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Lane started to leave, but Allison stopped her. “Come out to the chapel with me. I’m going to check on Teddy’s flower arrangements.”
“Now? Are you sure that—”
“I can’t wait to see how they’ve turned out. It’s going to be fun. The whole thing tomorrow is going to be fun. A wedding we’ll all remember.” There was a fierce determination in her promise, as though nothing else must be allowed to matter.
Lane was beginning to have the uneasy conviction that Allison had no business at all getting married tomorrow. And certainly not to Hale McGuire.
“Allison, do you think maybe—”
“Please, I’d like to go.” Refusing to discuss anything but the flower arrangements, she insisted that Lane accompany her.
They paused on the lower floor to admire the florist’s efforts in the house. There was a replica of a Viking hall off the foyer, a cavernous place where the wedding luncheon would be held following the ceremony in the chapel. The table was already set for the celebration. The flowers were impressive—masses of scarlet poinsettias and tall candles in keeping with the wedding’s Christmas theme.
Allison, restless and overeager, snatching at conversation, inspected the arrangements. “Wonderful, aren’t they? I loved that holly bouquet with the gilded angel back in the foyer. Teddy really has a special touch. The flowers in the chapel should be spectacular.”
They left the house, Allison hurrying them toward the rustic chapel at the far end of the garden. Lane had been told the wooden structure was a tiny version of a Norwegian stavkirke. As they approached it, she found herself charmed by the pointed gables, the small belfry, the half-enclosed porch.
The interior, which they reached through a stout oak door, was a delight with its wealth of native carvings on the raised pulpit, baptismal font and high-backed pews. The primitive stained-glass windows and delicate wall frescoes glowed like jewels.
“Allison, it’s marvelous!” Lane pronounced. “I can see why you want your wedding here. And when the candles are lit tomorrow in all those iron wall holders it will be...well, pure magic.”
Her friend had no response. Lane glanced at her where she stood by the door, her hand still on the light switch. Allison was frowning, and for a second Lane feared her mind had returned to Chris Beaver.
“They’re missing,” she finally murmured.
“What are?”
“The flowers. There aren’t any.”
Lane had been so busy picturing the beauty of a wedding ceremony in the serene setting that she hadn’t noticed. But Allison was right. There wasn’t a single ar- rangement in sight.
“Maybe Teddy was afraid they would freeze out here and left them somewhere in the house.”
Allison, annoyed, shook her head. “Nils put the heat on in here for him early yesterday before he went back to the mainland. It was all prearranged.”
“Then there must be an explanation.”
Allison nodded. “I’ll have to find out.”
She started to douse the lights, as if intending to return immediately to the lodge. Lane put a hand on her arm to delay her. They were alone out here, and the thought occurred to her there might not be another opportunity for privacy.
“Could we talk for a minute first?”
She could feel Allison stiffening under her hand. She thinks I’m going to ask her about Chris.
The tall blonde gazed at her, asking warily, “Is this a subject I’m going to like?”
“Probably not.” Lane’s answer was dry. “It’s about Jack.”
Allison relaxed slightly. “Oh. Yes, I expected that to come up. All right, let’s sit for a second.”
They settled side by side in one of the back pews. Lane turned to her, seeking an explanation. “How did Jack wind up as Hale’s best man? Hale told me he barely knows him.”
“It just sort of happened,” her friend confessed with a note of evasiveness. “Jack called me to offer his best wishes. He’d seen the announcement of my engagement in one of the Chicago papers. I got to telling him about my wedding plans and how you were going to be my attendant but that nothing had been settled yet about the best man. We talked for a long while and...well, one thing led to another.”
“Uh-huh. And just whose idea was it for him to play best man this weekend? Or was it a joint conspiracy?”
“I don’t remember. Jack’s, maybe.”
Lane might have known. Jack Donovan could charm his way in or out of just about anything he put his considerable talents to, which was exactly why she hadn’t trusted herself to go directly to him for this explanation. And this time he’d talked himself into a weekend on a secluded island where his ex-wife would be virtually trapped. The question was...
“Why?” she demanded of Allison. “You’ve told me how he came to be here. Now tell me why he wants to be here.”
“I think he just means to—” She broke off, squirming uncomfortably. “No, I can’t say. It’s for him to tell you.”
“If it’s what I think it is...” she said warningly.
“Lane, I was wrong to agree to this situation. I know I was wrong. And maybe it’s none of my business to say that your divorce was a mistake, but the two of you...oh, you know what I mean.”
Lane avoided looking at her. She stared grimly at a carving of a sleeping angel above the altar rail. A reconciliation. That’s what Allison was driving at. Oh, no! Never! Not in this lifetime! Jack Donovan’s rarefied world had cost her enough anguish. Oh, she’d been vulnerable, all right, was probably still much too vulnerable, but she wasn’t suicidal.
