turned to find an elderly woman standing behind him. Her pale blond hair was swept into a tidy knot and her smooth skin made it impossible to guess her age. She wore a canvas coat, khakis and knee-high wellies.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t work here.”
She smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. “I don’t need your expertise. I just need your eyes. You wouldn’t think I’d have to carry a magnifying glass around with me, but I can’t read the directions.”
“I can help you out with that,” Jamie said, taking the package of glue from her fingers. He read off the instructions, and when the woman realized it wasn’t what she was looking for, he helped her find an epoxy that would work better.
“Thank you for your help.”
“I was happy to come to your rescue, madam,” Jamie said.
She held out her hand. “Celia Macintosh,” she said. “And what’s your name, young man?”
“James Quinn. But everyone calls me Jamie,” he said.
“Jamie, I couldn’t help but overhear,” she said. “You’re looking to lease some land?”
“I am,” Jamie said. “And it has to have lake frontage. It’s hard to find someone willing to rent a piece of lake property. Especially for the price I can pay.”
“Mr. Quinn?”
Jamie turned to see a middle-aged man approach. He was dressed in a comfortable sport coat and a neatly pressed shirt. His graying hair was shaggy and he looked like he’d been taking a nap. “Mr. Murphy?”
The real estate broker held out his hand. “Walt Murphy. What can I do for you?”
“Nothing,” Celia said. “Mr. Quinn doesn’t need your help anymore.” She cleared her throat. “As I was saying, Mr. Quinn, I have a lovely little spot that I might be interested in leasing. To the right person.”
“Since when do you have land to lease, Miss Celia?” Walt asked.
“Never you mind.” She gave Jamie a coy smile. “Come along, Mr. Quinn, we have business to discuss.” She handed the package of glue to Walt. “Walter, say hello to your mother for me. And get yourself a haircut!”
“Miss Celia, I seem to recall that your property is held in a trust. You aren’t authorized to lease it to a third party,” Walt said. “Maybe Mr. Quinn should talk to your granddaughter before you make any decisions. Miss Regan knows best.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Celia said. “I can make these decisions on my own. I don’t need Regan’s help. And I do have property of my own. I have Maple Point.”
Walt frowned. “You’d consider selling the point? But I thought you’d—”
“Walt, you know there’s no decent property left on the lake. Unless you were going to try to sell that raggedy little piece of swampland that you own over on the western shore.” Celia turned to Jamie. “Why don’t we go look at my property?”
“All right,” Jamie said.
As they started toward the door, Walt grabbed Jamie’s arm. “Everyone around town loves Miss Celia. We look out for each other here in Pickett Lake. If you do anything to hurt her, if you take advantage of her, the whole town will kick your ass.”
“I appreciate the warning,” Jamie said. “I have a grandmother who I care very much for and if it were her, I would have the same concerns as you do.”
Though his grandmother had appeared in their lives too late to save them from most of their troubles, she had provided a steadying influence to Jamie, as the youngest in the family, during his high school years.
“Well, good, I’m glad we got that cleared up,” Walt said.
Jamie followed Celia out to the street. She withdrew a pair of leather gloves from her pocket, then pointed to a pale yellow Mercedes parked down the street. “Tell me, Mr. Quinn, what do you intend to build on my land? A nice little summer cottage for your wife and children?”
Jamie chuckled. “No,” he said. “I don’t have a wife. Or children.”
“Really?” She smiled. “I’m surprised. Why is that? You seem like a very nice man. Handsome. Successful.”
“How do you know that?”
“You’re dressed well. And you’re interested in my property, which won’t come cheap.”
“I’m planning to build a model home, a modular design that my company produces. We’ll use the home for photos and to show investors. And when we don’t need it any longer, in three or four years, we’ll take it down and return the land to its original state.”
“I could lease you the land,” she said. “But what if I wanted to keep the cottage? Maybe you could just leave it where it was?”
“You’re a very shrewd woman, Miss Celia.”
“I am.”
Jamie helped her into her car, then jogged across the street to his pickup. He made a U-turn and tucked his truck in behind the Mercedes, following her down the main street and along to Shore Road, where they maintained a lazy pace through the tight curves that cut through the thick woods.
He recognized the route. It had been the same path he’d taken that morning on his jog. His mind flashed back to his encounter with the brash but beautiful photographer.
He’d meant to ask about her around town, see if anyone knew who she was. But until now, he hadn’t been sure he’d be staying in Pickett Lake. The resort community was quite close to Minneapolis, which made it an ideal location to build the model quickly. But it was also a small town, and he’d been aware that the chances of finding available and affordable land he could lease would be small. Running into Celia had been a godsend. And if he did secure a piece of property here, maybe he could get to know the intriguing photographer.
He remembered that she was beautiful, and that the color of her eyes had been mesmerizing—a deep, emerald green. And her voice had been soft and melodic, as if she could persuade anyone she met to do her bidding.
Even now, he could imagine that voice, teasing at his ear, saying his name, convincing him to let down his guard, to surrender to his—
Jamie stopped himself. This was crazy. He hadn’t asked the woman’s name because he’d thought he was leaving town. Besides, he was the kind of guy who didn’t like to be tied down. He made it a point to avoid messy romances. He preferred women who wanted nothing more than a night or two of physical pleasure with long intervals between. But this woman was far too beautiful to settle for no-strings sex. He could imagine that she had men hanging on her every word, men lining up to date her. Men ready to pledge their lives to her.
Hell, she was probably married. Or involved. Why hadn’t he lingered a bit longer and introduced himself?
The brake lights on the old Mercedes flashed and Celia quickly slowed the car and pulled it into a narrow paved driveway, not far from where he’d met the photographer. Maybe Celia knew who she was. Jamie made a
