Heath made a second call before he put his phone away and occupied himself with criticizing her driving. "You have plenty of room to pass that truck."
"As long as I ignore the double yellow line."
"You'll be fine if you step on it."
"Right. Why worry about a silly thing like a head-on collision?"
"The speed limit's fifty-five. You're barely doing sixty."
"Don't make me stop this car, young man."
He chuckled, and for a few moments, his tension eased. Soon, however, he was back at it: sighing, tapping his foot, fiddling with the radio. She shot him a dark look. "You're never going to be able to manage three whole days away from work."
"Sure I can."
"Not without your cell."
"Definitely not. You'll win our bet."
"We don't have a bet!"
"Good. I hate losing. And it's not really three days. I've already put in eight hours today, and I'm taking off for Detroit on Sunday morning. You made plans to get back to the city, right?"
She nodded. She was riding back with Janine, the group's other unmarried member. He peered over at the speedometer. "You must have spoken to Molly since the party, and I'm guessing she grilled you about this weekend. How did you explain why I was coming with you?"
"I said that someone was at my door, and I'd get back to her. Is that a wild turkey?"
"I don't know. Did you call her back?"
"No."
"You should have. Now she'll be suspicious."
"What was I supposed to say? That you're obsessed with sucking up to her sister?"
"No, you were supposed to say that I've been working too hard, and it's made me so tense I can't appreciate all the great women you're introducing me to."
"That's for sure. You should give Zoe another chance. The harpist," she added, in case he'd already forgotten.
"I remember."
"Just because she thinks Adam Sandler is moronic doesn't mean she has no sense of humor."
"You think Adam Sandler's funny," he pointed out.
"Yes, but I'm immature."
He smiled. "Admit it. You know she wasn't right for me. I don't even think she liked me that much. Although she did have great legs." He leaned against the headrest, his mouth curling like a Python's tail. "Tell Molly you can't find me a wife when all I think about is work. Say you need to get me away from the city this weekend so you can have a serious talk with me about my screwed-up priorities."
"Which they are."
"See? You've already made progress."
"Molly's sharp. She won't buy that for a minute." She didn't add that Molly had already started asking Annabelle probing questions about how she and Heath were getting along.
"You can handle whatever she throws at you. And do you know why, Ace? Because you're not afraid of a challenge. Because you, my friend, live for challenges, the tougher the better."
"That's me, all right. A real shark."
"Now you're talking." They flew past a sign pointing toward the town of Wind Lake. "Do you know where you're going?"
"The campground's on the other end of the lake."
"Let me see."
As he reached for the crumpled page of directions lying in her lap, his thumb brushed the inside of her thigh, and she got goose bumps. She distracted herself with a little passive aggression. "I'm surprised this is your first trip to the campground. Kevin and Molly come up here all the time. I can't believe he hasn't invited you."
"I never said I hadn't been invited." He glanced from the directions to a road marker. "Kevin's a solid guy. He doesn't need the same amount of hand holding my younger clients do."
"You're weaseling. Kevin's never invited you up here, and do you know why? Because nobody can relax around you."
"Exactly what you're trying to change." A green-and-white sign with gilt-edged letters came into view on their left.
WIND LAKE COTTAGES
BED AND BREAKFAST
ESTABLISHED 1894
She turned into a narrow lane that tunneled through a dense stand of trees. "I know this might be hard to process, but I think you should be honest. Everybody knows you and Phoebe are at loggerheads, so why don't you just admit that you saw an opportunity to improve your relationship and took advantage of it?"
"And put Phoebe on guard? I don't think so."
"I'm guessing she already will be."
Another lazy smile. "Not if I play my cards right."
Fresh gravel pinged against the undercarriage of the car, and a few minutes later, the campground came into sight. She took in the shady commons, where a group of kids were playing softball. Gingerbread cottages with tiny eaves that dripped wooden lace surrounded the grassy rectangle. Each house looked as though it had been painted with brushes dipped in sherbet cartons: one lime green with root beer and cantaloupe trim, another raspberry with touches of lemon and almond. Through the trees she glimpsed a slice of sandy beach and the bright blue water of Wind Lake.
"No wonder Kevin likes it here so much," Heath said.
"It's exactly like Nightingale Woods in Molly's Daphne books. I'm so glad she talked Kevin out of selling it." The campground had been in Kevin's family since his great-grandfather, an itinerant Methodist minister, had founded it for summer religious revivals. Eventually, it had passed to Kevin's father, then Kevin's aunt, and finally to Kevin.
"The upkeep on the place is unbelievable," Heath said. "I've always wondered why he kept it."
"Now you know."
"Now I know." He slipped off his sunglasses. "I miss not being outdoors more. I grew up banging around in the woods."
"Huntin' and trappin'?"
"Not too much. I never got into killing things."
"Preferring slow torture."
"You know me so well."
They followed the road that looped around the common. Each cottage bore a neatly painted sign over the door: green
PASTURES, MILK AND HONEY, LAMB OF GOD, JACOB'S LADDER. She slowed to admire the bed-and-breakfast, a stately, turreted Queen Anne with sweeping porches; lush, hanging ferns; and wooden rockers where two women sat chatting. Heath checked the directions and pointed toward a narrow lane that ran parallel to the lake. "Take a left."
She did as he said. They passed an elderly woman with binoculars and a walking stick, then two teenagers on bikes. Finally, they reached the end of the lane, and she pulled up in front of the last of the cottages, a doll's house with a sign above the door that read lilies of the field. Painted a creamy yellow with dusty pink and pale blue accents, the house looked as though it had tumbled out of a child's nursery tale. Annabelle was captivated. At the same time, she found herself wishing it weren't quite so isolated from the other cottages.
Heath bounded from the car and unloaded their suitcases. The screen door squeaked as she followed him into the cottage's main living area. Everything was worn, chipped, and homey, authentic shabby chic instead of the overpriced decorator variety. Off-white walls, a cozy couch with a faded floral print, battered brass lamps, a scrubbed pine chest… She poked her head into a tiny kitchen with an old-fashioned gas stove. A door next to the refrigerator led to a shady, screened-in porch. She walked outside and saw a glider, bent willow chairs, and an ancient drop-leaf table with two painted wooden chairs.
Heath came up behind her. "No sirens, no garbage trucks, no car alarms. I've forgotten what real quiet sounds like."
She drew in the damp, cool smell of vegetation. "It's so private. It feels like a nest."
"It's nice."
This was too much coziness for her, and she slipped back inside. The rest of the cottage consisted of an old-fashioned bathroom along with two bedrooms, the largest of which held a double bed with an iron headboard. And two suitcases… "Heath?"