Sweet Hearts (The Lindstroms Book 3) Page 8

  Katrin could hear the firehouse band three doors down practicing. There would be a Memorial Day concert in the town park tonight at six. After supper with Erik, Katrin had promised to meet José and Gabrielle for the concert. She still wasn’t a hundred percent comfortable going places by herself, so she’d decided to ask Erik to walk her to the park. Logically, she knew that Wade wasn’t a threat up here, but try telling that to the heart that had been threatened with the word “kill.”

  Katrin and Erik had exchanged several texts during the week, all kind and solicitous, but without a hint of the teasing, flirty banter she had enjoyed last Sunday after he drove away. He texted her in the evenings, at bedtime mostly, to touch base, and he always signed off the same: “Söta drömmar,” which meant “Sweet dreams” in Swedish and which made her tummy flutter as she turned off her light before bed. Indeed her dreams had become sweeter and sweeter since moving to Skidoo Bay.

  She’d be lying if she said she didn’t think about Erik a lot. Even though Katrin had been an “I do” away from marriage six months ago, she was relatively inexperienced, having only dated Wade Doyle her entire life. But, even when she sifted back through her memories of those first days of dating Wade, she didn’t remember it feeling anywhere near as exciting as the only day she’d ever spent with Erik Lindstrom. She had relived the moments of their recent meeting many times over the course of the week—daydreaming about him calling her “min Älskling” that first amazing time, his body behind hers in her bedroom, his thumb rubbing her palm on the stairs almost hypnotically.

  She was asking for trouble in setting her sights on Erik. After all, Ingrid had made it clear Erik was a well-known player and Erik, himself, had been very clear about his lack of interest in anything resembling a healthy, mature adult relationship. She snorted, remembering his words: “I guess that’s okay for some guys, but not me. I’m not one. Romantic. I’m not. I don’t really even, you know, commit.” No, Erik, but if your actions tell me anything, they tell me you wouldn’t mind a little fooling around.

  Katrin frowned. She wasn’t a no-strings-attached sort of girl, and she wasn’t the type to fool around without a commitment. It’s not like she was a virgin, of course, but Katrin thought of herself as a “good girl”—the marrying kind—and consummating her relationship with Wade before marriage had always weighed heavy on her heart. She had lost her virginity to Wade the year she lost her father.

  In her grief, she had turned to him in pain, and sharing her body with him had seemed like the most comforting thing to do. But, in the end, it hadn’t comforted her; she had been plagued with thoughts of her father’s deep, intense disappointment in her as he watched her from Heaven.

  And as what felt like punishment for her loose morals, Katrin had become pregnant, which had resulted in an impromptu marriage proposal that she never should have accepted but felt compelled by shame. She had lost the baby a week later, but the ring, like a shackle, like penance, was already soldered around her finger, and staying with Wade felt like the only way to make cosmic amends for her waywardness.

  Her mother and Ing had both called to check up on her this week, and both had mentioned run-ins with Wade. He had banged on her mother’s door on Wednesday night, three days after Katrin left, demanding to know where Katrin was. Her car was in the garage, he screamed, in a drunken rant, she hadn’t been to work in three days. Lisabet Svenson had called the police, and as they were tucking Wade’s head into the cruiser, her mother had confronted him, informing him that if he ever showed up on her doorstep again, she would press charges.

  Wade had tried a softer, albeit creepier, approach with Ingrid later in the week, finding her at the community playground on Friday morning and sitting down on a bench beside her, uninvited, as she watched Anna play beside another toddler in the sandbox. Ingrid said he looked like hell, but that she didn’t think he was drunk. He spoke too coherently to be on a bender.

  “Where’s Kat?” he had asked, calmly, staring at the children playing in the sand.

  “You need help, Wade.”

  “You tell me right the fuck now,” he snarled. “Where the hell is Katrin?”

  Ingrid had gotten up off the bench, picked up Anna from the sandbox, and stood before the still-seated Wade, with her baby safely on her hip. “She’s gone, Wade. She’s not coming back. So, you let it alone now. Get some help, you’re a mess.”

