Can't Fight This Feeling (19 page)

“She doesn’t have to tell me nothin’,” the passing postal carrier said, bustling by with an armful of mail. “In my job, I see way more interesting things than details of your dates. You wouldn’t believe what people write on the backs of postcards.”

“Gee, thanks, Lewis,” Glory groused, but she could hardly hide her grin.

Kyle had crossed the street now. He hadn’t climbed to the sidewalk, though, so she didn’t have to look up quite as far to see into his face. “What do you say, gorgeous?” he asked.

Gorgeous.
That was him, in another pair of broken-in jeans, a plain white T-shirt and a denim jacket for warmth. It was Christmas morning she was feeling now, that warm and excited sense of good things about to be unwrapped.

She glanced around, noticing a woman standing nearby, just a little younger than herself. Megan Newsome, who’d had her heart broken a few weeks ago when the guy she’d fallen for in June had gone back to his real life in Boston at the end of summer. They’d all seen it coming, and tried to warn her against getting in too deep with a vacation romance. The local girls knew never to fall for one of what they called the Summer Beaus.

But Kyle wasn’t going to be a mistake, Glory decided. She wasn’t even going to see him as one of the temporary summer guys who so often showed up in the mountains to make hay with the mountain girls while the sun shone. It was autumn, after all.

Instead, Kyle was going to be her Hollywood.

She was too smart and too cautious to expect anything between them to last forever. But she wasn’t going to let him become her own “that thing I didn’t do.” Her recent malaise made it clear she needed to shake up her life a little. He’d do that for her. He’d be the ten other jobs she was never going to have.

She’d date him for the short term, an adventure of sorts, and when it ended, she’d return to being Cutest Kewpie, behind the register in Hallett Hardware, happy to move on with her life there.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Y
OU
’
RE
TOUGHER
THAN
you look,” Mac said to Angelica. They were taking a break from cleaning the palatial, lakeside Whitmore home to savor coffee they’d brought in a thermos.

Grinning, Angelica pushed up the short sleeve of her T-shirt and flexed her biceps. “Tougher than you thought I’d be, you mean.”

The other woman made a face. “Okay, you got me.”

Angelica wasn’t sure that she did. Even with the small amount of interaction she’d had with Poppy and Shay, she felt she understood them. Both were friendly, curious and openhearted. They loved the men in their lives and were racing forward, clear-eyed and optimistic, into their futures.

Mac, on the other hand...

She was more like her brother. Guarded. Private.

They sat companionably enough, though, perched on stools drawn to the kitchen island. They both looked out the expansive set of windows to the lake. It was a deep, sparkling blue and the dark green of the pines that ringed the shoreline were broken up here and there with the yellow flame of an aspen.

“Will you miss it?” Mac said.

Angelica glanced over. “Miss...?”

She gestured with her cup. “Your house. It was right on the water, too, right?”

“Oh.” She thought of her summer, rattling around the lonely rooms, when the only thing she’d had to look forward to was the weekly arrival of the buff landscaper. “Not so much as you’d think.”

“You like the cabin, then? Being on the Walker mountain with my brother?”

Angelica promised herself to dance away from the second half of that question. After that night with Brett by the fire—well, after breakfast the next morning when he’d barely looked at her—she’d admonished herself to not expect a repeat performance. It had been a one-night stand, and she wasn’t going to whine about that, considering she’d had an excellent time with a considerate man. She knew he’d gone out of his way to make it...easy for her.

So Angelica had vowed that when working with Mac she wasn’t going to probe, pry or pump his sister for more information about him. There wasn’t any point to it.

“The cabin is great. I so appreciate the use of it. I’ll be talking to Poppy about paying rent.”

“I heard you’ve painted the place. That’s contributing right there.”

Warmth bloomed in Angelica’s chest. “I hope... I hope you all like what I’ve done.”

Mac’s eyes were blue, a color paler than the lake, and cool. They went well with her finely etched features but added to her air of reserve. It only made her smile more unexpected. “Brett says it looks classy.”

Angelica couldn’t hold back an answering smile. “He said that?”
Don’t sound so delighted
, she scolded herself, and hastily took a sip of her coffee. “That was kind.”

Mac snorted. “Brett doesn’t hand over compliments out of kindness.”

It was another opening. Angelica could very well ask why that was, couldn’t she? Brett had explained some of his attitude—the rich girl who had once had him arrested—but she suspected there was more to his extensive set of sharp, defensive thorns than that. Still...she’d made that promise to herself.

