Читать книгу Sharing Spaces - Nadia Nichols - Страница 9

BY THE TIME THE CARIBOU STEAKS had thawed in their cold-water bath, Senna had done a fairly competent job of cleaning the kitchen, a mandatory task before undertaking supper preparations. While she scrubbed and swept, Jack corralled the trash left behind in the aftermath of her grandfather’s wake. He filled four big trash bags with beer cans, bottles and other various and assorted rubbish. Senna regretted not having time to wash the windows, but there were two more weeks of tomorrows to get everything accomplished before she returned to Maine. She stood at the sink gazing out at the lake, the waters sparkling golden at sunset, shimmering like a vast molten ocean of fire. She spotted the dark silhouette of a pair of loons just beyond the dock and was watching them, hands submerged in hot soapy dish water, when Jack’s voice startled her from behind.

“Charles and Diana,” he said, looking over her shoulder. “They nest on an island not far from here, and every year they raise two or three chicks. Just about every night of the summer, the admiral would walk out on the dock, smoke his pipe, and listen to the two of them call back and forth.”

He was standing so near that when she turned her head to speak she almost hit her chin on his shoulder. Her heart thumped as she looked up at him. “Are we talking about the same man?”

“The one and only Admiral Stuart Anderson McCallum.”

“Charles and Diana?”

“You’re the wedding planner. You should get that part pretty easy.” He continued to stand so close that she could smell the warm scent of his skin, which was one-hundred-percent masculine. No aftershave or cologne for this down-to-earth woodsman.

“As I recall,” Senna commented, her hands still submerged in the dishpan, “Charles and Diana were divorced.”

“But the early days were like a fairy tale. C’mon, admit it. Every girl dreams of a royal courtship like that.”

“How would you know?” Senna said.

“My ex-wife was a big fan of Princess Diana.”

“Is that why you named the loons after the royal couple?”

“Your grandfather named them. He said the pair had a formal look to them, a kind of pomp and circumstance that befit a royal family. And the way those two talk to each other sometimes, it’s like they know all the tragedies the future holds for them.”

Senna looked back out the window, flustered by his nearness. “Maybe they do,” she said softly.

“Think I have time for a quick shower before supper?” Jack asked, leaning over the sink for a closer look at the loons and brushing his shoulder against hers. Accident? She doubted it. John Hanson possessed enough arrogance to keep ten men puffed up and strutting around like roosters.

“Yes, plenty,” Senna said, focusing on scrubbing a plate and breathing, two mundane tasks that had suddenly become extremely difficult. She wished he wouldn’t stand so close, and when she felt him move away and heard his footsteps climbing the stairs she glanced over her shoulder with a frown. Was he planning on making a pass at her tonight? After all, they’d be sleeping under the same roof and sharing the same living spaces for the next two weeks. He probably thought if he seduced her, he could change her mind about selling her half of the business…as if she’d ever allow that to happen!

Senna rinsed the plate and put it in the dish rack with a sudden twinge of guilt. She’d forgotten to call her mother. She’d promised to let her know the moment she arrived and now it was almost eight o’clock. She wiped her hands on the dish towel, retrieved her cell phone from the rental car and walked out onto the dock to give herself the best wide-open shot at reception before dialing. Nothing happened. No call went through. The little screen on the cell phone’s face said, “No Signal” and the tiny bar codes that indicated the signal strength didn’t even begin to register. She tried several more times before giving up.

Damn! She’d have to drive clear into North West River just to call her mother to let her know she was okay. She entered the house at the same time Jack was descending the stairs and they met head-on. “That was a mighty quick shower,” she said, taken aback by the suddenness of his appearance. He’d shaved, nicking himself in a couple of spots. His hair was damp and disheveled. He was wearing a reasonably clean set of clothes along the same lines as the original—jeans, undershirt with a flannel shirt pulled over, unbuttoned down the front and sleeves rolled back He looked virile and disturbingly handsome.

“Mighty quick and mighty cold,” he agreed amiably. “You used up every last drop of hot water cleaning the kitchen.”

“Oh!” Senna felt her cheeks burn. “I’m sorry….”

