Going Under (Wildfire Lake 2)

“Okay. Jazz, you get changed into dry clothes, and all of you bring your things to the kitchen table. Once you’re started, I’m going to fix that fence.”

14

Ben

I drive by the entrance to the marina on my way home and look for Kat's truck. It’s parked where it usually is, right up next to her shop. I ache to see her, kiss her, touch her. That’s how I know I have to stay away, because I want her too badly, and she won’t be sticking around.

And after hearing all about her escapades as a kid and her dreams for the future, I sure as shit don’t want to be the guy who holds her back. I don’t really want to get my heart broken again either.

Yeah, staying away is still the right thing to do. For both of us.

My heart is sinking into my stomach as I reach overhead and tap the garage door opener on the visor. Movement from the left side of the house catches my eye, and I stop in the driveway, trying to figure out if I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing.

Yep, that’s Kat manhandling my fence.

She’s wearing one of her old pairs of jeans, the ones she wears when she’s working, and just a tank top even though it’s about fifty degrees outside. Her hair is up in a messy knot on the top of her head. She’s wearing gloves, and she’s got what looks like my toolbox at her feet.

“What the hell happened now?” Coming home every day feels like an episode in the misadventures of the Lathams’. I’m never sure what I’ll find. And I’m not sure if I should be excited or frustrated to see Kat, because her muscles are rolling beneath her skin and her neck is exposed and…

“Stop thinking about it, idiot.”

Frustrated. Definitely.

I climb from the car and make my way across the lawn. Her face is flushed and she’s breathing hard, her chest rolling with the motion. And when she meets my gaze, I realize she’s pissed. Openly, obviously pissed. And Kat pissed is something to take seriously.

“I’m sure there’s a story behind this,” I say, “but by the look on your face, I’m not sure I want to know what it is.”

“Look, you’re going to be angry,” she says. “I already know that, and it’s fine, whatever. But this is all new to me, and I probably should have handled it differently, but I went with my gut, which I’ve discovered turns all full-on mama-bear mode when it involves these girls—”

“Whoa, whoa.” I put both my hands out. “Slow down, baby.”

I didn’t mean to call her that, I’m not even sure where it came from. Scratch that, I know exactly where it came from. I can still remember my hands tangled in her hair while she was taking me throat-deep. “Fuck, baby, that’s so good.”

But she either doesn’t notice the slip or it doesn’t bother her, because she doesn’t react to it. I find myself thinking—again—what an idiot I am, because of course she wouldn’t care. Sex is sex to her. She probably hasn’t even thought twice about me in the last six days, ten hours, and forty minutes since she left my bed.

She picks up a hammer. “Let me just finish this.”

Watching her wield her muscles to do…whatever she’s doing with the fence…is a stunning sight. Who am I to argue?

Something moves in the window behind Kat, and I find all three girls looking out. They smile and wave. When Kat looks up, their eyes go big and they duck away like they’re hiding from her.

I expected her to laugh, but she doesn’t. “Damn. I hope that fades with time.”

“Hope what fades?”

She moves in front of the gate and opens and closes it several times, making sure the latch catches. She pulls the too-big gloves off and crouches to put the tools back in my box.

“Do you want to come in?” I ask, unsure what’s going on.

“No. I think this conversation would

be better to have out here. I’ve learned exactly how sneaky those three can be.”

“Shit,” I say, half laughing, “What did they do?” I realize I didn’t see Isabel’s car and look around for it now. “Where is Isabel?”

“Uh, yeah, about that.” She’s contrite, something I could never have imagined on my own. “Just, will you hear me out before you blow up?”

“I rarely blow up. I can’t remember the last time I did.”