Depths of Lake (4 page)

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” I say.
 
My hands rest on my hips, and I bite my lower lip.

“Yeah,” he says with a hint of awe in his voice.
 
“Restoration project?”

He suddenly squats and then lies on the ground, looking up under the car.

“It was.”

This seems answer enough for him.
 
I hear him knocking around with things for a minute.
 
Finally, he stands up and dusts his pants off.
 
He gazes at it longingly, and I can tell he’s fantasizing about polishing it up and taking it for a spin.
 
Every guy who lays eyes on it does.

“Dad died three years ago,” I say.
 
“He was a Marine, too.”

Lake looks at me, weight behind his eyes.
 
“Thank you for his service.”

I just nod, and my eyes drop to the ground.

“You ever take those out?” Lake finally asks.
 
He nods his head to the far back corner of the garage.

This time a smile does form on my face.
 
“It’s been a while, but yeah.”

I walk over to the two ATVs and pull the keys off the hook on the wall by them.
 
“Want to go for a ride?
 
I can show you the rest of the property.”

A small smile pulls at his lips as he nods his head yes.

I toss him a set of keys and climb onto my wheels.
 
The engine purrs as I back it out.
 
Lake gets on his and starts it.

We drive slowly at first.
 
I take him around the perimeter of the pasture.
 
It’s huge.
 
A solid thirty acres to it alone.
 
I feel a certain pride as I show it off.
 
This is our land.
 
My dad fought to protect this country for most of his life.
 
And this is our little corner of it.
 
It’s simple, but it’s ours.

I explain how Lake needs to check the fence twice a week, make sure there are no breaches.
 

“What’s that?” Lake asks, nodding his head to the base of the mountain trail.

“The ranch butts right up to the government property.
 
The trail wasn’t much more than a deer path when we got the property, but I ride the horses on it every so often.
 
When it isn’t too muddy.
 
It’s pretty dangerous when it’s wet.
 
The trail stretches for about forty miles.”

“Ever take these babies on it?”

I smile, shaking my head at him.
 
He knows so little about me.
 
“This girl isn’t afraid of a little mud.”

He chuckles.
 
It’s a low and deep thing, the kind you can feel, not just hear.
 
“I didn’t figure you were.”

And I find something that I like about Lake.
 
I don’t like being underestimated, and for some reason, I just know: he never will.

We start rolling back toward the garage and park them in their spot.
 
I hang both keys up as I hear Mom yell that dinner is ready.

“Are you really not going to let us pay you?” I ask as we slowly walk back to the house.
 
“Working for free seems kinda crazy.”

Lake shakes his head and his eyes grow dark.
 
“Like I said, I have a debt that I can never repay, but I’ve got to try.
 
I’ll be going down into town tomorrow to look for something part time.
 
I don’t need much, just enough to survive on.”

I look over at him, my brows furrowed.
 

“Don’t worry, I won’t let whatever I find interfere with what you need done here,” he hurriedly explains.

I shake my head as we pass the garden.
 
“I don’t understand you noble hero types.
 
Sure would be a lot easier to just take the money we’re offering and work a lot less.”

“I don’t mind work,” he says as he holds the door open for me.

“But you don’t love it,” I say, echoing his words from earlier back to him.

He mutters something I don’t quite catch when Mom starts talking over him, but I’m pretty sure it was something like not loving much of anything in a long while.

CHAPTER THREE

I’ve never been particularly religious, but Mom likes to go to church, so we go.

We sit in one of the pews toward the back.
 
Mom sings the hymns.
 
She holds onto the pastor’s every word.
 
And when the service is over, she visits with the townspeople, laughs, and socializes with others in the congregation.

But I hate coming.
 
Because
everyone
here knows my past mistakes.

So when Mom gets to chatting, I sit in the truck and wait for her.
 
I make
a to
do list on the back of receipt.
 
It stretches long and I find myself relieved that we’ll have some help to get it all accomplished.
 
There’s been a pit of dread in my stomach from the moment Lake stepped foot on our property, but we do need his help.

Someone raps on my window, making me jump hard.
 
My knee cracks into the dashboard.

“Hey,” I say as I roll the window down.

“Sorry,” Jesse, also known as Dr. Wyze, says.
 
“Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” I say, shaking my head.
 
“I was just trying to plan out everything I need to get done this week.”

“Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

I lean over the bench seat and open the door he’s leaning in.
 
I nod my head, and he climbs in the passenger seat.

