Her Best Bet Read online

  “I’ll rescue our drinks,” Izzy said. “Before they’re full of lake water.”

  She let go of his hand. The warm night air caressed his palm and he felt a pang of missing her. Glancing her way, he took in the softness of her countenance, her brown hair blowing loosely around her face in the gentle breeze. She’d invaded his thoughts more than once since they’d gotten back from fishing this morning. And he’d forced her out of his mind each time. He knew better than to let anything more happen between them.

  From the water’s edge, Matt spotted Izzy heading for the picnic table. “Enemy invaders!” he shouted, sprinting back onto the dock.

  At his shout, Izzy seized a glass in each hand and was scampering back toward Gib just as Matt hit the water again. Huge droplets rained down on her and she let out a screech, joy lighting up her face, eyes glistening in the firelight. Every thought about not getting involved dissolved beneath his attraction to her, and he reached out his arms and gathered her in as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

  And then he kissed her. A small kiss, impulsive, a brush on the lips, the kind of kiss that seems to come from out of nowhere, driven by the moment. As he pulled away, her eyes met his, her expression full of warmth…and questions.

  “Hey, what are you two doing?” Matt hollered.

  “None of your business,” Gib shouted back. What was he doing? He looked at Izzy. “We…shouldn’t be doing this,” he said.

  She took a step back. “Didn’t even happen.”

  Shelly and Matt traipsed toward them, dripping wet and still screwing around.

  “We’re going to dry off and change clothes. Then we’re taking the golf cart to the Stop on Inn.” Matt poured the last of the daiquiri into his and Shelly’s glasses. “You two up for it?”

  “Not me,” Gib said quickly before his mouth had a chance to say something else.

  “Me, neither.”

  Matt shrugged and handed Shelly her glass. “Gonna miss all the fun. Come on, Shellfish.”

  “See you later, you two.” Shelly waved at them.

  “Shellfish?” Izzy said. “Now, that’s a first.”

  Gib shook his head. Matt might be taking the entertain the guests thing to a new level, but, if Shelly was willing, well, then who was he to complain?

  “I’m pretty wet.” Izzy finished her daiquiri. “Maybe I should call it a night.”

  Gib stuck his hands in his pockets, wanting to touch her and knowing he shouldn’t. It was good they’d agreed to pretend the kisses had never happened. That way they could go on with life as usual.

  Yeah, right. As long as he could ignore the feelings building inside him.

  IZZY’S CELL PHONE RANG during the night, awakening her from a sound daiquiri-enhanced sleep. “Hello?” she answered groggily, dragging herself out of a dream. Gib had come up behind her on the pier and kissed the back of her neck and she’d turned and wrapped her arms around him and he’d pulled her tight to him as his mouth found hers—

  “Hi, sweetheart,” Andrew said.

  Her stomach took a panicked leap and the dream dissipated. “Is something wrong? No one’s hurt, are they?”

  “No. Everyone’s fine.”

  She glanced at the nightstand clock. It was a quarter past midnight. The dream slid forward into her consciousness again, Gib kissing her, the heat between them. She drew in a slow breath to steady her pulse—not sure whether it was racing because she’d been jarred awake by the phone or because she was remembering Gib’s kiss. “You almost gave me a heart attack, calling in the middle of the night.”

  Gib’s mouth closed over hers and she forced the memory away.

  “Sorry. I left a message earlier, and when you didn’t call me back, I got worried.”

  “We were at a cookout at the beach.” She sat up and propped a couple of pillows behind her back. “What do you need?”

  “It can wait.”

  “Andrew, I’m wide awake. What is it?”

  “I wanted to see if you’ve given any thought to what we discussed.”

  “You mean the night before last?” She flicked on the reading lamp beside the bed and went down the hall, peeking into Shelly’s room and noting that her friend was still out on the town with Matt. “Andrew, I understand all your points, but I want to make this documentary. I don’t think my making a movie is going to derail our future.”

