Whirlwind
Nancy Martin
WELCOME TO TYLER.AMERICA'S FAVORITE HOMETOWNA town filled with memorable friends and unforgettable lovers. Share the passions, the hopes and dreams of America's favorite small town.WHERE ROMANCE BLOOMSWhen lively, brash Liza Baron arrives home unexpectedly, she moves into the old family lodge – where silent, mysterious Cliff Forrester has been living in seclusion for years….WHERE THE FUTURE IS ABOUT TO COLLIDE WITH THE PASTWhen a body is uncovered on the lodge grounds, the community begins to piece together the truth about Tyler's first family, and a secret hidden for forty years threatens to tear the town apart.
WELCOME TO TYLER-AMERICA’S FAVORITE HOMETOWN
A town filled with memorable friends and unforgettable lovers. Share the passions, the hopes and dreams of America’s favorite small town.
WHERE ROMANCE BLOOMS
When lively, brash Liza Baron arrives home unexpectedly, she moves into the old family lodge—where silent, mysterious Cliff Forrester has been living in seclusion for years....
WHERE THE FUTURE IS ABOUT TO COLLIDE WITH THE PAST
When a body is uncovered on the lodge grounds, the community begins to piece together the truth about Tyler’s first family, and a secret hidden for forty years threatens to tear the town apart....
Previously Published.
“I’m not leaving Timberlake, so forget it!”
Cliff couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“I need a place to crash for a while,” Liza continued. “I’m not here because of you, Forrester, so stop thinking I’m hot for your body or something, because I’m not—even if you’re hot for mine!”
“You are the most exasperating woman—”
“Oh, cool down,” Liza said with an impish grin. “I think you could use some exasperation. You’ve gotten too comfortable up here all by yourself.” She tossed her head pertly. “I’ve heard about you, Forrester.”
“Exactly what have you heard?”
“You’ve got quite a reputation around town. You’re a hermit or a lone wolf. Some people even think you’re dangerous.”
A few things began to clear up in Cliff’s mind. “That’s why you’ve come dancing in here this way, isn’t it, you get your kicks out of dangerous men.”
“Where I get my kicks is none of your business,” she replied. “I’m curious about you, that’s all. You’re a mystery man, Forrester, and I love a mystery.”
Dear Reader (#ulink_457ede73-ce04-5c08-9dc6-a2192387c983),
Welcome to Mills & Boon’s Tyler, a small Wisconsin town whose citizens we hope you’ll soon come to know and love. Like many of the innovative publishing concepts Mills & Boon has launched over the years, the idea for the Tyler series originated in response to our readers’ preferences. Your enthusiasm for sequels and continuing characters within many of the Mills & Boon lines has prompted us to create a twelve-book series of individual romances whose characters’ lives inevitably intertwine.
Tyler faces many challenges typical of small towns, but the fabric of this fictional community will be torn by the revelation of a long-ago murder, the details of which will evolve right through the series. This intriguing crime will profoundly affect the lives of the Ingallses, the Barons, the Forresters and the Wochecks.
Renovations have begun on the old Timberlake resort lodge as the series opens, and the lodge will also attract the attention of a prominent Chicago hotelier, a man with a personal interest in showing Tyler folks his financial clout.
Marge is waiting with some home-baked pie at her diner, and policeman Brick Bauer might direct you down Elm Street if it’s patriarch Judson Ingalls you’re after. The Kelseys run the loveliest boardinghouse in town, and you’ll find everything you need at Gates Department Store. When spitfire Liza Baron returns to town, the fireworks begin. So join us in Tyler, once a month, for the next twelve months, for a slice of small-town life that’s not as innocent or as quiet as you might expect, and for a sense of community that will capture your mind and your heart.
Marsha Zinberg
Editorial Coordinator, Tyler
Whirlwind
Nancy Martin
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Nancy Martin for her contribution to this work.
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Joanna Kosloff for her contribution to the concept for the Tyler series.
CONTENTS
Cover (#ufffd8982-de8f-5272-b298-fda8d9bc1f87)
Back Cover Text (#ub41da59c-8a58-593c-b522-56f209035f61)
Dear Reader (#u0608f423-8448-583f-b2a9-e3741a40e81e)
Title Page (#u55949a7e-2ab9-5bb2-b7c8-e089c7b43a43)
Acknowledgments (#u83f2d326-c153-5396-8840-adb7b67d59db)
CHAPTER ONE (#u809851f9-ffd3-5236-94fd-a577eafc3bae)
CHAPTER TWO (#u2fc5dd42-c60c-56d8-b5dc-ba5fb5e72a14)
CHAPTER THREE (#u56ba2683-91c4-5b92-8b15-d014c0d7fdf3)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ud6b7ecfe-2408-507f-98e6-b86fda098245)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_ff2db360-3644-567e-a6b6-116e597bad4a)
FAILURE DROVE Liza Baron home.
She went one cool summer night in a vintage Thunderbird convertible, the last personal possession she still owned free and clear. She started out in a rage in Chicago about midnight and drove toward no particular destination at first. It just felt good to go, with her hair whipping in the wind and the radio blasting rock and roll.
But around four in the morning, after aimless driving along highways she’d never known existed, Liza found herself in Wisconsin just ten miles from Tyler. After that, it was like automatic pilot. In the dark, she drove the white car up to the lake and her grandfather’s lodge, which she figured would be empty. Liza didn’t want to see anybody. The last thing she needed was a damned heart-to-heart with some well-meaning family member. Or worst of all, her mother.
Liza just wanted to be alone.
The sky began to lighten as she turned into the lane marked by two brick columns and started up the hillside under the canopy of century-old trees. The air was hushed. Magical, really. A dreamy white mist eddied upward from the lake and engulfed the car in a kind of swirling cloud. Someone who didn’t know the road might have plunged off into the trees or blundered into the rocks, but Liza drove confidently, her heart suddenly beating fast with anticipation. The Thunderbird’s tires crunched and spun in the gravel at the turns, until at last the car burst out of the mist, and the rooftops of the lodge appeared through the trees.
Timberlake, it had been called in its heyday. A grand name for a grand place—a summer house, a hunting lodge, the site of lavish prewar entertainments—and a few romantic intrigues, if the family tales could be believed. At night they used to turn on the tiny lights they’d strung through the oak trees and barbecue whatever game had been killed that day. Once there’d been a wedding on the veranda, and a swing band of ten played in the grand hall long into the night.
Liza caught her first glimpse of the lodge’s twin chimneys and her throat constricted queerly. They were crumbling now, and loose shingles hung crookedly on the steep-pitched roof and five gables. She saw the sagging shutters and dozens of ghostly black windows, some with broken panes. Seeing it all for the first time in many lonely years caused a great swell of sadness to sweep up from inside Liza Baron, blinding her for a split second.
Which was when the T-bird slammed into a fallen tree.
Liza fought for control, crying out as the car thumped over a branch and crashed straight into the tree trunk that lay across the drive. The impact threw Liza against the steering wheel, knocking the breath from her body.
“Dammit!”
She killed the Thunderbird’s rumbling engine with a shaky hand, and suddenly there was no sound—just the majestic, eerie silence of the forest and the forgotten lodge. The cool, soundless air enveloped Liza. The crisp scent of pine surrounded her, washing her with memories. She sat for a minute, wondering if her heart had stopped, if the whole world had ceased and she’d been transported to a magic place between heaven and earth. A place for ghosts.
But then Liza tasted blood, and she checked the rearview mirror to see how badly she’d cut her lip. The moment snapped, and she felt normal again.
“Not bad,” she said to her reflection. Reaching for the door handle, she muttered wryly, “As usual, you do everything in a big way, Liza.”
She got out of the car to have a look at the damage. The convertible’s nose was a mess, badly dented and half-embedded in the fragrant branches of the fallen tree. Liza tottered a few steps in her high-heeled suede shoes and climbed onto the trunk of the car despite a very short skirt. Perched there, leaning one elbow against a white tail fin, she crossed her long legs, lit her last cigarette and contemplated the ruin of the lodge. And her own life.
“You’re fired,” Sara Lillienstein had said, rather helplessly it seemed, as she sat behind her antique desk in Chicago. “I’m sorry, Liza, but you just don’t fit in here.”
“But I’ve been doing my best work!”
“We’re losing money on your projects, dear. You’re just too slow when it comes to the details.”
“But the details are everything!”
Sara sighed. It was an argument they’d had a dozen times before. “Take my advice, Liza, will you? Stop fighting your own personality. Take your skills to a smaller place. Try opening your own firm. Why not? You’re very talented. I’m sure you’ll be a success someday. But not here. At heart, you’re still a small-town girl.”
A small-town girl? Liza should have laughed at such a suggestion, except the whole situation wasn’t funny at all. Nobody knew how desperately she wanted to escape Tyler—the town, the attitudes, the life-style and, yes, her own family. Oh, she’d cut those ties with a very sharp knife indeed, made her own way through school, scraped by in one lousy job after another until landing the right spot at the top interior design firm in Chicago. Once there, she’d fought her way into some of the best assignments.
And blown it.
Now, it seemed, her subconscious mind had brought her home. Close, anyway. The old lodge was easier to handle than the staidly elegant Victorian house in town where the whole clan was ensconced now. Yes, the abandoned lodge suited Liza’s state of mind. It was big enough and empty enough to throw a first-class breakdown in, and nobody needed to know.
As the dawn grew lighter, Liza smoked her cigarette down to the filter and threw it into the tall grass by the edge of the lane.
“Careless, aren’t you?”
His voice shattered the moment, a low growl less than three yards away, behind her. Liza whirled around and cursed, scrambling off the car to meet her assailant headon.
“Who the hell are you?”
