Chapter Two
At least that’s what Gus had been told by the estate’s business manager when he’d been hired a few weeks back.
He pulled up in the driveway and parked off to the side of the garage just as the sun broke over the Adirondacks, spilling fiery light over the calm water.
He killed the engine and, after a few moments, slid from the truck.
Birds were awake and chirped at him from the shadows as he walked to the back of the property, coffee in hand, and stared out at the prettiest spot on the lake.
There was a boathouse to the right, and on the left, up past the gazebo and hidden from sight, was a bunkie that held four beds, a sink to wash up, and not much else.
August, you said I could have the top bunk.
The words echoed in his mind, a whisper of memory that surprised him. He gave himself a mental shake and scowled. Gus didn’t have the patience for that shit. Nor the inclination.
“It’s something, isn’t it?”
Startled, he cranked his head to the side and spied a woman perched on a bench a few feet away. Shadows kept most of her hidden save for the edge of a large red and black plaid blanket and the dainty feet that poked out from underneath.
“I’ve lived here my whole life, and it still takes my breath away.”
He felt her eyes on him and held his breath, more off-kilter than he cared to be.
When she got to her feet and moved into the early morning light, he slowly exhaled.
She let the blanket fall and took a few steps toward him.
Dressed in gray track pants and a matching T-shirt with Harvard splayed across the chest, she was tall and slender.
Her hair was deep red, the same color that spilled across the lake, but it had been blonde the last time he’d seen her.
Her eyes were dark, her skin was pale, and the expression on her face was one of curiosity, which was good.
As far as he could tell, there wasn’t a hint of recognition.
“You’re the new carpenter Ronald hired?”
He gave a nod.
“I’m Sunday.” She laughed. “I know, it’s a ridiculous name but there’s been a Sunday in the family since the first Boone came to the area and built this place.” She looked back at the house. “I just might be the last one.” Her voice was so low he barely heard her.
Gus stayed silent as she grabbed up her blanket. “You’re working on the gazebo this week?”
He nodded.
“You don’t speak?” A hint of a smile played around her mouth as she signed the words. Kind of surprised him. He fought the urge to sign back an answer, a skill he’d picked up as a SEAL and instead did it the old-fashioned way. He spoke.
“It’s early,” he replied, voice neutral.
“Yes.” Sunday sighed and folded her blanket. “My favorite time of day.” She took a step back. “I should go. My father’s finally home from the hospital and he’s generally up by now.”
So, he was back.
“It was night to meet you . . .” She arched an eyebrow, clearly waiting for an answer.
“Gus.”
She looked at him a moment longer, her gaze direct, then turned and walked back to the main house, glancing back at him a few times, her steps slow as if she were weighing her options. Did she know? Had he given himself away by using a variation of his real name?
He watched her closely. She’d grown into a beautiful woman. Sunday Boone. She’d been nothing more than a child the last time he saw her.
With a heavy sigh, Gus finished his coffee, his mood dark.
What the fuck was he doing here? Poking around things that didn’t matter anymore.
Things that hadn’t mattered in years. The fact that he could walk into this place and take a job without anyone knowing who he was spoke volumes.
He’d been gone for nearly twenty-six years and had no ties to this life.
He should be in DC, living the one he’d built for himself. He had a business to run.
So why wasn’t he?
His mood darkened even more, and with a curse, he turned away from the lake and headed back up the path.
He grabbed his toolbox and a ladder from the truck and walked around to the other side of the house where the gazebo was located.
It had seen better days, but when he was done with it, it would look as good as new.
He’d already redone the railings, and today was replacing the roof.
Ignoring the large home directly behind him, with all those windows that allowed its occupants to see him, Gus got to work. He set up the ladder, grabbed a flat shovel and tarp — which he laid on the ground to catch debris — and got busy removing the old shingles.
By mid-afternoon, he’d removed all the old ones and installed new underlay and flashing.
He ate a quick lunch then doffed his T-shirt and climbed back up to install the new shingles.
Once that was done it took a bit to clean up the mess, which then required a trip to the dump nearly twenty miles from town.
Usually physical exertion did him good, but today, Gus was tired, and his mood was still dark when he rolled back to Fire Lake.
Restless, he drove past the Lawson House and kept on driving until he made it to the north end of the lake.
