hazards we do in Florida.”
From the devilment gleaming in his eyes, she should
have known not to bite, but she couldn’t help it. “Water hazards?”
“Alligators.”
Laughter bubbled up. She didn’t believe his wild tale,
but she’d play along. “Alligators. I’d like to see that. What do you do, try to
skip off its head?”
“I’m crushed, Juliana. I get the feeling you don’t
believe me.” His grin faded, his dark brows beetling in a severe expression she
couldn’t interpret. “No, the game is to avoid the alligator. Best not to rouse
him. The beasts are unpredictable.”
“So you hope you have a body of water without an
alligator. Much safer that way.”
“Even if you don’t see one, the possibility injects
tension into the game.”
Were they still discussing alligators? Or maybe she
was reading too much into a playful conversation. She averted her gaze to
search for a flat stone.
“Let’s see what I can do with these Maine rocks.” One
smooth swing sent his stone skimming the water. Three skips and it sank with a
plop. “Out of practice.”
“No alligators.” Eyeing the glittering surface, she
curved her fingers around her skipper, smooth and gray as rain. With a snap,
she sent it flying.
One, two, three, four hops before it thudded onto an
ice raft.
“Not bad. Without the ice, you might have gotten
another bounce or two.” He stepped in front of her. “You want to teach me your
technique? You could guide my swing. Come wrap your arms around me.”
“You are such a hound.” Laughing, she pushed a stone
into his hand. “I’m not falling for that. And I’m not showing you any tricks.
You have quite enough of your own.”
After a lengthy competition, which Rick declared a tie
but Juliana insisted she won, they trekked around Crooked Lake. Bare maples and
birches interspersed with spruce and other evergreens ringed the angular body
of water. At irregular intervals, cottages loomed in the woods, dark and
boarded up.
His appreciation of this remote spot was contagious.
With him at her side, the crisp air seemed sweeter and sharper, permeated with
the tangy scent of the surrounding firs.
By the time they returned to the cabin, shadows
stitched over the sun diamonds on the lake surface. He lit the Coleman lantern
hanging in the small kitchen and she laid a fire in the Franklin.
She sorted through the groceries. “Chicken, green pepper,
onion, rice, garlic. “Mmm, I can’t wait to taste this Cuban culinary creation
you’ve been promising me. I looked it up.”
“Of course you did.”
“ Arroz con polo, is that how you say it?”
“ Pollo.” He pronounced it poyo . “Won’t
be authentic without the saffron, but it’ll do.”
“ Arroz con pollo sounds exotic. Does it mean
something glamorous?”
He ambled closer, his rich laughter echoing against
the log rafters and down her spine. “If you think ‘rice with chicken’ is
glamorous.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Glamorous doesn’t matter, but
tasty does. Do you have the recipe?”
“You probably want it in a list to get it exact.” He
caught her to him and brushed a kiss on her mouth. “A little of this, a little
of that, I can prepare this dish with my eyes closed.”
She wanted to snuggle in his arms, but recipes should
be measured. “But—”
“Relax. You’ll see.” He peered at the bottle of
generic white wine she’d extracted from the shopping bag. “Too bad we have wine
instead of rum. A mojito, now there’s a real drink, rum and limejuice. Sitting
by a fire, you’d love it.”
“You keep promising me Cuban delights. When will you
deliver?” Uh oh, double entendre. She was in trouble. Strangely, the prospect
didn’t bother her.
His eyes darkened. His long-fingered hands molded her
shoulders, then slid down her spine. “When you’re ready, Juliana, we’ll
discover our delights together.”
His smooth voice flowed through her, intoxicating as a
mojito. He released her. “I want nothing
From the devilment gleaming in his eyes, she should
have known not to bite, but she couldn’t help it. “Water hazards?”
“Alligators.”
Laughter bubbled up. She didn’t believe his wild tale,
but she’d play along. “Alligators. I’d like to see that. What do you do, try to
skip off its head?”
“I’m crushed, Juliana. I get the feeling you don’t
believe me.” His grin faded, his dark brows beetling in a severe expression she
couldn’t interpret. “No, the game is to avoid the alligator. Best not to rouse
him. The beasts are unpredictable.”
“So you hope you have a body of water without an
alligator. Much safer that way.”
“Even if you don’t see one, the possibility injects
tension into the game.”
Were they still discussing alligators? Or maybe she
was reading too much into a playful conversation. She averted her gaze to
search for a flat stone.
“Let’s see what I can do with these Maine rocks.” One
smooth swing sent his stone skimming the water. Three skips and it sank with a
plop. “Out of practice.”
“No alligators.” Eyeing the glittering surface, she
curved her fingers around her skipper, smooth and gray as rain. With a snap,
she sent it flying.
One, two, three, four hops before it thudded onto an
ice raft.
“Not bad. Without the ice, you might have gotten
another bounce or two.” He stepped in front of her. “You want to teach me your
technique? You could guide my swing. Come wrap your arms around me.”
“You are such a hound.” Laughing, she pushed a stone
into his hand. “I’m not falling for that. And I’m not showing you any tricks.
You have quite enough of your own.”
After a lengthy competition, which Rick declared a tie
but Juliana insisted she won, they trekked around Crooked Lake. Bare maples and
birches interspersed with spruce and other evergreens ringed the angular body
of water. At irregular intervals, cottages loomed in the woods, dark and
boarded up.
His appreciation of this remote spot was contagious.
With him at her side, the crisp air seemed sweeter and sharper, permeated with
the tangy scent of the surrounding firs.
By the time they returned to the cabin, shadows
stitched over the sun diamonds on the lake surface. He lit the Coleman lantern
hanging in the small kitchen and she laid a fire in the Franklin.
She sorted through the groceries. “Chicken, green pepper,
onion, rice, garlic. “Mmm, I can’t wait to taste this Cuban culinary creation
you’ve been promising me. I looked it up.”
“Of course you did.”
“ Arroz con polo, is that how you say it?”
“ Pollo.” He pronounced it poyo . “Won’t
be authentic without the saffron, but it’ll do.”
“ Arroz con pollo sounds exotic. Does it mean
something glamorous?”
He ambled closer, his rich laughter echoing against
the log rafters and down her spine. “If you think ‘rice with chicken’ is
glamorous.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Glamorous doesn’t matter, but
tasty does. Do you have the recipe?”
“You probably want it in a list to get it exact.” He
caught her to him and brushed a kiss on her mouth. “A little of this, a little
of that, I can prepare this dish with my eyes closed.”
She wanted to snuggle in his arms, but recipes should
be measured. “But—”
“Relax. You’ll see.” He peered at the bottle of
generic white wine she’d extracted from the shopping bag. “Too bad we have wine
instead of rum. A mojito, now there’s a real drink, rum and limejuice. Sitting
by a fire, you’d love it.”
“You keep promising me Cuban delights. When will you
deliver?” Uh oh, double entendre. She was in trouble. Strangely, the prospect
didn’t bother her.
His eyes darkened. His long-fingered hands molded her
shoulders, then slid down her spine. “When you’re ready, Juliana, we’ll
discover our delights together.”
His smooth voice flowed through her, intoxicating as a
mojito. He released her. “I want nothing
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