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She had to turn sideways to let him out of the room, and he heard her footsteps following him down the stairs and out onto the porch. At the bottom of the porch steps he glanced back. She was watching him with that same wary stare and still gripping that damn frying pan. “Oh, and by the way,” he said. “The sled dogs’ll need to be fed pretty soon. We feed them twice a day, meat stew or frozen fish in the morning and a soupy kibble mix at night. Water morning and night. The feed’s kept in the small cabin out back, along with everything else you’ll need. There’s a list of the dogs’ names pinned to the door, and their names are on their dog houses, too. Follow the path behind the cabin. The dog yard’s just beyond the treeline, no more than a hundred yards from here. If you get lost, just listen. They howl like a pack of wolves.” He gave her legs one final appreciative stare. “I suggest you change your clothes before tackling that job.”
He turned and started for his truck, Chilkat trotting at his heels.
“Wait!” he heard her cry out as he reached for the door handle. Jack paused then turned. “You can’t leave without showing me how to take care of the dogs.” She was looking and sounding a tad distraught.
“Right now, I need a gallon of strong coffee and a sympathetic friend. The dogs probably won’t bite you as long as you put the frying pan down before you go into the dog yard. They don’t like being threatened any more than I do.”
The color in her cheeks deepened as she looked at the skillet, then back at him. “I’m sorry, but when I first arrived, I didn’t know who you were.” She waved her free hand about her head to drive off the mosquitoes. “I’ll make you a pot of coffee, Mr. Hanson, if you’ll just show me how to feed the dogs before you go. Please.”
Jack stood for a moment, considering her offer. “I dunno,” he said, rubbing his jaw. He thought for a few seconds just to make her suffer a bit more. “I’ll stay, but only if you promise to serve that joe with a pretty smile.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hanson. I’ll put the pot on.” She spun on her heel, still wearing that disapproving scowl and carrying the greasy frying pan. The screen door banged shut behind her.
He shook his head and glanced down at Chilkat, who never did get to lick the pan and so understood completely when he said, “No sense of humor.”
“THIS IS BANE,” Hanson said, speaking over the collective howls of twenty impressive-looking huskies less than thirty minutes later, having consumed an entire eight-cup pot of black coffee and looking marginally improved. “He’s an Inuit husky, like the others, only he’s considerably smarter than the rest. He was your grandfather’s lead dog. The admiral ran him up front with Belle, the dog next to him. Just remember, you can’t run Bane next to another male. He’ll kill him.”
“I believe it,” Senna said, keeping her distance from the thick-coated, yellow-eyed and very muscular sled dog. “And I have no intention of running any of them.” All of the huskies were behaving as if they would cheerfully tear each other apart if their stout chains didn’t keep them from doing so. “Are they always this aggressive?”
“Only when they’re awake. Here, I’ll show you how to scoop the food, and in what order the dogs should be fed,” he said, taking the heavy five-gallon bucket out of her hand. He held a one-quart ladle in the other, and he made a rapid circuit of the dog yard, emptying two buckets before he was done and making frequent asides as he bent over each food dish. “This is Tiny. A real hard worker for her size and a sweetheart, too, aren’t you, girl?” The small slender husky’s ears flattened back at his voice, her eyes gleaming with pleasure. “And this is the mighty Quinn. My lead dog. The best of the best, better than Bane, and he knows it, too. Look at him. He thinks the world’s his dog bone.”
Senna laughed in spite of herself as Jack filled Quinn’s dish and the sled dog dove in. “They sure like to eat.”
“These dogs likes to eat almost as much as they likes to fight,” he said with a touch of Granville’s rough Celtic brogue. He grinned at her for the first time and Senna felt an immediate whole-body response. “So. Think you can feed them by yourself tomorrow morning?” he asked as she struggled with an erratic heartbeat.
Senna shook her head, feeling the heat rush to her face. “No. I mean, tomorrow’s different. Mornings, the dogs get meat, right? I haven’t seen that yet. You’ll have to show me at least once, so I can get the hang of it.”