“Don’t be. The kitchen looks great.” He glanced at the cell phone she held. “Were you trying to call someone?”

“Yes,” Senna said. She kept recalling the heart-stopping sight of that mountain lion she’d seen, that wild, powerful symbol of strength and grace that reminded her so much of Jack Hanson.

“Why not use the house phone?” Jack asked, one eyebrow raised. “You’ll get a helluva lot better reception. Cell phones don’t work here. No towers.”

“I didn’t know there was a regular phone.”

“In the living room on the end table.”

“If there’s a phone, where are the phone lines? I saw no telephone poles for the last half mile of road.”

“Underground cable. The admiral didn’t like the idea of wires strung everywhere. The electric and phone cable was expensive, but considering the wild storms we get up here on the Labrador, it was a good idea.”

“I see.” Senna stared at him for a moment more, unable to help herself. He possessed an animal magnetism that was stronger than anything she’d ever encountered. “Supper will be a little late. I’ll get started right after this phone call.”

He nodded, brushing past her on his way to the kitchen. He smelled faintly of soap, and the residual scents of wood smoke and mosquito repellent that clung to his clothing. He smelled good.

Senna wandered into the living room, the next room on her cleaning agenda. It was a masculine room whose focal point was a big stone fireplace flanked by deep bookshelves. The wall of large windows overlooked the lake, and the comfortable rustic furnishings were well suited to the lake house’s character. She located the phone and sank down on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her as she lifted the receiver. Moments later she was speaking to her mother, who was anxious to hear about everything. Senna heard the screen door bang and craned to look out the window. She spied Jack walking out toward the dock, Chilkat by his side. Good. He wouldn’t overhear.

She abruptly interrupted their staid conversation about legal matters and as quickly as she could she filled her mother in on the true state of her grandfather’s Labrador affairs. “This is going to be much more complicated than I expected, given the fact that everything was co-owned in a full business partnership,” Senna concluded. “Tomorrow Jack’s flying me out to see the lodge. I only hope it’s in good repair and won’t take too long to sell.”

“What’s he like?” her mother asked.

“Jack? Oh, he’s okay, I guess, a little younger than I expected….”

“Why doesn’t he just buy out your grandfather’s half of the business?”

“He told me the banks wouldn’t look twice at him.”

“You hardly know this man, Senna. Do you think he’s safe to fly with?”

“Mom, don’t worry. I have a feeling he’s a very good pilot. I’ll call you tomorrow night. Right now I have to get supper started. I promised I’d cook if he showed me how to tend the sled dogs.”

“Sled dogs?”

“Huskies. The real thing. Twenty of them.”

“Goodness. Senna, Tim called. He tried to reach you at your apartment and got worried when he couldn’t. I told him about your grandfather dying and that you had to go to Labrador. He sounds pretty down.”

“I’ll call him. Bye, Mom. Love you.” Senna sat for a moment after hanging up and then dialed Tim’s number, peering out the window once again while the call went through. Jack was doing something with the airplane. The door was open and he was inside. Good, twice over. She especially didn’t want him to hear this conversation.

Tim answered on the third ring. “I’m sorry I bothered your mother, but I was worried,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“Fine. My grandfather’s death was unexpected and he named me as his executor. I’ll probably be here for two weeks settling his estate. It’s very beautiful and remote country.”

“I can imagine,” he commented. “They probably still travel by dog team there.” After an awkward pause, he said, “How’s everything going?”

“As well as can be expected. My grandfather owned half shares in a business that includes a lake house, a fishing lodge and an airplane, which complicates things. Somehow I have to find a buyer for his shares. How are things with you?”

“Okay. I landed that big account I’ve been working on. Ameri-Dyne. You know, the huge dental practice off Forest Ave.”

“Wow, that’s great news, Tim,” she said. “Congratulations. I know how hard you’ve been working for that.” Senna caught a flash of movement outside the window and saw Jack and Chilkat walking toward the house. “Tim? I have to go. I have a meeting with my grandfather’s business partner.”

“I miss you, Senna. Let me know if you need anything at all,” he said, sounding forlorn.

“I will,” she promised.