A dark figure stepped out of the dappled shadows. He had materialized soundlessly from the forest and stood larger than life on the drive. Having bent into the dewy grass, he’d come up with her still-smoldering cigarette, which he held out to Liza as if it were Exhibit A. “You want to start a forest fire?”
“Damn,” Liza said, still instinctively clutching her fist to her chest as if to start her breathing again. “I didn’t hear you coming. What did you do? Beam down from a spaceship?”
He was tall and toughly built, wearing a shabby, unzipped mountain parka over a faded black T-shirt and jeans. In one large, capable hand he carried a fishing rod and a string of slick bass, the latter dangling from his grip. With the other hand he extended the cigarette, but he might as well have been pointing a lethal weapon at her. His menacing body language said as much.
His face was arresting—sharply cut around the jaw and cheekbones, with the rest of his features blunt. A few steely-gray hairs to the left of his widow’s peak blended into the remainder of his thick, somewhat shaggy dark hair, combining with the lines in his face to allow Liza to guess his age somewhere just shy of forty. He was probably ten or twelve years her senior.
It was his voice rather than his appearance that most commanded Liza’s attention, however. It began as a powerful rumble deep in his chest and finished in a controlled, deceptively quiet growl. It was the voice of a man who’d never need to shout to make his point.
He said “I don’t like your cigarettes in my grass, honey. In fact, I don’t like you here at all, so turn your fancy car around and get the hell out, all right?”
“Your grass?”
“I’m in no mood for conversation this morning, so—”
“Neither am I, honey,” Liza snapped. “But I’d like an explanation just the same. Who are you? Does my grandfather know you’re trespassing up here?”
“Grandfather,” he repeated, and something dawned in his hooded, black eyes—something akin to recognition as he looked into her face for the first time. His eyes were very dark and full of shadows, quirking at the corners as he studied her standing there in the first break of sunlight.
“I see,” he said, dropping the cigarette onto the gravel and grinding it out with the heel of his boot. “I suppose you’re Liza.”
That surprised the heck out of her, but Liza put up a brave front just the same. “How do you know my name?”
“Educated guess,” he replied, meeting her gaze again with a penetrating, sidelong look. “Your grandfather talks about you. Liza’s the reckless one. The black sheep. The pain in the ass with the smart mouth.”
“Well,” she said tartly, “it’s nice to know I’m remembered kindly in my old hometown. What else do you know about me?”
He seemed for a moment on the verge of telling her, but something held him back. He leaned his fishing rod against the passenger door of the T-bird and dug into his jeans pocket for a handkerchief. Handing it to her, he said instead, “Your lip’s bleeding.”
He was very tall, Liza realized in that instant. Several inches more than six feet, and his body was whip thin beneath his loose jacket. His clothes were worn, and his boots were caked with trail mud. His hands, she noticed as she accepted the frayed handkerchief, were also dirty. From fishing, probably.
Watching her dab her lip, he said, “I also know you’ve made a lot of people miserable in this town.”
“Me? Do I look like the kind of girl who would make anyone miserable?”
He took the question as an invitation to examine Liza more carefully. With a glance that wasn’t especially flattering, he studied her stretchy minidress—skintight and black, her bare legs and the fuchsia-colored spike heels she wore just to make a statement. It was the kind of outfit that made Liza feel good in the city—sexy and exciting. She was a young woman on her way up—a woman with style and ambition. At the moment, though, she was damn cold. She could feel goose bumps on her arms, and if that weren’t enough to cast her in a vulnerable state, she realized her nipples were rock hard.
“You look like a tramp,” he said when he’d finished his inspection.
“What are you? The local fashion expert?”
He shrugged. “It looks like you’re going to a costume party, that’s all.”
“At this time of day?”
He gave her a thin, unamused grin. “From what I hear, you’d go to a party at the drop of a hat. That getup is sure to win first prize, if you ask me.”
“Well, I didn’t ask, buster. Just who the hell are you, anyway? What gives you the right to—”
“I’m Cliff Forrester,” he said. “The lodge caretaker.”
“Obviously, you’ve been doing a great job,” she cracked, indicating the time-damaged facade of the lodge with an exasperated wave of his handkerchief. “Besides the fish, exactly what are you supposed to be taking care of?”
“That’s between me and your grandfather,” he retorted, dropping his voice into the rumbling register again. “Are you hurt?” he asked then. “Besides the lip, I mean?”
Liza examined his handkerchief and saw a dime-sized splotch of dark blood staining the frayed linen. “I’m okay, I guess. Except for this. Am I going to need stitches, do you think?”
With one hand, he reached out and roughly grasped Liza’s chin. As if catching himself, he was gentler as he slid his fingertips along her jaw and tilted her head higher, stepping close to have a look.
At that instant, a feeble ray of sunshine pierced the tree branches overhead, and Liza closed her eyes against the sharpness of the light. In a heartbeat, a funny feeling stole over her. Standing there with his callused hand cupping her face, she realized she could hear Cliff Forrester breathing, and the warmth of his lithe body seemed to pull her like a magnet. Though a whole world pulsed around them, Liza felt as if the universe had narrowed to only two people.
She peeped one eye open to look at him again. For an older guy, he wasn’t bad to look at. Just too damn serious. In her mind’s eye, she tried to conjure up a mental image of how he might appear with a genuine smile on his face. Or how his laugh might sound. But Cliff Forrester didn’t seem the kind of man who did a lot of laughing. A tightness in his face told Liza he hadn’t lived an amusing life. The years had been hard on him. Maybe harder than Liza could imagine.
He could dish out abuse, though, and Liza almost smiled at the thought. She wasn’t afraid of him, of course. Liza Baron wasn’t afraid of anything. But she felt uneasy in his presence just the same. As if unworthy.
“Nope,” he said, releasing her as casually as he’d touched her. “No stitches. At least, I don’t think so. What’s wrong? Are you cold?”
She had begun to shiver. Liza told herself it was her abbreviated dress that wasn’t up to the challenge of a Wisconsin morning, but another thought flitted through her mind: perhaps Cliff Forrester had the power to make her shiver, too.
Abruptly, she said, “Nothing’s the matter. I’m leaving, anyway, and the car heater’s still working. Could I trouble you to help me with the car? Or must you hurry back to your caretaking duties?”
“I have a few minutes,” he said, ignoring the taunt in her question.
“What’s this tree doing here in the first place? Isn’t it your job to clear it away? Somebody could get hurt running into it.”
“Nobody ever comes up here.”
“What am I? Chopped liver?”
He tied his string of fish on a nearby branch and sauntered back to the car, stripping off his jacket as he came. “You could have been chopped liver if you’d been driving any faster. What was the rush, anyway? I heard the car from the lake and got to the boathouse in time to see you ram this tree like you wanted to push it into the next county.”
“I always drive like that.”
“Like an idiot, you mean?”
“Look, Forrester, why don’t you go jump—”
“Put this on,” he commanded, dropping his jacket across her shoulders, “before you freeze. Why a grown woman would wear a dress like that—”
“There’s nothing wrong with my dress!”
“You must have left half of it at home, that’s all.”
“If you don’t like it,” Liza said, fed up at last, “I’ll take it off.”
Cliff had heard a lot about Liza Baron in the ten years he’d lived in Tyler. She’d hightailed it out of town after high school and returned only a couple of times before a conflict with her mother drove her away, leaving behind a long litany of stories that celebrated her wild ways.
She was as beautiful as everyone said, he’d admit. As beautiful as her legendary grandmother. Nearly six feet tall in her heels and lean as a greyhound, she had the look of a cover girl right down to the damn-you gleam in her eye. Her platinum hair was an astonishing tangle, and her face had an oddly asymmetrical quality he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off. Her cold blue gaze challenged his, her patrician nose seemed perpetually upturned in a cocksure attitude and her slightly off-center mouth, a flaw that was accentuated by the ragged little cut on her lower lip, was...well, mesmerizing. She moved constantly, too—tapping her toe, swinging the mane of her hair over her shoulders or flipping it back from her forehead with an impatient hand.
Her earrings caught the morning light and glittered. From one ear dangled a golden angel with a glinting glass eye, but from the other ear swung a larger figure—that of a devil carved out of onyx. Oh, Liza was devilish, all right. But she seemed to be trying awfully hard to keep that bad-girl facade in place.
So Cliff wasn’t surprised when she let his jacket slip off her shoulders and started to peel off her dress.
He stopped her by grabbing one slender wrist just as she began to yank the dress. She looked up, feigning surprise.
“Take it easy,” he said, determined not to let the vixen ruffle him. “If you die of exposure, it’ll be me who has to answer a bunch of questions.”
Her gaze burned into him with the power of a hot laser. “I’d hate to trouble you.”
“Then keep your clothes on.” He released her wrist and turned away. “Let’s see what’s wrong with the car.”
A moment later she followed him around the convertible, quite composed and haughty. “You must be a pretty handy fellow to have around, if my grandfather hired you.”
“I do what I can.” He kicked some branches away from the hood of the convertible and bent over the mess to check on damage.
“Do you see him often? Granddad, I mean?”
“Now and then.” Cliff examined the damage to the car’s grille and headlights.
“Does he come out here?” she asked, standing behind him on the gravel. Her voice sounded casual. Maybe too casual.
Cliff glanced up at her. “Nope.”
She quickly mastered her expression, endeavoring to look unconcerned. “Does he look well? I mean...is he healthy?”
“What is this? Twenty questions? He’s your family, not mine.”
She flushed. “I haven’t seen him for a while, that’s all.”
“Three years, right?”
Her pouty mouth popped open, then snapped shut quickly as she covered her surprise. Her glacial eyes narrowed. “Exactly how do you know so much about me, Forrester?”
“I wish I could say that I get around a lot, but stories about the infamous Liza Baron are repeated all the time.” Cliff crouched by the front tire and pushed back the tree branches to get a better look under the car. “Even I’ve heard the one about how you spiked the punch at the homecoming dance. People still can’t figure out how you did it—and got crowned homecoming queen in the same hour.”
