Rockies Retreat: Destination: Desire, Book 5 (3 page)

He cleared his throat. “My protégé is an aspiring novelist, though I’m masquerading as a screenwriter this summer.”

That charming smile returned full force. “The movie sequel to
Dead and Gone
? Nice. I liked the first film, and the books are even better.”

“Thanks.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, feeling inordinately flattered. It wasn’t as if he’d never been complimented on his work before.

The corners of her eyes crinkled. “I read your books when I go visit my parents, just to remind myself that it could be worse. Someone could be giving me a machete mani-pedi. That would be mildly more painful, and it’s good to keep that in mind.”

“I’m glad I could help.” He kept his tone even, uncertain if he should laugh or not. “Uh…what kind of artist are you?”

“Painter. I’m Laurel Pa—”

Violet broke in, “Hey, Dad! I can’t lift the suitcase with your fifty tons of research books.”

He turned to his daughter. When had she moved? He would swear she’d been standing next to him the whole time. One more reason to stay away from the neighbor—she was hell on his focus. “That’s my cue. Gotta go. It was interesting to meet you.”

Interesting. Great. That was what guys said to axe-murderers while they sidled away, hoping not to get impaled in the back when they turned to run like hell. Laurel’s flirting skills were seriously rusty if she couldn’t manage a few sentences with a cute guy before he bolted.

Ah, well. She wasn’t here to flirt. She was here to get her creativity on.

With a last glance at the adorable teen girl and her tall, dark, handsome, and—as Violet had so helpfully mentioned—divorced dad, Laurel turned to jog back over to her little cabin in the woods. She had some unpacking to do, and she wanted to get her sketchbook out so she had it on hand when the sun rose in the morning. She had a feeling the view was going to be inspiring.

It took about ten minutes to unearth her sketchpad because she had to wade through the crates of canvases, paints and other supplies she’d had to ship ahead. Tomorrow would need to include a major unpack-a-thon.

Loud knocking meant she had to play a game of hopscotch across the cabin. “One second!”

Jerking the door open brought her face-to-fist with Neil. He dropped his hand. “Hi, again. Would you mind—?”

“I can’t wait.” Violet darted around them and pelted toward the bathroom. “Our toilet’s broken. Need to pee.”

The door slammed shut.

Laurel turned back to Neil. “Did you turn the toilet on?”

His forehead puckered, bafflement on his face. “Turn it on?”

Oh, she couldn’t resist. “Yes, like with a woman. Turning on is an important part of the process.”

Instead of being offended, he went from being merely good-looking to being full-on attractive when he snorted out a laugh. “Okay, how do I turn on the toilet?”

“The directions are in the envelope with the keys.” She shot a sympathetic glance in the direction of the bathroom. “Though if you didn’t use the restroom in the lodge before you got to the cabin, I can imagine you just needed to take a leak and didn’t bother looking for special toilet instructions.”

He nodded. “It was a long drive from Denver.”

“Basically, they shut the water off to the toilets when the cabins aren’t in use. You have to twist the knobby thing to turn it back on.”

“Knobby thing, huh?” His dark brows winged upward, a tiny smile playing at his lips. Damn, he had a dimple in his left cheek. He had rugged good looks, angular features, and a few brackets around his eyes and mouth. It was entirely unfair that those kinds of lines made a man more distinguished, but made a woman appear haggard. Laurel got to enjoy a nice view though, so she wasn’t going to protest.

He propped an arm on the doorjamb, and she angled herself a bit closer. If she wasn’t mistaken, that was pure male interest flashing in his blue eyes. A frisson of desire skipped over her skin, hot and sweet. It had been far too long since she’d been this drawn to a guy, and she liked it.

“Yeah, knobby thing. It’s a technical term.” She bit her lower lip and his gaze dropped to her mouth.

“Very technical.” He leaned forward a little, and for a split second, she thought he might kiss her. Her breath caught, anticipation humming through her. She tipped her head back a bit, an invitation. She really wouldn’t mind knowing if he tasted as good as he looked. His pupils expanded, lust flushing his face.

Well, hot damn. Her flirting skills seemed to be resurfacing. Though maybe they could have picked a better time than when they were discussing toilets.

As if on cue, Violet flushed loudly. A few seconds later, there came the sound of running water.

The mood broken, Neil eyed her thoughtfully. “You know, Laurel, I didn’t catch your last name earlier.”