Senna was sick with guilt as she attacked supper preparations in the kitchen. Sooner or later Tim would realize that their relationship was over. But that didn’t ease the pain he was feeling now, and she was the cause of it. He adored her. Was she wrong to break things off? Why couldn’t she love him the way he loved her? Senna gave herself a mental shake. This was no time to be dwelling on her relationship with Tim. She had a meal to prepare. Caribou steaks, russet potatoes scrounged from a musty sack of sprouting spuds she found in a lower cupboard, and canned corn. In the refrigerator she unearthed two sticks of butter, several fist-sized chunks of mold that might once have been vegetables, endless half-empty jars of condiments and a container of very sour milk. This wouldn’t pass for a gourmet meal by any standards, but Senna realized as she slipped the scrubbed potatoes into the oven that such standards no longer mattered. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was ravenous.

By the time Jack wandered into the house, carrying what looked like a shapeless snarl of nylon webbing, things were reasonably under control. “It’ll be another forty-five minutes,” she called out as he dropped into a chair in the living room, the webbing in his lap, and began threading a large curved needle from a spool of dental floss. “I hope you can wait that long.”

“That’s just about right,” he replied, concentrating as he drew the floss through the needle. “Mending these harnesses will probably take that long or better.” He picked up a piece of webbing that had been chewed in half and lit a match to melt the ragged ends before beginning to stitch the harness back together. “So,” he said, jabbing the needle into the thick webbing. “Have you given any thought to keeping your share of the business?”

Senna moved toward the living room, crossed her arms in front of her and leaned against the door frame. “No. I mean, yes, I have, but no, I don’t want to own half of a fishing lodge, thank you very much. Don’t you have a friend or relative who might be interested in buying my grandfather’s share?”

“Nope.” He drew the floss through the harness, pulled the thread tight and cast a brief glance in her direction. “There aren’t that many people out there as crazy as the admiral and me. What about your brothers? You have two of them, don’t you?”

“Yes. Billy’s a computer programmer for a large engineering firm in Boston, and Bryce is a market analyst living in New York City.”

“Do they fish?”

“No, nor are they or their wives particularly outdoorsy.”

His shoulders slumped. “That explains it, then.”

“Explains what?”

“Why the admiral named you as his executor. You were his last great hope.”

Senna felt a flush of anger heat her blood. “Are you certain the banks won’t loan you the money?”

“I’ve already looked into it. Even if the bank appraisal came in high enough, there’s no surety there. I don’t have a steady job, and the fishing lodge hasn’t generated any income yet. I’d have to have a co-signor to get any sort of mortgage, and I can’t think of a soul on earth who’d be crazy enough to co-sign a loan for me.” He paused for a moment, needle poised in mid-air, eyes fixed on a point somewhere between Senna and Baffin Island, then shook his head in a gesture of defeat and returned his attention to mending the harness.

“Why did my grandfather keep sled dogs?” Senna asked, abruptly changing the subject to avoid further jabs from Hanson.

“He liked them. He met a trapper from a village near Mud Lake who was selling his team. The admiral bought the dogs, the komatik and a bunch of traps. He decided he was going to make some money on furs.”

Senna felt a twist of revulsion as she pictured the pained and frightened creatures caught in the steel leg-hold traps. “I think trapping’s cruel and awful and ought to be outlawed.”

Jack uttered a short laugh. “So did he, after about a month of it. It was brutal work. The snow here is so damn deep and unpackable that the dogs had to swim through it hauling that heavy sled. The admiral would try to break the trail on snowshoes, but he couldn’t keep ahead of the team. The leaders would run up on the tails of his shoes and he’d pitch head first into the snow. So he recruited me as his trail breaker, but my trapping career spanned less than a day. I tell you what, it’s not easy getting out of deep snow when you fall facefirst into it. A couple of times I was sure I was going to suffocate.”

“Did my grandfather ever catch anything?”

“Pneumonia, after one particularly grueling night out. Then he ran into some folks who were touring on snowmobiles. They asked if they could have a ride on the dogsled, so the admiral gave them a ride. They gave him a couple of hundred bucks for his efforts, and that was the end of his trapping adventures. He sold the traps, advertised dogsled rides at the airport and in some local stores at Goose Bay and pretty soon the phone began to ring. That’s why he kept the dogs.” Jack paused with a faint grin. “Well, that’s not the entire reason. He kept them because he came to love them, and believe it or not, that brutish pack felt the same way about him.”

