Lightning Only Strikes Twice (2 page)

“I wonder if that old pine is still standing?” she said out loud.

“What old pine?” a deep voice asked behind her.

Annie jumped. Her heart thudded against her ribs. She whirled around, half-afraid to find a spirit from the town had materialized to accuse her of betraying their memory.

Instead, Luke Maxwell stood a few feet from the tailings dump. The sight of his solid form jolted her back to reality. “Mr. Maxwell.” His name came out in a breathless rush. “I thought you’d left.”

“I noticed your car.” He stepped around a clump of dead grass still clinging to a stubby wild rose bush. “Why are you still here?”

He’d removed his jacket. The breeze caught the ends of his dark brown hair, rearranging his tailored look into something more carefree. She noted his denim shirt again. It seemed unusual for the CEO of Maxwell Development to dress casually for a business meeting. However, the shirt suited him and tucked in his jeans like that emphasized the narrow slant of his hips and broad chest. His appearance unnerved her almost as much as seeing a ghost.

“I’m taking a last look around.” Embarrassed at her fanciful imagination she stepped backward. Her heel caught on a rock and she stumbled.

Luke was immediately beside her. “Whoa, there.” He cradled her upright by the elbow as though she weighed no more than a child. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. It’s too dangerous near the mill.” He steered her toward the cars.

His heated touch seared through her light sweater, chasing away the chill from the storm. She was tempted to lean into the warmth—to see if the security it offered was real. But it had been far too long since she’d turned to anyone for strength. She wasn’t about to start relying on the man who’d bought her property.

“Thanks for catching me,” Annie said, slipping out of his hold. “It may have been a while, but I know my way around this valley.” She waved off the notion of danger. “Besides, I’m not alone.” She tugged her sweater around her and resumed her trek toward the other side of the mill.

He came abreast of her with a bewildered expression. “What do mean, ‘not alone’? Until I joined you, you were most definitely alone.”

Annie stopped walking and tilted her head into the breeze. “Listen.”

Leaves rustled. Tree branches cracked and moaned against the wind as though the echoing past insisted to be heard one last time.

Luke cocked his head then frowned. “I’m sorry, Miss Crawford, I only hear wind.”

Her breath eased out on a sigh. Clearly, he didn’t understand. “I suppose you’re right.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Look, Mr. Maxwell, I was unreasonable to criticize your plans. You’ll receive my full support for the project. I’ll take one last look around and then be on my way. You won’t see me again.” She turned toward the grove.

“Wait.” He caught her elbow and held it. “I’ll join you. And call me Luke. When you say ‘Mr. Maxwell,’ I start looking over my shoulder for my father.”

A genuine smile accompanied his words. His touch sent tingles coursing down her arm. The earnestness on his face tempted her to reach for the olive-branch he offered. To do so felt as if she betrayed her grandfather’s memory—never mind that the betrayal was hers by selling the land.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said glancing at his hand.

Luke released her, but stayed close. “Why not?”

“We have a business relationship. It’s best to keep it that way.” She peered into the grove. “I’d like to continue my walk, now.” She moved away, leaving him to stare after her.

“Technically, you’re trespassing,” he called after her.

Trespassing!
Was he serious? A spark of indignation ignited in her belly and she spun around. In three strides, she stood toe-to-toe with him. “Are you throwing me off my property?”

“It’s
my
property.” A knowing glint shone in his eyes.

The reminder stung. “I know it’s your property. Surely it’s not a crime if I look around for a few minutes longer.”

“I’m only pointing out if something happens to you, I’m responsible.”

Was he really holding that over her head? “I’ll exonerate you from my own folly, Mr. Maxwell.” Her words ended in a squeak. She sounded like a shrew. What was it about this man that made her feel as if she’d just stepped off a spiraling carnival ride?

“Luke,” he repeated, ignoring her outburst. He looked at his watch. “I have a little time before my dinner appointment back in Boise. How about I accompany you on your farewell tour?”

“What if I prefer to be alone?”