  Ingrid had turned to leave but Wade jumped up, putting his hand on her shoulder roughly. Ingrid said she hadn’t turned to face him, but had demanded he take his hand off her, or she’d scream. He had removed his hand and she hurried to her car, not looking back, courage wearing thin.

  “My training’s only going to help me so much if I’m holding Anna and trying to protect her,” she had explained, alluding to the defensive training she had learned in the military. “But, if he ever comes at me when I’m alone, he’ll regret it.”

  Wade hadn’t been back to Lisabet’s place after that, and neither Ingrid nor Kristian had seen hide nor hair of him since Friday. Katrin knew Wade would probably be spiraling even farther downward now, and she was sorry that her family had to deal with these threatening and upsetting confrontations. She hoped that Wade would accept that she was gone and give up on her sooner rather than later.

  As for Katrin, her fears were slipping away, and she was starting to trust her surroundings. Wade felt farther and farther away, and Katrin hated herself for wasting all that time in Choteau putting up with his behavior. Out of habit, she would still think of her life in the “Wade timeline” sometimes and wonder if they’d have been pregnant again by now. She thought of her cumbersome, pregnant body trying to help her drunken husband into the back of their car when she went to pick him up at one of the local bars, and she’d shudder, grateful to be in Skidoo. Mostly she felt sorry for Wade, as she would for anyone on the road to certain destruction, and she wished that he could get help and recover his life, find a new path, be happy.

  More and more she was able to divert her thoughts of Wade entirely, though, and she was grateful for the distraction Erik Lindstrom provided.

  Erik, so different from Wade, so tall and blond and protective…and unavailable. So unavailable, in fact, that it made him the safest possible person to moon over as she lay in her bed that week looking forward to today, remembering the heat between them.

  Harmless mooning aside, she had firmly resolved that she and Erik must just stay friends, despite her potential to fall for him, and his possible interest in something purely physical with her. With their families as entwined as they were, a fling—rife for complications and confusion—was absolutely impossible, and she knew it.

  On one hand, she pouted. If he weren’t so handsome and kind, it would be easier to keep him in the friend zone, easier to see him as nothing more than a brotherly friend.

  On the other, she pulled up her big girl pants. Don’t be an idiot, Katrin. He’s not for you, so you keep him in the friend zone. Anything other than looking at Erik, is only asking for trouble, and you don’t need any after what you’ve been through. You just think of him like Sam or Kristian. Like family.

  And she told herself that if she weakened in the presence of his handsome, funny kindness, she should remember that her days of bad decisions with men were behind her, dying a swift death when she’d escaped from Wade. Erik had made it entirely clear he wasn’t interested in relationships. And she wasn’t the sort of girl who just fooled around without one.

  She sat up and adjusted her sunglasses, smoothing out her white long-sleeved cotton cable knit sweater, and crossing her legs. She was admiring her new flip-flops when his car approached and without thinking, her face exploded into a grin as she jumped up to greet him, running over to his window to say hello.

  ***

  In the week they’d spent apart, Erik had done a number on his head, seriously readjusting his image of Katrin Svenson from last Sunday afternoon, and brainwashing himself until he believed her plainer, less interesting
and more vulnerable than he’d found her last weekend.

  He had started by reasoning with himself that getting involved with her was a recipe for disaster. Katrin wasn’t some anonymous tourist whom he could bed and forget, as Ingrid had helpfully pointed out. She was family by extension: his brother-in-law’s cousin. And he didn’t want to risk friction between him and Sam, and—by extension—Jenny. He couldn’t risk being at odds with his siblings; he loved them too much. So, first and foremost, it was important to remember that she was Sam’s Cousin.

  He thought about her recent heartbreak too, being left at the altar by her drunkard, stalker boyfriend, and honestly he had no interest in doing anything that could harm her delicate spirit, poor thing. It was obvious she’d been through the wringer, and he wasn’t up for some super emotional, vulnerable girl getting attached to him. He’d end up hurting the poor dear. She needed his kindness and sympathy more than anything else, poor girl. So, any sparks he’d felt around Katrin were doused mercilessly until she was Sam’s Cousin, Poor Little Thing.

