Книга - His Kind of Perfection

His Kind of Perfection
Pamela Hearon


>A very personal trainer… Personal trainer Bree Rice is happy to help Kale Barlow get in shape to win back his ex. Kale's drive and enthusiasm make him the perfect client. He's such a great guy, it's easy to be his friend, too. All too soon, though, their friendship develops into something deeper…something off-limits.Bree knows love and work don't mix–been there, felt that heartache. But it doesn't seem to matter how many times she reminds him of his original goal. Kale is nothing if not determined, especially when it comes to convincing Bree that they are the perfect partners, both in and out of the gym.







A very personal trainer…

Personal trainer Bree Rice is happy to help Kale Barlow get in shape to win back his ex. Kale’s drive and enthusiasm make him the perfect client. He’s such a great guy, it’s easy to be his friend, too. All too soon, though, their friendship develops into something deeper…something off-limits.

Bree knows love and work don’t mix—been there, felt that heartache. But it doesn’t seem to matter how many times she reminds him of his original goal. Kale is nothing if not determined, especially when it comes to convincing Bree that they are the perfect partners, both in and out of the gym.


“Merry Christmas, Kale.”

The greeting came out much too quietly for the happy occasion, but her breath caught in her throat when he pulled her to him in a hug and his soft lips brushed her earlobe.

“Merry Christmas, Bree.” His breath scampered down her neck, where it should have been stopped by the shawl collar of her sweater. Instead, she could swear she felt it meandering its way down both her front and back, leaving a trail of warmth, then coming to a halt low in her belly and just hanging there like the high-pressure front before a storm.

Once she pulled away, she managed to get her breathing back under control as she helped him out of his overcoat. Beneath it were the same clothes he’d worn to the party at the gym, looking even better from ten more days of training.

She bit her bottom lip to keep from licking it.


Dear Reader (#ulink_2f115d68-b53d-52f5-a97c-5463a20f7ebc),

If I had to choose the one thing I love most about writing Mills & Boon Superromance stories, it would be that I get to make up real people. Now I realize that sounds like a paradox, but it really isn’t. Yes, the characters I write are fictitious, but they have all the qualities of a real person. They are everyday people, complete with perfections and flaws. They are the people next door and our best friends.

Years ago, I read a survey that asked women what first attracted them to their spouses, and I was surprised by the number-one answer: he made me laugh. Later, though, when I met my husband, I understood the answer perfectly. During our first date, he kept me laughing. I had such a delightful time, I wanted to see him again…and again. Oh, yeah, he was sexy with steely, gray-blue eyes and a charming smile, but it was his sense of humor that put me at ease and made me comfortable enough to open my heart.

In His Kind of Perfection, Kale Barlow struggles with his weight—as many of us do—while Bree Rice struggles with her eating. Although they’re opposites in many ways, it’s Kale’s ability to make Bree laugh that makes him endearing…and irresistible.

Ultimately, Kale and Bree learn an important lesson we all should know: you don’t have to be perfect to be perfect for each other.

Until next time,

Pamela Hearon




His Kind of Perfection

Pamela Hearon







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#ulink_32010847-307e-5d53-a81c-00517b55d903)

PAMELA HEARON achieved the impossible—she met the love of her life on a blind date, beating the odds at romance roulette. The insight she gained from the experience opened a universe of fun, romantic stories begging to be told. Accepting the challenge, Pamela became a storyteller—a matchmaker who unites those couples destined to be together despite the seemingly impossible odds stacked against them. Drop by for a visit on Pamela’s website at www.pamelahearon.com (http://www.pamelahearon.com), friend her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/#!/pamelahearon, or email her directly at pamelahearon@gmail.com.


To Michelle—You make me the most blessed of all stepmoms


Contents

Cover (#uac4d33f4-0757-5e62-930d-1f9f9e478907)

Back Cover Text (#u4488f40f-2909-5fd3-aae1-3455a172fb76)

Introduction (#u3019feaf-906e-51c5-b802-d6a9d5efd14e)

Dear Reader (#ulink_5a5c697e-00ee-51b2-838a-ceeb94067c3a)

Title Page (#u4ff15cc3-e206-5906-855b-c39a9b21c61d)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#ulink_dfd3d2ee-47c2-516b-b33e-42a4ac175cb5)

Dedication (#u77e3856c-4e6b-5836-9cf1-b49ef1084205)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_9b1541d0-ee19-50bf-ae03-1cb6d53fb395)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_e60e57b7-be49-5782-90d4-7777daed037f)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_0dc50083-e5d7-5d88-ae62-5dd427936b79)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_8d490961-8cd1-5079-a1e0-2ab0e3c2f133)

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_80425339-099d-534e-83a4-cc76195383e7)

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)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_02e410ef-3f89-5e56-963c-2076036b12a1)

June

KALE BARLOW WASN’T sure at exactly what moment it happened, but sometime in the past fifteen minutes—sometime between “This won’t take very long” and “Can you hold this wrench?”—the ground had shifted beneath his feet.

He reached for his beer and took a long, cool swig, gaining a second to refocus before he spoke. “You’re breaking up with me because I’ve gained a few pounds?”

Adele tossed her head, a habit holdover from when she’d had long hair. “It’s more than a few, Kale.” Her eyes flicked to the belly protruding over his cargo shorts, and her nose wrinkled in distaste. “I was reading this article this morning, and it hit a nerve, you know?” She held up the regional newspaper and tapped a spot with her finger. “It talks about how the attraction between two people’s got to be there, and if it’s not, then something’s wrong in the relationship.” She shrugged. “It made me realize it’s just not there anymore.”

“Oh, hell, Addy.” Kale grabbed the rag from his back pocket and swiped it down his sweaty face. “You put too much stock in those dime-store psychologists. As I recall, the attraction between us was fine last night.”

She rolled her eyes. “Mr. Fit’s not a ‘dime-store’ psychologist. He’s a fitness trainer, and he makes a lot of sense.”

Kale answered with an eye roll of his own. “That’s probably a syndicated column written by a guy in Manhattan whose sole purpose in life revolves around fitting into a thirty-two-inch waistband.”

“You just don’t get it, Kale.”

“Yeah, I do.” He rammed the rag back into his pocket and shifted his weight to lean against the pontoon boat whose motor was cutting out for no apparent reason. “You’re upset that my business went from being an eight-hour shift to a sixteen-hour shift when Memorial Day came around, and suddenly I don’t have time for long romantic walks along the beach.” He waved a hand toward the marina and the parking lot where seven more boats waited on their trailers for his attention. “But it’ll take four months of this to have anything extra to pay for that January cruise to the Bahamas you’ve got your heart set on.”

Adele crossed her arms defiantly across her chest. “The cruise was your idea. I suspect you think you’ll enjoy it because you won’t be required to do anything except stuff your face around the clock.”

Kale flinched inwardly at the direct hit. Napping in the sun in a chaise longue with a never-empty beer in his hand and a snack bar or full buffet always within reach was his idea of heaven on earth. But the first week of June had just been marked off the calendar, and the winter cruise reward seemed a long time off. Noticing he was fast losing the sunlight, he breathed a heavy sigh. “Just go on home and get over your mad, Addy. I’m busier than a cat covering up shit on a concrete walk, and I don’t have time for this tonight.”

His girlfriend’s face flushed deep red. “I’m tired, too, Kale. Tired of being with somebody who thinks of sex as a spectator sport...and he’s the spectator instead of the participant.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m tired of you lying there while I do all the grunt work.” She tossed the newspaper at his feet and stalked off. “And don’t call me,” she threw over her shoulder. “We’re done.”

Kale finished his beer as he watched her leave. “Damn it!” He so didn’t need this right now. Taking out his frustration on the can, he crunched it into a ball and aimed a jump shot into the recycle bin. “Oof!” His feet made it only a few inches off the ground. Landing hard, he felt his insides shudder. The can fell two feet short of the goal.

His concentration was completely broken now, so he hefted the cover back on the boat motor, shoved the discarded newspaper into one of his deep pockets and lumbered slowly to the beer can. Yeah, he was a little short of breath when he got there, and okay, leaning over to pick up the can was more difficult than it should have been. But, with the new business he’d leased, he didn’t have time right now to think about diets or fixing relationships. He had too much going on. He’d finally found a place he’d wanted to buy and settle down in...and the woman to do it with. He just needed enough money for a down payment and an engagement ring.

Until five minutes ago, he’d assumed the money was the hard part. Sad fishermen with boats that wouldn’t run and hungry mouths to feed were cutting back on his prospective down-payment money in a big way.

And no kid should ever have to go to bed hungry.

Kale’s throat tightened with what felt like anger, but he swallowed the emotion and let it drop down into his stomach where it would be cushioned.

So now Addy was going to throw him away like a piece of trash? Like hell, she was. They’d been together for almost a year. Things were comfortable, just like they should be, and he wasn’t about to let her go.

In fact, his mind wouldn’t even drift to the topic of starting over again...with anything.

At twenty-nine, he was well beyond those years of constantly having to reinvent himself to try to fit into whatever community his dad’s fly-by-night ventures had moved them to.

Spectator sport, huh? That was a low blow.

True, he liked to take things slow and easy in bed. A lot of women would like it that way. Hell, when had Addy decided she didn’t like it that way?

He trudged out to the gas pumps and jotted down the figures on his pad one last time for the day. On his way through the door, he switched the lighted sign from green and Open to red and Closed, locking the dead bolt to secure the front of the building for the night; then he leaned over the counter and flipped the pump switch to Off.

“And so am I,” he announced to the empty store. Passing through the snacks section, he grabbed a bag of chips, an ice cream bar and two more beers from the cooler.

His apartment at the back of the marina was a welcomed sight, although he wished Addy were there. He passed up the couch they usually shared and plopped into the well-worn recliner and raised the footrest with a sigh. Not giving the ice cream time to melt, he gobbled it down first as he used the remote to channel surf. The program choice wouldn’t make much difference anyway—his mind was on Addy.

He wanted her there with him, damn it. Wanted things back the way they had been yesterday.

He pulled the newspaper from his pocket and glanced at the article—the ridiculous drivel that had convinced her she needed to break up. The entire thing was about mutual attraction. Nowhere did it talk about beauty being only skin-deep or the eye of the beholder stuff.

The more he read, the angrier he became. Who in the hell was this Mr. Fit? And what in the hell would ever make him—or anyone—think they could give advice to people whose personal circumstances they knew nothing about? People like the school psychologists or the guidance counselors from his childhood, or the nosy teachers and coaches at the schools he’d passed through—the ones who always tried to get him “involved”? What good would starting a sport or joining a club do? He’d never been there long enough to see a year from start to finish—usually, not even through training and a season.

The frustration of his youth bubbled to the surface, fueled by the fact that Addy wasn’t there to keep him company. He snatched up his laptop and typed in the email address the newspaper provided, shooting off a message that was short and sweet, but summed up precisely how he felt at the moment.



Dear Mr. Fit,

Thanks for ruining my life.



With a grunt, he set the computer back on the table beside him and picked up a beer. When he popped the top, it spewed, the cold brew drenching his bare stomach where his shirt hung open.

He grabbed a tissue from the box beside him and dried off, noticing for the first time in a long time how much more room he took up in this chair.

Losing a few pounds couldn’t hurt, he supposed.

Especially if it meant getting Addy back and returning his world to normal.

He read the calorie count on the beer. One-hundred fifty? The new light beers only had around fifty-five.That would be an easy swap without much effort.

He flexed his biceps, satisfied to see the large bulge appear. A layer of fat might cover the muscle, but the muscle was definitely there.

The ground may have shifted beneath him, but he was a strong guy.

He would simply pull it back to where it belonged.

* * *

“HOW CAN I put this delicately, Bree?”

Langston Presley leaned far enough over the desk for Bree Rice to catch a whiff of the mouthwash he’d used after his coffee. His face stopped within inches of hers—a space that had, at one time, been very natural, but now felt very weird and much too close. “You’re fired!”

The puff of air from the F-sound punched Bree in the eye.

Made you blink! Her brother Gil’s favorite taunt from childhood scampered across her memory.

Bree clenched the towel that hung around her neck with both hands and jutted her chin forward defiantly. “Oh, come on, Lang. It’s not my fault Todd Howell is a self-centered, conceited, two-timing SOB.” She eyed him levelly. “How do you think I feel...coming back to the gym to work out after hours, and catching the guy I’m dating in one of the private showers with another woman? You want to blame me that he can’t keep his urges under control?”

“I’m not blaming you for his actions. I’m blaming you for your own lack of judgment.” If it were possible, Lang’s voice hardened even more. “You knew it was a bad idea to date a client, but I overlooked your indiscretion because of our history—”

That again. Bree bristled. “You overlooked it because the client happened to be the assistant football coach, and my dating him landed a huge contract with the high school athletic department—”

“Which runs out next week and won’t be renewed according to the phone call I just received,” Lang snapped.

