A Kiss to Build a Dream On (3 page)

He and his crew would get paid for the big stuff that needed to get done regardless, then she'd be gone. He'd get her out of there before she did anything too crazy. Like knocking down walls and messing with the plumbing.

If by some chance she managed to do something he hated in the short time she was here, he could always change it back when she left.

Because she
would
leave. She always did.

And this time, he'd be ushering her out the door, instead of mourning her absence. Burk knew how to push her buttons, after all. He'd had experience getting her riled up, the same way she'd have him straining against his own skin, wanting her so badly his whole body ached. Oh man, they sure could get each other to
do
things back in the day. He tried not to think about how good some of those things had felt when they were together years ago. He closed his eyes against the warmth that suddenly spread through him.

For so long that warmth had been followed by pain, and he wasn't about to let himself forget that Willa Masterson had torn him apart.

More than he'd like to admit most days.

She'd let a crumbling home life drive her from White Pine, refusing to allow Burk to help her think things through or work things out. She'd rejected the idea that Burk, the poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks, had anything to offer her, and she'd fled to the East Coast.

He and the house—they'd both been abandoned. Together.

He'd worked hard to forget her. He'd filled his life with enough women to create a library of pleasurable memories that didn't involve her. He wasn't about to let the curve ball of her reappearance throw him off balance.

He was focused on his goal instead: the house on Oak Street.
This
was his dream. It was his opportunity to prove that the things that other people thought were no good were actually incredibly worthwhile.

To reach it, he would send Willa packing. It was a favor, really. To her. To the town. And most of all, to himself.

He wasn't that lanky, hard-up kid anymore, and she wasn't the magnetic, unreachable girl who called the shots.

The house required months of work, but he'd have her gone in two weeks. He could all but guarantee it.

L
ater that afternoon, Willa inhaled the scent of wood smoke from a distant bonfire as she strode across the high school practice field, quickening her step so she wouldn't be late. In New York, she'd never cared much for punctuality, but she knew she needed to start off on the right foot here. Burk had upset her whole morning, but she wasn't about to let that keep her from meeting an old high school friend who had messaged her on Facebook. She'd encouraged Willa to “stop by and say hi” today.

It was a casual request, but Willa could still feel a damp sweat starting on the back of her neck. She knew all too well that an invite to anything—even a casual drop-in—was more than she deserved. She hadn't exactly been Miss Congeniality in high school. And now she worried whether her past might be an obstacle as she tried to start her B and B. Would locals refuse to patronize her establishment because she'd been a ruthless snob more than a decade ago?

It would serve her right, she supposed, for the way she'd had her nose in the air all these years. Karma would make sure she'd show up today wearing her tailored jacket and flawless makeup, and everyone would see right past it, straight to her jumbled, wrinkled insides and fear-knotted muscles.

They'll know right away I'm a failure
, she thought, sweating even more. She took a deep breath, telling herself there was nothing she could do about it. Not really. The time to be nice had been years ago, and it was too late for that. It was time to face the music playing
now
.

She stepped onto the red clay track where she had perfected her stride in the 800-meter run when she was a teenager. She blinked when she saw her name still painted on the side of the field house. It was back from when she'd set the high school record in the event, and it still stood.

A surge of pride made her feel both elated and ridiculous. If Lance could see her now, he'd probably caution her not to share her accomplishments any further. “If you trained for the Olympics at Choate, that's one thing. But setting a track record in a Midwestern town won't impress anyone.”

He'd be right, of course. It was one of the things that she admired about him, the way he knew exactly how to navigate their social circle in New York. What to say, what to withhold, which invitations to reply to, which to blow off. He knew the game even better than Willa did, and that was what had drawn her to him. She'd respected Lance for his acumen, for his ambition. At least until his need for
more
had consumed him—and led to a series of bad investments.

Looking back, she could kick herself for not being the daughter her dad had raised, the one who checked bank balances regularly, who looked at the bottom line and didn't automatically trust when other people said her money was fine, just fine. She'd been a fool for months, trusting Lance blindly with her finances, and she'd lost nearly everything as a result.

But no more.

She lifted her chin in spite of her pounding pulse, and kept walking. Her fortune had started in White Pine with her dad's sound investments, and it would be rebuilt here, too. Literally, in fact, starting with her childhood home.

Her one asset. She could sell it, she knew, but her dad had taught her to cultivate an income, not pursue a short-term windfall.

“Make your assets work
for
you,” he'd told her.