  He’d concentrated on how she’d looked when he met her at Ingrid’s house. She wasn’t really that pretty—she was unkempt, plain and skinny. More than skinny, her delicate frame had become so small and frail in his head that he could almost think of her as a wizened old lady, prematurely aged by the evil intentions of her dastardly fiancé, not unlike old Mrs. Havisham in his favorite novel, Great Expectations. He concentrated on those thick glasses and greasy hair, and tried to remember her in that sloppy sweatshirt. Whatever attraction or possessiveness he’d felt for her had been ultimately mashed and mangled in his head until it resembled no more than brotherly protectiveness for Sam’s Plain Cousin, Poor Little Thing.

  Revising his opinion of Katrin didn’t mean he took his promise to Ing lightly. In fact, thinking of that piteous, frail little thing with a broken heart, so depressed and homely, he felt beholden to look after her as he would a shut-in aunt or an injured child.

  He texted Katrin in the evenings to keep a cord of communication open with her, just in case she needed anything, even signing off with the benign and fatherly “Sweet Dreams” in Swedish to be sure she understood his interest in her was no more than familial. He thought of it as a way of patting her on the head daily, letting her know she had family nearby.

  As he pulled into the driveway in front of the clinic, the first thing he noticed was the hot blonde sitting on the front steps. It took him an extra second to realize it was Katrin.

  Poor Erik. Poor thing.

  All that good, hard work was lost in the space of three seconds as inconvenient, unwanted feelings came rushing back, making his blood race hot and vibrant through his body, making his skin tingle and his cheeks turn pink, his eyes narrow with the force of his attraction to her. In three seconds, he was right back where he was when he left her a week ago.

  Her hair was golden and shiny, falling around her shoulders in blonde waves, and she used her sunglasses as a hair band to pull it back from her face. The jeans she was wearing seemed a little more filled out than the last time he had seen her a week ago, making her luscious ass as pert and distracting as ever. And was it his imagination, or were her breasts a little fuller under that tight, white, V-neck sweater that just brushed the top of her jeans, teasing him with a brief peek at her flat, pale tummy when she jumped up from the stairs?

  As she got closer, he could see her lips were light pink and glossy, and silver bracelets on her tiny wrist made a cheerful clinking sound as she moved, which she did, from the porch stairs to his car window in a graceful little sprint, until there she was, right beside him, peeking her not-at-all-plain face into his car, little fingers holding onto the window frame.

  His whole body tightened in response to being near her again and he suppressed a groan.

  Lord help me if Dr. Love has anything at all to do with your beautiful smile.

  Lord help him.

  “Älskling,” he whispered, lowering his sunglasses slowly, taking in her pretty hair and bright cerulean eyes up close, and trying to remember how to breathe.

  My God, I am in trouble.

  “Erik! You’re here.”

  “I’m here.” Those dimples. His breath came out in a low whistle. “Skidoo Bay agrees with you.”

  “I guess so, Minste.” She stepped away so he could get out of the car, pushing her hands into her back pockets, which drew her shoulders back and thrust her chest forward. He stared desperately at her eyes.

  Oh, man. Please quit it with that, or I’m not going to be able to stay focused on your face.

  He shook his head to clear it and got out of the car, leaning back against his door.

  She looked him up and down quickly then raised her eyebrows lightly with a teasing smile. “Looks like Kalispell agrees with you, too.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Well, we survived our first week apart, huh?” Katrin looked a little surprised, and Erik stumbled to clarify his meaning. “Apart from our families. From home. From our homes.” She gave him a cock-eyed grin, and he swallowed uncomfortably, looking up at the clinic building. “So…Donde está Don Juan?”

  “José? I don’t know. He’s around here somewhere. Want me to get him? So you can say hello?”

  “No!” he blurted out. Sassy little thing. “I mean, no need to bother him. Maybe I’ll say hey later when I bring you home.”

  “Sure.” She grinned. “So! What’s the plan?”