The bathroom door opened and Violet’s popped her head out. “She’s Laurel Patton, Dad. She’s, like, kind of famous.”

Neil and Laurel jerked away from each other, as if the teen had caught them doing something naughty. Laurel almost wished they had been, even though having anyone walk in on an intimate moment was beyond awkward. But utter want still pulsed through her, a need that was entirely unfulfilled.

Her laugh was breathy when she met his gaze. “Only famous in my own little art bubble. You’re pretty well-known by the general population.”

He inclined his head. “The hazard of having your book series turned into films.”

“Starring the hottest actor on the planet,” Laurel couldn’t help but point out.

“It doesn’t hurt, no.” His gaze was intent on her face, and it felt as if he could see straight to her soul. The dark, almost midnight blue of his eyes was a little uncanny.

“Right.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, uncharacteristically flustered. It wasn’t as if she’d never been attracted to anyone before. Jesus, she needed to get a grip.

Violet grinned at her. “I saw one of your shows in New York with my mom a couple years ago. You had bangs then, and they were purple.”

“Ha, yes, the purple. I know which show that was, then.” Laurel clasped her hands behind her back and rocked up onto her toes. “You’ve got a good memory.”

“Thanks.” The teen beamed at the compliment, and Laurel had a feeling she’d just won a fangirl for the summer.

“What did you think of the show?”

“It was cool.” But something in her expression dimmed. “Mom wanted to buy one of your paintings, but the one she liked best had already been sold.”

Laurel shrugged sympathetically. “That’s the problem with one-of-a-kind art pieces.”

“Books are a lot easier that way,” Neil broke in, the skin around his eyes tightening with…worry? “Everyone who wants to buy a copy can.”

“True.” Laurel glanced back and forth between father and daughter. The mood had shifted, but she couldn’t put her finger on how or why. Maybe something to do with Neil’s divorce from Violet’s mother? She couldn’t tell, but the strain was obvious. Laurel tried for a brighter tone. “Well, I should have several new pieces done by the end of the residency. Maybe your mom can take a look and see if she likes any of them.”

Violet’s countenance went from dim to bleak. “My mom died last year.”

Heart clenching so tight it was hard to breathe, Laurel reached out to squeeze the teen’s shoulder. “Oh, damn, sweetie. That’s a rough thing to deal with.”

A little chortling snort escaped the girl and she swiped quickly at her eyes. “Thanks for not saying I’m sorry. I hate when people do that. They didn’t even know her, so they’re not really sorry.”

“You’re right.” Laurel nodded, glad she hadn’t made the situation worse with her blunt condolences. “It’s just some empty thing people say when they don’t know what else to say.”

“Yeah.” Violet’s chin set mulishly. “It’s stupid.”

“Sadly, there’s a lot of stupid in the world.” Laurel heaved a mournful sigh, hoping it was dramatic enough to make the teen smile.

She got a wrinkled nose and another snort. She’d take that.

“We should probably head back and unpack.” Neil reached out and pulled his daughter in close. It wasn’t quite a hug, but the gesture of support wouldn’t make the girl feel babyish. Nicely done. Another mark in Neil Graves’s favor.

“It’s gotten dark.” Laurel turned and pulled out one of the flashlights she’d found in the table by the door. “Take this.”

“Good thinking.” Violet snagged it, flicked it on, and turned for the porch steps. “And I’m so glad your bathroom was working.”

“Happy to be of assistance. See you later!”

Neil looked at Laurel for a few seconds, his gaze again intent and incisive. His expression was unreadable, but he mouthed “thank you” before he disappeared into the darkness.

After they’d gone, Laurel sagged against the wall. Violet was a trip—quirky and bright and handling a terrible loss with a grace that people three times her age couldn’t manage. Neil was…intense. It was the only word she could use to describe him. He was nothing like the light and easy men she was usually attracted to, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. As if she had a say in the matter. A reluctant grin tugged at her lips. She had to admit she liked the way it felt when he looked at her with attraction burning in his gaze, and she definitely wanted more of that. How much more and how far she’d let this go emotionally, she didn’t yet know, but couldn’t wait to find out.

One thing was certain: this was going to be a summer to remember.

