Chapter 1
It occurred to Lily, as she stood on her cabin deck gazing
out on Burntside Lake, that she should have known she'd
made a mistake the time she'd brought Brock here. He'd
looked out at the sparkling water and majestic pines, the
perfect blue sky dotted with perfect fluffy white clouds,
ignored the eagle with the eight-foot wingspan soaring
overhead, swatted the mosquito on his arm, and said,
irritably, "I hope that doesn't stain linen. As if there'd
be a decent dry cleaner in this godforsaken wilderness
anyway." He'd gone inside muttering and hadn't come out
again until it was time to leave two days later.
One damned mosquito.
She should have gone with her gut feeling then.
It would have saved her a helluva lot of trouble. Not to
mention a divorce.
But, hey, she was here now and he wasn't and that was
good. More than good. Now if she could only figure out how
to turn on the water, she could wash her hands after hours
on the road from Chicago and life would be great.
The phone rang, the world intruded on her mini therapy
session, and she walked back inside.
"Welcome home, Juju."
Lily leaned against the kitchen counter and smiled at the
greeting from long ago. "How did you know I was here? I
just walked in the door."
"Myrtle Carlson saw you pull into your driveway and called
her sister Olga who called my aunt Bernie who called me.
And I would have phoned sooner but my aunt had to tell me
about her tomato plants and the last Eastern Star meeting
that almost ended in fisticuffs when Addie Montgomery and
Blanche Kovar both wanted to be president. When are you
coming over?"
"After I figure out how to turn on the water."
"Hurry, because Serena's on her waynow. Call Bianchich's.
They'll send someone over."
"Serena's home too?"
"Reluctantly. You know how she hates this town. But her
mom broke her hip and needed someone to run the store for
a few months. We'll fill you in when you get here. Dumped
the Brock, I hear. About time."
"What happened to 'I'm sorry your marriage didn't work
out. You must be distraught.' "
"I met the Brock, hon. I repeat, about time."
Lily sighed. "How did everyone know but me?"
"You're way too sweet, Juju. That's always been your
problem. You believe what people say. But hey, Serena and
I will show you the true path. She's in purdah here till
fall and I'm at the lake all summer as usual. Now call
Bianchich's about your water. If you're lucky our local
hero will make the house call himself. Darling Billy still
works in the hardware store every off season."
"I wouldn't recognize him if I saw him. He's years
younger."
"He's also, I think the term is, good enough to eat. And
if you came to your cabin more often, you'd know it."
Lily laughed. "Your libido is cranked up notches higher
than mine. And I'm only just divorced. Don't talk to me
about men right now."
"You know what they say about falling off that horse . . ."
"Give me a break. Unlike you, I've actually gone more than
a week without sex."
"Bite your tongue. I'm on day six. Now, call the hardware
store. We'll see you in an hour."
The phone went dead. Ceci had never been good about
waiting for anything--which accounted for her very active
sex life.
Lily didn't hear the truck pull up; she was unpacking in
the bedroom. And if there had been a knock on the door,
she'd missed that too. What she didn't miss were the very
broad shoulders on the tall man with spiky black hair who
was filling the doorway into her utility room when she
went in search of more hangers.
She actually squealed when she saw him, which was
embarrassing enough in itself, but when he turned around,
he had such a look of amazement she realized he wasn't
used to frightening people. And a second after that, she
also realized Ceci was right. If this was darling Billy,
he did look good enough to eat.
"Sorry. I didn't know anyone was at home. The work order
just said the water was out." Lily Kallio's tanned legs
went clear to the ceiling as they always had . . . well,
almost; they stopped at-- Billy jerked his glance
away. "This shouldn't take long," he muttered, turning
away, overcome by a schoolboy nervousness. Jesus, he felt
as if he were fourteen all over again--he used to watch
her sitting on the lifeguard tower at Shagawa Beach,
tanned and beautiful in her pure white suit with the tiny
Red Cross symbol about three inches from her crotch,
wondering if she'd give him mouth to mouth if he pretended
to drown, wondering if anyone would notice if he jacked
off behind the dressing rooms. He never did either,
although she was his nighttime fantasy for all of ninth
grade until she graduated from high school and left town.
My god, the man was enormous. So much bigger than Brock,
Lily thought, as though it mattered. And much more
handsome, some perverse inner voice insisted on pointing
out. Capable of home repairs too. Have you thought of
that? And his very large hands . . .