“Oh.” Bree straightened as the shock of that bit of news stiffened her spine. The high school athletics was the gym’s largest account. Losing it was a major loss. “I’m sorry, Lang. It won’t happen again.”

She watched his jaw muscle twitch. “You’re right. It won’t happen again. At least, not with you. I meant what I said, Bree. You’re fired. I’m not sure what made us ever think this would work, but it’s time to admit it doesn’t. Time to call it quits...for good, this time.”

The ubiquitous it Lang referred to was their continued working relationship after their broken engagement. When Lang hired Bree as a personal trainer for his gym three years ago, the attraction had been immediate and undeniable. And when she’d broken the engagement, they’d vowed to make it work. She wanted to stay in western Kentucky where she’d grown up and where her family was, and Langston Presley’s gym in Paducah was the only one of its size in the area.

But since she’d started dating the football coach, things had been stickier. Lang had been pouty and withdrawn. More than once, he’d demanded to know what Todd had that he didn’t.

The question didn’t have an answer Bree knew how to give. There was just something about the attraction between her and Lang that had gone from sizzle to fizzle. He was a great-looking guy with a physique to kill for. But something between them was off.

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, her mom would quote to her and her twin brother when they were kids.

She had no doubt somebody would view Lang as a treasure. She simply wasn’t that somebody.

Bree was too angry to feel panic at the moment, but what this would mean to her career hovered at the edge of her thoughts. She gave reason another go. “You’re making a hasty decision here. It’s never a good idea to make a decision when your emotions are running high.”

“Yeah.” Another flare of anger shot from Lang’s eyes. “If I’d learned that lesson three years ago, I might not be in this mess now.”

Bree’s hackles rose at the comment. If she didn’t leave soon, things were going to escalate into a shouting match just like they had last night with Todd. She hated when her emotions made her lose control—and she certainly didn’t need any more drama in her life. Tamping down her ire, she moved toward the door. “Okay. You’ve said enough. I’ll go pack my things.”

“I’ll take back the Mr. Fit column, but you’ll need to finish up with any questions or comments from this week’s article.”

Darn! The weekly article was one of Bree’s favorite parts of the job. Working out was therapeutic, and being a personal trainer made her feel she was helping people get their lives under control and on track. But available time set limits on how many people she could help. Writing the column always made her feel as if she was helping the masses.

Making the world a better place.

She jerked open Lang’s door and stepped through it, a symbol of the opportunity that had been jerked out of her hands and left behind.

Grabbing an empty equipment crate, she stomped to her office and made quick work of packing up the few personal items from her desk and her locker, fuming silently at the injustice of it all.

The Mr. Fit fan mail would help her leave this place in a good humor...or, at least, a better one, so she saved that task until the very end.

She pulled up the messages in the account, finding only three this week. That was a bit disappointing but seemed pretty much on par with the rest of the day.

The first two were kind thank-yous about her common-sense approach to love and her uplifting message. Just as she expected, she found herself smiling at the praise she’d garnered from simply laying out her philosophy.

The third one sent her day further south.



Dear Mr. Fit,

Thanks for ruining my life.



Nothing else. No explanation. No signature. Just somebody looking to pin blame on someone else.

She peered at the email address—Kaleb@...—rolling her eyes at the stylistic spelling of Caleb, which obviously belonged to some overly dramatic kid who thought the world owed him something.

Well, it was time for Mr. Fit to let Mr. Kaleb-with-a-K know he needed to suck it up.

Dear Kaleb,she typed. You’re welcome.

She hit the button, sending the message—and this chapter of her life—on its way.

* * *

STELLA RICE TRIED using a mother look on the riding mower—one of those facial expressions that withered the disobedience right out of the errant child on sight.

Click-click, the mower answered sullenly.

She slapped her hand to its seat in frustration and stomped off to the house to allow them both some time to cool down.

The six loaves of friendship bread she’d taken out of the oven an hour before were finally cool. She wrapped them carefully in plastic wrap, going over this week’s recipients in her mind. She’d drop a couple off at the church for Pastor Sawyer and his wife, then take one to Miss Beulah May, whose house was next door to the church.

Stella chewed her lip. It was probably Lester Briggs’s turn to get a loaf, but the last time she’d taken him one, he’d spread it around town she was making a play for him. Silly old coot. As if she could really be interested in the likes of him.

As if she could really be interested in the likes of anyone but her beloved Isaiah, who had departed from this world ten years ago tomorrow.

Thirty-one wonderful years they’d shared. Two great kids. A nice home. A relatively uneventful life until his pancreatic cancer. But even that had been mercifully swift—only three weeks from diagnosis to burial.

Just before he’d slipped away, he’d left her with some final instructions. Don’t remember me with tears, Stell. Show the world how happy we were. Remember me with smiles and laughter.

She blinked away the tears, trying her darndest to honor his request. It didn’t always work, but today it did.

Maybe Ollie Perkins would get two loaves this week. It was Ollie who’d given her the starter for the bread years ago. His macular degeneration didn’t allow him to bake anymore, so he got a loaf from Stella every week.

She was the only one who still made the bread in their small community of Taylor’s Grove, Kentucky. Sure, the bread was a bit of a hassle; the starter needed to be fed, and the large bowl took up space in the refrigerator. And then, of course, the bread had to be made—six loaves every week.

It was a commitment most people didn’t want to make. But Stella looked at the bread as a small way of giving back to the community that had given her so much.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. Even Lester Briggs, the silly old coot. She’d give him a loaf this week—and give Sue Marsden, The Mouth of Taylor’s Grove, something to talk about.

Stella went back outside, hopes running high that the mower had cooled enough to start. The kids were coming tomorrow, and she wanted everything to look nice. Her flower garden had enough blooms open to cut some large bouquets for Isaiah, yet it would still be pretty from the street. And she’d be able to send some daisies home with Bree. Gil wouldn’t care about the flowers, but he’d be thrilled with the extra apple dumplings, which Bree wouldn’t touch.

Her children—so much alike and yet so totally different. The thought brought a smile, and she chose to direct the positive attitude onto the mower. “Okay!” She clapped her hands enthusiastically. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

She climbed on and turned the switch.

The mower stuck out its tongue. Click-click.

“Oooo!” She fumed and got off. Maybe Bobo Hudson would come take a look at it. The retired mechanic sometimes did odd jobs around the place for her, although he’d been down from his back lately. She’d stop by his house on her way home from town.

“Just don’t go thinking I won’t replace you.” She wagged a warning finger at the mower and closed the back door before it had time to snort in response.

Well, this had certainly gotten her morning off to the wrong start.

Everything happens for a reason, Stell. She’d heard that statement every day of her life with Isaiah. It was the philosophy he lived by. And she’d tried hard to live by it, too.

But, for the life of her, in ten years she’d never been able to come up with a good reason for his death.

She grabbed her purse and her basket of bread and headed for town.

Taylor’s Grove Park sat at the very center of town, physically and socially. It was there that North and South Main and East and West Walnut streets intersected Yager Circle, and it was there that the people of Taylor’s Grove spent their time when they weren’t at home, church or school. If you found yourself alone and in need of company anytime between seven in the morning and nine at night—although the summer evening hours dwindled to seven-thirtyish in the winter—you only needed to go to the park to find someone to pass the time with. The gazebo offered shelter from the sun or the rain, and someone always had a bag of cookies or a sandwich to share.

As Stella approached the park this morning, she saw a small crowd gathered near the gazebo, and she could hear the distinct voice of Sue Marsden, loud and obviously angry about something—what else was new?

“We don’t like your kind,” Sue screeched. “And we don’t want you hanging around here. Sheriff Blaine will be here any minute.”

By now, Stella could see the person Sue was railing at—a scruffy, weather-beaten old man with a handmade sign that read: I CAN FIX ANYTHING BUT A BROKEN HEART.

A bum, maybe, but one with a sense of humor.

Stella liked him immediately.

“I don’t think there’s any law against looking for honest work, ma’am,” the man drawled. His voice sounded younger than the lines etched into his face implied.

“There are laws against vagrancy,” Sue snapped.

“Not a vagrant. Able to work and I got my home with me right there. But maybe you didn’t notice it, seeing as it’s done up in camouflage.”

The man pointed to an old pickup with what looked like a homemade camper built over the top and the bed. The whole thing had been splotched with black, drab green, yellow and orange paint.

When a chuckle went through the crowd, Sue’s face turned a vivid red. “You just get yourself back in your dilapidated truck and move on now, you hear?”

Sue’s tone irritated Stella even more than usual. There was no love lost between the two women. They tolerated each other, but kept their distance as much as possible in a town the size of Taylor’s Grove where nothing was too far from anything else. And Sue had never been on the receiving end of one of Stella’s loaves of bread.

So maybe it was Stella’s frustration with the mower or maybe it was just her always-present desire to see Sue Marsden get her comeuppance that spurred her forward.

“Can you fix a lawn mower?” Stella called from the back of the group.

The crowd turned in unison and parted to let her approach the stranger.

“Yes, ma’am. Small engines happen to be a specialty of mine.” He smiled, and despite the missing teeth, something about the look in his eyes made Stella believe he was telling the truth...and that he was hungry.

“I’ve got a mower that won’t run this morning.” She eyed him carefully. If he had alcohol or drug problems, she didn’t want to give him cash. “If you can get it going, I’ll feed you a nice lunch and send you off with the leftovers.”

“I’d be much obliged for that, ma’am.” He took his cap off and ran his hand through his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. “But I have food. It’s gas money I’m in need of.”

“You can’t be serious,” Sue interjected with a sneer.

Stella gave the woman a dismissive glance. “This doesn’t concern you, Sue. This is between me and Mr...?”

“Cyree, ma’am. Ray Cyree.” He started to offer his hand, then seemed to think better of it and pulled it back, clutching his cap tighter.

Stella was relieved. He didn’t appear to have bathed in several days...or weeks. “Well, Mr. Cyree. Seeing as how you should first know what you’re getting into, maybe it would be better to negotiate the terms after you’ve examined the mower?”

“Are you out of your mind?” Sue protested. “He could be an ax murderer, and you’re going to let him into your house?”

“I can stop by and check on you, Stella,” Tank Wallis promised, and a couple of others chimed in with “Me, too.”

“Thanks. There’ll be apple dumplings with ice cream waiting for anyone who wants to drop by this afternoon,” Stella announced, feeling assured that she and Mr. Cyree wouldn’t be alone for very long. “Shall we, Mr. Cyree?”

The stranger nodded. “Please, call me Ray. And, yeah, I’d like to get started.”

“Good. I’ll meet you there.” Stella pointed from the direction she’d come. “Down that street. Brick house at the corner of Walnut and Third. Lots of flowers.”

The two of them excused themselves, he headed to his truck, she to make the short walk home. Stella paused, wondering whether to disperse the loaves of friendship bread she carried, but decided against it.

The friend she’d just made looked as if he could use all six of them.

* * *

“HE DID A fabulous job of mowing and trimming, and following him to the filling station was the perfect solution. In fact, I’m cool with everything except the part where you invited him in.”

Bree couldn’t keep from smiling at her brother’s statement. Words, tone, delivery—all were exact duplicates of her dad’s. Everybody always commented on how much she and her twin brother looked like their dad. It was comforting to know he was still so much a part of them. Especially today. But it also made her ashamed of the news she was going to have to break to her mom and brother...which, of course, could wait until dinner was finished.

“Oh, I wouldn’t have done that if Tank hadn’t stopped by. Another roll?” Her mom held out the basket of homemade yeast rolls.

Gil took two, slathering them with butter. Mom waved them in Bree’s direction as a matter of etiquette, Bree supposed, knowing they’d be declined. She hadn’t deliberately ingested white flour—or white sugar, or anything with corn—in ten years, but her mom still acted as though her eating habits were a strange phase she would grow out of.

“Tank told me later he wouldn’t have known he was the same man,” her mom said, continuing her tale. “It was amazing the difference a shave and shower and some clean clothes made, even ones that were too big for him. I’m thinking I may cut off a pair of your dad’s trousers and hem them and have them waiting in case he takes me up on the offer to use the shower again.”

So, her mom was finally letting go of some of Dad’s things. That was a move in the right direction. Ten years was more than enough time to grieve.

“Dad would like that somebody finally got to use that shower, but I’m not sure he’d be as pleased about your having a naked man in the garage.” Bree laughed as the blush crept up her mom’s neck and into her face. The garage with the mudroom-plus-shower had always been a dream of her dad’s and a frivolous notion to her mom, who had finally relented, and the garage had been built. Ironically, it had been completed only a couple of weeks before he died, and he never got to use it. To Bree’s knowledge, yesterday’s shower, taken by a stranger, was the first time the shower stall had ever been occupied by anything but plants.