“Sounds like the rain storm
is
going to be pretty bad on Wednesday.”
 
I make small talk when I’m not sure what else to say.
 
“Everyone’s freaked out ever since that mudslide in Oso.”

“It was pretty awful,” he says as he leans back, his knee propped up on the dash.

It’s weird seeing
him
dressed up for church.
 
Black slacks, a white button up shirt, blue tie.
 
It’s stark contrast against his skin.
 
His dad is black, and his mom has the blondest hair and bluest eyes you’ve ever seen.
 
That leaves him with this creamy dark skin and these strangely bright green/gray eyes that are
piercing
.

He is a beautiful man.
 
Thirty-two years old.
 
He’s also the town vet.
 
So our paths cross frequently.

“Yeah, it was,” I agree, looking out the window.
 
The clouds roll in, dark and thick.
 
Just on the verge of rain.

“So, your mom said you’d hired a new hand,” he says, looking in my direction.
 
I feel his eyes, searching and deep.
 
Like he can see right through me.
 
“How you feeling about it?”

“Why do you ask, Jesse?”
 
My voice is verging on testy, even though I know it shouldn’t.

“Cause I heard he’s a Marine,” he says honestly.

My eyes dart to him just once before flicking back out the window.
 
People start coming out of the church faster now, headed to their cars quickly before the rain starts.
 
“Doesn’t really matter,” I say with a shrug.
 
“We need the help, and Mom thinks we can trust him.”

Another rap on the window sounds through the cabin and I look to my left to see Kyle Mark staring daggers at Jesse.

I roll it down and barely contain the roll of my eyes.

“Raelynn said to tell you she’s going to be a few more minutes,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.
 
“She and Mom are talking about some fundraiser they’re putting together next week.”

“Thanks,” I say, giving him a little half lipped smile.
 
I’m over the years when every time I saw his face was like getting a little twist in the heart with a knife.
 
It doesn’t mean things don’t still feel awkward between us every once in a while.

“Yeah,” he says, eying Jesse once again.
 
“See you around.”

He walks away just as the first drops fall from the sky.

“Living in a small town is hard enough,” Jesse says as he watches Kyle walk away.
 
“Living in a small town with your ex is agonizing.”

I shrug and shake my head.
 
“It’s not so bad anymore.
 
It was a long time ago.
 
He’s kind of like a pesky fly now who just hovers around every once in a while.”

“He’s got no right to hover like that every time another male comes within ten feet of you.”
 

“Whatever,” I say with a big breath and a deep sigh.
 
“You still coming out on Friday to do all the shots?”

He takes a minute, still watching as Kyle climbs into his car.
 
“Yeah,” he finally replies.
 
He looks over at me.
 
His eyes are slightly conflicted.
 
“Noon still good?”

“Perfect,” I say as something turns in my stomach.
 
“See you then.”

Jesse climbs out of the car and calls a goodbye.

I watch him walk away.
 
The interest he has in me has been fairly obvious the last few months.
 
We’ve been friends for the last two years, but it was nothing more than that in the beginning when he was a brand new vet and all we could afford.
 
And then Cal came along, and I didn’t talk to Jesse in any form outside of work for a long while.

He’s been a supportive friend.
 
But then he had to go and want more.

He’s never told me that.
 
Sometimes a woman just knows.

But I can’t.
 
I just can’t.
 
I used up all my chances at love and happiness.
 

“Hey, sorry to keep you waiting,” Mom says as she climbs into the passenger seat.
 
There’s scattered rain drops over her shoulders.
 
“And sorry for sending Kyle as messenger.
 
He was standing right there and well…”

“It’s okay,” I say as I shift the truck into drive.
 
“It’s really not a big deal anymore.”

“I saw you talking to Jesse,” she says as we pull onto the main road.
 

“Yep,” I respond.

“That’s the problem with being such a beautiful woman,” she says innocently as she looks out the window, over our small town.
 
“You can’t help but catch the eye of all the men around you.”

I chew on my lower lip and ignore her comment.
 

Being beautiful isn’t always a blessing.
 
I’m pretty, I know that because other people have been telling me that my whole life.
 
Because more than once, I’ve been stopped by people claiming to be model scouts, asking me to come in for headshots.
 
Because photographers are always asking to take my picture.
 

But having a pretty face apparently lets people make assumptions about you.
 
About what goes through your
brain.
 
About how smart you are.
 
About what you do behind closed doors, and what you don’t.
 
