Never Too Hot (8 page)

THROUGHOUT THE rest of the night as Ginger fell in and out of sleep, Connor’s story ran through her brain. All the pictures he’d painted. All the ones he hadn’t that she could so easily imagine on her own.

Endless hospital visits. Not knowing if he was going to be able to use his hands again. And then having to fight with the Forest Service to get his job back after he’d already sacrificed so much.

His agonizing story had touched her deeply. Every word had pierced the core of who she was. She’d ached for him as he talked. She’d had to reach out for his hand, to let him know that he wasn’t alone, to try to absorb some of his pain, if only for a second. Waking up throughout the night, she found herself worrying about him, wondering if he’d managed to sleep, hoping another nightmare wouldn’t come for him as soon as he let his guard down.

For the first time in years she was awakened by her alarm, rather than with the first rays of the sun. At six a.m., she’d assumed Connor would still be asleep, but his door was wide open. Where could he be? Could he have decided he’d had enough of her probing questions and packed up his things to head back to California?

Her stomach twisted at the thought of it—even though his leaving had been exactly what she’d wanted the previous afternoon—and she had to go to his room to see if his things were still there.

Seeing his bag on the dresser sent relief washing over her. He wasn’t gone. Not yet. And even though she didn’t have a clue about where things could possibly go between them after what had happened last night, she was glad.

Quickly showering and dressing, she went downstairs to guzzle a cup of coffee before she headed back to the diner. And that was when she looked out the kitchen window and saw him on the beach, putting himself through what looked to be an intense workout. He was doing pull-ups on one of the trees at the edge of the white-gold sand in front of the cabin.

Watching him brought back the sensation of his body against hers, the hard warmth of his muscles, the slide of his fingers against her breasts. She’d never been so physically drawn to any man, had never wanted to be possessed.

In the sunlight his scars stood out in sharp relief. And as she watched him, she saw the horrible fire in Lake Tahoe play out in her mind, almost as if she’d been there with him.

How hard, she wondered, had it been for him to get to this point, where he could withstand the pressure of wrapping his scarred hands around a tree limb and pull himself up?

And how hard must it continue to be?

Although she’d trained in many different disciplines of art, she’d never been particularly drawn to sculpture until this very moment. If only she had clay at her fingertips, she felt that she could make something truly great. Simply because she was wholly inspired by her subject.

Whenever she worked the breakfast-into-lunch shift Ginger was amazed by how quickly seven hours could disappear.

“So,” Isabel finally said when they were the last two in the restaurant. “How’d it go last night with Connor?”

Ginger knew Isabel had been dying to ask all day. Just as she’d been dying to confess, “The only word I can think of is gravity.”

Isabel grabbed her arm and pulled her down into one of the chairs in the empty dining room. “What are you talking about?”

“We talked last night.” Among other things. “For quite a while.”

All she had to do was close her eyes and she was right there again, in his bedroom, watching him try to fight back his pain as he told her about the fire.

“He’s gone through so much, has worked so hard to get to where he is today. He’s really an extraordinary man.”

“I thought he reminded you of your ex-husband.”

Oh yeah, she had said that, hadn’t she?

“Do you think first impressions can be wrong? That once you learn more about someone, once you’ve had a chance to go deeper, that everything can change?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just our way of trying to convince ourselves that we can have the one thing we know we should stay away from,” Isabel said pointedly. “Besides, how deep could you possibly have gone in one night?”

Ginger instantly gave herself away with a deep flush.

“Are you telling me that you slept with him? The same guy you didn’t want anything to do with yesterday?”

“No,” she said, glad to be able to tell her friend the truth. “He saved me from a falling tree branch and then later we kissed but—”

“Oh Ginger.” Isabel ran one hand over her face. “I didn’t want to say anything to you last night. I hoped I wouldn’t have to, not when you were so clear about keeping your distance. But I really think you should watch it with Connor.”

“Why?” Isabel was the one who’d been pushing her to get out there and date. “Did you know him well as a kid?”

“No. Actually, I hardly ever saw him or his brother. Only when they were having bonfires out on the beach or they were water skiing. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

“I appreciate that,” Ginger said slowly, and she did, but Isabel’s warning didn’t sit quite right with her. If Connor were anyone else, wouldn’t her friend be encouraging her to live a little? To stop clinging to safety and take a risk for once in her life?

Another possibility struck her. “How serious were you and his father? A couple of dates? Or was it something more?”

Pain flickered across Isabel’s face so quickly she instantly regretted her question. Ginger had been such a shrinking flower for so many years that she sometimes had the sense that she was overcompensating. First with Connor and now with Isabel, pushing and pushing until she forced them to tell her things they’d much rather keep buried.

But before Ginger could tell her friend to forget it, that her probing question was way out of bounds and she was grateful to know Isabel was looking out for her well-being, Isabel said, “We were pretty serious. Very serious, actually.”

And just like that, Isabel started telling her about Connor’s father.

Fifteen years old, her limbs long and slim and tanned in a sundress, Isabel waited on the curb at the corner of Main Street and First.

She’d ridden her bike into town from her parents’ cabin. Her friend Judy was supposed to meet her here, but even though she’d been standing on the curb outside the diner for a half hour, Judy hadn’t shown up yet. But Isabel hadn’t been upset with her friend, whose parents could be uptight about Judy riding into town by herself. After all, it was another perfect summer day, and she’d been wanting to go into the small general store on the corner and try on some sandals she’d seen in the window.

