When Somebody Loves You (23 page)

She studied him for a long, searching moment before turning toward the main lodge, snapping orders over her shoulder as she went. “If you’re done here, finish patching the roof on number three, then go ahead and put up the new eaves.”

“Anything you say, boss lady,” he said, glaring at her departing back.

She thought she was so damn tough. Well, just once he’d like to see her react by showing her feelings instead of running away from them when they got too hot to handle.

When he asked himself why he wanted to know how she felt—particularly about his problem—he didn’t like the answer. It was because he cared what she thought of him, dammit. That realization rubbed like the hammer handle against his new blister.

Another two days passed before she broke ground again. He caught her trying to lug a flat of shingles up a ladder by herself. When he called her on it, she rounded on him.

“I don’t need you or any other man telling me how to run my business, Dursky. You
take
orders here, not
give
them.”

He saluted smartly and told her by all means, to have at it. She did, practically breaking her scrawny neck in the process.

That night she apologized. He wasn’t sure which one of them was more surprised.

“Look,” she began uneasily over a supper of fried chicken and potatoes, “I shouldn’t have jumped on you like that this afternoon. I know you were trying to help.”

He buttered his bread and shrugged. “No problem.”

“It’s just that I’m not used to anyone . . .”

“Helping?” he prompted when she seemed at a loss.

She nodded, looking sheepish.

“I noticed.”

He continued eating in silence. She did little more than push her food around on her plate with her fork.

“Is . . . the drinking . . . is it still a problem for you?” she asked finally.

Surprised that she wanted to know, he met her eyes across the table. He read her look for what it was. She wanted him to say no, it wasn’t a problem.

He wanted to tell her it wasn’t. Beyond that, he wanted to tell her she shouldn’t be wondering, that she could get in big trouble by even caring. So he made sure she knew the truth, because he knew she wouldn’t like it.

Bracing his forearms on the edge of the table, he leaned toward her. “It’ll always be a problem, Red. But if you’re asking me if I have a habit of falling off the wagon, the answer is no. At least not lately. But then, nothing’s a given. You could drive me to it yet.”

It was a stupid thing to say. He should have known she’d take him seriously. She put down her fork and stared at her lap.

“When I was younger,” she said softly, “I always wondered if that’s what happened with my father. If it was me, not my mother’s death, that made him drink.”

You still wonder, don’t you, Red?
he mused, damning himself for his insensitivity. Not wanting to be affected by her pain but accepting that he was, he sighed and slouched back in his chair.

“Alcoholism is an illness, Jo. When your father wandered into Detroit a few years ago and into that first AA meeting, he was as down as a man can get. I’d been there, where he was, and I knew what he was going through. I suppose that’s why we connected.”

She shoved her chair back from the table and began clearing away their dirty dishes.

“He’s been dry for over a year now,” he added, deciding not to let her run away this time.

Facing the sink, she put her head down and gripped the counter. He could feel her tension, almost taste the effort it took her to hold on to her control.

“One year out of ten,” she said. “Too little too late, wouldn’t you say? Look what it’s done to him.”

And look what it’s done to you
, he added silently. He pushed away from the table, the scrape of his chair against the pine floor shattering the silence. He carried his dishes to the sink. Leaning a hip against the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her. She was so small standing there beside him. Small and hurting. It was suddenly too much to ask of himself not to reach out to her.

“Jo,” he said, touching a hand to her cheek. She was trembling. For that matter, so was he. He gripped her slim shoulders and gently turned her toward him. “With an alcoholic there are never any guarantees. But John’s on top of his problem now. If this complication with his heart hadn’t flared up—”

“No guarantees?” she cut in. Her tone was bitter, but her eyes were filled with a wild desperation. “Well, I’m sorry, but I
need
guarantees—and don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to get me to admit that I miss him and to make me realize I need him back here. Well, let me tell you what it’s going to take to make that happen.”

She tried to pull away. He wouldn’t let her. So she issued her ultimatum, her green eyes flashing like cut glass.

“You
guarantee
me that if my father comes out of this alive he’ll be the man I knew before he turned to alcohol as an antidote for his pain. You
guarantee
me he’ll never drink again and I’ll welcome him back. Otherwise, you can forget it. I won’t watch him turn into someone I neither know nor like. I won’t watch him die like that. Not again. Not ever again.”

