Timber Creek (Sierra Falls #2)

Timber Creek (Sierra Falls #2) Page 10

It’d been like that for as long as she could remember. Him flirting with her—flustering her.

The stupid softball game had only reminded her. She hadn’t wanted to play in the first place, and she definitely hadn’t planned on watching him play. What a mistake that had been. She should’ve stayed in the tent, serving beers and slopping out helpings of chili. Helen was a pain, but she was better than Eddie.

He’d always been cute in his bad-boy way, but something had happened on that field, like light shifting through a prism, and all of a sudden there he was…hot. Disarmingly so.

Athletic guys weren’t supposed to be her thing. If she were going to have a man in her life—which she wasn’t—it’d be a millionaire software engineer. Or maybe a high-powered business exec in an Armani suit. Not Eddie in his tool belt.

After all these years, she hadn’t expected to still find him so attractive, but now she couldn’t stop thinking about him, and it annoyed her. It was the last thing she needed. She’d tried to blow it off, thinking how it was just one of those phenomena—put a guy on a field with a ball, or on a stage with a guitar, or in a uniform with pretty much anything, and boom…instant hot.

But then he’d stood behind her at bat.

Her breath hitched at the memory. She did not still feel those solid legs cradling hers, and she definitely didn’t feel that hard stomach at her back, or the tickle of his breath in her ear, his voice a low and sexy rasp…

“Aw, hell.” She squatted and rose and squatted and rose, feeling the burn in her butt. Exercise was what she needed. It’d been forever and a day since she’d been with a man, and that was the only reason remembering his touch made her feel this strange…tug.

He’d wrapped his hands around hers as she’d held the bat. They were large and tanned and strong and callused from laboring on houses all day. “Dammit.” There it was again…the tug.

She straightened her legs and flopped in half to touch her toes. With a sharp exhale, she fought to reach her palms all the way to the ground. The stretch danced on the edge of painful, but she pushed it—all she needed was to work out her muscles harder than before and she’d get these traitorous urges out of her system.

A guy was the last thing she needed—especially this guy. She’d put the softball game behind her. She was playing a different game now, and she needed to get her head in it. She’d messed up a job before, and she wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“Who am I kidding?” she muttered, thinking she hadn’t just messed up in San Francisco, she’d screwed up royally. And it’d all been because of a man.

Against her better judgment, she’d hooked up with a guy from work. Before she knew it, he had a set of her keys and she had a carat on her finger. But then the job had gotten in the way. She’d been the acting interim vice president, and when a prized client came their way, she’d let her fiancé talk her into letting him take the account. She’d wanted it, but he claimed to have wanted it more.

Then promotion time came and he was the one given the permanent VP position, not her. She’d thought she was a shoo-in for the job and still wondered if it’d been their CEO’s way of punishing her for having a work relationship. Not that Patrick had gotten in trouble for it. Rather, it was almost like he’d been rewarded instead.

But her fiancé had tried to make it okay for her, kind of. He’d said he needed money to take her on the honeymoon of her dreams. But then the economy busted, and layoffs came, and guess whose name was on the list? Hers.

She got fired, and her fiancé didn’t go to bat for her. That was when she’d begun to doubt whether he’d ever really respected her at all. Professionally, at least. It also marked the end of their engagement.

“No more men.” She stretched an arm across her chest, tugging at her triceps. “No more screw ups. No do-overs.” In managing the lodge and tavern, she had a second chance to earn people’s respect, and she was going to get it right. “No third chances.”

“Don’t tell me the zombie hordes have finally arrived.” It was Sorrow, heading from the lodge to her shift at the tavern. At Laura’s perplexed look, she clarified, “You’re bathed in sweat, looking like you just outran an angry mob, that’s all.”

“I went for a run.”

“Uh-oh.” Sorrow stopped at the door, peering hard at her. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Something happened. Look at you. You’re wearing one of my scrunchies in your hair. If you’re preoccupied enough to wear a scrunchie, the apocalypse truly is nigh.”

She put a hand to the back of her head. “Am I that predictable?”

“It’s only because I love you.” Sorrow stepped closer, giving her a bolstering smile. “Now tell old Doc Sorrow what’s up.”

“I guess I am a little out of it.”

