The Wonder of You (28 page)

In fact, she loved this man, who would be a fool for her in front of her entire town to prove he could stop running, would make his life fit hers.

He tasted of freedom and their tomorrows and the kind of person she’d longed to be when she’d flung herself into her Prague adventure.

Brave. Strong.

Loved.

She leaned back, captured his wet face in her hands. Droplets had gathered on his long eyelashes, and the sun twinkled in his eyes. “I love you, Roark.”

His breath caught, and he swallowed, his expression becoming impossibly tender. “That’s the first time you’ve said that.”

She touched her forehead to his, then kissed him again. He softened his ardor this time, capturing her head in his hands, his touch gentle, lingering. Igniting a sweet swirl of desire through her.

He leaned back, breathing a little hard. “Maybe we should commence with the lesson.”

“Quite right,” she said, quoting him. “What lesson?”

He laughed and let her go, leaving her just a little shaky in the water.

His long, fluid strokes brought him to the log, tethered three feet from the dock, in thigh-deep water. He climbed over one end, straddled it, then levered himself to a standing position like he might on a surfboard.

“Move your feet, tiny steps,” she said, swimming over. She stood in the water, holding the log steady, her heart still afire in her chest. The answer seemed so utterly clear to her.

Roark could be the one. She could almost see herself staying here, running their own resort, finding herself every morning waking up to this amazing man.

Almost.

Something, however, still seemed out of focus.

“Let go of the log. I think I can keep it stable.”

Amelia let go, and he began to move it, first forward, then slowing and moving it backward.

“Roark, you’re a natural.”

“YouTube,” he said, looking down at her, winking.

And that’s when he lost it, falling off the log backward, splashing into the water.

“You have to keep your peripheral vision on the log, like I said. Don’t lose focus.”

He got up, held out his hand to her as she steadied the log. “I can do this. But this might be a great shot for your photo contest. Life in the north shore.”

“Really? You don’t mind?”

“Not in the least.”

“Good, because I made the top 100 list
 
—and I’m in the second round!”

She’d tried not to obsess about the stats since uploading her photos Saturday morning, but, well . . . “I need five more pictures by Friday.”

He straddled the log. “I think an Englishman making a fool out of himself as he goes into the drink just might be a keeper.”

A swell of tenderness filled her throat. “I’ll be right back.”

She climbed out of the water, grabbed her towel, and ran up the path to the lodge. Standing in the entrance, she slipped off her soggy shoes, then, still wet and ensconced in the towel, headed upstairs for her camera.

She was standing in the alcove beside her bed, making room for more shots on her memory card, when she heard a vehicle pull into the gravel drive. She glanced out the window, expecting a guest.

Instead, she recognized the Turnquist Lumber logo printed on the car’s door.

She froze as she watched Seth park, then get out of the car. He walked up to the house, the bell dinging.

Amelia couldn’t move as she heard her mother answer the door.

“Hello, Mrs. C. Is Amelia here? I need to talk to her.”

And of course, since her mother hadn’t seen Amelia dash inside, she sent the lumberjack right on down to the dock.

Amelia loved him.

Her words settled deep inside Roark, nourished him, and the moment she said them, her arms locked around his neck, her perfect body molded against him, her beautiful eyes in his, something unlocked inside him.

As if he’d gulped sweet, fresh air after holding his breath for years.

She loved him. Just him. Roark St. John, failure, coward, broken and desperate, yet she looked into his life and saw something worth loving.

Without his wealth. His legacy
 
—good and bad.

Yeah, he could take a deep, full breath, and his lies no longer made him ache. Because he didn’t need them anymore. Whether rich or poor . . . Amelia loved him.

Which meant the great
if
had vanished.

He pushed up on the log, balancing with tiny steps as it rolled. Amelia had affixed some kind of training device in the middle, a sort of paddle wheel that slowed the turn of the log. Remembering her techniques, he managed to steady himself. He moved the log forward, faster, then slowed it and moved it the opposite direction.

He tightened his core, keenly aware that, thanks to his recent hours with the ax, he’d strained every muscle in his body.

He didn’t have a prayer of winning the competition; he knew that. And right now, he didn’t even care about entering, except for . . .
I love that you are doing this.