Gil laughed and directed a wink Bree’s way. “You’re not going to make naked men in the garage a habit, are you, Mom?”

“Oh, shush now, you two. Your conversation’s hardly appropriate for the dinner table.” She brandished the serving spoon from the carrots in both of their directions. But her stern expression gave way to a small grin. “But you should’ve seen Sue’s face when I hired the poor man. Lord, she looked like she was going to blow a gasket!”

Bree and Gil had seen that look on Sue’s face enough while they were growing up to picture it easily, and they shared a chuckle at their mom’s small victory.

The running feud between Stella Rice and Sue Marsden was a topic the people of Taylor’s Grove could always fall back on when nothing new was stirring. The fact that Sue Yager had been in love with Isaiah Rice, but Isaiah had been in love with Stella Gilbert had been common knowledge since the three had been in junior high school.

Even after she’d found what appeared to be true love with her husband, Ed, Sue Marsden was not one to let go of a grudge. The feud had continued.

Bree’s mom wiped her mouth with her napkin and took a sip of her iced tea. “But, enough of this. What’s going on with y’all? How’s work?”

Bree avoided the subject for a little while longer by stuffing a forkful of yellow squash into her mouth. She nodded at Gil to go first if he had any news. The big grin that broke out on his face said he did...and it was wonderful. So, while she adored her brother and wished for good things to come to him, another part of her brain pouted that sometimes his timing really sucked.

“John Dunn is looking to open a gym between Paducah and Murray. I told him about Dad’s building, and he seemed really interested.”

Her brother’s news rendered Bree momentarily speechless, but it brought a delighted gasp from her mom. “Oh, Gil. That’s terrific!”

The building in Benton that had housed Isaiah Rice’s insurance business had been leased to his partner for the first six years after their dad’s death. But then, Ralph had retired and moved to Florida, leaving the building vacant. It had been on the market for three years, taking its toll on their mom’s finances. Isaiah had left his wife comfortably well off, but paying the taxes and keeping the old, empty building in good condition took an ever-increasing amount each year.

Her mom’s expression flashed from joyous to wary. “Does he really think Benton’s large enough to support a gym?”

“Not by itself,” Gil answered. “But he figures it’s the perfect location to pull in from all the smaller surrounding communities...like Taylor’s Grove. Lots of people around here would love to belong to a gym, but they don’t have the time or desire to make that hour or hour-and-a-half round-trip drive.”

Bree had always chosen to work out of a gym...well, until yesterday morning. Gil, on the other hand, had put the personal in the title personal trainer. He charged by the hour, working with individuals or small groups—mostly businessmen and bored, well-to-do housewives.

“But that’s not the best part.”

Her brother’s news had already sent a shock wave through Bree, and she braced herself for whatever was coming next.

Gil’s smile broadened, and his eyes darted between her and her mom. “He’s offered me the manager/trainer position.”

“Will you...” Bree’s throat closed, and she paused to get some air. “Will you be hiring?”

“Why?” Gil grinned around the dinner roll at his lips. “You thinking of leaving that hoity-toity club that Langston sucked you into?”

“Maybe.” Bree shrugged.

Gil placed the uneaten roll back on his plate and looked hard at her. Through her, actually. “You’re serious. What gives?”

Her mom set her fork down and clasped her hands on the table by her plate, turning her full attention to Bree. “You’ve been quiet all evening.” She reached out, her warm hand enveloping Bree’s cold one. “I thought it was the anniversary that was making you melancholy. But it’s something else.”

Bree nodded. “I got fired yesterday.”

Mom and Gil both straightened in their seats.

“What in the hell happened?”

Her mom shot a look at Gil. “Watch your manners, Gilbert.”

Gil shrugged. “Sorry. What in the hell happened...Brianna?”

For her mom’s sake, Bree decided on the G-rated version. “I broke up with Todd. He got mad and pulled the entire athletic account.”

Gil gave a low whistle. “Whew! That’s a huge chunk of business to lose.”

Bree nodded in agreement.

“But that’s what you get for messing around with clients.” There was Dad’s tone again.

“We weren’t ‘messing around.’ We were dating,” Bree snapped.

“Call it what you want. It’s suicide in the business world.”

“Believe me, if I’d ever thought—”

“That’s your problem, Bree. You don’t think.”

Mom slapped her hand on the table. “Stop bickering, you two.” She sighed, and her angry glare softened. “Don’t you see? ‘Everything happens for a reason.’ Isaiah told us that all the time.” Her chin quivered as her eyes traveled back and forth, giving each child equal time. “You think it’s just a coincidence that we have a prospect on the building? And that prospect wants to hire you, Gil? And you, Bree, just happen to be looking for a job?” She smiled, and a tear traced its way down her cheek. “And all this just happened to come to pass on the anniversary of your father’s death? I’m telling you, kids, this is your dad watching over us.”

Her mom’s sentiments were sweet, but Bree didn’t feel the same comfort from the words. Hopefully, Dad was not somewhere watching her indiscretions. That would be...ewww! She shuddered.

Her mom gave a long, contented sigh, and then stood. “Y’all just stay here. I’ll go dish us up dessert.”

“None for me, Mom,” Bree reminded her.

“Yes, I know, dear.” Mom patted her on the back when she passed behind her on the way into the kitchen.

When she was out of earshot, Gil leaned across the table. “Mom’s right. Everything does happen for a reason. And the reason you got fired is because you were sleeping with a client.”

Bree was in no mood to be lectured. “Drop it, Gil,” she said, knowing he would have the last word—like always.

True to form, he stuck his finger in her direction. “I’ll tell you one thing. This opportunity might pan out for us both. But, if it does, you have to promise me never to get involved with another client.”

“I’m good on the control stuff, Gil.” Bree pointed to her plate as evidence of that fact.“And I’ve learned from my mistakes. No man’s worth risking my career.”

“Keep reminding yourself, will you?”

“No need.” Bree leaned back and snatched a tangerine from the bowl on the buffet. “The mantra is etched on my frontal lobe.”

She would never be that stupid again.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_ea65d423-e05c-5a66-a4ce-37af6658a0db)

Mid-October

“THANKS FOR LETTING me stay on, Mr. B. This extra month and a half has helped out a lot.” Josh thrust his hand forward in what seemed like a bit of over-formality, but Kale shook it warmly.

Josh Reeves was a great kid, and Kale wished he could keep him on through the winter. But with the days getting cooler, business had slowed to mainly gas traffic, fishermen and the random houseboat or two a day. Besides, the kid needed some time to participate in extracurriculars. This was his senior year, and he should be enjoying it instead of working every day after school. “You’ve been good help.” Kale added a friendly clap on the boy’s shoulder. “Come April, I’ll be looking to hire you back if you’re interested. In the meantime, if I decide to take some time off—like a weekend or whatever—would you be interested in watching the place?”

“Why? You planning a romantic getaway with Addy or something?” The eighteen-year-old gave him a sly grin.

“You saw, huh?”

Josh nodded.

Kale was aware his own smile was a bit smug, but he couldn’t help it. For almost four months, his occasional calls to Addy to “just catch up” had gone unanswered. And then, she’d shown up at the marina this afternoon, out of the blue. Her body language messages had been mixed—and damn confusing. She hadn’t really come on to him, but she did comment on the weight he’d lost—over twenty pounds since she’d last seen him, and she’d said he looked good.

“Naw, but I might want to do some fishing.” Kale wasn’t sure if his answer to Josh’s question was a lie or not. A weekend with Addy had crossed his mind, but so had fishing. He’d accomplished his first step in his “get Addy back” project—she’d dropped by. That must mean something. But now he thought it best to back off and allow her to do some of the pursuing. Nothing was a bigger turnoff than a desperate guy.

“Fishing. Weekend with Addy.” Josh held his hands palms up and moved them as if weighing the possibilities. “Both of them involve opening a can of worms, Mr. B.”

Kale laughed at the boy’s ever-ready wit—another thing he liked about him. “So your next gig is at a comedy club, right?”

Josh dropped his hands to rest on his hips. “Just calling it like I see it. Anyway, however you spend your weekend, I’d love to cover for you. Anytime you need me, just holler.”

They said their goodbyes but left the specifics hanging since Kale had no definite plans. He waved until the boy was out of sight, and then changed into his reflective clothes and took off for his nightly jog.

He’d started by walking around the parking lot for five minutes and had added an additional five each week until he’d gotten up to forty-five minutes. At that point, he’d decided he’d rather drop dead from exertion than boredom and began to jog. Sometimes it was difficult to tell the difference in his heavy gait. But, at the beginning of October, he’d finally ventured out to the highway and had fixed a goal in his mind of someday jogging all the way to his friend Beecher’s marina at Taylor’s Grove—a nine-mile trek.

But tonight the goal in miles didn’t seem important. The star he was reaching for took on the familiar shape of Addy. He would walk, jog—hell, he’d all-out run, he was so committed to doing whatever it took to get into the shape he needed to be to win her back.

He clocked his distance with his phone, making it a full mile-and-three-eighths—his personal best—before slowing to a walk and turning back for home.

Almost a mile-and-a-half and getting a visit from Addy all on the same day? He felt lighter indeed as a bubble of hope swelled in his chest.

An hour later, his celebration was complete with a cold beer in one hand and one of Mama G’s pizzas in the other.

How Mama G kept her pizzas so hot over the miles of delivery in this rural area of Kentucky amazed him. He dropped the box on the table as he passed and blew on his burning fingers. He grabbed a plate from his cupboard and filled it with three pieces of Mama G’s Special—hamburger, pepperoni, Canadian bacon and green pepper.

When he flipped the carton closed to keep the pizza warm, the bright yellow paper taped to the top caught his eye. Not the usual list of coupons from Benton merchants, this one heralded GRAND OPENING SPECIAL AT BENTON FITNESS across the top, and beneath that a photo of two sickeningly gorgeous people dressed in full workout regalia. The man’s sculpted biceps bulged under the weight of the barbell he gripped in front of his chest while the woman pumped large hand weights with perfect form and, well, perfect everything, as far as he could see.

Kale’s gaze lingered a moment longer on the woman before drifting down to the caption. Manager/Personal Trainer Gilbert Rice and Personal Trainer Brianna Rice are ready to help you become what you’ve always dreamed of being.

Kale affected the voice of Saturday Night Live’s bodybuilding characters, Hanz and Franz. “Gilbert and Brianna Rice. ‘We want to pump—” he clapped “—you up.’” He snorted at his joke.

His gaze drifted back to the photo of the perfect people who enjoyed, he was sure, a perfect marriage. How did people like them find a spouse? No ordinary person would be good enough. Maybe somewhere out there was a special dating service that specialized in uniting perfect people. He could see it now—Your Perfect Match.

Well, one thing was certain—that these two found each other was a good thing. That way, they didn’t mess up two other imperfect people’s lives.

He ripped the paper from the box and looked over the different types of memberships. The prices were reasonable and the gym had flexible hours. He bit into the pizza, which had finally cooled enough to eat.

With cold weather scheduled to arrive soon, a gym membership might not be a bad idea, and adding weight training to his workouts would speed up the entire “getting in shape” process.

Kale set the pizza box in the refrigerator, not as hungry as he’d originally thought. He’d finish it tomorrow for lunch instead of eating the entire thing tonight.

Juggling the plate, two beers and the TV remote, he finally settled on the couch for a couple of hours of football—something he and Addy had always enjoyed together.

Hell, combining jogging with weight lifting, he might get shaped up in no time.

Addy might be warming his bed again before Christmas.

* * *

THE LEAVES OF the white ash tree were on the ground now. The sight sent a pang through Stella. Oh, the oaks were still hanging full, but even they had started to loosen their grip. Two or three more weeks of mowing and all of the leaves would be mulched for the winter.

And then what would become of Ray Cyree?

She knew it was silly to fret about the man. He was at least sixty years old, she’d determined from bits of conversation. Certainly old enough to take care of himself. But he had so little to show for all his years—a plywood box sitting atop an old pickup with a bed taking up most of the space and everything else he owned crammed into storage boxes piled from floor to ceiling.

She shuddered, remembering the “tour” he’d given her last week of his strange home. She hadn’t actually gone in—she didn’t need to. The glance he’d allowed had filled her brain with enough sights to haunt her ever since.

He’d opened the front door and let her sit for a moment in the driver’s seat. The passenger’s seat had been removed, replaced by a short plastic unit with drawers like she’d seen in discount stores. A built-in twin bed took up most of the space, made up with a set of threadbare, but clean sheets. He’d pointed out his kitchen, which consisted of a cooler, a hot plate and built-in shelves filled with every kind of canned soup imaginable.

“I buy a bag of ice every day, and I have a small gas-powered generator when I need heat or electricity to cook,” he’d told her, pointing proudly to his “amenities.”