  “Sure it could, if you decide to change careers.”

  Izzy’s head felt like it might explode. For a long time, she had liked Andrew’s need for control. It made life easy. She never had to worry about a thing because Andrew had the details organized. What movie to watch? Which play to attend? He’d read all the reviews, knew which were getting two thumbs up. What restaurant for dinner? Same thing; he always knew. What color should she paint her living room? Andrew was even up on the latest trends in decorating. She sat on the sofa. He liked being in control and, well, she’d liked him being there.

  Until now.

  “Izzy? You there?”

  Somehow, the arrival of that letter she’d written herself in high school had changed everything for her. And now she couldn’t imagine a lifetime in this relationship. “I need to ask you something,” she said quietly. “When you asked me to marry you, did you listen to my reply?”

  “Of course. I always listen.”

  Her shoulders slumped. He always listened. But he only heard what he wanted to hear. “I said I would think about it.”

  “I know.”

  “Andrew…” she said evenly. “That wasn’t a yes.”

  “Well, right,” he said, having the decency to at least sound sheepish. “I probably shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, but we’ve been dating a year, and I do know you. And it felt like you were putting off saying yes just because you were making this documentary and that maybe you needed me to make the decision.”

  “For me?”

  “For both of us.”

  Izzy swallowed hard. The perfect man. How had she ever thought him that? “Andrew, I feel like we’re two people sitting in a boat and rowing in opposite directions.”

  “If you just turn around we don’t have to be.”

  Her face flushed with heat. Would he never get it? “See, that’s the thing. What we each want right now is completely different—”

  “I don’t think we’re that far apart.”

  “Trust me, we are,” she snapped. Instantly regretting her tone, she pulled back. “I think what we need is a break.”

  “Izzy, now, don’t overreact.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Don’t be afraid to say you need a couple more days to—”

  “I don’t! I need a break! No, not a break—”

  “That’s my girl.”

  Not a break. A breakup, she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t bring herself to be that harsh. She sighed. “Andrew, I don’t need a couple of days. I need a break. Time off from us.”

  “Izzy—”

  “And it’s late. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow. I have to go.” Shaking, she closed her phone and let her head drop back, only then realizing she had hung up on Andrew twice in as many days. Only this time, she had ended their relationship.

  And she couldn’t feel anything but relief.

  Then relief was gone, replaced by disappointment with Andrew for the way he was, with herself for putting up with him, with everyone who thought he was so perfect—

  What would people think about this?

  She clasped her hands together tightly, feeling a lightness fill her as she realized she didn’t care how people reacted to this development. That was her mother’s way of thinking—not hers.

  She was free. Tonight she’d regained her life and, now, the world was hers for the taking.

  Fifteen minutes later, wired beyond belief, she marched up the road toward the main lodge intent on finding something to make her sleepy—a glass of milk, turkey, even another daiquiri if need be. The temperature had dropped again—gr
eat sleeping weather if you could sleep—and she was glad she’d grabbed a sweatshirt on her way out the door.

  Everything was quiet at the lodge, one small light shining in the main entrance, the spacious stone building cozy and welcoming with its bentwood tables and Northwoods decor. In the hearth, a fire still smoldered.

  She cut through the dimly lit dining room and got herself a mug of milk from the kitchen, then headed for the sofa facing the hearth. In the shadowy darkness, she spotted someone slouched down into one end of the couch, feet up on the round wooden coffee table. Gib. Sound asleep.

  She froze, watching him, reliving the kisses they’d shared. His hands had felt so good on her, she wished—Stop it. She reminded herself that they’d agreed to forget anything had happened between them. Gib was dealing with so many issues and she was following her dreams and, really, it was the only logical thing to do.

  She set her glass on the table and knelt to stoke the fire, then sat back on the floor, arms resting on her knees as she watched the flames flare and lap at the logs. The dancing red-and-yellow blaze was mesmerizing, relaxing, and she felt her anger toward Andrew begin to ease. She was as much at fault as he for the way their relationship had been.