Maybe, she thought with a smile, her parents would buy her a pair for her birthday, which was coming up in a few weeks. As working musicians, they didn’t have much money to spare, but she’d never felt like they were poor. How could they be, when they had an amazing cabin to come to every summer on Blue Mountain Lake? Her grandfather had built it in the teens and all of her five much older siblings—she was the baby of the family, a “wonderful surprise” was what her mother said—had spent their summers on the beach just outside the front door. The whole summer stretched before her. No school. No lessons. Nothing but fun in the sun.

Smiling to herself, she left her bike propped up against the diner’s brick wall and headed down the street. In previous years, she’d brought friends from the city up for a week or two at a time, but none of them ever appreciated it as much as she did. They called Blue Mountain Lake “the middle of nowhere” and bemoaned the lack of shops and boys.

But as far as Isabel was concerned, there were plenty of places to window-shop back in the city the other nine months of the year. June, July, and August were all about being outdoors, family time, and having fun.

And as for cute boys, there was only one that mattered to Isabel.

His name was Andrew. He lived next door. And he didn’t seem to notice she was alive.

Seventeen years old, he was built more like a man than a boy, with broad shoulders and light brown hair that picked up the sunlight in blond streaks with every passing week of summer. She’d fallen in love with him when she was ten. Five years of looking. Five years of dreaming. Five years of planning exactly what she’d say to impress him the first time he talked to her.

Andrew was her Prince Charming, she was absolutely positive of it. One day he’d finally turn around and notice her. One day he’d kiss her—she blushed just thinking about—and then when he realized he couldn’t live without her, they’d get married and live happily ever after.

Looking both ways before she ran across the street, Isabel was panting as she reached for the front door of the general store. A two-story house that had been turned into a store when she was just a baby, it was the only place in town to go if you needed underwear or flip-flops or dishes.

Her hand still on the door, she stopped to read a sign that said, PART TIME CASHIER HELP WANTED. Pondering whether it might be fun to spend a few hours a week ringing up purchases, thereby earning a few more dollars for milkshakes and Popsicles on the beach with her friends, she was surprised when a strong, tanned arm reached around her and opened up the door.

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked up into Andrew’s eyes. “Oh, sorry, I shouldn’t be standing here blocking traffic,” she babbled, her words tripping over one another to her increasing mortification.

But the boy she’d always loved from afar didn’t seem the least bit impatient. Instead, he smiled, his green eyes crinkling up at the corners, his white teeth a beautiful contrast to his deeply tanned skin.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his low voice sending shivers of excitement through her. “I’m not in any rush. Are you?”

Her cheeks felt so hot she was afraid her head was going to burst into flames.

“No,” she finally said, her voice sounding too loud, far too excited for their simple conversation. Realizing he was still holding the door for her, she rushed inside, the cool air in the store a welcome change to the heat coursing through her. Maybe by tonight, her heart would stop pounding like a snare drum. But instead of moving past her, he simply stood beside her, the same smile on his lips.

His eyes scanned her face for a long moment and she forgot to breathe until he said, “We live next door, don’t we?”

Her ponytail bobbed up and down as she nodded. So many times she’d played out this moment. She’d planned on being alluring, yet coy, pleased that she had his attention, yet aloof enough to keep his interest.

Instead, she was acting like a little puppy, desperate for a pat on the head.

But even though she was inexperienced with the opposite sex—no kisses, no hand-holding, not even a trip to the movies—on the verge of becoming a woman, some inner voice she’d never heard before told her to slow down, to let him make the first move.

Taking a deep breath, she found a small smile to mirror his. “Yes, we do. I’m Isabel.”

“Andrew,” he said, holding out his hand.

She loved how he said it, as if she didn’t know his name, as if she hadn’t been drooling over him for the past five years.

Using every spare ounce of willpower she possessed, she shook his hand, then said, “See you around,” and breezed past him up the stairs to the women’s clothing department.

Grabbing a random sweater off the nearest rack, she rushed into a changing room, pulled the door closed, and sat down on the floor, utterly dazed. Her heart was still racing and when she looked up into the mirror, she saw that her cheeks were flushed a bright pink. Thankfully, it wasn’t an unflattering look, but she was certain that despite her cool good-bye, Andrew knew exactly how big of a crush she had on him.

Which was why she was going to stay in this dressing room until she could be absolutely certain that he was gone.

After several minutes had passed, a knock came at the door. “Excuse me, miss, are you all right in there?”

Isabel quickly stood up, ran her hands over her hair and opened the door. “Yes, thanks.” Holding up the sweater, she said, “I’m afraid this doesn’t look quite right on me, however.”

Handing the sales clerk the sweater, Isabel saw for the first time that it was embroidered with eight leaping reindeers, Santa Claus beaming from the center. It was a sweater even her grandmother wouldn’t be caught dead in.

Again, a quick exit seemed best. Deciding to try on the flip-flops another day, she left the store and was running back across the street to get her bike when the first drops of rain started falling. A loud clap of thunder came next and she knew she’d better look for cover. Too embarrassed to go back into the store, she headed for the covered boathouse at the end of the public dock. She’d wait out the storm there.

Sitting down on the painted wooden planks, she leaned against a wall and looked out at the whitecaps blowing across the lake, the hard rain leaving momentary divots across the surface of the water. She breathed in the fresh mountain air, the sweet smell of the rain, and finally relaxed again.

A part of her wanted to replay, to savor, her encounter with Andrew. But another part of her wished she could forget it entirely. Best case, he simply thought of her as a little girl. Worst case, he would laugh with his friends about the huge crush she had on him.

Curling her knees up to her chin, she wrapped her hands around her legs and sighed. No wonder why singers were always going on about love hurting. It did. It really did.