Probably he could also be called a fool for suggesting Amelia take his picture, but she had no idea how talented she was, how she could pan a scene and capture the magic in a perfect shot.

So yeah, he’d enter. And try not to embarrass her and the entire Christiansen clan.

He was just climbing back onto the log after falling off again when he heard footsteps on the path. Shaking the water from his eyes, he glanced up, expecting Amelia to snap his picture.

Not Amelia.

“Hey, Seth,” he said, pushing his hair out of his face.

Seth stood on the dock, dressed in cargo shorts, a green T-shirt, and aviators that reflected a rather warped picture of Roark.

“What are you doing here?”

Roark jumped into the water and pulled himself onto the dock to get even footing. “Sunbathing.”

Seth refused to be affected.

“Clearly I’m learning to logroll,” Roark finally said. “Just for sport.”

A slow smile slid up Seth’s face. “Nice. Oh, this is
fan
-tastic.” He glanced at the log, then at Roark, and chuckled. “Now we’re going to have some real fun.”

“Seth!”

Roark glanced over Seth’s shoulder at the sound of Amelia’s voice, but Seth kept looking at him, wearing that grin. “I think this calls for a wager. If you win, I back off. You can stick around Deep Haven, and I won’t tear you limb from limb.”

“Jolly good. And if you win?”

“Easy. You leave. I get Amelia.”

Roark let out a laugh bearing nothing of humor. “You must think I’m daft. And from some prehistoric, hair-dragging tribe to think I’d wager the heart of the woman I love over a contest I know I’m doomed to fail. I’m sorry, Seth. I respect and care for Amelia too much to win her in battle.”

“Then how about this? Walk away. Today. Or it’s going to get ugly.”

“Hardly. I believe you’re the only one making it ugly. You can trot back to your den now.”

Seth didn’t move. “Last chance before I destroy you.”

Every nerve in Roark’s body tensed. “Please,” he said quietly. “Let’s have a go. Finally.”

Seth’s mouth tightened to a dark, lethal line. “You know, I’m not an idiot. I know you might think so because I drive a big truck and occasionally chew with my mouth open, and no, I don’t talk with a fancy British accent. But after you hired Goldstein to fly in for you, I got to thinking. Jake isn’t going to hop in his floatplane and fly to an inner lake during a storm just because you asked. Or offered him a free cup at the Java. So yes, I used my rather small brain to figure it out. Jake dished on you, said you’d dropped a cool 10K on that fly in. So I fired up my computer and used both my thumbs and did some checking. Surprise! Even the redneck from the woods knows how to google.”

Seth took a step closer, his voice cool. “I found you, pal. I found you and your group of rich-boy friends and the fact that you’re a billionaire hotel heir.”

Roark’s voice pitched low. “That’s none of your business.”

“It is my business if the woman I love is being lied to. Don’t you think she should know that you’re not remotely some European bum, but a guy worth . . . What did the Internet say? Nine billion?”

Over Seth’s shoulder, Roark could see Amelia now, emerging from the trail.

A fist closed around his chest, squeezing. But he kept his voice cool. “I hardly think my financial status will dissuade her.”

“Really. So you’re saying she won’t care that you lied to her?”

Roark drew in a breath.

“That’s what I thought. Last chance for a wager.”

“Tempting, but I guess I’ll treat Amelia like an adult and win her heart the old-fashioned way.”

“Oh,” Seth said, taking off his glasses so Roark could see the venom in his eyes. “Like with the truth?” He smiled again, slow, dark. “Have at it, dude.”

A breeze found Roark, chilled the wet suit, raised the skin on his neck.

Amelia caught up to them. “Seth! Uh . . . hi. I can explain.”

If she wanted to wound Roark, punching him in the stomach would have done less damage. Because she looked genuinely worried that she might have hurt Seth.

Nice.

Seth grinned at her. “I came by to see if you wanted to grab a pizza tonight. Maybe eat it at the point?” He winked and made sure Roark saw it.

“Oh . . . uh . . .”

“But I think you and Roark have things to discuss.”

She looked at Roark, then back to Seth. “We do?”

“Yeah. Tell him to buy dinner. He can afford it.” Seth leaned down and kissed Amelia on the cheek. “I’m just a phone call away.” He walked up the path, hands in his pockets.