Because of the way I look, people seem to think they know me better than I know myself.

Having a pretty face also tends to draw some scary people.
 
People like Travis.

It’s been six months since he’s bothered me, but I have no doubt those flowers that were in the garbage were from him.

That’s part of the reason why I like my men four legged.
 
They don’t care what you look like.
 
They care how kind you are, how firm you can handle them, how much you feed them.
 
They know when you love them, and they love you back.
 
Simple as that.

The rain is steady and heavy by the time we make the turn off toward our house.
 
A small river is flowing down the ditch on the side of our driveway.
 
I open the garage door and slide the truck in.
 
Mom darts into the house while I make sure the back side door is locked.
 
It has a tendency to get blown open during storms.
 
Last time that happened, we had to chase out a family of raccoons who’d decided to make a home under Dad’s Shelby.

I’m just about to run for the back door of the house when movement out by the barn catches my eye.

Lake is hammering a sheet of plywood in place over the lean-to chicken coop off the side of the barn.
 
His long sleeved T-shirt is soaked completely through and his hair plastered to his head.
 
Rain drips into his eyes and runs off his nose.

He doesn’t look up at me.
 
His concentration is on that nail he’s hammering into the old roof that I am assuming started leaking.

They’re just chickens.
 
They could step out of the drips if they didn’t want to get wet.

I didn’t ask him to fix the leak.
 
I didn’t even know it was there.

But Lake went ahead and started repairing it.
 
Without being asked to do so.
 
During a downpour.

The muscles flex and stiffen under his soaked shirt.
 
He really is a beast.
 
Not someone I’d ever want to go up against.
 
His hands work sure and confident.
 
But there’s
a softness
to his face.
 
He looks at ease.
 
The line that I’ve realized is always between his brows isn’t there.

Suddenly Lake’s eyes flicker to me for just a moment, and he does a little double take before holding my eyes.

We look at each other for five long seconds.

Who is Lake McCain, and how did he come to be in my life?

I’m the first to look away.
 
I close the door behind me and walk for the house, the rain pelting down on me.

My heart rate has picked up by the time I reach the door and step inside.
 
My eyes slide closed for a moment, but they keep replaying that scene of Lake standing in the rain behind my lids.

“I’ll have dinner done by five,” Mom says as she steps out of her room, changed into a pair of jeans and a casual shirt.
 
“Make sure you let Lake know what time we’re eating, after you get changed.”

“’K,” I say, grateful she doesn’t notice how I’m slightly out of breath and functioning about as well as a drunk turkey.
 

I walk across the kitchen and head up the stairs.

I change into jeans and an oversized knit sweater.
 
My hair, which has been laying straight down the middle of my back, gets twisted into a knot at the back of my head.
 
The same hairstyle I wear most every day.

The sound of rain lessens, and I cross to my window and look out toward the barn.
 

Lake seems to have finished his job of temporarily fixing the roof of the coop.
 
He crosses to the garage and stays in there for a few minutes.
 
I assume he’s putting tools away.
 
A bit later, he walks back outside, crossing to the stairs of his apartment.
 
He heads inside just as the rain stops.

I sink into the chair.
 
My feet prop up on the same desk I’ve had since we moved into the house when I was fifteen.
 
I chew on my lip and slowly swivel myself side to side.

I grab Cal’s picture that sits on my desk in its simple white frame.

He’s wearing a full battle uniform, smiling at the camera.
 
He holds an assault rifle in one hand and standing next to him are three Iraqi children.
 
The picture was taken on his second tour.
 
The first tour he went on after we met.

It was two years ago when I went to the party with Julianna.
 
My best friend and the only other person who loved horses as much as I did; she was into cowboys and loved to drink and party with them.
 
Some of her friends from down in Redmond were having a bonfire party for someone’s birthday and we were invited.

It was on the edge of town, in someone’s backyard.
 
The fire was huge, the music loud, and the alcohol plentiful.
 
And there were a good fifty people in attendance.

I’m not a people person, and the scene was overwhelming.
 
I hung on the outskirts, beer in hand, but for the most part, undrunk.
 

“I thought birthday parties stopped after you turned ten,” a voice behind me said.
 
I turned to see a guy standing behind me, watching the scene.
 
He had a beer in his hand as well, but his too was mostly still full.
 
He was fairly tall, around six feet.
 
His hair was sandy, styled forward but windswept.
 
But it was his eyes that grabbed me.
 
Intense and blue through the dim evening light.