Nadia Nichols - Sharing Spaces

Jack’s headache was getting worse with every beat of his heart, as was the day in general, or what was left of it. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed with a silent groan. “That sounds like a personal problem to me. Tell you what. If you’re that hard up for a quick buck, I’ll pay you a dollar if you make a pot of coffee for me,” he said. She was still brandishing the frying pan as though she’d like to whale him with it, and her nervous movements were making him dizzy and more than a little nauseous.

“This is not a joking matter,” she said.

“I’m not joking. I’ll pay you up front if you don’t believe me.” And then, as she began to erupt, he raised his hand. “Look, lady, like it or not, I own half of this house, half of the smaller cabin, half of a very mangy pack of sled dogs, half of the plane, half of the fishing lodge, and one half of each of those rusted-out trucks. Get used to it.” He gave her as challenging a stare as he could, given the circumstances. “The admiral and I were full business partners. I sank everything I had into it, and have no regrets except two. Your grandfather up and died on me, and he left his half of the business to you.”

Jack stood cautiously, holding onto the headboard. The room remained still. Good. If he could just get some fresh air, he’d be able to keep his stomach down. He reached for a clean undershirt. Rummaged in the bureau for a clean pair of socks, donned his favorite flannel shirt, and pulled on his boots. All the while she stood in the doorway, holding that big, greasy frying pan and watching him with the wary expression of a prison guard getting ready to move a dangerous prisoner into a maximum security cell.

“I’m sensing a streak of voyeurism in you, Ms. McCallum,” he observed as he picked his wallet off the bureau and removed a dollar. He held the coin out to her enticingly, but she clearly had no intentions of playing along. He sighed, stuffed it into his pocket, and looked around for Chilkat. “C’mon, dog,” he said. “She isn’t about to let you lick the pan.” Chilkat stood. “Chilkat can stay with me, at least for tonight. That’ll give you some time to settle in and take a reality check, but don’t think I’m hauling anchor permanently. I’ll be back tomorrow.” He glanced around, wincing. “Hope you’ll have the place cleaned up by then. Feel free to start with my room.”

“Where are you going?” Still frowning, still suspicious.

“I have a sweet-natured friend in Goose Bay. She’s always glad to see me, and she makes a great pot of coffee. I’ll save myself a buck and get a smile for a change.”

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….”