When it had dawned on her that a
house
could make money—that it could generate revenue like all good investments—she had two choices. Either she could rent it out to tenants, or fix it up and turn it into a B and B. She'd chosen the latter, mostly because she herself needed a place to stay (she couldn't very well rent out a house that she needed to live in). Plus she liked the aesthetic of a B and B. She loved the idea of creating a space where people could enjoy themselves.

And all it would take was a top-to-bottom renovation.

She blinked against the image of Burk Olmstead that was suddenly in her mind. His sharp jaw, his dark hair. As her feet carried her across the red clay, she realized that Burk had cheered for her during track meets on this very same field, his voice ringing in her ears above everyone else's. Her cheeks heated at the memory of his hands on her body when they were young.

We were just kids
, she thought.
We didn't even know what we were doing.
And yet there was a magical sweetness about their relationship she'd never forgotten. He might be a jerk now, but back in the day, he had been the prom king to her prom queen, tipping her plastic crown sideways to get her to smile.
My king
, she'd called him, giggling when he'd put the plastic scepter in the front of his pants. He was always ribbing her, cracking jokes, and getting her snobby, stuck-up self laughing until her sides hurt.

That is, until her dad passed away late into her senior year. Oddly, her desire for Burk had only increased when her dad was gone. Burk had loved her, had been there for her when no one else had, holding her so she wouldn't be consumed by the bottomless pit of her own grief.

Willa trembled at the memories she'd locked away for so long. Their bodies pressed together in the back of Burk's old Chevy. Willa's bed at night, when he'd climb the trellis and sneak in. Later, after her mom fled the house, he came in the front door. They'd spent whole nights together, and she could remember his fingers trailing down her skin, both of them shivering with excitement and maybe a little bit of fear.

You never forget your first time.
And sometimes those memories get you all hot and bothered while you walk across a field
, Willa thought.

She shook her head, wanting to tuck her memories away. After all, it wasn't exactly an ideal time. Her dad had passed, her mom had taken off, and her story with Burk hadn't ended happily ever after. She wasn't exactly brimming with warm feelings for that period.

Instead, she focused on the other side of the track. Her high school classmate Audrey Tanner was standing near a cluster of aluminum bleachers. It had been twelve years since they'd seen each other, but they'd recently gotten back in touch on Facebook. Out of all the friend requests Willa had sent to her old classmates when she knew she'd be coming back to White Pine, Audrey's had been one of the few that had been accepted.

“You made it!” Audrey said as Willa approached. Audrey's white teeth flashed, and her thick brown ponytail bounced. Willa relaxed slightly when the note of sarcasm she'd half expected to hear in Audrey's voice wasn't there.

“It's so good to see you,” Willa replied as the two women embraced. Willa couldn't remember them ever hugging in high school, but here they were, clutching each other as if they'd been best friends. Willa was so used to the brief, showy hugs of her friends in New York that she was surprised to find herself squeezing Audrey for real. She told herself it was because she was trying to show Audrey she wasn't an ice queen anymore, but part of her wondered if she was actually, genuinely desperate for a few crumbs of affection.

It didn't help that the close hug meant Willa could feel Audrey's lean, muscled figure underneath her workout clothes. She pushed down a stab of envy. Audrey was the high school girls' track coach now, and had almost the same body as she did when she and Willa had run together all those years ago. As the two women separated, Willa pulled her jacket more tightly around her torso. Her figure was decidedly
not
the same.

“It's so insane that you're here,” Audrey said, her molasses brown eyes fixed on Willa's. “I can't believe you actually moved back. How are you settling in?”

Willa hedged, suddenly wondering how to answer.
The coffee here is swill and I'd kill for real espresso. Burk Olmstead is my contractor and it took my breath away to see him again. Sometimes at night I think it's too quiet and I can hear my own pulse.
Instead, she gave Audrey her biggest Miss Dairy Pageant smile. If she was going to build a new life in White Pine, she needed to convince everyone that she—the former prom queen, track star, and pageant winner—not only belonged here, but
loved
it.

“It's wonderful. I am beyond excited to get my B and B up and running. It's going to be just like having one of those romantic East Coast establishments right here in White Pine.”

She hated the tinny sound of her own voice, how high-pitched it seemed as she worked to cover up her fear of being here. Of failing again. Of being in White Pine only because she had no other choice.

Audrey's smile didn't falter. “If you need anything, be sure to let me know. And of course, you'll have to come to Knots and Bolts. Everyone will want to see you.”

“Knots and what?” Willa asked, wondering if Audrey was setting her up for something involving ropes. Just then, a swarm of girls came pouring out of the high school. They gathered around Audrey, who gave Willa a hold-on-a-minute gesture.