Chapter Three

Laurel didn’t sleep very well that night. After years in city apartments, it was weird trying to sleep without cars and buses rolling by all night. There were no streetlights to shine through her windows, no cheerful drunks singing on the sidewalk, no alley cats hissing and fighting. At first she thought it was weirdly silent, but then she heard owls hooting, wind rippling through tree leaves, the occasional crunch of footsteps as someone walked along the dirt road outside. The sounds were different than what she was used to, and it took a long time to drop into slumber.

That meant she really needed coffee next morning. Only there was no coffee in her cabin. No, she had to walk all the way over to the main lodge to get her caffeine fix. She stumbled through a shower and getting dressed, then did a zombie-like walk up the road to the main building.

Breakfasts were self-serve cold cereal, pastries and bagels. Everyone was in charge of clearing their own messes in the mornings. Which meant, thankfully, that none of the handful of people that had already arrived tried to speak to her before she’d had some coffee. She hunkered down at a table in the corner with a croissant and two ceramic mugs full of liquid ambrosia. Yes, she was double-fisting her caffeine. No, she was not ashamed.

It took both cups and another fifteen minutes of staring into space before she started to feel normal. She glanced around, but didn’t recognize anyone. She didn’t see her new neighbors, and she had to admit she was a little disappointed. Which was stupid because she’d spent a grand total of maybe thirty minutes with them. Still, she would have liked to run into them, but they definitely weren’t among those sitting in the large dining room.

As if her thoughts had conjured them, Neil and Violet walked in the door. He was dressed in khakis and a T-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders—
oh, yum
—while his daughter looked as if she’d just rolled out of bed. She wore a pair of mesh basketball shorts, a wrinkled tank top, and her dark hair stood up in odd clumps and flyaway wisps. They grabbed trays of food, and the teen’s face creased in a grin when she spotted Laurel. Waving them over, Laurel tidied up her dirty dishes to make room.

“Morning,” Violet said, the word almost swallowed by her enormous yawn. She parked herself next to Laurel, leaving Neil a seat across from them. He had a book tucked under his arm, and he set it next to his tray.

After Vi yawned again, Laurel laughed. “You look lively.”

“Not a morning person.” The teen shoveled in an enormous bite of Cheerios. “Never have been.”

“She’s not lying.” Neil stirred sugar into his black coffee. “Vi was the only baby in history to sleep in from the day she was born. We had to wake her up on Christmas mornings.”

“Lucky dog. My nephew Nick has been up before sunrise every day of his life. I’m fairly certain my brother and sister-in-law would kill for the chance to sleep in.” Laurel widened her eyes. “I know I would when I’m on overnight babysitting duty.”

“You have a brother?” There was just a hint of wistfulness to Violet’s question.

Neil tensed, and his face went blank, but he said nothing. Hmm, so siblings were a sore subject, huh? Did he have one he hated, or did Violet want a baby brother or sister and never get one?

“Yep. Tate’s four years older than me. He’s the most amazing big bro of all time.” Laurel cast a conspiratorially wink at the girl. “Don’t tell him I said so.”

“I won’t. It’s cool you have a sibling though. I’m the only child of only children. I don’t even have any cousins.”

Going with the topic Neil clearly had no control over, Laurel looked at him askance and pressed a hand between her breasts. “No cousins? How could you deprive your daughter this way?”

“I’m a terrible human being, clearly,” he replied, sotto voce. His gaze dropped for a split-second to her chest before he focused on his coffee. “I was involved in a multigenerational scheme to make my kid miserable. That’s what fathers live for, isn’t it?”

“Especially fathers of teen girls.” Laurel added sagely, “It’s a scientific fact.”

He snorted and cracked a grin. Somehow that felt like a victory, considering his face seemed to be perpetually sober. She wondered when the last time was that he laughed until he cried, or if he’d ever smiled so broadly his cheeks hurt. It had probably been a long time—those brackets around his eyes weren’t laugh lines.

Laurel nudged Vi’s shoulder. “Look on the bright side. No nephew will ever wake you up screaming at four AM.”

“Dad’s the one up at the crack of dawn.” Violet shook her head as if the concept was beyond comprehension.

“It means I make it to breakfast showered and dressed.” He cast a glance at her wild hair.

Laurel reached over to lift a particularly woolly bit of the teen’s coif. “And he can prove he knows how to use this magical device called a comb.”

Bursting into laughter, she swatted at Laurel’s hand.