It took her a moment to come to her senses, to stop
looking, and a second more to tamp down the curious heated
flutter warming her senses, and a second after that to say
in a cool, polite voice, "Thanks for coming," and escape
into her bedroom.
The word come struck the NHL's best winger and MVP three
years running with a particular intensity. His body's
involuntary reflex brought him to a momentary standstill
and thirteen years flashed by in a time-warp moment.
Swearing softly, he shook his head in an attempt to clear
his mind of boyish fantasies. And then he said, "Fuck and
double fuck," in an explosive breath and surveyed the
array of copper pipes, looking for the turn-off valve.
Lily didn't come out of the bedroom until she heard the
kitchen door slam and the sound of the truck driving away,
even though she told herself she was acting like a child,
even though she told herself it was perfectly all right if
some guy turned her on like a damned spigot with one
glance at his handsome face and perfect body.
Watching from the kitchen window as the Ace Hardware truck
disappeared down the sandy drive, Lily was still shocked
at her physical reaction to the man. She wasn't impulsive
by nature--she'd earned her Ph.D. in five years because
she wasn't; she was focused and deliberate. Her TV spots
on the six and ten o'clock news had risen to first place
in the Chicago TV ratings because she was absolutely
single-minded in her goals. Even her decision to divorce
had required a spreadsheet analysis . . . although in all
honesty she was really fast on the computer; she couldn't
kid herself any due deliberation had come into that
decision once she'd seen Brock's e-mail correspondence
with his lover. But with the exception of her rather
precipitous divorce, she was really the least likely
person to get carried away.
But darling Billy's muscles were practically bulging
through his T-shirt, weren't they, and his sheer size sent
a little shiver up her spine, not to mention his very,
very large hands that made her speculate quite
unintentionally on the old saw about the correlation
between . . . ohmygod.
Maybe it had been too long since she'd had sex.
Chapter 2
"It's been way too long since you've had sex," Ceci said
an hour later, after all the down-and-dirty details of
Brock's affair with his coanchor, Lily's divorce, and her
upcoming year-long sabbatical in Ely had been thoroughly
dissected. After they had commiserated with Lily and
agreed that Brock was a shit.
Serena rolled her eyes. "Two whole months. I'd die. Don't
you miss a man doing things for you?"
Ceci smiled. "Or share in the doing--there's a concept."
Ceci's notion of good sex was a mutual give-and-take as
long as the man could keep up with her; her ownership of
the phrase female assertiveness was legend.
"I don't like to get sweaty," Serena said with the sublime
insensitivity that somehow didn't seem to matter to the
men who pursued her. Ceci and Serena could hardly be more
different in their approach to human sexual affairs.
Lily gazed at her friends over the rim of her
glass. "Until I saw the repairman from Ace Hardware, I
hadn't been inclined to get sweaty of late either. Or
maybe that kind of sweaty, ever." Her nostrils flared
faintly. "I don't know if it's him or me, whether
abstinence is affecting my thinking or he's just
unbelievably hot."
"Billy's hot," Ceci said, kissing her fingertips.
"Darling Billy," Lily murmured, her earlier description of
him having elicited a "Bingo" from Ceci. "He has the
absolutely widest shoulders and--"
"Sweetest ass. Don't tell me you didn't notice."
"Maybe in passing," Lily said with a studied nonchalance,
although the label on the back of his jeans, along with
everything else underneath the label, was crystal clear in
her brain.
The women were sitting on Ceci's porch six cabins down
from Lily's, drinking Aunt Bernie's frozen margaritas--in
good supply in Ceci's freezer along with Bernie's
spaghetti sauce made from her famous homegrown tomatoes.
The afternoon was sunny and warm, the breeze off the lake
sufficient to keep the mosquitoes at bay, and except for
Lily's lack of sex--now that she'd had the good sense to
get rid of Brock--all was right with the world.
Well, sort of.
Serena had already expressed her disgust with having to
actually appear at the store each day. As a trust-fund
baby, she had no aptitude for work. She didn't take after
her mother, who thrived on her mission to offer artisans'
wares to the world, nor had she one iota of her banker
father's work ethic. Luckily, the store manager, Emily
Riggs, was more than competent.
Ceci had walked out on her latest boyfriend a week ago
because the sex was getting boring--a not uncommon
complaint for her. "Oliver actually said, 'Was it good for
you?' " Ceci had said with disgust. "If they have to ask,
it usually isn't and it wasn't." Directing one of her
brook-no-interference glances at Lily, she now said, "You
need some sex, and I need some damned variety."