She’d tried to hide her dismay at his living conditions, but he must’ve seen through her. “I’m a simple man, Ms. Stella. I have everything I need, and most of what I want.”

Perhaps it was that comment that affected her most.

She shifted her gaze from the falling leaves outside to the spacious kitchen she stood in. A 3,500-square-foot house seemed obscene for one person to occupy, and for the fifty-millionth time since Isaiah’s abrupt departure, she wondered if she should downsize.

The thought of leaving her home with its comforts, but most of all its memories, made her heart ache. But the thought of having so much when so many others had so little was a double-edged sword.

“Stop your brooding, Stella,” she admonished herself aloud.

A soft rap on the back door startled her out of her reverie. When she opened it, she was surprised and delighted to meet Ray Cyree’s snaggle-toothed smile.

“Morning, Ms. Stella.”

“Good morning, Ray. You’re a day early. Today’s Wednesday.”

In the four months since they’d met at the park, Ray had become a good friend. She still didn’t know too much about him as he was tight-lipped when it came to talking about his history. A haunted look came into his eyes whenever the subject of wife or children came up, and he would shrug it off. But he could talk endlessly about his travels, and he was punctual to a fault, and for that reason alone, he’d earned her trust.

He pulled a small bouquet of zinnias from behind his back and thrust them awkwardly toward her. “I brought these for you.”

It was Stella’s turn to feel awkward, and she hurried to cover it. “Why, thank you, Ray. They’re beautiful.” She accepted them, but a flicker of worry flared in her mind. She hoped he hadn’t cut them from Sue Marsden’s yard. Sue had a hissy fit if anyone touched her flowers.

Ray’s grin softened. “I finished the concrete work on the church steps yesterday, so the pastor and his wife invited me for breakfast this morning. When I mentioned how beautiful her flowers still were, Ms. O’Malley cut these for me. I thought I’d pass them on to you.” He shrugged. “Just a small way of saying thanks for all you’ve done to help me.”

“Why, that’s very kind of you.” She buried her nose in the flowers, finding only a faint scent lingered.

Ray gave another of his signature one-shouldered shrugs. “Ms. O’Malley should get the credit.”

“Faith and Sawyer O’Malley are dear to my heart.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “Did you know we may be in-laws someday?”

“So I hear. Ms. O’Malley mentioned your son and her daughter...?” Ray had held up first one finger for Gil and then added another for Thea. He wiggled them together and crossed them as his tone died away.

Stella smiled and crossed her own fingers. “Yes. We hope.” Aware they had been standing in the doorway for a while, Stella gestured behind her to the kitchen. “Won’t you come in for a cup of coffee?”

“No, ma’am.” Ray nodded toward the garage. “I was wondering if it would be okay if I mowed today instead of tomorrow.”

“Oh, sure. I’m leaving soon for Benton. That new gym where my children are working has its grand opening today. But you know where everything is, and I trust you to lock up when you finish...like always.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ray bobbed his head. “I’m sorry to switch days, but Ollie Perkins needs some changes made to his house—accommodations for his blindness and whatnot—and Pastor O’Malley recommended me for the job.”

“That’s wonderful. You’re making a name for yourself in Taylor’s Grove.”

Ray shrugged. “Just trying to eke out a living, you know?”

Stella nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“Well, once I get started on the rewiring at Ollie’s house, I won’t want to stop in the middle. So I thought I’d get your yard done today, and start on his work tomorrow.”

“That’s fine, Ray.” Stella waved at the leaves falling from the maple tree. “They’re not on a schedule, so you don’t have to be, either. How long will Ollie’s renovations take, do you think?”

“I’m not exactly sure.” Ray’s eyes had followed Stella’s wave and remained on the yard as he continued. “Probably a month or so, if I’m guessing.”

That would take them into November, and the weather here in western Kentucky would be getting chilly. Her worry from earlier resurfaced. “And then what? Will you go south to warmer weather?”

Ray’s gaze wandered back to meet hers, and his smile took on an edge of tenderness. “No, Ms. Stella. I’ve got the best of reasons to stay in these parts. Here’s exactly where I want to be.”

Oh, dear! Stella’s heart dropped into her stomach like a lead weight. If her kindness had been misconstrued as something else, she would have to remedy that immediately.

“Ray.” She hesitated. “I think of you as a good friend. And I’m flattered, really.” She held up the flowers as evidence. “But I...don’t think I’ll ever...uh...”

His eyes widened in shock. “Oh, no, Ms. Stella.” He waved his palms in front of the flowers as if the gesture would make them disappear. “I didn’t mean you! That’s not why I gave you the flowers.”

Relief flooded her, followed closely by a wave of embarrassment. “Oh.” Her face grew hot. “I shouldn’t have assumed...”

Ray’s face was bright red, but his laugh dissipated the tension between them. “I’d never expect a fine-looking woman like you to fall for an old goat like me.” He backed off the steps, eyes still locked with hers. “But you know, Ms. Stella, you’re doing some good man a grave disservice by keeping yourself off the market.”

Stella pressed a cold hand to her warm cheek. “Thank you, Ray.”

“I’d best get to work now...before you try to marry me or something.” He shook his head in mock wonderment and headed for the garage.

Stella was laughing when she closed the door, positive that for the next few days, the flowers she held would wring a giggle from her every time she saw them.

* * *

“I’LL SEE YOU LATER.” Bree’s roommate, Thea O’Malley, gave her a small wave, then rose on tiptoes to kiss Gil goodbye. “And I’ll see you later,” she repeated, though the intonation used the second time sent a totally different message.

Thea’s kiss was followed by a long, direct look into Gil’s eyes that made Bree feel like an intruder. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, y’all. Get a room.”

Gil’s gaze shifted to his sister and he squinted one eye. “We had more options for that before you came along.”

Bree ignored the barb. Moving into the spare bedroom of Thea’s small house in Benton had been a win-win situation for them both. Sharing expenses gave them each extra spending money, and now Thea could stay at Gil’s house on Kentucky Lake as often as she wanted without fretting about her cat, Dandy, getting lonely.

And Dandy—short for Dandelion because he’d been a yellow puffball as a kitten—had given Bree his stamp of approval by sleeping at least half of every night splayed across her feet.

Bree gathered the stack of applications from the front counter and took them to the gym’s office where Stacy, a college student who’d be working there part-time, would enter them into the computer. Stacy had already left for her night class, so Bree thumbed through the pile, glancing at the addresses. There seemed to be a good representation from most of the small communities of Marshall County. A few were obviously closer to Paducah or Murray, so she could only surmise the grand opening special discount had served its purpose.

Many of the new members indicated they wanted to work with a personal trainer. She and Gil would divide those up as equally as possible, depending on whether weight loss or strength training was the primary goal. Surprisingly, at this point, strength training seemed to be in the lead, but not surprisingly, the majority of those who wanted to achieve weight loss were women. Nature’s way of helping her stay good on her promise of no involvement, perhaps, since she’d be handling the clients looking for weight loss.

Her stomach growled a reminder that it was time for one of her six small meals, so she headed to the fridge at the snack bar. Gil hadn’t found anyone to run the area yet, so today the two of them had taken turns with the part-time employees keeping protein water, fruit, nuts and smoothies in the hands of potential customers. Consequently, things were a bit of a mess, and nothing was where she’d left it.

She rummaged through all the shelves of the fridge, looking for the other half of the turkey breast on organic whole grain bread that she’d brought from home. Oh, man, if someone had eaten her special sandwich she’d saved until this evening, she would be pissed.

“Where is it?” she fumed, turning her attention to the drawers at the bottom.

“Well, I’m not sure what you’re looking for, but I think I’ve found what I’m looking for.”

The deep voice and its ensuing laugh caused Bree to straighten too quickly, banging the base of her head on the door of the freezer.

“Damn!” She grabbed her head and whirled around, biting back another expletive, reminding herself this was probably a customer—who had been inappropriately ogling her rear.

The poor guy’s grin faded with one look at her, and he stepped back, eyes wide.

Big blue eyes wide.

The big wide shade-of-blue-Mom-called-Paul Newman–blue eyes caused an unwelcomed pulse to run through Bree’s system.

Don’t even. She slapped herself mentally.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He picked up one of the price lists from the bar. “I was looking for one of these, and that guy sent me over here.” He nodded in the direction of the weight room where Gil was demonstrating the correct way to perform a bench press to an elderly man.

Ashamed that she’d mistaken this guy’s meaning and allowed her own libido off its leash, Bree smiled through the pain. “I’m the one who should apologize for my language.”

He grinned, flashing a set of killer dimples. “Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Bree gritted her teeth at her body’s reaction to his smile. “Still inappropriate on my part, though.” Truer words were never spoken. She held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Bree Rice, one of the trainers.”

“I’m Kale Barlow.” He gave her hand a shake and then dropped it quickly. He pointed to the picture of her and Gil on the price page. “You’ve cut your hair.”

“Yeah. That’s a couple of months old. Keeping it in a constant ponytail was heavy and causing the ends to break. I thought I’d try it short for a while.” She hadn’t admitted to anyone, it was also her symbolic cut with Lang and Todd and all her past mistakes.

The new gym called for a new start with a new attitude and a new “do.”

He nodded absently and then seemed to remember why he’d come. “I’m thinking I might be interested in the full-service membership. The one that will let me work one-on-one with somebody.”

“Great!” Bree pushed a little more enthusiasm into her voice than she felt. “What are you hoping to get from working with a personal trainer?” Please, say muscle tone or anything that will land you with Gil.

“Well, I’ve been working out on my own, and I’ve lost over twenty pounds,” he said, pride evident in his voice.

“Good!” Bree breathed a little easier. “Good for you.”

“But...”

Bree’s breath hitched at the word.

“I still need to lose twenty or thirty more pounds.” He stepped out from behind the bar he’d been leaning on and grabbed the spare tire around his stomach, giving it a jiggle.

No doubt about it, Kale Barlow was enough overweight to be unhealthy, and she could help him fix that. But his smile—and those eyes!—held an all-too-familiar element of danger. Bree’s insides started a tug-of-war.

“You know, a personalized weight-lifting program would build muscle tissue,” she offered. “And muscle uses more calories than fat, so you could just follow some nutrition guidelines—”

Gil had finished with the elderly man and now walked up to join their conversation. “If it’s nutrition guidelines you want, Bree here’s your expert.” Gil’s arm went around her shoulder for a quick hug.

Bree forced a smile past her tight jaw muscles. “But, as I was saying, the pounds can really fall off once you start building muscle.”

“But—” Gil interjected again, “muscle is denser than fat, so some people get discouraged when they start strength training because they might see the scale going up instead of down. The trick is to keep an eye on your measurements.”

Confusion settled into the deep blue of Kale Barlow’s eyes. “I’m doing pretty good with the weight thing. I’m really hoping to get some more pounds off fairly quickly.”

“Then Bree is the perfect personal trainer for you if you’re looking at the full-service package.”

Bree flinched. She’d used those same words all day long. Why had the term full-service package chosen this exact moment to sound sexual?

Kale’s eyes scanned the list of services on the paper and then nodded. “Yep. That’s what I want. Where do I sign?”

“I’ll grab a membership form.” Bree scurried back to the office for the form and her schedule, glad for a bit of distance to clear her head.

It had been a long day, and she was tired. Maybe even a little vulnerable.

She paused. That was it. Vulnerability was a weakness, and a weakness needed to be turned into a strength.

She loved obstacle courses. Loved the feeling that came with scaling a fifteen-foot wall by climbing a rope. Loved the exhaustion after a grueling six-mile race in mud.

Kale Barlow was an obstacle to her career—waiting to be conquered.

Besides, she didn’t even know him yet. He could turn out to be a total jerk who just happened to be blessed with gorgeous eyes, a killer smile and a deep, sensuous voice.

She hurried back to the snack bar with his form, her schedule and a new resolve.

“Kale’s the one who leased the marina on Jonathan Creek,” Gil told her while her new client filled out the form.

“Dilly’s old place?” she asked, and Gil nodded. Dilly Myers had been a fishing buddy of their dad’s. The Jonathan Creek area was a popular boating and camping area on Kentucky Lake with a huge draw for tourists, but, although it was only ten miles or so away, Bree couldn’t remember the last time she’d been there.

By the time Kale completed the paperwork, Bree was under control and all business, not the least bit worried when Gil left to process the membership fee on the card reader in the office, leaving her and Kale alone. “So, Mr. Barlow, what days and times work best for you?”

“I close the marina at six during the winter. I can be here by six-thirty easily.”

“Monday, Wednesday, Friday good for a start?”

He nodded.

“This Friday work for you?”

He nodded again, and Bree penciled him in.

Gil returned and handed his card back to him. “Here you go.”

“Well, I guess I’m finished here.” He put the card in his wallet and shook hands with both of them. “Thanks for opening this place. I think it’s exactly what I need.”