“I’d rather you weren’t.” His square jaw tightened stubbornly.

Telling herself she could be courteous, she resigned herself to his company. As he so accurately pointed out, it was his land.

“Very well.” She turned and continued toward the grove.

Luke fell into step next to her.

They waded through the dormant grass, avoiding areas still spongy from the recent snowmelt. She paused when they reached the edge of the aspen grove. The realization of this last visit settled over her like the lid closing on her grandfather’s casket.

Her knees locked and she swayed with the same sense of loss.

Luke touched her arm. “Are you all right?”

At his touch, electricity pricked over her skin as though he’d captured the essence of the approaching storm and sent it zinging through her body.

Dazed, she looked at his face. A twitch at the corner of his mouth drew her attention. He had a nice mouth. She wondered fleetingly how those firm lips would feel against hers. She halted the errant thought and gazed on a less attractive feature—his crooked nose. “I’m fine.”

His eyes sparked with an answering intensity as though he’d read her mind. “Tell me about this tree.”

Her past was a subject she rarely shared, but what did it matter now? There was no one left in her life to reminisce with.

“When I was little, my grandfather and I picnicked here. We’d sit under a special tree in this grove. It was old and broken then, so I’m sure age has taken its toll.”

“Why was it special?”

“My grandfather used to tell me stories about it.” She negotiated around a willow bush and together they entered the aspen grove. “I can’t believe you’re interested in an old man’s stories.”

Luke stopped short. “What makes you say that?”

The business section in the paper called him Mr. Progress. His success couldn’t have come without some challenges, but she doubted he’d ever worried over stretching his last twenty dollars before payday. However, his interested expression encouraged her to offer the one thing she refused to put a price on—honesty.

“From my perspective,” she said. “I see you as a man who looks only to the future for solutions.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” He seemed genuinely perplexed.

“It’s not bad, necessarily. It’s lopsided.”

She gestured toward the old mill behind them. From this angle, it looked like the decrepit relic it truly was, instead of the proud icon of a long forgotten industry. “History has lessons to offer too.”

How could she explain things that were in her DNA? Her grandfather had told stories about his father, and his father’s father. How they lived, what they endured, and the sacrifices they made for a better life.

“Your view is just as lopsided, Miss Crawford.”

Annie dragged her gaze away from the mill. The fading light shadowed Luke’s face. What did he care about her life? She was a legal responsibility until she left the property. Then she’d be less than a liability—only a fleeting memory.

“I believe I can live in the present and still appreciate the legacy left by our forefathers.” She refused to apologize for sharing a little of what lived in her heart.

“I’m appreciative of our forefathers,” Luke said. “However, I’m not deluded with the romanticism of the past.” He stepped closer and the shadows fell away from his face. “Life was difficult in places like White Rock. The people who lived here had short life spans. Sometimes they died horrible, unnecessary deaths.” He delivered the bleak facts with a hard expression.

“Life was simpler,” she countered. “Obviously, there weren’t the luxuries we have today, but people took care of one another. Neighbors came to each other’s aid. Every individual had purpose—they weren’t simply cogs in some corporate machine.”

Lightning knifed across the western sky, followed seconds later by rumbling thunder. A chill shimmied down her spine as the echo faded against the ridgeline.

Luke scanned the treetops and then glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late. We need to go.”

“You can leave. I’m not done yet.”

He frowned and reached for her arm. “I can’t let you stay here alone. It’s not safe. Come on.”

She backed away to avoid the confusion his touch generated.

Another rush of wind stirred the trees. The musty odor of woodland decay followed. The scent conjured memories and nostalgia beckoned for her to finish her task. “You go ahead. I’m going to find the tree.”

Luke raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Lead on.”

She would have preferred these moments to herself, but held her tongue. They were almost at the center of the grove anyway.

Ignoring Luke’s resolute presence, she continued a few more yards until she spotted the tree.

