have my reasons. This won’t be the first time one of us needed to report on something close to us.”
“Yeah, but wouldn’t some public chastising against the corporate giant be good for your soul?”
“In a way.” Sophie hesitated then decided to tell her best friend the truth. “Look, this is a chance to redeem myself. Prove to Cliff I really can stick to my journalist’s creed after…well, you know, what happened with Ryan Malarkey.”
“Mmm, forgot about him. He makes all us lawyers look bad.” A long pause filled the air. “Guess that’s a valid reason.”
Sophie still harbored guilt from the last time a story got personal and she’d been fooled into violating her hallowed reporter vows. “Hey, on a lighter note, it’s raining men over here at the lake.”
Bernadette laughed. “What?”
“Some kids vandalized Dad’s kayak shed. He asked for my help and this handsome guy appeared out of nowhere to help me. Fill you in later. He’s waiting.”
On her way back to the stranger, she studied his profile. Men this desirable didn’t drop out of the sky around here. Why was he in town? Visitors to Northbridge weren’t unusual in the summer, but not late fall. He faced the water, looking in the direction of the rolling hillside of Tate Farm, the property under discussion at tonight’s controversial public hearing.
She neared the visitor and he turned around.
“Are you the owner of this place?” He pointed to the wood-sided shed with a sign reading “Bullhead Boat Rentals.”
“No. My father runs it with my brother. Dad’s too old to be walking around in this icy mess and my brother is gone for the day.” She handed him a wipe. “They also operate the local tackle shop and Two Rivers Guided Tours, guided fly-fishing trips.”
“I remember the tackle shop.” He cleaned his hands and tucked the dirty wipe in his jacket pocket. “My family came here for a couple of summers. Close to thirty years ago.”
Sophie studied him again. Summer vacationers passed through here with the blur of a relay race.
He brushed a dead leaf off the knee of his faded, well-pressed jeans. “Such a great little town.” He scanned the main street, unhurried and relaxed, then took a deep breath, as if to savor a nostalgic moment. “Quintessential New England.”
Although she’d lived all her forty-four years in Northbridge, she looked around with him. A few cars parked on the road near a long row of pre-WWI buildings, now housing retailers who had serviced the town’s residents for countless decades, such as Handyman Hardware and Walker’s Drugs. The retail stretch was sandwiched between her favorite place to eat, Sunny Side Up, a metal-sided, trolley car-shaped diner and the weathered façade of Griswold’s Café. The popular hangout for waterfront meals had a karaoke night the locals rarely missed.
She examined his profile again. Surely she hadn’t forgotten someone with such a sexy full lower lip and strong chin?
“I can’t imagine anybody being unhappy here,” he said, his tone quiet.
She held in the urge to retort with a cynical remark. Every time she stuck a foot out of town, circumstances jerked her back. “Too bad you picked today to return. Most of our visitors enjoy the warmer weather.”
“I’m house hunting.”
“Oh. Well, we have a lot of summer residents.”
“I want a year-round place.”
The absent wedding ring held renewed interest. “Where are you from?”
“Manhattan.”
She adjusted her crooked scarf. “Living here will be a big change.”
“I know. I’ve always loved this place, though.” He reached out and tenderly brushed a leaf off Sophie’s shoulder. His gaze flowed down her body like a slow trickle of water.
An unexpected burn raced up her cheeks.
He lifted his brows. “Hey, I never knew the lake went by another name. The town website said the original name came from an old Native American word.”
She nodded. “Puttacawmaumschuckmaug Lake.” The long name rolled off her tongue with ease, the pronunciation a rite of passage for anyone born and raised around the body of water. “It either means ‘at the large fishing place near the rock’ or ‘huge rock on the border.’”
“What?” He chuckled. “Puttamaum…”
She shook her head and repeated the difficult word.
“Puttacawsch—”
“Nope. It’s a toughie. That’s why a reporter who visited here at the turn of the century suggested in his column we change the name. He said the water’s beauty was as rare as a blue moon, and the phrase stuck.”
He grinned, easy and confident. “My kids will love this place.”
Kids? Sophie buried her disappointment. “Are you and your wife looking at the other towns bordering the water?”
“No. I like Northbridge. Oh, and I’m not married,” he said matter-of-factly. His gaze arm-twisted her for a response.
She wanted to fan her hot cheeks but instead regrouped while pointing across the lake. “If you have a spare few hundred thousand and want to help the town out, take a look at Tate Farm. A developer wants to buy it to put up a large resort. Maybe you can outbid the guy.”
“Oh?”
“Uh-huh. There’s a public hearing tonight.”
The hearing would be her first chance to meet the corporate vipers from Resort Group International face-to-face and she couldn’t wait to hammer firm president, Duncan Jamieson, with some tough questions. With any luck the zoning board would vote down their request so the offer she’d made, along with her dad and brother, would be back in play.
The stranger’s brows furrowed and he stroked his chin.
“Don’t worry. I’m confident our zoning board will vote no on their proposal and keep the nasty developer away. By the way, I’m Sophie.”
He dropped his gaze to the ground for a millisecond then looked back up. “I’m Carter.”
If Nana were still alive, she’d have said in her thick Scottish brogue, “Verra good sign, Sophie. Carter comes from the word cart: someone who moves things.” Nana held great stock in the art of name meanings.
He’d certainly moved Sophie.
Matt’s rusty sedan whipped into the lot, ending the lusty thoughts. Her son hurried over, unease covering every corner of his face. “Sorry I’m late.”
“What took you so long?”
“Grandpa called to make sure I helped you.” He dragged his hand through his messy dirty-blond hair. “We were talkin’.”
She