“We’re glad to have you, and I look forward to working with you,” Bree told him. “And, if you get the chance before Friday, write down what’s in your refrigerator. We’ll start out with a look at how you eat.” She smiled at the grimace he made before he walked away.

Bree and Gil watched until he was out the door.

“You okay with him?” Gil asked.

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Gil shrugged. “I don’t know. You just seemed a little nervous.”

She shook her head. “Nervous? Hardly.”

“Yeah, he’s really not your type, is he?” She heard the taunt come into her brother’s voice. “Thankfully, you always go for those long and lean, sinewy guys.”

“I told you before, no client involvement. Even if my favorite hunky actor, Sam Heughan, walks through our door, I won’t give him a second look.” She closed her eyes and took a long breath to steel her resolve.

When she opened them, Gil was watching her, worry evident in his eyes. “Made you blink,” he said.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_dbd0b004-ff5f-5a46-a2c3-5f6d5b86dcec)

THE PARKING LOT of the gym was nearly empty. As he parked his truck, Kale was dreading the lecture ahead of him. He had his list of what’s-in-your-fridge to share with his new trainer, and from the looks of Ms. Not One Ounce of Extra Fat, she wouldn’t be pleased.

But he would face his punishment like a man. He deserved a lecture, though not because of the contents of his refrigerator. It wasn’t like he could control his freakin’ subconscious.

Wednesday night he’d gotten caught in the act of unabashedly checking out the ass of another guy’s wife. Oh, he’d covered well, but Bree Rice had seen through him, he was sure.

Married women were off-limits, sort of a “do-unto-others” standard he lived by.

But it wasn’t the ogling he was most ashamed of. It was the damn erections he’d woken up with for two mornings now, and the person in his dreams was his personal trainer.

Mrs. Gil Rice, he reminded himself for the twelve-gillionth time that day.

As he switched the ignition off, he closed his eyes and pushed Addy to the forefront of his mind. “I’m doing this for you, Addy.” He fixed her once again as his driving force.

Bree wasn’t difficult to spot through the weight room windows in her hot-pink and bright yellow shorts. Her back was to him, but Kale made a point of keeping his eyes focused on her top half this time. Gil, who was spotting her, acknowledged Kale with a nod as she lifted a barbell with a damn impressive amount of weight attached to each end over her head. Her movements were smooth, her posture perfect. She held the weight for a few seconds before squatting to settle the ends back on the stand.

She and her husband shared a high five, and he said something to her. She grabbed a towel and trotted out to meet Kale.

“Hi, Kale. You’re right on time.” Her face was flushed from exertion, making her smile seem to glow as they shook hands in greeting. “And you’re dressed and ready to go. I’m impressed.”

“I’m motivated for change,” he answered, keeping his eyes glued to her face and not allowing them to glance at the perfect cleavage peeking out of her sports bra.

“Then you might be my favorite client.” She laughed and the sound relaxed him. “So, did you bring your list?”

He pulled it from his jacket pocket in answer.

“Great. We’ll get to that later. I know you just finished work, and you’re probably anxious to get in a little cardio, so I thought we’d start you off with a half hour of circuit training. Then we’ll spend the last half hour going over your list and talking about some healthy eating habits. Sound good?”

“I’m putting myself in your hands.” Kale flinched inwardly at his unfortunate word choice. “Lead the way,” he added.

Bree escorted him to the circuit-training room, taking him from station to station, explaining how the weight machines and stationary bikes worked. The idea of staying on a machine for only one minute sounded weird, but once he got into the routine, it was nice in a mindless kind of way. Cycle hard for one minute, then, at the sound of the beep, move to a weight machine. Ten seconds to get the machine set. Another beep. Do as many reps as possible in one minute, then at the sound of the beep, move back to the bike. A full circuit around all the machines took twenty minutes, but with Bree’s ten-minute training on the machines, he found he was finished at precisely the time she had told him she’d be waiting. The woman was certainly efficient.

She met him at the door of the circuit room with a fresh towel. “I’m glad to see you’re sweating.” She really did look genuinely pleased as she led the way to her office. “Some people take it too easy in there.”

“Not me. I want to lose twenty more pounds by Christmas.”

He watched as doubt shadowed her light brown eyes. “That may be expecting a little too much. A healthy pace is one to two pounds a week.”

“Not fast enough. Two-twenty by December twenty-fifth.” That would be forty-three pounds from where he’d started.

“Sticking to a strict diet over the holiday season is almost impossible. I mean, it’s admirable you have such lofty goals, but I want you to be realistic above all else. Otherwise, you set yourself up for failure.”

“I won’t fail,” he assured her. “This is too important.”

She motioned to a chair in front of her desk and then scooted another one out from the wall so they could face each other comfortably with nothing between them. “Do you mind sharing with me what’s so important?”

Her tone was one a counselor would use, and, now that he thought about it, she was a counselor of sort. He decided to be completely up-front with her. “I’m trying to get my girlfriend back.”

Bree straightened in her chair. “By losing weight?”

Kale shrugged. “By trying to be a better me. I’ve gotten slack about a lot of things.” Honesty was one thing, but no way was he going to mention his depressed libido—especially with the woman who’d single-handedly jump-started it a couple of days ago. Married woman, he reminded himself. “I took her for granted. Let myself go. I figure a Christmas reunion would be the perfect gift to myself.”

Bree chewed her lip, obviously trying to decide what to say. “What you’re doing...what you’ve already done...is admirable. And I’m glad you’ve found something to motivate you. But...” Her eyes locked with his, and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “It’s not a good idea to try to reinvent yourself for somebody else.”

Her words hit a nerve that had been exposed since childhood, and he felt his spine stiffen.

“Let’s switch it around in your head, okay?” she continued. “Let’s pretend you’re going to become the best you can be for you. And if she happens to find that irresistible, then she’s a lucky woman.”

Kale couldn’t hold back the chuckle. Here he was expecting some serious analysis of his psyche, and instead he was given an option to just pretend. Suddenly, the pressure had kicked down a notch. “I like that,” he admitted.

“Good. So, hand over the list of things in your fridge, mister.”

He slipped the paper into her outstretched hand.

She unfolded it and read the items out loud. “Three twelve packs of Miller 64. Half a bag of dill pickle chips. A small jar of mayonnaise with an expiration date of May 18, 2011. One half-empty carton of French onion dip. One can of Pillsbury Grand biscuits.” She turned the paper to check the back, and then looked up at him. “Is this it?”

He nodded and waited for the lecture.

“It’s Friday night,” she said. “Do you have plans?”

“None.”

She brightened. “Let’s go grocery shopping. We don’t have to buy anything, but I want to teach you how to shop.”

“But the other people coming in,” he protested. “Don’t you need to be here?”

“You’re my last client of the day. A couple of the part-time people will stay until nine.” She stood as if it were settled and grabbed the running suit hanging on a hook on her wall.

He tried again. “I don’t want you working overtime for me. Your husband will have my hide.”

She slipped into the pants. “Got you there. I’m not married.”

Her words exploded in Kale’s brain. “I thought you and Gil...”

“Gil’s my brother,” she explained as she tied the drawstring at the waistband. “My evil twin, actually,” she added with a grin.

The resemblance suddenly became obvious. He’d thought they were simply of-a-kind. In reality, they were the male and female sides of the same thing.

“C’mon.” Bree tilted her head toward the door. “If you’re going to lose those twenty pounds in nine weeks, you’ve got to do more than work out. You won’t succeed if your diet staple is—” she glanced down at his list again “—pickles smothered in French onion dip with Miller 64 to wash them down.”

Kale hesitated for only a minute. He had nothing better to do than spend Friday night at the supermarket with a beautiful, single woman.

He was, after all, doing this for Addy.

* * *

BREE WAS PLEASED to see Kale grab a shopping cart and wheel it into the grocery store. She’d thought they might simply take a tour with her pointing out the areas to hit and those to avoid, but the man seemed ready to do some serious shopping.

She was finally able to let her guard down and relax, and that alone had already made a world of difference with her new client. He’d gone from reserved to downright chatty once they’d gotten in his truck, telling her all about the marina and his new life on Kentucky Lake.

Bree felt liberated knowing that a woman was Kale’s motivation to go all out and change himself, even as misguided as that motivation was. It meant those Paul Newman eyes were off the market and allowed her to view him as she would any other client.

Well, maybe not any other client. There was something very special about Kale Barlow, and Bree was determined to help him show his girlfriend how special he was. Whatever he thought he needed to do to fix the broken relationship, Bree would help.

“What do you snack on?” she asked, tugging the cart toward the fresh produce section.

“I don’t snack a lot, but when I do, I usually grab an ice cream bar or a bag of chips.” There was nothing sheepish in his look, so he evidently thought that was acceptable.

“I want you to try something for a week, and we’ll see how it works,” Bree suggested. “Do you like apples?”

“Yep.” He nodded.

She picked out some Fujis and placed them in the cart. “Oranges?”

Another nod prompted her to add a bag of small mandarins.

“Grapes? Bananas? Nuts?”

He nodded at each one. “I like everything.”

Bree picked out some of each. “Then this should be a piece of cake. Well, not literally,” she added. “The key is to not let yourself get so hungry that you reach for the easy, processed stuff. When you get home, I want you to wash and dry all of this, and leave it out so you can get to it. Every couple of hours, I want you to eat a piece of fruit or a handful of nuts. Above all else, don’t get hungry. You’re still going to be getting calories, but we’ll cut down on the fat. And when it comes to mealtime, you won’t be so inclined to scarf down one of Mama G’s Specials.”

Kale’s eyes twinkled as he winced. “Guilty. A couple of times a week.”

“Everybody loves Mama G’s.” Bree couldn’t deny the wistful timbre in her voice. Of the things she’d given up for her healthy lifestyle, corn bread and Mama G’s Special were the two she missed most. She could still almost taste the mound of crusty mozzarella covering the pepperoni, hamburger, green pepper and Canadian bacon, even after a ten-year absence.

“Now you’ve got me craving one.” Kale’s confession drew her out of her reverie and reset her focus.

“You have a grill?” she asked.

“Gas,” he answered. “Not charcoal.”

“Even better. I’m going to tell you how to grill up a veggie pizza using flour tortillas as the crust that will have you throwing rocks at Mama G’s.”

Together, they picked out an assortment of vegetables that would be delicious grilled, baked or eaten raw. Kale really did like everything, and Bree wondered if that was part of his weight problem. Food was comfort and relaxation and all things good to him. Those feelings were usually tethered all the way back to childhood and family, so replacing them took a great deal of desire with a healthy side of courage. She knew that firsthand.

Around they went, Bree studiously keeping the cart to the outside aisles, even when Kale whined like a baby near the cereal and the pot pies. He picked out some steaks and ground beef that caused her to wrinkle her nose, but he let her know in no uncertain terms that red meat wasn’t negotiable. He stood his ground, and Bree was savvy enough to pick her battles.

At the very end, with the cart laden with mostly good-for-you foods, Bree finally pointed to the freezers containing ice cream. “I want you to pick out two pints of the most decadent stuff here, and, at the end of every long, hard day, I want you to indulge in a half cup. That’s a fourth of a container. Don’t eat it out of the carton, though. You have to promise to dish it out and take small bites, letting that creamy smoothness surround your tongue and your taste buds. I want you to savor every second of it.”

She swore the blue of Kale’s eyes deepened at least two hues as he leaned toward her. “You make that sound so sensual.” The huskiness in his voice sent a shiver scampering through her.

She covered her reaction by crossing her arms across her chest, pretending she was cold from the freezers. “Nothing’s sexier than food,” she told him. “Learn that secret, and...what’s her name?”

He looked confused. “Who?”

“The girlfriend that you’re working on getting back.”

“Oh. Addy.”

Bree leaned in and whispered, “Learn the secret correlation between sex and food, and Addy will worship at your feet.”

“Yeah?” A twinkle lightened the blue eyes back to their normal gorgeousness, and Kale stepped ceremoniously up to the freezer door and opened it. “Then I shall choose carefully.” A minute later, he brandished the two cartons in front of her. “I trust these meet your approval.”

She couldn’t keep from rolling her eyes at his choices—Tame the Wild Cherry and Hunky Banana with Nuts.

This guy was going to be a handful.

* * *

AS SHE WAITED for her ten o’clock client, Bree used the few minutes to jot some notes in Kale Barlow’s file.

He was as motivated as anyone she’d ever met—determined to the point of being stubborn, but with a comfortable manner that made his faults easy to overlook. She tried to imagine what Addy was like. What kind of woman wouldn’t enjoy being with a guy who even made buying groceries fun?

She recalled one of Kale’s comments during their shopping excursion last night when she’d suggested that, if he really wanted a flatter belly, giving up alcohol for a few weeks would make a visible difference.