“I’m just a nice daughter who, like, let you and Mom write in the mornings before I bugged you for food.” Her smile was sunny and just a touch benevolent. “You’re welcome.”

He harrumphed and slathered cream cheese on his bagel. Laurel smothered a chuckle, and he cast her a glance full of rueful humor. A kick of attraction hit her again, the longing so sharp and insistent, she had to look away.

“You gave your mom writing time too? She was an author?” Laurel thought she vaguely remembered that being mentioned in some news article she’d read about Neil when his last book series was announced. She didn’t recall much else—she’d only been looking for release dates. Though she might have to Google him now. Perhaps that was cheating, but she didn’t care.

“Mom wrote as Cara O’Neil.” The teen drew up a knee and rested it against the edge of the table. She picked up a triangle of toast and munched on it. “But I—”

“Wait, wait.” Laurel held up a hand. “Your parents are the warm-fuzzy hometown romance author and the king of blood-curdling psycho-thrillers?”

Vi nodded, her expression turning woeful. “I’m going to need so much therapy.”

Man, she adored this kid. A belly laugh escaped Laurel. “Yeah, that’s a recipe for warped.”

“Hey, now,” Neil protested. He opened the book he’d brought, scanning through what appeared to be the table of contents. “We gave you a well-balanced appreciation of genre literature. You’re welcome, ingrate.”

“What are you looking up?” his daughter asked.

“Fact-checking something for
Dead Fall
.” He flipped to a chapter in the middle. “I need to know how quickly a person bleeds out if you sever their carotid artery with a ski pole.”

Laurel sat back in her chair. “Yeah, that’s the definition of well-adjusted and balanced.”

“I do what I can.” He chuckled quietly, meeting her eyes again as he rose to his feet. “Though I’m better adjusted with copious amounts of coffee. Excuse me.”

Forcing herself not to stare at his ass as he walked away, she turned back to Violet. “You know, I’ve read a few Cara O’Neil books.”

“A lot of people did. She sold really well.” The girl’s expression was both proud and sad. “Though I think she was kinda bummed she’d used Dad’s name as part of her pen name, after the divorce and everything.”

“I could see that. I’m kinda bummed my real last name is attached to my dad. He’s an ass.”

“My dad’s cool.” She straightened. “I’m gonna use O’Neil as my pen name too. As a reminder of both my parents. I’m writing a book this summer too.”

Her declaration was almost defiant, as if someone had told her she couldn’t possibly write a book. Laurel had trouble imagining that person was Neil. Maybe a friend? Kids had such a heavy influence on each other. She doubted that had changed much since she was in middle school.

“Oh, yeah? That’s pretty cool. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life when I was your age.”

“Well, if both my parents were authors…” Vi took a big bite of toast, then shoved it to the side of her mouth and spoke through her food. “Then it’s genetic.”

“Absolutely part of your DNA,” Laurel agreed. How her parents might explain her artistic career, she wasn’t sure. Genetic anomaly? Genetic defect? Yeah, probably a defect.

“It’s going to be young adult mystery, but my heroine totally gets the guy in the end.”

“So a little bit of both your parents again?”

Vi’s eyes—the same dark blue as her father’s—narrowed in consideration. “Yeah, kinda.”

Laurel had never met a teenager quite like Violet. In just the day she’d known her, the girl had proven to be smart, funny and strong. Also, a little nutty, which meant it was somehow completely believable that she was not only going to write a novel but it’d be good enough that she’d need a pen name ready for when it was published. “I can’t wait to read it.”

“You could, like, beta read what I’ve written so far.” Violet’s grin was brilliant. “I have a few chapters.”

“I would love to.” Hey, Laurel liked a good mystery, and she had no problem with the heroine getting the guy at the end of a book. Sounded like a fun story.

“You can start with the part where she meets her future bae.”

“Her bay? Like…water?” Laurel felt her face scrunch in confusion.

“Not b-a-y, it’s b-a-e.” Violet seemed delighted to know something Laurel didn’t. “It’s like babe or boo or boyfriend/girlfriend.”

“Teenager—it’s a whole different language.” Neil returned with his coffee, clearly overhearing the last part. “I could make another fortune writing a Teen-English dictionary for parents.”

“It would change too fast.” Vi appeared dubious. “It’s not like we say the same thing all the time. Bae used to mean ‘before anyone else,’ but we flipped it.”

