Free Spirit Lake by Christine DeSmet Page A

on an act again and get away with it."
    He grinned defiantly. “That bothers you, doesn't it? I recognized you first, even with your longer hair, how you've filled out nicely—"
    “Save it,” she snapped, turning with the first aid kit to head for her boat.
    His sudden, hearty and free-flowing laughter seemed to settle the ancient, irritating dust that had been stirred up between them. She rescued her nerves with a calming breath. But her heart's yielding toward him still scared her. “Tell them you're Atlas, a homeless man with the world on his shoulders, just for the drama of it. You'll get free treatment and be able to leave my lake tomorrow."
    She couldn't escape to her boat fast enough. But the weeds rustled behind her. “Stop following me."
    “I need a ride to the hospital."
    “Not in my boat. The DNR warden will be here any minute. Hitch with Jim Swenson."
    Feeling his gaze boring into her back, she slipped and slid down the muddy bank and into her boat. He stood high above, truly like some Greek god lording over his dominion. She dared glance up. A mistake. The sun formed a halo around him, throwing his tanned face into coppery, handsome silhouette. It took her three yanks on the cord to start the old motor, embarrassing for her. When she backed the aluminum boat away from shore, he stuck a hand tentatively in the air, then waved. She could even see his white teeth.
    He was smiling, darn him.
    She wished he hadn't done that, because it felt intimate and wondrous. Cheery even. But part of his act. Always, the act. If only he'd given her even the smile and wave fifteen years ago, a simple gesture of good-bye in person. Instead, he'd left her dangling with only hope and dreams for company.
    Out in the middle of the bay, with its sweet water smells and the lapping of the ripples, she allowed herself to tremble. All over. Every inch, every follicle. He had no rights to anything anymore. Not her secrets, her triumphs and what she'd made of her life.
    Or did he?
    One visit to the meadow and beyond and he'd have too many questions.
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    Chapter 5
    FORMING TIGHT fists, he watched her boat bob up and down, navigating the small waves. Her red hair whipped about like nautical flags warning of a storm. A smart sailor heeded such readings and headed in the opposite direction. Cole could not. Maybe he was nothing more than a surly pirate. She'd certainly pointed out a few faults more befitting of a pirate than ... the father—the hero—she insinuated he wasn't for his son.
    He itched to follow after her and prove somehow he wasn't the selfish lout she believed him to be.
    Her small shape soon climbed onto the far dock. With her scarlet hair she could have been one of the cardinals going about its business against the green backdrop of bushes and trees lining the shore. She belonged here. He did not.
    When she disappeared from view, he began tidying up his meager campsite. He doused the fire. What was it she wanted to do with this property once the mansion was razed? He'd forgotten to ask for details. Okay, maybe he was too focused on his own agenda. Wasn't being hunted by a madman enough reason? Not for Laurel. She had changed a lot. Where had all that fiery bluster come from? And her desperate need to control it? She was putting on an act, too.
    To listen to her, he wasn't capable of love. Didn't he and Lisa Shaw have a good relationship? Lisa owned the dive shop he frequented. She'd been pressing him lately for something more permanent.
    He groaned. Good one, Cole. Tell Laurel you're stringing along a blonde in Miami as proof you're the loving kind. Laurel would laugh her guts out.
    What about his son? This sobered him more quickly than he would have liked.
    He sank to the ground and stretched out the leg. Laurel would never understand that he'd been forced to give up much of the raising of his thirteen-year-old son, Tyler.
    Tyler's welfare now loomed in his mind. After his divorce, Cole had started concentrating on the