The Heart of a Hero (14 page)

No.
No,
she firmly scolded herself, she wasn’t going there. Having sex one time didn’t automatically translate to
baby
. And she and Clay had had unprotected sex lots of times after they’d gotten married without her getting pregnant.

But really, what
had
she been thinking? Well, other than how good it felt to be kissed and touched and . . . Julia leaned her head back against the tree with a groan. At the time all she’d been thinking about was how feminine Nicholas was making her feel, how he was kissing her as if she were beautiful and sexy and desirable, and how he’d been pursuing her as if she were some wonderful prize.

It had been a close call afterward, though, but she’d managed to escape before he could get too carried away about her not having found her
woman’s pleasure
. What was it with men, anyway? Did it threaten their manhood or something if a woman didn’t have a stupid orgasm?

Julia started in the general direction of the apartments again, figuring she couldn’t get lost if she kept going uphill. So she’d had sex with Nicholas—so what? She was a healthy thirty-year-old woman; wasn’t it time she started acting like other divorcées and had herself a little sex once in a while? Yeah, maybe she’d even start carrying condoms in her beautiful new tote, just in case she felt like having sex
again
.

She’d go on the pill, too, for added insurance, remembering how she’d had really nice boobs when she’d been on it before. Nicholas hadn’t seemed to mind that she was lacking some anatomy, but the next guy she went crazy over and had a one-night stand with might be disappointed.

But she couldn’t ever have sex with Nicholas again, because that would really compound tonight’s disaster. And now that she thought about it, she should probably make one-night stands a permanent rule. She might be able to bluster her way out of not experiencing the big O as nervousness the first time she was with a guy, but when it still didn’t happen times two and three and ten . . . well, then it would turn into a problem.

And wasn’t it programmed into men’s DNA to
fix
problems?

And anyway, the director of special events couldn’t keep having sex with the director of security, because they’d keep bumping into each other at work and she really didn’t think she’d be very good at pretending there was nothing going on between them. And besides, Olivia probably had a policy that prohibited employees from getting sexually involved.

Yes, she would definitely have wild passionate sex again, Julia decided just as she caught sight of the barn, because she really couldn’t remember ever feeling this wonderfully alive. And now that she knew what she’d been missing trying to prove to everyone that she
wasn’t
the town slut, she was suddenly eager to explore her apparently passionate nature. Too bad, though, that it couldn’t be with the mysterious man with no last name and compelling blue eyes and magnetic muscles, Julia thought with a sigh as she finally caught sight of her apartment, but she truly didn’t want to be found dead on a cart path.

And now that Nicholas had caught her, he’d probably stop chasing her, anyway.

Because for sport fishermen, wasn’t it all about catch and release?

Chapter Eleven

Julia was indeed up bright and early the next morning, but instead of sitting behind her new desk in her new office, she was sitting on Peg MacKeage’s pontoon boat tied at the dock of the Nova Mare marina. Sipping her coffee and occasionally eyeing the bag holding the two still-warm cinnamon buns, Julia watched her friend waiting for the bus with her little tribe of heathens, along with Henry and Sophie and the horse wranglers’ son.

Julia sighed, remembering how it had taken her half an hour to work up the nerve to actually get in her new pearl white SUV—with her
name
on it—this morning, then another fifteen minutes to figure out all the buttons that apparently did everything but make it fly. The steering wheel alone had more buttons than the entire dash of her old truck, and when she’d finally decided to just drive the darn thing, she’d expected the guard at the top gate to pull out his gun and accuse her of stealing it.

But the big, burly guard had merely asked her to make sure the resort radio mounted on the dash was on as he’d tapped some keys on a computer inside the booth, then given her a warm smile and waved her through. As for the SUV’s dash, it was computerized, which is why Julia had gotten halfway down the mountain before realizing that instead of indicating how fast she was going, the display was stating she was getting nineteen-point-three miles to the gallon. And then that number had dropped to fifteen-point-eight when she’d sped up as the road had leveled out along the ridge.

Having absolutely no idea how fast she’d driven into Spellbound Falls, she’d parked at the post office so if anyone saw her they’d think she’d been given a company vehicle to get the resort’s mail. Then she’d spent another ten minutes figuring out how to get her cell phone to display a keypad so she could call Peg and ask if they could meet at the marina when she brought her kids over to catch the bus, and have a little bun-fest on the boat and . . . chat.

Julia wasn’t sure, but there was probably still an open line between her phone and Peg’s, since she never did figure out how to end the call because the screen had gone blank when her thumb had touched . . . something as she’d pulled the phone down from her ear. So she’d slipped it in her beautiful tote, gotten out of her beautiful truck, pushed the button with a closed padlock on the key fob—jumping when the vehicle beeped at her—and walked to the Drunken Moose as if this were just any ordinary day.