Amelia turned. “Roark? What’s he talking about?”

She had such pretty eyes. Trusting. Honest. Ethan’s words pinged in the back of his head.
This is not hard.

Yeah, she’d told him she loved him, but the words were so fresh and young and . . . he’d only just become her hero again.

Seth! . . . I can explain.

Maybe the
if
hadn’t quite vanished.

“He’s jealous because . . .” He scrambled, came up with an errant conversation, something he’d fully intended to do. So not quite a lie. “Because I booked the
Fossegrim
for a twilight sail next week. I thought you needed a proper date.”

She smiled. “Are you sure? Seth’s right
 
—that’s expensive. Probably a month’s pay at the Cup.”

“You’re worth it.” True, but his lie burned inside him.

She gestured to the water. “I can’t believe he wasn’t angry about you entering the lumberjack games.”

Roark let out a laugh, something sharp. “I think he knows that I don’t have a hope of defeating him.”

“Ha. Maybe it’s not about who wins, but how much courage it takes to lose.”

He gave her a look.

“No? Okay, let’s put it a different way. Are you man enough to show up and stay in the fight, even if you could lose?”

He stared at her, wishing too hard he could turn time back, tell her at the get-go,
Listen, I’m wealthy.

“Let’s get you back in training.”

How wealthy?

“You really think I can learn this in two weeks’ time?”

Very, very wealthy.

“Enough to impress the crowd. And me.” She winked at him as she lifted her camera, took a shot of the coward at the end of the dock.

And she says, “When do we leave?” This is not hard!

Oh, blimey.

W
ITH THE SOFT PATTER
of rain dripping from the roof, the distant roll of thunder, the cool breeze lifting the curtains of the den . . . how Max longed to stay nestled in the pullout, his wife cradled in his arms.

Grace nudged him again. “You promised you’d take Yulia fishing. Roark even explained it to her. Her hopes are up.”

He rolled away from her onto his back, forcing his eyes open to stare at the ceiling and the gray skies outside the window. “But it’s gloomy out.” He kissed her shoulder. “Wouldn’t you rather I stay here?”

His lips touched her arm next, eliciting something inside him that, in a moment, might be challenging for him to say no to.

Grace knew him too because she turned, pushed on his shoulder. “Max . . . she’s probably out there waiting for you.”

“She doesn’t even understand us, Grace.” He rolled her over, kissed the soft place behind her ear. “We’ve been speaking to her for nearly a month now, and she hasn’t said a word in English. If it wasn’t for Roark, we wouldn’t know anything about her
 
—or her, us.”

She caught his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. “She’s just scared. She’ll speak when she’s ready. But she can still communicate. I can read her, Max. I know when she’s happy or sad.” She ran a finger down his cheek, touched his lips. “And I know she likes you.”

He hoisted himself up on one arm. “What’s not to like?” He winked and she laughed, leaning in to give him a quick kiss.

He chased her for more, but she held him back and climbed out of bed. “I have breakfast to make. And twelve German coffee cakes on my list of to-dos.” She dressed in her yoga pants, a T-shirt, and tied her hair into a ponytail.

Then she leaned over the bed and touched her forehead to his. “The walleye bite best on cloudy, dark days. Go fishing
 
—I promise it’ll be worth it. Just for an hour. When you come back, I’ll make you waffles.”

“Sure you will. You’ll make Yulia waffles. I’ll get the leftovers,” Max said but let her go. He could admit to more than a little worry about the bond Grace and Yulia had formed. The girl followed Grace around the house, helped her cook, and Grace indulged her with too many puzzles, games, and read-alouds.

After a month, the agency still hadn’t found an American placement for the girl. Apparently with Yulia’s so-called attachment disorder, no one wanted to risk the energy of loving a child who couldn’t love them back.

No one except Grace, of course, who excelled in loving people who couldn’t
 
—or shouldn’t
 
—love her back.

With no news about Yulia’s future placement in over a week, the Christiansens seemed to be operating on a no-news-is-good-news policy. He didn’t blame them
 
—Max excelled in denial as a form of coping.