A solitary lodgepole pine hunkered beneath the canopy of aspen, its branches broken and knotted with re-growth. The trunk was split through the middle to a quarter of the way down. Six inches from where the split started, four pairs of initials were carved in the trunk.

Age had gnarled the trunk and sap filled deep creases along the surface. Yet the initials, distorted by time and scarring, seemed to glimmer in the dim light of the grove.

“Whose initials are they?” Luke asked. He stood so close his breath ruffled her hair.

“My great-great-grandfather’s family.” A peculiar warmth curled inside her and warred with tears that burned her eyes.

She laid her hand on the jagged bark. As a child, listening to her grandfather’s stories, she used to pretend ghosts from the past would claim her as kin. Even now, she yearned for a link to family that mere words couldn’t convey.

After today, every connection would be gone.

****

Luke watched Annie Crawford caress the bark as though communing with the dead. The unconscious display of emotion made him uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. “The stories your grandfather told, were they about
your
family?”

“Yes.”

A flash of lightning caught his eye. Rain wasn’t far off. Thunderstorms usually didn’t bother him, but the one approaching over the mountains was shaping up to pack a wallop. He checked his watch again. If they dallied much longer, he’d miss his dinner appointment.

He’d delayed the conversation he needed to have with Emmaline for too long. On their last date, when she’d hinted they should move in together, he realized their relationship had taken a direction he wasn’t ready for.

Admittedly, he’d been driven to show his father he was ready to take over as CEO of Maxwell Development, but he should have paid closer attention. Cementing his relationship with Emmaline wasn’t in his plans and it wasn’t fair to her to keep her waiting and wondering.

Thunder rolled once more in the distance.

His confrontation with Emmaline would have to wait until Annie finished her quest.

He hadn’t been invited to use her first name, yet that was how he saw this unpretentious woman whose refreshingly open opinions conflicted with his. Even though she wasn’t the type he was usually attracted to, had the circumstances been different, he might have considered getting to know her better.

Her honest gray eyes, smooth skin, and trim figure offered an enticing diversion.

Just because he was ready to end his relationship with Emmaline, didn’t mean he was ready to move into another. Besides, Annie obviously didn’t care much for him or his profession.

Another slash of lightning ripped the sky. Thunder crashed seconds later. The wind grew stronger. Tree branches swirled in a rhythmic motion making them appear to lift from their roots and take off in dance. He dismissed the whimsical thought. Annie’s stories were starting to get to him.

Time to get out of these mountains.

“Miss Crawford!”

His shout broke her trancelike. Raw emotion in her gray eyes matched the leaden skies above.

“What?” she asked.

He pointed up as sporadic raindrops splattered the higher leaves. “It’s time to go.”

“I told you to go ahead.”

Tears clung to her lashes. Damn, did the woman have to cry now? She blinked and the tears were gone. He wasn’t sure he’d seen them. “I’m not leaving until I see you safely to your car.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.” He took her arm.

With her elbow in his palm, he began to lead her out of the forest.

She resisted, looking longingly back at the tree.

Something foreign tugged at him. On impulse, he made up his mind. “I can’t prevent the grove from being cut down, but since that tree is so important, I’ll have my crew preserve the section with the initials. It’ll be yours.”

Annie stared at him for a moment as though she didn’t understand his offer. Then, for the first time today, a genuine smile curved her rosy lips offering a glimpse of tiny dimples at the corners of her mouth. Wind fluttered her chestnut hair, exposing her slender neck. She seemed transformed into some woodland nymph and he couldn’t look away.

“Oh, Luke! I…Thank you.”

The warmth in her voice chased away the chill in the spring air.

“Do you have a knife?” She slipped out of his grasp and returned to the tree.

He followed. “What for?” Did she want to start chopping it down now?

“When I was younger, I tried to carve my initials next to the others, but Grandpa wouldn’t let me.”

Luke pulled a folding knife off his belt and opened the blade. “Why now?”

Taking the knife, she faced the tree. “It didn’t matter before, but if the trunk will be preserved, then my initials will be permanent alongside my family’s.”