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“As I remember, it had something to do with rescuing me from a lecherous quarterback. After that she more or less adopted me. I think Allison was convinced I was much too naive to survive on my own. She was probably right. So here we are, still friends—though long-distance friends now—and the relationship still amazes me.”
Northwestern University, Lane thought. It wasn’t just Allison she had met back then. Jack Donovan had been there, too, working on his doctorate and already making a reputation for himself in his field. If it was true that her connection with Allison had been improbable, then her bonding with Jack could be defined as incredible.
From the beginning, from their first encounter, in fact, the sexual attraction between them had been so powerful it had stunned both of them. But the miracle—and it had been just that—never stood a chance.
Not smart, she reminded herself. Not smart at all reliving her brief marriage, remembering how hard she had fallen for him and the heartache that had eventually resulted. But how could she avoid remembering? An absent Jack Donovan was hard enough to forget. But when he was actually here, only yards away in the next sleigh, the effort was impossible.
Though she had resisted riding with him, permitting Ronnie Bauer to inflict herself on the poor man, she couldn’t prevent her awareness of Jack. Even from here his Gaelic good looks were evident. It hurt just looking at him.
Why was he here, and how was she supposed to spend an entire weekend in the same house with him? And that unexplained warning of his back on the dock... What did that mean? Nothing, she tried to convince herself. Just a ploy to get her to ride with him. Then why couldn’t she stop thinking about it?
Danger. There was an aura of danger here that intensified when Jack sensed her gaze on him. He swiveled in his seat, making eye contact with her across the ice that separated them. The hot challenge in his probing stare robbed her lungs of air. There was also a glowering accusation in his look. Jack was not prepared to forgive her for Ronnie. The woman, squeezed against him as tightly as decency permitted, was clearly aggravating him on every level.
Lane didn’t think he’d appreciate her sudden smile. She hid it by shifting behind the pair of cross-country skis that protruded from the luggage piled in the middle seat between them and their driver.
“Sorry,” Dan said.
She glanced at him, perplexed.
“The skis blocking your view,” he explained. “They’re mine. I’m hoping to get in some time with them this weekend.”
Which accounted for the bright blue insulated jumpsuit he was wearing, she realized.
“This probably will be my last chance to ski the island, so I’d like to take advantage of the opportunity. Which, of course,” he went on, “is also the reason Allison is insisting on having her wedding on the island.”
Here it was again, she thought. Another reference to Allison’s mysterious determination.
Dan noticed her puzzlement and shook his head. “I shouldn’t be mentioning it. It’s for Allison to explain, and I think she’s planning to do that before the wedding tomorrow. So,” he said, quickly changing the subject, “where are we now?” He checked the distance from his side of the sleigh. “Better than halfway there, I think. How are you holding up?”
She was about to assure him she was doing just fine when off to her left she spotted what looked like a veil of steam rising from the ice. Her apprehension was exasperating to her, but she couldn’t help her alarm. “Is that what I think it is?”
Dan followed her gaze and nodded. “Yes,” he said mildly, “a patch of open water. Sometimes the currents force a breach. Don’t worry. The Nordstroms know how to read the ice. They’ll avoid any tricky spots.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” He must think her an absolute neurotic, she thought. All the same, she couldn’t wait to put this crossing behind her.
The fishing shanties were far behind them now. There was nothing on the sea of ice but the two racing sleighs. The air was no longer still. Lane could feel a ripple of wind in her face as their destination loomed ahead of them. This time she distracted herself by remembering what Allison had told her about Thunder Island.
By legend, it was the ancestral home of the Thunder clan of the Menominee people who had once dominated this entire region of Wisconsin. Shaped like an artist’s palette, the island was almost two hundred acres in extent. Nearly all of it was heavily wooded with evergreens and mixed hardwoods. On its southern end—and Lane could see them clearly now—were massive, sheer limestone bluffs sloping gradually to the low, rocky shoreline on the north. The lodge was situated on the higher end of the island. She searched for a glimpse of it as they neared the island, but the forest concealed it.