  She sipped her milk, enjoying being on the floor close to the fire, the heat wrapping around her like a cocoon.

  “What are you doing here this time of night?” Gib’s low, sleep-laden voice startled her from her reverie. He shifted to a more upright position.

  “Couldn’t sleep. I thought some milk might help.” She lifted her glass as if to prove her words. “What’s your excuse?”

  “Couldn’t sleep, either.”

  “Looks like you were doing okay right now.”

  “Yeah. I do all right when I reach exhaustion.”

  She cocked her head, remembering his comments about taking a nap every day when he was fishing. “As long as you’re not in a bed?”

  He shrugged. “Sleep’s funny. It’s the only time when your guard is fully down. Problem is, then the stuff you don’t want to remember decides to muscle its way in.”

  What memories was he running from? The explosion that caused his injury? “So you try to fool yourself into thinking you’re not going to bed, then doze off whenever, wherever, it hits?”

  “That’s about it.”

  Izzy’s throat tightened. She wished she knew something to say that would help him. Six years as the traffic coordinator for a cable TV station didn’t exactly give her a background in psychology. “Have you tried taking sleep aids?”

  “Yeah. The stuff strong enough to work makes me groggy the next day. Only get five hours out of it, anyway. Not worth the trouble.”

  “So you fish.”

  A slow smiled lightened his face. “So I fish.”

  “You want some milk? They say it helps. I could get you some.” What she really wanted to do was put her arms around him, help him get past the pain that was keeping him up at night.

  “Tryptophan. Supposed to make you sleepy.”

  “That’s right.” She went into the kitchen and returned a couple of minutes later to hand him a full glass. “I even heated yours up so you get the added benefit.”

  “Yum, nothing like warm milk. Thanks.” He took a drink.

  She lowered herself onto the other end of the couch and stared at the fire, all the while trying not to think about kissing him and wondering if he was having any of the same thoughts. She cast a sideways glance his way and discovered he’d drifted back to sleep, the half-finished glass of milk on the table in front of him.

  She yawned and eyed the mantel clock, its hands showing one o’clock had passed ten minutes ago. Time for her to sleep, as well. She gazed at Gib, grateful for his sake that at least he’d been able to conquer his demons for a few minutes more.

  Standing, she took the woven throw from the back of the sofa and tucked it over him. His hand closed on her forearm and his other came up to caress the curve of her neck. Eyes open to seductive slits, he drew her head gently downward until her mouth was almost touching his. “Izzy. Thank you…” he murmured sleepily. Then he kissed her, his lips pressing warm and soft, the tip of his tongue brushing against her mouth and dipping inside. The hand at her nape slid up into her hair as he slanted his mouth across hers. And then as quickly as the kiss began, it ended. His eyes locked with hers for a moment, appraising, the desire in them so apparent she almost shivered. “Stay with me,” he whispered. “Just to sleep. Here on the couch.”

  She hesitated in confusion and indecision. Less than an hour ago she’d ended her relationship with Andrew, and already she was kissing another man. She took a step back and he let go of her arm. “Sorry,” he said flatly.

  “Good night, Gib.” She pulled the blanket higher on his chest. “Sweet dreams.”

  She hurried for the door, wishing she had the nerve to stay with him, wanting nothing more right now than to fall asleep on the couch with his arms around her. And terrified of what it would mean if he ever found out her family was selling the land out from under him.

  HE WAS AT THE CAFÉ, a corner bistro in France that sold the best croissants and espresso he’d ever had in his life. It was spring, the air was fresh and he was a freelance photographer again, worrying about money and how to make enough of it to survive. He knew, somehow, that this wasn’t real, people don’t go back in time, but when Terry came through the door, he buried the knowledge that he was dreaming and waved a hand at his friend, overjoyed to see him again.

