For the first time since running into him on the steps of the general store, she forgot to be nervous. How could she be scared when he was looking at her that way, like she was the most beautiful girl in the world? No one had ever looked at her like that before. It was beyond thrilling.
Andrew pulled out and as they slowly drove down Main Street, she noticed more than one person admiring his car. As they took the lakeside road out of town toward their cabins, she pulled out her ponytail and closed her eyes as the wind rushed through her hair. She'd never been so happy. Never felt so alive.
The five-mile drive went far too quickly and before she was ready for her time with Andrew to end, he was parking his car in the small gravel lot behind his parents' log cabin.
"I'll walk you back to your cabin," he offered and even though she could easily traverse the two hundred yards on her own, she didn't turn him down. He wheeled her bike between them as they walked through the thick grove of trees that separated the two cabins.
"Thanks for the ride," she said softly as the poplar trees thinned out and her parents' cabin came into view. "And the ice-cream cone."
For the first time, he was the one who looked nervous. Isabel was surprised to feel the shift between them, even more surprised when she realized he was about to ask her out.
On the verge of screaming, "Yes!" before he could even ask the question, she bit down on the inside of her cheek to let him make the first move.
"I'd, uh," he cleared his throat, "I'd love to see you again, Isabel."
"I'd like that too," she said softly, then before she could stop herself, went up on her tippy toes and brushed a kiss against his lips.
She ran through the forest the rest of the way to her house, leaving Andrew standing alone, still holding her bike.
*
The reproduction Coke-bottle clock behind the bar chimed loudly, three times, pulling Isabel from her memories.
"I can't believe I've kept you here for an hour, talking your ears off about ancient history."
Ginger protested, saying no, of course she wanted to hear it, but Isabel could see the dark smudges beneath her eyes. Whatever had or hadn't happened with Connor the previous night, Ginger clearly hadn't gotten much sleep.
Pushing back her chair, Isabel said, "Let's get out of here."
"But you haven't told me what happened yet, why the two of you broke up," Ginger said. "I mean, it sounded like true love, like the two of you were meant to be together."
"How about I give it to you in ten words or less?"
"Okay."
"He cheated on me. She got pregnant. He married her."
"Wow," Ginger said. "Ten words exactly."
All Isabel could do was laugh. She'd long ago decided it was so much better than crying.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THERE WAS nothing quite like swimming for an hour in the crystal clear lake and yet Connor didn't feel nearly as loose and relaxed as he should have. Not after last night, after the things he'd said to Ginger, the fact that he'd practically had to chain her door shut to stay the hell away from her.
Thank God she was at work. It would give him a few hours to get a grip. To try to convince himself that just holding her hand hadn't rocked his world more than sex with any other woman would have.
He didn't have anything to give anyone else right now. Maybe if he'd met her two years ago they could have--
Fuck. Why was he even going there? He'd never been a believer in love and marriage, not after watching his parents rip each other to shreds his whole life. He liked everything about women--the way they moved, smelled, came--but he'd never even come close to finding a woman special enough to make him want to rethink his take on relationships.
A beach towel around his hips as he walked up the stairs, his feet lightly dusted with sand, instead of continuing past Ginger's room, he stopped, absently rubbed one of the scarves hanging over her door between his thumb and forefinger.
He could still feel her, soft and warm, as he'd held her. And he could still remember the way she'd looked at him as she'd pulled his story from him, as if she'd experienced enough of her own darkness to understand his. No one, not his brother, not the rest of his crew--certainly not the psychologists hired by the Forest Service--had ever listened to him the way she had. Really listened without judgment, without any agenda of her own.
Wrenching himself away from her doorway, he shoved on some dry clothes and forcefully pushed Ginger out of his head. For the next hour, he walked through the house and made a long list of everything that needed to be done to get the place up to code.
