Up at Butternut Lake: A Novel (23 page)

“So do some unsuspecting woman you meet in the future a favor, okay?” she continued, breathlessly. “
Don’t
marry her. Don’t even date her, if you can possibly help it. Because it’s bound to end in her being hurt. But you, of course, will be just fine. Because life is pretty simple when you only care about yourself, isn’t it, Walker?”

With that, she got in her car and drove away. Walker watched as her car disappeared down the driveway. And he worried, miserably, about the slipperiness of the roads. But he let her go. What else could he do? She
hated
him. And worse yet, she was right to hate him. Every single word she’d said to him was true. He was a bastard. A selfish bastard. And while he might point to his parents’ divorce, or any number of other factors to explain why he was the way he was, at the end of the day, it didn’t really matter why. He was the only one responsible for the person he’d become, and that person, frankly, was someone he didn’t even know if he wanted to spend time with, let alone
be
.

Caitlin never called to tell him she’d arrived safely in Minneapolis. She never called, period. Several months later he was served with divorce papers, and all their future communications were through their respective attorneys. Walker agreed to what his attorney told him was an overly generous settlement, but by then he didn’t care; he just wanted that chapter in his life to be over. Of course, it wasn’t that simple. It never was.

Now he looked back across the bay to Allie’s cabin. All but one light had gone out while he was reliving that memory. So he focused on that light, shimmering faintly across the dark water, and as he did so, he felt a desire for her that was so strong it almost knocked him flat on his back again.

But the flipside to that desire, he quickly realized, was frustration. Because while he wanted her, wanted her like he’d never wanted anything in his life before, he couldn’t have her. Not now. Maybe not ever.

The worst part was, even if he
could
have her, he didn’t know if he deserved to have her. Maybe what Caitlin had said was true. Maybe he shouldn’t get involved with another woman. And maybe that went double for Allie. And for her son, too. They’d already experienced so much loss in their lives. So much sadness. The last thing they needed now was someone like him, some selfish bastard who didn’t know anything about commitment.

At least that’s what he told himself. But it didn’t stop him from remembering that kiss in his kitchen the morning after the storms. The way Allie had felt in his arms. The sweetness of her mouth. And the silkiness of her bare shoulders and arms and neck. Sitting here now, though, it was hard to know whether that kiss was the beginning of something. Or the end.

He watched as the last light in her cabin went out, leaving that whole side of the bay in darkness. He started to get up, but he realized he wasn’t tired yet. So instead, he slid back into the water, pushed off the dock, and started swimming a powerful front crawl. He figured another couple of miles, and he’d be too tired to think about anything but sleep.

CHAPTER 19

A
lmost as soon as Allie worked up the courage to invite Walker over for dinner, she regretted it. And the closer it came to the night they’d agreed on, the more she regretted it. By the time that night actually rolled around, she was practically paralyzed with regret. Regret and something else . . . fear.

“Honey, are you okay?” Caroline asked, sitting on the edge of Allie’s bed and studying her face carefully.

She’d come to pick Wyatt up for the night, but she’d stayed to help soothe Allie’s nerves. “Because from where I’m sitting,” she said, “you look a little green around the gills.”

“It’s probably just the light in here,” Allie said distractedly, frowning at the pile of clothes on her bed. “I’m fine, really.”

“Good,” Caroline said, not sounding entirely convinced. “Then why don’t you get dressed? Walker’s going to be here soon.”

Allie was still in the Minnesota Twins T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms she’d put on after she’d gotten out of the shower. Her hair, still wet, was pulled back in a ponytail.

“I . . . I can’t get dressed.” Her voice faltered as she sorted through the clothes on the bed. “Nothing seems quite right.” She’d ransacked her bedroom closet and dragged almost every article of clothing out if it. But nothing had passed her test yet, and she was beginning to think nothing ever would.

“Oh, who am I kidding?” she said suddenly, sweeping some clothes aside and sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I can’t do this,” she said to Caroline. “I just can’t.”

“Can’t get dressed?” Caroline asked, calmly.

Allie shook her head. “No. Can’t go on a date,” she said, her shoulders sagging in defeat. “I thought I could, but I can’t. I’m just not ready yet.”

Caroline studied her thoughtfully. “Well, then don’t think of it as a date,” she said, finally. “Just think of it as two friends having dinner together.”

Allie rolled her eyes. “That’s a stretch,” she said. “We barely know each other.”

“Well, even friends have to start somewhere,” Caroline pointed out. “Now choose something to wear,” she said, firmly. “Or I’ll choose it for you.”

When Allie made no move, Caroline reached over and picked up a short, summery dress.

“How about this?” she asked brightly, holding it up for Allie’s inspection.

Allie barely glanced at it. “Too revealing,” she said.

“Well, then, how about this?” Caroline asked, after a short search. She held up a long-sleeved blouse and a long skirt.

“Too
un
revealing,” Allie admitted, coloring a little.

Caroline chuckled. “You know how I used to choose clothes when I was dating my ex-husband, Jack?” she asked.

Allie shook her head.

“I chose them based on how easy they were to take off. And put back on, of course.”

“Well, that is
not
happening here,” Allie said, blushing harder. “Besides, I thought you said I should imagine we were just two friends having a casual dinner together?”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Caroline said, picking through the clothes again.

“Hey, what about these?” she asked, holding up a pair of blue jeans and a white eyelet blouse. “Blue jeans are always appropriate, and the white will look great with your tan.”

Allie looked at them and sighed. “Okay,” she said, taking them from Caroline. “But there’s another problem, too.”

“What’s that?”

Allie held up her left hand and wriggled her ring finger, her wedding ring still on it. “I don’t know what to do about my ring. I’ve already taken it off and put it back on three times. But my finger feels so naked without it.”

