“That’s true. I’m not complaining about my life—it’s been great. I don’t really want to do anything else. But I can see how some people would think it’s too restrictive and stifling.” Pete, for example.
“Like your ex?” Aaron asked, eerily echoing her thought.
She shrugged. “I guess you understand. Since you work for your family, too.”
He cleared his throat. “Um—actually, I don’t work for the agency.”
“You don’t?”
“No.” Taking a deep breath, as though he wasn’t quite sure how she would respond, he gave her a succinct summary of his current state of unemployment. “I was doing pretty well in commercial real estate, but I hated it,” he concluded. “I figure there’s got to be something better suited to me, even if I haven’t found it yet.”
“Oh.”
“But I’m still keeping an eye on you-know-who for you,” he assured her with a glance in the direction of Cabin Seven. “And I’ve got Andrew looking into him. To a point, of course. We’re skirting the line as it is without more to go on than your feeling that something is hinky.”
She nodded slowly. “I know. Like I said, it was just a hunch. I wouldn’t want to get you or Andrew into any trouble. So, you aren’t going to work for the agency now?”
“No.” As uncertain as he’d been about his next career pursuit, he sounded adamant enough on that point. “Working for family just isn’t my thing. Way too many people around who feel free to observe and comment on everything I do.”
She wondered if Aaron’s confession explained some of the tension she’d sensed between him and Andrew. Was Andrew pressuring Aaron to work for the agency? Or otherwise criticizing his brother’s choices? She wouldn’t ask, of course, but she was definitely curious.
As if he’d grown tired of this line of conversation, Aaron started gathering the remains of their dinner. “How about a walk along the riverbank to work off our dinner before we dive into dessert?”
She rose with a smile, pushing any more questions to the back of her mind. “That sounds nice.”
Aaron held out his hand to her and she hesitated only a split second before placing hers into it.
Just playing his part, she reminded herself as his long fingers curled warmly around hers. And he certainly played it well.
* * *
Daylight was fading, clouds beginning to gather in preparation for the rain that was predicted for later that night. But for now it was dry and comfortable, with a steady breeze from the emptying lake. Aaron could feel the promise of rain in the air. Still holding Shelby’s hand in his right, he pushed his left hand through his wind-tossed hair, picking his way carefully down the rocky bank from the cabin to the water. Waves generated by a passing motorboat lapped lightly against the shore, licking at the soles of his sneakers.
Shelby turned her face to the breeze, not even trying to restrain the curls that danced around her shoulders. “It’s getting cooler,” she murmured.
“Wind’s blowing the rain this way.”
“We can use the rain. It keeps the fire risk down.”
He chuckled. “As long as it’s not stormy. A light rain isn’t bad when you’re sleeping in a tent, but it can get pretty damp in a downpour.”
“That sounds like the voice of experience.”
“I’ve spent a few soggy nights shivering in a wet sleeping bag.”
“Even though I’ve lived my entire life here in the resort, I don’t think I’ve ever spent the night in a wet sleeping bag. Sounds miserable.”
“Oh, I usually managed to have a good time, anyway.”
“I’ll just bet you did,” Shelby murmured.
He winked at her. Unbidden, an image came to his mind—himself snuggled in a tent with Shelby while rain fell gently on the canvas above them. Flickering lantern light would play beautifully over her pretty face, and bring out the gold in her blond curls. Her tanned shoulders would gleam softly—as would the rest of her when he took his time exploring every inch.
She wiggled her fingers in his. “Ouch.”
Immediately he loosened his grip. “Sorry,” he said gruffly. “Guess I let my attention wander.”
She bent to pick up a small, flat rock. “Steven and I spent hours skipping rocks when we were kids, seeing who could achieve the most skips or the farthest distance. Everything was a competition between us, and there were always prizes for the winners—I’d have to take his turn doing dishes or he’d have to take mine folding clothes.”