  How about we go up to your room and spend the afternoon in your bed? How about that could be the plan?

  “Take a stroll? Sunday supper?”

  She nodded. “Sounds good. I promised to meet José for the concert in the park at six.”

  Ouch. That stung. “Wow, really packing us in back-to-back, huh? Hope I’m not cramping your style, Kat.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Dinner with me, concert with him? Who’s your eight o’clock date, Alley Kat?”

  “You’re rude!” She slapped his arm playfully. “It’s not a date. Paca—er, Gabrielle will be there too, so it’s more like a work thing.”

  Work thing. Yeah. He pictured José in his white, muscle t-shirt from last week, and felt his jaw get tight. Oh, I’m sure he’s working it.

  She raised her eyebrows again and put her hands in her pockets. “Anyway, this isn’t a date, is it, Erik? Just family friends having a bite. Basically, your weekly reconnaissance mission for Ingrid, right?”

  He looked down, kicking the dirt with a beat-up topsider.

  I have no idea.

  If she had asked him twenty minutes ago, he would have said Yes, just checking on poor, plain little Katrin for Ingrid, and it would have been the truth. But, looking at her now, so vibrant and pretty? The only certain truth was that he wanted to take her hand and spend the rest of the afternoon lost in her. Beyond that, he was lost.

  Avoiding her eyes, Erik reached out tentatively, gently brushing her hip with his knuckles as he pulled at her wrist, slipping his fingers through hers once her hand was free of her pocket. She didn’t say anything or resist him, but he noticed it took a moment before her fingers relaxed and the tips folded over to meet his knuckles. Only then did he look up at her face.

  Her eyes were serious at first but softened with a shy smile, tilting her head to the side, as if she were trying to figure him out.

  “Can we just—” he started, and then stopped.

  Can we just what? Can we just hold hands and do anything else that comes naturally without any labels or promises or expectations? Can we forget that our families are connected through blood and marriage? Can we just absolutely not get involved romantically with one another even though I can barely think straight when I’m around you, I want you so much? Can we just do and not think?

  No. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t possible. No, Erik. You can’t. He looked down, loosening his grip on her hand.

  Katrin didn’t pull her hand back as he expected her to. She tightened her grip
and squeezed his hand gently. He looked at her in surprise. She wasn’t smiling, but both dimples were caved in, which meant that she was holding one back.

  “It’s okay, Minste.” Her voice was a whisper, a reassuring murmur.

  Relief flooded through him, followed by something else; some new feeling that he couldn’t put his finger on. It was a good feeling, a little like gratitude, like he wasn’t losing ground, but maybe giving a little away because he wanted to. He grinned at her, curling his fingers back around her hand.

  “Supper?” he asked.

  “That is what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

  Among other things, he admitted to himself. “You know a place?”

  “I know a place. Come on.”

  She tugged on his hand, and he willingly followed.

  ***

  There was no way Katrin was going to let go of his hand once she had taken it, because that thing that always happened between them when they touched had already happened, and it felt too good to let go of him. It was like their bodies recognized each other, in spite of their short acquaintance, like their bodies were magnets, drawn to one another with a fierce attraction.

  They settled at an outdoor table in Katrin’s favorite spot in Skidoo Bay, an upscale bistro with an eclectic menu, called Collage. From where they sat, on a small deck adjacent to the main dining room, they had a terrific view of an inlet of Flathead Lake, and the bridge beyond that went over a byway connecting the inlet to the larger lake. Behind them was a large, fir-covered hill, and in the distance the snowcapped Rockies rose up into the still-blue late-afternoon sky.

  “I haven’t had dinner here yet,” she confided, smiling. “But, I have come twice for a cup of coffee with Gabrielle. Once we just chatted and wrote postcards, and once we brought books and caught up on our reading. The view of the lake…it’s pretty, isn’t it?”

  “Pretty. Yes.” He sipped his water, staring at her. “What’re you reading?”

  “Re-reading, actually. My favorites are comforting. Persuasion the first half of the week and now I’m halfway through Mansfield Park.”