Here to Stay (Where Love Begins Book #2) (18 page)

What would it have been like to rush after his brother like this? To dive through clouds instead of waves? To reach into cavernous skies and pull Ryan to safety?

Blake jutted his head above the surface, gulping for air, scanning the lake. There, just a little farther. Dylan bobbed, water up to his neck, the skin of his cheeks white. “I’m coming. Keep treading.”

Once more, he barreled under and kicked his way toward him. His lungs pulled taut. How had Dylan ended up so far from the shore in so short a time?

It was the same question he’d asked himself over and over about Ryan. How had his brother drifted so far from hope and happiness so quickly, so fully? Oh, Blake had known he was hurting, but not that the ache went so devastatingly deep. When he’d convinced Ryan to go skydiving, he’d honestly thought the diversion might be enough to snap his brother out of it. How could he have known Ryan would come home in a coffin?

But I should’ve. I should’ve
seen the signs.

As he heaved through the water, the memories hit him just as they had so many times before: Ryan watching hours and hours of game tape. Staring at the photos on his cell phone when he thought no one was looking. Looking straight into Blake’s eyes, mouthing his good-bye before stepping from the plane.

The sky groaned, the sound muffled by water rushing past
Blake’s ears. Thunder. Odd for December. Dangerous for him and Dylan.

He burst through the surface, gasping for breath, opening his eyes. Through the rivulets catching in his eyelashes and running down his face, he saw Dylan.

He approached carefully. At least the guy wasn’t panicking. “I’ve got you, Dylan. Hold on to my arm and kick. We’ll go back together.” The first pricks of sleet hit his forehead, then disappeared into the water around them. “We need to hurry.” If the snow picked up in this wind . . .

Blake pushed against the water, the added weight of Dylan slowing his movement. But he was kicking as well. “I-I lost my balance and swallowed water, and when I came up . . .”

Dylan should stop talking. He could explain once they’d reached dry land. But Blake was too tired to issue the order.
Just keep swimming. Keep pressing
forward.
The hope of rest and their safety pulled him on.

That and the thought of Autumn waiting.

Please, God
, don’t let her have come in, too.

Not with the sleet now falling in steady rhythm.

He shook the hair out of his eyes and looked to the shore. Though his heart hammered, relief pulsed through him at the sight of her, arms hugging her middle. She’d listened to him. Trusted him.

One, two, three more hefty kicks and they reached the point at which both Blake and Dylan could touch the sand with heads above water. The man’s heavy breathing sounded at his side.
Thank you
, God. Thank you.

Mariah rushed into the water. “Honey, are you okay?”

Behind her, Autumn still waited with Lucy. Wind and sleet pasted her hair to her face and landed in splotches on her lavender fleece. But she’d never looked more beautiful.

The thought smacked into his common sense.
Exhaustion, that’s all it is.

Dylan emerged from the lake, clothes sticking to his skin. “I’m sorry, Mariah, everyone.” He said the words through chattering teeth, probably as embarrassed as he was relieved.

“I’m the one who’s sorry.” Mariah hugged him. “If it wasn’t for my stupid hat.”

Blake stepped away from the couple, numb feet sinking into sand now instead of water, and approached Autumn and Lucy. He must look like a drowned Hulk. Drained of energy, he leaned over his knees. When he lifted his head, Autumn was still staring. Finally, she blinked, blue-green eyes glowing against the growing dark of the storm. “I’ve never seen someone swim like that.”

Blake pulled his shirt away from his torso, but it dropped back and clamped to his skin. “Like what?”

“Like you were pounding through a cement wall rather than water.” The tone of her voice untangled the meaning of her stare. She’d been looking at him—still was—as if he were a . . . hero.

Warmth slicked through him, defying the cold and wet and fatigue. “Well, I did what I had to do to keep you from going in.” He winked. Probably looked like an idiot.

“Thank you!” Dylan called from where he stood with his arms around Mariah.

“No problem.” Truth was, he’d do it all over again for that smile from Autumn. And then, as they turned toward the inn, he reached for Autumn, pulled her to his side, and left his arm around her shoulder.

She gave him a questioning glance.

He pointed his thumb behind them. “They think we’re a couple, remember?”

She only laughed. And didn’t pull away.

Autumn was as cold as if she’d been the one to barrel into the water. But deep down, emotions sizzled and melted her heart into goo.

She was falling for Blake Hunziker. Hard.

They stood around the island counter in the middle of the inn’s kitchen, Lucy wrapped in a Christmas quilt Autumn had pulled from the settee in the fireplace room, and Autumn with a towel hanging around her shoulders. They may not have gone all the way into the lake like Blake, but both had still ended up with wet clothes and damp hair from the sleet.