He rolled out of bed and stretched. His body ached, the crossbar of the pullout leaving a permanent crease on his spine. That, or carrying Sheetrock into Darek’s house yesterday. With Grace helping her mother put away frozen baked goods for the summer season, he’d volunteered to help Darek and John finish the interior of Darek’s new place.

He could admit that he’d started to miss the apartment in Minneapolis. He couldn’t wait to lie in bed an entire Saturday, eating pizza, watching BBC America reruns, and relishing this pocket of nothing before training camp started.

A year ago, he’d been in Hawaii, trying to figure out how to walk away from Grace and all the complications of falling in love. Today he couldn’t imagine living without her. She added the smile to his day, gave him a reason to want to wake up, want to have faith. To believe in hope.

Yes, someday he might be ready to adopt a child, for Grace’s sake. But not yet. Call him selfish, but he didn’t want to share her.

He pulled on a T-shirt, jeans, and grabbed his socks, then padded out into the family room. The rain cast a pallor of gray over the room, the lamplight puddling over John as he sat on the sofa, reading the paper. His father-in-law looked up, nodded at him, his face solemn.

It brought to mind the moment, nearly two weeks ago, when Max had shuffled out with Grace and announced their news. John and Max had yet to hash out the conversation Max dreaded, the one about the future and just how he’d prepared to take care of
Grace. In the meantime, Grace had consented to a reception at the lodge over Christmas, a family get-together that they all quietly hoped might include Owen and Casper.

Grace and Ingrid worked in the kitchen, brewing coffee that added a morning aroma. Grace looked over her shoulder at him, then inclined her head toward the far end of the room.

He followed her gaze and found Yulia standing at the sliding-glass door to the deck. She faced away from him, staring out at the lake, the rain, the dismal skies. Hope of hopes, maybe she didn’t want to go fishing either.

He walked over to her, crouched beside her. “Hey there, Yulia. It’s yucky out, isn’t it?”

When she turned to him, his heart gave an extra tharrumph, then became stone in his chest. Tears trailed down the little girl’s cheeks, pooling at her jaw, dripping onto an oversize sweatshirt Grace had dug out of the hand-me-downs. The sleeves were rolled up, but only her fingers stuck out. Her hair lay in a tangled mess, escaping from her long braids, and if Max read his women right, her tiny heart was shattered.

He rested his hand on her shoulder, small, breakable. “What’s the matter, honey?”

She just stared at him, blinking, her bottom lip caught in her teeth.

“Do you want to go fishing?”

She turned back to the window, her finger tracing raindrops on the glass.

“Did you think, because it was raining, that we wouldn’t go?” And oh, he felt like a jerk for even thinking it. She trembled, swallowed, her tears still leaking out.

“Didn’t you know the walleye love rain?” He stood, held out his hand.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide, so much hope in her cherub face that it could knock him over. Then she drew her arm across her face, wiping it. With a hiccup, she pressed her hand into his.

An unfamiliar feeling lit inside him, cascading through his heart into his chest.

He couldn’t breathe, not with her looking at him with those immense, impossibly trusting brown eyes.

They were going to catch a fish if he had to dive in and bring one up with his teeth. “C’mon,” he said, turning her away from the window.

Grace’s eyes were on him, along with Ingrid’s, wearing matching expressions of tenderness.

“Have fun, you two,” Grace said, winking at Yulia, then smiling at Max.

So maybe the sun would come out after all.

He found Yulia a rain slicker in the closet, and Ingrid dug up a pair of boots. She patted Max on the cheek, her eyes warm, forgiveness part of her smile. “Thank you. Don’t forget life jackets.”

Of course.

Yulia headed outside just as the phone rang. Grace picked it up as Max walked out the door.

An hour later, he’d netted two small walleyes and shrieks of joy from Yulia, who seemed not at all disgusted by the slimy fish writhing on the floor of the boat. And as they walked back to the house, carrying the stringer of fish, she slipped her small hand in his again.

Once more, that unfamiliar curl of tenderness wrapped around him.

They entered the house, and Yulia kicked off her boots and ran into the kitchen, holding the fish.

“Oh, look at you!” he heard Ingrid exclaim.

Max followed her in. “She caught them both.”

In an eerie déjà vu moment, he saw Grace standing by the sliding-glass door, like Yulia had been earlier.