Allison laid an imploring hand on her arm, her voice suddenly remorseful. “I couldn’t get married tomorrow if I thought you were mad at me, though I suppose I deserve it. I don’t want to lose your friendship, Lane. God knows, when you’re in a position like mine—you know, the money and all—there are few enough people you can really count on or trust, and you’ve never asked anything of me. Now if I’ve gone and—”
“Allison, it’s all right. I’m not happy about the situation, but it’s too late to change it. All I can do is survive it.” Another disturbing possibility occurred to her. “Wait a minute. You didn’t deliberately put Jack out in the guesthouse because you thought he and I might—”
“No, of course not. It’s just the way the arrangements worked out.”
But Lane wasn’t so sure. Her friend’s denial had been too quick. “Okay, let’s forget it. Just promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“No more playing matchmaker. Because what you want isn’t going to happen.”
“Promise,” she agreed reluctantly. “But it really was your happiness I was thinking of. I guess I just figured that someone might as well...”
She didn’t finish. She shook her head resolutely.
Chris Beaver, Lane realized. Allison was thinking again of Chris Beaver and her. Lane thought about them, too. And Hale, as well. She didn’t know who to feel sorriest for in this regrettable triangle. Or why it even existed. Only one thing was clear. Allison didn’t want to talk about it, and she respected that.
They returned to the house by way of the Viking hall and found Nils’s wife arranging place cards and wedding favors on tomorrow’s luncheon table. Dorothy Asker, like her brother, was a full-blooded Menominee. But she shared none of Chris’s dark good looks. Tall and sturdy, she had a face as round as a moon and a nature that was placid.
Allison warmly complimented the woman on her efforts and then asked her about the flowers missing from the chapel.
Dorothy shook her head. “Well, that’s sure funny. I haven’t been out there yet so I didn’t know. There are no extra arrangements in that big cooler in the kitchen, either, only your bridal bouquet and a lot of loose flowers I thought were leftovers. But I guess those were what didn’t get made up for the chapel.”
“Did Nils say anything when he got back home yesterday?”
“Just that by the time he’d turned on the heat and the water over here Teddy had arrived. He was already unpacking his flowers when Nils left again. Said he expected to work right through the day and into the evening. Nils asked him if he minded staying alone on the island, and he said he’d be too busy to notice. Well, you know what a loner he is, anyway.”
“I’d call him,” Allison said, “but he was closing his shop right after this job and going off somewhere for the holiday.”
There was an expression of pure exasperation on her face. Lane didn’t blame her. A weekend that was meant to be memorable was turning out to be complicated and difficult. And looking no easier, she thought as she remembered she had a severe challenge of her own. She’d have to spend this entire weekend somehow resisting the man who had once meant everything to her.
* * *
THEY GATHERED in the lounge for drinks before dinner. There was an enormous stone fireplace with an inviting blaze, deep leather chairs and a fragrance of pine in the air. Nothing could have been more appropriate for a festive Christmas Eve. There was even a tall tree in one corner waiting to be decorated by everyone after dinner.
And yet, Lane realized, toying with a glass of white wine she’d accepted from Dan, none of the party was really relaxed. Allison and Hale certainly weren’t, she thought, observing them on the sofa they shared. She was telling him about the missing flowers and how they had no choice now but to decorate the chapel themselves. Hale was dutifully sympathetic, but the strain between them was obvious.
And Jack...well, Jack was fighting for patience and fast losing the battle. Ronnie Bauer had trapped him again. Something about her having heard that powdered dinosaur bones made excellent aphrodisiacs, and could this be true? Jack, wearing a Nordic sweater that accentuated the breadth of his shoulders, looked positively dangerous. He kept glaring in Lane’s direction, as though Ronnie might be her fault.
She wasn’t, but Lane wasn’t ungrateful for Ronnie. The woman had intercepted Jack as he was heading obstinately in her direction. Besides, Veronica Bauer was an entertainment in herself. The rest of them were casually dressed. She wore an alluring black number that revealed a pair of impressive breasts, which she managed to thrust in Jack’s direction at every opportunity. Her jewelry was also very much in evidence. Allison had confided to her that the divorced Ronnie had money from her second husband and that she was recklessly spending every dime of it.
“It’s the wind,” Dan said, joining Lane where she stood by the tall windows that overlooked the bay.
“Pardon?”
“That’s making all of us a little tense.”
He had an uncanny ability for reading her thoughts. But he was right. The wind had risen since sundown and was blowing in strong gusts around the lodge. There was an unsettling quality about it.
“Look,” he said, indicating the view.
She turned, gazing out at the frozen expanse lit by a strangely hazy moon. What appeared to be dust clouds were moving erratically over the ice. It was an eerie scene.
“The wind is whipping up the ground snow. If it blows any harder, there will be whiteout conditions on the bay by morning. Won’t allow the ice fishers to go out, but it shouldn’t bother us up here.”
No, Lane thought, it shouldn’t matter. It was the night before Christmas and an idyllic wedding, but the weather shouldn’t matter. Nothing was supposed to matter, or interfere, but too much did.
