A Girl, a Guy and a Big Fat Lie: Mulberry Lake, #1

1

There she was again. Son of a bitch! Rowan Kavanagh dropped his hammer and the stack of two-by-fours and started running toward the storage building where he saw a young female head peeking through the upstairs window. He barreled through the front door and aimed for the ladder that led to the loft. Callie?

No answer.

Callie? he called again to the young teen. His property manager, Dominic Calao, had informed him of the girl’s first name but said he didn’t know her last name or where she had come from. All they knew was that she had been hanging around the resort most of the summer even though Rowan had chased her off the property numerous times. However, he had a feeling Dom had told her she could stay. Of course, he would probably deny it. But now that it was September the girl should be in school.

I know you’re up there so you may as well come down. Still nothing. He shifted his weight to the opposite foot and glanced upward again. Don’t make me call the cops, because I will. Although the last time he’d called them they hadn’t done a damn thing. Claimed they couldn’t find any teenagers on his property. They’d also said there were no teens by the name of Callie reported missing recently.

Go ahead. A girl with long, dark, stringy hair poked her head over the railing. And then they’ll put me back in foster care, and I’ll just run away again. I’ve done it twice already.

He believed her, but that wasn’t his problem. Look, you can’t live in my storage building.

Why not? I’m not hurting anything. Besides, I’ve been helping your guys out. Dom said they appreciate me.

Rowan let out a loud sigh of impatience. Yeah, I saw what you were doing with my guys. It seemed she had offered to exchange sexual favors for food—at least with the young guys—until one of his groundskeepers had alerted him of the situation.

What do you care? So I let them cop a feel sometimes. It’s not a big deal.

This was the second time this week he’d caught her on the premises. Apparently, she’d been sleeping in the loft up above. He’d fired seventeen-year-old Billy Jarvis for taking advantage of her even though he’d sworn he had only kissed her and nothing more. Then Rowan had warned the rest of his employees—what was left of them—if any of them laid a hand on her—which they all swore they hadn’t—they were done. Not only would he fire them, but he would turn them over to the authorities to be dealt with. She was a kid, for Chrissakes! And everyone, with the exception of Billy, was over eighteen. Rowan had enough problems. He didn’t need to worry about a teenage runaway on top of it.

Callie, please come down here so I don’t have to shout.

A few moments went by before she climbed down the ladder. Dressed in jeans, a dirty t-shirt and holey sneakers, she thrust her chin forward as if she wasn’t afraid of him or anyone else. Maybe she wasn’t. She had spunk. He’d give her that.

What do you want?

I want you to get your stuff and get off my property.

"My stuff is in my bag." She had a ratty looking red, nylon backpack slung over her skinny shoulders.

Okay, so off you go. He stepped aside and nodded to the door.

She glared at him as her shoulders slumped. Why can’t you just hire me? I know how to pound a nail as good as any of those bozos you have working for you. And I’m strong. Ask Dom. He said I’m the strongest girl he’s ever met.

Strong? That was a joke. A good wind would knock her off her feet. He was going to have a talk with his property manager. He didn’t need him encouraging her.

I don’t need any more help. I can barely pay the people I have now. Not that it was any of her business. Most of his employees had quit the first time their paychecks bounced but he still had a few stragglers. A few who had faith in him and believed he’d be able to turn the resort around.

That brought a huge smile to her face and Rowan realized she was sort of cute, or she could be if she was cleaned up. That’s just it. You don’t have to pay me. I only need a place to stay and some food. Maybe some clean clothes. She raised her brows beneath her bangs and gave him a hopeful look.

Rowan shook his head. No way.

Okay, forget the clothes.

Sighing again, Rowan asked, How old are you?

Eighteen. She didn’t blink an eye but she was lying. If he had to guess he would say she was thirteen. Fourteen at the most. Practically a baby. And here she was apparently living on her own. The thought made him sick. Maybe he should lock her in the building and then call the police, to protect her if nothing else. He tipped his head and gave her a no-nonsense look.

Seventeen, she quickly amended.

I’m guessing fourteen. He’d give her the benefit of the doubt even though he was skeptical.

Fourteen? She laughed then lifted her chin again. I’m fifteen . . . and a half.