“I should get back behind the vacuum,” she said, crossing to pour the rest of her cup into the sink.

Mac sighed. “I suppose we both should get back to it.” Standing, she glanced around the large room, with its custom range, copper pots and dual stainless-steel refrigerators. “I was here two weeks ago. Cleaned it top to bottom then. Now I’m back, and nobody’s been here in the meantime.”

“It’s too bad the family hasn’t been able to enjoy an autumn at the lake in all its glory.”

Mac turned her head to study Angelica, her gaze sharp. “You really like it up in the mountains, don’t you?”

Angelica nodded. “I’ve lived a lot of my life in places where it was easy to feel anonymous. Or maybe it was me, not feeling as if I belonged in any of them. But here I encounter people all the time that I know from the hardware store or the historical society or from the coffee line at Oscar’s.”

“Now that’s the business I should have gone into,” Mac said, pulling on her long rubber gloves. “We’ll break again about one—we should be done by then.”

They went into town for lunch, as their afternoon would be occupied by cleaning two condos near the village. They split a deli sandwich, sitting at a shady table on the sidewalk, tucked away from the passersby. A raucous group came into view, a multigenerational party that included gray grandparents, skipping little kids and trailing teens. Everyone carried ice cream that was melting quickly in the sunshine that at midday still held a bit of summer heat.

“Oh, look at that,” Angelica said. “It’s the Dorseys. They have a house near my old one on the lake. It looks like a reunion.”

“It’s Walt Dorsey’s eightieth birthday this weekend. The whole family managed to get away for it early,” Mac said, then answered Angelica’s unspoken question. “I clean their place, too.”

Angelica watched the group pass, wincing when a toddler took a tumble. But the towhead was quickly scooped up and its wail cut off by a spoonful of ice cream. “Cute kids. You want any?”

“I have my nephew, Mason, and now we have London. I suppose Poppy and Shay will add more to the Walker ranks at some point.” Mac crunched on a chip from the bag they were sharing.

“None for yourself?”

“I’d want to be married, and Brett and I think our family’s happy-ever-after odds are already stretched far enough by Poppy and Shay. Isn’t it like fifty percent of marriages that end in divorce?”

“I don’t know exactly. But I’ve got reality to point to, as well. Between them, my parents have been divorced six times.”

“Mine almost broke up, too.” Mac folded her napkin, then folded it again. “I was young when things were at their worst—and they were happy once they got back together—but I still remember the slamming doors and tense silences.”

“You think those memories weigh heavily on Brett, too?” Then, hearing herself, she hastily waved both hands, as if wiping a surface. “Forget I asked that.”

Mac gave her an arch look. “I don’t know, Angelica. So you’re aware, we’re a very nosy set of siblings.”

“How lucky all of you are to have each other,” she said, desperate to change the conversational path. “I’m envious of how you watch out for one another, support one another—”

“And never fail to point out one another’s faults,” Mac finished, grinning. “Speaking of which, we should probably contract you to work some paint magic in my brother’s cabin. Who knows what his slobbiness has wrought.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s slobby at all.”

Mac’s smile was sly. “Ah, so you’ve been inside? I’m aware he checked out your...paint job, but I didn’t know the neighborliness between you two extended so far as him letting you into
his
space.”

Angelica hoped her flushed face was at least partially disguised by the shade. “I brought him cookies on the first night I was there. The interior of his cabin looked just fine. Homelike, even.”

“Really?” She frowned. “I haven’t visited since he moved in.”

“There are things hung on the walls. His two lodge drawings are over the fireplace. I loved them.”

Mac froze, her gaze still on her napkin, which she’d folded into a one-inch square. “Lodge drawings?”

The careful question pinged a warning in Angelica’s mind. But she didn’t know how to get out of answering. “Um, one was from overhead and you could see the shapes of the structure and landscaping elements.”

“A plot plan.”

Angelica shrugged. “The other was an illustration of the same building and surrounding plantings. How it would look when complete.”

“It’s a lodge—you’re sure?”

“He said it is. An idea he’d once had for your land. Your mountain.”

“It wasn’t his idea,” Mac said, her voice tight. “Not his alone, anyway.”

“Oh, well.” Angelica decided she’d really stepped in it. “I’m sure—”

“It was
our
idea.” Mac looked off, as if seeing something besides the cars and stores and people strolling along the sidewalk. “Brett and me and Zan.”