“Hurdlers, you'll go get set up over on the other side of the track,” Audrey said, glancing at the battered notebook she'd picked up off a metal bench. “I want you to do five drills apiece and time one another. Sprinters, you stay on this side with me, we're going to do a different exercise. The entire team is all going to start with a one-mile warm-up, except the distance runners, who are going to do three more miles on top of that first mile. Distance runners, do your first mile on the track with the rest of us, then I want you to race over to Lumberjack Grocery and back. Got it?”

Audrey clapped her hands and the girls took off on the track. “Remember, it's four laps to a mile!” she called after them.

Willa watched, impressed at Audrey's newfound authority. In high school, Audrey was so much mousier. She wore thick glasses and got good grades and didn't say much. If it wasn't for track, Willa knew their paths never would have crossed. In fact, there were times senior year when Willa was bitterly jealous of Audrey's natural speed and athleticism.

“So Knots and Bolts,” Audrey was saying, tucking an errant piece of her glossy brown hair behind an ear. “It's the local fabric store run by Betty Lindholm, you remember her? She has a lovely back room and there's a group of us that get together for a recipe exchange on Thursday afternoons. You should come by tomorrow.”

Willa forced her Miss Dairy smile bigger. “Oh, that sounds great,” she said, though her brain was reeling. Betty Lindholm was a name she hadn't heard in years, and had forgotten about entirely. Shame surged deep within her, and she glanced down at her hands, pretending to inspect a cuticle. She wasn't sure she was ready to face Betty. And standing here with Audrey Tanner was awkward enough already. Memories she'd kept buried were beginning to dig their way out, and she wasn't sure she wanted to see what poked through.

Suddenly, there were sharp cries from the track. A runner was down on the ground, clutching her ankle.

“Oh, hells bells,” Audrey muttered, taking off. Willa raced after, trying to keep up and not look like she was struggling for every breath, which in fact she was.

“What happened?” Audrey asked when they arrived at the panting redhead, who couldn't take her pale blue eyes off her foot.

“I tripped over a starting block,” she said, gesturing to a scattered pile of them. “I just wasn't watching.”

“What were the starting blocks doing over
here
?” Audrey asked, kneeling down to probe the ankle tenderly. Her voice was calm, but Willa could see her neck was corded with emotion.

“W-We just dropped them off until we finished the mile,” replied a stocky brunette standing nearby. Her eyes were shining with regret. “I know this isn't where they go. I'm so sorry.”

Audrey's brown eyes locked on Willa's. “Thirty girls and I'm the only one supervising them. It's madness.”

Willa's heart constricted at the strain visible in Audrey's face. Strain and something else. Powerlessness perhaps.

Suddenly, memories surged in her mind's eye: Willa and Audrey at cross-country meets, both of them in shorts and tank tops getting ready to run. Instead of supporting her teammate, Willa would hiss insults at the lanky, spectacled girl when the coach had wandered away.

Audrey Tanner was good. She was fast. And Willa, who'd been given everything she'd ever wanted, couldn't contain her jealousy that she didn't have Audrey's talent.

Willa's eyes smarted. She didn't want to remember this stuff. She wanted to bury it underneath polite Facebook messages and her new B and B plans. She wanted to shut the past away, and pretend it had never happened. But she was beginning to think she couldn't do that and make her B and B work. How could she be around all these people and expect them to support her new business if she didn't acknowledge she'd wronged them?

“Injuries make me queasy, too,” a freckled girl next to her whispered. Willa could only nod in reply.

Audrey elevated the injured ankle slightly. “Emily, go get the nurse and I'll stay here with Layla. Everyone else, get back to your practices. Show's over.”

The crowd parted, leaving Willa with Audrey and the injured girl, Layla.

“I'm so sorry,” Audrey muttered. “I should have been watching this more closely. I would have seen the starting blocks if I'd paid attention.”

“It's not your fault, Ms. Tanner,” Layla replied. “I don't think it's that bad. I'll be back at practice tomorrow, I bet.”

Audrey glanced back over to Willa. “Budget cuts. I used to have an assistant coach and an equipment manager. Now, it's just me.” She sighed. “I feel like I'm letting these girls down. I just can't do it all, you know?”

Willa nodded, but the truth was, she
didn't
know. She had no clue. Growing up, she'd been pampered and sheltered, which only got worse when she turned eighteen and suddenly had access to a fat trust fund. Added to that were inheritances as her parents had passed. Which meant that, in New York, her biggest source of stress involved figuring out what to wear when she volunteered at the Bishop Gallery, a small and exclusive art museum. And even
volunteer
was too gritty a word for what she did, which was mostly drink espresso and flip through Christie's catalogs.