“Almost there,” Dan promised as they rounded the shoulder of the closest bluff and headed into the indented portion of the palette, which formed a natural harbor.
Seconds later their sleigh reached the island’s dock, where the pickup truck that had brought out the supplies and the weekend helpers was parked. Lane felt like a white-knuckled flier who has just made a safe landing. Climbing from the sleigh with relief, she expressed her gratitude to Dan.
“Thanks for all the expert hand-holding. Oh, it looks like we’re being met.”
Two men, who must have noted their arrival from the lodge, were descending the bluff trail. Lane and the judge watched them emerge single file from the trees.
“Probably came down to help with the luggage,” Dan said. “That’s Nils Asker in the lead. Runs a charter fishing boat in the summers. Allison has known him and his wife, Dorothy, since she was a girl. Dorothy will be waiting for us up at the house.”
The figure he indicated was tall and bony with a weathered Nordic face.
“And the other one?” Lane asked.
The second man had appeared from behind Nils where the path widened. He was younger than Nils, broad shouldered and copper skinned. He had the impressive, dark good looks of a pure Native American on his stoic face.
“That would be Nils’s brother-in-law, Chris Beaver,” Dan said slowly, “but I thought...”
He didn’t finish. There was a sudden expression of concern on his face. Lane, puzzled, saw him glance sharply in Allison’s direction. The second sleigh was emptying on the other side of the dock. Allison was busy talking to the driver, getting his assurance that both sleighs would return for them on Monday noon. She was unaware of the newcomers until Nils called a friendly greeting.
Lane was even more mystified then by Allison’s reaction when she looked up and discovered the presence of Chris Beaver. Her face registered shock and another emotion that could only be described as unhappiness. What’s more, her bridegroom, Hale, hadn’t missed her response. Chris, meanwhile, began silently unloading luggage, his somber black eyes making contact with none of them.
And just what, Lane wondered, is this all about?
She had no chance to find out. Jack had left the other sleigh and was striding toward her purposefully. That meant she had her own emotions to deal with, and they weren’t easy ones.
It didn’t help that he was dressed like that—his familiar Aussie outback hat crammed on his head at a rakish tilt, plus bulky ski jacket and snug cords that emphasized his lean masculinity. But then, Jack Donovan would have been disarming in a Sherpa ceremonial robe.
Subtlety was never his style, and obviously that hadn’t changed. Reaching her, he wasted no time in asking bluntly, “You all right? Was the crossing bad for you?”
Of course, he knew all about her phobia. He knew far too much about her, damn it.
She chose her words and tone with care, wanting him to realize she appreciated his concern but that he no longer had any right to be worried about her. In effect, reminding him that his overprotectiveness had been one of the sources of conflict in their marriage.
“No need to ask, but I’m just fine, thank you.”
Her politeness clearly annoyed him. “I could have been there for you if you’d let me ride with you instead of abandoning me to that female predator. I know well-preserved bones are supposed to be my specialty, but—”
“You can take care of yourself, Jack. You always have.”
“Not this time. The woman is as rapacious as a T. rex. Oh, hell, here she comes again.” He groaned aloud, much to Dan’s amusement.
Ronnie Bauer joined them at the foot of the dock, burbling, “What a delicious spot to get snowbound in!” She moved close to Jack’s side, adding far too obviously, “With the right individual, that is.”
Dan chuckled softly. “Afraid you’re out of luck on this trip. There’s no forecast of any real snow for the weekend. That’s what I’ve been assured, anyway.”
Ronnie’s scarlet mouth formed a little pout of disappointment. “Too bad, because I brought enough outfits to cover that possibility. Jack,” she pleaded, “you will help me up to the house with my luggage, won’t you? I have some of my good jewelry in one of the cases, and I’m not going to trust that to just anyone.”
