LILY’S LIFE LESSON #4
Trust no one . . . unless they offer you doughnuts.
Lily could swear there was something familiar about Trace Remington. She studied his profile from the passenger seat and hugged herself, trying to rub the chill out of her arms. His damp hair was just messy enough to look sexy, like he’d run fingers through it. It brushed the collar of his soaked shirt, and a single dark curl fell across his forehead. He possessed enough swagger to charm a girl right off her tricycle and into his Jeep.
His presence filled the vehicle, pressing her against the door with barely enough space to breathe. He was the full package as far as looks went. Add the soaking wet look and he could easily pass for a male supermodel. Or male dancer. Either way worked for her. He was so freakishly good-looking, she was sure she’d remember him if they’d met.
He maneuvered the Jeep around a deep puddle, then reached toward the dash to turn up the heat. “Getting warmer?”
Definitely. In all the wrong places.
When she didn’t answer, he shot a glance her way.
Her stare flitted away from his strong jaw, the hint of stubble making him even more attractive. It was the kind of face that made a girl look twice. Made a girl sigh all over. Made a girl want to do stupid things . . . like search his body for tattoos, then outline them with her tongue.
Bad, Lily. Bad.
She refocused on why she’d come to Angel Fire Falls. A new job. A new beginning. A new life as an independent woman.
A new man wasn’t part of her plan.
So she cleared her throat, determined to sound professional. Polished. Cool and collected. “Yeah.” It came out as a croaky wheeze, as if a frog was blocking her windpipe. She clamped her mouth shut and counted the swipes of the squeaking wipers to get her mind off the awkward situation.
Then her stomach rumbled as loud as the storm clouds.
He chuckled. “Haven’t eaten in a while?”
She shook her head. “It’s been a long day.”
Trace flipped on the headlights. “We’ve got hot coffee and homemade doughnuts at home.” He rubbed his throat.
That word. Home. It took her by surprise, and she held her breath for a beat. A new home was what she’d wanted. Now that she had it. Fear tightened her chest until she was forced to draw fresh air into her lungs.
“Oh.” She chewed her lip and finally blurted, “I love doughnuts.”
She was such a conversationalist, it was almost scary.
Since her communication skills hadn’t seen fit to arrive on the same flight she had, they were probably lost and circling a luggage carousel somewhere in Arizona. She clamped her mouth shut and stared at the road ahead. Lush green fields lined the road, and stands of trees stretched in the distance on both sides. The road meandered left, then back right until they turned into the resort entrance, which was framed with stone columns and a wrought iron arch that fashioned the words THE REMINGTON in artfully rugged letters.
The Jeep bounced through a dip in the long driveway, and the ducks turned up their volume, expressing their disapproval.
“The ducks can stay in my bathtub tonight. Tomorrow I’ll look for a box or a container,” she said.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, about the ducks. The resort doesn’t allow pets.”
She couldn’t hide her surprise. “Why? A family-friendly resort usually includes family pets, especially in this part of the country. Pet-friendly lodging is crazy-popular out here.” Common knowledge within the world of hotel management. “The policy is likely costing you bookings.” Another priority on her work list would be a new furry-friends-are-welcome strategy.
“I made that rule when I moved back here a few years ago.” His tone wasn’t so neighborly this time. “We don’t want to deal with the liability if someone gets bitten.”
Lily swallowed back an explanation of how business insurance dealt with liability because that probably wouldn’t help win her ducks a stay of execution. “They’ll die on their own. Give me a little time, and they’ll be gone. Then I’ll owe you one.” She let a smile curl onto her lips. “And I’ll make sure the ducklings don’t peck a guest to death.”
When the muscle in his jaw ticked, the tension in her shoulders dialed up a notch.
Who was she kidding? Her stress level had run full throttle for months, leaving her with the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that comes from too much anxiety and too little joy in life.
“All right, but keep them out of sight. I don’t want my s—” His knuckles whitened against the black steering wheel.
Wow. Trace was uptight.
“People tend to get attached to animals. Letting them go is more difficult for some than others,” he said.
“I’ll make sure they’re not a problem.” Lily laced her fingers and rubbed one thumb against the other. “Thanks.”
He shrugged. “Least I can do for leaving you at the ferry crossing.” His tone was so serious, so sincere that Lily couldn’t look away. “We usually take better care of people than that.”
The point was for Lily to take care of herself, and she squared her shoulders. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m your employee, not your guest.” Yes! She was the help, and Trace Remington was her boss. She’d be wise to remember that instead of focusing on his lovely cheekbones. His ridiculously muscular arms. His velvety voice that caused a flutter in her tummy and a tingle in her . . .
A twinge of recognition turned the fluttering to flailing.
Surely not.
Her gaze landed on his right wrist, and the butterflies in her stomach slipped away just as fast as they’d arrived. The Voice had been wearing a watch. Trace’s wrist was bare.