Senna tried to picture the admiral mushing a team of huskies down an arctic trail, clad in mukluks and a fur parka, but she couldn’t. Nor could she imagine him stroking the head of a dog with genuine affection. It was as if Jack were talking about a complete stranger. She was beginning to realize just how little she knew about her own grandfather. “Are there any pictures?”

Jack paused. “Goody has some, I think, and I have a few. Mostly fishing pictures, a few winter shots of the dog teams. The pictures your grandfather took were of wildlife. Wolves, in particular. He was fascinated by them. But if you want mushing pictures, you’ll have to dig through his papers. The admiral must have stashed some here, somewhere, probably in his desk. That’s where he kept all the important stuff. He did his writing there, too.”

“Writing?” Yet another surprise.

“He kept a journal,” Jack said, concentrating on his stitching. “He wrote in long hand into a spiral notebook every night.”

Senna imagined that the entries would be terse and to the point. Rained today. Worked on chimney. Beans for supper. That sort of thing. Still, maybe she’d get lucky. Maybe he’d bared his soul and explained why the heck he’d named her as his executor. She would read his journal when she found it, every last word. But what was she supposed to do with all his personal belongings, his clothes, the pictures on the walls. Have a yard sale? That seemed so callous, so unfeeling. Maybe an open house would be a better idea, inviting all the admiral’s friends to choose what they might want after Jack had taken what he wanted. She should, after all, give her grandfather’s business partner and closest friend first dibs.

Odd that the admiral hadn’t left anything to Jack. He could have given him his half of the business and made Senna’s job much easier, but all he’d written in his will, in neat, black ink, were two sentences. The first sentence stated, To my granddaughter, Senna McCallum, I leave all my worldly goods for her to dispose of as she sees fit. And the second; To my business partner and friend, John William Hanson, I bequeath memories of many good times shared, and hopes for even better times in the future.

How odd that he would trust her to dispose of his worldly goods as she saw fit. The admiral hadn’t thought anything she’d done to be “fit” in her entire life. As Senna pondered the relative whose blood ran through her veins, a bitter memory surfaced, one that illustrated the relationship she and her grandfather had shared. Tim had accompanied her to her father’s funeral. They’d only just begun dating and he was sweet to be so supportive during that terrible time, but her grandfather hadn’t missed the opportunity to take her aside during the family gathering held afterward at her mother’s house. “I certainly hope you’re not planning to marry that one,” he’d said in his stern and judgmental way.

“He was kind of religious about it,” Jack said, startling her back to the present.

“About what?” Senna asked.

“Writing in his journal. He’d spend an hour or so at that desk every night.” Jack had stopped stitching the harness as he spoke and was gazing across the room at the admiral’s desk as if he were seeing the old man sitting there, writing, or pacing in front of the window, smoking his pipe. “He never said much about his life, and I never asked, but I have a feeling it’s all there, in that journal.”

Senna straightened, glanced over at the massive old desk, and moved toward it. There were three deep drawers on either side and she opened the top left hand one, spying a book, but not a spiral notebook. She lifted the leather-bound ledger, embossed with gold lettering across the front: Wolf River Lodge, with a logo of a howling wolf engraved beneath it. She laid the ledger on the desk and opened it. It was a reservation book for the fishing lodge. She flipped through the empty pages until she reached the month of June and then she paused. From the last week in June on, there were names written into six of the spaces for each and every day.

She turned the pages into July and August, swiftly scanning the names, the phone numbers jotted next to them, the addresses scribbled below. People from all over the United States. People from England and France and Germany. One party from Australia was booked for three weeks solid. The bookings petered out in September, and then from November on there were occasional reservations. She supposed that was for the dogsledding, but she wasn’t sure. She closed the book and stood with her hand atop it for a moment, then picked it up and moved to where Jack worked on the harnesses.

“You said the lodge wasn’t ready yet?”

