A Suite Deal (Suite Love Series Book 1) Page 8

  Their shoulders brushed companionably as they rounded the corner. "I was happy to do it," his deep voice murmured into her hair as he draped an arm across her shoulders. An empty street stretched before them. No sign of the Gad-Abouts.

  "Seems we're alone for the moment."

  Lily's head swiveled, assessing the street for subversive activity. You never knew where Hilda and her band of followers might be lurking.

  Ethan cleared his throat and reached for her hand. Her heart skipped a beat and the sun slipped free of the clouds that had held it captive all morning. A perfect morning, all around.

  "Lily, would you go with me to the ... Aquatic Ball?"

  His body was so close, if she turned her head even a fraction, they would be nose to nose.

  She turned.

  "You want to go to our fund-raiser?" Her heart thudded so loudly in her chest she wondered if he could hear it.

  He nodded. "I'd like to, with you. What do you think?" He met her eyes for a second and then looked away. "Or maybe I'm too late. Are you already spoken for?"

  "No. I was, well ... never mind about that ... , she stuttered. "Yes. I'm free. Free as a bird."

  "So it's off to the Wedding Cake, is it Lil?" Jared teased his daughter. Word is you've got the keys to the joint"

  You had to give Hilda credit. She worked fast. "Just one key, for one day, and you know perfectly well why, Dad"

  Jared's voice dropped to a more serious tone, "Your mother and I are so pleased you're working right here on Loon Lake. It's a shame to see our lakes ailing." He looked across Greensly Bay to the far shore. "I'm proud you're doing something about it."

  Lily balanced herself in the center of the runabout and began to sort the contents of the crowded boat. She'd just returned from the shoal in front of Turtle Point and Ed had left the boat in shambles, as usual. He tended to get overexcited when he got a bite and had tipped the minnow bucket and tangled the extra rods as he reeled in a nice twopounder.

  She hoisted her tackle box to the weathered planking and plunked it at her father's feet. "It's not just me, Dad. I've got backing from U of T and Dr. Nesbitt. And you know how important the Friends of Loon Lake have been. And not just with money. Did I tell you that the Campbells let me set up the rain gauges on their new wharf?"

  Jared accepted a selection of fishing rods from Lily and settled them next to the tackle box. "They're fine people. Loon Lake's got more than their fair share of fine folk." He nodded toward the peaks of the Nirvana. "There's another one right there"

  Obviously Ethan had been a huge hit with her father. Whatever he had said at the barbecue had won Jared Greensly over.

  "I think you're right, Dad," Lily spoke softly. "The Weatheralls won't do the lake or us any harm" She was surprised to realize she meant every word.

  Should she tell her father about the Weatheralls' offer? She hadn't mentioned it yet. He had enough to worry about. And there was no point in getting her parents and most likely the whole town in an uproar.

  Who knows, the Hideaway's patriarch might even encourage her to sell, not wanting to hold her back from financial freedom. Either way she would keep the offer to herself for the time being.

  She watched her father walk to the end of the dock and ease to a sitting position, his work boots only inches from the lapping waves. He began to weave the frayed ends of tie-rope back into itself.

  Lily remembered his meeting with Henry Faulkner and wondered how it had went.

  "Dad?"

  Jared pushed his cap back and raised an eyebrow.

  "How are we doing, you know, financially? Everything all right?" She hoped her question came off as casual, offhand.

  Jared returned his attention to the rope, twisting the nylon tightly in his hands. "We've been tight before. We'll pull through, Lit"

  Lily gaze fixed on her father's back as she absorbed his answer. His tone had been heavy, tired.

  "Dad? Is there anything I can do?" An uneasiness rolled through her. "How about I add on more birdwatching excursions? We can rent the Pattersons' pontoon boat again, and I'll take fifteen, maybe twenty customers," she offered eagerly.

  "No need to worry, Lil. Just go make your fancy conference call and catch me a nice pickerel on the way back. Your mother has her heart set on fish for supper tonight." He rose slowly and toed the heap of rods. Separating his daughter's favorite from the bunch, he deposited it back into the bow of the runabout.