“Who’s Zan?”

Mac was still lost in the past, it appeared, her gaze still unfocused. “My brother’s best friend,” she murmured. “
My
best friend. Alexander Elliott. Zan.”

“I don’t think I’ve met him,” Angelica said. “Though I’m familiar with that last name.”

“Zan isn’t around,” Mac said. “He left years ago, eager to shake off the dust of the old hometown.” Her voice lowered. “Shake
me
off.”

“Oh.” Angelica swallowed, unsure what to say next, but unable to pretend she didn’t hear the other woman’s deep hurt. “That can’t be the case.”

Mac shook herself, then met Angelica’s gaze. “It doesn’t matter. Those old dreams don’t matter. I’m just surprised Brett still remembers all that. We must have been...I don’t know...I was probably around twelve and the boys fourteen when we first started talking about it. Before the fire, even.”

“It’s beautiful—the lodge. You should consider making the dream come true.”

Mac smiled, but it didn’t warm her eyes. “I was twelve. A lifetime ago. I’m over it now.”

“Twelve can be just yesterday.” A dark room, a sense of powerlessness, a memory that lasted for years and years.

Her tone must have said more to Mac, because the other woman gave her a sharp glance. “Angelica—”

“I have to tell you how jealous I am,” she said, moving on in haste. “A brother, a best friend who was a boy. You must have all the male mysteries completely figured out.”

“No one with two X chromosomes will understand their ability to memorize baseball box scores.” Mac grinned. “And my brother...he came home from the army as murky as a mountain lake churned up by a winter storm.”

Why?
Angelica wanted to ask. But she held herself back. “And Zan?”

“Zan...” Mac’s lashes swept down, hiding the expression in her eyes. “Zan was a deep pond, as clear as glass.
Zan
was clear as glass. Even though we’d lie about in the sunburned grasses, building mountain lodges in the sky, he was always up front about what he wanted for his future.”

“He was your first love,” Angelica guessed.

Mac gave her a quick glance, grimaced. “My first everything. First kiss, first love, first goodbye.”

“What did Zan want for his future?”

“To explore the world. To never feel leashed to this place.”

“Is that how you feel...your brother and sisters, too? Does your family feel trapped by the mountains? Leashed? Restrained?”

“We’ve been here for one hundred fifty years. It’s a legacy...and the place we love.” Mac shrugged. “Shay’s got Jace digging his roots deep now. Ryan has work down the hill, but he plans to spend most of his time in the mountains and teleconference or commute for the occasional meeting. I think we Walkers plan to be right where we are for a very long time.”

A certainty that was just something else for Angelica to envy. Given her circumstances, she might be forced out of the mountains by financial reasons...or emotional ones. She couldn’t live next door to Brett Walker on the family land forever...and how would she handle it when she was forced to witness her summer crush ushering some snow bunny through his front door in winter?

Mac suddenly straightened in her seat, her gaze focused on something across the street. “I wonder what the hell she wants,” she murmured.

Angelica followed the direction of her gaze. A woman was strolling toward Oscar’s. She wore a red suit, city sleek and completely out of place in the mountains where, even for flatlanders, fall “fancy” ran to expensive boots and silk T-shirts. The stranger glanced over her shoulder and her sleek black hair swung out. Her face was beautiful—perfect angles and almond eyes—as well as familiar.

“Who is that?”

“Lorraine Kushi,” Mac said, still on alert.

“Oh, right.” She recognized her as a reporter for an LA television network affiliate. “She did that big charity exposé, right? The one that showed how little cash from that sports star’s foundation was being spent on actual people.”

Mac nodded. “The bitch.”

Angelica’s eyes rounded. “Um, don’t you think that was a good thing?”

Mac flicked her a glance. “I don’t mean about that. I’m talking about what she did to my brother.”

“What she did to Brett?” Angelica couldn’t fake nonchalance now. She stared at the reporter as she disappeared into the coffee shop, then transferred her gaze to Mac. “What was that?”

“I don’t know all the details,” the other woman said. “But I’m sure she broke my brother’s heart.”

* * *

T
IRED
AFTER
A
long day of physical work, yet mentally made alert by the new nugget of information about Brett—his heart had been broken?—Angelica left her car outside Mac’s offices and decided to take a stroll in the direction of the historical society headquarters. It was on the other side of the village, and she shoved her hands in her jacket pockets as a chill had come on with the dusk.