He glanced up, saw that she held the reservation book, and shook his head. “Not quite, but the majority of the work is done, there’s just a bunch of small stuff left, and about a ton of supplies to be flown in.”

“Some of these guests are scheduled to arrive just two weeks from now….”

“I know.” A look of pride crossed his face. “We’re practically booked for the summer.”

“Now that the admiral’s dead, how’s that going to work, exactly?”

“I’ll get the hired help in there right away to get the lodge ready, get the rest of the provisions flown in, find another fishing guide or two, and give ’er hell all summer long. At least, that’s the plan.”

“What if you’re not ready in time?”

“We will be.”

“Are all these reservations pretty firm?”

“They’ve all paid a deposit, and the deadline’s past for them to cancel. Don’t worry, they’ll show.”

“How much of a deposit did they pay?” Senna asked.

“Half of their stay. A lot of money.” He paused again as if considering his words carefully. “Actually, it’s a damn good thing nobody canceled, because we used all of those advance deposits to finish building the lodge.”

“I see,” she said, standing and cradling the leather reservation book against her chest. “So there is absolutely no buffer in the bank account?”

“No. Matter of fact, the business account is dead empty. The admiral’s life insurance will no doubt cover his cremation fees and legal expenses and some of his medical bills, and maybe it’ll help a lot more than that, but I had to borrow money for the wake. Goody said I could pay her back at the end of the summer.”

“Assuming you go ahead with the start-up, what were you planning to buy the food with, and how are you going to pay the help for the three weeks until the first guests depart and settle up for the balance of what they owe when they do?” Senna asked, steeling herself for the answer.

He hesitated, then jabbed the needle into the webbing again. “I was kind of hoping you’d help out,” he said, talking to the harness to avoid meeting her eyes. “I mean, we’re business partners now, for better or for worse.”

“It’s definitely for worse, and very temporary.” Senna walked back to the desk, returned the ledger to the top drawer and drew a deep breath. She wondered how she was going to juggle this latest bombshell. Was she going to have to use her entire life savings to bail her grandfather’s business out of the red? Might as well beard the giant and find out. “Exactly how much money are we talking about?” she said.

Jack didn’t hesitate. He’d obviously already figured things out. “The way I figure it, including the food and provisions, the diesel fuel for the generator, gas for the boats and the plane, insurance, wages for the employees…maybe ten thousand?”

Senna straightened her spine, raised her chin and drew a steadying breath. “Ten thousand dollars. A mere pittance. Well, I suppose I should start cooking those caribou steaks,” she said, and marched into the kitchen.

JACK LISTENED TO THE SOUNDS of domestic industry coming from the kitchen and set the mended harness aside, pushing to his feet and pacing to the window with the restlessness of a wolf. Although he’d known her scarcely six hours, he sensed that Senna McCallum had the power to destroy him. She was definitely a strong woman. The way she’d just handled that news about the business needing a financial boost had been admirable. She hadn’t batted an eyelash when he told her how much the business needed to get going, and now she was in the kitchen, calmly and considerately cooking supper for him. Clearly she was level-headed and sensible enough to realize that the lodge was worth saving. He only hoped she had enough of a nest egg in the bank to help out.

He returned to his seat and for a few quiet minutes continued stitching up harnesses and then flinched as he heard a series of loud bangs and crashes from the kitchen. The sound of the frying pan hitting the stovetop. The clatter of silverware being flung on the table. Plates hitting the counter hard enough to shatter them. He heard her muttering to herself in angry undertones, and then, very clearly, she said, “You, dog, get out of this kitchen. Go on, I won’t have you sitting there drooling while I cook!”

Chilkat skulked into the living room, casting an offended glance over his shoulder as he did. Just as Jack was about to effect his own escape from the lake house, Senna stalked into the room, brandishing a knife in one hand.

“You really expect me to clean out my savings account to float the start-up of a fishing lodge I have absolutely no interest in?”

“You own a half interest, so the way I see it, you should be at least halfway interested,” Jack corrected. “The only other alternative we have is not to open, and that’ll set you back a whole lot more because then we’d have to refund the advance deposits.”

“Which total exactly how much, dare I ask?”

“Oh, somewhere in the vicinity of thirty thousand dollars, give or take a few thousand.”