Whew.
After the hellish day she’d had, after the horrible first impression she’d made, wouldn’t it just suck if her new boss had turned out to be the Voice?
The universe couldn’t be that cruel.
He slowed the Jeep as he maneuvered down the tree-lined drive.
“I’ll need to return the tricycle.” More stellar conversation from hers truly. She swiped a palm across her forehead. “I can’t imagine how this must look. Or what Mr. Remington must think.” With an elbow propped against the door, she rested her temple against her hand.
“I’ll take care of the trike first thing tomorrow. I didn’t mention it to anyone else,” Trace said as they pulled through a circular drive and stopped in front of the resort under a covered portico. Floodlights lit the stone façade of the resort, and Lily watched an entire crew of men barrel toward the Jeep.
“And that would be the welcome wagon,” Trace said. “Otherwise known as the Remington family.”
Two younger guys and an older man, who were all just as big and built as Trace, swarmed the Jeep as soon as he pushed the gearshift into park. An awful lot of testosterone, and they obviously didn’t know how intimidating they were as they pulled her suitcases from the back and opened her door, everyone shouting introductions as they moved.
“Ms. Barns! We finally meet in person.” The silver-haired gentleman with a warm smile threw a blanket around her shoulders as soon as her feet touched the pavement. “I’m Lawrence.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” She pulled the blanket closed in front to hide her muddy clothes. She ran a hand through her damp, disheveled hair and tried to smooth it. Her appearance was atrocious. She doubted she could make a worse first impression if she tried. Unless Trace decided to mention the tricycle. Or the ducks. Or the thong and the purple bra she’d used to make a bird’s nest.
Good Lord.
Scalding heat crept up her neck. Today would go down in the record books as the most embarrassing first day of work ever.
“Can you take Ms. Barns’s luggage to her cottage?” Trace said to his two brothers. He came around to the back door of the Jeep where the ducks were riding and leaned against it as if guarding her secret. She gave him an appreciative smile.
Elliott and Spence said their goodbyes and walked away, toting her luggage. They looked so much alike, Lily could barely tell them apart. But Trace, he was different. There was a family resemblance, but he stood out from the others.
Her mind raced, searching for the right description.
More handsome? More hot?
Her lips parted when he folded both arms across his broad chest and two incredibly formed biceps rippled.
Yes, yes. Definitely more hot.
“I’m so sorry about the mix up.” Lawrence’s gray hair was a surprise because his voice and enthusiasm during her telephone interviews had seemed much younger. “Let’s get you inside where it’s warm and give you the grand indoor tour.” She could hear the same thread of excitement he’d used during their phone calls. “I can’t wait to get started on this place.” He rubbed both hands together. “It’s going to be completely transformed back into what it used to be before I got old and lame.”
She liked Lawrence already. He seemed approachable and genuinely concerned, unlike her own father, who still hadn’t expressed an ounce of remorse for his crimes. Not an ounce of regret about the hell he’d put his wife and daughter through. Even from his prison cell, the only regret he expressed was that he’d gotten caught. So different from the father Lily remembered as a child. An invisible switch had flipped when Lily was a teenager, and her father had become distant and distracted, absorbed in work, work, and more work. Which had driven her mother to absorb far too much scotch on a daily basis. Eventually, Lily no longer recognized either of them.
“Dad, Ms. Barns had a rough day traveling.” A corner of Trace’s mouth turned up.
Her new name was going to take some getting used to. Thanks, Dad. How many kids needed an alias because of their father? “Please call me Lily.”
Trace gave a quick nod. “I’m sure Lily would like to clean up and get settled in. Work can wait until tomorrow, can’t it?”
“Oh, of course,” Lawrence said, his expression apologetic. “I’ll take you to your cottage.”
“I’ll take her.” Trace pushed off the door. “I’ve got to put the Jeep away anyway.”
A few minutes later, they were rolling down a wooded drive, past a large metal storage shed and a covered carport where several identical Jeeps were parked.
“Thanks for not mentioning . . .” Anything. Everything.
Trace responded with a nod.
The narrow road broke through a clearing where half a dozen white clapboard cottages of different sizes dotted the landscape. They each had a small yard and were far enough apart to offer privacy, but the grouping still gave off a quaint, neighborly appearance.
Trace pulled to a stop in front of cottage #3. “Family members who work at the resort live here. We never rent these to tourists. Dad assigned you one because you’re a manager.”
They got out and walked up the steps onto the front porch. As their footsteps echoed off the wood planks, Lily’s chest tightened. That sound brought memories flooding back of rare visits to Grandma Barns’s farmhouse, where they’d swing on the front porch. Lily had loved those visits. The home and the life Lily’s parents had built in New Orleans were designed to mask the memories of their impoverished childhoods. But life at Grandma’s had been real and simple, and Lily hadn’t cared that the old house wasn’t fancy or that her grandmother couldn’t afford cable TV.
