Lake Effect
Johannah Bryson
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
Copyright © 2013 by Johannah Bryson
ISBN 10: 1-4405-7164-3
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7164-0
eISBN 10: 1-4405-7165-1
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7165-7
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © 123rf.com
To Lynn Barton & Ann Joy who sparked the spark
To Lynn Curtis who fanned the flame
And to Kelly Tesar & Betsy Engle who poured on the gasoline
Never underestimate the power of great English teachers!
A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance
Words cannot express my thanks to those friends who read and re-read this story for me. From the very beginning, Kelly Tesar, Jim Hoover, and Betsy Engle believed I'd get it done and poked and prodded me until I did. To my dear friends and fellow authors, Barbara Satow, Erin McCarthy, and my many, many friends from NEORWA, thank you for your critique and support, especially, Nancy Loyan and Mary Campisi. Your unselfishness will never be forgotten. Mike Budzik, your willingness to help and your expertise in stocks and trading were invaluable. Kelly Czack and Chrisy Fitch, thanks for being there for me, for grounding me, and never complaining. To all of my co-workers and book club ladies, I thank you for your input.
Christina D'Amico with the SEC, thank you for patiently answering my crazy questions. Jess Verdi and Julie Sturgeon at Crimson, you ladies are amazing! Finally, to Joseph, Hannah, and Joe the loves of my life: You amaze me every day. Thank you for never doubting. And, to the late great Princess, first puppy, trusted friend, and the inspiration for Norman.
Wyeth Packard adjusted his tie so it was perfectly centered. He'd always been a neat freak, bordering on obsessive compulsive. In his opinion, clothes made the man and a lasting impression. Today was a day to make a statement. It was a day to assure the local board and island managers that his plan to resurrect the old vineyard and its winery would help the island, not hurt it. He'd purchased the manor house as a way of proving how committed he was to making a go of things. Although the zoning was in place to use the property commercially, he'd promised to live there part of the year and keep the house residential for the time being.
The house had been a disaster; the outside still was. He'd spent millions repairing the slate roof, replacing the leaded glass windows and bringing the interior back to its formal glory. Luckily, the old brick Tudor mansion was on a solid foundation.
If that wasn't a commitment to the winery and to Whiskey Island, he didn't know what was. He poured himself a cup of coffee and wandered out into the backyard. Now that the fog was finally lifting he could enjoy the expansive views of Lake Erie. He wandered the property and looked at all that had yet to be done. The flower beds were choked with weeds and nettles, looking as though they'd been planted by Satan's landscapers. The reflecting pool stood murky and dark, the iris on the sides reflecting in the water, their shimmering images looking back at him like a Monet painting. Wyeth stood by the edge contemplating if he should fill it in, most decidedly the cheapest route, or have it drained and restored. The rains from the past week had it filled to the top and he could see the benefit of keeping it.
⢠⢠â¢
“Norman!” Shelby called again for the dog. The morning fog had all burned off and both she and Norman had been anxious for their daily run. Running was her savior. It kept her sane and it kept her mind from wandering. Even though it was May, the tourists and regulars wouldn't be here for a few weeks yet, so she'd felt it was safe to let him have a run on the beach without the leash. The only folk up on the island were those opening homes and businesses for the season and they all knew Norman. It was hard not to; the hundred pound collie had a knack for getting into trouble. Lassie, he wasn't.
Shelby heard a loud sharp bark coming from above her. The hillside was steep and covered in prickly and thorny plants. Muttering to herself, she started up the banks, trying in vain not to scratch and cut her legs up.
“Norman, I'm going to tie you up when I find you!” she yelled.
Norman's barking increased, followed by a loud splash, followed by a sputter, followed by a deep voice: “
Fuck! Son of a Bitch!
” Followed by silence.
Clearing the top of the hill Shelby pushed through a row of hedges and was met with a most amazing site: a man, standing waist deep in a murky pool in what was once a very expensive suit, being kept there by her dog.
⢠⢠â¢
Wyeth was furious. His meeting was in less than an hour and here he was in this godforsaken pool of water, in desperate need of another shower. His suit, the one he'd had tailor made in London no less, was ruined. To add insult to injury, the dog thought keeping him in the pool was a fine game.
“Norman! Bad dog! I'm so sorry, so sorry. I cannot believe he'd do such a thing, bad dog!”
The woman yelling all this was half running, half limping across the lawn, legs and arms scratched and bleeding, yelling at the dog, and apologizing all without ever taking a breath. Perhaps there was something wrong with her. He'd have to remain calm and humor her until he could assess the situation and then get the proper authorities to come claim her. She looked normal enough. The closer she came the more he thought she looked pretty good. She was short for his taste. Still, her legs were toned and her body had curves in all the right places. Her hair was a beautiful shade of coppery blonde. There was something very refreshing to him about her. She wore no make-up. Her fair skin held the blush of exercise, which illuminated her large and beautiful green eyes. Eyes he found himself staring into.