"I'm only going to sleep with men under twenty-five this
summer," Serena declared, a completely-out-of-character
defiance in her tone.
Ceci's brows flickered. "Because Homer went back to his
wife. So, fuck him. No offense, darling, but why do you
waste your time on rich old men anyway?"
Serena's brows dipped toward her perfect nose as she
considered her answer. "They're comfortable . . . and of
course--rich. Don't look at me like that. I like men to
buy nice things for me. I'm sorry." Her gaze
brightened. "Did I show you what Homer brought me from
Paris?" She held out her slender hand.
"Nice. You could light the football field with that
diamond. It works out, then," Ceci said, kindly. "Good
jewelry in place of hot sex."
Serena surveyed her friend with a lazy glance. "I like
sex, just not constantly like you."
"And for sure, no head-banging sex." Ceci's brows rose. "I
don't know if you're going to like that young stuff."
"Maybe I'll just read this summer," Serena pronounced.
"And maybe I'll become a nun."
"And maybe I'll see if Billy Bianchich is really as big as
he looks," Lily said.
"Way to go." Ceci held up her thumb. "It must be the two
margaritas."
"Three. And he's really fine. Did I mention how much
bigger he is than Brock?"
"Not more than ten times." Ceci offered Lily a benevolent
smile. "You know what they say about hockey players . . ."
Serena looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure we have hockey
players in Miami."
"You do. The Florida Panthers. They're an expansion team
that's doing quite well, or at least they were until their-
-"
"So what about hockey players?" Serena interrupted,
uninterested in sports.
"Lily knows," Ceci said, looking entertained. "She's
blushing."
"Am not. It's hot in the sun."
Serena looked from one to the other. "Obviously, this has
something to do with sex."
Ceci shrugged. "Hockey players have groin muscles so
conditioned by the sport, they can last all night. That's
all."
"All night?" Serena looked stunned.
"Only Venezuelan chocolate rivals an all-nighter for first
place on my top ten list," Ceci noted. "Depending on my
current obsession, of course. And speaking of obsessions"--
she surveyed her friends--"I suggest we go to happy hour
at the Birch Lake Saloon and check out the merchandise."
"Do you think he'll be there?" Between the liquor and all
the allusions to groin muscles, Lily was getting pretty
focused.
"If he isn't, I'll find him for you. This is a small town
and you haven't had sex for two months." Ceci
grinned. "Consider it my mission from God."
"Homer can go to bloody hell," Serena said, suddenly
gripped by a missionary spirit of her own. "So can his
wife and children and dog, along with his yacht and villa
in Tuscany and his apartment in Manhattan where he tries
to hide his family pictures before I come."
"Apparently without success," Ceci observed dryly. "Hey, I
think we're on a roll here--what better time to take a
fresh look at the path to nirvana? Fuck all our old
boyfriends, figuratively speaking, of course"--she glanced
at Lily--"and fuck no-good ex-husbands--"
"And their stupid and/or sly coanchors who 'accidentally'
send their e-mail love notes to me." Lily lifted her
glass. "I'll drink to that."
Ceci made the universal Italian gesture of
contempt. "Fuck. Them. All."
Serena raised her glass, her short platinum curls a halo
of sunlight. "Today," she began, a note of drama in her
voice, "on Burntside Lake, at"--she glanced at her Bulgari
diamond-studded watch--"six-thirty central daylight time--
" She giggled. "I think I'm getting drunk."
Ceci tapped her wristwatch. "Five-thirty and you are."
"Sshh . . ." Serena waved her glass, dripping margaritas
on the porch. "I'm not finished. Today we pledge ourselves
to personal fulfillment, good friendship"--she smiled
affectionately at both women--"strong groin muscles, men
under twenty-five, and"--she took a small breath--"the
ultimate Zen-perfect, lovely orgasm."
"Or a Catholic-perfect, lovely orgasm. Those I know--
starting with Jimmy Lorenzo in Sister Theresa's
cloakroom." Ceci stretched like a lazy cat. "I still think
of him with fondness . . ."
"Right now, I'll settle for any kind of orgasm." Lily
emptied her glass. "And it's not the liquor talking." She
stood up with a grin. "It's the liquor screaming. Who's
driving?"