After they had all warmed up for a bit in the kitchen and ensured everyone was okay, Blake had headed home. And Dylan and Mariah left, too—Dylan with a sort of mortified set to his shoulders and Mariah’s eyes brimming with thanks . . . and perhaps apology, too.

“It’s crazy how fast it happened.” Autumn cupped her mug of hot chocolate. “Sometimes, with the right amount of wind, the lake can get so grabby. I’ve seen it knock people down and pull them away from shore several times. And to think, all Dylan was trying to do was rescue Mariah’s hat.”

Betsy ladled hot chocolate into a second bowl-shaped mug. “Thank God for Blake.”

Yes.

“He’s strong.” Lucy said, accepting the cup from Betsy. “You should see his muscles, Betsy. His shirt was all wet, and—”

“I get the picture, Luce.” Betsy eyed Autumn.

Who then looked away to conveniently fiddle with Oliver’s shoes as he perched on the counter. “Lemme down, Num.”

“All right, but we have to leave soon to get you home.” As she lifted him from the counter, the stench wafting from his,
ahem, backside, assaulted her nose. “Oh, buddy, we have a situation. Bets, did you bring his diaper bag in?”

“Yep, it’s on the bench by the back door. I’ll get it.”

She still held Oliver in the air, his legs dangling.

“Put me down, Num. Down!”

“How many OSHA rules would it break if I changed him in here?”

Betsy chucked the bag her direction. “Hey, as long as you’re the one doing the changing, I’m not complaining.”

She set Oliver on the floor. He must’ve known what was coming, because he made quick work of tugging off his shoes. She set the towel from over her shoulders on the floor and tugged Oliver over. He started struggling as she slipped off his pants.

“Come on, buddy. It’s not that bad.”

He kicked at the air and, while she was busy reaching for a diaper, rolled away and stood before she could stop him.

“Oliver—”

“Noooo!” He ran from the room, giggles bouncing along with his jiggling diaper.

Betsy stuck her hand on her waist. “We’ve got a streaker.”

“Oh brother.” Autumn hurried after him, followed him through the dining room and into the lobby, where a trail of puddles still waited to be cleaned up after they tracked in, and . . .

She skidded to a stop.

Someone waited at the desk. A very distinguished-looking someone, with one eyebrow cocked at the toddler now rubbing his hands in the puddle by the front door. The man wore a fitted silver-gray blazer over dark jeans, burgundy newsboy hat covering his head.

Where was Harry?

“Uh, I’m so sorry. Our deskman must be . . . around here
somewhere.” She slipped behind the front desk, one eye still on Oliver. “It’s been a hectic day here.”

“This
is
the Kingsley Inn?” The man spoke with the slight lilt of an accent.

She fumbled for a smile. “That’s what the sign says.”

“I did not see any sign.”

Oh, right
. The wind had knocked it loose a few days ago, and she’d ordered a new one that hadn’t yet arrived. Should arrive by Friday, in time to be installed before Dominic Laurent’s Saturday arrival.

Oliver plopped on the floor and pulled his shirt up his stomach. Lovely.

“Anyhow, welcome to our inn.”

“You work here.” Statement. Not a question. Though, considering the towel over her shoulders and her bare feet, she didn’t blame him for wondering.

“I do. My name is Autumn Kingsley. Do you have a reservation?”

“Indeed, although I am arriving early. I hope this is not a problem.”

If the man only knew how many rooms awaited occupants.

“No, definitely not a problem. Your name?”

“Dominic Laurent.”

Gone. Her breath. Her words, stuck.

And Oliver . . . now naked if not for his diaper, tugging on her pant leg.

10

T
his was either the best idea she’d ever had . . . or it was so stupid she deserved a snowball in the face.

Autumn’s fingers flexed inside her fuchsia gloves, boots crunching over the snow-packed sidewalk—a result of the steady snowfall that had started yesterday afternoon and continued into today. Winter had finally graced Whisper Shore with a wonderland appearance.

Perhaps that would impress Dominic Laurent, if nothing else. Beside her, the man adjusted his plaid cashmere scarf. He’d been in town a little over twenty-four hours. Maybe, just maybe, long enough to have shed what had to be a horrible first impression at the state in which he’d found the Kingsley Inn yesterday.

“I’m still not sure I understand,” he said now, pace matching hers as they created a trail of footprints from where Harry had parked on Main Avenue. She’d coerced him into driving them into town in his newer, roomier SUV rather than subjecting Dominic—Dom, he’d asked to be called—to her aging Jetta.

