Snowfall at Willow Lake: Lakeshore Chronicles Book 4 (21 page)

“You're serious. You really wouldn't do it?” Bo asked.

“Would you?”

“You know the answer to that. What's the expression? ‘In a New York minute.' And you're an idiot.”

“Maybe. Hell, I do want kids,” Noah admitted. “But I need to work on getting a date, first. A relationship.”

“That's sad for you, buddy. You deserve better.”

“Yeah, but do people always get what they deserve?”

“You never know. I mean, look at you, Eagle Scout, member of the chamber of commerce, pillar of the community. You deserve nubile slaves peeling your grapes for you. They should legalize polygamy for guys like you, so there can be more of you walking around. And then look at me. Beer drinking, cigar smoking, never saw the point of doing an honest day's work. Lousy prospect for love and fatherhood. And I got…” His voice trailed off.

Noah watched a curious expression cross his friend's face. All right, so this was new. “You've got…” he prompted.

Bo looked off into the distance. “I got a kid in Texas.”

“Holy crap. You never told me that.”

Crutcher twirled the empty beer bottle between his hands. “Yeah, you did the right thing. Trust me, you don't want some woman having your kid unless you plan on sticking around to be the daddy.”

This was news to Noah. “Boy or girl?” he asked.

“Boy. I've never seen him. Not once, not even a picture. His mother likes the color of my money, but she flat out refuses to let me meet him.”

Few people would recognize the pain in Bo's voice. Noah did, though. Outwardly, Bo projected a devil-may-care image, but Noah knew him better than that.

“I'm sorry,” Noah said.

Bo was quiet for a moment. “You're making a good call, even if it means turning down a goddess.”

Noah and Tina had ended the evening on good terms. She had been braced for his refusal. Then, to cap off his very strange dinner conversation, he'd encountered Sophie Bellamy. He'd been hugely distracted by her arrival, with her kids in tow. Sophie Bellamy, Noah thought,
there
was a goddess.

“Now I'm depressed,” Bo said. “I thought you got lucky.”

Noah glanced away, but not quickly enough.

“You did, you son of a bitch. Come on, spill. Who is it?”

Busted. “No one you know,” he hedged. “She's new around here.” Because he knew Bo was relentless, he told him about Sophie Bellamy.

Bo regarded him knowingly. “She's special. I can tell.”

“Then you know more about the situation than I do. We just met, okay? There might be…complications.”

“Yeah? Like what? She married?”

“No. Jesus, Crutcher. She might be…older than me. I don't think she realizes that. I'm trying to figure out how to explain it to her without running her off.”

“Just tell her. No big deal.”

“She might not see it that way.” Noah wasn't sure why he felt that way, but he was pretty sure she wouldn't like it, not one bit.

“If she finds out you're keeping it from her, you're fucked, if you'll pardon my French.”

“That wasn't French.”

“And here I thought I was bilingual.” He held up his now-empty bottle. “I need another beer.”

“I'll be finished here in a minute, and we can go over to the house.” In the front of the clinic, a bell rang. Immediately, the dogs sounded off. Noah went to see who it was. Someone who couldn't read the Closed sign, obviously.

“Hey, Sophie,” he said, his irritation washed away in a rush of gladness.

“Hello, Noah. I—” She broke off, focusing on something behind him.

“Ma'am, I'm Bo Crutcher.” Bo crossed the room, arm extended, his trademark star-pitcher smile on his face. “I'm a buddy of Noah's.”

“How do you do. Sophie Bellamy.” She looked a little flustered. And even though it was probably impossible, she was ten times hotter than she'd been the last time he saw her, in the restaurant. She wore jeans and a sweater and ski parka with the zipper open, and her cheeks were bright red from the cold. “Sorry, Noah,” she said. “I didn't realize you were busy.”

“I'm not busy,” said Noah.

“He's not busy,” said Bo. They both spoke at the same time.

“Seriously, what can I do for you?” Noah shot a glare at Bo. He'd better not say a word about what Noah had just told him.

“The stitches,” she said. “You know, the ones in my knee.”

“Is everything all right?” Noah's stomach clenched. Damn. Had he blown it? Was there an infection? Was she going to sue his ass into the poorhouse?

“Fine,” she said quickly. “In fact, the physician I saw for a follow-up said you did excellent work.”

“You?” Bo jabbed him in the rib cage. “No way.”

She favored him with a smile. “I hurt myself the night of the snowstorm, and Noah sewed me up.”

“That Noah,” Bo said. “Ya gotta love him.”

“Anyway,” she said, turning back to Noah, “the doctor told me they would be ready to come out today, but her assistant still can't get to the clinic because of the snow. So I tried doing it myself.”

Noah felt his mouth twitch. “Bad idea.”

“I found that out. I'm not quite as hardy as I thought, but I really need the use of my knee back. I was hoping maybe you could do it. That is, if you wouldn't mind…”

Mind?
Mind?

She was blushing as she looked from him to Bo. “I'm sorry, asking you this after everything you've done,” she said, full of apologies.

“I don't mind a bit,” he said quickly.

“I feel a little sheepish, coming here…”

Noah made the mistake of looking at Bo.
Sheepish.
Had she really said sheepish to a vet? Yes, she had. And Noah and Bo were twelve years old again. Noah could barely suppress a snicker.

“Ma'am,” Bo said, all but helpless with laughter, “you came to the right place.”

Sophie pressed her lips together, then gave in to a smile. “Let's get to it, then, shall we?” She paused in the clinic doorway.

“I don't mind if you come along,” she said to Bo. “Maybe you could distract me.”

