Page 9 of Sandbar Summer (Summer Cottage #3)

She recalled days and days of unprotected sun worship here.

Her current sunspots were directly attributed to this place, she realized.

They used zinc oxide on their noses but only after the skin had bubbled.

Wow, she really was dumb back then. Makeup artists had covered her nose freckles for decades; she blamed her Tecumseh Tan for that.

It was technically still morning, but barely. Goldie was on California time. She’d slept well, despite all the things she had to keep her up at night.

She walked around a bit on the main floor of the old Two Lakes Grove.

The main lobby area, sitting area, and kitchen were gorgeous in this place.

She took a peak in the main dining room.

It was smaller than she remembered. If the hotel was at capacity, it would be tough to get them all in here at the same time.

But what did it matter? She was the only guest. Her old friend had given her a hotel, all to herself, where prying eyes could not find her.

That said, before she went outside, she applied her eyelashes, a light base coat, nude lipstick, and a dusting of blush. Even with all that, it was the least make-up she’d worn outside of her house in years.

She made her way out to the veranda facing the lake and, for a moment, stopped in her tracks.

The blue sky was reflected in the water, making Lake Manitou look like the Caribbean this midday in late July. At the corner of the porch, you could turn to see Round Lake. The two lakes looked more gorgeous than she remembered.

It may be blue right now, like the Caribbean, but there was a different sound to this lake as opposed to the ocean.

The ocean roared some days. Other days, there was a steady hum.

The sounds of the lake were its own, and today they were gentle.

There wasn’t a breeze right now, so the water was still.

Small ripples rolled slowly across the surface.

It was calm, not imposing. Sometimes the ocean felt to Goldie as if it wanted to fight her. As if it wanted to swallow her up.

Suddenly, she realized why she didn’t have a place on the beach in California.

It was the fight. The strength of the ocean was so powerful it was just one more force she had to work against to get where she wanted.

She’d fought for her career, contracts, and respect; at every turn, something powerful fought against it.

As she watched a pontoon boat slowly float across the water, she felt at ease in this place. Crickets chirping or a squirrel chittering was as intense as it got here. It also made her feel connected to her family, her parents, even though they’d moved away from here years before they’d passed.

Goldie wanted to get down to the water.

The staircase down to the hotel’s beach was rickety. Goldie carefully made her way down to what was probably once a lovely lawn. Guests would lounge here, layout, play shuffleboard and badminton, and just sit and chat.

The hotel had been here when she was a kid, and now she wondered when it was built. Had her grandparents strolled around these grounds in the forties? She liked the idea. But she knew it was even older than that, more like turn of the last century.

Goldie got close to the water. There was no dock. And the lawn sort of just dissolved into the water. There was also not a beach to speak of.

Truth be told, it was a mess.

She decided to leave her shoes on. She remembered, back in the eighties, they had to wear swimming shoes on some of the beaches.

Thanks to a hard-shelled invasive creature, what were they?

Oh yeah, Zebra Mussels. The little suckers were everywhere and could cut the soles of your feet.

They also served to filter water, which wound up cleaning the lake, but for a while, you had to be careful not to get shredded.

It didn’t look like they were here anymore, but still, she spent three hundred dollars on her last pedi and had three more pairs of athletic shoes in her bags.

Better safe than sorry.

Goldie waded in; the cool water sluiced over her ankles. She got bolder and took a few more steps in. Before she knew it, she was up to her knees. Though, at her height, it wasn’t that difficult to be up to her knees.

“Ew,” Goldie realized too late that the bottom here wasn’t sandy. It wasn’t sand so much as muck.

Goldie took another step, and a slimy tendril of seaweed wrapped around her legs.

She hated the sensation and lurched forward in an attempt to get it off her.

What she managed to do instead was get further entangled.

She tried to lift her foot and discovered that the muck had suctioned her shoes. The water was up to her thighs now.

“Great, after all this time, I’m going to die in quicksand.”

Goldie got one foot free, but the other stuck, and she lost her balance.

All of a sudden, things were a tad more serious. She was chest deep, one foot trapped, and seaweed constricting her ability to do anything about it.

She swallowed a mouthful of lake water, and part of her brain did appreciate that it wasn’t salty. The rest of her brain had determined that she was about to die and ramped her nervous system up accordingly.

Goldie flailed around, making the situation worse, and wondered if she’d get good media coverage when they found her body.

She wasn’t so much being pulled under, as one would be in an ocean undertow, but rather sinking down, like the lake bottom decided she was a spaghetti noodle.

Goldie flailed her arms and swallowed more lake water.

Then a strong arm lifted her up, so she could stand again.

“What, ugh, who?”

She looked up to find a fully clothed man standing in front of her, trying to get her to calm down.

“Miss, miss, you’re okay.”

Ooh, he called her miss. Focus Goldie, focus.

“I got you.”

“You do not got me. I’m drowning here. My feet, I can’t get my feet out of the muck!”

“Miss, just hang on. The water isn’t deep here, you—”

“Not deep? I’m barely five-two! It doesn’t have to be!” Goldie barked.

“Miss, be still. You need to be still.” He reached out and put his hands on Goldie’s shoulders.