The poor guy had looked aghast. “I’m already feeling guilty about drinking light beer while I listen to my country music. If I gave up beer completely, I’d have to switch to one of those classical stations.” He faked a shudder. “No woman is worth that.”

Bree chuckled aloud at the memory.

“You’re certainly in a good mood this morning.”

Bree looked up to find John Dunn standing in the doorway of her office.

“Morning, John. No sucking up here, but I really love this job.”

A smile relaxed the gym owner’s normally tense facial features. “I’m glad to hear that.” He stepped aside, and a young woman appeared from behind him. “I want to introduce you to Elena Fremont. She’s going to run the snack bar.” He turned to the young woman. “This is Bree Rice, Gil’s sister.”

To say she was surprised at John’s choice would have been an understatement. Elena looked nothing at all like someone Bree would have expected her serious-minded boss to hire. The young woman, or girl—it was hard to tell with all the makeup she wore—sported thick black eyeliner encircling large brown eyes, whose lids were heavy with lime-green metallic eye shadow. Her long, straight hair—obviously dyed to the abnormal black shade—had multicolored streaks running through it.

“Hi, Elena. It’s nice to meet you.”

Rather than shaking Bree’s extended hand, Elena slapped it lightly. “S’up. Call me Lanie.”

“Okay.” Feeling out of sync with the newcomer, Bree dropped her hand to her side. “You’re going to be busy...Lanie.” She forced her gaze to stay locked on the girl’s eyes instead of sneaking up to the three silver rings piercing the right brow or down to peek at the bright blue lip liner that called attention to the purple mouth. Or what looked like an emerald perched on the ridge of her left nostril. “A lot of the clients have been asking when the bar’s going to open.”

“That your sandwich in the fridge?” Lanie threw a thumb in the direction of the snack bar.

“Yes.” Bree nodded.

“You’ll have to get it out of there and put it in the employee lounge. I don’t want people using my fridge for stuff from home. Health inspectors, you know?”

Bree’s jaw tightened at the girl’s abruptness, but she held her tongue. She looked at John to see his response.

He seemed unfazed, except the perpetual frown was back. “Gil gave Elena total charge of the area. He’s anxious to get things moving.”

Bree swallowed her irritation. If Lanie was Gil’s choice, he must’ve seen some potential. She herself was living proof that, when it came to business decisions, he didn’t make exceptions. Everybody was held to the same strict standards.

Bree turned back to Lanie. “I’ll get it out of there right now.”

Lanie nodded as if to say, Of course you will, but, thankfully, didn’t say it.

“Bree is busy.” John pointed toward the weight room. “And I want to introduce you to the others.”

Without so much as a ta-ta or a backward glance, the two left Bree’s office. On her way to the snack bar, she paused just outside her door, watching them.

With her flip-flops, cutoff jean short shorts, Muppet T-shirt and studded dog collar, Lanie looked like a lost soul.

She either needed fixing or her ass kicked. At the moment, Bree wasn’t sure which.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_3f039d57-7728-5ab6-bb00-0c190e40f687)

SNACKING ON HEALTHY FOOD, eating smaller meals but more often, and two weeks of training with Bree had taken another six pounds off Kale. He couldn’t be more pleased...or more surprised.

Bree knew her stuff. She knew just how far to push him without making it grueling, all the while managing to keep things fresh and interesting. Like this evening. Her text simply read: Today we take it to the next level,which brought all kinds of wild imaginings into his head—none of which were appropriate in regard to his personal trainer. At their last session, she’d told him she had an idea, but it would remain a secret until tonight. She was coming to the marina, and he was instructed to wear something he could “knock around in.”

He had to admit, he was intrigued, which must have accounted for the way his heartbeat kicked up when he heard her pull into the parking lot. He hurried out to meet her.

“What’s this?” He pointed to the old pickup she crawled out of—a far cry from the little sports car she usually drove.

“My dad’s old truck.” Bree gave the door a loving pat. “It doesn’t get used much anymore, so I thought it was time we gave it—and you—a real-time workout.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as they cut to the bed of the truck, which was loaded down with something heavy and covered with a faded blue tarp. “You have those work gloves I asked about?”

Kale pulled a pair from his coverall pocket and wiggled the loose fingers against her nose, drawing a girlish giggle. “I don’t have any smalls.”

“That’s okay.” She swiped the pair from him and slipped her hand into one of them. The glove dwarfed her hand.

“You want to take a look around before we get started?” He waved his hand toward the store and his home in the back.

She grinned and shook her head. “You’re stalling, Kale. Yes, I do want to look around. In fact, I want to have a good look around. But that can wait until we need a breather. First, we have business to attend to.” She tugged the tarpaulin, revealing the old truck’s mystery load.

Bricks. A huge pile of them.

Kale scratched his head. “What are we gonna do with these?

She smacked his biceps lightly with the back of her fingers. “We’re going to unload them.” Bree said it matter-of-factly, as if her intent was obvious. She glanced around and shrugged. “Where will they be out of your way?”

“Are they staying here?”

She nodded in response.

He looked around and pointed to a bare area where no grass grew just off the northeast corner of the parking lot. “I guess over there will be fine.”

Bree got back in the pickup. Throwing the vehicle into Drive instead of Reverse, she pulled to the southwest corner, as far away as possible from where he’d suggested.

“I said over there.” When she climbed from the cab, he took her shoulders and spun her to face the opposite direction where he pointed.

“I understand. I speaka de English.” She winked and elbowed him playfully before walking behind the truck and lowering the tailgate. “Let’s get to work.”

Kale pulled on his gloves and grabbed a brick in each hand. Following Bree’s lead, he marched across the parking lot, pumping his arms over his head, alternating hands. When they got to the far side, they placed the bricks on the ground, then did walking lunges back to the truck to retrieve four more bricks.

“I want to show you how you can make your workday into a workout,” Bree explained. “I know you’ve been making laps around the lot several times a day, but that must get boring.”

“Yeah.” His answer came out as a huff, which irritated him a little since Bree seemed to be having no trouble at all lunging, pumping the bricks and talking all at the same time.

“The trick isn’t getting into shape. Anybody with the desire can do that. The trick is staying in shape, and staying in shape requires staying in motion. The best way to stay in motion for a lifetime is to look for ways of using what’s around you and using your imagination.”

Each time they returned to the truck, Bree came up with a different style of movement. In addition to lunges, they race walked, jogged, ran, hopped, walked backward, and despite his protests that real men didn’t do such things, they skipped. Bree made the skipping lap into a race so his masculinity wasn’t too threatened. He won, though he wasn’t sure if that was deliberate on her part or not.

By the time they had transported and piled all the bricks, Kale had sweated through his thermal Henley and was wishing he’d worn something lighter.

When Bree jerked off her sock cap to reveal her short brown hair, plastered by sweat to her head, he felt better. But then, she bent over and shook it, slinging a few droplets his way, and running her fingers roughly through her hair. When she straightened up, little brown spikes shot from her head in all directions. The sight was sexy, in a weird sort of way, and he kept thinking how she might look after a night of wild sex. But if the woman was the least bit aware of her sexiness, it was well-hidden. Inadvertently adding to the allure, she removed her down vest and thermal shirt, revealing a long-sleeved tee that clung to her body and accentuated every curve. “I’m so hot!” she declared, and the smaller of Kale’s heads responded in enthusiastic agreement.

Damn good thing his coverall was finally fitting loosely. Otherwise, Bree Rice might get the wrong idea about him.

“Want the tour now?” he suggested. Anything to give him a reason not to stand and gawk.

She patted his face as if correcting a child. Tilting her head, she grinned. “We’re only halfway through.”

Kale’s fingers reflexively dug into his hips. “What in the hell are you talking about, woman?”

“We have to load all those bricks back in the truck. They’re not going to walk over there and jump in.”

He narrowed his eyes, trying to look menacing, yet knowing he couldn’t pull it off. “You said they were staying.”

“I lied.” She smiled sweetly and fluttered her eyelids.

He reached her in two steps, moving faster than he thought his tired legs would allow. “Nobody lies to Kale Barlow and gets away with it.” Effortlessly, he swept her up into his arms and started toward the floating walkway that led out to the marina.

“What are you doing?” She laughed, but the sound had an edge to it he couldn’t discern.

“Giving you the tour.”

“I’d rather take the tour walking on my own legs.” She pushed against him slightly, and he gripped her closer. “Put me down, Kale.” She tried again, harder this time, and he latched on that much tighter.

“Not gonna happen. And quit squirming or you’ll throw us both off.” By that time, his long stride had brought them to the end of the walkway.

Her gaze shot up to meet his, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He mimicked her grin from earlier and fluttered his eyelids as they passed the gas pumps. “Naw. Of course I wouldn’t.”

Her arms flew around his neck, and she held on with everything she had as they reached the end of the gas dock. “Kale, so help me...if I go in, so do you.”

He shrugged. “I can swim.”

“But that water’s cold.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you lied to me.” He let go of her legs to reach up and pry her hands from around his neck.

With a squeal, she threw her legs around his waist, locking them in back, and pushing body parts together in such a way that nothing was left to the imagination. She must have immediately recognized the absurdity of the position because she released her legs so fast, he couldn’t accommodate the shift in weight. He grabbed at her and leaned back, but the next instant, the cold water of Kentucky Lake engulfed them both.

The ten-foot depth shouldn’t have been a problem for a good swimmer, but suddenly Kale panicked. What if Bree couldn’t swim? She would have said something, right? He’d assumed she could, being so athletic, but he didn’t know for certain. Besides, the water was cold...she could have hit her head. He pushed to the surface, shouting her name as soon as the air hit his face.

“I’m right here.” Her elbows were already resting on the dock, head and chest out of the water, rivulets of water running down her face. Effortlessly, she thrust herself up and plopped to a seated position. “That was a stupid thing to do.” She raised an eyebrow in reproach, but her voice was calm with maybe a hint of humor.

“Yes, it was. I’m sorry.” Kale was still upset enough, it didn’t seem funny yet. He swiped a hand down his face to clear the lake water from his eyes. “I wasn’t really going to throw you in. I lost my balance.”

Bree shrugged. “Guess I want that tour now. And I’ll have to change clothes. I assume you have a working shower?” She started toward the truck.

Wait...she was going to shower? In his apartment?

Adrenaline flooded Kale’s system. Placing his hands flat on the wooden boards, he heaved himself up, not making it high enough to get his top half out of the water. He tried again...and failed again. And again.

Humiliated and exhausted, he finally gave up and let go, swimming to the boat ramp and trudging up the slope, shivering from the cold.

Bree met him at the top of the ramp. “I’m glad I didn’t have to come in after you. Two loads of bricks and a load of Kale is more than I can handle in one day.”

Two loads of bricks? “You can’t seriously still want to load the bricks back in the truck,” he growled, and then he got her meaning. “Hold on a minute. Are you telling me you loaded them by yourself the first time?”

She nodded.

A groan rumbled in Kale’s chest, but he caught it before it became audible. Damn, the woman was hard to keep up with...but, damn, what a woman!

A violent shiver shook Bree’s body, and she rubbed her arms briskly. “I need out of these wet things.”

“Get your clothes.” Kale was grateful when she stepped away from him toward the truck. He’d had an overwhelming urge to rub her, too, but not quite in the same brisk manner she’d used. His touch would be slow and deliberate...and he wouldn’t stop at her arms.

Stop, the voice in his head warned. Don’t mess things up with Bree. She’s a great trainer, and she’s going to help you get what you really want. For the first time in his life, he would be somewhere long enough to see a plan through to its end. Buy the marina and then settle down with Addy.

With her gym bag slung over her shoulder, Bree hurried along with him to his apartment, putting off the grand tour until they both had showered and donned dry clothes. And after that, he put the tour off a little longer to take care of some business that was eating at him.

He led her back outside to the parking lot, which was now bathed in silver light from a three-quarter moon. “Do you really want the bricks back in the truck?”

Her shoulders sagged momentarily, but then she straightened as if something occurred to her. “If I leave them, will you use them to work out?”

“Scout’s honor.” He’d never been a Boy Scout—had never lived anywhere long enough to become active in a troop. But he’d pretended to be one lots of times. Fact was, he’d pretended to belong lots of times...to many different things.

Bree’s pleasure at his answer brought a warmth to both her smile and her eyes.

“Let me prove I’m not lying.” He pointed to the tailgate of the truck. “Sit. And don’t even consider moving.”

She did move, but only a little, and that was to cheer him on as he made trip after trip, delivering the bricks to the southwest corner of the parking lot.

Aware he had Bree’s undivided attention, he even skipped a couple of times.

* * *

A RHYTHMIC MOTION was Bree’s first taste of consciousness the following morning. It was a subtle movement, barely there, foreign yet familiar at the same time.