Her voice was shaking, her eyes suspiciously bright, and as he had the first time he saw her, he thought of the child within.

“How old are you?” he asked softly, not expecting an answer. “Old enough to know that fairy tales have no basis in fact, I’d guess.” He paused and watched her thick lashes flutter down to shadow her cheeks. “Old enough to know that real life doesn’t come with guarantees,” he continued in the same even tone. “Just promises that even with the best of intentions sometimes get broken.”

Defiance laced with pride hardened the eyes that met his. “What I’m old enough to know is that the only thing in life I can count on is myself. What?” she asked with a defensive lift of her chin when he was silent. “Don’t you want to argue with me on that count? Don’t you want to tell me that he can make it because
you
made it? That you’re living proof the odds can be beaten? That there are people in this world I can count on and you’re one of them?”

Though she was pushing for a denial, she couldn’t camouflage the hope in her eyes. He also saw something else. Mixed with the defensiveness and the pain, he recognized the way she was looking at him—the way she had
been
looking at him more and more often lately. It was the look a woman gave a man when there was more than business on her mind. That knowledge licked along his senses like a slow-burning flame. Her nearness fed the fire.

Fighting the response he wanted to give her, he looked her squarely in the eye. “You never beat the disease, Red,” he said, intending to quell her interest then and there. “You just beat it back, and every day you hope you’ve got a stick big enough to do the job.”

“You’ve managed. You haven’t let it ruin your life.”

But he had almost let it ruin Annie’s, he thought wearily, feeling that old flicker of guilt that always accompanied her memory. While it was never meant to be between them, she’d been the one good thing in his life back then. He thought of her softness and all the other qualities he’d almost destroyed before he’d done the right thing and let her go.

Suddenly, he missed what they’d almost had together. Looking deep into the eyes of this woman who, as unlikely as it seemed, might be able to give him what Annie never could, he felt a keen sense of regret. He had to do the right thing for her, too, and that meant leaving her alone.

But her eyes revealed so much. Asked so much. What they were asking for right now had less to do with guarantees than with need. A need that was mutual and demanding.

Why he’d thought she’d discourage him when she hadn’t had sense enough to send him packing that very first day, he’d never know. She didn’t have the sense God gave a moth. Look at her. She was flying headlong into a fire, her eyes wide open, her lips parted, as good as asking him to help her get burned.

Suddenly, he just couldn’t say no. Not to his own demands or hers. Not to the long, empty years or the sweet, honest desire shining in her eyes.

He damned her for tempting him, damned himself for succumbing, then he did the unforgivable. He lowered his head and with a groan of defeat, covered her mouth with his.

His breath stalled in his chest as he met lips that were petal soft and pliant, breath as hesitant and hushed as a whisper. The innocent response of her mouth set his pulse racing and ignited a fever in his blood that should never have been coaxed to flame.

Losing the token battle with his will, he drew her against him and allowed his hands to roam greedily over the slight, perfect body he’d taken to bed in his mind every night since he’d arrived. He indulged in the reality of holding her at last, relishing each white-hot contact as her small breasts met and molded to his chest, as her hips and belly nestled against the thick ache in his loins.

She was supple and yielding and dangerously needy as she moved against him, whimpering her surprise and her hunger, until the desire prowling the edge of his sanity became a wild, raging beast.

She clung to him. With complete trust and a total lack of fear she opened to him, unwittingly unleashing his long-suppressed desire. He pillaged her mouth with his tongue, stole her offering for the treasure that it was, and reveled in the knowledge that she returned his passion full measure.

This was no child in his arms. This was a woman, strong and alive and full of fire. A woman who would never bend against her will to any man. Yet she was bending now, passionately, desperately, as the kiss lengthened and deepened, transcending the bounds of physical need to a realm that was far more dangerous. There were feelings here. Deep feelings that rimmed the dark side of his reason and should never have been allowed into the light.

The thought that saved him from getting lost in her taste and her trembling body was how easy it would be to take her—and how hard it would be later to witness her pain. There would be pain. If he let this go further, when he left her—and he
would
leave her—there would be pain.

Steeped in that knowledge, he roughly set her away from him.

Her eyes were dazed, her breath, like his, labored and shallow.

“You want someone to count on, Red?” he said in a strained, angry whisper. “Well, you just found out that someone isn’t me. A strong man wouldn’t have kissed you. He’d have kept his promise to himself and left you the hell alone.”