“Honey?” He walked over to her, listening to Ingrid slide out a stool, fix Yulia breakfast.

Grace dashed her hand across her cheek. He touched her shoulder, turned her. She hazarded a broken smile.

“What’s wrong?”

“Martha called as you were leaving. We were right. They can’t find a placement for Yulia.” She glanced at Yulia, then back to Max. “Next week sometime, she’s going back to Ukraine.”

“I can’t believe that Seth actually threatened to tell Amelia your secret.” Claire sat on the bed with the glow of a new mother about her.

Not a hint on her face of last night’s labor and delivery, the 2 a.m. birth of her and Jensen’s daughter, Ruby: six pounds, eight ounces of perfection. Roark stood at the end of her bed, having brought flowers for Claire and a Subway sandwich for Jensen, who sat in the rocking chair, smiling at the swaddled little girl.

Now he looked up. “I’m more hung up on the fact that Roark is logrolling. Really, dude?” He made a face that betrayed the craziness of Roark’s entering the competition. “Good thing you didn’t take that bet.”

“It’s not hard to figure out how Seth put it together,” Claire said. She reached for a cup of water. “Smooth move, hiring Goldstein.
He’s like a thirteen-year-old girl
 
—if you wanted to keep it secret, you’d have more success telling Edith Draper.”

“Who?”

“Never mind,” Jensen said. “Can you win this thing? Are you any good at all?”

“I can stay on the log. And yes, I’m getting better. Much better. Amelia and I practice every day after work. Between that and Darek’s lessons on the bucksaw and the chopping, I might not make a ninny out of myself.”

“But are you going to tell her?” Claire said, clearly not caring about the competition. “Seth knows, and you can bet he’s not going to let it drop.”

“With Darek on the bucksaw, you might stand a chance. And the hot saw is all about concentration and technique.”

“You know, she might not be as angry as you think. It
is
billions.”

“The entire competition is scored by points, so even if you end up second or third in one category, you could win the overall if you do well in another. Or if he bombs the logroll.”

“I mean, what’s going to happen next, Roark? You’re not actually thinking of sticking around, right? At some point, you have to tell her
 
—”

“Seth’s always been one of the first out in the logroll. I think Claire could beat him and she’s never even stepped foot on a log.”

“Hey!” Claire said. “I could totally hand it to him.”

“Maybe you should have taken him up on his wager,” Jensen said, laughing.

Roark stared at the pair. “Clearly you two need less caffeine.”

They frowned at him.

“Okay, Jensen. I respect Amelia and care too much about her to leave it up to a contest I’m doomed to lose. And yet, Claire, I fear
that I’m doomed to lose her anyway if she finds out I’ve been lying to her. All the same, I’m disgusted with the thought of keeping this secret from her one more minute.”

“Then it’s time,” Claire said.

Roark walked over to Jensen, studied their daughter. “She has your eyes, Claire.”

“She has baby eyes. But Jensen’s nose, bless her heart.”

Roark ran a finger over her cheek.

“Want to hold her?” Jensen asked and handed her into Roark’s arms. She snuggled in close, making baby sounds that could wreck him.

He sank into a chair. Held out his finger, and she wrapped her tiny hand around it.

“I daresay, Jensen, that he likes her,” Claire said softly.

“She’s . . . brilliant.”

Silence, and when he looked up, Jensen and Claire wore soft, patronizing expressions.

“What?”

“You need to tell her,” Jensen said. “Because I’ve never seen a guy so ready to have his own kids.”

Roark shook his head. “No. That’s not
 
—”

“You totally are, Roark. I can’t believe I didn’t see it until right now. I should have, for the way you’ve been fighting to be a part of Deep Haven and the Christiansens. No wonder Amelia came home crazy about you,” Claire said.

He liked how their words landed on him, watering the hope, the belief, that Amelia had seeded all week. The moments in the lake when she splashed him, when he caught her in a kiss, when she sat with him on the dock and stared at the stars, holding his hand.

She hadn’t said it again
 
—
I love you, Roark
 
—but he felt it.

As for himself, he couldn’t put a finger on the shift inside him, the way that when she looked at him, he ached all the way to his bones.