Thanking her lucky stars that Vanetta was busy out back in the kitchen, Julia had ordered two large coffees and two cinnamon buns to go, then sprinted back to her truck when she’d spotted Janice Crupp and Christina Richie barreling into town in Christina’s now-classic red Impala. Knowing the octogenarians were headed to Vanetta’s for their biweekly breakfast date, the last thing she’d wanted was for them to see her driving a resort vehicle. She wasn’t ashamed of her new job or anything, but she would like to get used to the idea of being a director of
anything
before she shared that fact with the two biggest town gossips and they shared it with the entire world.

Still not hearing the telltale sound of a school bus laboring down the marina road, Julia set her coffee in the cup holder on the arm of the couch, then grabbed the bag with a sigh of defeat and pulled out one of the buns. She sank her teeth into it with a hum of pleasure as she watched Peg talking to the horse wranglers’ son while her daughter, Charlotte, and Olivia’s daughter, Sophie—both twelve-year-olds—hung on the teenager’s every word. Peg’s
almost
-ten-year-old, Isabel, was trying to interest Mac’s ten-year-old, Henry, in a book she’d pulled out of her backpack, and Peg’s eight-year-old twins, Peter and Jacob, were making a valiant attempt not to get their sneakers wet as they combed the shoreline of their old gravel pit for treasures the tide had left behind.

Nicely rounding out the domestic scene, the MacKeages’ sappy canine mascot—aptly named Hero—was staring up at the two marina workers sitting in front of the office also wolfing down cinnamon buns. Yeah, well, if the bus didn’t get here soon, Julia decided as she licked icing off her fingers and took another hum-inducing bite of her own bun, she was eating the one she’d brought for Peg, too.

Duncan had ridden across the fiord with his tribe this morning, met up with Mac when he’d brought his children and the wranglers’ son down from the summit, and the two men had taken off with Princess Hugs-a-lot and Duncan and Peg’s two-week-older son, Mur the Magnificent.

Well, Duncan called the boy Mur, but Peg called her precious little baby Charlie. The poor kid’s official name was Murdoc Charles MacKeage, because, Peg had told Julia, that had been the only
important
argument she’d ever lost to her contrary, never-say-die husband.

Hearing the bus just moments before it pulled into the parking lot, Julia picked up the bag holding the second cinnamon bun, rolled it closed with a sigh of regret, and lobbed it down the boat onto the couch opposite the captain’s chair. She then pulled out the fistful of napkins she’d stuffed in her pocket, licked one of them, and began wiping the icing off her mouth and chin.

It was really quite warm for seven o’clock in the morning in mid-November, she realized, even as she hoped this spell of weather lasted until
after
the wedding taking place up in the gazebo. Which she’d learned yesterday from her staff would be followed by an
outdoor
reception that included long sticks to cook hot dogs and s’mores over a roaring bonfire. Who came all the way from Germany to a five-star resort to have a hot dog wedding, anyway? And then the new bride and groom planned to leave their international guests dancing around said bonfire while they took off on a weeklong hike through the wilderness in
late November
.

Was it security’s responsibility to go find them if they got lost in a snowstorm?

Julia picked up her coffee and took a sip, remembering more than one discussion with coworkers and townspeople of how strange and unexplainable . . . stuff seemed to happen at and around Nova Mare, a good deal of it involving the weather. Like sudden deafening claps of thunder that actually shook the ground even without there being any clouds in the sky. The oceanographers and geologists who’d jointly built a permanent facility just south of Spellbound Falls kept assuring everyone the earth-rumbling booms weren’t coming from the sky but from the mountain itself, and were aftershocks of the original earthquake.

But that didn’t explain why the weather on top of the mountain and down on the fiord always seemed perfect for special events, even those planned months in advance. More than once, storms—affectionately known as nor’easters—barreling up the eastern seaboard heading straight for Maine would suddenly change direction and go out to sea. Or much to forecasters’ consternation, cold fronts racing down from Canada would all of a sudden slow to a crawl before they just as suddenly swept through
after
some over-the-top event.

Like the epic earthquake
and
nor’easter that had hit simultaneously three and a half years ago—creating an inland sea, a twelve-mile-long fiord, and a couple of brand-new mountains that the scientists still couldn’t explain—the area’s unusually cooperative weather had become an equally baffling phenomenon. Some people—mostly from away—were calling it the work of the devil, and some—mostly locals—felt it was the handiwork of a benevolent God who wanted to bless the good folks of northern Maine for being such hardworking souls.

And a good number of locals and people from away, as well as the strange folks who’d started some sort of colony down near Turtleback, were calling it magic.