“I see.” She whirled around and stalked back into the kitchen. He heard the loud hiss as the caribou steaks hit the hot frying pan. Jack turned once again toward the door, gesturing silently to the dog, but before he could take two steps, she reappeared.

“I think it’s cowardly of you not to have mentioned these financial problems before now,” she said, waving the knife around for emphasis. “What if I don’t have ten thousand dollars?”

“Then we’d better hope the fishing’s good and all of our guests are fish eaters.”

“There are a million details in a start-up operation. You quoted ten grand, but it’ll probably be closer to twice that amount, though I won’t know until I see your set-up. How many guests can you take at a time?”

“The lodge has six guest rooms with two double beds each and can accommodate twelve comfortably, but we’d need more guides to operate at full capacity. By law, there has to be one fishing guide for every two clients.”

“How many employees?”

“Four. A housekeeper, a cook and two guides. Three guides, if I can hire another. Four would be even better.”

“Plus you. That’s seventeen or eighteen people eating three meals a day, seven days a week.”

“That’s about what I figured,” Jack said, nodding.

She spun and returned to the kitchen. More angry noises. Jack gave up on trying to escape. He knew he wouldn’t have time. Sure enough, she burst into the room again, eyes flashing. “And just how long do you think one cook is going to last with no helper and all those meals to prepare and no days off?”

“It’s a short season, barely two, two and a half months. The cook’ll last, and that time will pass in the blink of an eye.” Jack snapped his fingers to emphasize just how fast summers flew by in Labrador. “You might even consider staying on yourself and pitching in. Think of it,” he continued, forging boldly onward in spite of her ominous expression. “In just twelve weeks time, you could easily double or triple what you’d get for your grandfather’s half of the business. You saw the reservation book. We’re going to be busy as hell. By summer’s end, you won’t have any trouble at all getting rid of your shares. It’d be worth your while to wait, and who knows? You might even enjoy spending the summer here and decide not to sell.”

Senna regarded him as if he were crazy and shook her head. “I couldn’t get the time off even if I wanted to take it, which I can assure you I don’t.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to trust me enough to open the lodge and run it. We should be able to clear enough money after two months to keep the bank from foreclosing.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why would the bank foreclose? Is there a mortgage?”

“Construction loan. We’re four months in arrears of making payments on it. The admiral’s medical bills were pretty steep and the insurance payments take forever to come, so we had no choice but to take out a—”

“How big a construction loan?” Her voice was way too quiet.

“Forty thousand,” Jack said, tensing for the explosion, “but we have a three-year pay-back period and a good interest rate.”

Her expression never changed. She just stood for several moments with her hands on her hips, still as a statue. “Now would probably be a really good time for you to tell me you studied hotel management at Cornell,” she said in that same ominously quiet voice, “or graduated top of your class from Johnson and Wales.”

Jack glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen, detecting a whiff of something burning. “Now would probably be an even better time for you to turn those caribou steaks.”

SENNA OVERCOOKED THE CARIBOU and the baked potatoes were equally dry, but the canned corn was heated to perfection. Conversation at the table was limited to such requests as “please pass the salt, the pepper or the butter.” Cutlery scraped on ironstone. Chewing was conducted with matching scowls of intense concentration. Chilkat appeared to be the only attendee enjoying the supper from his hiding place beneath the kitchen table, where, believing he was unobserved, Jack would slip him the toughest pieces of meat. Senna finished what she could and then laid her silverware across her plate. “I’m sorry about the meal.”

“It was great,” Jack said, as if he really meant it. At least he had the good manners to pretend.

Senna dabbed her mouth with a paper towel and cleared her throat. “There is another option for us to consider as far as this partnership goes.” She crumpled the paper towel in her hand and met his wary gaze. “We could have the entire business appraised right down to its individual components. Airplane, fishing lodge, this house, the trucks, the dogs and gear, the workshop. Then we’d divvy it up in such a way that’s fair. That way nothing will be shared jointly, I’ll be able to sell my half much faster and easier, and you’ll own your portion outright. No partner for you to have to deal with. I’ll even give you my half of the plane.”

His response was a firm and immediate “No.”