He picked up the empty buckets. “Okay. My friendly friend in Goose Bay awaits, but I’ll plan on being back here by 7:00 a.m.”
Senna followed him through the gate. The dog yard was completely enclosed by a seven-foot-tall wire fence to keep the dogs safe from the wolves, or so Jack had informed her. She closed and latched the gate behind her and had to practically trot to keep pace as he strode back down the path toward the lake and the house. “Look, it’s getting late,” she blurted, swatting at clouds of mosquitoes as they emerged into the open and lake water sparkled through the black spruce. “I’ll fix you another pot of coffee, if you like. We have lots to discuss. Business-related things. You could tell me something about my grandfather’s life here, all the things he did, and give me an idea of all the affairs I’ll need to straighten out before I leave. Maybe you should just stay….”
He acted as if she hadn’t spoken, kicking open the cabin door and setting the buckets on the floor by a deep laundry sink. The cabin brimmed with all the paraphernalia of an arctic expedition. Several dogsleds were suspended from the purlins, except for one which was on a work bench apparently having some maintenance done. Snowshoes, pack baskets, fly rods, two large canvas canoes, sacks of dry dog food, two big chest freezers, countless five-gallon buckets, shelves filled with tools and paint cans… Senna gazed about her in awe as Jack washed his hands at the laundry sink, wondering at this secret life of her grandfather’s.
“I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. Maybe we should start over,” Senna began again as he reached for a towel. “I’m a very good cook….”
He leaned his rump against the sink as he dried his hands. That grin of his kick-started her heart again. “Is that so?” he said, his gaze holding hers a little too closely for comfort.
“I’ll fix supper for you,” she said, suddenly feeling uncomfortably warm. “You’ll feel much better with some food in your stomach.”
His grin broadened. He turned and hung the towel back up then went to one of the chest freezers and lifted the lid. “How are you with wild beasts?”
She moved to stand beside him and peer into the dim recesses. Half of the freezer seemed to be allocated to blocks of dog meat, the other to packages wrapped in freezer paper. She picked one up. “What kind of wild beasts?”
“The smaller packages are caribou. The larger are moose. Your choice. The cuts are written on the package.”
“I’ve never had caribou.”
“Have you ever tried moose?”
“I’m from Maine, Mr. Hanson. Of course I have.”
“If you liked moose, you’ll like caribou even better. And please don’t call me Mr. Hanson. Jack works just fine for me.”
Senna lowered her eyes. “How many packages?”
“Two if by caribou, one if by moose.”
Senna chose two of the caribou steaks. “Caribou it is, then, and whatever else might be in the kitchen.”
“No promises. Your grandfather was particular about his fare, but he didn’t eat much in his final weeks, and I haven’t paid much attention to the larder since he died. My guess is that the wake cleaned the cupboards out.” He gave her a quizzical look. “What day is it, anyway?”
“Tuesday,” Senna said, and then, wondering, asked, “What day did you have the wake?”
“It began Saturday afternoon, right after the service,” Jack said.
“Did many people attend?” Senna asked, curious as to what kind of friendships her grandfather had made in this faraway place.
“The church was packed. There were some hymns and singing, and the preacher said all the necessary words. Then John Snow Boy spoke. Too bad no one could understand what he was saying because I’m sure it was better than the preacher’s spiel.”
“Was he drunk, too?”
Jack uttered a short laugh. “John Snow Boy doesn’t drink, but he speaks English, Inuit and Innu fluently. Trouble is, he mixes them all up into his own language. We call it Innisht. Very colorful but way beyond interpretation. Afterward, there was a pot latch, that’s traditional in this neck of the woods, and then we all came here for the wake. Goody made sure all the kids were herded back home by midnight, and to tell the truth, I don’t remember much after that.”
Senna held the two icy packages of caribou and followed Jack as he left the cabin and headed toward the lake house. “Mr. Granville mentioned he had a sister named Goody.”
“Goody Stewart. Kindest soul that ever walked this earth. She lost her husband eight years ago, and then fell in love with your grandfather. Would’ve married him, if he’d only asked.” Jack never slowed as he spoke, just strode along in that big way of his that Senna was beginning to learn.