She shrugged. “I hid the bottle in my underpants until the time was right.”
“Hmm,” said Cliff, guessing that she’d said that just to see his reaction. He chose to ignore the lie and said, “The fender’s bent pretty badly. It’ll cut the tire if you try to move the car.”
She leaned over his shoulder. “Can’t you yank the fender out a little? I’ve got a tire iron in the trunk, I think.”
“It’ll ruin the fender.”
“Do it anyway,” she said blithely, bending over the closed door to tug the keys out of the ignition. Cliff couldn’t stop a glance down the amazing length of her bare legs, but she pretended to be unaware of his scrutiny. She straightened and led the way to the trunk with a taunting sashay, saying, “It’s good to know people still think of me now and then. My mother hasn’t poisoned everyone against me.”
Suddenly on guard, Cliff said, “Why would your mother do that?”
“We’re estranged. That’s a polite word for hating each other.”
“I know what it means.”
“We don’t communicate. Haven’t spoken for years.”
“And you’re proud of that?”
Liza snapped open the convertible’s trunk. “It’s a fact of life in our family. My mother despises me.”
“Alyssa Baron couldn’t despise anybody.”
Liza looked up from rummaging in the trunk and skewered him with those clear blue eyes of hers. “You know my mother?”
“We’re acquainted.”
“You talk about me with her?”
“Any mention of your name,” Cliff said, “causes her pain.” He took the tire iron from her hand, and with care added, “And I wouldn’t hurt Alyssa for anything.”
“Alyssa, is it?” Liza asked, her beautiful face suddenly stiffening with a frozen sort of smile. “My, my. You’re a little young, aren’t you?”
“For what?”
“For squiring her around town these days. I mean, she’s almost fifty—”
“My relationship with Alyssa is completely pure, I assure you, Miss Baron. We’re friends, that’s all.”
Cliff didn’t owe anyone an explanation for his tie to Alyssa Baron, the one person in the world he could stand to spend any time with these days. Alyssa’s quiet acceptance, her unspoken support, her— Well, there were many qualities in Alyssa Baron that Cliff appreciated deeply. Qualities he didn’t see in Liza at all.
Liza eyed him with one brow raised coldly. “You don’t strike me as the Garden Club type. And I bet you don’t sit on her precious hospital board, either. Which one of her bleeding-heart causes do you have in common, I wonder?”
“We’re friends,” he repeated.
“Oh, that doesn’t surprise me. She’s been very friendly with all kinds of men since my father died.”
“I don’t think I like your implication, Miss Baron.”
“Truth hurts?”
He laughed shortly and turned away. “I can see that everything I’ve heard about you is true. You find a weak spot and attack, don’t you?”
“Have I found your weak spot, Forrester?”
He chose not to answer that and returned to the front fender. “‘Liza’s always looking to make people uncomfortable’—that’s what your mother says, at least. Is that your way of getting attention, I wonder?”
She gave an unladylike snort. “In my family you have to practically die to get some attention. You must know my brother and sister, right? Both bright, shining examples of wonderfulness?”
“They’re well respected, I hear. And you’re not. So? Do you get your share of the family limelight by acting like a spoiled starlet?”
“Boy, who put the chip on your shoulder?”
He yanked the twisted fender with the tire iron. “Just don’t try muscling me the way you muscle the rest of your family, okay? I don’t give a damn if you go away and never come back—unlike your mother.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Expect maybe you’ll find she’s glad you’ve come home.”
“I haven’t come home,” she said quickly. “I’m just passing through. I may not even stop at the house. I don’t want to see them.”
He heard a new note in her voice and glanced up to see Liza frowning. “Scared?”
“No!”
Cliff laughed at the swiftness of her exclamation. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re scared, all right.”
“Who died and made you the Seer of All Things?”
Cliff didn’t care to talk about himself. Why had he managed to find a pleasant isolation at this forgotten lodge if he wanted to spill his guts all the time? He didn’t. His past was his own business, and he could take as much time as he liked forgetting it. So he kept his mouth shut, which infuriated the pretty Miss Liza Baron.
As he worked on the fender, she said, “You’re really annoying, you know.”
“Because I won’t play your game?”
“I don’t play games!”
“Oh, yes, you do.”
“I’m completely up-front with everyone. I—”
“Like hell. You make everyone jump through hoops to prove how much they love you.” Cliff stood up and looked her straight in the eye. “Well, you can needle me all you like, Miss Baron. I’m not going to jump.”
She leaned her backside against the car and crossed her long legs at the ankles, returning his glare with a measuring gaze. She raked her blond hair back with the manicured fingers of her right hand. “You like calling the shots, don’t you, Forrester?”
“I like being my own boss, yeah.”
“You like being in control.”
He wiped his hands on his jeans and said, “I don’t like surprises, that’s all.”
“Oh, really?” She began to smile wickedly. “Sometimes surprises can be nice.”
“Most of the time, surprises can be damned annoying.”
“Tsk tsk. What a boring attitude about life.”
“How I live my life is none of your business.”
“Want to know what I think?” she asked.
“Not really.”
“I think you could use a few surprises now and then, Cliff Forrester.”
With that, she came away from the car with a fluid motion and caught the front of Cliff’s shirt in her hand. Her grip tightened, and she tugged, pulling him close enough to kiss. Her face was almost level with his, and her laughing blue eyes teased him boldly. Suddenly Cliff could smell the sweet fragrance of her perfumed hair and feel the lithe strength of her legs against his.
She said, “How about one right now?”
She didn’t wait to be kissed, but lifted her mouth up to his and caught his lips swiftly. She tasted crisp and warm, and when she slanted her mouth across his, Cliff felt his senses quicken. His blood was suddenly tingling everywhere, a tide of heat beating hard in all his nerve endings. Liza’s tongue found his and played a mischievous game for a moment. Sensations Cliff had thought were long gone came bubbling up from a secret place deep inside, and surprised the hell out of him, all right. Standing there in a shaft of sunlight with the vibrant young body of Liza Baron pressed provocatively against him, Cliff felt his mind go blank. And his body come alive.
Then it was over. She loosened her grip on his shirt, leaned back and tilted her head to look him saucily in the eye. The lazy pleasure that shone in her gaze exactly matched the expression on the face of the little devil that swung from her earlobe.
“See?” she breathed. “A surprise can be very nice.”
Sometime in the past ten seconds, Cliff’s hands had found their way to her arms, and he held her very tightly. From between clenched teeth, he said, “You take a lot of chances, don’t you?”
“I like to feel good.”
“You like playing with fire, I think. I wonder if you’ve ever been burned?”
He couldn’t stop himself. Her cocky smile, the tease in her eyes, the supple contour of her body—yes, all those things combined to trigger an inexplicable anger in Cliff. He found himself gripping Liza hard, pulling her close and kissing her with every ounce of pent-up energy inside himself.
With a sigh, she gave herself to him, abruptly relaxing in his arms. One of her knees eased between his two, and her hands crept slowly around Cliff’s neck as the kiss deepened into a hot and savory contact.
But Cliff didn’t want her relaxed. He knew her game and intended to change the rules. Swiftly, he tightened his grip on Liza and forced her back against the car. She squirmed and choked on a protest. She clutched his shoulders for balance and then fought the kiss like a wildcat. Roughly, Cliff pushed her mouth open and ravaged her tongue with his own. He could feel her breast quiver against his chest, and her breath came in gasps.
Then he tasted blood.
At once, Cliff let her go. His stomach churned, and he found he was trembling as he stepped back.
Liza sat up on the car, hastily straightening her tiny dress where it had slipped low on one of her breasts. There was blood on her lip again, a bright droplet where he’d been kissing her a moment before.
“What was that for?” she asked shakily, lifting her hand to her lip and staring at the blood that came away on her fingertips.
“I don’t like being manipulated, Miss Baron.”
She looked up, blue eyes widening. “I wasn’t manipulating you. I just thought—”
“You couldn’t get under my skin verbally, so you tried the next best way to get a reaction out of me.” Cliff half turned away, angry with her and disgusted with himself. “That was a stupid trick,” he snapped. “It could have gotten you into a lot of trouble.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, studying him with an unnerving solemnity. “You’re not as tough as you pretend to be.”
He cursed under his breath—half at himself for reacting to her ploy. He was shaking inside.
“In fact,” Liza said quietly, watching as Cliff worked at pulling himself together, “I’m beginning to think we’re a little alike.”
He laughed shortly and shook his head. “There’s a fundamental difference between you and me, Miss Baron.”
“Which is?”
“You’re a born fighter. You like to get a rise out of people and make them angry. You feed on conflict. Hell, you’re at war with the whole world!”
“And you?”
Cliff turned away, suddenly wishing he was alone again. “Me,” he said, “I’ve given up.”
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_15d44fc1-c909-53da-baf9-969e4fb13433)
IF SHE’D HAD enough nerve, Liza would have asked him a dozen questions then. But the memory of his ferocious grip and a kiss that had been clearly born of anger, not attraction, along with the shuttered expression on Cliff Forrester’s taut face, told Liza she’d better keep her mouth shut. For once, she listened to the voice of common sense in her head.
He didn’t give her a chance to work up more courage, either. Curtly asking for her car keys, he got behind the wheel and tried the Thunderbird’s engine. It started, but the rattling sound that immediately rose from under the hood prompted him to shut off the ignition at once.
Still behind the wheel, he considered the problem for a long moment, during which he appeared to fight with his own feelings. “I’ll drive you into town,” he said eventually, looking as if he’d rather subject himself to the Spanish Inquisition than prolong his time with Liza. “You can hire a tow truck at the garage.”
