Dockside at Willow Lake. Сьюзен ВиггсЧитать онлайн книгу.
white, his lips a chilly blue. The crash helmet was knocked askew. His hands were locked like vise grips in the cross straps of the kayak.
“You don’t need to swim,” Greg said. “We’re going to get you to that dock over there, okay? But you have to sit still.” In his mind, he added, you pussy. A grown man who couldn’t swim, even with a flotation vest. What was up with that?
They made it to the dock quickly because it was so damn cold that Greg kicked at high speed. The dock, projecting from the grounds of the Inn at Willow Lake, had definitely seen better days. Some of the planks were warped and the nails rusted, and a fine film of algae covered the piers. A rickety ladder was attached to the side.
Shane clung to it, shivering, while Nina hoisted herself out of the water and bent over the hull of the kayak. “Hold still,” she said. “Let me figure out what you’re caught on. I think this cord—”
“Screw the cord.” With safety assured, anger took over. Shane clawed a pocket knife from his pants.
“Hey, don’t—”
Ignoring her, he sawed through the carrying cord of Nina’s kayak and clambered out onto the dock. “Thanks, Nina,” he said. “It’s been … real.”
“I’m sorry,” she said faintly. “I had no idea you didn’t know how to swim. You should have said something before we launched.”
“Nobody can swim hanging upside down underwater.”
“I know. I said I was sorry …” Nina gazed up at Greg, her eyes watering and her chin trembling. Poor thing, Greg thought. He was confused by a sudden urge to pull her into a soothing hug. He wanted to tell her the guy was being a jerk, not worth crying over. Then, seeing a tremor in her throat, he realized she wasn’t fighting tears, but holding in laughter. In the spray skirt and crash helmet, Gilmore looked like a grotesque, angry ballerina.
Don’t make eye contact, Greg cautioned himself. Too late. He and Nina looked straight at each other and immediately lost it. Between guffaws, Greg saw the bank president’s color turn a furious red.
“Happy you’re so amused,” Shane said.
Greg struggled for control. “Hey, it’s just relief, buddy,” he said. “We’re glad you’re okay.”
Nina giggled helplessly while still shivering with cold.
“Yeah, I can see that,” Gilmore muttered.
Brooke and Max arrived in the canoe. She clambered out and ran to Shane, clucking over him like a mother hen.
“You’re freezing,” she said.
“So am I,” said Greg, but she almost stepped on him as she rushed toward Shane.
Greg eyed Nina, who was hugging herself, teeth chattering. She was a small, intense-looking woman. He found her oddly attractive—oddly, because he wasn’t usually drawn to her type. Yet there was something about Nina. He’d always been intrigued by her. And now he had big news to share with her. He’d pictured a different sort of meeting about the inn, though.
“Is he the first to wear a crash helmet on a date with you or have there been others?” Greg asked.
“Very funny. And clearly, it doesn’t help.”
“Listen, I’m parked at the inn,” Brooke said to Shane. “If you want, I can give you a lift to your car.”
Shane’s lips had turned from blue to indigo. “That’d be good.”
Brooke said her goodbyes to Greg and Max. Then she turned to Nina, offering the dazzling smile that had inspired Greg to ask her out in the first place. “I’m Brooke Harlow.”
“The bank’s new asset manager,” Nina said, her eyes narrowing. “And you’ve parked your car at the inn.”
“Sure. I drove myself over.”
“Shane was just telling me about you.” Somehow, despite being soaked to the skin, Nina managed to summon a kind of icy dignity. “Nina Romano.”
“Oh, you’re Nina! I’ve heard so much about you. We’ll have to catch up, but I should give poor Shane a lift before he freezes.”
“You do that,” Nina said.
Brooke offered Nina an uncertain smile. “Nice to meet you. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
“Count on it.” Nina thrust up her chin as though trying to make herself taller.
“I’ll call you,” Brooke said to Greg.
No, you won’t, he thought. He could see it in her eyes, because he’d seen it before. His life was way too complicated to appeal to a woman like Brooke Harlow, a fresh transplant from the city, looking for a simpler way of life. He was divorced, had custody of two kids and was about to launch a new business, all of which meant he didn’t have unlimited time to give to a relationship. Okay, he had maybe five minutes a day to give to a relationship.
Still, he watched Brooke leave with a twinge of regret. She had runway-model legs, long blond hair, a great smile and … He tried to figure out if he liked her personality. Did she have one? With those looks, did she need one?
Max tied the canoe to a cleat. “I’m going to go fishing, okay, Dad?” he asked.
“Okay, but stay on the dock,” Greg said, glad that the kid wanted to do something more wholesome than checking out Brooke Harlow.
Greg turned to Nina. She was facing the inn, her dark eyes diamond-bright with … He couldn’t read her expression, but he could tell she wasn’t happy. Dripping wet, she looked even smaller than she usually did, her jet-black hair hanging limp and her spandex shorts and T-shirt clinging. He could tell at a glance that under the shirt, she was wearing one of those heavy-duty athletic bra things. Whoever invented that garment lacked imagination.
“Well,” Nina said as she bent down and started bailing water from the kayak. “Well, doesn’t this just make my day?”
Greg wondered why—besides being soaked to the skin—she was acting so hostile. This was not a good sign, since they would soon be working together. One thing he had never figured out was how to penetrate a woman’s anger. He hadn’t been able to do so back when he was married, and he wasn’t able to do it now. He’d known Nina off and on over the years—mostly off. He remembered her as a lively kid some years his junior, a local girl he saw when he came to spend his summers at Camp Kioga. He recalled more about her than she could possibly know, but it was probably not a good idea to bring that up, especially with her in this mood. When he’d first moved back to town last winter, she’d made what he thought might be an overture, but he’d been reeling from the divorce and hadn’t taken her up on it. Now, looking at her, he called himself a fool. There was more fire and appeal in a wet, angry Nina than in a hundred blond Brookes.
The old planks of the dock creaked as Nina bent to hoist the kayak out of the water.
“I’ll give you a hand,” said Greg. He felt mildly annoyed that she hadn’t asked for help. The kayak was heavy, and as they upended it a slew of water soaked their feet all over again. They set it up on the dock to drain some more. Greg watched Brooke and Shane cross the broad lawn. For their first—and apparently final—date, Brooke had brought her own car to the inn. Although he hadn’t been divorced for long, Greg had learned the separate cars ploy right away. When arranging a rendezvous—date, hookup, whatever—it was safer to arrive and depart separately. This evening, Greg had planned to leave Max with his older sister, Daisy, and take Brooke to dinner, after which—please God, it had been so damned long—he would get laid.
But no. Clearly, that was off the table. Now he was wet and cold and stuck with an equally wet, cold and ticked-off Nina Romano.
The last time he’d seen her was at high school commencement a few weeks before. He and Nina each had a graduating senior. Sonnet Romano and Daisy were friends, but the future lying before each