With thousands of fires under his belt, he saw everything through a firefighter's eyes. His first task would be to redo the ancient electrical wiring and get a new stove in to replace the old two-burner stove and oven unit his grandmother had been so proud of when he was a kid. They needed fire alarms in every single room along with a fire extinguisher and escape ladders in the upstairs bedrooms and bathroom.
He needed to head to the hardware store to start buying supplies, but first it was time to get rid of the rental car. For the work he was going to be doing, especially when he got around to replacing the rotten logs around the living room, he needed a truck.
Picking up the phone, he called over to the only place in town where you could get a car. He was surprised when Tim Carlson picked up the phone.
Damn it, his old friends kept popping up around every corner. And he was even less in the mood for a round of catch-up today. Still, he needed a truck and ten minutes later he was pulling up outside a newly painted white farmhouse.
He was barely out of the car when a pretty little toddler with pigtails ran out to greet him.
"Hi!" she yelled, her chubby hand waving up and down.
Squatting down to her level, as he took in her one-toothed smile and big brown eyes, a smile won out over his dark mood.
"Hey there, pretty lady. I'm Connor."
The toddler babbled something that he assumed was her name just as his friend, Tim, came and swooped her up into his arms. She giggled as he lifted her above his head, then handed her off to her mother who had just come outside to join them.
"Great to see you again," Tim said, giving Connor a one-armed hug before introducing him to his wife. "Kelsey, this is Connor." As they shook hands, his friend added, "Now you see why I waited until we were married to introduce you to this guy. Connor and his brother Sam made the rest of us look like sorry alternatives."
Laughing, she shifted the baby to her other hip. "This is Holly." Holly yawned and rubbed her eyes. "I'm going to put her down for her morning nap. When you boys are done playing with trucks, brunch will be ready."
Connor quickly learned that Tim ran Carlson Construction and was now one of the main home builders in town. Five years ago he'd gotten married, chucked in his life in the city and started up the small-town business. On the side, he fixed up old trucks and when he'd gotten to about a dozen, his wife had told him he might as well buy the car lot too. So he did.
Considering the mood he'd been in when he'd gotten out of the car, Connor was surprised to realize he was almost relaxed as they walked across a newly mowed field where a trio of horses were feeding. It had been a long time since he'd hung out with a guy who wasn't a firefighter, who didn't constantly remind him of everything he wasn't doing.
"Nice looking family you've got there," Connor said.
"Thanks. We're happy. And I'm glad Holly's playing outside in the grass and dirt, rather than on sidewalks and chain-link-fenced parks." He shot Connor a speculative glance. "What the hell happened to your hands, man?"
Connor was starting to think he should get a shirt made that said, WILDFIRES ARE A BITCH on it.
"Gotta learn to run faster."
"Sure," Tim said, "you don't need to go into the whole deal. You must be sick of talking about it."
But the truth was, he really hadn't talked about it to anyone. Not until last ni
ght with Ginger. Suddenly, Connor realized he was sick of acting like it hadn't happened when anyone with working eyes could see that it had.
"The quick version is that it was a really bad day on the mountain. I got stuck in a place I shouldn't have been." He held up his hands. "And I paid the price."
"And now?"
"I should be hearing from the Forest Service about getting back to my hotshot crew soon. Until then, I'll be here working on Poplar Cove for Sam's wedding. Make sure to keep July thirty-first open."
"Any chance you'd consider moving out here full time?" Tim asked. "You know, joining up with the local firefighting crew. My business is growing fast and you were always a whiz at building things. I could certainly use the help."
Connor didn't even have to think about it. "My life is back in Tahoe." He couldn't imagine leaving the Tahoe Pines hotshot crew for good. He'd never pictured anything else for himself, never wanted to.
Then again, he'd never pictured meeting a woman like Ginger out here, either.
"Yeah," Tim agreed, "it's so wet in the Adirondacks, I'm sure the action you'd see out here is nothing compared to what you get out in the West. I can't think of the last time a cabin burned on the lake."