Julia still hadn’t decided which camp she was in, but Peg was definitely rooting for the magic angle; her childhood friend claimed that if falling in love with a man who was powerful enough to break a five-generation black widow curse wasn’t proof enough it existed, then how about that same man getting her pregnant even though she’d had her tubes tied after the twins had been born?

Oh yeah, Peg was definitely a believer, and she hoped Julia had the good sense to also believe in the magic—just like they both had in kindergarten, when a simple little pebble had mysteriously soothed their fears.

“You better not have eaten my bun, too,” Peg warned as she untied the boat. She gave it a shove away from the dock and stepped on board, then stopped in the middle of the deck to point at Julia—although she was smiling as she did. “You missed some icing on your cheek.”

“Five more minutes and your bun was gone,” Julia muttered, licking her napkin and wiping her face again, only to stop in mid-wipe when Hero came barreling across the dock and lunged for the open door of the drifting boat—and missed.

Peg got down on her knees with a sigh, grabbed the flailing dog by the collar, and hauled him up onto the deck. She immediately scrambled to her feet and positioned herself in front of Julia just as Hero gave a body-length shake that sent several gallons of frigid seawater flying.

“Now that’s true friendship,” Julia said with a laugh, using her napkin to wipe some errant drops off her tote. “And why I would have done the same for you.”

Peg walked back to the steering console, started the engine, and slowly turned the boat around, then idled toward the fiord. “Hey, leave that alone,” she growled when she noticed Hero nosing the bag on the couch across from her. “Go on, go lie down and dry off,” she added, pointing at a crumpled towel on the floor at the rear of the boat. Only then did she snatch the coffee Julia had set in the console’s cup holder, sit down, take a sip, then lower it with a groan of pleasure. “Why does coffee always taste better if you drink it outdoors from a cardboard cup?” she asked, leaning back in the big plush captain’s chair and taking another sip.

“I think it has something to do with the fresh air,” Julia said, taking a sip of her own coffee as they idled through the opening in the old tote road that had been washed out when the earthquake had created the fiord—which had then poured in and flooded Peg’s old gravel pit. “Indoors, coffee has to compete with too many smells.”

Peg set her cup in the holder, leaned over and snagged the bag off the couch, then pulled out the bun and took a bite large enough to choke a horse—again giving a groan of pleasure, only this time muffled by chewing. “So,” she said after swallowing, “to what do I owe this morning’s surprise visit?” Her eyes danced in the recently risen sun as she clutched her chest. “No wait, I know; you wanted to see my reaction in person when you tell me you’re coming with us to Pine Creek for Thanksgiving so you can—No, wait,” she repeated, holding up the bun as she reached for the throttle with her other hand. “Let’s go sit in the middle of the fiord so nobody will hear me shriek when I get all excited that you’ve finally come to your senses about having a simple, no-commitment date with Seamus MacKeage.”

She pushed down on the throttle before Julia could respond, and the large boat surged through the gentle swells like they were merely ripples. Julia stared down at her coffee, using her thumbnail to make little indents in the cardboard sleeve. Peg was determined she’d go out with Duncan’s nephew, Seamus, who also happened to be Alec MacKeage’s younger brother. Seamus was home on leave from Washington, DC, Peg had offered in way of argument, so besides its being safe to be seen on an actual date because the good people of Pine Creek didn’t know she was a slut, Seamus was leaving on Sunday, so she didn’t have to worry about any long-lasting commitment.

Julia wondered if Peg had told Seamus he was being used for practice.

Once they’d reached the center of the fiord, her friend brought the motor to an idle, shut it off, stood up and ran her sticky hands through the water Hero had splattered all over the console, then wiped them on her pants as she walked forward and sat down opposite Julia. “We plan to leave early Thursday morning and come back on Sunday. What time are you expecting Trisha to get back from New York on Sunday?”

“They said not until sometime after six. But I’m not going to Pine Creek with you, Peg. I think I’ll invite Reggie to come have Thanksgiving with me at
Nova Mare
.”

“I thought you said he was going hunting with Corey’s family for the week.”

Darn, she’d forgotten she’d told her that. “Oh yeah, that’s right,” Julia said, tapping her forehead with her palm. “And I completely forgot that Jerilynn invited me to spend Thanksgiving with her and Tom, because she knows Trisha will be gone. And I don’t want to disappoint the girl, what with her being so close to her due date.”

Peg leaned back and folded her arms under her breasts—
she
certainly couldn’t sleep on her stomach—and arched a brow. “When I saw Jerilynn at the post office the other day, she told me that she and Tom were going to her grandmother’s in Presque Isle for Thanksgiving
and
spending the night.”

Julia rubbed her face with a groan, then lowered her hands with a snort. “Okay then, try this one on for size: If I provide the gun, will you just put me out of my misery?”

Peg dropped her arms and sat up. “Are you crazy? No!”