Long Shot (4 page)

Then came that summer before she left for college. Right from the start he’d known it was the last summer she’d make it to Gleann. Mix that up with the fact that he’d been almost nineteen, raging with hormones, and she’d showed up right after high school graduation looking like sin. They’d resumed their friendship as easily as any of the previous nine summers, but he’d felt the change inside him so suddenly and so acutely it was like she’d reached inside his mind and thrown a switch.

When they’d waited tables together one night at the Stone, he’d very intentionally brushed up against her. He remembered her response so clearly: the slow way she turned around, the perfect circles of those incredible green eyes, the slack-jawed look of surprise. He’d grinned at her, knowing. As soon as their shift was done, he’d pushed her against the outside wall of the pub and kissed her.

And continued to do so every summer night thereafter.

So by the time they’d wedged themselves into the backseat of his old man’s ’69 Cadillac DeVille convertible and, shaking, they’d stripped each other and gone through three condoms in one night, he was pretty sure he was in love with her.

Then she’d left.

Back in the kitchen of 738 Maple, Jen pushed away from the table, the lean muscles in her arms flexing. She started to pace between the table and refrigerator. Her lips moved soundlessly as she talked to herself. She gestured with her hands, ticking something off on her fingers.

She was curvier now, fuller everywhere, but still fit. Definitely more of a woman. She yawned, stretching with arms overhead.

He reached down, adjusted himself through his jeans.

He realized that a little bit of the old anger still rattled around inside him. Also, even more surprisingly, some pain. Which angered him even more. He was an adult. He was over her. He’d been over her for ten years. Okay, maybe nine. But they’d been eighteen and, when he thought about it, they really hadn’t been ready to be together long-term.

Besides, he hadn’t exactly turned priest after her departure. And he was pretty sure she’d forgotten about him soon after their last phone call, when she’d told him she loved him back, one month and a thousand miles too late.

Of course that was the moment his phone chose to go off, the ring clanging across the yard, the sound so loud it could have reached the moon. He fumbled with taking it out of his pocket, his thumb missing the mute button. The phone kept ringing. Jen froze where she stood in the middle of the kitchen like she might have heard, but then she started talking to herself again and he knew she hadn’t.

Still, he quickly ducked out of the light and dove for the back door, which he never locked. Nothing of his inside to steal anyway. In the mudroom, he flipped on the weak bulb over the basement stairs.

He glanced at the number on the phone before answering and tried not to get his hopes up. “MacDougall.”

“I still think you should answer with a Scottish brogue,” chuckled the woman on the other end.

“I would, if I had one,” he replied.

“Bah, just fake it. No American would ever know.”

Leith smiled, thinking he could probably pull out a brogue if he thought about Da hard enough, but just the idea made his chest ache.

“What can I do for you, Rory?” She’d been one of his favorite clients before her Hemmertex president husband had moved the headquarters to Connecticut and changed the valley forever.

“Sorry to call so late, but I just got back from this boring office party where I heard a wicked rumor that you were leaving Gleann and going to set up your business elsewhere.”

He moved through the darkened house to the little TV room in the front with the window overlooking Jen’s rental. He kept the light off, and collapsed into the pink velour recliner with the lace doily armrest covers.

“You heard right,” he told Rory.

“Then I’m calling to beg you to come work for us again.” Now he heard the slight slur of drink in her voice. “Hal’s bought the most ridiculous house in Stamford and I hate all the landscapers. You’d be my very own, just like I always wanted. Well, at least until word got out. Then I suppose I’d be forced to share you.”

At least Rory was open and lighthearted about her flirting. Mildred had just peeked at him from behind her curtains. And Rory was completely devoted to Hal, who teased Leith mercilessly about being the underage gardener of his wife’s fantasies.

And now Rory Carriage wanted him to start work in Stamford, one of the more competitive areas in the country, to say the least. But if he could get an “in” using her . . . It was the first lead he’d had in over a year, and it really didn’t get any better than this one.

He scooted to the edge of the recliner and switched the phone to the other ear so he could twist toward the window and watch Jen’s shadow pace.

“What do you need?” he asked Rory.

“Oh, honey, don’t ask me such open-ended questions.” She laughed. “Everything. I’ve got three acres, a concrete hole for a pool, and a gazebo from 1983. The gardens were laid by the most boring designers ever.
I
could have done what they did. I need you and your big bulldozer. Don’t say no.”

