chapter Six
Allison turned left, then right. Finally she swung all the way around and glanced back over her shoulder at her reflection in the full-length mirror of her bedroom in her parents’ house, the room she’d had growing up, the one she now slept in during visits such as this. She’d decided to stop off to talk with her mother before returning to her apartment, before consulting her lawyer. Her mother always seemed to have a handle on every situation, no matter how difficult. Furthermore, she remembered she’d promised to attend a hospital fundraiser sponsored by her mother’s committee.
A smile tipping her lips, she swung around once more. Yes, there was definitely something to be said for the simple little black dress.
“What do you think, Jack?” She addressed her mother’s standard poodle where he lounged on her bed. Myra had objected to having the dog trimmed into any traditional poodle fashion. He had a full coat of pure white. If he hadn’t been kept in shape by proper diet and exercise, he might have looked like a large cotton ball. As it was, he was slim and trim, a prime example of his breed. At Allison’s words, he bolted alert and gave a sharp bark.
“You approve? Good. First male opinion of the evening.”
She adjusted one of the spaghetti straps over her bare shoulder, patted the artistic tangle of curls that had taken Gino, her hair stylist, two hours to concoct, and wished Heath could see her now. He’d be at a definite disadvantage in his bush pants and plaid shirt. Lord, she hated that man. She couldn’t wait for her father’s lawyer to obliterate that will. She’d send him packing so fast it would make his head spin, Snowy River hat and all. She’d tried to begin discussions of the situation with her parents on her arrival, but she’d barely had time to outline the conditions of the will when her mother insisted it was time to get ready for the benefit.
“We’ll discuss it in the morning, honey,” she’d said.
“Allison, are your ready? Your father and I have to leave soon.”
Her mother’s voice from downstairs brought her back to the moment.
“Coming,” she called, checking her pearl earrings and realizing how well they set off her creamy complexion. She snatched up a black evening jacket and handbag from her bed and hurried downstairs, Jack at her heels.
“Wow, Mom, you look terrific.” Allison’s tone reflected the sincerity of her admiration when she saw her mother in a floor-length, long-sleeved gown of electric blue, her golden hair elegantly drawn into an upswept style.
“Doesn’t she?” Allison’s six-foot-tall father, looking the epitome of sophistication in his excellently tailored tuxedo, chestnut hair touched with gray at the temples, beamed down on his wife. “She’ll have every man at this barn dance grabbing their checkbook and giving to those sick kids till it hurts. Her daughter doesn’t look too shabby, either.”
He turned his attention to Allison and grinned broadly, cowboy roots showing through the veneer of big city surgeon.
“That’s enough flattery, you two.” Myra smiled at the pair. “Allison, I am pleased you agreed to attend this fundraiser with us. We don’t spend nearly enough time together as a family.”
Oh, God, Mom, don’t you start on the family neglect bit. It’s bad enough I have Gramps’ version of the last original woodsman on my back.
The doorbell rang. Jack gave a sharp bark.
“Who can that be?” Cameron Armstrong frowned as he turned to answer it. “We’ve got to get going.”
“I made it.” Paul Bradley’s voice gave Allison a start. “Hi, Cam, Myra.”
Dressed in a tux, blond hair bright from salon care, he stepped into the foyer and flashed a smile lined with perfectly bonded white teeth and accentuated by what Allison knew, in Canada, in May, on an indoorsy investment banker, had to be a salon-induced tan.
“Made it?” Allison felt she’d missed a beat. A chafe of annoyance washed over her.
“Come on, Al. Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten. I told you I’d take you to your mother’s fundraiser if I could get away. And here I am.”
Jack muttered a deep-throated growl.
“Stay away from me, you furball,” he ordered the dog. “This is a new tux. I don’t want it despoiled with your sheddings.”
He crossed the entrance hallway to kiss Allison lightly on the lips.
“He’s a poodle.” She ignored his attempt to draw her into something intimate and shrugged away. “Poodles don’t shed.”
Her words brought a quick response. “I’m not into animals. Can’t abide their filthy ways.”