It was his turn to laugh. Sure you are. He sucked in a breath of stale air. As much as he wanted to help her out he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. Look, I’m sorry, but you have to go now.

"Gee, thanks for all your help, Kavanagh. Billy Jarvis was right. You are a pecker head."

A pecker head? He’d never been called a pecker head before, and especially not by a thirteen-year-old.

She brushed past him in her fury, nearly knocking him over. Maybe she was stronger than she looked.

Wait, he said, digging in his jeans pocket for his wallet. He took out a twenty then added a few ones to it and handed them to her. Here. Take this. And, Callie, don’t let guys take advantage of you. You don’t have to do that. Guys are pigs. Just remember that.

Yeah, I know. I’m looking at one. She grabbed the money from his hand, and with one last glare at him, bolted out the door.

First he was a pecker head and now a pig. Rowan didn’t bother arguing with her. What would be the point? He’d spoken the truth. All guys were pigs under the right circumstances. Not that he had ever considered taking advantage of a teenager, except for maybe when he was one himself. But that didn’t count, did it?

He watched and waited until her skinny frame disappeared around the corner. As he started walking back to the lumber and hammer he’d dropped, his cell phone chirped. Rowan Kavanagh, he said.

Mr. Kavanagh, this is Emma Fischer from Presque Isle Bank.

Fuck! He should have looked at the display before answering. Just what he needed; a good ball busting. As if Callie’s insults hadn’t already bruised his ego. Running a hand over the kink in his neck, he tried to act chipper. What can I do for you, Ms. Fischer? Even though he knew exactly why the woman was calling.

You were supposed to stop by the bank and settle your loan today. It’s almost closing time and—

Right, I almost forgot. I can be there in about an hour. Two at the most. Will you still be there?

She made a tsk sound. No. It’s Friday and the bank closes at five. That’s in ten minutes.

Is it? Jeez, I had no idea it was that late, he lied. Time sure flies when you’re having fun, I mean, working hard. I guess I’ll have to stop by next week sometime.

Cut the crap, Mr. Kavanagh. We both know you have no intention of getting the loan payments caught up like you promised.

That’s just not true. He had a few ideas—well one idea—of how to get some extra cash. If only he could talk his brother Ethan into investing in the resort. He would beg if he had to. And as much as he hated the idea it looked as though he might have to.

"It is true. So stop wasting my time with empty promises. If you don’t have a check on my desk first thing Monday morning, I’m going to have to call in the loan."

If you do that I won’t ever be able to pay you. The lodge is almost ready. If you can just give me a few more weeks. Or maybe a few months.

No. Absolutely not. Monday morning. Nine o’clock, and not a second after. Is that clear?

Yep. Rowan hit the disconnect button at the same time he voiced his opinion of the woman. What a witch! He’d never liked Emma Fischer although he’d only met her once. That was a week ago when she’d come in person to collect the missed payments. It had been a wasted trip for her as he didn’t have the money then, same as now.

The woman was nothing like her grandfather. Abel Fischer had been only too happy to loan him the money two years ago, and this summer when he’d missed his first payment the old man had called to say not to worry about it. In fact, since the interest rates had dropped he’d offered to rewrite the loan to make the payments more affordable. Rowan should have taken him up on his offer but he’d felt certain at the time that it wouldn’t be necessary. That things would turn around and the money would begin to roll in.

Emma Fischer was all business. A bulldog of sorts. Maybe she should have been a bouncer in a nightclub. He laughed at the idea of her chasing a troublemaker out onto the street, glaring at the poor fool with those venomous eyes of hers so that he would never even think of coming back.

She was uptight and prudish looking. Blond hair twisted behind her head so tightly it probably cut off her circulation. No wonder she couldn’t smile. A straight, regal nose sat front and center on her porcelain face. He swore she’d never been in the sun, and all that white skin made her look unhealthy. Of course her legs were long and sleek—her best asset as far as he was concerned. He didn’t care that they were pale—they were pretty distracting. At least she had one good thing going for her.

Between the designer dress, shoes, handbag and sunglasses, which probably cost more than most of his employees made in a month’s time, she could stop a train. Hell, maybe they cost more than some of his people made in a year. What did he know about such things?