Looking confused and achingly vulnerable, she just stared at him. Her wide-eyed trust fueled his anger.

“You shouldn’t have let me do that, dammit. And I never should have let it happen.” He dropped his hands from her shoulders and backed away. “You want guarantees? Just so there’s no confusion and no disillusion down the road, let me give you one. Don’t
ever
count on me for anything. On that front, I
can
give you a guarantee. I’ll only let you down.”

Four

The best way to deal with Adam Dursky, Jo decided the next morning, was to stay away from him. At the crack of dawn she’d issued concise, clipped orders on the work she wanted him to do that day. Then she’d headed in the opposite direction, telling herself there was nothing the man could offer her but trouble.

Trouble, unfortunately, had never looked more appealing.

The day was still new when she grudgingly admitted that physically distancing herself from him wasn’t the answer. While sorting through an assortment of fishing tackle in the boathouse, she kept thinking about what had happened between them the night before. “Don’t ever count on me for anything,” he’d warned her. “I’ll only let you down.”

She knew he was right. She’d known he wasn’t a man to get involved with the day he’d limped into the lodge with his duffel in hand and his attitude riding on his shoulder. Yet as she had when she’d lain alone in her bed every night since he’d arrived, when she’d worked alongside him all those days, she caught herself wondering what it would be like to be important to a man like him, to make a difference to a man like him, to be loved by him.

Upset by her thoughts, she tried to come to terms with the reason he affected her so. Was it because there was so much more to him than he wanted her to see? That despite his cynicism and his claim to the contrary, he was a strong man? A man who kept his confidences and his problems to himself; a man who was hurting and protected that hurt like a dog guarding a bone?

She’d felt that hurt last night, felt the need in him. His kiss had touched her deeply. Though he had fought the feeling, she knew it had touched him too. For a long, aching moment he had held her like she was the one thing in his life worth hanging on to. Then he’d come to his senses and let her go. When she caught her reflection in the window, she was reminded of why.

Staring back at her from the dusty pane were eyes too wide set to be pretty, a complexion too splattered with freckles to be taken seriously, and a nose that shouted pixie, not woman.

Closing her eyes against the harsh reality of the image she presented, she reminded herself that a man like Adam Dursky couldn’t afford to waste emotions on someone like her. On a kid, as he was so quick to label her. On a girl who didn’t merit the attention reserved for a mature woman.

She touched a trembling hand to her mouth and thought of his kiss. That kiss had made a lie of his claim that he saw her only as a child. It had been a kiss a man gives a woman. It had tasted of passion and temptation, and the solid heat of his body pressed to hers had delivered an unmistakable message. He had wanted her. Even more, in that moment he had needed her.

But in the next moment, she reminded herself grimly, he had let her go.

She ought to be thankful that he, at least, had shown some sense. In a bid to ignore the sweet, aching swirls of arousal churning low in her belly, she returned to her work, reminding herself of one other indisputable fact. He had a problem. The same one that had taken away her father. The same one that would eventually take him away too.

The familiar sound of Steve Miller’s pickup rumbling down the drive and braking to a stop by the lodge’s back door saved her from dealing with the sense of loss she felt over that conclusion.

Knowing that as soon as Steve hopped out of the Park Department’s truck he’d be popping into her kitchen and hitting her up for coffee, she poked her head out the boathouse door. “I’m down here. Grab a cup and come on down.”

“You want one too?” Steve called before he slipped inside to help himself.

“No thanks. I’ve had enough.”

More caffeine was exactly what she didn’t need. Steve, however, was a welcome diversion. She didn’t want to think about Adam anymore, about things that could never be between them.

Dropping what she was doing, she walked outside to meet Steve. Her heart executed a quick shuffle when she saw two men heading toward her. Steve, dark-haired and grinning, sauntered down from the lodge with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. Adam, blond and brooding, limped down from cabin number ten where he’d been working on the plumbing, a pipe wrench gripped tightly in his hand. Cooper, who had taken to dividing his time between Jo and Adam, trotted happily at Adam’s side.

When the two men spotted each other, their steps slowed momentarily. They exchanged curt, silent nods.

“Is this a business or a social call?” she asked Steve in an attempt to dispel a tension she suddenly sensed but couldn’t define.

