Nadia Nichols - Sharing Spaces

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.

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.”