Chapter Six #3
Instead of letting his mind wander into dark places, he went outside to admire his new purchase.
The fourteen-foot fishing boat wasn’t pretty, but the previous owner claimed it handled like a dream on the water.
Paul glanced at the horizon. Sunset was still hours away.
He was eager to take the boat out for a spin and explore the lake.
Maybe Kyle was right about the threat level.
Maybe Vanessa Nava would give up on the cabin and find another man to aggravate.
Maybe this would all blow over and he could come out of hiding in a few weeks.
Paul felt a tiny spark of optimism at the thought.
He couldn’t wait to get back to Houston and resume his interrupted life.
The boat needed some TLC, so Paul lost himself in the task of sanding the hull. He smoothed every rough patch with methodical precision. He found the chore therapeutic, soothing both his sore shoulder and disquieted mind.
When Vanessa returned from the campground with her daughter, he didn’t look up. He didn’t stop sanding, even when they approached him, but he could imagine their pretty, sun-kissed faces. He could smell their freshly shampooed hair. It wasn’t easy to keep his focus on the hull and ignore them.
“Did you hear back from the owner?” Vanessa asked, undeterred by his rudeness.
“No,” Paul said, without glancing up.
“Is this a rental?”
“I bought it,” he said curtly.
“Are you going to take it out on the water?”
He finally turned his attention toward her.
Big mistake, because she looked even better than she smelled.
Her dark, shiny hair had been braided into twin plaits, which should have given her a schoolgirl appearance but didn’t.
She wore a soft green tank top that hugged her breasts and loose-fitting gypsy pants.
He realized she hadn’t been wearing makeup before.
Now there was a subtle shine to her lips and something smoky around her eyes.
This minor change ratcheted up her beauty from a ten to an eleven.
He glanced at the little girl, who held a cloth doll in one hand.
Her neatly braided hair mirrored her mother’s.
“I’ve been waiting for my dock to clear of vagrants,” he said.
Vanessa’s mouth tightened at the insult. He expected her to pop off an angry retort. Instead, she waved at imaginary insects around her head. “I declare, they come out in droves when it’s humid.”
Paul almost smiled at her clever cover-up. Damn, she was charming.
“My mom says you suck lemons,” the girl announced.
“Excuse me?” Paul said. Her pronunciation was marred by a slight lisp. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly.
“My mom says you have a sour face because you suck lemons.” She demonstrated the effect by squeezing her eyes shut and puckering her lips in distaste.
Paul recognized the impression of him—and it wasn’t flattering.
His perpetual scowl had become so ubiquitous he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.
Right now, for example, he felt it coming on.
His gaze moved to Vanessa, who arched a slim brow in challenge.
These females were getting on his last nerve, thrumming strange feelings inside him.
He wanted to spar with them, to match their energy.
“Your mother is wrong,” Paul said, not taking his eyes off Vanessa. “I don’t suck lemons. I eat them whole.”
Vanessa appeared startled, as if he’d expressed an interest in eating her whole. Which, to be honest, he would like to do.
“The outsides or the insides?” Emily asked.
“Both,” Paul said, and watched a flush rise to Vanessa’s cheeks. Maybe she knew what he was thinking. Maybe she was just hot from standing out in the sun. Either way, he felt a surge of triumph.
“How many?” Emily asked.
“Three’s my limit,” he said, and returned his attention to the little girl. He pointed to his unsmiling mug. “If I eat four, my face collapses in on itself and pops out the other side. Then I’ve got my face on backwards.”
Emily appeared puzzled, rather than disbelieving. She tilted her head to one side. “How do you fix it?”
“I eat four more lemons and it goes back to normal.”
The little girl regarded him with fresh scrutiny. Paul remained serious and committed to his story. He squinted at Vanessa, daring her to dispute him. Her lips twitched with amusement, but she didn’t break.
Neither did he.
“If you have lemons, you’re ’sposed to make lemonade,” Emily said.
Paul nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll try that next time.”
Vanessa tugged Emily toward the shore. “Say goodbye to Mr. Paul.”
Emily used her doll’s arm to wave goodbye. Vanessa guided her toward the footpath to the lake. He stared at her backside, because it looked fantastic in those breezy pants, but what he really noted was the slight shake of her shoulders. She was laughing.
Yes.
The jolt of pleasure he experienced at the sight of her trying not to laugh, and failing, was greater than the situation called for. Satisfaction rushed through him, warm and bright. Instead of pumping his fist in the air or laughing like a maniac, he turned back to the hull and resumed sanding.
But the smile didn’t leave his face, not for a long time.