“Since when do I have to have a reason to stop in and see you?” Steve asked with his usual cocky grin. His tone, however, sounded a wee bit territorial.

Adam’s frowning reaction to that tone had her completely baffled. Certain she was only imagining something was amiss, she teased Steve good-naturedly. “Since part of my tax dollar started paying your salary,
Officer
Miller. I don’t like to see my public servants loafing on the job.”

“I’m just about to go on duty, okay? So save your smart mouth for someone who will appreciate it.” Though his remark was purposefully playful, he looked pointedly at Adam.

“Oh, sorry,” she said. Instead of introducing the men, she’d been comparing Adam’s rangy, rebellious presence to Steve’s immaculate conservation officer’s uniform and all-American good looks and wondering why Adam seemed the more attractive of the two. “Steve, this is Adam Dursky. Adam’s helping me fix up the place. Adam, this is Steve Miller. Steve’s an old friend . . . when he isn’t playing Dudley Do-Right to the hilt and giving me a hard time.”

Adam wiped a work-soiled hand on his jeans before extending it to Steve. “Miller.”

Steve returned the handshake, openly sizing Adam up. Jo leaned back against the boathouse door frame, too stunned to believe what she was seeing. Steve looked possessive and protective. He was eyeing Adam as if he’d like to escort him out of the state, preferably in handcuffs.

And Adam—incredible as it seemed—looked unapologetically jealous.

The fact that Adam’s jealousy was directed at Steve was ridiculous. Steve was . . . well, just Steve. They’d grown up together, shared the same teething rings, the same secrets, the same pup tent on more than one overnight. He’d never been anything but brother material.

The fact that Adam was jealous at all was just too much to digest. Last night he’d made it glass clear that he wasn’t about to let anything happen between them.

So the loner wasn’t so sure he wanted to be alone after all, she thought, feeling an unwarranted burst of happiness rush through her. Steeped in that knowledge, she let a totally inappropriate smile develop.

And then, like a wave slamming over the dock during a storm, the truth of her own dilemma drenched her. Her smile gave way to a distressed frown. Adam wasn’t the only one in trouble here. For all her carefully orchestrated aloofness, for all her practiced shows of hostility, she’d been quietly, hopelessly falling for Adam Dursky.

“Heard you’d hired someone on,” she heard Steve say through a foggy haze of alarm. “Dursky,” he repeated. “I don’t believe I recognize the name. You from the Falls?”

Adam shook his head. “Detroit.”

“Detroit? You’re a long way from home.”

“Yeah, I guess I am.” He turned to Jo. “You got any more wrenches around here?”

“Wr-wrenches?” she stammered, still struggling to come to grips with her discovery. “Yeah, sure, wrenches. They’re inside. Is there a problem?” Was there a problem? she asked herself, swallowing a panicky laugh. Was the sky blue? Did Carrie Underwood sing? Was there a fool born every minute? Oh, Lord, what had she gone and done?

Grim faced and apparently oblivious to her distress, Adam shouldered past her and into the boathouse. “I need a different size for those pipes.”

Steve scowled in silence while Adam rummaged around the shelves and finally came up with the tools he needed. His hands were full when he walked back outside.

“Miller.” He nodded again, then he and Cooper headed up the path to the cabin.

Steve turned to Jo, his dark eyes narrowed. “Are you out of your ever-loving mind?”

“Yes,” she muttered, more to herself than to Steve. “I believe I am.”

Still shaken, she watched Adam leave, wondering if there was a chance he, too, was involved in this more deeply than he realized. Wondering, with a detached sense of concern, if she wanted him to be.

“Who
is
that guy?” Steve asked incredulously. “Where the hell did he come from?”

She forced her attention back to Steve. “Didn’t I just hear him tell you all that?”

“Don’t get smart with me, Joanna. You know what I mean. And besides that, I don’t think I like the way he looks at you.”

Her gaze strayed again to Adam—to the broad expanse of his back, the narrow cut of his hips. “How does he look at me?” she asked, wishing she hadn’t sounded so breathless.

Steve rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Like he’d like to have you for breakfast, lunch,
and
dinner.”

She couldn’t stop her grin, an utterly victorious, absolutely uncalled for female grin. Her ship was swiftly sinking, and she was blissfully waving oxygen good-bye.