“You might at least consider it.”

Jack leaned back in his chair with a shake of his head. “Not a happening thing. This place stays just the way the admiral wanted it to be. It doesn’t get hacked to pieces just because you want to run back to Maine with a quick chunk of change. I warned you I wouldn’t make this easy for you, and I won’t. A man’s lifelong dream isn’t just something you try to dispose of in two weeks, even if he is dead. And you might at least consider seeing what he created before you decide you want to get rid of your half.”

“I could petition for partition and force you to divide the property or agree to sell it in its entirety and split the money,” she challenged. “The courts would rule in my favor, especially if they could see the mess you made of this place.”

“The mess you stumbled into was a result of the wake we just held,” he said, rocking forward in his chair and leaning toward her. “And as far as bringing this to court, I’ll fight you tooth and nail. I might not win. Hell, I probably won’t, but I’ll fight you to the bitter end.”

Senna felt her cheeks flush. “Mr. Hanson, I’m not trying to be heartless or greedy. I’m sorry the admiral’s dead, and I’m sorry the two of you didn’t get a chance to run the lodge together after all the work you put into it, but that’s not my fault. I’m just trying to make this as easy as possible for the both of us. Besides, you have no idea what kind of person might buy my half of the business. Maybe you wouldn’t get along. What could be worse than running a fishing lodge you love with someone you hate?” Senna could tell by the look on his face that he wouldn’t be swayed. She heaved a sigh of frustration. “What time are you thinking of leaving tomorrow morning?”

He gave her another wary look. “Leaving?”

“Flying me to see this lodge you plan to turn into a gold mine.”

His expression cleared. “Sun-up.”

“What time does that happen at this latitude?”

“When the sun comes over the eastern end of the lake.” His grin was so unexpected and contagious that in spite of her disgruntled mood Senna very nearly returned it. “You’ll love the place when you see it, guaranteed. You won’t want to sell out, and you won’t want to leave. Better pack your overnight bag.”

“I’ll be ready at sun-up,” she said, rising to her feet and gathering up her plate. “But please understand that I have no intentions of spending the night there, or going into business with you on anything more than an extremely temporary basis.”

Jack’s expression became stony as he matched her cool stare with his own. “I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything different from a wedding planner,” he replied with a dismissive shrug. He pushed out of his chair and left the kitchen before Senna could hurl the plate at him, which was nothing less than his rude and insulting behavior deserved, but if he had been intending to leave the lake house, his escape was cut off by another arrival.

The front door opened even as he was reaching for the door knob and Senna was startled to see a young and somewhat bedraggled-looking boy in his early teens with black, shoulder-length hair standing in the darkened doorway. He wore clothing that looked as if were made of old canvas, and there was a faded red bandana wrapped around his head.

“Good to see you, Charlie,” Jack said. “C’mon in and meet Senna McCallum, the admiral’s granddaughter. You know. The wedding planner. Senna, this is Charlie Blake. I forgot to tell you that Charlie almost always eats supper here. He helps out around the place when he can. Likes working with the huskies.”

“Hello, Charlie,” Senna said, still holding her plate and struggling to control her temper.

The boy gave Senna a brief, inscrutable stare, then held out a book he was carrying. “Finished,” he said.

“Good,” Jack said, retrieving it. “How’d you like it?”

“I liked the part when Captain Ahab got tangled up, and the great white whale dragged him down,” the boy said, solemn-faced.

“Best part of Moby Dick,” Jack agreed.

“It’s nice to meet you, Charlie,” Senna managed after this brief interchange. “Sit down and I’ll get you some supper.”

She began cleaning up the kitchen while Charlie ate and carried on a sporadic conversation with Jack. He began with the book he’d just read, continued with one-sentence subjects she couldn’t quite grasp, and peppered his conversation with words she’d never heard before. By the time she’d finished wiping down the counters, Charlie was getting ready to sack out on the couch. This was apparently also the norm, as he knew exactly where to find two blankets and a pillow stashed inside an old sea chest which also served as the coffee table. A small, black fox-like dog had appeared out of the blue arctic twilight to settle down with him, behaving as though it had been born and raised in that very living room.

