Cindy Gerard - The Way Home

He wondered if that Albert was related to Jess’s husband. The nav system dinged softly then, followed by the dulcet tones of a computerized woman’s voice. “Turn right onto Gamma Road in two-tenths of a mile.”

He drew a deep breath and flipped on his turn signal, although this deep into the forest, there wasn’t another vehicle in his line of sight.

“Turn right.”

Turn right toward what might be a new chapter in your life…

It was time.

LIVING ON LAKE KABETOGAMA WAS like living in a fishbowl. There were no secrets. Kabby was a small, tightly knit community of shopkeepers, innkeepers, carpenters, and loggers mixed in with the summer residents and a steady rotation of tourists, many of whom were repeat resort customers summer after summer. Everyone looked out for everyone else—to excess sometimes—and word of a change in the norm moved faster than Kayla’s fingers across the keypad on her iPhone.

There were several restaurants on the lake within ten miles of the store where they could go for dinner but nowhere close where Jess wouldn’t run into someone she knew—from the owners to the waitresses to the regulars. So when Ty picked her up promptly at six and asked where she’d like to eat, she hadn’t hesitated.

“Would you mind terribly making the twenty-minute trip back to the Falls?” Since International Falls had the only airport within eighty miles, she’d figured he’d rented his Jeep there. “We can swing over to Rainey Lake. There’s a pretty good restaurant right on the water.” In this land of ten thousand lakes, there was always a restaurant on another lake within driving distance.

“And a pretty good chance no one will find out you’re on a dinner date?”

He got points for being intuitive. “It would be nice to think so, but that ship has already sailed, I’m afraid.”

“Kayla?”

She smiled. “The girl has a network that would make Ma Bell green with envy.”

“Am I causing trouble for you?”

Oh, she’d have to contend with dozens of “drop-ins” within a day or so, people stopping by the store on the pretense of needing a loaf of bread or a case of soda or any number of excuses, but in truth, they’d all be angling for information. Nothing she couldn’t deflect.

J.R.’s brother, Brad, however, would be a different story. Brad had been wonderful since J.R. died. Helpful, supportive, and kind. But she knew exactly what his reaction would be when he heard about Tyler Brown. He’d be resentful. Angry, even. He’d loved his brother. He cared about her, but he would consider her interest in any man a betrayal—even after three years. More than once, she’d heard him say, “Mallards mate for life. If the drake dies, the hen never pairs up again.” Brad believed the adage applied to human marriage, too.

“No trouble,” she lied, and put Brad out of her mind. She’d deal with him when the time came… which, if Kayla’s grapevine was humming, would probably be sometime tomorrow morning.

Tonight was about what happened tonight. Now that she had acclimated herself to the truth—Tyler Brown had come a long way to see her—there were things she wanted to set straight both in her mind and in his. Starting with the dressing down she’d given herself as she’d showered and gotten ready. Having dinner and polite conversation with this man was fine. But she was a pragmatic person. She knew that was as far as it was ever going to go—dinner and conversation—regardless of what he might be thinking. Regardless of how flattering it was. Once he thought about it, he’d realize it, too.

She’d reaffirmed that as they made the drive, and now, with her head on straight, she looked across their table near the window with Rainy Lake shimmering in a wide, glistening swath across the northland, glad she’d picked this place. Even though many people she knew frequented the Thunderbird restaurant, they usually reserved their dinners there for the weekends or during the off season. So she figured they had about a ninety-percent shot at anonymity on a Wednesday evening at the height of the tourist season.

“You look very pretty,” Ty said, breaking into her thoughts.

She didn’t know about pretty, but she did know it pleased her a little too much that he’d said she was. She’d turned up a soft white cotton knit top with a deep U neckline and little capped sleeves that was almost new and fit her like a glove, then tucked the shirt into a summer print skirt she’d bought for one of the Bradley boys’ weddings two summers ago. The skirt hit her mid-thigh, and between it and a pair of woven sandals with wedge heels, her legs looked long and toned.

She hadn’t given a thought to removing the wedding ring that felt like it had always been a part of her. In fact, it felt like a protective barrier of sorts tonight. A reminder of many things. She’d seen Ty’s gaze stray to her left hand when she’d gotten into the Jeep, wondered what he’d been thinking and embarrassed by her hands, which were work-rough, with short, no-nonsense nails. Nothing she could do about that, but she’d been glad for Kayla’s jasmine and musk lotion. It had taken a couple of applications to smooth out her hands and moisturize her arms and legs to a dew-soft glow.

There wasn’t a lot she could do with her hair, but for once, the curls fell softly around her face and were actually kind of flattering. Or maybe it was the eyeliner she’d lightly smudged on her lids and the bit of blush she’d brushed on her cheeks. It had been so long since she’d made herself up and dressed for a man—even though it was not that kind of a date—and she actually felt a little foolish for making the effort tonight.

It hadn’t stopped her, though. She’d traded her standby gold studs for a pair of dangly copper earrings sculpted into the shape of feathers. Her necklace matched. The local artisan who had made the set had called the necklace a cleavage piece, and as Jess felt it warm against her skin, she felt a tiny stirring of arousal that self-consciousness quickly undercut.

Maybe she shouldn’t have worn it, because not only had she noticed Ty’s gaze on her left hand, but once or twice, it had also drifted to the feather between her breasts before he’d quickly looked away again.

And whoa, he was watching her face now, she realized, about the same time that she realized she’d been so busy second-guessing the effort she’d taken to look nice that she hadn’t responded to his compliment.

She met his eyes across the table and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “You look pretty, too.”

“Thanks. I think.”

They both smiled at that, and she worked hard at stalling a blush. His dark hair wasn’t overly long, but the tips had been wet when he’d arrived, which had conjured an immediate and vivid picture of him naked under a steamy spray—along with a jarring olfactory memory of how wonderful a man smelled fresh from a shower.

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t think about and miss sex. And yes, nights when the bed felt so empty and she ached with loneliness, she’d call on a memory or a fantasy and make the occasional solo flight, and oh, boy, she needed to steer clear of that arena right now.

Except that the man watching her with compelling and inquisitive eyes made that next to impossible. He really did look pretty. She’d told him to dress casual—everything in the summer in northern Minnesota was casual—and he’d taken her at her word. He’d traded his white T-shirt, jeans, and deck shoes for a soft butter-yellow T-shirt, olive-drab cargo shorts, and brown leather sandals. When he’d pulled up, he’d been wearing aviator shades that hid his eyes—eyes that had latched on to her from behind those dark glasses for several long, humming seconds that started up that muscle clenching she didn’t seem to have much control over when he was around.