“I can be at the cabin around five.”
“I’ll be ready.” Her weariness had magically evaporated. This isn’t a date, she reminded herself sternly, but she was already heading toward the shower.
*
Lacey’s was happening on a Saturday night. The click of pool balls could only be heard when there was a break in the thumping music. Several enterprising young women with bare midriffs and Daisy Duke denim shorts were holding bottles of beer and dancing together in the middle of the room. The waitresses looked ready to clobber someone and Luke had to step in front of Andi to keep her from getting pushed by a couple of guys who were standing around the barstools, telling tales that required a lot of body English.
The decor was a cross between a lake theme and a sports one. There were rainbow trout lacquered to a shiny finish on plaques along the wall alongside dusty pennants from most of the Oregon colleges and a few well-known Midwestern universities. Nothing looked as if it had been changed in a couple of decades . . . maybe longer.
None of it mattered, though, because people came for the food. The burgers were great, the French fries hot and greasy, the beer cold. They were shown through a few scattered tables toward the rear of the main room. The bar extended through another archway that led to a second room, where the decibel level seemed even higher. Occasionally there was a roar of noise, as if they were all betting on a game. Maybe they were.
Luke pulled out a wooden captain’s chair for Andi at an oak table with a clear, glossy top, the result of layers of some kind of product that made the tables look as if they were encased in plastic. He sat down opposite her and ordered a beer, while Andi asked for a glass of Sprite.
“You okay?” he questioned when the waiter left, the same query he’d hit her with when he’d picked her up.
“I am.”
“You’re not filling me with confidence,” he remarked.
“Okay, I’m a little tired,” she confessed. A lot tired, actually. And achy. She worried that she was getting sick, worried what that meant for the baby.
“We don’t have to stay.”
“No, I’m ready for a burger.” This, too, was a lie, even though she’d been practically salivating for one earlier. She’d sort of lost her appetite. She probably shouldn’t have come out tonight, but she’d wanted to see him, which was a little crazy. He wasn’t interested in her, he was doing a job, and this was no time for her to be interested in anyone.
They placed their burger orders and Luke leaned in close so she could hear him above the noise. “We’ll make it quick. Didn’t think about it being Saturday. People letting loose, watching football.”
Ah. That was what all the yelling was about.
“Carter said he met with Blake Carrera,” she told him loudly. “Wants to sell him the Allencore parcel—ten cabins—that Wren Development bought.”
“He wants to sell to the Carreras?” Luke asked, disbelieving.
“He said we’re asset rich, cash poor, and we’re building the lodge so we need funds fast.”
“What about a construction loan?”
“That might be in the works, but Greg charged ahead without waiting.”
“Can he do that?” Luke demanded.
“Carter needs Emma’s and my signatures, so it’s not going to happen.”
“Attagirl.” He smiled at her, and Andi’s pulse fluttered.
The front door slammed open and Emma staggered in. For a moment Andi thought she was alone, but then she saw Ben was right behind her, albeit looking around the room rather than at his inebriated wife. His gaze fell on Andi with Luke and he stopped short in total lack of comprehension.
“Oh, geez,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Emma just walked in and we’ve been spotted.”
Ben tried to get Emma to head their way, but she was ordering at the bar and slapped her hand at him, silently telling him to shove off. Ben looked pissed, but he moved away from her and came up to their table.
“’Lo, Andi. Didn’t expect to see you here,” he greeted her.
“Hi, Ben. This is Luke Denton.” She turned to Luke, who thrust out a hand, which Ben shook. “Ben is Emma’s husband,” she explained. “And Emma’s over there at the bar, in the blue dress.”
Luke’s gaze followed where she pointed. Emma was leaning over the bar, showing a lot of upper thigh. Her curly blond hair was held back with a thin black headband, but wisps were already springing free. The bartender slid her a clear drink—probably a vodka tonic—and she picked it up carefully and took a short sip, followed by a big gulp. And then she locked eyes with Andi.
For a moment she looked like she wanted to run and hide, but then she sauntered over their way. Andi felt her stomach cramp and she slowly exhaled, telling herself to stop stressing.
“Well, hi, you guys,” Emma greeted them, her eyes all over Luke. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Andi.”
“Ditto.” She added another introduction. “Luke Denton, Emma Wren Mueller.”