Three acres. He started to sweat from the excitement. Three acres, from scratch, in a whole new area he could immerse himself in researching. Brand new inspiration.

“Sounds promising.” He kept his tone level. She’d called him and begged, which meant he could probably get away with a little jump in price, when all along he’d been preparing to cut back. He stood up, the recliner groaning and snapping back into position.

“I’m heading out tomorrow for one of Hal’s conferences; I don’t even know what it’s for. We’ll be home Monday. Any chance you can get here first thing? I want everything done before Candy’s wedding in September.”

Monday. Stamford was a five-hour drive. He’d get up in the middle of the night if he had to.

“Monday it is,” he told Rory, then got her new address and hung up.

Fucking A. Exactly the kick start he needed at exactly the right time.

Jen’s kitchen light went out. A few moments later, the dim chandelier over the staircase blinked on, followed by a warm glow in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

Yeah. Exactly the right time.

Because even though Jen had come back after all these years, she’d leave again. And this time, so would he.

He stood there in the musty dark of Mildred’s old house, staring up at Jen’s window. She reappeared, and it stopped the breath in his throat. Her gorgeous body backlit, her hair now down around her shoulders, she yanked the curtains closed. A second later, the lamp went out.

Leith ground his forehead into the window, knowing he was about to have a completely unsatisfactory few minutes with his right hand.

Chapter

3

A
imee hadn’t slept with Gleann’s sole plumber just once. A single occurrence might actually have made things easier to handle. No, apparently they were an ongoing thing. And in this case, “ongoing” meant “dramatic” and “exceedingly strange.”

Jen stood in the middle of the Thistle’s front sitting room, her sister hovering in the kitchen doorway and Owen, the handsome, middle-aged man with the gigantic metal toolbox, inspecting the buckled drywall on the walls and ceiling.

“I need to cut into this so I can get to the pipes and see what caused the burst.” Owen was cool as could be, but Aimee was watching him with her arms crossed.

Aimee said to Jen, “Ask him how long until it’s all done. New pipes. New walls and painting and everything.”

Owen’s eyebrows shot into his forehead.

Jen rolled her eyes. “Seriously? He’s right here.”

Ainsley flounced into the room, her sandy blond ponytail swinging, her oversized, crooked teeth chomping into an apple. She took one look at her mom and Owen, and heaved a sigh worthy of a guilt-loving grandma. “Are you guys fighting again? Hi, Owen.”

Owen turned from where he was running fingers down bubbled, soggy wallpaper. “Hey, you. If your mom wants to play games, tell her I said hi, and that I’m sorry.”

“What’d you do now?” Jen thought Ainsley said around a mouthful of apple.

Owen smiled. An affectionate dad’s smile. He wasn’t Ainsley’s dad, but he was someone’s, that was for sure. “Nothing I can tell you.”

“Ew.” Ainsley came over to Jen and gave her a quick hug.

Owen chuckled in a way that said he’d been teasing.

Ainsley seemed shockingly comfortable with the sudden reappearance of her aunt, considering how badly Jen had left them high and dry during their first and only New York City visit. Nine-year-old Ainsley didn’t care what happened three years ago, but Aimee would never forget. And really, could Jen blame her?

Last night Jen and Aimee had taken the girl to the Stone for fish and chips since the B&B’s water was still off, and Jen had desperately grabbed for something to talk about. But Ainsley, apparently a seasoned pro and a social natural, had it all covered. She’d chattered on in a way that reminded Jen so much of Aimee at that age, all opinion and I-don’t-care-what-you-think. Her favorite topic was these two older girls she seemed to emulate—someone named Lacey, and another she just called T.

Jen turned to her sister. “You have insurance, right? Money to cover repairs?”

Owen pulled out a long, narrow saw from his toolbox. “Aimee, I’ll only charge you for materials, as usual.”

Aimee ignored him and looked at Jen with worried, glassy eyes. “I’ve got a little put away, and insurance will cover some of it. But I need the income from during the games. The Scottish Society president is staying here and I’m fully booked. The rooms have to be perfect. Can you ask Owen when he’ll be done?”

“Maybe he’d be done quicker,” Jen noted, “if you didn’t play these games. What is going on here anyway?”

Ainsley laughed. Owen added wryly, “Yeah, I’d kinda like to know, too.”