They turned into a big workshop and Connor whistled low between his teeth at the half-dozen old Ford trucks currently in process. "Quite a setup you've got here."
Walking up to the nearest, a dented and scratched cherry-red Ford with duct-taped seats, Tim said, "Do you think this one would work for the summer? It's already beat to all hell, so you won't have to worry about chucking scraps and tools into it. Besides, I don't have time to work on it until fall."
"I was going to offer to pay you for it, but now I think I'm going to keep my money."
"You're welcome," Tim said, clearly grinning at the thought of Connor riding around town in the old jalopy. "Now let's get back to the kitchen before Kelsey's blueberry pancakes get cold." He rubbed his slightly rounding belly. "There's one big reason to get married. Great cooking."
But talking about his Forest Service appeal had brought the agitation back. "Thanks, but I'm good grabbing something in town."
There was a threat in his friend's eyes. "Kelsey's feelings will be hurt if you leave now."
Minutes later Connor was sitting down at the breakfast bar digging into the plates of food set out across the tiled counter. Still eating long after Tim and his wife were finished, his friend frowned and said, "How the hell do you eat like that and not gain weight?"
Kelsey teased her husband. "My guess is he does more exercise than walking the dog to the nearest tree before bed."
"So if you're fixing up Poplar Cove for Sam's wedding," Tim asked, "then where's Ginger staying?"
"Poplar Cove."
Kelsey and Tim shot each other a loaded look. "Hey, Connor," Kelsey asked, "tell me, is there a pretty little thing back home pining away for you?"
"No."
Hell no. Connor figured that was his cue to leave before they went all matchmaker on his ass.
"Thanks for the great food." He held up the keys. "And the truck. I'll do my best not to wrap it around a tree."
"I'll follow you to drop off the rental car," Tim offered.
As they drove tandem into town, Connor noted that all around him, people were paired off. His friends, Tim and Stu. His brother, Sam. His squad boss, Logan.
From out of the blue, a picture of Ginger holding his hand in his bedroom hit him straight in the gut.
He could still remember how good it had felt to have her small fingers softly stroking his scars.
Soothing him.
Heading into the grocery store after work, Ginger bypassed the stack of blue plastic baskets to grab one of the carts on wheels. She was halfway through the produce aisle when she asked herself what in heck was she doing buying all this food? She certainly didn't need an entire bag of apples or a big bunch of bananas.
Five minutes with a man under her roof and she'd turned into Old Mother Hubbard.
Connor wasn't a real houseguest. She didn't have to feed him. Or clean up after him. He was a big boy. He could take care of himself. Find his own food. Cook his own meals.
But as she started to put the bananas back on the pile she couldn't help but feel like a total bitch.
She needed to feed herself anyway. So, really, what was the big deal of making enough for two? She'd feel horrible sitting in the dining room eating while he starved. Especially given how much he worked out. If it had been a woman who'd shown up on her porch yesterday, would she have made such a big stinking deal about the whole thing?
No, of course not.
Really, she told herself as she put the bananas back in her cart and continued through the meat aisle, picking up a roast and some ground turkey, she'd always liked to cook. And meals for one could get kind of boring, unless you didn't mind tons of leftovers. For the next few days, she'd get a chance to make a few of the new recipes she'd ripped out of Cooking Light magazine. That'd be fun.
And then he'd leave and she'd get back to her normal life. Cabin all to herself. Free to do what she wanted, when she wanted, with no input from anyone else.
Funny how it no longer sounded quite as good as it once had.
Thirty minutes later she pulled up at Poplar Cove beside a classic Ford truck. Quickly guessing that Connor had traded in his rental, she was pleasantly surprised by his choice. She would have figured a firefighter would choose one of those monster trucks on huge tires, the ones you needed a ladder to climb into. Not something with dents and scratches. She couldn't help but smile as she looked in the window and saw duct tape all over the seats.