“Well, we’re delighted you’ve come,” Myra, always the gracious hostess, interjected. “You two can do me a favor. I’ll be grateful if you will pick up another case of Champagne at the Lakeside Liquor Store. I don’t have time. I have to be at the club to greet the guests. You can take a shortcut through the lane that runs along the greenbelt behind Lakeside Drive. The road isn’t paved, but you should still arrive in time for my opening remarks. Believe me, I need all the sympathetic faces I can get in the audience tonight. This is the biggest money raiser of the year. I have to be at my persuasive best.”
“Normally, I’d be glad to.” Paul turned to Myra. “But I came by cab. I just flew in from Vancouver and haven’t had time to get my BMW out of the garage.”
“We’ll take my car.” Allison struggled to keep an exasperated sigh out of her voice.
“Well, that solves one problem.” Paul took Allison’s arm possessively. “But I’m not sure about the wine. This is a new tux, and those cases can be dirty.”
“Here.” Cameron Armstrong reached into the closet near the door and pulled out one of his white lab coats. His tone reflected the exasperation his daughter had suppressed. “You can cover it with this.”
“Sure…sure…no problem.” Paul gingerly accepted the smock. “Let’s go, Al. It’s starting to rain and, like I said, this is a new tux.”
“Good Lord!” Allison breathed as she started her car two minutes later and swung it around the circular drive toward the street. “You’d have thought Mom asked you to bury her father, not just pick up a case of wine.”
“What are you talking about?” Paul looked over at her. “Your mother wouldn’t ask me to do a thing like that. What’s wrong with you, Al? God, you’re irritable. PMS or something? I thought you’d be glad to see me. It’s been nearly two weeks.”
“I’m sorry.” Allison braked before turning out onto the tree-lined avenue. She looked over at him and forced a smile. “I’ve got a lot on my mind. Let’s start over and concentrate on having fun tonight, okay?”
They had picked up the wine and were on their way to the country club through Myra’s suggested shortcut twenty minutes later when a ragged bolt of lightning rent the black night sky, freeing a downpour.
“Want me to drive?” Paul asked as the car slid in the mud of the dirt road.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Al, let’s stop for a few minutes. It’s private out here, and I haven’t seen you alone in a fortnight.”
“I’d rather not, Paul. Mom and Dad are waiting.”
“Ah, come on, Al. They know you’re in good hands. Pull over…here.”
He grabbed the wheel. Allison yanked back. The car skidded and lurched into a shallow ditch.
“Oh, great!” Allison stared out at the beams of her headlights shining into the trees, reversed, spun tires, and gave up. “We’ll never get out of here without a tow.”
“So use your cell. While we’re waiting to be rescued, we can do some serious making out.”
“I didn’t bring my phone.” She shrugged off his attempted embrace. “What about you?”
“In the pants I wore on the flight. Didn’t think I’d need it tonight.”
“Okay, fine. One of us will have to go for help. The club can’t be more than a quarter mile ahead.”
“One of us!” He sat bolt upright to stare at her. “Well, not me! This is a…”
“I know, I know,” she muttered. “A new tux.”
She cracked the trunk, pulled the keys from the ignition, and started to get out into the pouring rain.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He grabbed her arm.
“Going for help.” She shrugged away from him, then swung back to face him. “I have a poncho in the trunk. Lock the doors once I’m gone. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you…or your tux.”
****
She was trying to resuscitate Gino’s hairstyle in the ladies’ room at the country club an hour later when Candace Breckenridge joined her.
“I heard about your little adventure.” The older woman, in an elegant ankle-length white sheath, moved to the mirror beside her and patted her hair. “Apparently Paul wasn’t up to rescuing a lady in distress. Now if that sinfully sexy camp foreman of your grandfather’s had been with you, it would have been an entirely different story, wouldn’t it? He wasted no time rescuing me when I had that distressing little incident up at the Lodge on our last vacation. There’s a man who knows what to do…both during and after a crisis…especially after, if you know what I mean.” She dropped a false-eyelashed lid in a slow wink. “But then, I assume you discovered that fact while you were up there alone with him last week?” Her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed into a smile that was more like a smirk.
“That’s really none of your business.” Allison swung and left the room with as much haughty dignity as she could muster in mud-stained evening shoes and torn pantyhose.
