-up girl he’d seen yesterday were her hot pink toenails and churlish expression.

“Expecting someone else?”

“Hoping.”

“For?”

A springy lock of hair fell across her forehead, and she pushed it back. “That you were a nightmare. And like all horrible dreams, when morning came, you’d be gone.”

He laughed. “Sweetheart, I’ve been told I’m the stuff of dreams, but those women begged me to stick around.”

Her lips tightened into a scowl. “I’m not your sweetheart. And before I can deal with an ego that big, I need caffeine.” Without another word, she disappeared back inside the house. The screen door banged shut behind her.

Jared crossed the yard. She wasn’t going to get rid of him that easily.

He walked into the house and saw her moving down a long hallway. He followed and entered the large kitchen in time to see her bang a teakettle onto a burner then turn and rummage in one of the cupboards.

She stretched to reach something on the top shelf, and Jared couldn’t help but notice her legs. For all her scatter-brained faults, Jenny Beckinsale had killer legs. Long and tanned and the kind that could wrap around a man and suck him in.

“Are you always this rude?” she asked, turning to face him with a mug in one hand a box of tea in the other. “Roaring into people’s driveways at the crack of dawn?”

“Seven thirty is hardly the crack of dawn.”

She grunted—
grunted
—and plopped a teabag into her cup. For several moments she seemed deep in thought until she finally held out her hand toward him. “I want to see your driver’s license.”

“Excuse me?” It wasn’t often a person surprised him, but in less than three minutes, she’d managed to do it twice.

“You heard me. Your driver’s license. It occurred to me after you left yesterday that you may not be who you say you are.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Jared thought about arguing further, but what was the point? All he wanted was to get his money and get out of here. If her looking at his driver’s license would speed the process along, so be it. He dug his wallet out of his Levi’s back pocket and tossed it onto the nicked and scarred butcher-block countertop.

Before she picked it up, she gave him a glare, obviously pissed he hadn’t handed the wallet directly to her.
Too bad, sweetheart.

While she took her sweet time studying his license, he looked around. He couldn’t see down the hallway to what he’d passed on the way in, but the kitchen was large—one of those country kitchens he’d seen on magazine covers at the checkout stands. But he got the feeling this was the real deal—no remodel job here. Wide planked floors, yellow walls, blue cupboards softened and sanded by years of use, and a large antique stove. The same wood floors that were in the kitchen stretched into the adjoining family room. A river rock fireplace dominated the far wall, and a bank of windows showcased a backyard full of more flowers. While the furniture was a little flowery for his taste, he had to admit that the plush sofa looked damned comfortable. Even with the faded flowery print, he could imagine sinking in and propping his feet up on the worn wooden coffee table while enjoying a beer.

“You’re in the military,” she said, bringing his attention back around. She was staring at his military ID.

Was
, but he didn’t correct her.

“Is that how you knew Steven?”

He didn’t miss the way her voice dipped and stumbled across Steven’s name. “Same squadron.”

Slowly, she returned his wallet. “So you’re a fighter pilot.” It was a statement not a question, but either way, he wasn’t answering. “I should have known.”

The teakettle whistled, cutting off their conversation. And frankly, he was glad. That was one road he didn’t feel like heading down again.

She shut off the burner and poured the boiling water into her cup. After doctoring it with two spoonfuls of sugar, she gave it a quick stir and then took a careful sip. The moment she did, her eyes closed, her mouth parted, and a long, low sigh whispered from deep in her throat.

She stood like that for several moments. Eventually she took another sip, and the whole eye closing, lips parting, long sighing was repeated.

Jesus H. Christ. It was like watching porn. Good porn.

“Sorry,” she said after awhile. “I’m not quite human until I’ve had caffeine.”

“That isn’t caffeine.” His voice was sharper than he’d intended, but the whole wallet search and X-rated tea show had set him on edge.

“Yes it is,” she said, taking another sip.

“Look, I didn’t come here to discuss your drink preference.”

“I’m sorry,” she said in a rush, her tone a one eighty from when she’d demanded to see his wallet. “I didn’t offer you anything to drink. Can I get you something?”

“If it’s tea, no thanks.”

Her smile looked forced. “I think I have a coffeepot around here somewhere. It won’t take me but a second.”

“Don’t bother. I won’t be sticking around that long.”

The top half of her disappeared into a lower cupboard. “I know it’s here somewhere.” There was a loud clanking, as if she’d knocked over a stack of pots and pans. “You really should try tea. Not only does it taste good, but a lot of varieties are also good for you.”

With a resigned sigh, he snagged the leg of one of the stools tucked under the kitchen peninsula with his boot and pulled it out. “I thought everyone from Seattle liked coffee.” He took a seat.

“Not me.”
Clank. Clatter.
“I think that was the problem with the coffee stand I used to own. Aha. Look what I found.” She reemerged, coffeepot in tow.

