Twice Shy

Rebecca tuned out the voices around the conference table and swiveled her chair toward the window. When had she become bored with market share and demographics? She didn’t know. Darting a sideways glance at her writing team she was thankful to see that they were paying attention to the presentation. Drawn back to the scene outside the window, her gaze drifted down to the busy harbour. Right on cue, a seaplane lifted off, water streaming from its floats like a string of crystal beads. Vancouver’s harbor was widely thought to be the most beautiful in North America; Rebecca had no argument with that. A Seabus darted out from the terminal, and she leaned forward, watching its progress.

“…that is, if Rebecca can tear herself away from the window.”

Dean Cooper’s caustic tone cut through her reverie and she turned to find him glaring at her. She should have been paying attention, but his tone irked her. It didn’t matter that she worked twelve to fourteen hours a day when they were shooting the highly rated television series, the Producer always wanted more. He was relentless when it came to Hearts On Fire.

He was right, of course. Lately she’d been distracted every time she looked out the window and saw the water. But it wasn’t Vancouver’s harbor she saw when she looked through the plate glass. It was a small bay in Ontario’s cottage country, dotted with waterlilies and sparkling in the summer sun. The bay where she’d grown up. She regarded Dean calmly, knowing that he wouldn’t understand her recent bouts of nostalgia. Up until recently, she had been just as driven. Driven to create better, more compelling scripts. Driven to maintain the show’s number one position. She understood his attitude, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Sorry, Dean.” She forced her lips into a conciliatory smile. “My mind was somewhere else.” She hated to apologize, but if she didn’t he’d take his anger out on everyone else at the table. Frank Howell, the show’s creator, nodded imperceptibly in her direction, his eyes warm with understanding. One of the few people who appreciated how hard she worked, he never failed to offer a verbal pat on the back when the scripts were submitted. Hearts On Fire was a hit, and at Frank’s instigation, she’d been offered the position of Head Writer. He couldn’t understand why she’d asked for time to consider it.

“Right, then.” Dean pursed his lips, and Rebecca suppressed a shudder of dislike. “I have some exciting news. We’ve just completed negotiations with Catherine Stuart, who will join the cast next season.”

Rebecca couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “And when were you going to tell us about this?”

“I’m telling you now.”

“But Dean...” She fought to control her rising temper. “We have the whole next season plotted out.” She glanced at Frank Howell, who suddenly couldn’t meet her eyes. “The storylines are all approved. The shooting schedules…” Her voice trailed off.

Dean waved his hand dismissively. “Get together with Frank. He can tell you what we have in mind for her character.” He paused, looking at her curiously. “I thought you’d be excited.”

Rebecca slumped back in her chair. If he didn’t understand, then she wasn’t about to explain it to him.

Jay Franklin, one of the talented writing team, leaned closer. “The guy’s an idiot,” he murmured. “He has no idea how difficult it’s going to be to drop kick a new character into the mix.” He tapped a pencil against the table and Rebecca could tell he was already thinking about how to accomplish the new task in such a short time.

The door opened, and Dean looked up from his notes, clearly annoyed. “I told you, Cindy. No interruptions.”

“It’s important,” the receptionist said, refusing to back down. Her eyes, filled with tears, came to rest on Rebecca.

“Well don’t just stand there. What is it?”

An icy chill crept down Rebecca’s spine and she rose from her chair, ignoring the producer. Making her way around the conference table, she drew the receptionist out into the hall, closing the door behind her. “Cindy, what’s the matter?” she asked, although deep inside she knew the answer without being told. The floor seemed to tilt under her feet, and she moved toward the reception desk as though in a dream. White-knuckled hands clutched the edge of the desk, and it took her a moment to realize that they belonged to her.

“I’m sorry, Rebecca.” Cindy was making a valiant effort not to cry. “Your Grandmother’s doctor phoned.” She walked toward the reception desk. “He left his number for you to call him as soon as possible.”

Rebecca stared at the message slip. “She’s dead, isn’t she?” She didn’t recognize her own voice.

Cindy’s mouth quivered. “I know how much you were looking forward to spending time with her this summer.” She darted back behind the massive reception desk. “I’m so sorry, Rebecca.”

“Thanks.” She looked back down at the message, but it hadn’t changed. Somehow, her legs carried her back to her office. Standing in front of the window, she was transported back to Waterlily Bay. For a brief moment, she thought she could smell the sweet scent of pine trees. The sensation was so real she had to steady herself against the window frame. She hadn’t been back once during the summer since she left all those years ago. Back to the town where she’d spent the happiest days of her life – and one memorable night that changed her life forever.