Why did I react like that? I should have calmly denied it. Instead, I left it wide open to speculation. Fool! Now she probably sees me as her competition.
As she returned to the table where Paul and her parents sat, annoyance and disgust colored her mood. It was all Heath Oakes’ fault. He was responsible for her irritability with Paul, her repulsion of his attention, her mishap with the car, and now her rude run-in with her mother’s friend who, together with her husband, were expected to be major contributors to her mother’s charities.
Retaking her seat, she saw Candace Breckenridge standing in front of her husband across the room, her face distorted with anger. From the way she was flailing her arms and gesturing toward the entrance, Allison deduced the woman was demanding to leave.
Robert Breckenridge made futile efforts to calm his wife. Finally he shrugged and took her arm. She slapped his hand away and strode from the room alone. Her husband hesitated; then, with a shake of his head, he followed her.
“Oh, dear!” Myra Armstrong had also witnessed the confrontation. “Robert and Candace must have had another fight. They’re leaving, and they haven’t made their contribution yet.”
Oh, God, not more guilt. I didn’t mean to drive them away. A sinking feeling rose in Allison’s stomach. No, not my fault. She revived. Heath Oakes’ fault. The man taints everything he touches, and that includes Candace Breckenridge.
“I wish I could say I feel sorry for them.” Cameron Armstrong shook his head. “Hell of their own making, though.”
“Cam, watch your language.” His wife laid a restraining hand on his arm. “You’re not herding cows on an Alberta ranch now.”
“Sorry, darlin’, but that pair…”
“What do you mean, hell of their own making?” Allison broke in.
“Now see what you’ve done.” Myra frowned at her husband. “There’s no need to go spreading stories.”
“Why shouldn’t Allison know the truth? Everyone else east of the Rockies seems to. And since Allison is almost half owner of the Lodge that’s one of their favorite vacation spots, she should be aware of their situation before she’s confronted with it.”
“Very well,” Myra sighed. “It’s such a sad, hopeless affair.”
“Sad? Hopeless?” Allison glanced from one parent to another, astonished. “But they’re wealthy, socially prominent…”
“Not always the stuff happiness is made of.” Dr. Armstrong made a move to tuck his napkin into the neckline of his evening shirt, but his wife’s hand stopped him.
“Cam, really. I thought by now you’d have developed decent table manners.”
“Just teasin’, darlin’.” His grin confirmed his words as he chucked her under the chin. “Checkin’ to see if you were on your toes.”
“Of course.” Allison caught the glint of humor in her mother’s eyes while the remainder of her expression fought to display exasperation. Lord, how they love each other; what a wonderful time they have together. She glanced over at Paul, who’d arrived bone dry in the tow truck sent to his rescue while she was in the washroom. I wonder…
“You see, theirs was an arranged marriage of mutual convenience…or so it seemed.” Her father’s words drew her out of speculation. “When Candace’s father, Abe Maxler, became ill many years ago, he started looking around for someone to succeed him as CEO of his multi-faceted company. He knew Candace, his only child, had neither the intellect nor the inclination to do it. But he wanted the firm to remain in the family.
“He saw only one solution. Marry Candace off to an excellent businessman and make him CEO, with the clause that if he ever left Candace he’d face instant dismissal. If Candace left him, she’d be disinherited.”
“That’s medieval!” Allison couldn’t believe what her father was telling her. “I thought that type of thing disappeared centuries ago. No wonder Candace is so…” She stopped, discarded “promiscuous,” and opted for “discontent.”
“Hang on, hon,” Paul admonished. “It’s not a crime to marry well. In fact, business these days demands a good appearance on all fronts, personal as well as professional.”
“There’s nothing wrong with marrying well, of course.” Myra, always the peacemaker, stepped in as Allison opened her mouth to respond. “But love and happiness must always take precedence. Otherwise, discontent sets in and…”
“And when a woman who’s been unfulfilled emotionally as well as physically in her marriage reaches Candace’s age, that discontent can manifest itself in some pretty bizarre behavior.” Cameron Armstrong made a display of trying to find the correct fork for the lobster. “Believe me, I saw the problem more times than I care to recall when I was a GP.”