“Why didn’t he?” she asked, struggling to keep up as he climbed the porch stairs and opened the door.
“He said she deserved to be happy,” Jack replied, giving her the briefest of glances as he passed through the doorway and headed for the kitchen. He gave the room a quick three-sixty and shook his head. “By God, if Goody ever saw the place like this, she’d skin me alive. Those steaks should thaw quick enough if we put them in cold water. Meanwhile, I’ll take you out to the lake where we can begin discussing our new partnership.”
He held out his hand for the packages of caribou, sealed them up tightly in a plastic bag, then placed them in a large kettle of water on the countertop. Chilkat watched all of this with his intense wolfish expression but remained plastered to Jack’s side.
“There’s no partnership to discuss,” Senna said. “I’m selling my grandfather’s half of the business, and I have two weeks to get everything in order.”
“Two weeks,” Jack said. “That’s not much time, considering what you have to see and do. You’ll change your mind about selling the business when you see it. Bug juice.” He handed her a can of mosquito repellent as he headed for the door. “Be liberal with it.”
“What exactly is there to see?” Senna hurried after him, aware that her heart rate was way above normal. Undoubtedly she was stressed about this executor stuff, but she guessed that Jack Hanson’s insufferable arrogance might have a little bit to do with it, as well.
“You’ve met the dogs,” Jack narrated over his shoulder as he strode toward the dock, “you’ve seen the gear, the supplies, the houses. I’ll show you the plane, and maybe tomorrow, first thing, I’ll fly you out to the river to see the lodge. It’s accessible only by float plane or boat.” He was stepping onto the weather-bleached boards of the dock, and she was right on his heels.
“You’re a licensed pilot?”
“I’m legal, and I have the paperwork to prove it.”
“How far away are these places you want to show me?”
“Far enough so’s you’ll know you’re away from it all.” His eyes glinted with something akin to daring as he came to a halt and gestured to the plane tethered to the end of the dock. “The plane’s good to go, if you are.”
Senna teetered beside him as the dock rocked beneath her feet. She stared dubiously at the aircraft. “It looks ancient.”
“She’s a sweet old girl, a four-passenger Cessna 195. They don’t build ’em like this anymore,” he said, giving the bright-yellow wing that overhung the dock an affectionate slap, as if it were a favorite work horse.
“What year is it?”
“Nineteen fifty, sporting a Pratt and Whitney 985. Beautiful motor.”
“Dear God, that’s older than ancient. And my grandfather owns half of it?”
“The half that never breaks down,” he said with a grin. “So. What do you think of the view? This lake’s four miles across and forty miles long.”
Senna looked across the lake to the far shore. “It’s a big lake,” she said, thinking that this land was lonely and isolated and more than a little forbidding, yet compelling in a way that made her want to see much more of it. “A big land. Are there any towns out there?”
Jack squinted across the distance and nodded. “Standing on this dock we’re looking almost due north. About a thousand miles in that direction there’s a village called Kangiqsualuiuaq, on Ungava Bay. Across the Hudson Strait is Baffin Island, and there a few native settlements on that, as well.”
“You mean to say that the nearest town to our north is a thousand miles from here?”
“Could be a little closer as the crow flies,” Jack admitted. He grinned again at her expression. “Most folks up here follow the waterways, and they seldom run in a straight line. Ever read about the Hubbard expedition?”
Senna shook her head.
“Three men started out on this very same lake, trying to reach the George River and head north to Ungava Bay. Two of them made it back, but Hubbard starved to death.”
Senna gazed out across the vast wilderness. “Let me get this straight. We’re standing here on the edge of nowhere, but that wasn’t wild enough for my grandfather. He had to build a lodge even farther out?”
“For fishing,” Jack said, as if that were a reasonable explanation.
Senna gestured impatiently at the lake. “Are you saying there’s no fish here?”