“Then leave it on,” Caroline said, “if that feels more comfortable to you. Now, what about dinner?”

“The roast chicken’s in the oven. The wild rice is simmering on the back of the stove, and I’ve already made the salad.”

“See, you
are
ready,” Caroline said, beaming at her. “And it smells delicious, by the way,” she added, gesturing toward the kitchen.

When Allie didn’t respond, Caroline said, “Allie, you know, you
can
do this. Just take it one step at a time, all right? Little steps.
Baby
steps.”

But Allie didn’t answer her. Wyatt had come charging into the room, carrying a backpack and a sleeping bag with him.

“I’m ready, Caroline,” he said, proudly. “I packed all by myself.”

“Good for you,” Caroline said, reaching out to tousle his wayward curls.

“I brought my canteen, my compass, and my flashlight, too,” he explained, patting his backpack.

“Well, then you’re very well prepared,” Caroline said, seriously.

“What about your toothbrush and toothpaste?” Allie prompted.

“Oh,” he said, his face falling a little. “I forgot those.”

“Well, go pack them too,” Allie said.

He trudged out of the room, weighed down by his fully loaded backpack.

“What does he have in there?” Caroline asked, mystified.

“I have no idea.” Allie sighed. “Beyond the canteen, compass, and flashlight, that is.”

“Allie, he doesn’t think we’re going camping, does he?” Caroline asked, frowning.

“No, I told him he’s sleeping on your foldout couch. He’s very excited. He said he’s never slept on one before.”

“Well, that’s something, I guess. I would have put him in Daisy’s room. But I was afraid it would be too pink and too ruffled for him.”

Allie smiled, distractedly. “Caroline, you know you don’t have to have him stay for the whole night. I’d be happy to pick him up after Walker leaves.”

“Absolutely not,” Caroline said. “It’s much easier this way. You can have a glass of wine—or two—without worrying about driving, and Wyatt and I can make milk shakes and hamburgers at Pearl’s without having to worry about getting him home by his bedtime.”

“Wyatt will be in heaven,” Allie said wistfully, half wishing she was going to be there, too, instead of here, on a date she wasn’t even sure she wanted to be on.

But the evening rolled inexorably forward. She walked Caroline and Wyatt out to Caroline’s car and said good-bye to them, noting with relief that Wyatt seemed more excited than anxious about his sleepover, and then she went back inside the cabin, blow-dried her hair, and dressed in the outfit Caroline had chosen for her. She debated about whether to wear any jewelry or makeup, then settled on a pair of small, gold hoop earrings, and a tiny bit of lipstick.

There,
she thought, surveying herself in the bathroom mirror. She looked fine. She looked . . .
nice
. What she didn’t look like was someone who was preparing for a big night. Or a hot date.

As she went to the kitchen to check on dinner, she remembered what Caroline had said about approaching the evening as if she were having a friend over for dinner.
I can do that,
she thought, whisking olive oil and vinegar together for the salad dressing. But she had to admit that if she were having a friend over, her hands probably wouldn’t have been shaking when she tossed the salad.

Fortunately, it was only a few minutes later that Walker’s pickup pulled up in front of the cabin. Allie went out to meet him, trying, and failing, to appear casual.

“Hi,” she said. “You’re right on time.”

“Well, I didn’t have far to come,” he said, handing her not one but two bottles of wine. “I didn’t know what we were having for dinner,” he said, apologetically. “So I brought red and white.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” she said, distracted, for a moment, by how close they were standing. He was freshly showered, his damp hair combed neatly down. And he smelled . . .
he
smelled great,
she thought. He didn’t smell like aftershave or cologne. He just smelled clean and masculine. It made her want to stand even closer to him. She felt her nerves ratchet up a notch.

“Come on inside,” she said, walking up the front steps of the cabin.

“Where’s Wyatt?” Walker asked, following her.

“He’s over at Caroline’s,” Allie said, with what she hoped was just the right amount of breeziness. She didn’t think it was necessary, or wise, to mention that he was spending the whole night there.

As they walked into the cabin Walker paused to look admiringly around the living room while she searched for a corkscrew in the kitchen.

“This place is amazing,” he said. “Has anything changed since your grandfather built it?”

“Very little,” Allie said, taking two wineglasses out of the cupboard.

“You can’t find wood like this anymore,” Walker said, examining the knotty pine walls and ceiling, warm and honey colored in the lamplight. “I know you can’t, because I tried to when I built my cabin.”

“It doesn’t look like you did too badly, though,” Allie said, carrying two glasses of white wine into the living room with her and handing him one. She took a big sip—a gulp, really—from her own. She didn’t know a lot about wine, but she knew this was good. Really good. She took another, smaller sip and reminded herself to go slowly. She hadn’t eaten much that day. She’d been too nervous to.

“What happened there?” Walker asked, pointing above the fireplace.

“Oh,” Allie said, taking another sip for good measure. “There was a buck’s head mounted there, but it scared Wyatt so I had it taken down.” She shook her head, remembering how much he’d hated it. “Wyatt thought its eyes were following him everywhere he went.”

“Maybe they were,” Walker said, amused.

Allie smiled. “I can’t joke about things like that with him. He’s too impressionable. I have to be the voice of reason in this family. Even though, half the time, I feel like I’m completely unqualified for that job.” She paused, afraid she’d somehow ventured into personal territory. “Anyway,” she continued, redirecting the conversation, “I’m looking for a painting to put there. I just haven’t found the right one.”

“You’re going to need a big painting,” he said. “What are you looking for, exactly?”

She shrugged and said, “Something of Butternut Lake, I think. I’m not sure, really, but I feel like I’ll know it when I see it.” She added, “Working at the Pine Cone Gallery should help, since I’ll see everything that comes through the door.”