“Bae. I’ll remember that,” Laurel promised.

The three of them finished up their meals, and then Neil pushed back from the table. “I’m going to see if I can use the business center for a few minutes, check email, and print some documents. Did you want to come with me, Vi, or head back to the cabin by yourself?”

“Cabin. I need to shower.” Vi poked Laurel’s arm. “And use the magic comb.”

Keeping her voice as serious as possible, Laurel said, “I hear they work wonders, those magic combs.”

“Haha.” The teen stuck out her tongue, chugged her orange juice, and then carted her tray off to the clean-up area.

When Laurel turned back it was to find Neil’s assessing gaze pinning her in place. He had the kind of look that said she was some sort of odd creature he couldn’t quite figure out. She stiffened on reflex, far too used to a similar look from her parents. Her chin jutted and she folded her arms.

His eyebrows arched, but he didn’t comment on her defensive posture. “You’re really good with Violet. She’s not normally this friendly with people she’s just met.”

Well. That wasn’t what she’d been expecting. A lopsided grin formed on her mouth. “I have that effect on some people.”

“You definitely have an effect on people,” he murmured. His expression went roguish, but he turned away before she could come up with a witty reply.

Maybe her flirting skills were even rustier than she’d suspected.

Well, she could practice more on Neil later. Practice made perfect, right? She picked up her tray and walked over to drop it and her dishes off. All right, then. Time to start the day.

She had one thing on her agenda that she needed to handle before she went back to her cabin to organize all her stuff. Being part of The Creative Enclave—whether you were an artist-in-residence or an aspiring artist—meant that you had to help in the communal kitchen. Everyone had to cook, clean and serve the buffet style meals twice a week. Once for lunch and once for dinner.

She wanted introduce herself to the chef. She had the first lunch shift on Monday, so it was best to find the person who’d make sure she didn’t give anyone food poisoning. Cooking wasn’t Laurel’s strong suit. She hadn’t killed anyone yet, but no one ever asked her for recipes either. Her idea of entertaining involved a nice bottle of wine and some really good cheese. Hey, it worked for her.

Slipping into the kitchen, she took in the gleaming stainless steel prep surfaces and industrial grade appliances. At a massive cutting board stood an imposing woman who was as round as she was tall, with scraped back salt-and-pepper hair, and smooth ebony skin that belied the gray bun. She turned to level a gimlet eye on Laurel, clearly establishing dominance. The look said,
don’t fuck with me—I will kill you.

“What do you want?” she barked.

Laurel snapped to attention. “Hi, I’m Laurel Patton. I’m supposed to help make lunch on Monday.”

“Gloria,” the woman grunted in return, slamming a meat cleaver through a slab of beef. “I run the kitchen here. You one of those artsy fartsy people?”

“Yep.”

Stabbing the cleaver in Laurel’s direction, Gloria said, “I don’t give a damn how famous you are, you hear me? When you’re in my kitchen, you do as I say.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Laurel drawled, fighting a smile. She couldn’t help it; the situation struck her as funny all of the sudden.

The older woman’s eyes narrowed to danger slits. “I own many knives.”

“And know how to use them. I’m suitably intimidated.” Laurel gave up the struggle, offering a full-blown grin. She’d come here so excited to be respected—maybe slightly revered—for her craft and one of the first people she ran into didn’t give a flying rat’s ass. Ah, irony. “How about you just boss me around, and I let you, and we pretend you’re not tempted to carve me up for the soup pot?”

Gloria harrumphed. “I’ll consider it.”

“Thank you.” Laurel injected as much humble sincerity as possible into her tone.

“Grandma!” A little girl came rocketing through the door, skidding to a stop in front of Gloria.

“Ruth, I have told you not to run in my kitchen. I’ve got hot pots and sharp utensils in here. You could get hurt, and then I’ll never hear the end of it from your mother and father. Which means you’ll never hear the end of it from me.”

“Sorry, Grandma.” A gamine grin lit the kid’s face. She looked maybe eleven or twelve, still all awkward knees and elbows, but with feminine curves starting to form. She had the smooth complexion of her grandmother, though several shades lighter, with a riot of springy auburn curls, and brilliant celery green eyes. With that winsome smile and unique coloring, the girl was going to be a knockout in a couple of years. Laurel didn’t envy her parents when the boys starting banging down the door.