“Don’t!” She was about to yell that he shouldn’t touch her.

“I am going to hold on to you until you’re calm.”

Goldie was not calm. She was panicked, no question.

Goldie wanted to yell at this stranger who was ignoring her orders but was panicked, not stupid. She was stuck. And he was the only option at the moment. Even though she wasn’t a fan of being told what to do.

She stopped trying to escape the muck. It wasn’t getting her anywhere. That much was true. She took a breath and then coughed.

“You’ve got a heaping helping of lake water in there.”

“You think I’m calm now, so let go. I need to get my feet unstuck.”

“Do you have a plan for that?”

“I, ugh.” She tugged her foot and proceeded to go under again.

The man pulled her up. He was only in waste deep while she was sinking.

“Now, unless you want to get sucked into the core of the earth, you’ll do what I say, okay?”

“Fine.”

“I’m going to go underwater; you keep a hand on my shoulder. And I’m going to get your feet out. You have shoes on, I saw. Won’t take but a second.”

“How did you know I have shoes on? Were you spying? Are you a pap?”

“Pap, no. Spying, no. But I saw a trespasser come down here, and it caught my eye. You can thank me later. Now. You ready? None of this arm waggling. You’ll make my job harder and get another gulp of lake water for the effort.”

She wanted to argue that she was no trespasser, but Goldie was starting to be worried that she would, in fact, drown if she didn’t listen to the big bossy stranger.

“Okay,” she said. She put a hand on his shoulder as he instructed. It was all muscle. Well, that was good. He’d be able to carry her out of here if she did manage to pass out or some additional calamity. He smiled at her and then dove under the water.

She felt one shoe loosen and then the other. She stepped back with one, then the other foot and her big bossy stranger emerged again.

“Now, if you don’t want to get that jam again, I suggest you swim, don’t walk, back to land.”

“But it’s so… reedy.”

“They won’t kill ya unless you get your feet stuck in the muck here.”

“I get it.” Goldie swam back to shore and climbed up onto the weeds that hugged the little beach. She laid on the grass face down for a moment until the grass started to itch her bare legs.

“Miss, seriously, are you okay?”

Goldie flopped back over, sat up, and looked up.

“I am fine. But now that you mentioned trespassing, what the devil are you doing on this property? It seems to me you’re the trespasser.”

“Ha, well, you’re welcome.”

The man was soaking wet like she was. He ignored her as she stood up and tried to reclaim some semblance of dignity. She was used to having the upper hand with total strangers.

Instead of lending a hand to help her stand up, he pulled his wet t-shirt off. He was beefy, somewhat hairy, and sure there were muscles, but not of the Hollywood type, more of the functional type instead of the decorative ones that looked good in a superhero costume.

“Put your eyes back in your head, lady. It’s rude to stare.” He smiled at his own stupid joke.

“I am not staring; I’ve asked you a question you’ve yet to answer.”

“Hmm, well, I’m not sure that’s your best conversational gambit. ‘Thank you for saving my prissy life’ would probably serve you better around here.”

He wrung out the t-shirt as he said it, barely giving her another glance.

“I’m from here, I’ll have you know, and I’ll ask again, or I’ll call the police.”

“From here, eh? So that question, what the devil am I doing on this property? Well, besides saving your life, I work here.”

“The hotel is closed, so you’re a trespassing liar.”

“I’ve been hired to fix the million things wrong with Two Lakes so they can sell it. You can call Emma Ford or Dean Tucker if you’d like a reference.”

“Well, kindly stop spying on me, whoever you are.”

“You’re a piece of work. Speaking of work, I’m going to get some dry clothes on and get back to it. I’ll do that back at the house so as to avoid your leering gaze.”

This jerk appeared to be thoroughly amused by what had been a very serious situation.

“My what?”

“Now, if you can make it up the hill without grievously injuring yourself, my name’s Joe Cassidy, Cassidy Contracting, should you like to check my references.”

“You can be sure I will.”

“Oh, and you’re welcome.”

Goldie watched as he walked back up to the hotel. She did not leer, though. The shape of him was impressive. Which was why it was no big deal for him to haul her out of the muck.

Except, it was a big deal. And she had been in a spot.

Goldie decided to get the last word. “Thank you, Mr. Cassidy. I do appreciate your help.”

That did it. He was shocked that she had done an about-face. That was her gift! She could disarm just about anyone if she really tried.

He turned around and flashed a smile at Goldie. He had a sexy smile and an impressive jawline. She loved impressive jaw lines.

“Now stop looking at my butt.”

“I was—”

But before she could reply, he was around the side of the house.

Goldie hadn’t got the last word, but she would have the last laugh. He may be ruggedly good-looking, but he was totally rude.

She was going to call Libby immediately to complain about this barbarian lurking around the property. And he better be telling the truth because she was going to check, boy was she ever.

“Ah! What’s that?”

She felt something slimy in her sports bra. A strip of seaweed had slid in there, ew! She whipped out the offending vegetation and proceeded to do an involuntary dance of revulsion.

She’d check on that rude contractor later. First, she needed a shower. There was sand in every crevasse she had.

So much for rest and relaxation.