Lane saw her opportunity to escape. “I wasn’t that foresighted. I have only one suitcase, and I can manage that on my own. See you at the lodge, everyone.”
Her case had been deposited with the others on the dock. She snatched it up before Jack could extricate himself from Ronnie’s latest ambush and fled up the path on the heels of an impatient Stuart Bauer.
The men had cleared the trails with snowblowers, and the ascent was gradual. Still, with a bulky suitcase to carry, Lane found the climb a challenging one. But Ronnie was right. The island was delightful with its thick forest and ledges of layered, mossy rock thrusting through the cover of snow.
She was puffing by the time she reached the crown of the bluff. Lowering her suitcase, she stopped at the edge of the woods to recover her wind. Stuart had disappeared somewhere ahead of her on a restless investigation of his own, and the others were still behind her. Lane had a moment to herself to enjoy the scene. And it was worth her appreciation.
Just below her, tucked into a spacious, open hollow at the sharp edge of the bluff, was the sprawling, two-storied lodge. Scandinavian in character, it was a pleasing combination of log and fieldstone. A jumble of chimneys, steep roofs and windowed bays made the composition even more appealing.
Her interlude ended when Jack overtook her seconds later. Dropping his burden of luggage, he confronted her. “Are you planning to avoid me the whole weekend?”
“Why are you here, Jack?” she responded tautly.
“Stand still for two minutes, and maybe I’ll tell you.”
“I don’t think I can afford that.” Seizing her suitcase, she moved on toward the lodge.
“Damn it, stop running away from me,” he called after her. “What’s wrong with you? Are you afraid to be with me?”
Lane neither paused nor turned her head when she answered him with an emphatic, unqualified “Yes!”
* * *
THE BEDROOM they had given her, like the rest of the house, was as enchanting as a Norwegian fairy tale. The folk painting known as rosemaling was expressed on cupboards and chests, even on the faces of the beams that crisscrossed the low ceiling. There was an abundance of peasant-style carving, as well. The genial trolls called tomtars were everywhere.
Then why, Lane wondered, did she persist in feeling so chilled by the setting? It had nothing to do with temperature, either, because she’d been assured that a powerful generator on the premises provided both electricity and a comfortable central heating.
When she stood by the window and examined the view, she thought she understood what was troubling her. Her room overlooked a topiary garden at the side of the house. Ranks of evergreens had been trained into the forms of mythical beasts. She found them somehow depressing. Maybe it was the season. Maybe in summer the place was more cheerful. But just now there was something about the garden...
She had started to turn away when she spotted a figure below her on the flagged terrace adjoining the garden. He was gazing at the topiary figures, and even from this angle she could see the brooding expression on his handsome face. Hale McGuire.
Should she? Lane wondered. Why not? He was alone down there, and another opportunity might not so readily present itself.
There were two vital matters she needed to discuss privately with Allison’s bridegroom. One of them concerned the secret promise that had brought her to Thunder Island. The other, as of this afternoon, was Jack Donovan.
Lane didn’t know what surprised her more—that Allison had insisted she couldn’t get married without her or that her ex-husband had turned up as Hale’s best man. It was no accident Jack was here, and his presence worried her. A close friendship between the two men seemed unlikely to her, but since Hale had chosen Jack as his best man, she would begin with him. She meant to have answers.
Chapter Two
“Gruesome things, aren’t they?” Hale fingered the cedar fronds of a unicorn as he contemplated the other topiary forms scattered around the snow-blanketed lawn. “Why would anyone want to force a plant into looking like something it’s not supposed to be?”
Lane shivered in her green parka. The air was colder now that the sun was lower in the sky. Or maybe it was the mood of the garden that was still chilling her. She could swear there was a kind of stress that lingered here. She could actually feel it.
“I guess some people find them whimsical,” she said with a little shrug.
Hale grunted. He was silent for a moment, then turned his head to consider her, as though just realizing she had joined him. “You want me for something?”
