He drove back to Terri’s house and got out of the car. The doors and windows were open and there was music and laughter, but he didn’t go inside. He leaned against his car and breathed deeply of the cool night air. If there weren’t a houseful of people, he’d strip off and go swimming in the lake. Maybe the water would help to clean the inside of his mind.
“I see you’ve met Della.”
Nate wasn’t surprised to see Frank Cannon stepping out of the dark. He didn’t have on his sheriff’s uniform, just jeans, and a T-shirt that said he’d been conceived at Woodstock. “I did.”
“I saw you plying her with drink, then volunteering to drive her home. No one willingly spends time with her unless they want to know something. So what was your question? About Stacy or Terri?”
“I wanted to know about Billy Thorndyke.”
“Ah. Right. How our Terri dumped the golden boy?”
Nate could hear anger in Frank’s voice. He’d seen that the man loved Terri, so it was understandable. “I don’t get it,” Nate said. “A high school breakup is blamed for ‘ruining’ some kid’s life? And a girl’s shove to a footballer ‘ruined’ his life? Why is Terri being blamed for these things that are blown way out of proportion?”
“Leslie,” Frank answered. “It all comes from her.”
“If Della is to be believed, she was the Slut of Summer Hill.” It was dark, but from the light of the house, Nate could see anger flash in Frank’s eyes.
“She wasn’t,” he managed to say. “Della Kissel wanted Brody, but Leslie got him.” He took a few breaths to calm down. “You heard Della’s jealous version of the story, so anytime you want to hear the truth, come to me. I have files.”
“I’m not a mystery solver,” Nate said. “I’m going to marry a lovely young woman, open a branch of my family’s investment firm and start a family. That’s all.”
“I understand,” Frank said. “And that goal led you to get Della drunk, take her home and ask her a lot of questions. But I can assure you that the truth of Leslie Rayburn is much more interesting than what Della Kissel tells. Not that I know it all. My contacts are too limited to find out much. But one thing I did discover is that Leslie didn’t exist before she arrived in Summer Hill.”
“I don’t—”
“I know!” Frank put up his hand. “You don’t want to be involved. You had all that with Kit. He told us enough about his life that I know what you two did. Now you’re what? Thirty-five? Six? You want to retire and make babies. I want to retire and fish and read cowboy stories. We all have our dreams. But in the end, we do what we can.” He took a few steps toward the house but turned back. “Let me give you some advice. Don’t mention Leslie to either Brody or Terri. And Billy is taboo to her. You start opening your mouth and you’ll find yourself thrown out of the house, out of the friendship, and no longer welcome at the lake. You got that?”
“Yeah, I do,” Nate said.
“Hope you have a happy life, kid. That new office of yours sure is slick. Summer Hill ain’t never seen nothin’ like it. It’s New York in Virginia—with some Texas thrown in.” With his laughter drifting into the dark, Frank went into the house.
Chapter 8
Terri didn’t want to be awake. She wanted to snuggle back under the covers and stay there. It was Sunday and it must be very early because she didn’t hear a single motor on the lake.
She got up, went to the bathroom, then, yawning, started to get back into bed. The clock said it was ten fifteen, but that couldn’t be right. She never slept late. Besides, Nate was supposed to be at the Hartmans’ at eleven. He must have already gone. Odd that she didn’t hear him.
She was nearly back to sleep when she realized that he hadn’t left. There was no way he could have slipped out of the house quietly enough that she hadn’t heard him. By the end of the party he’d been grilling food. If he hadn’t taken a shower last night, he needed one this morning, which meant that he had to get up now!
She threw back the covers and, barefoot, ran past the kitchen and down the hall to Nate’s room.
He hadn’t drawn his curtains so no light came in. Nate was still in bed, on his stomach, and the blanket across his waist bared his broad, naked back.
For a moment, all she could do was stare. How very much she’d like to touch him! She’d like to pull off her clothes and get on top of him. Feel the warmth of him, the heat, her bare breasts against his nude skin. She’d like to kiss his neck, then move down his spine.
Turning, she took a step out of the room. She couldn’t do this to herself. She had to get control. Maybe if she got dressed and went out in her boat, she could calm down.
But what about Nate? If he slept through the brunch, they’d ask questions—which could lead to finding out where he lived.
“Oh hell!” she muttered. When she was back in his room, she did her best not to look at Nate’s bare skin. She grabbed a pillow and threw it at the back of his head. “Get up! You’re going to be late.”
Turning away from him, she went to his closet and slid the door open. “I bet you haven’t even thought about what you’re going to wear.” She spoke so loudly that she was close to shouting. “It’s supposed to be hot today so maybe you can get away with no jacket.” She pulled out a white short-sleeved shirt and held it out. “No. Too informal. You’d look like a salesman.”
She pulled out a light blue long-sleeved cotton shirt. “This one will do.” As she tossed it on the end of the bed, she looked at him.
He’d rolled over and put a pillow behind his head, but his eyes weren’t fully open. His naked chest was exposed. She threw another pillow at him, but he caught it before it hit his face.
“Late for what?” he mumbled.