  Reluctantly accepting this as the end of their conversation, Lily pulled hard on the outboard's cord. How can you help someone you love when they won't share their worries?

  The tip of her sneaker-clad foot dug into the Nirvana's gleaming hardwood floor, and the black leather chair began to spin. She closed her eyes to fully experience the ride to Executive Town.

  The spinning slowed to a stop but she remained mired in his chair and inhaled the room's ambience. It smelled like him. She sniffed again.

  Understated extravagance was everywhere. The sparkling crystal water jug, the sleek credenza and matching chairs, the teak bookcase filled with first editions and leather-bound reports.

  Her gaze landed on the phone and she wiggled to the edge of the chair and glanced at the row of clocks hung above the entrance. Two minutes. She watched the second hand circle the face. Twice. Nothing.

  She scanned her notes, spread neatly across Ethan's desk, and drummed her fingers against the smooth surface. She eyed his Rolodex, surprised a man so married to techno-gadgets still used one. She ran her finger across the polished wooden case. Was she in there?

  The soft burr of the phone and a blinking light on the unit drew her back to Ethan's office.

  She filled her lungs and exhaled slowly and reached for the receiver. "Hello, Lily Greensly speaking," she said in her most professional manner.

  "Lily, it's Ethan. I take it you had no problem accessing my office?" His thoughtful tone calmed her immediately. "Was the foreman there to open the main foyer?"

  "Er ... no. But I managed," she said, stating the obvious. "Mr. Weston, your plumber, let me in through the back entrance. Said he'd keep an eye on the runabout for me too. High winds whipped up after lunch" Was Mr. Southerland listening to their pleasantries?

  Apparently he was. "Lily, I'm pleased to meet you," a voice boomed in her ear. "Talk about high winds. Out here on the prairie the wind sounds like a train coming down the track. Never arrives though" He chuckled at his own joke.

  Lily sank back and kicked off her sneakers. Resting her feet on Ethan's desk she smiled into the receiver.

  She listened attentively as the two men discussed the rebounding market and the upcoming Trillium Open Golf Tournament. Suddenly the conversation swung back to her.

  "Lily, I'll see you Friday." Her feet hit the floor. "And ... be careful going home. Ask one of the crew to give you a lift in the company truck if the lake looks too rough." The concern in Ethan's voice was audible.

  There he goes again. Mr. Southerland is going to think he's my boyfriend or something, she thought, panic rising in her throat. Oh wait, Mr. Southerland is in Alberta-not Buttermilk Falls, she remembered. So it doesn't really matter.

  "Okay, Ethan. Thanks" A tiny click indicated he'd exited the three-way conversation.

  Line One continued to blink. I'm on my own now, she realized and bent to her notes. She plucked a pen from behind her ear and rolled the chair closer to the desk.

  With Ethan no longer listening in, her confidence rose and she addressed the man she hoped would soon be Loon Lake's benefactor. "Mr. Southerland, let me tell you something about my work"

  "Please do" His tone was serious. "I'll tape this Lily, if you don't mind. I'll need to run your proposal by my board and I want the stats to be accurate"

  "Absolutely. That's a good idea as I'll be sharing a lot of statistics and dates with you"

  Thirty minutes later she replaced the receiver into its cradle. Lily checked the clock and was shocked at the time displayed. Had they really been on the phone that
long?

  She pushed her hair behind her ears and surveyed the mess on Ethan's desk. Reports were strewn everywhere.

  Mr. Southerland had queried her every statement. She'd doubled back and searched her notes time and time again to find answers to his surprisingly knowledgeable questions. No wonder he was the most successful entrepreneur in western Canada.

  She knew she'd handled the academic portion well, but wondered what he'd thought of the latter part of their conversation.

  Whenever anyone asked why she cared so much about the survival of the local lakes, passion overrode objectivity. She spoke from the heart until she reached her listener, at least on some level.

  And her answer to what she hoped to gain from an influx of cash? That one had been easy.

  Clean water. Protected shorelines. Lakes where not only fish could thrive, but people too. Like she did.