Aimee worried her lip and suddenly looked sheepish. “Old habits,” she mumbled. Just as Jen had figured.

“I don’t have time for this, Aim. I’ll let you explain that comment to Owen.” Jen pressed a hand to her forehead. “You brought me here for another reason and I have to take care of that.”

“Taking care of that” involved getting out to the fairgrounds and seeing firsthand all the supplies and tents and signage stored there. She also needed to do a location assessment, make sure she agreed with the layout and found the grounds suitable.

“Aimee,” Owen said with a chuckle, “tell your sister it was nice to finally meet her.”

“Jen,” Aimee said wearily, “Owen says good-bye.”

Brother
.

Owen whipped around to face Aimee. “Ha!” His wide grin made the silver in his cheek stubble shine. Aimee had always gone for older guys. So had mom. Two peas in a pod, those two, and usually not in the best ways. “Gotcha. You’re talking to me now.”

Aimee’s oval face went splotchy red and she glanced up at Jen in embarrassment. She kicked at a baseboard. “Oh, hell.”

As Owen started to cross to Aimee, his intent plastered all over his expression, Jen threw up her hands. “I’m out of here. You guys figure . . . this . . . out.” She headed for the front door.

“What was
that
all about?” she heard Owen say to her sister.

“I’m sorry,” Aimee replied.

“So am I,” he said, and there the talking ended.

It had heated up a good ten degrees since Jen had been delayed by Aimee’s retreat into her seventeen-year-old dependent self. Jen was already sweating through her wrap dress and her feet felt like they were swimming in her heels, but this was still work and she refused to dress down, even if she did sort of feel like she was playing a part while she was here. Besides, they were the only articles of clothing she’d managed to clean and get dry after yesterday’s waterlogging. The rest of her belongings were strung up all over the rental house on Maple. She didn’t trust that ancient dryer not to cook her delicates down to a size zero, which she definitely wasn’t.

Halfway to her car, Jen heard footsteps behind her. She turned to find Ainsley on the flagstone path, squinting up at her, the sun shrinking the pupils in her bright blue eyes to tiny specks. Aimee said her daughter looked exactly like the thirty-year-old guy who’d gotten Aimee pregnant at nineteen and then took off as soon as he got the news. Jen had just started college then, with Aimee stuck back in Iowa, so Jen had never known the guy. But Ainsley definitely didn’t take after her mom, and Jen wondered how long it had taken Aimee to get used to the everyday reminder of the asshole.

“They’ll be okay, you know,” Ainsley said, shaking her head. “They fight sometimes, but then it’s all good.”

Jen hid a smile. “So you like Owen? Is he good to your mom?”

“Sure, yeah. It’s only when he’s with the guys too much that Mom gets upset. That’s probably what that was about in there.” She looked at her dirty fingernails. “And sometimes things with Melissa don’t let them see each other.”

“Who’s Melissa?”

“His wife.”

“Wait . . . what?”

A serious, stomach-dropping worry swept through Jen.
Two peas in a pod
. How could Aimee
do
that, get involved with a married guy, especially after all the crap they’d had to deal with as kids?

She closed her eyes and mouth and breathed carefully through her nose.
One problem at a time.
Technically, it was Aimee’s problem, but when had Aimee’s issues ever only been her own?

She opened her eyes to find Ainsley tossing the apple core into the herb garden. “Melissa and Owen are still married and they live in the same house. That big old white one over on Catalpa?”

Jen ground the heel of a hand into her eye socket. “And Aimee
knows
this?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“What about Melissa?”

“Oh, she knows, too.”

Jen thought she might be sick.

“T and Lacey say it’s no big deal,” Ainsley said. “So do I.”

Those girls again. “And who are they exactly?”

“Owen and Melissa’s kids. Relax, Aunt Jen.” The girl actually put a hand on Jen’s arm and gave this little bat of her eyelashes that screamed
Aimee
. “They’re getting divorced. It just hasn’t happened yet. Or maybe it won’t. I don’t know.” Then she shrugged and the kid was back. “Whatever.”

Whatever
was right. Jen started to laugh. She couldn’t help it. “Alrighty then. My sister is dating a not-yet-divorced guy who still lives with his wife. Hey, where are you going?”

Ainsley turned from where she’d been heading down the sidewalk, away from downtown. “To Bryan’s. He got a slingshot yesterday.”

