Nadia Nichols - Sharing Spaces

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?”