Her eyes flew open to unfamiliar surroundings. Unfamiliar green walls. Unfamiliar four-poster bed. Unfamiliar motor sounds.

Where was she?

She sat up and breathed through the first stage of panic as the fog of sleep lifted.

Oh, God! She was in Kale Barlow’s apartment. In Kale Barlow’s bed.

The clock on the table read 5:41 a.m. Dawn was barely lighting the sky, and yet she heard voices drifting through the window that was raised a smidgen. Boats coming in for gas. Fishermen, surely, at this time of day.

She flung her legs over the side of the bed, thankful to find herself fully clothed in the yoga pants and top she’d changed into. At least she hadn’t done anything more than spend the night.

Or had she?

A vague recollection of a kiss scampered through her memory. A sleepy kiss good-night that had felt completely natural as Kale had laid her down and tucked her into his bed. She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to squish the memory from her brain, but it wouldn’t budge.

The details flooded back in glorious detail—or gory, if she looked at it from the standpoint Gil would take. He would tell her that staying for a supper of Kale’s grilled vegetables and chicken, enjoying a glass of wine afterward around his campfire and getting caught up in the old movie Top Gun was stupid and inappropriate, but last night none of it had seemed that way. It had simply been a nice way to unwind with a friend after a hard workout.

She hadn’t counted on falling asleep during the movie. Hadn’t counted on Kale carrying her to his bed and tucking her in so sweetly. And, Lord knows, she hadn’t counted on kissing him good-night in her dreamy state.

It was just a silly mistake, and certainly she and Kale both knew that.

But Gil wouldn’t.

Thea had planned to stay at her brother’s place last night, so if Bree beat her home, she’d be none the wiser...and neither would Gil.

Bree hit the floor at a run, grabbing her clothes that Kale had washed, dried and stacked on the dining table.

Wow, that was thoughtful of him.

The sight of the pillow and blanket on the couch sent a pang of guilt through her. Not because she’d spent the night, but because a guy the size of Kale couldn’t possibly have found a comfortable sleeping position on that couch.

She dashed out, yelling a goodbye to her host, who was talking to a fisherman while he filled his tank.

“Bree! Wait up!” He caught her as she turned the ignition switch and her dad’s old truck roared to life. “Don’t you want some breakfast?”

When she rolled the window down, he leaned on his forearms through the opening, his face just inches from hers. She kept her expression serious, directing an intent gaze his way. “I can’t, Kale. I’ve got to get going. And I want to assure you I don’t make a habit of spending the night in my clients’ homes.”

She started to apologize for the kiss, but then decided the less said, the better. Maybe it had been her imagination. Or maybe it was such a minor incident Kale wouldn’t even remember it.

His eyes told her he was going to say it before the words left his mouth. “So no kiss goodbye?”

She groaned and leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. “I’m sorry. That was totally inappropriate of me. I guess the wine took advantage of my exhausted state.”

He laughed, obviously delighting in her misery. “And you tried to take advantage of my exhausted state?”

“No!” Reluctantly, she raised her head to look him in the eye again. “But, if I’ve made you uncomfortable, I’ll be glad to refer you to Gil.” She didn’t add the action was sure to get her fired and maybe ruin her personal trainer career forever, at least in these parts. People around here speculated and then talked. Her fingers ached from gripping the steering wheel too hard.

Kale straightened and put his hands on his hips. “Damn, Bree. You think a little kiss that didn’t mean a damn thing is going to make me uncomfortable? I’m Addy’s man, remember? And I don’t want Gil for a trainer. I want you. Look at the progress we’re making.” He held his arms out and did a three-sixty turn for her.

“You are looking pretty good.” She wasn’t sure the weight loss had anything to do with her answer.

“Damn straight. So rid that pretty head of yours of any thoughts about trading me, you hear?”

Her grip on the steering wheel relaxed. “Yeah.” She gave him a smile. “I hear.”

“Okay, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She nodded and waved, part of her anxious to be on her way, yet another part wishing she could take him up on his offer of breakfast.

A weird mixture of happiness and melancholy settled on her as she drove back to Benton. The kiss notwithstanding, last night had been relaxing. She couldn’t remember when she had slept so hard or awakened so refreshed. Maybe it was being on the lake with the sound of the waves and the ever-so-gentle rocking of the building that made the rest of the world seem far away and her dad so near. Being at Dilly’s old place reminded her of good times when she’d been there often as a kid. And although a lot of things were different, it still felt like a good place to be. Kale had kept her laughing, and the improvements he wanted to make to the marina were impressive. It had been fun to listen to the excitement in his voice when he spoke of his vision for the place, like how someday he wanted to expand the property into a camping resort.

He had drive and a charisma that drew people in like nails to a magnet. Or was that part just her? She wasn’t sure. He didn’t talk about friends—except Beecher, whose family had always owned the marina just at the edge of Taylor’s Grove. She’d gone to high school with Sol, the current owner. And, of course, there was the ever-present-in-his-thoughts Addy.

Stupid woman.

But he’d become a tough nut to crack when any mention of family was made. His childhood must’ve really sucked.

Her anxiety left when she pulled into the driveway and saw Thea’s vacant parking place. She hurried in for a quick shower and a change of clothes since the ones she had on looked as if she’d slept in them.

She was feeding Dandy when Thea came in and headed straight for the coffeemaker.

“Good morning. You’re up and about early.” Thea looked rumpled, but there was an unmistakable glow about her that made Bree jealous and happy at the same time.

Bree stretched her arms overhead. “I slept great last night, so I thought I’d go in and work out before I begin my paperwork.”

“Well, don’t expect Gil to get there early. When I left, he was still snoozing.” Her head tilted, and she gave a tender smile. “He’s so cute when he’s sleeping.”

Bree snorted. “That’s because it’s the only time he’s not being annoying.” It ran through her mind that Kale had seen her sleeping. Did he think she was cute when she slept? And then the fact the thought even came to mind was disturbing, and she flushed. She covered by squatting to give Dandy a parting scratch. “Well, gotta go. I want to get in an hour of spinning before the day starts.”

Thea turned on the faucet to fill the coffeemaker. “See ya,” she called over the sound of the running water.

Bree decided against jogging to the gym and drove instead. Thinking of Dad had put her in the mood for lunch with Mom.

She was surprised to find Lanie’s car already at the gym. The nineteen-year-old had turned out to be not so bad once they’d gotten past their awkward beginning. Oh, she was definitely rough around the edges, but she was a hard worker and prompt—she was already at the gym at 6:48 a.m. when she didn’t start until 8:30 a.m.

With some encouragement from Bree, Gil had talked to her about her clothes. She’d told him it was all she had. Her dad had kicked her out of the house, and she was living with her unemployed boyfriend, barely scraping by. She’d even been forced to drop out of the food service classes at the community college. Bree and Thea had come up with some workout attire for her that helped her fit into the atmosphere of the gym. She’d insisted she didn’t want a handout, so they’d counter-insisted she could pay them back when she got a little ahead.

Lanie was a sad case, and her upbringing so different from Bree and Gil’s, it was hard for Bree to imagine what the girl was going through.

Bree expected to be assaulted by the fabulous aroma of Lanie’s homemade granola bars when she walked in the gym—why else would she be there so early?—but no yummy scent greeted her.

In fact, nothing greeted her. No movement. No sound.

An eerie feeling raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

“Lanie?” she called. No answer. And she wasn’t at the snack bar.

Bree made a quick survey of the free-weight, cardio, circuit and group class rooms through the windows. All empty. “Lanie?” she called again, louder this time. Still no answer. All of the offices remained locked.

So Lanie wasn’t here after all. Her car was parked in the same space as yesterday, so perhaps someone had picked her up and she’d left it there all night.

Satisfied with that explanation, Bree headed toward the small library to pick out a spinning DVD. Maybe a ride along the Pacific Coast Highway—something to keep that nice feeling of waking up on Kentucky Lake in her system awhile longer.

She flipped the light on, bringing a startled scream from inside the room, which shook a yelp from Bree in turn.

“Lanie! You scared the wadding out of me!”

The girl had been asleep on the couch and had gone from lying down to an upright position too quickly. She clutched her head, and leaned back, eyes wide with fright, and apparently too shaken to speak.

Bree assessed the situation. A small bag on the floor beside the couch. The workout clothes, folded and obviously being used as a pillow. A light jacket draped across the front of her arms for cover. “Did you sleep here last night?”

Lanie nodded. “Iz and I had a fight. He kicked me out, and this seemed like a better option than sleeping in the car.” She shrugged as if it was no big deal, but Bree noticed the quiver of her chin—a break in her usual demeanor.

“I’m sorry.” Bree sat down beside her. “What are you going to do?”

Lanie shrugged again. “I thought maybe I could stay here. I mean, there are showers and a kitchen.” She looked at Bree, her voice becoming more animated as she talked...more pleading. “I can bake the snacks after hours, and—and clean up, and launder the towels, and wipe down the equipment.”

“Lanie.” Bree shook her head. “You can’t live here. Gil would never go for it.”

Fear flashed in Lanie’s wide eyes. “If you think it’ll make him mad, you won’t tell him I stayed here last night, will you?”

As long as it was only the once, Bree thought it would be okay if her brother didn’t know. “I won’t tell him, but it can’t happen again. Do you have somewhere else you can go? To a friend’s?”

Lanie shook her head.

“Back to live with your dad?”

“No.” The girl was adamant about that one.

“Well, let’s put your stuff in my office for now.” Bree got up and placed the stack of clothes into the open gym bag, her mind spinning for possibilities. “Maybe you could stay with Thea and me until we find someplace else.” She knew she shouldn’t be volunteering that idea until she’d talked with Thea, who was the owner of the house. And all they could offer her would be a couch.

“I don’t want to be in the way.” Lanie slipped the jacket on, then took the bag from Bree and zipped it.

“We’ll figure out something,” Bree assured her as she led the way to her office.

No sooner had she gotten the door open than Lanie grabbed her stomach and cried, “Oh, shit.” Then she leaned over and puked into the trash can by Bree’s desk.

Bree looked on, horrified by this quick turn of events. “Lanie...are you?”

Lanie straightened and wiped a shaky hand down her ashen face. “Pregnant. That’s why Iz kicked me out.”


CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_9acee700-7167-5bad-9980-a3575cf73ab1)

STELLA COULDN’T GET Lanie off her mind.

Needing someone to talk to other than Gil, Bree had unloaded to Stella about her coworker during lunch. And, although she appreciated her daughter’s kind heart, her own mother’s heart couldn’t keep from worrying about Bree’s plan to give the girl shelter with her and Thea.

A father who kicked her out? A boyfriend who sent her packing as soon as he learned she was pregnant? This was a different type of person than those Bree was used to. What if the boyfriend wanted Lanie back and she’d decided she didn’t want him? Was he the violent type? Abusive?

Stella’s stomach twisted. She didn’t want Bree involved in any of that.

But Lanie needed help. To add insult to injury, the poor girl’s car wouldn’t even start now, which was why Stella was headed to Ollie Perkins’s house to talk with Ray Cyree.

It still seemed strange to Stella, seeing cars on East Main at two o’clock in the afternoon on a Thursday. There had been a time when any traffic here would’ve been limited to pedestrians—the reason being the townspeople had wanted to help Ollie, who was legally blind, keep a bit of his independence after his mother had moved to the nursing home. Everyone had stayed off the street and allowed Ollie to drive his car the three blocks to the nursing home to visit his mom one day a week. Even Sheriff Blaine had looked the other way.

But Ollie had given up driving completely now, the macular degeneration having stolen enough of his eyesight that even walking could be a problem.

Thank God for Ray Cyree, she thought, and Isaiah’s favorite saying followed on its heels: Everything happens for a reason, Stell.

Well, what could possibly be the reason for poor Lanie’s situation?

Ray wasn’t outside when Stella pulled into Ollie’s driveway, but the sawhorses were set up, laden with boards and a power saw. A pile of sawdust beneath served as evidence the man was still hard at work on the renovations.

The hammering was so loud, she doubted anyone could hear her knock on the front door, but she tried anyway. When that didn’t work, she opened the door a crack and stuck her head in.

“Ollie? You home?”

The hammering stopped. “That you, Ms. Stella?” Ray’s familiar voice answered. “C’mon in.”

By that time, she was in, but she was glad he’d made the invitation official.

Ray came from the back of the house, wiping his hands on his faded jeans, his warm smile a pleasant greeting.

“Hi, Ray. How are you?”

“I’m fine. And you look good, as always.”

Stella should have been used to Ray’s ever-present compliments, but they still made her blush like a schoolgirl.

“Are you looking for Ollie?” he went on. “’Cause I took him over to visit his mom.”

“No, I came looking for you.”

Ray’s blue eyes twinkled. “A pretty woman’s never said that to me before.”