All he knew was that she’d seemed awfully worried they might get ruined in the construction area where they had spoken last week. Like a little dust was going to make her self-destruct.

What Emma Fischer needed was to get laid. That might soften her up some. Strip off those expensive stuffy clothes, mess up her hair a little and fuck her like there was no tomorrow. That should put a smile on her face.

And he was just the guy to handle the job.

Oh, who was he kidding? He was not attracted to her in the least. Besides, she was engaged, if the giant rock he’d seen on her finger was any indication. Not to mention he hadn’t been with a woman in quite some time, nor was he ready to get back in the saddle.

So now what? Where the hell was he going to get the money he needed by Monday? Snow n’ Boat was bleeding him dry. The only thing he had left was his condo. He supposed he would have to mortgage what little equity was left.

When he’d taken over the loan for his dying father he’d been so certain he could make a go of it. But at the time he’d had no idea how rundown the place actually was; broken pipes, leaky faucets, worn out carpeting, not to mention the black mold the inspectors had found in the basement of the lodge. That had set him back big time.

No wonder his father had died practically penniless. The only thing he’d owned was the resort, and Rowan didn’t have the heart to say no to him when he’d asked if he could carry on with his dream. Growing up, Rowan had loved coming to the resort with his father and was thankful of the memories. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason he had agreed to take over. He and his father both thought it would do him good to focus his attention on something other than his deceased wife. And right now he didn’t have time to dwell on Sandra. He still had things to do before the sun set.

Here he was working sixteen-hour days, seven days a week, yet he still couldn’t get ahead. And Emma Fischer busting his balls wasn’t helping.

Maybe he should try charming her Monday morning. Nope. Hadn’t he tried that the last time? She’d scrunched up her face and looked at him like he was a piece of dog shit on the bottom of her designer shoe.

Speaking of dog shit, his miniature Dachshund waddled over and took a crap about three feet away from him. Gertie! he scolded. Couldn’t you have done that somewhere else? Two hundred acres and she had to pick that spot? Thinking maybe he had a plastic bag in the pocket of his jeans, he searched, but no such luck. He would have to come back later to clean it up.

He swore again. What else could possibly go wrong today? If only Emma Fischer would work with him. Maybe defer the loan payments for another six months, a year at the most. Then he could turn things around and be in the black for once. But like he said, she was a ballbuster if he ever saw one.

Nobody called Emma Fischer a witch and got away with it! And Rowan Kavanagh was about to find that out. He must think she was the biggest fool to walk the planet, but she would show him.

When she’d gone to the resort last week to collect what he owed, he’d flirted with her. The man had obviously assumed she would be so flattered she would give him whatever terms he asked for. She wasn’t an idiot, nor was she a softie like her grandfather.

She hadn’t backed down one bit. In spite of the man’s good looks, she’d let him know he couldn’t use them on her. Besides, he wasn’t her type. She had no use for men with powerful muscles. She’d never been turned on by dumb jocks. And he had to be pretty dumb to think he could make that old resort a success. Guys with sharp minds won her over every time even if they weren’t particularly handsome.

And those black eyes and dark hair made Rowan Kavanagh look absolutely sinful. No wonder she hadn’t trusted him from the moment she’d seen him. His dimples were the only thing that had spared him two years ago—making him look innocent—or she would have told Abel not to loan him the money in the first place. Not that her grandfather would have listened to her. From her office she remembered seeing Rowan swagger into the bank to sign the loan papers. He hadn’t even noticed her until he was ready to leave, and then it was nothing but a polite nod and a flash of dimples. She doubted he even remembered. Not that she cared.

She got into her black Jag XK and zipped out of the bank parking garage. The weather was nice enough to put the top down, but she didn’t bother. It was a long drive to Snow n’ Boat Resort. She didn’t want to sweat or take a chance of ruining her dress. Just what she needed to put her in an even worse mood. So she cranked up the air conditioning and stepped on the gas.

How dare Rowan Kavanagh talk to her like that! Of course, he hadn’t said it until he’d thought she had hung up the phone, but she had heard him just the same.