The conversations around the room were lagging, with some of the party casting impatient glances in the direction of the dining room, when a rasping voice exploded into the lull. “You’re all dead!”
Startled faces swung in the direction of the doorway to the adjoining library. A figure was lurking there in the shadows, clutching what looked to Lane like a medieval crossbow. The wicked weapon was trained on the occupants of the lounge.
There were gasps and a shrill little yip of alarm from Ronnie. Their reactions brought a shout of pleased laughter from the intruder as he moved forward into the light, revealing himself.
“Gotcha!”
“Stuie!” his mother shrieked. “You fiend!”
The teenager chuckled, waving the crossbow at them. “Relax. It isn’t loaded.”
Lane realized that Jack had managed to suddenly appear at her side. He was still trying to play her guardian angel and, damn it, she didn’t need a guardian angel.
“That kid has a sick sense of humor,” he muttered.
“It wasn’t just a joke,” Lane murmured. “He’s looking for attention. Haven’t you noticed how Hale and his mother manage to ignore him?”
Ronnie, however, wasn’t ignoring Stuart at the moment. “Put it down,” she demanded. “Where did you get that thing?”
“In there.” He jerked his head toward the library.
“There aren’t any bolts for the crossbow,” Allison interjected. “None of the collection is dangerous.” She moved behind Stuart, folding back the other wing of the double door to the library and flipping on all the lights.
The others crowded into the opening behind her to gaze at the wall-mounted antique weapons. The assortment represented every early age, ranging from maces to muzzle loaders.
“It was my father’s collection,” Allison explained. “But he made certain they were all neutralized. Even the sword points have been blunted.”
Ronnie shuddered. “Harmless or not, they’re still nasty things.”
Stuart certainly didn’t share his mother’s distaste, Lane noticed. There was a gleam of fascination in his eyes as he reverently stroked the edge of a halberd.
“Dinner, everyone.”
Dorothy’s welcome announcement summoned them to the dining room off the other end of the lounge. As they gathered around the table, Ronnie cast out another seductive net.
“I feel absolutely defenseless after Stuie’s little performance. I need a bodyguard next to me. Jack,” she implored, “you will sit beside me, won’t you?”
But Jack had no intention of being outmaneuvered again. “Good for you, Ronnie,” he agreed heartily. “There’s nothing wrong with a little old-fashioned male protectiveness when the situation calls for it. But whenever possible, I think it ought to come from family, don’t you? That makes you lucky tonight. You’ve got two strapping sons here, one for either side of you.”
Her game had been neatly turned against her. Stuart grinned while his mother glared at him murderously. But Ronnie, left without a choice, found herself flanked by her sons.
Jack, however, wasn’t finished. “Allison, of course, has her cousin Dan to guard her from any stray dragons. But Lane here...well, I’m the closest to family she’s got. Right, sweetheart?”
Lane would have looked like a fool sputtering objections to what the others must regard as mere playfulness, though she knew better. In any case, he didn’t give her the opportunity. With the ease and swiftness of a military tactician, he installed himself beside her, his expressive mouth registering a smile of satisfaction. Lane felt her careful defenses already under assault. It was going to be a long meal.
Allison, amused by Jack’s strategy, was seated between Hale and Dan before she suddenly noticed the table setting. She glanced up at Dorothy, who was waiting to serve them. “There are only seven places. Why aren’t you and Nils and Chris joining us?”
“We’ve already eaten in the kitchen. Would anyone like freshly ground pepper for their salads?”
“Even if you were hired to help with the weekend,” Allison persisted, “you’re friends, not servants.”
“Chris wanted it this way.” Dorothy’s response was quiet, impassive.
“But I didn’t intend—”
“Allison, let it go,” Hale cautioned her.
The uncomfortable moment passed, but a tension remained in the room. They tried to ignore the ceaseless wind blasting around the lodge as they concentrated on the savory beef burgundy that the caterer had provided for the occasion.
Dan, an able diplomat, made an effort to distract them. He told them how his Norwegian grandmother was responsible for the style of the house. Even the chapel was her design. It was his side of the family who had once owned the island. Neither Whitney cousin offered to explain how the property had passed to Allison’s father.
Lane endeavored to enjoy both the food and the conversation but, thanks to Jack’s potent nearness, she found herself with an appetite for neither one. Maddening the way he had his chair positioned so unnecessarily close to hers. She could actually feel the sensual heat of his hard body.
It was no accident either when, rescuing the napkin slipping from his lap, his hand came brushing against her thigh. She caught her breath, feeling as though fire had stroked her.
“Something wrong?” he murmured, his strong-boned face all innocence.
“Not a thing,” she assured him, and silently damned him for tormenting her. He was deliberately testing her, of course, wanting to know if she was still susceptible. Because whatever else had been wrong with their marriage, the sex between them had always thrived. Then she damned herself for her own weakness. Where Jack Donovan was concerned, she was still volatile.