Lane regarded him in his immaculate chesterfield overcoat. He was an impressive figure, well built and with eye-catching features, but there was no animation in his expression. Maybe that was an asset to him, she thought, trying to like him. Allison had told her he was a lawyer.
“It’s about Jack Donovan,” she said, beginning with the easier of the two subjects.
Hale frowned. “What about him?”
“I suppose Allison told you we were once married. To be honest about it, it was a shock having him turn up here as your best man.”
“Sorry if that’s a problem.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” She hoped. “I guess I’m just surprised that you’re close friends.”
“Friends?” There was a cynical note in his brief laugh. “I barely know the guy.”
“Then why—”
“Allison. She wanted Donovan as my best man, said she had her reasons, and I went along with her choice.”
Somehow the revelation didn’t surprise Lane. Now that she thought about it, it made sense that Allison was responsible for Jack’s presence. Yes, well, her friend owed her an explanation.
“Anything else?” Hale asked.
Lane hesitated. Should she? No, she decided. The mission she had been entrusted with was a delicate one, much too tricky to approach when Hale was obviously in a difficult mood. Better, after all, to wait.
She hated this situation and was beginning to wonder if her promise had been a mistake. She refused to hurt Allison or risk spoiling her wedding. But the problem was ultimately unavoidable. She’d been made to clearly see that several days ago. Somehow, for the sake of everyone involved, it had to be resolved.
“No,” Lane answered reluctantly, “nothing else.”
He nodded. “Then I’ll see you later.”
Yes, she told him silently, watching him as he turned and walked off through the garden, unfortunately, you will have to see me later. And something tells me you won’t like it. Only I wonder what’s bothering you now?
There was no mystery about what was troubling her. Jack was still strongly on her mind. She needed to do something about that. But this time Allison would be her target.
Lane returned to the lodge and made her determined way up the massive staircase. The house was quiet, no one around. She assumed people were settling themselves in their rooms. And Jack? Well, he’d been placed in guest quarters semidetached from the main lodge. She wondered about that arrangement, too.
Allison’s bedroom was the first on the left at the top of the stairs. The door was ajar when she reached it. She had lifted her hand to rap on the frame when a gruff male voice close on the other side forestalled her intention.
“Where do you want these?”
“I don’t care about the luggage!” It was Allison’s voice, and there was a frantic quality to it. “Just tell me what I want to know. Why are you here, Chris?”
There was a sound of suitcases being bumped on the floor. “Why do you think? I’m working.”
“But it was your brother who was hired to—”
“Mike couldn’t make it. He got sick last night. Something he ate, I guess. Frankly, he needs the money, and Dorothy and Nils couldn’t manage the weekend on their own. There was no one else available, so I agreed to replace Mike. You didn’t think I was eager to see you get married.”
“It doesn’t have to be this way, Chris,” Allison pleaded.
“Let’s not start in on that again. We both know it does have to be this way. Look, don’t worry about it. I plan to make myself as scarce as possible. All I’m here for is to do Mike’s job.”
“I hate it when you’re like this.”
Lane, conscious that she was overhearing something intensely emotional, realized she had no business standing here listening to any of this startling conversation. She started to back away, but before she could manage a safe retreat, the door was flung open. The brawny Chris Beaver, his face stiff with pride, stormed past her without a glance and disappeared down the stairs.
Lane was afraid to guess what that little scene meant. She turned her head and discovered Allison standing in the doorway. The anguished expression on her friend’s face said it all. Hale’s dark mood in the garden suddenly began to make sense.
Lane had been embarrassed. Now she was simply worried. “Are you all right?”
Allison recovered herself. “I have to be. I’m the radiant bride, remember.” She seemed to realize then that Lane must have witnessed her exchange with Chris, and she quickly changed the subject. “Were you looking for me?”
“Uh, nothing that can’t wait.” This was definitely the wrong moment to press for an explanation about Jack. Dear Lord, was there anyone in this house, herself included, who wasn’t struggling with an unpleasant secret?