“Please, let me help you out. Down, Norman! This is not a game!”
She extended her hand to Wyeth. The cur hung his head and tucked his tail between his legs as the petite woman continued to chastise him. Wyeth, intrigued but still aggravated, waved her hand away but it was too late. She'd been leaning forward as she offered it and as she pulled back, she lost her footing and fell directly at him. The force of her fall combined with the slimy bottom of the pool pushed him back and down on his butt. The petite, strawberry blonde landed on top of him with her head just below his waist. Her head popped up quickly, blotches of red embarrassment coloring her cheeks and neck.
Wyeth pulled himself out of the pool with one hand, reached in, and pulled her out as well.
“What were you thinking?” He kept his voice low and even but he knew she could see the control was costing him dearly.
“I'm so sorry. Norman! Geez your suit, it's ruined. I'll pay for that.”
“No harm to me but we'd better get those scratches tended to â no telling what's living in that pool. I'm sure I've got something in the house.”
Without turning to see if she was following, he headed into the house and drew a first aid kit out of the drawer in the mudroom. Norman, he noticed, trotted right next to him and now sat expectantly, awaiting the arrival of his owner. Wyeth's anger softened.
He watched with amusement as the woman came through the door, color once again climbing up her neck and onto her cheeks. She had the greenest eyes he'd ever seen and right now they were alive with color, light, and ⦠was that anger? Why should she be angry? It was
her
dog that pushed
him
in the water.
“Listen, Mister ⦠ah ⦠”
Wyeth tried not to smile as she once again flushed with color; she obviously didn't know who he was. What a refreshing change.
“Packard. Wyeth Packard. Please, just call me Wyeth.”
He extended his hand and waited for her to return the favor by stating her name. She didn't. She simply took a deep breath and continued on her mission, leaving his hand hanging in the air. This sprite of a woman had spirit, pride and seemed to not care who he was. This could be a challenge, a lovely diversion for his self-imposed exile from New York.
“Look, Wyeth.” She tested the name. Her tongue darted out, wetting her full, beautiful lips â lips that just a few moments ago had been unintentionally placed just below his belt.
Get a grip, Packard!
“I am really sorry about Norman â I don't normally just let him run like that. He's ruined your suit and I'm happy to pay for it.”
He saw her swallow as she looked at the expensive suit coat, soaking wet and beyond saving, draped now over a bench, and once again he tried â unsuccessfully â to stop his lips from smiling. As soon as she looked back at him her own expression turned to anger; she probably thought he was laughing at her. Which maybe he was, just a little.
“I'm not a little girl; I don't need to have my cuts
tended to
, so if you don't mind, Norman and I will just be on our way.”
Wyeth leaned against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles, and watched lazily as she prepared to hook the dog up and leave.
“You can't.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You can't pay for the suit. It was tailor made, totally irreplaceable, and besides, the cost ⦠well, I'd be ashamed to tell you what it cost.”
He knew he was being an ass but he loved seeing that anger flash across her face.
Wonder what she'd look like in the heat of passion ⦠Steady, old man, the last thing you need is another woman. Didn't you come up here to get away from all of that?
His inner voice won out. He straightened up as she bent down to hook the dog to his leash.
“Oh. Well, I, ah ⦠”
She cast her green eyes down. He could see the defeat that entered her shoulders for just a moment before she stood up straighter and looked at him with determination.
He let her flounder for only a minute more, then stepped forward and gently took her arm, guiding her toward the counter. “I'm not letting you leave without getting those scratches cleaned up. You have no idea what may be living in that pond. What I don't understand is why on earth you felt the need to climb the hill when another twenty feet up the beach there are steps. Sit up here.” He motioned to the counter, but realized she was too short to jump up on her own and without thinking, grabbed her around her waist and hoisted her up. There was that flush of embarrassment again, mixed with pure rage at his insistence. He quickly dropped his hands from her waist.
Had she felt that?
Had that been his imagination? It was like a shock, a fleeting flash of energy. His hands fit perfectly on the luscious curve of her hips, their softness making him yearn for more. One look at her face and he had his answer, she'd felt it too.
“I don't live too far, we'll manage, thank you. I didn't realize there were steps. I'm sure you've got things to do; you obviously weren't dressed for a morning swim. Mr. Packard, I will find a way to compensate you for the suit, thank you for being so kind. Now, if you'll just excuse us.” She moved to get down from the counter but he stopped her.
“Woman, would you please shut up!”
Her eyes, now level with his, lit up with fury. As she opened her mouth to speak again he placed the alcohol pad from the first aid kit onto the first scrape. An intake of breath followed by blessed silence. Oh, there it was, the anger and total self-control, back in full force. They were face to face now that she was on the counter and he could see the fire flare up in those beautiful emerald eyes. He waited until she broke their eye contact first then quickly and carefully cleaned the rest of the scrapes. The air in the room was charged and the current hung between them for a full moment before he released her leg. She quickly jumped down, picking up the dog's leash as she headed for the door.