“Ma'am, I'd be honored.” He followed her like a gangly-limbed coon hound. He elbowed Noah. “You're a man of many talents. Fertility god, emergency tech, veterinarian.”

Sophie frowned. “Fertility god?”

“His idea of a joke,” Noah said. Hoping to create a diversion, he held the door to the exam room. “Right this way.” He shot Bo a murderous look.

Sophie stepped into the room. “Where do you want me?”

He flashed on a memory of her beneath him, her small, delicate hands clutching the spooled wooden bed rails as she arched her body toward him.

“Noah?” She regarded him quizzically.

“Oh, right here will be fine.” He indicated a vinyl chair by the exam table and flipped on a light. Then he rolled back his sleeves and took out a sterile pair of disposable gloves.

She had a seat and drew up the cuff of her jeans.

Bo watched with his mouth agape. Noah handed him a stainless steel tray. “Hold that, will you?”

“Um…yeah, got it.”

Noah had a seat on a rolling stool and put on his headgear with the light and the magnifying glasses. Using long-handled tweezers, he removed the dressing. He adjusted the light. “Hold still,” he said. “This won't hurt, but you might feel a little pull.” With his smallest pointed scissors and tweezers, he gently teased each suture free, pleased to see that the wound had healed decisively.

“So you're new around here,” Bo said, as though approaching her in a singles' bar.

Noah concentrated, thinking maybe the chitchat would distract her.

“That's right,” she said.

“Where are you from?”

“Lots of places. Most recently, the Netherlands. I used to work as a lawyer in The Hague, at the International Criminal Court.”

Bo gave a low whistle. “Never heard of it, but it sounds mighty important.” Only Bo Crutcher could make ignorance seem charming. Noah, on the other hand, felt provincial around her. She'd been all over the world, while he'd barely been out of Ulster County. He'd damn well better keep her entertained. Maybe she was already bored with him. Witness the guy he'd spotted her with in the bookstore.

“Looks good,” Noah said, trying to banish his doubts as he finished up. “You're a quick healer.”

She smiled at him. “So I've been told. Thank you, Noah.” She looked a bit self-conscious. He grabbed Bo by the arm and hauled him out of the room, giving Sophie privacy to readjust her jeans and put her boots back on.

Outside the exam room, Bo looked as though he was about to burst. “Man, is
that
the one—”

“All set,” Sophie said, joining them in the reception area. “I'll just be on my way now—”

“Hold on, ma'am,” Bo said in his best Texas drawl. “As Dr. Shepherd's last patient of the day, you get a bonus treat.”

“He offered me a hairball remedy last time,” she said, straight-faced as she flexed her knee. “I'll have to pass. Now that the stitches are out, I need to break in my new ice skates. My son's going to be with me this weekend and I'm sure I'm rusty.”

“Not by yourself, you're not,” Noah said. “I'll go with you.”

She shook her head. “I couldn't ask that.” She glanced at Bo. “And you've got company.”

“Bo can come, too,” Noah said, confident of his friend's reaction.

Bo didn't disappoint him. “Me? Ice skating? Yeah, I'd rather have a root canal. You two go on ahead. I'll go up to the house, make sure the beers are cold.”

A few minutes later, they were alone on the lake. The late-afternoon light rendered the landscape in pink and gray, and the heavy coat of snowfall muffled the sound of their voices. Noah was not surprised to see that she was a fairly good skater, moving with unhurried, fluid grace. Noah had always thought there was something sexy about a woman on ice skates. Of course, he'd probably think Sophie was sexy on barrel slats.

“How's the knee?” he asked her.

“Feels good as new.”

They glided along, side by side. “You're not rusty,” he assured her.

“You sound disappointed.”

“I was kind of hoping you'd need to lean on me more,” he admitted. “I like holding you, Sophie.”

“Uh-huh.” Her tone was heavy with skepticism.

“Seriously, I want to talk to you about the other night.”

She branched off from him, gliding away. “We don't need to discuss it. As I said, you don't owe me an explanation.”

He grabbed her hand before she got too far. “Not that way. Thin ice.” He kept hold of her hand. “It probably looked like a date, and I don't want you thinking it was.”

“Noah, you don't owe me an explanation.”

“Maybe not, but it bugs the crap out of me that you might think I'd go out with someone else after you and I had been together.” He tried to imagine how weird it would sound if he explained what Tina really wanted.

Sophie wobbled a little, giving him a chance to slide his arm around her. “I've got you,” he said. “And you don't owe me an explanation, either.”

She stiffened. “An explanation of what?”

“The guy in the bookstore. And no, I wasn't spying on you. I was picking up my mail at the post office, which is next to the bookstore.”

“That was Brooks Fordham,” she said. “He's a writer, and he lives in New York. And no, I don't owe you an explanation.”

“But I'd listen, if you felt like explaining it,” Noah said.

She laughed. “You're not going to give up on this, are you?”

He matched her rhythm so they were skating in tandem. “I'm just getting started.” But the doubts crept in again. A writer from the city. Noah wondered if his world could ever be big enough or exciting enough for her.

“Look at the two lovebirds,” Bo shouted from the lakeshore. “You're going to freeze your asses off. Come on in for a beer,” he called.

“Good idea,” Noah seconded. He still needed to figure out a way to tell her about Tina. “How about it?”

She hesitated.

“We can raise a toast to no more misunderstandings,” he said.

Her hesitation eased into a smile. “I'll drink to that.” She left her skates on the porch of the cottage, and the three of them hiked up to Noah's. At the house, Opal leaped into paroxysms of ecstasy when she recognized Sophie. “I'm not used to having anyone act so delighted to see me,” Sophie said.