The Way Home by Cindy Gerard Page B

that about him. OK. What didn’t she like about him? Telling herself that no matter that her gut told her this was a good guy, the truth was she didn’t know enough about him to answer that question.
    So they talked about the lake, about the Park Service—she was oh so good at the tour-guide shtick—and then, with their stomachs full and the sun warm, they both lay back on the blanket with a comfortable distance between them and indulged in the summer day.
    “Where are all the mosquitoes Minnesota is so famous for?”
    “They don’t like the sun. Walk ten yards into the woods, though, and you’ll find them—or they’ll find you.”
    He seemed content to be lazy for a while. She liked that about him, too. J.R. had always been a neutron-charged massof energy. He couldn’t sit or stand still. Ty, apparently, had an off switch . . . or at least, a low setting.
    She wasn’t altogether sure, but he actually seemed to have fallen asleep. He’d thrown a forearm over his eyes and his other arm above his head. He had one knee cocked, and his breathing was deep and steady.
    She could do with a nap herself. She hadn’t exactly slept well last night. Truth was, she’d hardly slept at all.
    I’ll tell you about Maya. And you can tell me about J.R.
    She kept replaying his words in her mind, too antsy to sleep. Being around him kept her on a mid-level adrenaline high. She was so aware of him. Of how his eyes softened when he watched her. How his smile came so quickly and how he could easily direct it at making fun of himself or teasing her. And this close beside him, she became hyperaware of the muscle and mass of him, the sweat and heat of him, the utter maleness that had been missing in her life for so long.
    She rolled to her side and looked at him—the way she’d wanted to look at him for what seemed like a very long time. Only looking got her into more trouble, because there were so many physical complexities and perfections that it made her antsy in another way that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with chemistry.
    She wanted him in her bed. There. She’d admitted it.
    And that fact scared her as much as it excited her. And made her very, very warm, suddenly.
    Careful not to wake him, she stood, then walked to the edge of the water. She’d worn her swimsuit beneath her clothes, so she stepped out of her shorts and tossed them and her top back onto the sand. Then she waded in slowly, bitingher lower lip to keep from gasping as the cold water started to engulf her.
    One thing about this lake. The air temp could be ninety degrees, but the water never got much above sixty. Swimming in Kabby was not for the faint of heart. Once fully submerged and with her body acclimated to the cold, though, it felt like heaven.
    She was floating on her back and concentrating on not letting the water get into her nose when she realized she had company.
    “Holy iceberg.” Ty waded slowly toward her, shivering and briskly rubbing his arms. “Who added the ice cubes?”
    She laughed and righted herself, treading water as he waded deeper. “Just do it,” she said. “Dunk. Much better to rip off a Band-Aid than pull it off slowly.”
    He looked doubtful, then took a deep breath and did a shallow dive in her general direction. He surfaced on a gasp.
    She laughed again. “Not like the Gulf water in Key West, huh?”
    He whipped the hair away from his face and sank up to his chin. “No. Not like the Gulf. You do this often?” he asked around chattering teeth.
    “Used to. When I was a kid, we used to sit in an old-fashioned Finnish sauna for an hour or so, then burst outside and jump off the dock. Talk about a shock to the system.”
    And speaking of shocks to the system . . . the water was crystal-clear. She could see all the way to the bottom and every detail of the man standing in front of her. Which meant he could see every detail, too—and he was looking. Even though her black swimsuit was modestly cut, she