Joanne Michael - It Takes Two

“Oh?” Abby raised an eyebrow.

“Once we’re on board, I’m the captain and what I say goes. If I think the situations warrant it, your plans may have to change. I won’t put us or this boat in danger. Can you live with that?”

“I think so,” Abby said. “I have to ask, though… Well, you know I’m here to do research, and you’ve already made your feeling on that score pretty clear. Why are you agreeing to my chartering your boat?”

Marc shrugged. “Simple economics. You need a boat and I have a boat. Besides—” he grinned “—what’s the old saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?”

Abby smiled back, and he was suddenly struck by how beautiful she was.

“True,” she said, “but are you sure you want to strike a deal with the devil?”

“As long as the devil’s paying, you bet.”

Dear Reader,

There is something magical about the village of Tadoussac, Quebec. Maybe it’s the bay that’s ranked as one of the thirty most beautiful in the world. The town is on the North Shore where the Saguenay River fjord meets the St. Lawrence River. That’s certainly the draw for the resident pods of beluga, minke and even the occasional blue and fin whales who call the area home. Then again, it could be the miles of trails and paths crisscrossing the wooded hills, or the scores of artisans, musicians and gourmet chefs who contribute so much to the local flavor.

I fell under the spell the first time I rode the ferry across the Saguenay River. As if on cue, a small pod of brilliant white beluga appeared. Since then, I’ve been back several times and the beluga are always there to greet me.

I have tried to remain true to the village’s unique character. There really is a marine interpretive center and I encourage you to visit the Centre d’Interprétation des Mammifères Marins (the Marine Mammal Interpretive Center) if you go. There, the staff with the Group for Research and Education on Marine Mammals is doing some excellent and important work. Check it out at www.gremm.org.

One of those people is Lucia DiIorio, a scientist researching the impacts of man-made sound on the beluga. Lucia’s willingness to share information was of great help. Likewise was the rest of the staff and I hope they forgive the architectural license I took.

But that’s the thing about Tadoussac; it’s full of welcoming people eager to share their special knowledge and talents. People like Bruno at Mer et Monde Ecotours who patiently guided me on my very first sea kayak excursion (www.mer-et-monde.qc.ca).

As for the allure of Tadoussac, don’t just take my word for it. The folks at www.tourism@tadoussac.com are ready to help you plan your adventure, and whether you’re into nature, whales, music, art, history, food or all of the above, get ready to make some wonderful memories. Oh, and be sure to say hi to the beluga for me.

Joanne Michael

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Joanne Michael would be the first to say making the jump from print and photojournalist to romance writer was neither the easiest nor most expected turn her life has taken. But four years ago, jump she did. After spending nearly twenty years reporting on everything from crime to politics to local festivals and personalities, Joanne got her introduction to the world of romance writing from fellow Harlequin author Nadia Nichols. (Nadia is also the one who got Joanne into dogsledding, but that’s another story.) Together they coauthored Her Sister’s Keeper under the name Julia Penney.

Now Joanne writes books full-time, but still manages to keep her fingers in the world of news as a freelancer. When not writing, Joanne can be found on the trails with a team of huskies, or exploring the roads of northern Maine by bicycle (depending on the time of year, of course). She lives at the top of Maine with her husband and best friend Patrick, her father, Mike, a small kennel of sled dogs, one very spoiled house dog, two cats and a variety of forest critters that wander through.

Joanne Michael can be reached at joannemchl@yahoo.com.

For Lowell

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

NO ONE HAD SAID ANYTHING about needing reservations. If they had, Abby Miller knew she wouldn’t be sitting here now, near the end of a long line of cars waiting for the few remaining slots on the Matane-Baie-Comeau ferry.

“Who’d have thought so many people wanted to get across the Saint Lawrence Seaway this time of year?” she said. In the back seat, Figgy pricked up her ears and made a low chuffing sound. “Go back to sleep, girl,” Abby said. “There’s no reason we should both be up at this ungodly hour.” The small brown dog obligingly put her head back down on her front paws, sighed mightily and closed her eyes.

Abby glanced at her watch. Five-thirty. According to the brochure of ferry schedules open on the passenger seat next to her, the Felipe was due to depart the docks at six-ten. Abby had arrived at the terminal fifteen minutes earlier, thinking that would give her more than enough time to purchase a ticket and board the ferry for the two-hour crossing.

No such luck. She leaned back against the headrest and watched enviously as Québec Maritime terminal staff directed the rapidly dwindling line of cars in the Passengers with Reservations Only lane. The Felipe had a capacity of six hundred cars, and Abby had tried to count the vehicles as they drove into the cavernous opening. But so many had boarded before she arrived that she soon gave up, knowing it was an exercise in futility.

Next to the ferry brochure was her much read and well-creased road map, the route from her apartment in Andover, Massachusetts, to Tadoussac, Québec, highlighted in bright red. The helpful agent at AAA had assured Abby the drive would be a scenic one, albeit long, and had been telling the truth. Abby had made a right turn out of her driveway early the previous morning and had driven north in a straight line ever since. About halfway through the trip, late yesterday afternoon, she had left the interstate for the more rural highways of northern Maine. By evening, she had cleared Canadian customs and crossed the border into New Brunswick, Canada, picked up the Trans-Canada Highway and entered the province of Québec around midnight.

So near and yet so far, Abby thought, looking out her windshield at the choppy waters of the Saint Lawrence.

She sat up straighter as the last of the cars eased over the ramp between the dock and ferry. Abby could barely make out the ferry’s darkened interior, but it looked like there could be enough room for all the cars in her lane. Her optimism, however, was premature.

Just as she was keying her ignition back on, she watched in horror as the terminal workers switched their attention to the scores of big rigs, panel trucks and large flatbeds that had been idling in the lane to her left.

When the last the of the trucks had been allowed on board, Abby saw the brake lights on the lead car in her lane flash. As if that were the signal, all the remaining cars roared to life and the line slowly inched forward. A terminal worker approached each car, handed the driver a slip of paper and then waved the vehicle on. The closer Abby got, the more convinced she became that she would have to make a reservation on the next available ferry—eight hours later or drive miles and hours out of her way to Québec City and the bridge.