“Used to own?”

There was a moment of silence. “Yeah. I closed it.”

Something in her tone told him she wasn’t telling the complete truth.

She set the coffeepot down on the counter. “Right after my vintage clothing store closed,” she said before heading over to the sink for water. It took her a few more minutes to locate a filter and grounds (just how old were they?) but before long, the smell of freshly brewing coffee filled the kitchen.

How many businesses had she owned? He was about to ask when a picture on her refrigerator caught his attention. He looked closer and saw the big smile of a sandy-haired guy who looked like Mr. All-American.

Steven.

“I’m sorry, you know.”

She looked up at him, surprise evident in her sky blue eyes.

He didn’t wait for her to say anything, mad at himself for bringing it up in the first place but knowing there was no way he could leave without saying it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t at Steven’s funeral. I wanted to be there.”

He’d been stuck overseas in a desert so hot it boiled your blood. It had been the only time in his military career he’d fought for leave, but they’d denied him. There had been a situation . . . a crisis . . . a
something
. . . and they hadn’t wanted their best pilot gone.

“Oh.” The coffeepot sputtered. Hissed. And he could see how she struggled to find a breath. For the first time he wondered what it would feel like to have someone miss him as much as she obviously missed Steven. “I’m sure he would have understood.”

Yeah, he would have. Steven was that type of guy. “Look.” Jared stood, suddenly wanting nothing more than to get out of there. “We got off on the wrong foot yesterday. I’m not here to become your partner.”

She all but sighed with relief. “You’re not?”

“No. I’m just here to collect on my loan.”

The relief he saw on her face was short lived. “I don’t have your money.”

“No problem.” He slid the chair back under the counter. “We’ll stop by your bank before I head out of town.”

“Y-you don’t understand. I don’t have it.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to have the cash lying around. You can write me a check, or we can go to the bank and have the money transferred into my account.”

She shook her head and worried her lower lip. “I don’t have it. Here or at the bank.”

“Get it.”

She looked at him like he was crazy. “How? By turning over rocks? Chasing down leprechauns? Playing the lottery?”

“I don’t care how. Sell something. Sell the plane. Sell this house. Sell your fancy sports car.” Her deep blush told him his suspicions had been correct. Miss Playmate of the Month drove around in a fifty thousand dollar automobile while her house and hangar were falling down around her. Unbelievable.

Her bottom lip stilled. “And how would I run the business if I sold this property? The plane?”

“What business? From the looks of things, there doesn’t seem to be any business.”

Her eyes flashed all shades of mad at him. “I am not selling. Ever.”

“Fine. Then find another way.”

“There is no way I can—”

“I’m not interested in your financial problems.” He could feel the Mexican sand slipping through his grasp.

“Go to a bank. Or go to your parents. Steven told me how rich they were. Frankly, I don’t give a rip what you do. Just do it.”

She moved toward him, braced the palms of her hands on the counter. “What are you, a Nike commercial?”

This was all a joke to her. “Find the money, or I will.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You might have an aversion to selling, but I don’t.” He turned and left the same way he came in. Come hell or high water, he was going to get his money. He’d finally found what he wanted, and no one was going to stop him. No one. Not even a honey-haired goddess with a centerfold’s body and hot pink nails.

 

 

 

 

The minute the bell rang, Cody was out the door. He heard his teacher calling his name, but he ignored her. He knew what she wanted—what she always wanted lately. To rag on him about something: a bad grade, a missing assignment, a test he needed to retake. But there was no way he was going to stop and listen to that today.

Hitting the main hall, he stuffed his book and papers into his backpack, not bothering to stop at his locker. All he could think about was getting home and getting ready for the game. He was almost to the front doors when he heard his best friend.

“Hey, Code Man! Wait up.” Parker jogged up beside him, bumped him in the shoulder.

“Heya, Parker.”

“Ready for the big game?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Like duh.” Parker grinned.

They headed outside. A group of kids were piled around the front steps. Several called out to them as they hurried past. Cody and Parker tossed hi’s back without stopping.

“I heard Coach is putting Brady on third base,” Parker said as they made their way across the grass.

“Sweet. If he sticks Mason there again, we’re screwed.”

“No kidding.” Parker spotted his mom parked out front. “Wanna ride?”

“Nah, not today.”

“Okay, dude.” Parker opened the car door and threw his backpack on the floor. His younger brother and sister were in the backseat arguing about something. Parker glanced back at Cody and rolled his eyes. “See ya at the game.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

“Hello, Cody,” Parker’s mom said, leaning across to peer out the passenger side.

“Hi, Mrs. Nelson.”

“Do you need a ride to the game this afternoon?”

Cody hiked his backpack farther up onto his shoulder. He shook his head. “My mom’s taking me.”