“Lawd, Ray,” Stella drawled in her best Southern belle imitation. “How you do go on!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled back. “Now, what is it I can do for you? I know you weren’t just hankering for my smile.”

“I’m hankering for your mechanic skills,” she confessed. “There’s a young woman who works at the new gym whose car won’t hit a lick. We can call somebody else if you’re too busy, but I thought I’d start with you.”

Since they’d met, Stella had thrown any kind of business Ray’s way that she thought he could handle, which was pretty much everything. He was always grateful for the work.

His hands gripped his hips and his face grew serious. “Where’s her car?”

“At the gym in Benton.”

Ray glanced at his watch. “I’m supposed to pick Ollie up at five, but, take away the driving time, that gives me a couple of hours. Guess if I don’t know what her car needs by then, I doubt I’d ever know.”

Ray’s old truck wouldn’t give Bree or Gil much confidence in his ability if they saw it. “I can take you,” Stella suggested, and he surprised her by accepting her offer.

“That would keep me from having to dismantle things. Let me get my tools.”

Ray led her through the house, stopping long enough to show her the upgrade project he’d been working on.

Two walls had been knocked out to open up the kitchen to the living room, forming a large great room that would allow Ollie more space. The original oak floors would be leveled next. That would require working under the house on floor joists, which sounded like a cold job.

Ray assured her it wouldn’t take too long, but he also planned to refinish the floor. He showed her the halogen lighting fixtures that would replace the old relics that had been in the house since Ollie’s dad built it eighty years ago. They would brighten dark corners and help eliminate shadowy areas that could cause Ollie problems.

Stella was amazed at the depth of the project...and of Ray’s skill. “I swear, Ray Cyree, you really can do everything.”

“I can fix anything but a broken heart.”

She smiled, remembering his sign from the first day they met.

They stepped into the backyard, and she saw why he’d so readily accepted her offer of a ride to the gym.

The back of his pickup/home was now also serving as a makeshift toolshed with lumber and tools scattered about. A large cord connected at one end to the truck and plugged into the foundation of the house at the other.

Ray saw her looking at it. “Yes, ma’am, I’ve set up camp here on a more permanent basis. Ollie lets me plug into his electricity, so I’m not having to run that loud generator...for which his neighbors are grateful, I’m sure.”

Stella was pleased, too, though she didn’t say so. She’d heard Sue Marsden complaining about the noise a couple of days ago to Mary Jenkins, a member of the town council. Sue wasn’t one of Ollie’s neighbors, but she was complaining on their behalf.

If anybody ever needed a champion to do their complaining for them, Sue was the go-to.

Ray loaded a greasy toolbox into the trunk of Stella’s pristine car, and the two of them headed toward Benton. Ray’s face had become a common sight in Taylor’s Grove, so he was no longer the main focus of talk around town. But a few eyebrows were raised when he appeared in the front seat of Stella’s Cadillac, she was sure.

They passed the time making small talk and catching up on the news since they’d last seen each other.

“You told me once, you wanted to stay around these parts.” Stella cast him a sidelong glance as she drove. “It looks like Ollie’s project will keep you busy for a while.”

“To tell you the truth, I think he likes me being there. He invites me in for supper most every night. And sometimes we play cards afterward.” Ray barked a laugh and held his hands out about a foot apart. “Got the dangdest set of cards I ever seen. Huge boogers, so’s he can see ’em.” Then he sighed, and his voice held a somber note. “Ollie’s a good man. Terrible lonesome for companionship, though.”

Guilt gnawed at Stella’s insides. “I never thought much about how lonely he might be. He’s often out and about town, and he always seems to have something to do.”

She saw the movement of Ray’s shrug out of the corner of her eye. “But going home to an empty house is never easy,” he said.

How well Stella knew that. Sometimes when she left her own home, she would leave the TV or radio on just so there would be some noise when she returned.

She learned years ago that the silence in an empty house could be deafening.

Ray chose to stay outside when they got to the gym, so Stella went in to get the infamous Lanie, curious to meet the young woman who vexed Bree so.

The place was a beehive of activity, and Stella couldn’t keep from thinking how pleased Isaiah would be to have so much going on in this place he’d loved so much. And to think that both of their kids worked here—well, that was just a dream come true. Gil was in the weight room helping a young man doing heavy bench presses. His back was to the window, so he didn’t see her. Through another window, she spotted Bree, teaching what looked to be a yoga class. Bree’s eyes went wide when she saw Stella. She excused herself and came rushing out into the lobby. “Is everything okay? What are you doing here?”

Stella’s heart thumped loudly at the realization their roles were reversing. Her children had started to worry about her. And, while that was a sweet gesture, it also caused a little irritation to flare. She was hardly doddering, yet.

She gave a dismissive wave to Bree’s fears. “Everything’s fine. I brought Ray to fix Lanie’s car. Can you point her out to me?”

Bree looked around. “There she is.” She gestured to a young woman coming out of the employee kitchen in the back. “Lanie,” she called and wiggled a finger, beckoning.

One look at Lanie’s overly colored hair, overly drawn eyes and overly...well, everything...reminded Stella that today was Halloween, and she wondered if perhaps the young woman was made up for the occasion. But she wore no costume. In fact, she was dressed like everyone else—except for the dog collar necklace, which then set Stella to wondering about the girl’s self-image.

“Lanie, this is my mother, Stella Rice. Mom, this is Lanie Fremont.” Bree made the quick introduction, then added her apology. “Sorry. I’ve got to get back to my class.” She left quickly, and just as quickly an awkwardness descended.

“Hi.” Lanie thrust her hands into her pockets, obviously with no intentions of shaking hands.

“Hello, Lanie.” Stella managed to infuse some warmth into her voice. “Bree told me about your car trouble, so I’ve brought someone to take a look at it. But, we’ll need the keys.”

Lanie’s eyes flicked around the room, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t have any money to pay a mechanic.”

“That’s okay. I’ll take care of it.”

“Not necessary.” Lanie turned to walk away.

“Lanie.” Stella pulled out the stern voice and was pleased to see it still worked. Lanie stopped and turned back toward her. “It is necessary,” Stella said. “You need transportation. Now get your keys.”

With the petulant huff most girls perfected around eleven, Lanie sauntered to the snack bar and retrieved her car keys. “Here. It’s the green Corolla.” She popped her chewing gum as she waited for Stella to take them.

Stella bit back her sarcastic retort and ignored the rude behavior. “Thanks.” She took them with a wink and squeezed Lanie’s fingers.

It’s all about upbringing, she reminded herself as she hustled the keys out to Ray.

He went to work immediately, and Stella found herself without anything to do. She wandered aimlessly around the parking lot and eventually out to the town square for window shopping, but she didn’t go in any of the stores. She wanted to be ready to take Ray back to Taylor’s Grove as quickly as possible. And besides, something Ray had said sparked an idea she wanted to ponder on a bit.

This world was full of lonely people. People who needed companionship—like Ollie. People who needed a little help—like Ray and Lanie. People who needed someone around so they didn’t have to leave the TV or radio on in order to avoid coming home to silence.

She’d considered getting a pet. A cat or a dog. But the world was full of lonely people.

If she thought about it too long, she might change her mind—and then where would she be?

With a purposeful stride, she walked back to the gym, meeting Ray in the parking lot. “Well, how bad?”

He had a bottle of something tucked under his arm and was wiping his greasy hands on a rag. “I fixed a wire that’d worked loose, so it’s running now. But it’s in bad need of a tune-up, an oil change and a bunch of stuff I don’t have the tools or the time for today. It really needs to be put on a lift to get to the underbelly.” He shuffled in his pocket for a minute and handed her the keys.

Resolve stiffened Stella’s spine. If Lanie was homeless, she definitely wouldn’t have the means to get her car repaired.

“You want to come in?” She nodded toward the door. “I’ll show you around...you can meet my children.”

Ray shook his head, and for the first time, she saw worry pinch his face. “Some other time, Ms. Stella. When I’m more presentable.” He squirted something from the bottle on his hand and started rubbing vigorously.

“Okay, then. I’ll be right back.”

When she entered the gym again, she didn’t look for Bree or Gil—she didn’t want their opinion, or their interference, on this matter. Instead, she headed straight to the snack bar. “Lanie.” She used the stern tone again. “Bree told me about what you’re dealing with, and that your boyfriend has kicked you out of the house.”

Lanie’s eyes narrowed cautiously.

Stella’s heart beat a staccato rhythm against her chest wall. “Your car’s running now, but Ray says it needs to go into the shop for some major repairs. So, the way I see it, you’re going to need someone who can drive you around for a few days.” She saw the girl’s face harden, but she didn’t let that daunt her. “I have a car and plenty of time on my hands—too much really—and can drive you wherever you need to go. I have a large house with plenty of empty space that I would be more than happy to share.” She paused for a breath, before blurting, “I’d like for you to stay with me until you get on your feet.”

“You don’t even know me.” Lanie’s sneer was a mixture of derision and bewilderment.

Stella kept her gaze constant. “I know you can’t live on the street. You have a baby to think about.”

The girl’s chin buckled in response.

“If it doesn’t work, you can move out. But we won’t know unless we give it a try.” She grabbed a pen from the bar and scribbled her address on a napkin. “What have you got to lose?”

“I can’t,” Lanie protested.

Stella held her hand up, palm out. “Can’t or won’t? It seems like a plausible solution to me.” She dropped her hand and gave the girl a motherly smile. “I’m a good cook, and I’m fixing fried chicken and mashed potatoes for supper. Think about it.”

She headed back outside to give the young woman a little space, hoping Lanie would take note of that and understand.

* * *

THE TRUCK PULLING into the parking lot gave Kale a merciful respite in the middle of his third movement of the bricks while doing sprints. If he hadn’t recognized Josh’s pickup, he would’ve been relieved to be armed with a brick in each hand. The boy was unrecognizable as he climbed out of the vehicle clad in black leather and made up to look like a member of the heavy metal band Kiss, complete with white makeup, blackened winged eyes, red lips and wild wig.

“If you’re starting a band, that look’s already been taken,” Kale called from the corner of the lot where he deposited the load.

Josh’s grin made him much less menacing. “Wanted to show you my Halloween costume, Mr. B. I’ve got a party later, but I thought since I went to all the trouble, I might as well get some mileage out of it.”

“Well, if a customer shows up, please, get back in your truck. It’s been slow today, and I sure as hell don’t want anyone scared off.”

Kale invited the boy inside, where Josh grabbed a Mountain Dew while Kale chose a V8, then they went back out on the dock to enjoy the crisp October breeze coming off the lake.

“You’ve lost more weight.” The kid gave him a thumbs-up.

“Yeah, I joined that gym in Benton. Got me a personal trainer. It’s going pretty well.”

Kale was then pleased to hear that Josh was taking a lively part in school activities. He had made the math team again and had been approached by the debate coach, though he hadn’t decided on that yet. Student Council and Beta Club fund-raisers were taking huge chunks of his time. Most importantly, Ramona Blaine, the sheriff’s youngest daughter, had asked him to be her escort at homecoming Friday night.

“Watch out for the pretty ones, son,” Kale advised as Bree flashed in his mind, and he remembered the grueling workout from the night before followed by the drenching. “They can be wicked.”

Josh answered with a wicked smile of his own, his teeth yellowed by contrast to the white makeup and red lipstick. “So you’re advising me to date only ugly girls, but you don’t follow your own advice?”

Kale took the last swig of his drink. “I never claimed to be a role model.”

Josh shrugged. “Sorry things didn’t work out with Addy, Mr. B.” The low, sympathetic voice coming from the sinister face gave a surreal quality to the conversation. “Do you know the guy she hooked up with?”

The words, no matter that they were delivered so offhandedly, landed a punch to Kale’s gut. “You saw Addy with someone?”

Josh’s neck disappeared into his leather jacket like a turtle taking cover in its shell. “Ye—yeah.” The kid’s voice cracked. “At the Murray State game Saturday. I figured you knew.”

Anger and frustration tore through Kale. “Hell, no, I didn’t know!” He crushed the can in his hand into a ball and flung it at the trash container. It hit the metal side and ricocheted off like a bullet, straight for Josh’s head. Luckily, the kid had good reflexes. He shifted out of the way to let it whiz past.

Kale held his tongue by taking deep breaths, his head and lungs filling with the pungent fumes of gasoline. He stalked across the tethered walkway to shore, feeling the boards bounce under his heavy tread. The kid stayed behind, walking to the far end of the dock, giving him space.

Kale’s gut twisted. He was losing Addy. Emotions pinged about in his brain like June bugs in a jar. Addy. The marina. The two were paired in his brain. He had a plan, damn it! For the first time in his life, he was going to have something lasting. He’d been working his ass off for both of them...literally. Was within a few pounds of his goal weight, for God’s sake.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/pamela-hearon/his-kind-of-perfection/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.