She was not a witch. She was just having a bad day. A really bad day. It was no wonder. Her fiancé dumped her this morning. Ten years with Robert Wentworth III, and this was what she had to show for it? A broken engagement? All because she’d said she might want to have a baby? Might, Robert, might!

Of course, she could have been married by now, but for some reason she was the one to keep putting off setting a date. Robert had begged her to elope on more than one occasion. But why the rush? She wanted to be sure. As much as she and Robert had in common they also had plenty to disagree on as well. He liked to spend money like there was no tomorrow. In fact she suspected he had a bit of a gambling problem, which he had denied. While she appreciated expensive cars, clothing and the likes, and did occasionally indulge in such things, she was also a saver.

Wasting money wasn’t her ex-fiancé’s only fault. He constantly had to have his own way. He would pick where they were going to vacation, where they would spend the holidays—either with Abel or with his family—and even where they were going to dine for the evening.

He had broken their engagement twice before this, so she knew he would come running back and say he was sorry. He had only done that to make a point. No talk of having kids, or there would be no wedding. Sorry, Robert. You lose this time.

Not that she didn’t love Robert. She did, but there was something telling her to wait. Yet she wondered if she had already waited too long. Today was her thirty-fifth birthday, and if ever there was a time to give motherhood serious consideration it was now. And so, she’d simply suggested that perhaps they shouldn’t rule out having children even though they’d agreed years ago neither had any desire to be a parent.

They were both too selfish. Robert was a workaholic, as was she. He was CEO of a charity foundation, and she was not only in charge of Presque Isle Bank’s main office but seven branches as well. And Emma couldn’t imagine giving up traveling, not to mention pampering herself, in order to stay home to change dirty diapers and wipe runny noses.

So, if she did become a mother then when would she possibly have time for manicures, pedicures, facials, massages, Yoga, Pilates and all the rest of the things she did to keep herself looking young and fresh? Babies sucked up all your time not to mention sucking the life from you as well.

As VP of the bank she couldn’t afford to be off of her game. People were counting on her; employees and customers alike. She remembered when Sarah Lancaster in Private Banking came back to work last winter after giving birth to her first child. The woman went from being all business to crying with guilt the minute she stepped into her office each morning. Sarah hated the idea of leaving her baby in daycare. She was a wreck. Chipped nails, roots in dire need of a touch-up and at least twenty pounds overweight. Don’t forget the bags under her eyes from the lack of sleep. Emma shuddered. She certainly didn’t want any part of that.

And Sarah wasn’t the only one to suffer. Every few months or so, someone at the bank would announce she was pregnant. They would be all giddy and glowing at first, but after maternity leave those women were never the same. No time to go out for a cocktail let alone to the gym, which most of them needed more than alcohol. But, hey, she wasn’t judging. Or was she?

Plus pregnancy was totally unglamorous. Bloated bellies, swollen feet, morning sickness and raging hormones made her want to gag. Yet the thought of never having a child of her own kept nagging at her. Why? When she’d gone to bed last night, becoming a mother had been the furthest thing from her mind, and yet when she woke this morning she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have a baby growing inside her, to hold it in her arms. Someone to care for, to love.

As she drove along I-90 a strand of hair broke free from her chignon and drifted across her face. She swiped at it like it was a nagging fly. She didn’t like messy hair; always kept it pulled back. It was who she was. No one could ever say Emma Fischer was anything but professional looking. That she didn’t deserve the title of VP. That she’d only gotten it because she was Abel Fischer’s granddaughter. No siree bob. She’d earned every promotion she’d gotten over the past ten years. Which sometimes surprised even her. Growing up she’d always thought she wanted to be a wedding planner. All those beautiful gowns and flowers made her smile. Funny how things had changed all because she’d wanted her grandfather’s attention and approval.

She was almost there. Snow n’ Boat Resort was located in Mulberry, New York, about thirty-five miles southeast of Erie, Pennsylvania where she lived and worked. She took the next exit and headed east across Route 490. Although it was a beautiful fall day with temps in the mid-seventies and plenty of sunshine, the weather was doing nothing to improve her sour mood. Happy birthday to me. Maybe she should have put the top down after all.

She sighed, trying to think of anything