It all went back to first impressions and how incorrect they could be. Because here was more proof that Connor was nothing like her ex-husband. Jeremy wouldn't have been caught dead in a beat-up old truck.
Grocery bags in hand, Ginger walked up the porch stairs to the sounds of hammering. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of a man who actually knew how to do more than screw in a lightbulb. Telling herself there were plenty of things sexier than a guy who knew how to use hand tools--although right at this moment she couldn't think of any--she took a deep breath and headed for the kitchen.
He didn't notice her at first and for good reason. He'd pulled the old stove out from the wall and was kneeling in front of a panel of very confusing-looking wires. Not wanting him to electrocute himself on her account, she was about to turn around and leave when he looked up.
And then, before she realized what he was doing, he took the grocery bags from her and started emptying out the contents on the Formica countertops. Her ex had never done that. He'd been very clear about what was women's work and what was men's work.
Then again, Jeremy hadn't known how to hammer in a nail or rewire an electrical system either. Why, she wondered, had she let him get away with doing so little outside of the office? Why hadn't she ever thought to ask for what she wanted?
"I should have checked with you before I started tearing apart the kitchen," Connor said, and she appreciated the apology behind his words. "Fortunately, the refrigerator is on a different breaker."
Realizing she was standing there like an idiot, she moved next to him to start putting the meat and cheese away. In the small kitchen, she caught the heady scent of him, the clean smell of a man hard at work making things safe. Opening up the fridge, she was glad for the cool rush of air.
Between the two of them, the task of putting everything away was quickly done, leaving her feeling awkward. He picked up a screwdriver and squatted down over the electrical box when she jerked her thumb over her shoulder.
"I'll get out of your way. I was just going to head out to the porch to paint."
Out on the porch, she set up her paints and canvas. Usually, within seconds, she was hard at work. Today, however, a good five minutes passed before she realized she was still mixing red and orange, the colors having gone an ugly brown.
She turned and looked over her shoulder toward the kitchen. It was quiet back there now as he redid the wires, and she supposed she could pretend that things were back to normal, that she was alone and content in the lakefront cabin. But Connor's presence was so big, so overwhelming, her thoughts kept shifting back to him.
Maybe she should pack up her things and head out of the cabin to paint, find even ground to stand on and get back into her groove. But she couldn't run from him all summer. If that was her plan, she might as well move out.
Closing her eyes, she was trying to relax by taking several deep breaths when she heard Connor kick the stove and mutter a curse. Opening her eyes, a smile on her lips, she picked up her paintbrush and it started moving, almost on its own accord, great wide strokes of vibrant color across the canvas.
Connor's stomach growled, but he wanted to finish rewiring the kitchen's electrical panel before quitting for the day. Tomorrow, he'd junk the old stove and go into town to pick up a new one. Every thirty minutes or so, when he stood up to stretch his legs and back, his eyes were drawn to the porch.
To Ginger.
Her hands moved quickly as she painted, deft strokes of color. She was incredibly talented, anyone could see that, even a guy like him who didn't know the first thing about art.
He watched her pile her curls up on top of her head as the late afternoon heat kicked in and rays of sun moved across the porch. He couldn't bring himself to step away before she noticed him standing in the doorway behind her.
She tried to cover the canvas with her arms as if to hide it from him. "It isn't done. I'm not sure it's any good yet."
"It's good."
Color rushed to her cheeks at his compliment. "Thanks."
Staring at her painting, he realized he finally saw the stillness he'd been looking for out on the dock that first night.
"How'd you do it?"
"Do what?"
He looked away from the painting, caught Ginger's bewildered gaze, realized he'd spoken out loud.
"Never mind."
"No," she said, "you were going to say something about my painting."
He held up his hands. "I don't know anything about art."
"Just spit it out already," she said, clearly frustrated. "What were you going to say?"
"The lake. The mountains." He hated this, feeling like an idiot. Every time he was with her, something happened. His hands went numb. He said too much. "I didn't know anyone else saw them like that."