As Ainsley walked away, Jen turned to look through the big front window of the Thistle, where she—and anyone else walking by—could plainly see Owen the still-married-but-
whatever
plumber and her sister making out. What the hell was going on here?

Jen couldn’t help but flash back to so many days of her youth. To the embarrassing, awful, public scenes she’d been forced to witness—and sometimes break up—between her mom and the random women who seemed to know Frank, the live-in boyfriend who wasn’t Jen’s or Aimee’s dad, all too well.

No time for that, she reminded herself with a shake of the head. Now she was working, and the past was the past. First, she had to run back to the rental house and switch out her shoes for something more appropriate to traipsing around fairgrounds.

But when she pulled up to 738 Maple, there was a huge white pickup truck consuming the driveway.
MacDougall Landscape Design
was stenciled in green on the sides.

Jen sat there clutching the steering wheel and closed her eyes. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see Leith—she did; she really did—she just wasn’t ready. She hadn’t prepared herself. Hadn’t thought it all through, as she was so good at doing. For a small, sleepy town, everything was happening so incredibly fast.

Maybe if she opened her eyes slowly, her mind would admit it had played a trick on her and he wouldn’t actually be here right now. She opened them. The truck stared back at her.

And then, there was Leith MacDougall sauntering out of the open garage. He lifted his thick arm to wipe the side of his sweaty face on the shoulder of his stained white T-shirt. The old poster tacked to the vacant store window downtown hadn’t done him justice. That kilt had hidden the true power of his thighs, but the dirty jeans he wore now showed them off like trophies. He was at least thirty pounds bigger than in high school, maybe more. Not ’roided out or disgustingly cut, but firm. Unmistakably strong.

Why was seeing him like this affecting her so much? It had been a high school thing, before either of them could even define the word
mature.
Nothing more.

Reaching over the side of his truck bed for something unseen, he froze. Turned his head. Saw her sitting there in the car.

Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Just sat there like a dumbass staring at him through the passenger-side window. Maybe in New York she could’ve gotten away with hitting the gas and peeling away. She could’ve lost herself in the traffic and there’d have been a good chance she’d never run across him again. But here?

She’d never been a coward her whole life, and she wasn’t about to start now.

Opening the car door, she swung her legs out and stood, turning to face him. She smoothed her dress that didn’t need smoothing, then lifted a hand in greeting. He was wearing thick working gloves, and he slowly tugged them off, finger by finger. Then he pulled one of those dark blue handkerchiefs with the white swirls out of his back pocket—the kind she remembered his dad always used to have—and wiped his hands on it.

She started toward him. He didn’t move.

“You were right, Leith. I do love you.” Her palm went damp around the phone.

He didn’t say anything for a long time, but she could hear him breathing and it sounded labored. “Why the fuck are you calling to tell me this now, when you’re half a country away?”

“Because.” She swallowed, and it hurt. “I thought you’d like to know.”

“Well, you’re wrong. I don’t want to know. Not now.”

Jen almost stumbled on the ragged asphalt of the driveway. That had been so long ago, when they’d been kids. And he was sort of smiling at her now. Sort of. Maybe he’d forgotten the crappy way she’d ended it. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore. They were both adults.

“Hey, you,” she said, throwing on a smile of her own.

His brown hair had gotten lighter at the ends. A bonus—at least from her point of view—from working outside. It curled around his neck and ears in a way that might have looked like an overdue haircut on any other guy.

He stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket. “So you’re really here.”

She stopped, the heel of one shoe clacking loudly. “You don’t look all that surprised.”

He glanced over her shoulder, down Maple where it dipped and curved around in front of the elementary school. “Small town.” His eyes drifted back. She’d forgotten how intense they were. How he always looked people in the eye. It was that personal attention, that charm, she remembered, that drew people to him. “I
was
surprised. Yesterday.”

“Ah. Yeah.” She nodded at the sidewalk. “It was a crazy day. To be fair, I had no idea you still lived here until I got into town. And then I was pulled in a million different directions.”

He just looked at her. How did he manage to stand so quietly when such violent tremors were rocketing through her body? She’d always been a fidgety person. Always had to move, to think about her next step—where to go, what to do, what to say. Standing there under this scrutiny, wearing this strange uncertainty, she had no idea where to channel her energy.

Leith was as still as his image on that poster. She knew what he was thinking:
You never asked Aimee about me?
But then, she also knew that he’d never once asked Aimee about her, so really, weren’t they even?