Just like Grandma Barns’s house, the cottage was simple, warm, and welcoming. And all hers. Okay, not hers hers. But close enough.
Trace opened the front door, and Lily hesitated. Like walking through that door was a symbol, and there would be no turning back.
“Hey!” A pretty blonde about Lily’s age appeared inside the doorway with a cherub-faced little girl clinging to her leg. “I’m Trace’s cousin, Charlotte.” She stroked the little girl’s hair. “This is my daughter, Sophie. I brought you snacks to tide you over. We stocked your kitchen with a few necessities until you can go into town and do your own shopping.”
Charley stepped back, and Lily took in the cottage. It was as cute inside as it was on the outside and in good shape. And if the steaming mug of coffee on the counter looked wonderful, the doughnuts sitting next to it looked divine. “Thank you.”
Trace went to a broom closet in the hallway and rifled through it. “I need a box. And my cousin’s name is Charley, by the way.” Trace’s voice was muffled, and the top half of his body disappeared into the closet as he searched.
“That’s not my real name,” Charlotte said.
Must be a thing. Because there was a lot of it going around. Lily took the mug and sipped to hide a shiver of guilt.
“My three irritating cousins gave me the nickname when we were kids, and it stuck. I don’t get mad, though. I get even.” Charlotte’s lips turned up in a wicked smile. “I’m slowly poisoning their coffee.”
Trace rubbed his throat and narrowed his eyes at his cousin. “So the coffee I had earlier that nearly made me spontaneously combust was on purpose?”
“You’ll never know, will you?” She winked at Lily. “You can call me Charley too.” She was pretty and well put together, even in a pair of skinny jeans, an oversize sweatshirt from the University of Washington, and a shimmery pair of Converse sneakers that looked just as functional as they were fashionable.
Trace pulled a cardboard box from the bottom of the closet. “Remind me again why we let you live and work here?”
“Because when you make coffee for the guests, it’s so bad they riot.” Charley pretended to crack her knuckles. “My job here is done. Here’s the key, Lily.” She pushed it across the bar and took her daughter’s hand. “Let me know if you need anything,” she said as she left.
The family’s playfulness and the way they worked together suddenly made her feel more alone than ever.
The Remingtons were a close-knit family.
She fought off a heavy sigh. She’d come to Angel Fire Falls hoping to start over, but she was just as much an outsider here as she was in New Orleans.
“I’ll be right back with your ducks.” Trace headed to the door.
Lily wandered into the bedroom for a quick look around, then returned to the bar, where she propped a hip and sipped her coffee. She let out a soft moan as the robust flavor rolled over her tongue. “Mmmmm.” She let her eyes close for a beat. Only to find Trace standing in the doorway with the box in his hands, scrutinizing her in the most unnerving way when she opened them again.
Two wrinkles appeared across his forehead as he stared. Eyes cloudy. Stance wide. Body freaking gorgeous. He kept studying her as if seeing her for the first time.
A flush of heat surged through her at the attention. Attention from a man had been in short supply lately. God knew, once Andrew was done wooing her, his true colors had started to surface, and he’d shifted his focus back onto himself. Trace’s steady stare made her squirm because attention from him wasn’t a good thing. It was dangerous. Over six feet of dangerous because of the way his worn Levi’s cupped and clung and made her thighs quiver.
Lily realized her stare had anchored to all that cupping and clinging, and she wanted to melt into the floor. “I’ll take the ducks,” she blurted and slammed her mug to the counter. Coffee sloshed over the side. She hurried over and took the box from him. “Thank you for everything. I can manage from here.” She really needed to get Trace Remington and all his brooding hotness out of her cottage before she drooled all over him like a salivating dog. “The place is great. Really, you’ve been great. I’m exhausted, and I’d like to unpack,” she rambled. When she stopped to take a breath, she glanced at the saucer of doughnuts. She should stuff one in her mouth to shut herself up.
Trace’s ringtone went off, and he pulled his cell from his pocket. “Gotta take this,” he grumbled under his breath and turned for the door.
He hesitated, like he was unsure about something. His phone quieted for a second, then blared to life again. “See you tomorrow,” he finally said and closed the door behind him.
Lily planned to see as little of Trace Remington as possible. His ridiculous good looks would just distract her, and Lily didn’t need distractions. Especially not the kind that could end with a pink slip that had her new name on it.
Lily looked down into her box of tiny birds.
“Well,” she said. “Today sucked.” But tomorrow didn’t have to. She had six weeks before the summer vacation season officially started. Six weeks to prove her worth as the resort’s new hospitality manager so she could build a new life for herself.
Six weeks to avoid Trace Remington so she wouldn’t make the same mistake that had already cost her everything.