The Dock, the only bar in the area other than The Dance Hall, was built out over the water.
The food was top-notch, the owner Hal a character, and the live music most nights was a welcome distraction.
The place was always busy, and the parking lot was nearly full when he pulled in, but Gus found a spot near the far end of the lot.
Not more than a minute later, he walked onto the deck that overlooked the lake and headed for the outside bar tucked back in the corner.
It was too nice to sit inside, and with an eye on an empty stool, he ignored the curious looks tossed his way and sat down.
He’d been coming here since he’d arrived in Fire Lake nearly a month ago and hadn’t felt the need to make friends.
He glanced up as the owner walked over.
Hal Corner was a hippy who’d come to the Catskills for the legendary Woodstock Festival in ’69 as a seventeen-year-old kid from Nebraska.
He’d met Samantha the first day, fell in love on the second, and when it was over, the two of them hitched a ride with a van full of folks, and that ride ended in Fire Lake.
The van full of hippies had eventually moved on, but Sam and Hal had never left.
“Cold beer or are you feeling more like a whiskey?” Hal was behind the bar; his white bushy eyebrows raised questioningly as he set down a coaster in front of Gus. The guy was a mind reader.
“Whiskey neat,” Gus replied, “but I’ll chase it with whatever’s on tap.”
Gus sat back. His shoulders were tight, and he was going to be sore in the morning. Working hard, physical labor was a hell of a lot different than hitting the gym.
Hal poured out a generous tumbler of whiskey and then set down a cold mug of beer. “Menu?”
“Yeah.”
While Gus perused the menu, Hal’s wife, Samantha, appeared from inside.
Her long silver hair was held on top of her head by an elaborate clip that sparkled, and she wore a pink and purple tie-dyed dress that fell well past her knees.
A pretty lady with an easy smile and shiny brown eyes, she winked at Gus.
“You look like you need another.” She grabbed the bottle from behind the bar and poured some more of the amber liquid into his tumbler. “You still working out at the Boone place?”
He gave a nod.
“Have you met Porter yet? I hear he’s back from the hospital.” She wiped at the counter, then tossed the rag over her shoulder. “He’s such a nice man. I’m hoping whatever ails him goes away sooner than later. He’s suffered enough.”
Gus kept his eyes on the menu, though his jaw was clamped so tight it hurt. When he finally looked up, he found Samantha watching him, a thoughtful expression on her face.
“So have you?” she asked. “Seen him?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Oh.” She looked disappointed. “Well, I hope he’s okay is all.”
“I’ll have the special with fries.”
“Gravy and a side of mayo?”
He nodded.
Samantha took his menu and headed back inside. She paid attention, that one. He’d have to watch himself.
A couple claimed the stools two down from him.
One glance told Gus they were tourists and most likely staying at the lodge a mile or so up the lake.
The male had a small diamond in his right ear and too much product in his hair to be anything but an out-of-towner.
His cologne was overkill and matched his smile perfectly.
He winked at Hal when he ordered drinks.
His entitlement was obvious — the Rolex on his wrist, the leather loafers, and name-brand clothes told a story.
He was new money. Folks with generational wealth didn’t wear name brands.
They didn’t need to. And he was older than he appeared.
His hands and the gray at his hairline were a giveaway.
The woman with him? Much younger. Gus tagged her at maybe twenty-five.
Dressed in a skimpy bikini with a coverup that barely covered anything, she was overly tanned, overly friendly, and giggled at everything the guy said.
He figured they both knew each other’s game and turned his attention away.
The band, a local bunch of guys who called themselves The Regents, were setting up on the small stage opposite the bar. With most of the tables full, it promised to be a good night on the lake, and maybe in another lifetime, he’d enjoy it.
His cell pinged just then, and Gus dug it out of his jeans. A quick glance brought a smile to his face as he answered.
“Where the hell are you?” His sister was pissed, and his smile widened. It didn’t take much with her.
“DC.” His tone was conversational.
“No, you’re not.”
“No?” He scratched at the days’ worth of stubble on his chin and grinned. “You have ESP or something?”
“Funny. I’ve got two eyes and a brain.”
“Huh.”
“I happen to be standing in the middle of your kitchen. Your plants are dead.”
He frowned. “What are you doing in DC?”