Dockside at Willow Lake

He went to his car to get his gear. While Nina launched the kayak at the dock, she tracked the progress of Greg Bellamy’s canoe. He and his boy, Max, paddled in tandem while the blonde sat like a Nordic princess in the middle. Wasn’t she bored? What fun was it to just sit there, keeping every hair in place, white pants unwrinkled?

Nina wondered who the woman was. Thanks to the upcoming Bellamy family wedding, there had been lots of visitors to town and to Camp Kioga—event planners, florists, caterers, decorators. The bride-to-be was Greg’s niece, Olivia. Perhaps the Nordic princess was going to be his wedding date.

Since she came from a huge family, Nina was no stranger to weddings. But of course, she’d never been a bride. Maybe now that she was truly on her own, she would get married. Turning away from the scene on the lake, she glanced at Shane Gilmore, returning from the parking lot. Then again, she thought, maybe not.

He had geared up for kayaking in a crash helmet and float coat, a protective spray skirt that circled his waist like a floppy tutu, a VHF radio and amphibious shoes.

“Well, look at you,” she said. Fortunately, serving as mayor had taught her to be diplomatic.

“Thanks,” he said, preening in his gear. “I got everything at the preseason sale at the Sport Haus.”

“Lucky you,” murmured Nina. “You probably won’t need the helmet and skirt today. Those are usually only needed for extreme whitewater kayaking.”

He disregarded her advice and eased into his seat while she held the boat steady. “Ready?” he said, banging the fiberglass hull against the dock as he settled in.

“Not quite,” she said, and picked up the paddles. “We don’t want to be without these.”

“Dang,” he said, “I feel like this is going to tip over any second.”

“It won’t,” she said. “I had Sonnet in this when she was five years old. In good weather, there’s no safer way to be on the water.”

He clutched at the side of the dock as Nina got in. She told herself not to be so critical of this guy. He was the bank president. He was educated and good-looking. He said things like, “Do you know how long I’ve waited to ask you out?”

She showed him how the rudder worked and demonstrated a simple paddling technique. So what if he was a dork? So what if he was wearing a crash helmet and spray skirt? There was something to be said for exercising caution.

Besides, she could tell he was enjoying their outing. Once they paddled away from shore and glided across the smooth surface of Willow Lake, he relaxed visibly. This was the magic and beauty of being on the water, Nina reflected. This is why the lakes of upstate New York were so legendary, having been sought after by harried city dwellers ever since there was a city. The water was dotted with catboats with sails like angels’ wings, other kayaks, canoes and rowboats of all sorts. The weeping hills, veiled by springs and waterfalls, were reflected in the glassy surface of the lake. Paddling across the sun-dappled lake was like being in an Impressionist painting, part of a peaceful and colorful tableau.

“Let’s go over here,” she suggested, indicating with her paddle. “I want to take a look at the Inn at Willow Lake—my new project.”

A beat of hesitation pulsed between them. “It’s kind of far,” he said. “Clear across the lake.”

“We can be there in just a few minutes.” She tried not to feel annoyed by his hesitation. The Inn at Willow Lake was going to be her life. As bank president, Shane was one of the few people who was privy to that dream. The inn had gone into foreclosure and the bank now held the title. Thanks to Mr. Bailey, the asset manager, Nina had been given the management contract for the place. She would oversee its reopening and operation. If she did a good job, if things went as planned, she’d qualify for a small business loan and buy the place for herself. That was what she wanted. It was something she dreamed of doing all her life.

Without meaning to, she went faster, her rhythm out of sync with Shane’s so that their paddles clashed. “Sorry,” she said. But she wasn’t really. She was in a hurry.