“Oh, there’s damn good fishing here, but Goose Bay’s just a hop, skip and a jump away, and where there are towns, there are people. On a busy day you might see four or five boats from this very dock, and float planes droning around carrying sports from away. You know.”
Senna shook her head, bewildered. The lake was vast. Four or five hundred boats could have fished all day and never caught sight of each other. “I don’t get it. Was my grandfather a recluse?”
Jack rubbed a jaw that was dark with stubble. “Maybe,” he shrugged. “Hell, maybe we both were, maybe that’s why we got along so well. But first and foremost, he was a fisherman.”
“I never thought of him as anything but an admiral,” Senna confessed. “I can’t even picture him in casual clothing with a fishing pole in his hand.” She paused. “So, the lodge was a place my grandfather built so he could be completely isolated from other fishermen?”
“No. We built the lodge to run as a sporting camp for people who wanted a genuine wilderness fishing experience.”
Senna shook her head, increasingly baffled. “My grandfather wanted to run a sporting camp?”
“What’s so strange about that?”
“I happen to work in the hospitality industry,” Senna explained, “and I know that to be successful you have to make people feel warm and welcome. The admiral just didn’t have the ability to be warm and welcoming. In fact I found him to be quite scary and intimidating.”
Jack was studying her with eyes that sparkled with humor. “You might be surprised at how sociable he could be. Gruffly sociable, that is.”
“We weren’t very close,” Senna admitted as she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. “We didn’t get along that well. In fact, I hadn’t seen him since my father’s funeral. No one in the family even knew where he went after my father’s death. He just disappeared. Never wrote, never answered any letters, never showed up for another Christmas.”
“That’s too bad. You missed out. Both of you did.” Jack turned on his heel and started back toward the house.
“Look, we need to talk about splitting up the business,” Senna said, hurrying after him. “Who’s going to want to buy half of an old plane?”
“That ‘old plane’ happens to be a valuable classic,” he said over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, someone’ll pay a good chunk of change for her.”
“Maybe, but nobody would want to buy just half of a plane, no matter how valuable a classic it is.” Senna hurried after him. “Look, why don’t you buy out my grandfather’s half of the business? It makes perfect sense. You helped to build it. A bank would probably loan you the money, and…”
Jack stopped so abruptly she nearly ran into him. He rounded on her and a broad sweep of his arm took in the entire surrounds. “Lady, I love this place and I’d mortgage my soul to buy out the admiral’s share, but no bank would look twice at me.” He paused for a moment, his gaze keen, the breeze off the lake tousling his dark hair. “Why don’t you just keep your grandfather’s half of this business? Why are you so damn anxious to sell something he worked so hard to create?”
Senna felt the heat in her face. “I already have a career, Mr. Hanson, and it doesn’t involve Labrador.”
“No, it involves planning other people’s weddings. I got that part. But this place’ll grow on you, I guarantee it, and the fishing lodge will generate enough income to make you happy even if you’re an absentee business partner living and working in Maine.” He towered over her, his eyes intense. “We’re only two weeks away from opening. I have most of the help lined up, I just need to find another fishing guide or two. At least think about keeping your grandfather’s half. But know this,” he added. “If you decide to sell out, I’m not going to make it easy for you. I’ve worked my ass off to help make this place what it is. This is my future we’re talking about, not to mention your grandfather’s lifelong dream.”
Before Senna could respond, he wheeled and strode away, leaving her standing on the dock and staring after him. He walked the way a mountain lion would, with smoothly controlled grace and power…and a strong hint of sinuous swagger. Her heartbeat was erratic and she was having trouble catching her breath. Her inner voice warned, Watch out. He’s dangerous. Wild and unpredictable, just like that mountain lion. Dangerous he might be, and overbearing and conceited, but had a man ever looked so damned sexy in a pair of faded Levi’s and a flannel shirt?
Senna’s life, up until this very day, had been fairly steady, safe and predictable, but suddenly she found herself smack dab in the middle of a whole bunch of unknowns—and in spite of the dubious circumstances, she found herself looking forward to exploring them, even if it was just for two weeks.
CHAPTER THREE
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!
