Spirit Lake by Christine DeSmet Read Free Book Online Page A

You're the last person I wanted to see."
    Her insides shriveled. What did she expect him to say? “Tell me something new, you, you—"
    “Bastard's acceptable."
    How could she not have recognized those hawk-like eyes, ready to swoop ... or leave at a moment's notice. He dipped his head at a rakish angle, dark brows shading his eyes while they shuttered up and down her body. Her heartbeat tripped despite her resolve. Although she hadn't recognized the man physically at first, he was smooth and that much hadn't changed.
    “Don't try that cute, contrite look with me. It may have worked back then, but I'm not taken in with your kind anymore."
    “And what kind is that?"
    “A man who runs from his responsibilities."
    “I'm in trouble this time, Laurel. Real trouble. And I'm not running away from anything, except a bullet or two."
    He winced for good measure before sending his gaze to his bad leg. She didn't know what to believe. What's more, she didn't want to care. Let him fill up with infection to his eyeballs and see how it feels to have nobody care what happens to him.
    She said, “You were always a trouble-maker."
    “That's why we liked each other."
    Liked? That's what he'd felt for her back then? Mere like? Laurel retrieved the towels back up from the grass. “Whatever it is this time, I don't want to hear it."
    “We were only teenagers that summer.” He hobbled toward her, a hand raking through his mass of wavy hair. “We didn't know what we were doing."
    She stepped back, refusing to let the swarthy charm work on her again. “That's your excuse? Wayward kids?"
    Looking uncomfortable, he asked, “Why'd you come back over here now?"
    So he was changing the subject. Damn him. “I thought you might be dead by now. I see I'm too soon. I'll go back and wait."
    “Still have the wildlife scope in the picture window?"
    She hated that he knew her so well, that he could remember even a single element in her life that brought her pleasure. She was not interested in sharing anything pleasurable with him. Ever again.
    Cradling the towels in one arm, Laurel snatched up the first aid kit from the grass. “Petski's jail hasn't changed since the day you dirtied it with your presence and he might appreciate seeing you again."
    Shooting her a smoldering look, he swiped up the papers and a photo off the ground and limped over. “Here. I came back because somebody wants to kill me and harm my family, and damn it all, I won't let him destroy us."
    Kill? Family? Us?
    A sickening flood of numbness gripped her. He shoved the photo at her. A teenager with Cole's same piercing eyes smiled back at her. Pain spiked deep into her heart. She'd heard he'd gotten married, but a son? This old?
    When she looked at him, his steady gaze unsettled her more.
    “Was I the fool, Cole? You rushed out of my life back to Miami, but did you already have someone else there? Were you thinking of her when we exchanged vows here?"
    His eyes deepened under the shadows of his bent brow. From his hesitation, she had answer enough.
    He'd borne a son. Soon after he'd left her. At the altar. The ache stabbing her was almost unbearable.
    She handed back the photo. “When was he born? And how is your wife? They don't mind you taking off for a quiet week of train hopping?” It was perverse, she knew, to jab at him, but she had to. Her heart demanded retribution.
    He eased down to the ground, parting the long grass to sit. “Tyler's mother and I divorced a few years ago and we rarely see her. And he wasn't conceived until after she and I had married."
    “We were married—"
    “It wasn't legal. Just two kids in love with romance exchanging words in private."
    Remembering him promising to make it legal, she gulped back a lump choking her throat.
    He eyed her, then shook his head. Pain racked his face. She hoped it was connected to guilt. That much he owed her.
    “Tyler's mother and I had known each other a long time. My parents and her parents were friends. The