  She nibbled on a fingernail. I hope I didn't bore him. Not everybody cares about the environment like I do. Delaney fondly referred to her pleas for conservationism as rants.

  And she'd come away with another contact. Mr. Southerland had given her the name of a philanthropist based out of Montreal. Apparently his friend, Mr. LaPierre, regularly donated money to environmental causes as well.

  Her gaze dropped to the thick writing paper topped with the Nirvana logo. The page was covered with her handwriting. Her fingertip tracked across the millionaire's Montreal phone number. Mr. Southerland was going to speak to his friend later today, and then it was back in her ballcourt.

  Lily kicked off the spinning chair again. The things she could accomplish with adequate funding were significant! For the first time she could actually envision her dreams coming true.

  Hey, she realized, with a smile, the business side of saving the world was kind of fun.

  Her hand reached across the desk toward the phone. She couldn't wait to tell Ethan. If it hadn't been for him, none of this would have happened.

  I hope he's still in his office, she thought as she pecked out his number.

  Now, the prospect of going to Montreal to further push her cause seemed exciting. What a dif ference one morning can make in your life, she marveled.

  His office phone burred in her ear. "Mr. Weatherall's office," a friendly female voice answered.

  "Is Ethan in, please?"

  "No, I'm sorry. He's out of the office. May I help you with something? It's Callie, his assistant."

  So this was the efficient Callie? She sounded younger than Lily had imagined.

  "No, I don't think so" She spoke hesitantly. "Just tell him Lily Greensly called and that everything went well. He'll know what I mean." Her excitement dropped a notch. Ethan obviously had more pressing business matters requiring attention.

  "Lily! So nice to speak with you at last"

  He's talked to Callie about me? A flush warmed her face.

  Callie's tone became confiding. "The boss came back from Loon Lake a new man. Relaxed, whistling even."

  "Mmmm, that's great." Is she implying I had something to do with his improved mood?

  "I'll pass along your message, Lily. He's out on a date with Emma," Callie said, her voice sweet and light. "Said he was taking a long lunch. You know how it is. Trying to make up for all the time away at the Nirvana. That gal of his keeps him in line."

  Callie's bantering may have continued but Lily was no longer listening. A cloud blanketed the sun and she felt cold. She scanned the room for her discarded sweater.

  Had Ethan mentioned this Emma? Most definitely not; she would have remembered even a vague allusion to a girlfriend.

  The line buzzed softly in her ear. "Lily?"

  "I've got to go. Thanks, Callie," she choked out before clattering the receiver to its cradle.

  She huddled into the soft leather of Ethan's chair, pulling her knees to her chin. She wrapped her arms around her shins and turned to face Greensly Bay.

  The effects of Callie's bombshell washed over her again and again. Waves of anger deluged her body, leaving dregs of disappointment behind each time.

  Tears pooled in her eyes. She straightened her legs and flung herself from the chair. It rocked uneasily for a moment before rolling, empty and silently, across the wood floor.

  All he did was kiss me, she reasoned, while pacing between the window and the desk. He didn't promise anything. He asked me to be his partner for the dance, not for the rest of his life.

  Logic was fast losing ground in its battle with her rising humiliation. The darkened sky rolled ominously and a gust of wind drove a spitting rain against the pane. Tears spilled and rolled down her cheeks.

  Doug's defection had taught her a painful lesson. Several actually. She required a man who could commit for now and forever. A man who could put roots down here on Loon Lake. Because she couldn't survive anywhere else.

  She remembered how her skin had warmed when Ethan had smoothed a strand of hair from her face, how when he looked into her eyes she'd felt as if he was mining her soul.

  There was no denying her feelings: she was falling for the guy. Her hands clenched in to balls of steel. But it wasn't too late to pull back, to hang on to her dignity. She'd go to the dance with him, but keep it cool and light. There was absolutely no way she'd let herself fall hard for a high-roller, girl-in-every-hotel kind of guy.

  Lily punched her pillow into a ball and flipped to her back. She rubbed her eyes, gritty from her sleepless night, and gazed around her childhood room.

