“I’ve lived here my whole life, and it still takes my breath away.”
He felt her eyes on him and held his breath, more off-kilter than he cared to be. When she got to her feet and moved into the early morning light, he slowly exhaled. She let the blanket fall and took a few steps toward him. Dressed in gray track pants and a matching T-shirt withHarvardsplayed across the chest, she was tall and slender. Her hair was deep red, the same color that spilled across the lake, but it had been blonde the last time he’d seen her. Her eyes were dark, her skin was pale, and the expression on her face was one of curiosity, which was good. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t a hint of recognition.
“You’re the new carpenter Ronald hired?”
He gave a nod.
“I’m Sunday.” She laughed. “I know, it’s a ridiculous name but there’s been a Sunday in the family since the first Boone came to the area and built this place.” She looked back at the house. “I just might be the last one.” Her voice was so low he barely heard her.
Gus stayed silent as she grabbed up her blanket. “You’re working on the gazebo this week?”
He nodded.
“You don’t speak?” A hint of a smile played around her mouth as she signed the words. Kind of surprised him. He fought the urge to sign back an answer, a skill he’d picked up as a SEAL and instead did it the old-fashioned way. He spoke.
“It’s early,” he replied, voice neutral.
“Yes.” Sunday sighed and folded her blanket. “My favorite time of day.” She took a step back. “I should go. My father’s finally home from the hospital and he’s generally up by now.”
So, he was back.
“It was night to meet you . . .” She arched an eyebrow, clearly waiting for an answer.
“Gus.”
She looked at him a moment longer, her gaze direct, then turned and walked back to the main house, glancing back at him a few times, her steps slow as if she were weighing her options. Did she know? Had he given himself away by using a variation of his real name?
He watched her closely. She’d grown into a beautiful woman. Sunday Boone. She’d been nothing more than a child the last time he saw her.
With a heavy sigh, Gus finished his coffee, his mood dark. What the fuck was he doing here? Poking around things that didn’t matter anymore. Things that hadn’t mattered in years. The fact that he could walk into this place and take a job without anyone knowing who he was spoke volumes. He’d been gone for nearly twenty-six years and had no ties to this life.
He should be in DC, living the one he’d built for himself. He had a business to run.
So why wasn’t he?
His mood darkened even more, and with a curse, he turned away from the lake and headed back up the path. He grabbed his toolbox and a ladder from the truck and walked around to the other side of the house where the gazebo was located. It had seen better days, but when he was done with it, it would look as good as new. He’d already redone the railings, and today was replacing the roof.
Ignoring the large home directly behind him, with all those windows that allowed its occupants to see him, Gus got to work. He set up the ladder, grabbed a flat shovel and tarp — which he laid on the ground to catch debris — and got busy removing the old shingles.
By mid-afternoon, he’d removed all the old ones and installed new underlay and flashing. He ate a quick lunch then doffed his T-shirt and climbed back up to install the newshingles. Once that was done it took a bit to clean up the mess, which then required a trip to the dump nearly twenty miles from town.
Usually physical exertion did him good, but today, Gus was tired, and his mood was still dark when he rolled back to Fire Lake. Restless, he drove past the Lawson House and kept on driving until he made it to the north end of the lake. The Dock, the only bar in the area other than The Dance Hall, was built out over the water. The food was top-notch, the owner Hal a character, and the live music most nights was a welcome distraction.
The place was always busy, and the parking lot was nearly full when he pulled in, but Gus found a spot near the far end of the lot. Not more than a minute later, he walked onto the deck that overlooked the lake and headed for the outside bar tucked back in the corner. It was too nice to sit inside, and with an eye on an empty stool, he ignored the curious looks tossed his way and sat down. He’d been coming here since he’d arrived in Fire Lake nearly a month ago and hadn’t felt the need to make friends.
He glanced up as the owner walked over.
Hal Corner was a hippy who’d come to the Catskills for the legendary Woodstock Festival in ’69 as a seventeen-year-old kid from Nebraska. He’d met Samantha the first day, fell in love on the second, and when it was over, the two of them hitched a ride with a van full of folks, and that ride ended in Fire Lake. The van full of hippies had eventually moved on, but Sam and Hal had never left.
“Cold beer or are you feeling more like a whiskey?” Hal was behind the bar; his white bushy eyebrows raised questioningly as he set down a coaster in front of Gus. The guy was a mind reader.
“Whiskey neat,” Gus replied, “but I’ll chase it with whatever’s on tap.”
Gus sat back. His shoulders were tight, and he was going to be sore in the morning. Working hard, physical labor was a hell of a lot different than hitting the gym.
Hal poured out a generous tumbler of whiskey and then set down a cold mug of beer. “Menu?”
“Yeah.”
