“Stressed is desserts spelled backward.”
Piper headed out of the bar parking lot, her Jeep swaying in the harsh winds. She hit the highway to get to the lake, and the slightly dilapidated, old—heavy emphasis on old—Victorian house and four small cottages on the east shore. It was there that she, Gavin, and Winnie had lived when their parents had sent them home to the States after . . .
Well, after their entire world had fallen apart, destroying each of them in their own way. Although, in hindsight, that event had been nothing compared to what had happened next—all nightmarish memories she didn’t want to face right now.
Or ever.
She’d been fixing up the cottages in between her shifts at the station. Once she got the property on the market and sold, they’d have some money to breathe, which would be a good thing because when she went off to school, she wouldn’t be able to help her siblings financially anymore.
There was little traffic tonight. Or ever in Wildstone, which had an infamous wild, wild west past, played up for the tourists in all the glossy California tourist guides. The buildings on the downtown strip—two streets, one stoplight that almost always worked—were all historical monuments, and added to the infamy, including a haunted inn.
By the time she turned off onto the narrow two-lane road out of Wildstone, away from the ocean and into the lush, green, oak-dotted rolling hills, the storm had settled in. The wind continued to push at the Jeep, along with the rain slashing down now as well, making visibility tricky. The already-drenched land couldn’t absorb the deluge, which had the roads slick.
Rainbow Lake was eighteen miles of bays and hidden fingers and outlets, a treasure cove of fishing, boating, hiking, and camping. Only the south and west shores were largely populated, and there was a nicer road to those areas, one that didn’t go all the way around the lake to where she lived. Five miles in, she turned off where the road went from paved to gravel. There weren’t many houses out here. It was relatively remote. Her closest neighbor on her left was ten acres away and she couldn’t see the house from her own. On the right was another large ten-acre parcel that held a small marina and a residence for the man who ran it, leaving her sandwiched in between with her single acre.
She didn’t care. She loved it here, always would. It symbolized safety and security, even if she was not-so-secretly terrified of the actual lake itself.
The power was out here too; she could see that right away. The two massive oak trees in the yard were nothing but dark swaying giants, sheltering her as she ran toward her front door. Letting herself in, she tripped over the boots she’d left on the floor—cleaning up the messy foyer was on one of her lists somewhere—and made her way blindly to the kitchen, where she pulled out her storm lanterns.
Dead batteries.
Well, shit. That was also on a list. She was searching through her junk drawer for spare batteries when she heard an odd thunk. Had that been against the side of the house? Freezing in place, cursing herself for marathoning all those horror movies the other night, she listened. Nothing. Drawing a deep breath, she decided the hell with it, if it was a mass murderer, well, at least she’d made it to the ripe old age of thirty. She’d had a good run, and hey, she’d gotten to have a Shirley Temple earlier. What more could she possibly want out of life?
Another thunk, and this time she nearly jumped right out of her skin. “Sweet Cheeks?” she whispered, hoping like hell it was the cranky stray cat Winnie had saddled her with when she’d gone off to college two hours south in Santa Barbara. “That’s you, right?”
Nothing.
When the third thunk hit, Piper forced herself through the house, using her phone as a flashlight. Which is how she found the den window cracked about six inches, the slanted shutters banging in the wind against the wall, screen long gone.
Mystery solved.
She’d opened the window the other day when the sun had been out and unseasonably warm for late January. Somehow, she’d forgotten to close it, and, she had no doubt, Sweet Cheeks had escaped, since it was her mission in life to mess with Piper’s.
Okay, then, so no mass murderer. She’d live another day. But the adventure had made her tired. Or maybe that was just her life. Even so, she still had one more thing to do before she could relax. Well, two if she counted looking for Sweet Cheeks. With a sigh, she once again pulled on her rain jacket and went back outside and across the wide expanse of wild grass between her and the marina.
She’d grabbed her medic bag for the guy who owned and ran the marina. Emmitt Hayes was in his mid-fifties, ate like a twelve-year-old boy, drank like a fish, and had just been diagnosed as diabetic. He’d also recently suffered the loss of his son and wasn’t taking care of himself.
So, since they’d been friends since he first bought the marina around five years ago, she was doing the caretaking.
Between the two houses was a runoff from two small tributaries, combining into one rivulet that fed into the lake. Ninety-nine percent of the time, she could step over the little creek when she needed to. Tonight the flow was heavier than she’d ever seen it, half water, half mud—another problem from the poor fire-scarred land due to last summer’s terrible California wildfires.
It was one thing for her to step over a narrow stream, but another entirely to get past the rushing river it’d become, and she stopped, frozen to the spot. Take a deep breath. Be logical. It’s not as deep as it looks, it’s just wide.