Steve groaned. “You’d better watch it, girl. How could you just up and hire a stranger anyway? Particularly him? For the love of Mike, he looks like a thug.”

Her silence earned her another scowl.

“Did you find out
anything
about him before you hired him?”

She snorted derisively. “Like if he had something he didn’t want me to know, he’d tell me about it? Like he’d just up and announce, ‘Oh, by the way, I thought you’d like to know I’m an escapee from the state pen. Nothing major—assault with a deadly weapon, a little fuss about a murder-one charge’ . . .” She shook her head. “Come on, Steve. Lighten up. Adam’s okay.”

Her attempt at flippancy didn’t fool either of them. “She doesn’t know a damn thing about him,” Steve said to the sky.

But she did know as much as she needed, more than she wanted, and that knowledge felt both uplifting and regrettably heavy in her hands. “He’s a friend of my father’s, all right?” she said. She didn’t want to explore her newfound knowledge with herself, let alone with Steve.

“Your father?” Steve repeated. “How did that happen?”

As quickly and concisely as possible, she told him. “Now I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she added, sensing more questions coming.

Steve evidently read the determination on her face. Knowing how stubborn she could be, he grudgingly obliged her. “Just promise me one thing, okay? Call me. He gives you any trouble, you call me. Got it?”

“Got it. But don’t worry. He isn’t giving me any trouble.”

Adam came around the corner just then, and the look in his eyes made her a liar. That one look caused more trouble than she’d ever be able to get into by herself. Her heart caught, then skipped wildly as with a fiercely protective glance, he walked back into the boathouse to replace the tools.

Everything she was feeling about Adam was wrong. Nothing they could ever have together could be right. But at that moment, she wanted to be alone with him and confront the issue.

She graced Steve with a manufactured smile. “Haven’t you got a forest fire to fight or something? Or are you planning to hang around here all day and give me a hard time?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Adam flash a quick, tight grin.

“Actually, I did have some news,” Steve said, looking a little uncomfortable. “You’re not going to like it.”

She was instantly alert to the edge in his tone. “So let’s hear it.”

He hesitated, then drew a deep breath. “Jack Carlson’s been doing a lot of checking down at the DNR on the footage and specifications on your shoreline.”

A cold dread charged through her, trampling over her concerns about Adam. Carlson’s inquiries could mean only one thing. He was interested in bidding on the land at the auction.

“Carlson,” she repeated, as her heart knocked heavily against her chest. “That doesn’t make any sense. Jack doesn’t have the kind of capital or initiative to buy Shady Point.” She warmed to her argument as she thought it through. “Besides, he’s near retirement. He wouldn’t want to buy the lodge. It’s too much work for a man his age.”

Steve looked grim. “Word has it, he’s not looking for himself, but acting as an agent for some development firm out of the Twin Cities.”

Her dread turned instantly to fear. It knotted in her stomach like a fist. “What’s the name of the firm?”

“I’m not sure. But I think it’s Dream . . . something or other.”

Recognizing the company, she said softly, “Dreamscape.” The blood thundering in her ears drowned out the peaceful sound of the lake lapping on the shore and the heightening breeze rustling through the birches. “They specialize in revitalizing, in renovating small, out-of-the-way spots into exclusive getaway places for CEO types and their families.”

“It’s just a rumor, Jo,” Steve said hopefully.

“Yeah, right.” Feeling the fast, sure weight of defeat flood her limbs and her hopes like lead, she sank to the top step and stared vacantly over the lake. Cooper squeezed in beside her as if sensing her tension and leaned heavily against her.

“Hey,” Steve said. “I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you, but I didn’t want you hearing it from someone else.”

She crossed her arms over her upraised knees and lowered her head to rest on them.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Without looking up, she waved him away. “Go to work. I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. If Dreamscape was interested in the lodge, then her dream to restore Shady Point as her own was as good as gone, dissolved like the mist the sun burned off the lake in the mornings. She wasn’t fine at all.

What was more, she couldn’t handle it. She had to get away. As soon as Steve drove out, she rose, walked behind the boathouse, and dragged her kayak out from underneath its protective tarp.

Guessing her intent, Adam followed her as she headed for the dock. “Do you deal with everything you can’t handle by running away from it?”

Disillusioned and angry with the world at large, she struck out at the closest target. “Butt out, Dursky. This isn’t your concern.”