Senna hung the dishrag and towel behind the wood stove to dry and took Jack aside before heading upstairs for the night. “Just out of curiosity, is there anyone else who might show up to spend the night?”

“Nope. Just Charlie. But unless you want Chilkat on your bed, better keep your door closed. That damn dog takes up most of the mattress. You’d better go up now. I don’t know what time morning comes in Maine, but in Labrador it comes really, really early.”

“Don’t worry,” Senna said, turning her back on him and starting up the stairs. “I’m an early riser. You won’t be needing to roust me out of bed.”

“Too bad. That might be kinda fun,” he called after her. Senna ignored his parting shot and took asylum in her grandfather’s room, closing the door behind her. She leaned against it for a moment, pondering the wisdom of sleeping under the same roof as that brash and arrogant man. His bedroom was just across the hall, and her door didn’t have a lock. Well, if he tried anything with her, he’d be sorry. Those three years of karate classes she’d taken in college would come in handy.

As long as the day had been, and as tired as she was, Senna wasn’t ready for sleep. She stood in the middle of her grandfather’s room, surrounded by his personal belongings, and tried to feel some sort of connection. Strangely, none of his things reflected his lifelong naval career. There were several pieces of vintage carved scrimshaw atop his bureau, a stack of old books, including several regional histories of arctic exploration and the Hudson’s Bay Company, a harmonica that looked well used, a beautiful meerschaum pipe, several old buttons that appeared to have been carved out of bone in a pewter salt, a rifle propped behind the door, a box of excellent wildlife photographs, mostly of wolves and caribou, and a pair of well-worn mitts and matching mukluks made out of some kind of fur and hide and decorated with elaborate beadwork. Being surrounded by her grandfather’s things was like being in a museum.

She touched each item, pondering the life of a man she hadn’t known at all, full of questions that could never be answered, and most of all, full of regrets. She was disappointed that she hadn’t yet stumbled across his journal. When she did, she hoped she would learn more about the enigma who was her grandfather, and why he had named her as his executor. At length she went to the window and looked out at the lake, its silken black waters reflecting the pale sliver of a new moon in a sky that wouldn’t know true darkness again until the far side of summer. The cove was as still as a mirror. She leaned her elbows on the windowsill and contemplated the vastness of the wilderness beyond the panes of glass, feeling a sudden pang of nostalgia for the two brief years she’d spent in the field as a wildlife biologist, fresh out of college and full of enthusiasm, truly believing she could make a difference.

A day didn’t go by that she didn’t miss tramping through the Maine woods with a pair of binoculars and a notebook. She’d particularly enjoyed the time spent checking on the radio-collared female bears in their winter dens, gathering data and counting cubs. Bears and coyotes had become her favorite animals to observe, and ravens her favorite birds. The difference she had hoped to make in educating the public about the coyotes’ place in the ecosystem never came to pass. The deer-hunters’ hatred for that little brother of the wolf was far too deep-seated. If wolves kill a moose in Alaska, or coyotes kill a deer in Maine, these were sins committed by predators that humans had little tolerance for. They shot the wolves from airplanes and wanted to snare the coyotes. That these predators helped the moose and deer population remain healthy by culling out the weak, old and the sick was a foreign and unwelcome concept. The only difference Senna had made in the department was purely statistical. For a brief period of time, she was their token woman field biologist.

Working for her aunt at the inn gave her an income far higher than that of her entry-level biologist’s wage at the state, but it didn’t come close to fulfilling her passion for wildlife and wild places. Here in Labrador she was sensing ever more acutely everything that she’d missed for the past five years.

Senna heard a faint rustling sound outside her door and opened it to see Chilkat waiting there expectantly. He stood and nosed his way into the room. Senna hesitated for a moment, listening to the murmur of voices from below. She closed her door again, quietly, then braced the chair beneath the door knob, just in case Hanson got any funny ideas in the middle of the night.

Meanwhile, the big husky leapt onto the bed with the grace of an athlete, curled up dead center, heaved a big sigh of contentment, and closed his eyes.

“Very well, then,” Senna relented with a sigh of her own, opening her bag and rummaging within for her pajamas, “but you’re going to have to share.”