And moving hella fast . . .
Sucking in a breath, she backed up a few feet and then took a running leap. The bad news—she landed a few feet short, leaving her wet and muddy up to her knees. The good news—she didn’t drown.
But she wished she’d had another drink with Hot Guy.
A few minutes later she stood on the dark porch of Emmitt’s house, drenched to the core. She knocked as loud as she could to be heard over the wild wind. “Emmitt,” she called out. “It’s Piper. You okay?”
The door opened, and at first all she could see was a tall, lanky shadow of a man who was wielding a flashlight, which messed with her ability to see clearly. “Emmitt?”
“Not quite.”
Wait. She knew that voice, and she blinked in surprise because it was . . . Hot Guy? Had she manifested him here? Was she in an episode of The Twilight Zone? “What are you doing here?”
He was already pulling her in from the rain. “I was just about to ask you that same question.”
“I live next door.” She gestured vaguely behind her as he closed the door, shutting out the noisy storm. “I’m here to see Emmitt,” she said. “He’s my patient.”
“Patient? I thought you were an EMT, not a doctor.”
“I am, but he—” She shook her head, irritated, mostly at herself for being thrown off guard, because she prided herself on never being thrown off guard, by anyone. “Why am I explaining myself to you?”
“Don’t worry,” came Emmitt’s voice from the depths of the dark living room. “He has that effect on everyone.”
“What, charming people?” Hot Guy asked mildly.
Emmitt laughed. “More like irritating the shit out of them.” He turned on a small lantern, smiling at Piper from the couch. “The apple never falls far from the tree, you know.”
Piper stared at Hot Guy before turning back to Emmitt. “He’s your son?”
“In the flesh.”
She could see it now. Same dark hair and hazel eyes, and a somewhat imposing height and strength to match. But more than that, the sharp awareness they both had, the way they held themselves so easily, so casually, and yet seemingly utterly aware of everything around them.
She knew Emmitt had two sons, but she’d only known one of them. Rowan, who’d died three months ago in a tragic car accident. All she knew about his other son was that he lived on the East Coast. In fact, now that she thought about it, she didn’t even know his name. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”
“My fault,” Emmitt said. “The divorce was eons ago. It was . . . tough, and there were problems. I raised Rowan. Camden stayed with his mom, to . . . help her.”
She glanced at Hot Guy, who apparently was named Camden, but he’d lowered the flashlight at his side so she could no longer see his face. Beyond being startled, she was also realizing that Rowan had been Camden’s brother. And much as she liked to fantasize about murdering her own brother in his sleep half the time, it was just that. A fantasy. She’d . . . well, she’d die if anything happened to him.
And suddenly Camden’s grim mood made sense.
“Do you two know each other?” Emmitt asked.
“No,” Piper said, at the same time Camden said, “Yes.”
She stared at him.
He stared right back.
“Well, that clears that up,” Emmitt said. “Cam?”
“We were both at the bar tonight.”
“Yep,” Piper added. “End of story. Now, tell me how you’re feeling, Emmitt.”
He flashed his son a grin, as if he found it hugely funny and satisfying that Piper wasn’t interested in him.
As for how Cam felt about this, or anything, he wasn’t revealing. “Why does she want to know how you’re feeling?” he asked. “Have you been sick?”
“Nope. I’ve been healthy as a horse.”
Piper shook her head. “Maybe a horse with—” She broke off, horrified that she’d very nearly outed Emmitt’s medical condition, which was never okay, even when one was totally off-kilter.
Cam stared at her and then turned to his dad, who grimaced.
Piper sighed. I’m sorry, she mouthed to Emmitt.
“Don’t worry about it.” Emmitt looked at Cam. “I’ve got diabetes.”
Cam’s expression was disbelief. “Since when?”
“The doc tested me about five months ago. I was going to tell you.”
Cam gave him a long look.
“Okay,” Emmitt said. “So I wasn’t going to tell you.”
“Seriously?”
Emmitt huffed out a sigh. “Look, I’d have gotten to it eventually. But you’ve got to understand, my ability to remember to tell you things is far outweighed by my ability to remember every song lyric from the eighties.”
“I’m so sorry,” Piper said into the tense room. “I never should’ve—”
“It’s okay, darlin’,” Emmitt said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No,” Cam said tightly, sending an incriminating look in his dad’s direction. “You absolutely didn’t.”
“I know, I hear you loud and clear, but, son, you’ve had enough stress and grief, I wasn’t about to add to it.”