Trace stared at his ex-wife’s number and pinched the bridge of his nose. He climbed behind the wheel of his Jeep and fired up the engine.
He took a deep breath before answering the call. “What’s up, Megan?” He’d likely regret the question, but he had to at least communicate with Megan for Ben’s sake. Their son was an eight-year-old boy who still held on to the hope that his mother would finally put him first.
“I was thinking maybe Ben should spend more time with me in Los Angeles.” She cut right to the chase.
Trace bit down to hold back a curse. Megan couldn’t bring herself to spend more than an hour with Ben, and that was with Trace present to run interference. No way would he allow Ben to stay with her alone in Los Angeles. “Beg your pardon?”
With the last remnants of daylight about to disappear, he eased the Jeep down the lane and parked in front of his cottage instead of storing the Jeep in the resort motor pool garage.
“I think he needs a mother”—she stumbled over the word—“in his life. I’d like to spend more time with him.”
Trace hopped out of the Jeep and trotted onto the porch to get out of the pouring rain. “Since when?” He didn’t try to hide the strain in his voice. Strain was unavoidable when dealing with her.
“I resent that.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
Megan often played the crying card to get him to bend to her will. Guess she had learned something from the years she’d spent in acting classes. Otherwise, the classes hadn’t done much for her career, unless he counted the commercial for a pharmaceutical product that cured constipation.
Ben had hardly lived the teasing down at school.
“You’re welcome to visit Ben anytime, but I’m not going to ship him off to Los Angeles. He can’t adjust to that kind of change, and you know it.” Trace went inside and looked around for his son. Ben wasn’t home.
His pulse kicked up a notch. With the storm still raging, Trace hoped Ben was at Charley’s or in the game room. Or anywhere safe.
“I don’t care for Angel Fire Falls,” Megan clipped out.
It took nerves of steel to deal with her on a good day. Today it would take an act of God for Trace to keep his cool. After Sexy Airport Girl’s sensual moan had made his pulse hum, then the surprise of finding Lily Barns on the road looking like she was ready to compete in a wet T-shirt contest, his nerves were already frayed. When Lily had tasted the coffee, her moan had taken his nerves from frayed to shredded.
And don’t even get him started on the ducks. The no-pets-allowed policy was to protect Ben. The kid had had a meltdown when his classroom’s hermit crab died at school.
“Ben does like it here.” He pulled off his wet shirt and put the phone back to his ear, digging through his closet for something dry to wear. He pulled on one sleeve of a button-up denim shirt and shifted the cell to his other ear to finish. “It’s his home, and he’s familiar with it. He wouldn’t do well in a strange place.”
“You used to come down on me for not spending enough time with Ben. Now that I want to, you’re saying no. Shouldn’t I get a say in raising him?”
Trace started buttoning the shirt from the bottom up. “Not since you signed over full custody to me.” Five damn years ago.
“Yes, well about that . . . I was thinking . . .” She hesitated.
The hair at the back of Trace’s neck prickled.
“Maybe Ben could spend the summer with me . . . alone.” Megan didn’t sound convinced that this was a good idea. Trace knew it wasn’t.
“No,” he blurted, and it made his throat ache worse.
“Just think about it, Trace. I’ve been interviewing special-ed teachers who have experience with autism. Working as a nanny is a great summer job for a teacher, and I’d have help, so we could take extra-good care of Ben.”
His fingers stilled against the next shirt button, and he let a few beats of silence go by as though he really was thinking about it. “Hell no. No strangers, and that’s final.”
“You’re the one who screwed up and trusted the wrong nanny service,” Megan argued.
“Which is why I quit a high-paying job in LA and moved back here. If you’d been willing to come over and sit with him, I wouldn’t have had to rely on a nanny service to begin with.” Trace buttoned one more button, then ran his fingers through his soaking hair. Wanting to pull his hair out seemed to be the standard response when dealing with his ex-wife.
“Are we really going to rehash this again?” she asked.
“You brought it up.” He drew air into his lungs to calm down. “Look, school will be out soon. You can visit Ben here this summer, several times if you want.” There were enough Remingtons running around the place that someone could supervise Megan if she really did materialize. Which was unlikely, based on her track record. He started for the door again so he could find Ben. “Frankly, that’s a generous offer, considering . . .”
He waited for her answer.
“We’ll see about that,” she finally huffed. “You can’t keep me from my son.” The line went dead.
He held out the phone and stared at it. Megan’s sudden interest in spending time with Ben couldn’t be a coincidence any more than it could be a sudden surge of maternal instinct.
An uncomfortable tingle shimmied down Trace’s spine, and he shoved the phone into his shirt pocket. When it came to flying conditions, he had a gut instinct. That gut instinct told him a whole different kind of storm was brewing, and its name was Megan.
But why now?