“A little? I haven’t seen you this sweaty since Chip Merriweather asked that Sandra girl to the prom instead of you.”

“That Sandra girl was a—”

Sorrow put up a hand, cutting her off. “That Sandra girl had her own problems—and there but for the grace of God go I, as the Kidd ladies would say.” She added mischievously, “You know you were always cuter, anyway.”

She smirked—her sister was good medicine.

Sorrow took her arm and steered her toward the door. “Now you need to take a breather. Come in, hang out with me a while. I’ll make you a coffee.”

“A real one?”

“The coffee we brew is real, dummy. But yes, I’ll make you one of your fancy-shmancy French press coffees.”

“Okay, okay,” Laura said, sounding more resigned than she felt. A coffee would be good, and some talk, too. This thing with Eddie and the hotel was feeling big, and it was time to confide in her family about it. “We need to talk, anyway. I’ve got news.”

She’d been putting off telling them about the construction project, hoping she could deal with it herself. Though they’d probably already gotten wind of it—after all, their tavern was ground zero for Sierra Falls gossip. But she was sure they had yet to understand the full extent.

She sat on the kitchen counter, sipping her French press coffee, watching her kid sister work. She’d just finished telling Sorrow the full story, and the girl looked thoughtful as she was systematically chopping veggies and sweeping them into a big soup pot…chopping and sweeping, chopping and sweeping.

“You look so Zen,” Laura told her, “doing what you do. I’m jealous.”

“You mean because I’m good at chopping onions? Believe me, more than once I’ve regretted how my therapy is cooking and eating.” She put down her knife. “You want jealous? If I could’ve gotten your genes instead, using running to get my mind off things”—she patted at her waist—“then maybe I wouldn’t have these.”

Laura had always envied how content her sister seemed with her body. To hear this now was a surprise. “What do you mean…these?”

“You know, love handles.”

“Doesn’t seem like your sheriff has a single problem with your love handles.”

Sorrow blushed as a knowing and secret pleasure flashed in her eyes. “I guess you’re right.”

Laura felt a flicker of envy and put down her mug with a sharp clack. “Okay, back to business. What are we going to do?”

“About?”

“What do you mean, about? Get your mind off your fiancé. We were talking about what we’re going to do about that, that…Eternal Rest Hotel and Spa.”

Sorrow laughed. “Oh, Laura. Is it that bad? Maybe Eddie’s right. Maybe a fancy spa could bring in more business for us.”

“Thanks for the support, but yes, it is so bad.” Her throat clenched a little as she said it.

Sorrow paused to look—really look—at her. “You’re really upset. All right. I hear you. Tell you what. I need to finish up here, and the lunch crowd will be here soon, but once it thins out there, we can talk, okay? Make a plan.” She grabbed another handful of veggies from the fridge and began to wash them. “When times get rough, I recommend soup. Go take a hot shower. This’ll be done in an hour. You’ll think better with a full stomach.”

She looked longingly at the pot. “You know I can’t.” When things felt out of control like they did now, she always liked to be extra careful of her diet.

“Give it a rest, Laura. You can. Soup and salad can’t be more than, what, five hundred calories, max.”

Bear burst into the kitchen, the door swinging on its hinges. “What’s keeping you girls?”

Sorrow didn’t even pause what she was doing. “I’m doing my job, Dad. You know, making lunch?” How her sister had become so bulletproof to the man’s moods was a wonder.

Unable to get a rise from Sorrow, their father swung his gaze her way. He eyed her with a frown. “What happened to you?”

Her shirt was still damp and cool with sweat, and she peeled it from her body to air it out. “What’s with you people? Can’t a girl go for a run without getting the third degree?”

“You’re dripping on the counter.”

“I am not dripping on the counter.” She hopped down.

Bear’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “Ain’t those shorts a little…short?”

“Yeah, Dad,” Sorrow said blandly, coming to her rescue. “It’s why they call them shorts.”

“Well, dry yourself off before you get out there,” he said with a wave to the pass-through window. The low hum of chatter had already begun, diners come early for lunch. Some liked to bring the newspaper and park at the counter for hours.

Laura gave him an incredulous look. “Who says I’m going out there?”

“Somebody needs to man the tables.”