“It’s a town-wide event. Used to be tradition every year
on the first big snow of the season,” Harry explained from behind. “Someone must have resurrected it.”

They weren’t sure who. Everything Autumn knew was contained in the text she’d received a few hours ago from Tim Jakes.

Snowball fight is on. 6:30 in the square. Spread the word.

And that’s when she’d had the idea to invite their international guest, to give him a taste of the Whisper Shore his investment might benefit. Only now, as he fiddled with the top button of his jet-black coat—not a speck of lint nor a wrinkle in sight—she wondered if it’d been such a good idea after all.

Despite her worries, she couldn’t help catching the buzz of excitement floating through the town square, like the puffs of white air accompanying her breathing. Harry stepped up beside her, excitedly clapping his hands together as they approached the center of the square.

“The entire town comes out to . . . throw snow at each other?” Dom slipped his fingers into leather gloves that looked as if they’d never been worn.

“Not the entire town.” Autumn pulled her wool beret over her ears. “Only the brave ones.”

The sun had bedded about thirty minutes ago, leaving the light of the moon, streetlamps, and strings of Christmas lights draped over trees and storefronts to illuminate the town square. The Andrews Sisters sang “Jingle Bells” over the speakers piping into the downtown.

“It’s pure Whisper Shore craziness,” she added. “I know it sounds weird, but it’s just one of our little quirks.”

A whistle trilled from the gazebo steps as they arrived at the huddle of townspeople. She’d recognize that shriek
anywhere—it was how Mrs. Satterly used to call kids in from recess. The retired schoolteacher stood on the steps, megaphone in hand. “Folks, let’s gather for the rules before we get started.”

Autumn spotted Blake then, chatting with Tim Jakes over by an evergreen. As if sensing her gaze, he looked over, waved. She waved back.

“Something tells me this is going to be highly amusing.” Dom’s head was tipped to one side, and if she wasn’t mistaken, that was a hint of boyish anticipation on his face. The man might actually have a fun streak. So far all she’d seen was prim and proper. Which was about as foreign in Whisper Shore as his accent.

Maybe it hadn’t been such a bad idea, after all.

Mrs. Satterly’s voice sounded through the megaphone again. “Now that I have everyone’s attention, I’m going to go over the rules. Pay attention.” She adjusted the faux fur muffler that matched her coat. “Here’s how this is going to work. When I blow the horn, the snowball fight begins. No aiming at anyone’s face. No throwing anything other than snow. And for goodness’ sake, no tripping anyone. When I blow the horn again, it’s all over.”

As Mrs. Satterly spoke, Blake joined their group. “Hey, Red.”

She read the curiosity he directed at Dominic. “Blake, this is one of our hotel guests, Dominic Laurent. Dom, Blake Hunziker. He’s a . . . uh . . .”

“Friend?” Blake inserted, veiled amusement in his half smile. “And partner in festival-coordinating crime.”

But Dom wasn’t even paying attention, focus still attached to Mrs. Satterly and her megaphone. “That’s it?” he asked when she finished. “Those are all the rules?”

“Well . . . yeah.” Autumn shrugged.

“Nothing else? No winner? No objective?”

“Dude,
fun
is the objective.” Blake rubbed his hands together. Even in the dark, his dimpled smile radiated . . . cuteness.

Oh, Lord, the inappropriateness. He’s. A. Hunziker.

It seemed to matter less and less the more time she spent with him.

“On your marks, get set, go.” The horn blared over Mrs. Satterly’s last word, and the square exploded into action. Dom, with his perfectly gelled hair and shined shoes, gave her a helpless look as a snowball whizzed past his ear.

Autumn swung her hand into the snow and scooped up a pile. “It’s a free-for-all, Dom. Go for it.” She lobbed her snowball at Tim Jakes’s back.

“Hey!” He whirled.

A carefree aura slid over Autumn—over everyone—and laughter bubbled up inside. She looked around, spotted Harry packing his own ball.

A snowball smacked into her shoulder. A few feet away, Dom grinned with pride, then reached for another handful, this time aiming for Harry.

“Now you’ve got the hang of it,” she called.

She shouldn’t have worried about bringing him along this evening. Perhaps the intended disorderliness of tonight would make up for the unintended disorderliness of yesterday afternoon. Might even charm the man.

Wet snow soaked through her mittens, and her jeans would never make it through the chaos without getting drenched. She didn’t care. The cold barely stung her cheeks anymore.

She packed her hands around a ball and looked up just in time to meet Blake’s eyes watching her. A fountain of snow flashed past her face, but Blake’s focus stayed on her, an impish grin stretching his cheeks.

Oh no.
She whirled and ran, dodging flying snow and frenzied friends.