  Topographical maps and charts were tacked haphazardly on the thick log walls. When most girls were into boy bands she'd invested her allowance in the Fishes of Ontario calendar series, a must-have collection produced by the Ministry of Natural Resources.

  A state-of-the-art computer and an enormous steel file cabinet claimed one entire wall.

  This is my life, she realized. She rolled to her side and squinted at the clock.

  Five forty-five.

  Time to get up. Ed would be on the dock, fishing rod in hand by six. She stuck her feet into a pair of worn flip-flops and stood. Usually she bounded down the stairs, anxious to beat the sun to her favorite honey-holes. Today it seemed, well, like work.

  "Lily," her father called from the kitchen below. "Got a minute this morning? I need to talk to you."

  His voice sounded strange. Forced.

  The back of her neck tingled as she padded quickly down the back stairs. He never announced when he wanted to talk, they just talked. The only other time he'd asked for her attention was when he told her that her mother's failing eyesight had advanced to the point of blindness.

  "What's up?" She snatched a piece of toast from the buttered stack in the middle of the table and leaned against the counter. Her father sat in his spot at the head of the table, his hands cupped around his coffee cup.

  He cleared his throat.

  Lily stared at her father's bent head, willing him to speak, her toast cooling in her hand.

  "Honey, now I don't want you to worry too much about this but I have some bad news. Henry Faulkner called yesterday" Jared cleared his throat again. "Between the taxes and the upkeep on the place and well . . " He spread his hands and pressed them into the tabletop. "We aren't going to be able to afford to keep the Hideaway up and running. This will be our last year. He advises we take advantage of the rising value of lake property and ... sell."

  "Dad," she breathed. "No. There's got to be another way"

  "It's no use, honey. He's been worried about the lodge for a couple of years now, but figured things would turn around. Always did before" His voice was flat. "He knows his stuff, Lil."

  They'd been in financial trouble for years? He'd carried his worries alone, she realized, doubting he'd even told her mother.

  "Don't worry," he said, a smile stretching tautly over his lips. "Maybe your mother and I will buy a little house in Buttermilk Falls and start enjoying ourselves. You'd still be close enough to the lake to do your research too. But it's time I retired, don't you think?"

&n
bsp; She attempted a smile. No, a voice in her head shrieked, you're only fifty-seven, Dad. This lake, this lodge, is your life. Cut your veins and Loon Lake's water pours out.

  Not to mention he'd die of boredom stuck in the village all day.

  She padded across the linoleum and placed a hand on his shoulder. He clamped his calloused palm over hers and squeezed. She hoped he didn't notice the slight tremor in her touch.

  Suddenly the kitchen felt suffocating. Like her father, when she needed to think things through, she did it outside.

  She knew Ed was already on the dock. The clunking and banging coming from the shore meant he was loading the boat without her. Never a good thing.

  Jared dropped a sugar cube into his wife's coffee mug, collected his own from the counter, and headed upstairs to his wife. "Get to work now, Lil. Ed will have your boat all messed up before you even cast off, if you don't get out there soon" He leveled a glance in her direction. "None of this is happening today, hon. You never know, maybe money will drop out of the sky. I just thought you deserved a heads-up"

  Lily puffed an errant strand of hair as she strode the familiar path to the dock. The path Greensly guides had been stepping on for three generations.

  Her eyes inventoried the shabby cottages, the dented boats, and the much-mended nets hanging on the weathered clapboard boathouse with the critical eye of a real estate assessor or a money lender.

  Sure, the Hideaway had seen better times, but she wouldn't give up. Not now, not ever. Grandpa Greensly built this place with his own hands, and she'd find the money someway, somehow.

  They sat cross-legged, three rows of color blocks between them on the ancient quilt. A chilling mist lathed their faces each time the wind gusted across Greensly Bay. The small granite bulge that was Osprey Island felt huge today as the silent pair drained their raspberry juice boxes.

  Ethan glanced toward Lily, surprised by her low spirits. After all, she was Nature's child, more likely to wax romantic than complain about Loon Lake's fluctuating weather. Even he, an unabashed city-slicker, found pleasure in just sitting beside her on the rock, whatever the weather.