As she paddled toward the historic property with its long dock projecting out into the lake, her heart lifted. This was the only hotel on the lake, thanks to deed restrictions that had been enacted after it was built. The property consisted of a collection of vintage residences around a magnificent main building, which lay upon the emerald slope like another place in time. The Stick and Italianate architecture was a superb example of the irrational exuberance of the Gilded Age. There was a wraparound veranda and gables along the upper story. There was an incredible belvedere rising like a wedding cake, its turret crowned by an ornate dome. The mullioned windows offered a matchless view of Willow Lake. From her perspective on the water, Nina could imagine the place in the old resort days, when the grounds were dotted by guests sunning themselves or playing croquet, and lovers walked hand-in-hand along the shady paths. There was a part of Nina that was a shameless romantic, and the inn fed that fantasy; it always had. Her favorite building was the boathouse, built in the classic style of the lakes of upstate New York with covered boat slips at water level, and living quarters above. It was made of the same whimsy and luxury as the main building of the inn.

In accordance with her agreement with the bank, the upper level of the boathouse was to be her private residence, and she had plans to move within the week. The boathouse had originally served as a lavish playroom for the children of the original owner, with quarters for the nanny. Lately, however, it had been used for storage.

Ever since she was a little girl, she’d pictured herself here, warmly welcoming guests from the world over as they gathered for lemonade and croquet on the lawn in the summer or for hot chocolate and cozy reading by the library fireplace in winter. She had always known exactly how each room would look, what low-key music would be playing in the dining room, what the baking muffins would smell like in the morning.

Her plans had been derailed by a teenage pregnancy and the responsibility of raising a child alone. No, she thought. Not derailed. Delayed. Now an opportunity had opened up and Nina was determined to seize it. She was ready for something new in her life. With Sonnet gone, she needed it.

To some people, being an innkeeper might not have sounded like much. To Nina, it was the start of a long-held dream. As they glided close to the dock, she felt a warm thrill of excitement, not unlike the sort of thrill she was supposed to feel for her date.

“So there it is,” she said. “I can’t wait to get started.”

He was quiet. She wondered if he was checking her out and twisted around in her seat. “Shane?”

“Yeah, about that,” he said, jerking his helmeted head in the direction of the inn. “There’ve been some interesting developments at the bank.”

Nina frowned. “‘Interesting’ sounds a bit ominous.”

“While you were away, Bailey retired and moved to Florida.”

She relaxed. “I know. I sent him a card.”

“And we brought in a new asset manager from the main branch, a woman named Brooke Harlow. She made some changes in her department. She had orders from the home office to improve her bottom line.”

Nina’s heart faltered. “She’s still going to honor my contract, right?”

“Rest assured, that contract is considered a valuable part of the package. You have a fantastic reputation. No question you’re the best general manager for the job.”

“Why doesn’t this sound so good to me, Shane?” she asked.

“Well, actually, it could be very good. The Inn at Willow Lake has been sold, and your contract with it.”

She turned again and scowled at him. “Not funny.”

“I’m not telling you to be funny. It’s just something that happened.”

“It can’t happen.” Yet the churning of her stomach told her that indeed, it could. “I expected the bank to give me the option to buy the place as soon as I’m able to qualify for a loan.”

“I’m sure you knew it was a possibility that the bank would divest itself of the property if a buyer came along.”

“But Mr. Bailey said—”

“I’m sorry, Nina. That’s what happened.”

She’d been aware of the risk. She’d known it when she signed her contract, but Mr. Bailey had told her the possibility was highly unlikely. As soon as Nina qualified for a small-business loan, she would be in a position to buy the place.

The Inn at Willow Lake. Sold.

For a few moments, she couldn’t get her mind around the reality. It just seemed like such a foreign concept. Of course the inn would be sold one day—to her. That had always been the plan.

“Anyway,” Shane went on, ignoring the fact that every word that came out of his mouth was another hammer blow, “it belongs to someone else now. You won’t believe who the buyer is.”

Nina Romano felt something snap inside her. This clueless man, this spray-skirt-wearing lousy kisser, was sitting there informing her that her entire future, the one thing she had counted on to fill her life now that Sonnet was gone, had been taken away. It was too much.

“Hey, are you all right?” he asked.

Not the smartest question to ask an Italian-American woman with steam coming out of her ears.

Nina’s body was not her own. As though possessed by demons, she reared up in the kayak and went for his throat.

Two

“Isn’t it a bit early in the season for swimming?” Brooke Harlow asked Greg Bellamy.