Cam closed his eyes and took what appeared to be a deep breath. Extremely revealing for the guy who had yet to show much emotion. “Dad—”
“And what does it matter anyway? I’m doing good,” Emmitt said to both of them. “I’m feeling much better.”
“Good,” Piper said. “But your foot, where you cut it open last week. I’d like to check it.”
“Cam dressed it for me just now. But I did drop a glass and he got cut dealing with the mess. Maybe you could take a look—”
“Of course,” Piper said.
Emmitt nodded his thanks. “I’ll be in the kitchen. My Jack isn’t going to drink itself.”
“Hey,” Piper said to his back. “You’re not supposed to be drinking alcohol anymore, remember? It’s on your dietary restrictions list.”
“I thought that list was more of a . . . suggestion sort of thing. You know, like a guideline.” He turned and flashed a charming smile.
But Piper was charming-smile resistant. “Do you remember what I told you?”
“Shee-it,” Emmitt said on a heavy sigh. “Yeah. Excuse me a minute.”
When they were alone, Cam looked at her. “What did you tell him?”
“That if I caught him with alcohol or sweets, or anything not on his new diet, I was going to eat and drink it myself.”
He snorted.
“So how bad are you hurt?” she asked quietly. “And where?”
“I’m fine.”
He appeared okay but had his hands hidden in his pockets, so she suspected one of them was where he was cut. “I could just check—”
“Not necessary. I’m not your patient.”
“Would that be so bad?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice laced with good humor now, along with what her hormones tried to convince her was heat.
“Why?” she asked.
“Maybe I’d rather be something else.”
Huh. Most definitely heat. She worked very hard at not responding to that but failed. “And what would that something else be?”
He just looked at her.
Oh, boy. She could deny it all she wanted, but she was one hundred percent attracted to him. She just wasn’t sure she wanted to be. “You said you weren’t flirting with me.”
“And you said you weren’t interested.”
“I’m not.” Shaking her head at the both of them, she moved to the kitchen in time to catch Emmitt hiding a box of cookies, two bags of chips, and a summer sausage. He was stuffing them into his pantry when she cleared her throat.
With a sigh, he turned to face her, looking only slightly ashamed of himself. “Hey,” he said. “Stressed is desserts spelled backward.”
Piper heard Cam’s sigh behind her, and she crossed her arms. “I made you lists, Emmitt. One with a bunch of great food options. Another with easy recipes. And a third with the rules and restrictions.” She pulled her journal from where it was still in her inside jacket pocket. “I kept the originals.”
Emmitt took the journal and read out loud. “Things I can do to help control my blood sugar. ‘Exercise three to four times a week, which can include walking, getting on a treadmill, or yoga.’” He swiveled a long look in Piper’s direction. “Yoga’s for uppity hipsters from California who eat avocados.”
“You’re from California. And I see you eat guacamole all the time. But fine. Skip yoga. Stretch instead. And eating right is everything.”
“Here’s another problem,” he said, jabbing a finger at her journal. “This here says no white foods.”
“Right,” she said. “Like sugar and starch—”
“I know what white foods are. I love them.”
Piper shook her head. “Emmitt—”
“I know, I know. You’re just trying to help.” Emmitt turned a few pages in her journal, and before she could reach to take it back, his brows shot up so far they vanished beneath his hairline. “‘Top Secret Secret Bucket List.’ Nice.” He flipped another page. “And a list of personal rules.” He started to skim them, smiling.
Piper snatched the journal and shoved it back into her pocket. “You did not just see that.”
“What’s it worth to you? How about a day of skipping testing my blood sugar?”
“You’d bribe your medic?”
“I’d bribe God if I could.” He took in her expression and sighed. “Fine, I get it. And thank you. I’ll work on things, I promise.”
“You really need to, Emmitt. Your blood sugar has got to be more stable.”
“It’s not all my fault.”
“No? Do tell,” she said.
“I’ve been eating like shit for fifty-five years, and it’s a known fact that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
“Can I teach the old dog to want to live for his family?” she asked.
Emmitt’s eyes cut to Cam. The two men exchanged a long look that had so many tangled emotions behind it, Piper couldn’t even begin to interpret it.
“I’ll work harder on it,” Emmitt finally said.
“Good.” She patted a kitchen chair and he sank into it. She checked his blood pressure, pulse, and blood sugar, all while avoiding looking at the elephant in the room.
The sexy, mysterious, and easy-on-the-eyes, dangerous elephant.
“He okay?” that elephant asked.
“He will be.” She locked gazes with Emmitt. “If he behaves himself.”
“Well, now, where’s the fun in that?” Emmitt asked, flashing another of his charming grins, and in that moment Piper knew exactly where Camden Hayes had gotten his irresistible charisma.