* * *

Rebecca brought the car to a halt at the top of the driveway. Just under twenty-eight hundred miles from Vancouver. Determined to arrive in time for the funeral, she’d left within hours of speaking to her grandmother’s doctor and had driven straight through, stopping only twice to catch a few hours of sleep. No wonder she was exhausted. The dull pain of regret that had been her unwelcome companion during the long trip started to drain away and she took a deep breath, savoring the evocative smells of the early summer evening. Vancouver’s tangy sea air was all well and good, but this was home. The resinous scent of the pine trees was sweeter than any perfume and she berated herself for never coming back to visit in the summer.

Gran had always stopped at this precise spot, turning off the car’s motor before coasting down to the Lodge in splendid silence. Rebecca smiled softly at the memory. Those had been happy times.

“This one’s for you, Gran.” The car rolled down the hill, the sound muffled by a layer of pine needles. The old building came into view, bathed in that magical golden light she recalled so well from her childhood. Tucked back into the trees, Waterlily Bay Lodge commanded a spectacular view of Lake Joseph, befitting its status as grande dame of the lake.

She stepped out of the car and stretched, massaging the small of her back. Her gaze swept out over the water, her chest tightening as poignant memories wrapped around her heart. There wasn’t a breath of air moving on the lake, and as though drawn by a magnet, she found herself standing on the shore.

The water lapped against the bottom of the dock and she blinked rapidly, fighting the tears that welled up in her eyes. Odd, wasn’t it, how simple sounds could unleash such strong emotion. Cocking her head to one side, she wondered if her imagination was playing tricks on her. She walked slowly to the end of the dock. No, that was definitely the sound of someone swimming. She shuddered, recalling only too well how the waters remained chilly until well into July.

Shading her eyes, she squinted in the direction of the swimmer. Tanned, muscular arms flashed as they cut through the silvery water. Strong legs propelled the swimmer in a smooth, powerful crawl that could only be mastered with years of practice. She stood mesmerized as he approached the ladder. With one fluid movement, the man was on the dock, water streaming down his body.

Rebecca inhaled sharply and stepped back. His face was shadowed, but in the slanting light, the muscles in his shoulders and arms were clearly defined. A broad torso tapered down to slim hips and her throat went dry as he slicked his hair back with both hands. Her eyes flickered over his bathing suit and continued down the muscular legs.

He flashed a heart-stopping grin as he bent over to pick up a towel from one of the Adirondack chairs at the end of the dock. “Hello Becky. Good to see you.” He slung the towel around his neck and stepping forward, extended his hand. “I’m sorry about Stella. Your grandmother was one of a kind.”

Her hand found its way into his. His voice was deeper, but she would have recognized it anywhere, even though it had been… what was it? Eleven years? Her fingers burned against his cool skin and she yanked back her hand. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Eyes that were somewhere between slate grey and dark blue peered at her with startling intensity, as though trying to read her thoughts. She bristled angrily. It wasn’t fair… he had no right to affect her like this after so much time had passed. She tossed back her hair, fighting for composure.

“What are you doing here?” It came out as a croak.

“Having an evening swim. I would have waited for you, but I didn’t know you’d be arriving tonight.” The eyes flashed in amusement.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” She swung her arm to encompass the bay. “What are you doing here, on Gran’s property?”

He grinned lazily and she flushed as his eyes held hers. “And here I thought you weren’t glad to see me.”

“Mitchell Burton, stop talking nonsense and tell me what you’re doing here.” She stamped her foot impatiently.

Without appearing to move, he closed the distance between them and grasped her arm. His face hovered close to hers, and for a moment she thought she saw desire lurking behind those incredible eyes. “Careful Becks, you almost stepped off the dock.”

She looked behind her. He was right; she had almost gone for an early dip in the lake. Her skin tingled from his touch, and she covered her reaction with a short laugh. “I guess I’m tired. It’s been a long drive. But you still haven’t answered me.”

His eyes scanned the shoreline, and she saw in them the same affection she felt for the property. “I live here.”

This time her mouth dropped all the way open. “What?” She looked from the beautiful old building back to him. “You live here at the Lodge?”

“No. Not the Lodge.” He started to walk along the dock, and Becky followed him. “I live in the boathouse.”

“In the boathouse?”

“I think I hear an echo.” He grinned down at her. “Yes, I live in the boathouse.”