Liza quailed at the thought of going into Tyler. Now that she was so close, she suddenly wanted to put a lot of distance between herself and her old hometown. Trying to conceal her anxiety, she said, “Can’t you fix my car?”
Forrester got out of the car. “From the sound of that engine, the damage is beyond my skills. You’ll need a real mechanic. I’ll go get the truck and take you to a garage.”
Liza noticed how tight his jaw was. But there were other signs that he wasn’t quite in control of himself. His hand might have shown a tremor when he closed the car door. And the set of his shoulders gave away something Liza couldn’t quite pinpoint.
The man was peculiar, all right. One kiss had clicked an emotional switch in him. One minute he’d let passion overwhelm him. Then he’d looked positively shaken by what had transpired. Now, the prospect of driving her to town seemed to fill him with loathing.
Insulted, Liza said, “Don’t do me any favors, Forrester. I’ll hitchhike to the nearest garage.”
“In that getup?” he said as the color began to return to his face. “The only drivers on the road this morning will be farmers, and none of them will risk picking up a hot number like you.”
“A hot number?” Liza repeated, amused. “Now, that’s a blast from the past. We’re called women today, Forrester.”
“The gossips around town would call you a hot number,” he retorted, turning to grab his fish and leave.
“I don’t know which is worse,” Liza called after him, “showing myself to the gossips of Tyler or spending the next twenty minutes with you.”
“We don’t have to talk,” Forrester said over his shoulder. “You could take a nap instead. Looks like you could use it.”
Liza considered throwing something at him as he walked away, but nothing was handy.
When he was out of sight, she snatched his jacket off the ground and said, “It was just a kiss, for crying out loud. There’s no need to get all bent out of shape!”
Liza wasn’t quite sure why she’d done it. The man had looked like he needed shaking up, that was all. She hadn’t meant to manipulate him with the kiss. Not exactly. Kicking the T-bird’s tires, Liza frowned, wondering for an instant if he was right. Did she like conflict all the time? Had she kissed Cliff Forrester just to stir up trouble? And why did she feel so damned stirred up herself around him? His rumbling voice gave her goose bumps.
Or maybe it was just the cool morning air. Shivering suddenly, Liza put the jacket back on.
He reappeared a few minutes later, materializing like a ghost out of the shadows.
“Damn!” Liza jumped. “Do you have to do that?”
“Do what?”
“Sneak up on a person like that!”
Forrester didn’t answer, but tossed a thick sweater at her. “Here,” he said. “Put this on before you go into shock.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, right. You want me to run you to the hospital so somebody can take a look at that cut on your lip?”
“It’s just a scratch, for heaven’s sake.” She handed him his jacket.
He seemed on the verge of saying something else, but hesitated. A moment later, he shrugged. “Have it your way. The truck’s out back.”
Liza followed him around the lodge, simultaneously pulling on the long sweater and trying to stay on her feet as her narrow heels sank into the soft earth. The sweater reached her midthigh, two inches higher than the hem of her miniskirt, but it was wonderfully warm.
The truck turned out to be the same rusty old pickup Liza remembered from her youth—the vehicle her grandfather had used for hauling yard trimmings away. The idea of getting into it with an unknown quantity like Cliff Forrester made Liza a little nervous, but she decided to brazen it out.
“This old thing is still running?” she asked, yanking open the passenger door.
“I don’t use it much.”
“Oh, you have a car of your own?”
“No, I just don’t drive often.” He got in and slammed his door.
Liza did likewise. “Are you some kind of hermit, Forrester?”
“What’s wrong with being a hermit?”
“Not a thing,” she replied tartly, “if you like living alongside birds and skunks and chipmunks—”
“In the peace and quiet, you mean?”
“Is that a hint for me to shut up?”
“If I wanted you to shut up, I’d have told you,” he said, turning the key in the ignition. The engine spluttered and caught with an unmuffled roar. “Hang on tight,” he advised over the noise of the truck.
There were no seat belts in the old pickup, so Liza did as she was told.
Forrester drove carefully down the narrow road that wound through the trees from the lodge, the truck bouncing roughly in the potholes despite his caution. When he hit the highway at the bottom of the long driveway, he didn’t pick up speed but continued to drive the noisy truck very slowly. His prudent driving might have annoyed Liza under most circumstances, because she liked to get where she was going without dillydallying. But this morning she was in no rush to get to the town where she’d grown up. The thought of setting foot in Tyler made her very nervous. Unconsciously, she started chewing her thumbnail—an old habit she’d never broken completely.
“Look,” she said when they headed west on the highway with the sunlight streaming after them, “maybe there’s a better garage in Bonneville. Why don’t you turn around and go the other way?”
“Don’t worry so much,” said Forrester, not taking his eyes from the road. “Maybe you won’t see anybody you know.”
“I’m not worried about that! It’s my car, that’s all. It’s a delicate machine. It needs expert care.”
“Like the kind of care you were giving it when you ran over that tree? Don’t try to snow me, please. It’s obvious you’re scared to death about going home again.”
“I am not!”
“Why did you come back to Tyler if you didn’t really want to see your family?”
“It was a mistake,” Liza said, turning sulky. She looked out the window at the passing scenery—the lush pastures punctuated by stands of tall, Wisconsin trees. Sunlight was just starting to sparkle on the dew, turning the landscape into a dazzling green carpet.
Half to herself, Liza said, “I—I didn’t mean to end up here. It just happened. I was driving around.”
“What for?”
“I was mad! I was—oh, what do you care?”
“Mad about what?”
Liza sighed and leaned against the window, propping her fist against her chin. Despite her instinct to keep the facts secret, she said, “I quit my job.”
“Quit?” Forrester shot a look across at her.
“All right, I was fired. Satisfied?”
“How come you got fired?”
“It’s a long story, and the ending isn’t very interesting. I’m broke, to tell you the truth. The lease on my apartment expired last week, and the landlord changed the lock. Can you believe it! The old coot won’t give me my clothes until I pay the rent!”
“That explains the outfit, then,” Forrester said wryly. “It was the only thing you could get from the Salvation Army, right?”
“Who asked you for an opinion?”
He didn’t react to her anger, but continued to drive along the pasture fences. “Why don’t you just pay your rent?”
“I told you. I’m broke.”
“A grown woman like you can’t balance a checkbook?”
“It’s not that simple,” Liza said. “I’m an interior designer, see? I really wanted my last job to turn out great, so I...well, I kicked in a few bucks of my own. It messed up my cash flow.”
“What did you do that for?”
“Because I wanted the job to be wonderful! You see, it was this great executive office—overlooking Lake Michigan, marvelous sunlight all day, this beautiful view from a dozen floor-to-ceiling windows—everything! I made the place look terrific. Everybody said so. It needed a sculpture, though, to finish the concept. An artist friend of mine had the perfect piece—this mother and child thing that’s great—emotional, you know? Erotic, too, in a way that was very sophisticated. It was perfect for the office, and my friend needed the money very badly. So I—”
“So you spent your rent money on a sculpture that you’re never going to see again.”
“It’s not like that!”
Liza remembered the whole scenario in detail, but doubted she could make Forrester understand. Her artist friend, Julio Jakkar, had needed the money to finance a trip to a drug rehab clinic. Julio was ready to make it work this time, he said, but he’d refused Liza’s offer to pay for the treatment outright. Buying one of Julio’s pieces had seemed like the perfect solution to his problem. Except Liza hadn’t counted on losing her job a few days later.
She couldn’t make a tough loner like Cliff Forrester understand the complexities of a friendship with a sensitive, vulnerable guy like Julio, though.
On another sigh, she said, “I just had to do it, that’s all.”
“So now you’ve got no apartment and no job.”
“I’m not running home to my mother, if that’s what you’re thinking! I’ve been in scrapes before. I can get myself out of this one.”
“Sure,” said Forrester.
“I’d never run to my mother for help, anyway. She’s got troubles of her own, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“She’s stronger than you think.”
“I’m stronger than everybody thinks!”
Forrester didn’t say a word at that, and Liza pretended to be interested in the passing scenery. Things hadn’t changed much, she noticed sourly. People still treated her like a rambunctious child.
Other things hadn’t changed, either. The same farms still stood along the road to Tyler, with even the same names painted on the mailboxes. German names and Swedish names, mostly. Old families that could trace their family trees back to the first settlers.
The history of Tyler was much like the history of other small towns in Wisconsin. Founded 140 years ago by German immigrants who fled autocratic rulers in their native land, the original town was called Tilgher, after one of the founding families. Years later, the name was anglicized to Tyler by an impatient official from the land office who couldn’t pronounce the German word. Swedish immigrants followed the Germans, each family paying ten dollars to receive 160 acres of farmland.
One such Swedish immigrant had been Gunther Ingalls, who took his family by wagon train to his parcel. On the rugged trail, he stopped to help an Irish immigrant mend a broken wagon wheel. Jackie Kelsey and Gunther Ingalls became friends over that wheel and proceeded to Tyler together, where they split Gunther’s acreage into two small farms. In the century that followed, the Kelsey family and the Ingalls family flourished side by side. And sometimes feuded, too.
Now Liza’s grandfather, Judson Ingalls, was hailed as the town’s most prominent citizen. Known by most of the citizenry as the venerable, though sometimes crotchety owner of Ingalls Farm and Machinery Company, Judson Ingalls commanded respect in Tyler. As his granddaughter, Liza had felt watched all her life—like a bug under a microscope. Every twitch she made was news to the townspeople of Tyler.
As the truck rumbled past the elementary school playground and inside the boundaries of Tyler, Liza found herself automatically watching the streets for her grandfather. Judson’s tall frame, his distinctive long-legged, slope-shouldered walk and shock of white hair—Liza expected to see him on the next street corner. He was as much a part of Tyler as the picturesque Victorian houses on Elm Street or the stately central square lined with the town hall, the old post office, the Fellowship Lutheran Church with its pretty facade and Gates Department Store. Even Marge’s Diner—tucked on a side street just off the town square—didn’t seem as much of a landmark as Judson Ingalls himself.