“Really? You’re running, Red? I thought you were braver than that.”

Autumn spun on her heel and chucked her snowball. It hit him in the cheek and broke into chunks. She clapped her hand over her mouth.

“You just broke one of the only rules.” Exaggerated shock danced in his tone.

She backed up. Bumped into someone.
Oomph.
Almost lost her footing. “I didn’t mean to hit you in the face.”

“I could report you to Mrs. Satterly. Or . . .” His hand tunneled through the snow. He came up with a handful of snow, rounded it into a snowball. A big snowball.

“I said I was sorry.”

He raised his pitching arm.

And then she was running again, squealing, hair flying behind her head. She shook with laughter as she ran, weaving in and out, Blake’s voice goading her from behind.

“You’re not going to get away.”

“I know I told you I’m bad at sports, Blake, but the one thing I can do is run. I—”

She went down. Her hands thudded into the snow, the slick chill reaching up her coat sleeves. She rolled onto her back, giggles racking her body. “Oh my goodness. Oh my . . .”

Blake stood over her, smiling as if he’d just nabbed his prize. He dropped to his knees, snowball still in his gloved hand. “I’ve got you right where I want you, Red.”

She lifted her palms in a surrender pose, out of breath. “I-I give. You win.”

“I win? But I haven’t even hit you with a snowball yet.”

“I’ve got snow in my hair, down my back, and in my shoes.” Laughter still jumbled inside, shaking her torso.

“That’s your own fault for running.” For one more second he held the snowball over her face, cheeky expression warming clean through her.
Oh, I’m in trouble.

Seriously in trouble.

Something in his eyes shifted and he dropped the snowball. Her laughter stilled, the squeals and shouts and footsteps crunching through snow all around her fading. Only Autumn. Blake.

And something she shouldn’t be feeling . . . at once heavy and weightless.

Blake clasped both her hands and pulled her up into a sitting position, snow-wet strands of hair trailing down her cheeks.

One hand still enclosed in his, she tipped her head to meet his eyes once more. “Blake, you’re the one who got the snowball fight started again, aren’t you.” Was her voice as breathless as she felt?

Snowflakes were catching in his eyelashes. “I did.”

“Why?”

“You said the other day you missed it.” His smile was so sincere, the magic of the night, the snow still floating from the sky. She—

“Autumn!”

Autumn jerked at the shrill call. Through a kaleidoscope of color, her gaze landed on Mom, watching from the curb. As her brain “Maydayed,” she heard her name again, disapproval storming in her mother’s tone.

Get up. Explain. You were only—

And then her name again, this time in a gasp from the person beside Mom. Matching blond hair and a bulky red coat and . . .

She stood up. “Ava?”

A second later, a snowball smacked into her face.

Blake stood, brushing the snow from his knees as he watched Autumn trail away between her mom and her sister.

“Man, you didn’t make any friends with that move.” Tim Jakes approached from the side, picked up Blake’s stocking cap from where it had fallen during his chase with Autumn.

He must have seen . . . enough. “I know. Dunno who looked fiercer. Victoria or Ava. That
was
Ava, right? My eyes weren’t playing tricks on me?”

The squeals and shouts of the snowball fight continued around them. Ava Kingsley had looked at him as if he were the ghost of Ryan, come back solely to torment her. Her stare cut through him until he’d had to look away.

“That was her all right.”

He wanted to follow them. Tell Autumn’s family it wasn’t what it’d looked like.

Except it was exactly what it’d looked like. If they hadn’t been interrupted, he’d have kissed Autumn.

Provided she hadn’t pushed away or slapped him or anything, of course. But from the haze of delight on her face, the way she hadn’t moved a muscle as they’d sat in the snow, yeah, didn’t seem like she’d planned on fighting it. In those few seconds, their last names, their families’ rivalry, none of it mattered.

The heat of the moment still torched his insides.

“I should’ve at least made sure she was okay. That snowball hit her in the face hard. Did you see who threw it?”

“I saw a little kid run away with a horrified look on his face. Probably an accident.”

Autumn was just moving out of sight when Tim elbowed him. “Uh, Blake, you might want to find somewhere else to be right now.”

A note of dread hung in his voice, and Blake turned to his friend. “But why—” He broke off at the sight of William Baylor thundering toward them.
Not good.
“Whip out your badge, Tim. Could come in handy.”

Baylor reached them. “I was told you started this.”

“Um, well, I—”

“Who do you think you are?” The man looked ready to throw a punch.

Blake stiffened. “Look, Mr. Baylor, I ran this by my dad.”

“He’s not in charge of the parks. I—”