Stef Ann Holm, Lucy Back [paper ebook reader .TXT] 📗

Jacquie suspended the pen over the paper and began to write as soon as Spin started talking, slowly enough for Jacquie to get the words down.

“Way back when we first met, I knew you’d be a special person in my life. I fell in love with you and you said you loved me. You are the heart of my heart, and no matter what has happened, I feel like I have been cheated out of my future with you.”

The pen in Jacquie’s hand paused, and she slanted a glance at Spin. “Who’s this letter to?”

“Keep writing,” Spin declared, “or I’ll lose my train of thought.” In a resolved tone, she continued, “It makes no difference whose fault it is. But I find myself thinking about you constantly, even though I am to blame.”

Jacquie abruptly set the pen down. “I can’t write this.” Tears swam in her eyes, stinging them. “You’ll have to get someone else to do it.”

“Someone else can’t. They haven’t lived it like you.” Spin’s gaze was all-knowing. “I was young once.”

Swallowing, Jacquie couldn’t trust herself to speak. How had her life gotten so screwed up? She’d loved Drew with all her heart, would have done anything to stay with him. But he’d fallen out of love with her. And she’d cheated on him. There was no going back.

“You need to write this letter,” Spin said, her voice wizened yet wise. “For yourself. Never mail it to him, of course, because it only shows him your weakness for him, but it’ll be the first step in getting over the relationship.”

With those words, Jacquie silently began to cry.

“Now, now. I’ll help you get through it.” Spin reached out to the attractive woman, patted her hand and felt a breath of fresh air fill her lungs.

Spin Goodey-Leonard suddenly had purpose.

Twelve

Raul Nunez was ruining Lucy’s life, what little there was left of it. When she took stock, she came up far short from just a year ago. Gone were her suburbia home, padded bank account and comfortable client list.

Now she lived in a teardown shack with rusting motorhomes in the back, her bank account was slowly dwindling, she needed an oil change on her car—but didn’t want to spend the money—and the hospital bill had come and the insurance wasn’t covering $895 of it.

Her life, in a nutshell, was in the crapper.

And that eccentric Raul Nunez was making her existence in Red Duck hellish. He had such clout that getting a cooking job was next to impossible. She found out he’d done this to other personal chefs who’d come to town to infringe on his private territory. It was ludicrous. No man could keep up with the work he had, and she was sick of people calling her to ask if she could make his famous lobster bisque!

The last time someone asked, she’d said of course—replicating recipes was her specialty. She was determined to meet with a client, even if it meant she’d do so under false pretexts. Once they sampled her lobster bisque, they’d hire her. No doubts.

But she never got the opportunity. Raul called her to say he’d sue if she so much as breathed another consonant about cooking a personal recipe of his.

She’d taken a day to be indignant over it, then decided this war had to come to an end. And she was willing to knock pride onto the chopping board. Lucy was waving her white apron. She had to have Raul’s cooperation here.

She tried to reach him by phone, but he wouldn’t pick up. He must have had her caller ID earmarked and was screening her out, the god-in-his-own-mind chef. Over a latte, he had mentioned he thought he was a god, touched by Apollo.

What a crock of stew.

But Lucy just couldn’t think about Raul the Weasel right now. She wanted to enjoy today for all it offered, and the sun felt so good warming her face.

Sue Lawrence had invited Lucy and her sons to go “docking” on Overlook Dam. The Lawrences had a seven passenger Bayliner, and when Matt found out they’d be going on it, he could hardly wait. Jason and Nutter played on the same team, and Lucy hoped the trip would help Jason cement a new friendship. Nutter seemed well-adjusted, and Jason definitely needed to hang around boys who were on the right track.

Lucy had insisted on bringing food for everyone. She’d made roasted chicken sandwiches for the boys and went gourmet for the adults. Olive-oil-grilled rosemary bread with fresh mozzarella, baby spinach and tomatoes. Sue packed chips and pop. Beer for Dave.

The water level on Overlook Dam had reached full elevation from the spring thaw, its surface like a rippling layer of teal-blue glass. Boats motored through the main body, leaving wakes from water-skiers daring enough to brave the frigid lake in wet suits.

June was too early for the water to have warmed to a decent swimming temperature, but the air temp had risen, with an unseasonably high 76 degrees predicted by noon. Anyone in Red Duck and Timberline who owned a boat had come up to the dam.

Lucy and the boys had driven up with the Lawrences in their white Suburban, and once at the launch site, Sue and Lucy loaded the boat before Dave backed the trailer into the water.

In short order, Lucy learned what docking meant versus going boating. Halfway into Big Eddy’s Bay, a floating, square-shaped dock, with a middle section cut out for swimming, was anchored. There were already eight boats moored to it, and the dock itself was covered with coolers, lawn chairs and several dogs. Activity abounded; a father and son threw a football, while in the opposite corner, ladies gathered—some in bathing suits, others in shorts. A golden retriever jumped into the water to fetch a stick.

Dave docked the Bayliner and Sue set up camp on their part of the dock, while the boys joined a group of kids and hung out with them. Docking meant a day