Liza realized she was holding her breath as Cliff Forrester drove through the intersection of Main and Elm Streets. She couldn’t stop a cautious peek up the tree-lined boulevard where she had grown up. The huge Victorian home where she’d played as a child was obscured by a pair of giant elm trees, and Liza was glad she couldn’t see the house. It might be too painful. And she didn’t want to alert her mother that she’d come home. No use giving up her advantage.
As if guessing what was on her mind, Cliff Forrester said, “Want me to drive by the old place?”
“Heavens, no!” Liza collected herself, not wanting to reveal how stirred up she felt, arriving in Tyler for the first time since her last monumental blowup with her family. She said crisply, “Just take me to the nearest garage, please.”
Forrester leaned out the window to check the clock in the tower on the bank. “It’s only seven o’clock,” he noted. “I’ll bet Carl’s garage is still closed.”
Exasperated, Liza snapped. “Small towns! Haven’t all-night business hours reached the provinces yet?”
“We’re not used to wild girls driving their convertibles around in the wee hours, I guess.”
“What about some breakfast?” Liza proposed, sitting up straight in the seat as the thought struck her. Anything to avoid stopping at her mother’s house! Manufacturing some eagerness, she said, “Does Marge still make those yummy blueberry pancakes? We could go to the diner and have something to eat—coffee, sausage, the works! Do you know how long it’s been since I had real Wisconsin sausage? Let’s go. My treat. I’m starved.”
Obediently, Forrester whipped the wheel over and made a slow U-turn on Main Street, aiming for a lucky parking space right in front of Marge’s Diner. He slipped into the spot and put the truck in park. But he didn’t shut off the engine or make a move to get out.
“You go ahead,” he said, keeping both hands on the wheel.
“What?”
“Go get some breakfast. You can walk over to Carl’s when you’re finished. You know where his garage is?”
“What is this?” Liza demanded on a laugh. “A brush-off?”
“Go eat,” he said stubbornly.
“Look, Forrester, I’m sorry.” Firmly she said, “I’m sorry about that little scene back at the lodge. Maybe I was trying to manipulate you. I can’t help it sometimes. It’s a habit, I guess. I can be pretty brassy, and I shouldn’t have pushed you—even if it was a pretty good kiss. But I’m willing to put the whole business behind me if that’s what you want. What do you say? If you were going to eat those fish, here’s a chance for something better. I’ll buy you a real breakfast and we’ll forget it happened.”
“I thought you were broke,” he said, looking out the window to avoid meeting her eye.
Liza laughed. “Well, I’ve got twenty dollars left, I think. Plenty for a couple of orders of pancakes. Come on.”
He shook his head mulishly. “I have work to do.”
“Like what? More fishing? Look, I’m trying to make it up to you! Come on.”
“No, thanks.”
“For Pete’s sake, Forrester, what’s the big deal?”
He turned to Liza and put his hand out, but didn’t meet her eye. “It’s been an education meeting you, Miss Baron.”
“You could call me Liza, at least,” she said dryly, not accepting his handshake, but impudently folding her arms over her chest instead. “I think we got to know each other well enough for that, don’t you? I mean, that was one hell of a kiss you gave me.”
“I’m sorry about that,” he said, turning back to determinedly stare out the windshield. “I was annoyed and took it out on you. Let’s forget it.”
Liza couldn’t believe her ears. “That’s it? You’re throwing me out of the truck and saying goodbye?”
“It’s nothing personal—”
“Nothing personal! I like that! Fifteen minutes ago you were kissing the stuffing out of me, and I’ve caught you looking at my legs—don’t deny it! So you can’t just say goodbye like this.”
“Miss Baron—”
“Liza!”
“All right, Liza!” he said, temper snapping. “I’m not hungry, get it? And I’ve got things to do, dammit!”
“Like what?”
“Just get the hell out of my truck, will you?”
“It’s not your truck—”
“I’ve got more right to it than you do, so get out!”
Furious, Liza shoved open the passenger door. “You can’t get rid of me so easily, you know! I’ve got to go back to the lodge to get my car. And don’t try hiding in the trees when I come, Forrester! You won’t get away with that!”
“Goodbye!” he barked as she got out of the truck.
“Good riddance!”
Liza slammed the door of the truck and stood breathing hard on the sidewalk while he pulled out and and drove back down Main Street without even waving in the rearview mirror.
“Jerk!” Liza shouted after him.
The door of Marge’s Diner opened behind her, and a man stepped out onto the sidewalk. He was tall and white-haired, and he squinted in the bright sunlight. “Mary Elizabeth?” he demanded.
She spun around. “Granddad!”
Judson Ingalls stood under the canvas awning of the diner, fingering a toothpick and glaring up the street after the departing truck. Without further greeting, he said, “Was that Cliff Forrester?”
“Yes.” Liza strode to his side, absurdly happy to see her grandfather in the same old jeans and flannel shirt he had always worn despite his position of respect in the community. He looked just the same as ever—a gnarled but strong oak of a man with a sun-bronzed face, commanding Ingalls eyes and the firm Swedish jaw of his ancestors. “Oh, Granddad, I can’t believe how wonderful it is to see you!”
Judson said, “You shouldn’t be hanging around with a man like that, Mary Elizabeth.”
She laughed and reached for her grandfather with both hands. “I’m back in town for the first time in three years and already you’re criticizing the men I see? Granddad, how about a hug?”
Avoiding the hug with a firm grip on Liza’s shoulder, Judson met her eye at last and said abruptly, “That Forrester fellow is dangerous, Mary Elizabeth. You shouldn’t be with him.”
Liza faltered. “Dangerous?”
Judson’s brow was thunderous. “The man’s violent—a crazy Vietnam vet who’s still screwed up. Why, I’m surprised he even spoke to you. Usually he avoids people completely.”
“He was in Vietnam?”
“Vietnam or Cambodia or some such place. You stay away from him, my girl. I don’t want you getting hurt by some fanatic! Keep away from Cliff Forrester, you understand?”
Liza blinked in confusion, hardly able to digest the information. But in the next second her grandfather gave Liza a big bear hug and turned hearty.
“What are you doing in town?” he demanded, laughing as he kissed her cheek and tweaked her chin. “You’re looking prettier than ever.”
Liza gave him a shaky smile and allowed herself to be drawn into the diner for some breakfast. All hopes of slipping out of town without meeting anyone from her past evaporated as Liza was greeted by half a dozen of her grandfather’s cronies. She should have known they’d all be having breakfast in the diner. Some things never changed.
Liza also recognized several familiar faces from her youth. Rose Atkins, the elderly lady known for riding her oversize blue tricycle all over town when Liza was still in high school, gave a cheery wave from a corner booth where she sat having breakfast with Tisha Olsen, the longtime owner of her own beauty salon, the Hair Affair.
“Why, it’s Liza!” cried several voices.
“Judson, who’s that darling little girl with you?” demanded one old gentleman. “That’s not Alyssa’s youngest, is it?”
“Sure is,” Judson called back, casting his arm across Liza’s shoulder. “She’s grown up taller than her daddy, don’t you think? Take a seat here, Mary Elizabeth. We’ll get Marge to get you some fresh orange juice.”
Quiet herself, Liza let everyone make a fuss over her. She was glad nobody forced her to talk just yet. She found she couldn’t clear Cliff Forrester out of her mind right away. His peculiar refusal of breakfast made sense now, if her grandfather’s words were to be believed.
But Cliff a wild-eyed maniac? It hardly seemed likely. He appeared completely sane to her—saner than most of the men she met these days, in fact. Just a little erratic. Angry one minute, and kind of shaken up the next. His temper had exploded in the truck, but Liza had provoked that. Why did he have such a reputation around town?
Judson guided Liza to the most central table in the diner and made a show of pulling out her chair. When he’d sat down opposite her and ordered a large breakfast for her without benefit of a menu, he finally looked at her with a growing, indulgent smile and said, “All right, you can tell me what this is all about now. How come you just waltzed into town without warning?”
“Do I need to warn my family when I come to visit?”
He cocked a grandfatherly eye at her and said, “You know what I mean. Are you in trouble?”
“Of course not!”
He laughed expansively at that, not caring if his friends turned to look up from their own conversations. “You haven’t learned to lie yet, have you, my girl? What’s going on? Boyfriend problems?”
Liza sighed. “Nothing that easy.”
“Need money?”
“Granddad,” she said slowly, “would you mind if we didn’t talk about me just yet? I’m...well, coming back to town will take some adjusting.”
“So,” he said, “you’re going to stay this time?”
“No,” Liza replied quickly. “Well, I’m not sure. I’m at loose ends, I guess.”
He nodded, understanding. “Tyler is a good place to come when you’re at loose ends. I don’t suppose the town has changed much since you left. What can I do to help this time?”
“Nothing. Just be yourself, I guess. Boy, it’s great to see you!”
The waitress returned with steaming coffee cups at that moment. Marge’s Diner was famous for its coffee, and the waitress said, “Here you go, folks! This’ll unclog your arteries, Mr. Ingalls.”
“Thanks, Betty.”
It was half a minute before she left, then Judson turned back to Liza and asked casually, “Have you seen your mother yet?”
“No, and I don’t care to talk about that yet, either. Give me a chance to catch my breath, okay?”
He grinned and reached for his cup of coffee. “So far you’ve shot down every topic of conversation I can suggest. What’s left?”
“Well,” said Liza, leaning forward and bracing her elbows on the table, “you could tell me about Cliff Forrester. Were you serious about him?”
Judson put his cup down, splashing coffee on the tabletop and frowning sternly. “He’s bad news, Mary Elizabeth. I wish you hadn’t met him.”