  This was where they’d met the first time. Terry was fifteen years older and way wiser. The man who’d gotten Gib an in with the Associated Press. Three other journalists joined them, and the discussion turned to the stories they were chasing down, the interviews they needed to get. Alex flirted with the waitress like he always did. Chris was talking about the book he wanted to write.

  Thunder cracked, the air darkened and the others went to see what was happening outside. Gib tried to warn them to stay in the café, but he couldn’t form the words. He pushed out of his chair and sprinted forward, reaching the doorway as a white bolt of lightning shot earthward. When it passed, only Terry was left in the street, a gray figure almost lost in the downpour. Gib lunged toward him, grabbed his arm, felt the warmth of his skin as the lightning flashed again. He threw an arm up to shield his eyes from the blinding light and dragged his friend backward into the café. The door swung shut behind them, and he opened his eyes to find he held a branch and nothing more. His friend was gone, and outside, the torrential rain pounded the ground in the darkness.

  He woke, overcome with grief. Terry had died. The big man with the big heart, and a wife and two little girls at home. The man to whom he owed his success, the man who’d taken him under his wing and taught him how to be a photographer when he was a naive twenty-one-year-old chasing adventure. Terry was gone. And even in his dreams, Gib couldn’t save him. He let an arm fall across his forehead and wept.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Izzy and Shelly cut across the dewy grass on their way to the beach intent on figuring out which camera angles to use when they filmed the escape tunnel. Though Pete hadn’t brought it up again, Izzy planned to, as soon as she found a way to make a door look interesting.

  “Okay, spill all.” Shelly sipped the coffee she’d brought along in a travel mug. “What was that kissing thing going on with B.B. last night?”

  “What kissing thing?”

  “You are such a bad actor. Come on. Tell.”

  Izzy shrugged, not wanting to let on about seeing Gib later that night. “Who knows? He just kissed me.”

  Shelly began to chortle. “You mean out of the blue he locked lips? No words? No eye contact? Nothing? Just…smack?”

  “Basically.”

  “I so knew he was interested. Didn’t I tell you that from the first day?”

  “You’re beginning to sound like a broken record.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  “What happened with y
ou and Matt last night?” Izzy asked, hoping to change the subject. She raised her sunglasses to peer at her friend.

  “No biggie. We went to that bar down the road. This thing with you and Gib is way more interesting. So, when did you get home?” She stopped walking to take a drink of her coffee.

  Izzy shook her head. “Don’t get too excited. I left the beach right after you did. Andrew called last night….”

  “Super,” Shelly said flatly.

  “We had a fight.”

  “De duper! So what’d you fight about?”

  “Making the documentary.” She sighed at the memory.

  “Again? Is he going to call about this every day?”

  “Not anymore.”

  Shelly frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  In the light of day, Izzy almost couldn’t believe she’d had the strength to do the unthinkable last night. “I told him we needed to take a break. We’re through.”

  Shelly made a strangling sound and raised her arms to the morning sky. “Oh, great weather gods, we’re making progress down here.” She regarded Izzy thoughtfully. “And how do you feel about this?”

  A vision of Gib on the couch asking her to spend the night with him popped into her head, and with it came all of her yearning. “I feel mah-velous.”

  “I can relate. I just won fifty bucks.” Shelly stuck out a hand. “Pay up, baby.”

  Izzy huffed. “Later. We have work to do.” She pointed at the small wooden boathouse built into the hillside sloping down to the lake. “There it is. Who would have guessed it’s actually the exit from an escape tunnel?” She perused the empty beach. “When we shoot this, let’s do it in black and white at dusk. Simulate an escape. Someone running to a powerboat at the dock and—”

  “Someone? There’s you and there’s me.”

  “Maybe Gib would do it.”

  “You think you might have an in with Beautiful Boy?” Shelly teased.

  “Stop it. Maybe Matt would do it, too. The shot would be a lot more interesting with people. Otherwise it’s nothing more than a boring, dare I say it, run-down, building.” She propped open the boathouse door so daylight could filter into the room. “I mean, what’s exciting about this view? You can’t even see a doorway.”