because the storm had stretched the eight-hour trip to ten.
He'd gotten a late start leaving Chicago. Not having Annabelle's engagement ring in his pocket bothered him-he wanted to give her something tangible-so he'd driven back to Wicker Park to pick up her new car. Maybe she couldn't wear it on her finger, but at least she'd see how serious he was. Unfortunately, the Audi Roadster hadn't been built for a six-footer, and after ten hours, he had stiff legs, a cramped neck, and a killer headache he'd been feeding with black coffee. Ten Disney balloons bobbed in the backseat. He'd seen them tied together when he'd stopped for gas and impulsively bought them. For the last sixty miles, Dumbo and Cruella De Vil had been slapping the back of his head.
Through the rain-drenched windshield, he made out a row of empty rocking chairs swaying on the front porch. Even though the cottages were closed up, Kevin had told him the B &B did a decent business this time of year with tourists searching for fall foliage, and the Roadster's headlights picked out half a dozen cars parked off to the side. But Annabelle's Crown Vic wasn't one of them.
The Audi lurched in a rain-filled pothole as Heath turned into the lane that ran parallel to the dark lake. Not for the first time did it occur to him that setting off for the north woods based on information fed to a three-year-old from a woman who held a giant grudge against him might not have been his smartest move, but he'd done it anyway.
He hit the brakes as his headlights picked out what he'd spent the last ten hours praying to see: Annabelle's car, parked in front of Lilies of the Field. Relief made him light-headed. As he pulled up behind the Crown Vic, he gazed through the rain at the darkened cottage and fought the urge to wake her and set things straight. He was in no condition to negotiate his future happiness until he'd had a few hours' sleep. The B &B was closed up for the night, and he couldn't stay in town, not when Annabelle might decide to take off before he got back. Only one thing to do…
He backed the Audi around until it blocked the lane. Once he was satisfied she couldn't get out, he turned off the ignition, shoved Daffy Duck out of his way, and tilted the seat all the way back. But despite his exhaustion, he didn't immediately drift off to sleep. Too many voices from the past. Too many reminders of all the ways love had kicked him in the teeth… every damn time.
The cold awakened Annabelle even before her alarm, which she'd set for six. During the night, the temperature had dropped, and the blanket she'd pulled over herself couldn't ward off the morning chill. Molly had told her to stay in the Tuckers' private quarters at the B &B instead of an unheated cottage, but Annabelle had wanted the solitude of Lilies of the Field. Now she regretted it.
The hot water had been turned off last week, and she splashed cold on her face. After she helped serve breakfast to the guests, she'd treat herself to a long soak in Molly's tub. Yesterday, she'd volunteered to help with breakfast when the girl who usually worked the morning shift had fallen ill. A small but welcome distraction.
She gazed at the hollow-eyed face in the mirror. Pitiful. But every tear she shed here at the campground was a tear she wouldn't have to shed when she got back to the city. This was her time to mourn. She didn't intend to make a career out of being miserable, but she wouldn't beat herself up for hiding out, either. She'd fallen in love with a man who was incapable of loving her back. If a woman couldn't cry about that, she didn't have a heart.
Turning away, she snagged her hair into a ponytail, then slipped into jeans and sneakers, along with the warm sweater she'd borrowed from Molly's closet. She let herself out through the back door. The storm had finally blown off, and her breath made frosty clouds in the cold, clean air as she walked down the path to the lake. The soggy carpet of leaves sucked at her sneakers, and the trees dripped on her head, but seeing the lake in the early morning lifted her spirits, and she didn't care if she got wet.
Coming up here had been a good decision. Heath was a powerful salesman, and he saw every obstacle as a challenge. He'd be gunning for her when she got back, trying to convince her she should be satisfied with the place he wanted to relegate her to in his life-behind his clients and his meetings, his phone calls and his grueling ambition. She couldn't return until she had all her defenses firmly in place.
Fingers of mist rose from the water, and a pair of snow-white egrets fed near the bank. Through the weight of her sadness, she struggled to find a few moments of peace. Five months ago, she might have settled for Heath's emotional leftovers, but not now. Now, she knew she deserved better. For the first time in her life, she had a clear vision of who she was and what she wanted from her life. She was proud of everything she'd accomplished with Perfect for You, proud of building something good. But she was even more proud of herself for refusing to accept second best from Heath. She deserved to love openly and joyously-no holds barred-and to be loved the same way in return. With Heath, that wouldn't be possible. As she turned away from the lake, she knew she'd done the right thing. For now, that was her only comfort.
When she reached the B &B, she pitched in to help. As the guests began filling the dining room, she poured coffee, fetched baskets of warm muffins, replenished the serving dishes on the sideboard, and even managed to crack a joke. By nine o'clock, the dining room had emptied out, and she set off back toward the cottage. Before she took her bath, she'd make her business calls. A master executive had taught her the value of personal contact, and she had clients who depended on her.
Ironic how much she'd learned from Heath, including the importance of following her own vision instead of someone else's. Perfect for You would never make her rich, but bringing people together was what she'd been born to do. All kinds of people. Not just the beautiful and accomplished, but the awkward and insecure, the hapless and obtuse. And not only the young. Unprofitable or not, she could never abandon her seniors. Being a matchmaker was messy, unpredictable, and demanding, but she loved it.
She reached the deserted beach and paused for a moment.
Pulling her sweater closer, she walked out onto the dock. The lake was quiet without its summer visitors, and the memories of the night she and Heath had danced in the sand washed over her. She sat down at the end and drew her knees to her chest. Twice she'd fallen for damaged men. But not ever again.
Footsteps sounded on the dock behind her. One of the guests. She pressed her wet cheek to her knee, blotting her tears.
'Hello, sweetheart.'
Her head came up, and her heart lurched. He'd found her. She should have known.
'I used your toothbrush,' he said from behind her. 'I was going to use your razor until I figured out there wasn't any hot water.' His voice sounded rusty, as if he hadn't spoken for a while.
Slowly she turned. Her eyes widened in shock. He was mismatched, unkempt, and unshaven. Beneath a ratty red wind-breaker, he wore a faded orange T-shirt and navy slacks that looked as though he'd slept in them. He held a bunch of Disney balloons in his hand. Goofy had deflated and hung against his leg, but he didn't seem to notice. Between the balloons and his dishevelment, he should have looked ridiculous. But with the polished veneer he'd worked so hard to obtain stripped away, she felt even more threatened.
'You shouldn't have come here,' she heard herself say. 'This is a waste of time.'
He cocked his head and gave her his huckster's smile. 'Hey, this is supposed to be like in
'Skinny women are pushovers.'
His phony charm evaporated like the helium in the Goofy balloon. He shrugged, took a step closer. 'My real name's Harley. Harley D. Campione. Take a guess what the
He'd mow her down if she didn't keep swinging. 'Dumb ass?'
'It stands for Davidson. Harley Davidson Campione. How do you like that? My old man loved a good joke, as long as it wasn't on him.'
She wouldn't let him play on her sympathies. 'Go away, Harley. We've both said everything we needed to.'
He stuffed his free hand in the pocket of his windbreaker. 'I used to fall in love with his girlfriends. He was a good-looking guy, and he knew how to turn on the charm when he felt like it, so there was a whole slew of them. Every time he brought a new one home, I let myself believe she'd be the one who'd stick, that finally he'd settle down and act like a father. There was this one woman… Carol. She made noodles from scratch. Rolled the dough out with a pop bottle and let me cut it into these little strips. Best thing I ever tasted in my life. Another-her name was Erin-she'd drive me wherever I wanted to go. She forged his name on a permission slip so I could play Pop