“What’s so bad about him?”
“He’s screwed up. Some business overseas. He must have been in the war, I guess, and when he returned—well, he came back abnormal.”
“But you hired him to take care of the lodge, right?”
“He was one of your mother’s ideas,” Judson grumbled. “She’s always looking for some poor soul to save. Well, she met Forrester when she was working for some charity—saving the boat people or whatever. You know how she is—always trying to help. She said he looked like a walking ghost, so she invited him to Tyler and he came.”
“Why? Doesn’t he have any family?”
“Don’t ask me questions like that,” Judson snapped. “How am I supposed to know? Once he was here, he stayed at the Kelsey boardinghouse for a while, but he gave people the creeps. The boy never slept, I hear, and he hardly said a word to anybody, just walked the streets at all hours. Is that normal? Anyway, Alyssa jabbered at me until I gave him a job, so he moved out to the lodge. He’s been there ever since—five or six years, maybe more.”
“Why did you hire him if he’s unstable?”
“He can’t hurt anybody up at Timberlake. He can be as crazy as he likes up there and nobody will mind.”
Liza drank some hot coffee and said softly, “The lodge looks terrible, Granddad. If he’s supposed to be taking care of the place, he’s doing a miserable job.”
“He’s not supposed to be looking after the lodge,” Judson said gruffly. “Just the land and the lake. He’s the gamekeeper and takes care of the guys from the Fish Commission for...things like that. We’re trying to restock the bass population after a virus killed off most of ’em, so he’s supposed to be keeping an eye on the fish. I didn’t give Forrester permission to do a thing to the building.”
“Why not? Granddad, it’s a mess! The whole place will come crashing down if you neglect it much longer.”
“I don’t care,” Judson said with finality, reaching for his coffee once more.
“Don’t—!” Amazed, Liza cried, “Granddad! How can you say such a thing! Your own father built Timberlake, and you—why, you and my grandmother added all those wonderful—”
“I don’t give a damn about that lodge,” Judson said sharply. “The place holds a lot of bad memories for me. If it burned to the ground tomorrow, I wouldn’t care.”
Liza was shocked into a brief silence. Then she said, “Good grief, why don’t you sell it, then?”
“I’ve had offers,” he admitted, toying with the knife at his place. “One from a fellow your mother used to know way back when. He’s in the hotel business now, I understand.”
“Well, rather than letting the building go to pot—”
“How bad is it?”
“You mean you haven’t seen it?”
“I don’t want to see the place. Not without your grandmother,” Judson declared, glaring at Liza as if daring her to argue further.
“Granddad, she’s been gone forty years or more! You haven’t ever been up to the lodge since then?”
“I have no reason to go,” Judson growled. “And you can just forget—”
“Sell it,” Liza commanded, cutting off his threat. “It was a beautiful place once and somebody should enjoy it.”
“Let Cliff Forrester enjoy it. He deserves something.”
“I thought you didn’t like him.”
“I didn’t say that! I just don’t want him hanging around my granddaughter, that’s all. He’s done his duty for his country, and I know what that’s like, so he can have the lodge to himself if he wants his life that way. I don’t associate with him more than once or twice a year, and that’s all you ought to do. He deserves a place to live out the rest of his days in peace.”
Liza couldn’t help laughing. “You talk like he’s an old plow horse who needs a pasture. He’s a young man!”
Judson gave her a frosty glare. “What are you thinking, Mary Elizabeth? You haven’t fallen in love with that boy, have you?”
“Don’t be silly! I just met him an hour ago! It’s just—well, he’s not crazy. He seemed perfectly nice to me. A little peculiar, maybe. And he’s not a boy! He’s a grown man, and a very attractive one, if you ask me.”
“He’s ten years older than you, at least!”
“So what?” Liza countered angrily. “When are you going to stop interfering in my life? I have a right to make friends with whoever—”
“Simmer down,” Judson said, finally allowing a weary grin. “I thought a few years in the city might tone down that temper of yours, but I can see it didn’t. Your grandmother could fly off the handle faster than anyone I knew—until you came along!”
“I’m sorry,” Liza said, wishing she hadn’t flown off the handle quite so fast.
“No, you’re not sorry. You like putting me in my place once in a while, don’t you?” He laughed ruefully. “Are you going to stay in Tyler or not?”
“For a day or two maybe,” she said cautiously.
“All right, what do you want from me?”
Liza smiled. “How about loaning me twenty dollars so I can go buy some jeans at the dime store?”
“Done”, said Judson, reaching for his hip pocket. “That’s a damn peculiar outfit you’re wearing, I must say. Some jeans would be an improvement.”
“Shut up, Granddad.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up when I’ve got twenty dollars in my hand. Here, take fifty.” Judson threw the bills on the table between them. “There’s more where that came from. I’ve got charge accounts in every store in town, so you buy what you need.”
“But—”
“No buts about it! It’s the least I can do for my favorite granddaughter. Now, what are you going to do once you buy your jeans?”
“I’m going back up to Timberlake.”
His face flushed at once. “Who gave you permission to go back to the lodge?”
Liza grinned. “You will.”
“Like hell! Tangling with Cliff Forrester is too dangerous—”
“Tangling with me has been known to be hazardous, too, you know!”
“Oh, for crying out loud!” Judson exploded. “What would you do with yourself up there, anyway? Make that boy’s life more miserable than it is already?”
She shrugged airily. “I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ll see what happens, I guess.”
“Mary Elizabeth...”
“I can take care of myself, Granddad.”
He glared at her. “You have a plan, don’t you?”
“I’ve got some ideas,” Liza admitted, laughing at the pained expression that grew on her grandfather’s face.
“You’re just like your grandmother,” he said with a sigh. “Headstrong and reckless. There’s no talking sense to you. And no use warning you about Forrester, right?”
“No use at all.”
Marge arrived then with a plate loaded with blueberry pancakes, and made a fuss over Liza. In a few minutes she brought a side order of sausage and hash brown potatoes, too. Marge had been a part of Tyler since Liza’s childhood. Her diner was the local meeting place and Marge made it her business to be friendly with everyone. She welcomed Liza back to town and traded jokes with Judson before heading over to another table to refill some coffee cups.
Liza ate her pancakes voraciously, listening to her grandfather tell her all the local gossip. The biggest news was that the school had hired a new football coach, which had set the town on its ear since the coach was a woman. Someone at the next table heard Judson mention the issue, and a friendly argument broke out.
“Hiring a woman football coach is like electing a monkey to the Senate,” one man bellowed. “Sure, he can do the same job as all the other senators, but he sure looks silly doing it!”
Liza listened to the townsfolk argue, feeling suddenly quite invigorated as she was swept up in Tyler’s latest controversy. It felt a lot better than being swept downstream by her own troubles. Life wasn’t so terrible after all.
An hour later at the dime store, she bought some jeans, a couple of T-shirts, a few pairs of panties and some cheap sneakers. The clerk was one of her high school classmates, and they chatted for twenty minutes before Liza left the store.
She added cigarettes from the market and then walked across the street to cajole Carl into driving her up to the lodge to look at her disabled Thunderbird. The mechanic agreed, and while riding in the tow truck, Liza planned what she was going to say to Cliff Forrester when she moved into the lodge.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_eb9c2227-5062-59c1-a3e9-eb758958a072)
CLIFF HAD BEEN under siege before. In Cambodia, he’d experienced some of the most frightening barrages of gunfire known to man. He’d been scared then.
When Liza Baron descended on Timberlake, she did it with just as much noise as incoming artillery. But Cliff wasn’t scared this time. He was furious.
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, confronting her in the kitchen while the mechanic from town tinkered with her convertible outside.
She dumped a huge plastic bag full of clothing on the stainless steel kitchen counter, bestowing on Cliff a wide, self-satisfied smile. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Like you’re moving in.”
“Give the man a cigar!” Liza crowed, prancing happily around the counter and ripping open the plastic bag. “That’s exactly what I’m up to!”
Cliff throttled back the surge of anger that rose from inside him. “You’re not moving into the lodge.”
“Oh, yes, I am. In fact, Granddad gave me permission to do whatever I please while I’m here.” She rummaged around in the plastic bag and came up with a new package of cigarettes.
Cliff struggled to keep his temper and growled, “That wasn’t the arrangement he made with me. I’m supposed to be the sole tenant.”
Nonchalantly, Liza leaned against the counter and proceeded to unwrap the cellophane from her cigarettes. Looking very pleased with herself, she said, “I guess he changed his mind. I have been known to have that effect on people, you know. Have you got a match?”
Seething, Cliff said, “I’m not sharing this place with you, Miss Baron.”
“Heavens, Forrester, my great-grandfather used to hold hunting parties up here and invite a hundred guests. It’s a big lodge.” She blinked prettily, then gave him a taunting smile. “I’m sure we’ll manage to stay out of each other’s beds if we try, don’t you?”
“Dammit, you can’t barge in here like this!”
“I already have,” she replied, cool and amused as she flipped a cigarette out of the pack and expertly waved it between two fingers. “Are you scared of me, Forrester?”
There were limits to human suffering, Cliff thought savagely. Without warning, he snatched the cigarette from Liza’s grasp and managed to grab the pack out of her other hand before she could react.
“Hey!” she cried, affronted.
“I may be forced to tolerate you,” he snapped, “but I won’t have you stinking up the place with cigarette smoke!” He squashed the pack in one hand and threw the crumpled remains on the counter between them.
Liza glared at him as she stood squarely in the middle of the lodge kitchen, still wearing his sweater over that ridiculously short skirt. Her high-heeled shoes were gone, however, and in their place was a pair of brand-new sneakers. She looked young and fit and breathtakingly lovely.
And very angry, too. Her eyes were throwing blue sparks as she glared at Cliff.
“I don’t take orders from anyone,” she said. “I’ll smoke if I want to smoke.”
