Lisa Jordan - Lakeside Sweethearts

Sighing, Ian rested his head against the back of the chair, kicked off his shoes and toed off his dress socks. “I wish I didn’t have to tell you this.”

“What’s the matter? Did you find someone who wasn’t afraid of her own shadow in that place?”

“No, nothing like that.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s just that...well, there may not be an Agape House.”

“Why? What happened?”

Ian pushed himself out of his chair and stood on the edge of the dock. He curled his toes over the rough-edged boards and crossed his arms over his chest to ease some of the pressure building behind his ribs.

“Dad’s been against this project from the beginning, but Mom wants Zoe to have the best chance at a new life. When Dad learned Mom had signed the papers on behalf of the board, he packed a bag and headed for the cabin.”

“He moved out?”

Ian shrugged. “He didn’t come home last night.”

“So that’s why he didn’t come today?” She stood and moved next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Ian. What does Pete have against Agape House?”

“He had a rough childhood with alcoholic parents. He used to preach to us about the dangers of alcohol. After Zoe’s arrest, Dad hasn’t been the same. He resigned from the city council, stepped down from the church board and holes up in his office. He refuses to visit her in prison.”

“But she’s his daughter.”

He rolled up his pant legs and dropped his feet in the water. He sucked in a breath at the shock of cold against his warm feet. “Try telling him that. He’s acting like a jerk. Mom’s upset. Griff keeps asking questions we can’t answer.”

“What does your mama want to do?”

“Keep her marriage together and bring her daughter home. Dad’s demanding the impossible.”

“Well, we need to talk some sense into him.” Red slipped off her sandals and sat next to him, dipping her toes in the water.

“We?” He loved the way she teamed with him, but this was his family’s problem. She had her own issues to work out.

“I have a stake in this now, too, you know.” She bumped her shoulder against his.

Right, the cottage.

The sunlight dripped across the top of her head, catching the ginger glints in her hair and shading her face. She appeared to be sixteen instead of thirty-six.

His thoughts drifted back a couple of decades and remembered their almost daily talks on the docks. Seemed that no matter what the problem was, they could work it out sitting here with their feet in the water. If only things could be resolved as simply now.

He reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers, squeezing gently. “This is not your problem, Red.”

She lifted their joined hands and kissed his knuckles before releasing her fingers. “Your daddy will come around.”

He loved the feel of her lips against his skin. He’d take the knuckle kiss for now, but one of these days he hoped for the chance to feel her lips on his. And not in the name of friendship either.

“How about if I pay Pete a visit and see if I can talk to him?”

He scowled at her. The woman didn’t listen. “No, Red. You’re not fighting my battles.”

“Don’t be a fool, Ian.” She dipped her hand in the water and flicked his face. “Maybe Pete just needed to be reminded about the power of second chances.”

Ian jerked as the icy drops landed on his hot skin. He wiped his eyes with the hem of his shirt. “How can restoring my family be pulling us apart?”

Agnes lifted her feet out of the water and stood. She brushed off the back of her dress, then reached for her sandals. “Like you said yesterday—sometimes it takes peeling away the layers to find the promise for the future.”

Chapter Four

Agnes parked her restored 1964 Dodge Dart convertible in front of the James family cabin by the lake, shut off the engine and tossed her scarf onto the red vinyl passenger seat. She slid out from behind the wheel and slammed the door, the sound echoing along the hillside.

The afternoon wind stirred the pines, maples and oaks cradling the cabin. The upturned leaves and air saturated with humidity signaled rain close at hand.

She crossed the gravel parking area and faced the log cabin that had been in the James family for over one hundred years.

Decades of sunshine aged the hand-cut logs to a weathered gray. She climbed the three wide steps, passed the black rocker by the door and lifted the duck-shaped door knocker on the russet-stained pine door.

“It’s open,” a deep voice boomed from inside.

Agnes opened the door and sucked in a breath tinged with paint solvent and coffee. “Hey, Pete.”

Pete James glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to the large canvas resting on a wooden easel standing in front of the window facing the lake. “Agnes Joy, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Dressed in khaki shorts and a red T-shirt, he held a splattered palette in one hand and brandished crimson paint against the canvas like an expert swordsman. He wore a James & Son Insurance baseball hat backward on his head, covering his cropped salt-and-pepper hair.

Agnes crossed the hardwood floor and dropped a kiss on his whiskered cheek. “Ian’s caught up with a client and asked if I’d swing by and pick up Griffin for him. They’re leaving for Vanderfield in about forty-five minutes.”

“Bubba’s in the yard, playing fetch with Amos.” He nodded toward the window where Griffin threw a yellow tennis ball overhand. The golden retriever leaped in the air and caught the ball in his strong jaws.

“Missed you at Mama’s birthday yesterday.”

“Give Mary my best.” He offered no other explanation for his absence. Instead he continued to paint.

“What are you working on?”

“Cowboy in a canyon. Trying to steal as much natural light as I can before the cloud cover takes it away.”

“It’s quite muggy out there.”

“Rain’s in the forecast.”

She didn’t come to talk about the weather. Picking up Griffin was a decent excuse to try and get Pete to see some reason. Her nerves cinched the loose knot in her stomach.

“Pete, when we moved to Shelby Lake, you helped Daddy dry out, giving us a second chance at being a real family.”

“Agnes Joy, I love your company, but if my family sent you to change my mind, you’d best grab Bubba and head on your way.”

Just like Pete to speak his mind.

“Are you kidding? If Ian knew I was talking about this, he’d be madder than a wet hen. I’m just saying without you, Daddy would’ve struggled to stay sober.”

“Chuck was tougher than you think, Agnes.” Pete set down his brush to reach for his coffee cup. “The choice was his.”

“Agape House can be the second chance Zoe needs to turn her life around—like my daddy did.” Agnes pressed her back against the windowsill, enjoying the warm air whispering across her neck. “How can you turn your back on your daughter?”

“Ever hear of tough love, Agnes?”

“There’s tough love, and there’s rejection.”

She spied a stack of canvases leaning below the window. Without asking for permission, she flipped through them, stopping at the last one that showed two sets of hands—larger ones cupping a smaller set that held a butterfly. Recognizing the wing-shaped birthmark on the smaller hand, Agnes realized Pete had painted Zoe’s hands.

Oh, Pete...

Staring at the canvas, Pete wiped his hands on a rag, then walked to the window. With his back to her, he stared out at the trees and the lake.

“When I was a little older than Bubba, my parents died on Christmas Eve because they were too drunk to drive and decided to walk home. Instead they passed out in a snowbank and froze to death. No matter how many times they promised to change, they didn’t. Made me realize words were meaningless without actions to back them up.”