“But…” Her mind raced. “There’s nowhere to live in there.” The building in question was visible through the trees. On one of her visits a few years ago she’d inquired about the improvements and Gran had told her that she’d hired a handyman to put up the new siding.

“There is, actually. I made the loft into an apartment, and I work downstairs.” They continued along the dock, walking side by side.

Becky peered at the old building. “What does that say?” A small sign was affixed to the wall by the side door.

“It says Custom Boats.” Mitch tapped his chest. “That’s me.”

“Gran said she had someone helping her with the place.” Her eyes widened. “Don’t tell me…”

“Don’t tell you what? That I helped your grandmother when she needed it?” He gave her a sharp look. “Somebody had to. Besides which, I’m perfectly capable, or so I’m told.”

Rebecca spun around to face him. “That was a low blow, Mitch Burton. Anyway, what do you know about being there for someone?” She waved a hand in front of her face. “Don’t get me started. I’m too tired to get into that right now.”

For a brief heartbeat, Rebecca thought she saw a flash of pain on his face, then his demeanor changed abruptly. “Suit yourself. I’ll get the key to the Lodge and help you with your bags.”

Her eyes followed him as he walked along the well-worn path to the boathouse. Why was she surprised that he had turned into such a handsome man? Even in high school she’d been aware of his dark good looks. But that was many years ago, and she’d put him firmly out of her mind.

Or had she? With a high-pressure career in the television industry, she didn’t have time to dwell on old, forgotten dreams. “So what if he’s here?” she asked out loud. “It was just a high school crush.” Then why had her heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice? She leaned against the side of her car, fighting the memories that threatened to overwhelm her. She hadn’t expected to see him here – or anywhere for that matter. As to his tenancy in the boathouse, she couldn’t bear to have him that close. She hadn’t had time to consider her legal position. Getting through the funeral was her top priority. After that she would see the lawyer and terminate Mitch’s rental agreement as soon as possible.

“Let me help you with that.”

His reappearance startled her and she winced at the impersonal tone. Gone was the gently teasing way he’d greeted her. She pointed to her largest suitcase. “I’ll just take that one for tonight. It has everything I need.”

He nodded, lifting the suitcase as though it weighed nothing. It was too late to take back those hurtful remarks, and she watched him silently as he went up the stairs, muscles firm under a white T-shirt.

She eased Pekoe out of his carrier. The orange tabby cat dug in his claws, wary eyes darting around the unfamiliar territory.

Mitch came back down and leaned into the trunk. “I might as well haul all your stuff up tonight.” Spotting the cat, he raised his hand as though to soothe him, then dropped it just as quickly. With a quick shake of his head he picked up the two remaining suitcases and ran up the stairs.

Rebecca followed, and stood blinking in the light of the mudroom. “Thank you.” Raking her fingers nervously through the cat’s fur she studied him through the screen door. He stood on the landing under a pool of yellow light. His hair, still wet from the lake, glistened darkly. Her eyes flickered over his square jaw, then lingered on his full lips. He was the same, but so much more!

He looked back at her, and he seemed to be sizing her up, as though she were a stranger. In many ways I am a stranger she thought sadly, trying to read his thoughts. Whatever was between us disappeared on a hot summer night much like this one. But his eyes still had the ability to mesmerize her, and she stood in the doorway, skewered by his gaze. The cat squirmed in her arms, asking to be set down.

He shook his head, as though coming out of a trance. “We’ll have to talk eventually you know.” He looked at her evenly. “Let me know when you’re ready.” With a curt nod, he disappeared down the stairs.

Becky stared after him. Walking closer to the door she placed her palm on the screen, peering out into the black night. Moments later, a light came on in the boathouse, barely visible through the trees. Having Mitch this close was unsettling, yet at the same time she was comforted knowing that he was nearby. She turned back into the familiar old home, and made her way into the kitchen. A bouquet of wildflowers sat in the center of the scarred wooden table. A note was propped up against it. I’ve put a few things in the fridge for your first night. Welcome home. Mitch.

She slumped onto a kitchen chair and held her head in her hands. Dammit, why did he have to be so considerate? It was just like him. Her shoulders shook, and she didn’t know if she was laughing or crying, but she was in no mood to analyze her own feelings. Especially with Mitch Burton nearby.

* * *

Did you enjoy this introduction?

Twice Shy is available FREE on Amazon, iBooks, B&N, Kobo and Google Play. Find links here: https://www.monaingram.com/book/twice-shy

Twice Shy is Book One of eight books in The Power of Love Collection. Each book is a complete story – no cliffhangers.