“It’s a stupid habit. You probably do it only because you think it makes you look sophisticated.”
“That’s not it at all. I—”
“You’re a silly, shallow, spoiled girl, Miss Baron, and you’re probably used to inflicting yourself on people all the time. Well, I won’t put up with it. If you want to smoke, go back to Chicago.”
Her expression turned shrewd. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? You want to get rid of me.”
“Damn right!”
“Well, you can’t chase me out of here that easily, Forrester. You want me to give up smoking? Fine, I will. But I’m not leaving Timberlake, so forget it!”
Cliff couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “A couple of hours ago you said you were passing through, and now suddenly you’re the prodigal daughter! Why in heaven’s name have you taken it into your head to barge in here—”
“I need a place to crash for a while,” she cut in. “To revitalize my creativity. To open my consciousness to new experiences. To—”
“Oh, for crying out loud!”
“I’m not here because of you, Forrester, so stop thinking I’m hot for your body or something, because I’m not—even if you’re hot for mine!”
“I am not hot for your body!”
“I’ve seen how you look at me, Forrester.”
“Miss Baron—”
“My name is Liza.”
“I know your damned name! My God, you’re the most exasperating woman—”
“Oh, cool down,” she said with am impish laugh, folding her arms over her chest and clearly enjoying his pique. “I think you could use some exasperation. You’ve gotten too comfortable up here all by yourself.” She tossed her head pertly. “I’ve heard about you, Forrester.”
He quelled the urge to strangle her and ground out, “Exactly what have you heard?”
“You have quite a reputation around town. You’re a hermit or a lone wolf—one or the other. Some people even think you’re dangerous.”
A few things began to clear up in Cliff’s mind. “That’s why you’ve come dancing in here this way, isn’t it?”
“Huh?”
“You get your kicks out of dangerous men.”
“Where I get my kicks is none of your business,” she replied, standing straight again and repacking the items in her plastic bag. “I’m curious about you, that’s all. You’re a mystery man, Forrester, and I just love a mystery.”
“I’ll tell you all my secrets,” Cliff said at once, “if you’ll pack up and leave in the next ten minutes.”
She laughed and gathered up her bag. “I’m here to stay, Forrester—at least until I feel like leaving. Which bedroom is mine?”
Cliff felt perilously close to boiling over and found himself clenching his fists. “Damn you—”
“I’ll take the little pink room at the back of the second floor, okay? You haven’t set up housekeeping in that one, I’ll bet. Pink isn’t your color. I’ll use the bathroom near the back stairs, okay? It’s working?”
“If you don’t take showers by the hour.”
She grinned. “Don’t get your hopes up. Were you planning to watch me through the peephole while I’m in the shower?”
“What peephole?”
“The one my cousin drilled so he could watch me in the bathroom. He was very immature, but I didn’t mind. I kind of liked the idea, you know?”
She was outrageous. At least, she tried to be outrageous. Cliff doubted such a peephole had ever existed. He knew exactly what she was doing. Liza Baron liked to make up lies just to watch people’s reactions.
“Oh, one more thing,” she said, turning on the bottom stair. “Will you check with Carl about my car? Tell him I’d like to have it fixed by tomorrow morning, okay? And maybe you’d get some of my stuff out of the trunk? It’s all the junk from my office. Thanks.”
She trotted up the stairs then, humming a cheery tune and laughing aloud when she reached the second floor.
Cliff balled up his fists and struggled with the urge to shout after her. He wasn’t going to play the butler to her lady of the manor!
“Get your own junk,” he muttered, and went out the back door of the lodge to the terrace.
He plunged into the woods, growling to himself. To have his privacy plundered this way was unacceptable. Enraging, even! Who did she think she was? And what was her plan, for God’s sake? The tigress came barging in and started ordering him around like he was her hired hand!
“What does she think she’s going to do?”
A girl like Liza got her kicks out of disrupting people, making them miserable. It was her entertainment, a sport.
“Damn her!”
Suddenly Cliff stopped short under the oaks, struck by a thought. For the first time in recent memory, he was fuming over the actions of another person.
It was weird.
Of course, he’d been alone for years. He’d wanted it that way. Staying out of the mainstream had been a distinct choice for him—a way of avoiding the kind of emotional turmoil he hated. Life at Timberlake had been peaceful, and he’d needed peace. The silence of the forest and the tranquil lake had worked together to mend his spirit. He hadn’t needed other people. He’d avoided them for lots of reasons.
Now that bewitching Baron girl came bursting into the lodge as if she owned the place! It was a cataclysmic event, Cliff realized. She was the first to break in on his private world. The only person who’d dared.
Grimly, he set off into the forest again. “I can’t live under the same roof with her. It’s impossible.”
She was a troublemaker. A naughty youngster bent on wreaking havoc wherever she went. She was the last thing Cliff needed. Already she’d gotten him all churned up inside. Heaven only knew what might happen if she stayed.
He walked for a couple of miles, but it did no good. Still muttering under his breath, he found himself heading for the hilltop that overlooked Tyler—a sparsely treed vantage point that had once been part of the Gerhardt farm. The Gerhardts, he knew, had been forced out of the dairy business by the crunch in farm prices, and their land had not yet been taken over by the conglomerates that were moving into the area. The top field was overgrown now, the lush grass congested by tangles of wildflowers.
Cliff stopped at the break in the trees, resting his hands on the weathered fence post, his gaze drawn by the panorama that spread out before him. It was a scene that had often calmed him. The green pastures of neighboring farms, dotted with cattle, were bordered by darker fields of alfalfa, corn and the pale green-yellow of new oats. It would have made a pretty postcard—picturesque and serene.
But he didn’t feel serene as he glared at the wide landscape that spread out majestically before him. The warm breeze that rustled in the leaves of the trees at his back did not ease Cliff’s mind. Nor did the warmth of the sun relieve the tension that tightened the muscles of his neck and shoulders.
“Cliff!”
A gentle voice called to him from the field below, and a fragile woman stood up from where she’d been plucking wildflowers. She lifted a slender hand to the brim of her straw hat and called, “Is that you?”
It was Alyssa Baron, perhaps his only friend in Tyler. Cliff waved weakly, not sure he wanted to see even Alyssa this morning. But he vaulted over the fence a moment later and went down the hillside to meet her.
She had brought her basket and was filling it with cornflowers and daisies. To ward off the morning chill, she had pulled a pair of casual but clearly expensive slacks and scalloped sweater over her slim frame. Her pruning shears swung from the worn ribbon on her belt, and bits of earth clung to her manicured hands.
Alyssa’s fair skin was flushed with sunlight and she wore no makeup to conceal her age. With her light hair pulled back into a clip under the hat, she looked ten years younger than she should have. Her blue eyes were large and expressive.
For a queer second, Cliff noted how much she looked like Liza. But Alyssa’s was a fragile kind of femininity counterbalanced by the strength in her expression. Liza was more vibrant, in personality as well as appearance. Her features were like her mother’s, but exaggerated—not quite so delicate. And her voice wasn’t gentle.
Alyssa’s was as soothing as the soft sound of the morning breeze. On a self-deprecating laugh, she said, “I can’t get used to the way you just appear out of the forest. It’s like magic. How can you move so quietly? A man your size?”
He didn’t answer, and she thrust her basket into his hands, chatting as if he’d made a clever riposte.
“Don’t tell anyone,” she went on blithely, “but I’m stealing flowers. Do you think someone will arrest me? I’m in charge of arranging centerpieces for the senior citizen dinner tonight, and of course I left it to the last minute! Aren’t I awful?”
Alyssa Baron wasn’t awful. She was beautiful, and she possessed one of the purest hearts in the world.
She was also very perceptive.
Looking up at him, she said suddenly, “What’s wrong, Cliff?”
“Nothing.”
Alyssa smiled with understanding. “Not sleeping again?”
He shook his head. “It’s not that. I just...it’s been a long day.”
She laughed. “My dear, it’s not even noon yet! What’s going on?”
He couldn’t tell her about Liza’s arrival in Tyler, Cliff realized. That was Liza’s business, not his. He knew how Alyssa was going to react to that news, and he didn’t want to be around to watch. Alyssa might cry. She wore her emotions quite close to the surface when it came to her children—Liza especially. How many times had she expressed her feelings about her wayward youngest daughter? Cliff didn’t think that he could stand breaking the news of Liza’s return and watching Alyssa’s eyes fill with pain as she soaked in the information.
So he said, “I’m not used to being around people.”
“Ah,” Alyssa said wisely. “Did you go into town this morning?”
“Just for a minute.”
“That always upsets you,” she said, shaking her head. “I wish it didn’t. People don’t hate you. They don’t know you, that’s all. You make them nervous, I suppose. You don’t know how to chat.”
Cliff laughed shortly. “No, chatting isn’t my strong suit.”
“It’s all right,” Alyssa replied, bending into the flowers again and snipping stems with her shears. “I know you’re perfectly nice. Someday everyone else will figure that out, too.”
As Alyssa cut more flowers for her centerpieces, Cliff held her basket and considered her words. He didn’t disagree. Not aloud, anyway. But Cliff knew in his heart that he wasn’t perfectly nice. He could be perfectly awful—that was the problem. And if he wasn’t careful, somebody could get hurt by his awfulness.
He hated the thought of hurting anyone. Perhaps that was why he’d come to live at Timberlake in the first place. To be alone. To stay away from people in case he went truly crazy.
That was his biggest fear, he supposed. Going really nuts. It could happen, he knew. He’d read about other guys who’d come home from Southeast Asia and lived normal lives for a few years before snapping out completely. Posttraumatic stress disorder, it was called. Funny how something so terrible could be made to sound easy to cure.
Staying at the lodge was safe, though. Cliff saw Alyssa Baron once every couple of weeks—that was it. Oh, a clerk at the grocery store or at Murphy’s Hardware might say a word or two when he made his monthly foray into town, but he forged no real connections. Cliff preferred life that way.
Now Liza had steamrolled into the lodge and it scared the hell out of him. Cliff realized he was trembling again as he held Alyssa’s basket. It was being around people that frightened him. He knew he was capable of doing terrible things to his fellow man.
And Liza. She had the power to push him over the edge, Cliff decided. Not knowing the kind of horror she would unleash, she’d taunt and torment and goad him until he exploded. What might he do to her if he went crazy? The thought terrified him.
Alyssa straightened and read his expression. Alarmed, she put her hand on his arm and said, “Cliff?”
He shook off her touch. “I’m sorry. I’m—I’m not...”
“What can I do to help?”
Nothing, of course. Just stay away, he wanted to tell her. Get your headstrong daughter out of the lodge before I do something insane.
But he didn’t say that. He wasn’t capable of expressing those feelings, not even to Alyssa, who’d been a kind of therapist for him over the years, whether she knew it or not. Alyssa had accepted Cliff from the beginning without making demands on him. She had not insisted that he talk. Nor had she forced him to spill his guts and explain himself to her. She’d simply taken him into her life the way he was—broken and frightened of the world. And of himself, maybe.
She said, “Don’t be upset.”
A lot of responses boiled in his head, fighting to get out. But he said on a tight sigh, “Sometimes I just want to forget everything.”
“You will. You’ll get over it, Cliff.”
“Should I?” he asked, half to himself. “Should I keep trying to put it in my past?”
Alyssa sighed, too, sounding troubled. “I don’t know what to tell you. Some people think it’s best to confront the worst, but I...well, I’m not an expert. I just hate seeing you so distressed, Cliff. Every time you start thinking about what happened over there...”
“I did some bad things,” he said, closing his eyes and letting the sunlight warm his face. “I don’t want to be that way again.”
“You won’t!” In a rush, Alyssa said, “Cliff, that was a terrible time. You did what you had to do to protect people you cared about.”
Alyssa said more, but Cliff had stopped listening. She didn’t know everything. Not the worst, anyway. She knew why he’d gone into the hills and befriended the people of that mountain village. She knew how he’d found himself trapped with them when the enemy struck. He’d learned from the Hmongs and taught them his own skills, and they’d fought together. They’d managed to find escape routes for women and children.
But after that...well, he’d been unable to tell Alyssa the rest of his story. Perhaps she could guess the kinds of atrocities he’d seen. Maybe she imagined what he’d done to survive and to shepherd the innocents to safety. But Cliff couldn’t bring himself to tell gentle Alyssa Baron about the nightmare he’d lived in Cambodia.
Nor could he tell her how terrified he was that it might happen all over again—that the bonds of reason might snap inside him and trigger something horrible.
Alyssa’s hand was on his arm again, and she shook him. “Cliff,” she said severely, “stop thinking like that! Stop it! You’re only making it worse for yourself!”
Maybe she was right. With an effort, Cliff pulled his mind back from the quagmire of his past.
“I’ll be okay,” he said.
She smiled up at him, kindhearted and beautiful. “I know you will.”
Cliff left her on the hillside picking flowers. He didn’t tell her about Liza.
He returned to the lodge a couple of hours later. He didn’t keep track of time, but his stomach started growling, so he headed back through the woods, not sure what lay ahead.
He found Liza on the wide front porch. She’d dragged one of the old wicker chairs outside and sat in it with her bare feet propped up on the railing, long bare legs stretched out and a sketchbook propped in her lap. A huge pair of sunglasses obscured her eyes and reinforced her spoiled-starlet look.
Cliff stopped at the bottom of the steps, half afraid to get any closer. She looked beautiful and unstoppable—a predatory female looking for trouble. He hesitated in the trees, not ready for another volatile confrontation.
“Good news,” Liza called, catching sight of him and smiling broadly as he warily approached. “My car can be fixed.”
“Good news indeed,” Cliff replied sourly, mounting the porch steps. “You can leave.”
“Not yet. Carl had to take it to his garage to make the repairs.”
“That means you’re stranded here.”
“You got it. We’re all alone together, Forrester.”
She laughed and peeled off her sunglasses, to pin him with an observant gaze. Her dangly earrings caught the sunlight, and the black devil winked at him. “You ran off,” she said. “Just when things were heating up.”
“I tend to stay away from heat.”
“That’s a mistake,” Liza pronounced with a catlike smile. “A little fire’s good for the soul.”
“My soul’s just fine,” he retorted.
She eyed him again, but didn’t go so far as to accuse him of lying. Instead, she pulled her feet off the railing, crossed her legs, tapped her sketchbook and said airily, “I’ve made a few decisions while you were out.”
“Oh?”
“I’m going to stay here awhile.”
Cliff nearly choked. He wanted to explain, to warn her. There was danger here, didn’t she see that? He struggled to put the right words together. “Miss Baron—”
“And I’m going to fix up the lodge. I’m going to make it into a resort.”
“What?”
She grinned at his reaction, twirling her colorful sunglasses. “It’s a good idea, don’t you think? This place could be fabulous. It was really special years ago, and it could be great again. All it needs is a little TLC, and fortunately, I find myself with a little free time on my hands.”
“Hold it—”
“So I’ve been making lists and drawing some ideas. I thought I’d start with the common areas first—the dining room, then the bar and lounge.”
“Wait just a—”
Liza didn’t listen, but began to outline her plans with blithe enthusiasm. “The kitchen’s a real wreck and will need a major overhaul if it’s going to serve many guests, but I like the rustic flavor of everything else, don’t you? If you ask me, rustic is making a comeback.”
“Will you please—”
“I’ll need some fabric books, of course. The place really cries out for chintz, right? And wall coverings will have to be chosen with caution, since—”
“Will you shut up for one minute?”
She blinked. “Sure. Something on your mind, Forrester?”
He was filled with dread and anger. Throttling both emotions, Cliff managed to grind out, “Just what the hell are you doing?”
“Aren’t I making myself clear? I’m going to refurbish—”
“Why?”
“Why? Why not, for heaven’s sake? It’s beautiful up here!”
“The only way it’s going to stay beautiful is if people leave it alone! You can’t fix this place up. People will start coming here and tramping through the woods, running powerboats on the lake—”
“Of course they will! It’ll be lovely!”
“It’ll be horrible!”
She laughed at him. “You can’t keep the lodge a secret, Forrester. It’s been your private playground long enough. We’re going to make it look wonderful, and people from all over will come and—”
“We?” he snapped. “Who’s we?”
“You and me, of course. You could use some real work to do, I think, to snap you out of this hermit phase. With my creative ideas and your strong back—”
“Go to hell, Miss Baron!”
“What’s the matter?”
He threw himself into pacing up and down the porch, trying not to think about breaking her neck on the spot. “For one thing, I have not been placed on this earth to do your bidding, Miss High and Mighty! And secondly, I hate the whole idea and refuse to have any part of it! I have a deal with your grandfather, which says I can stay here alone in exchange for the job of taking care of—”
“We can discuss the quality of your fishy work some other time,” Liza said dryly. “Meanwhile, I think we should concentrate on the future and—”
“My future has nothing to do with your future,” Cliff snapped, standing over her. “So you can forget about me fixing up the lodge for any reason whatsoever.”
She began to tap her pencil, calmly and deliberately. “I’m sorry to hear you say that, Forrester,” she said. “It’s a good thing that blood is thicker than water, I guess.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That my granddad has the final say. And I know he’s going to tell me I can do whatever I like.”
Cliff balled up his fists and choked down a shout of complete fury.
Liza smiled demurely up at him from her chair. “Let me be honest, okay? I need a project, Forrester. I’ve arrived at a crossroads in my life, and this is the perfect thing for me. I’m going to do it.”
Seeing the gleam in her eye, Cliff had no doubt she was going to get exactly what she wanted. A project—that was what she called what would turn out to be a multimillion-dollar construction job involving hundreds of skilled professionals and months if not years of painstaking work. And Liza talked about it as if she could throw up a few new curtains and end up with a finished landmark.
Worst of all, she clearly had no idea how impossible the whole idea was.
With enormous difficulty, Cliff said, “You don’t understand.”
“About what?”
“About me. And this place.” He tried to dig into his brain to find the words, but it was hard. He’d never been able to verbalize his trouble—never had to. That was why he’d come here in the first place. So he wouldn’t have to talk. He said, “It’s...I need to be here.”
She waited expectantly, and when he couldn’t say more, she prompted, “Okay, so what’s the big deal?”
“I have to be alone.”
“Oh, nonsense!” She laughed again—beautiful and innocent and naive.
“It’s true,” Cliff argued, aware that he had started to sweat. “I can’t...I can’t be around people.”
“Why not? It’s not like you’re pug ugly or something. I mean, women would fall all over themselves in Chicago if you walked into town. Listen, Forrester—”
“No, you listen,” he retorted, his voice rising unevenly. “I can’t do it. You can’t bring more people. You can’t—”
“Oh, yes, I can,” said Liza, smiling like a naughty angel. “And you’re going to help me, Forrester.”
“Like hell!”
“Oh, come on. You’re not going to let a little inconvenient sexual attraction get in the way, are you?”
“What sexual attraction?”
She grinned. “Do you deny it?”
“My God—”
“’Fess up, Forrester! You think I’m the sexiest little tidbit who ever knocked your socks off, right? Take it easy. We’ll have a good time and still get the work done. You’ll see.”
Cliff escaped before he caved in and did some real damage. He stormed into the lodge and left the silly little bitch humming happily on the porch.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_80136f74-67c3-5403-b3aa-4913c1ecc974)
THOUGHTFULLY, Liza watched Cliff stride off the porch. What was he so churned up about? She couldn’t imagine.
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