“Cam…” Myra reached to hand him the proper utensil, but he caught her slender hand and drew it, palm up, to his lips in a slow, sensuous gesture.
“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll behave,” he murmured. “Sorry if this old cowboy got out of hand. Forgive me?”
“Always,” she breathed, and the light in her mother’s eyes told Allison Myra Armstrong definitely wasn’t one of those women to whom her father referred.
She was glad her parents weren’t like Candace and her husband. The Breckenridges were a deeply troubled couple, and Heath Oakes wasn’t making it any easier for them. That womanizing barbarian was a major factor in their problems as well as her own. But not for long. She turned to Paul and smiled.
“Let’s dance,” she said.
It’s a waltz. Take advantage of it, Paul. Hold me close, whisper sweet nothings in my ear. Blast that woods-hero clone out of my mind once and for all.
“Your wish is my command.” Paul stood and swept her a mock bow. “Excuse us, Cam, Myra.”
He drew her into his arms. “Now, this is more like it,” he breathed, moving her about the dance floor in time to the music. “Nothing like a little slow dancing to soothe the savage beast. Or was that savage breast? I never was very good at romantic literature.”
“Breast.” Allison nestled against him and tried not to let the scent of his three-hundred-dollars-a-tiny-bottle aftershave rankle her. Some day she would have to find a subtle way to tell him she detested it.
“Paul?” She smiled at him, hoping he’d take the hint, hoping he’d recognize that she was searching for romance.
“Ummmm? Hey, hon, isn’t that Harrison Graves over there? He’s CEO of that new brewery…big bucks. I wonder if he’s interested in investing. Follow my lead. I’ll dance us over there. Maybe I can bump you into him…get his attention. Look pretty. Smile. This could be a big one.”
****
“Damn!”
Allison looked down at the slack left front tire of her car and breathed the curse.
“Allison, please.” Her mother, standing beside her in the club parking lot, cautioned, “Remember where you are.” She glanced around at guests leaving the facility. “Remember you’re a lady.”
“Sorry, Mom. It’s so damned—darned—exasperating. I thought roadside assistance would have checked for damage before they left it.”
“Not a big deal.” Her father put an arm around her shoulders. “You can ride home with us. Your mother said you plan to stay the night and discuss lodge business in the morning.”
“Good idea.” Her father’s plan had more than one advantage. “We can drop Paul at his apartment.” She ignored the head-shaking grimace he was favoring her with behind her parents’ backs. “I’m sure he’s tired. He’s been trying to sew up a big business deal with Harrison Graves most of the night.”
“Al…” He began the protest, but she silenced him with a finger to his lips and a sly smile.
“I’m taking a few days off to settle Gramps’ will, but I won’t have to spend my nights with lawyers. We’ll have time—lots of time—alone together.”
“Well, okay. Promise?”
“I said we will, okay?” Something inside her snapped at his prodding. “Don’t push.”
“Geez, Al. You’ve really got a bad case of the crankies or something. Whatever it is, I hope you get rid of it soon.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” she muttered, thinking of Heath. That night she dreamed of a tall, dark, handsome savage in a loincloth.
The next morning she got up early, dressed in her riding habit, and hurried downstairs to find her father finishing his breakfast of coffee, juice, and cereal.
“Your mother and Jack are still sleeping,” he greeted her, with one of his wide, cowboy grins. “She worked that room real hard last night. I see you’re going riding. How’s that mare of yours? I’ve got to get out there one day soon to see the fine filly she gave birth to…when was it…couple of months ago?”
“Mother and baby are both doing spectacular, thanks for asking.” Allison poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table to smile across at her father. “And, yes, you do have to make time to visit Pride and her baby, little Joy. Dad, honestly, she’s so cute, with her little whisk of a tail and that lightning blaze down her face…”
“The love of animals lives on in the Armstrong-Adams dynasty.” He favored her with one of his crooked grins that Allison thought made him look roguishly delightful. “Someday soon I’m going to take a week off and the three of us are going on one heck of a trail ride—tents, camp stove, the works.”
“I’m going to hold you to it.” She finished her coffee and stood. “Got to go. I want to be back in time to have a long chat with Mom before lunch.”
“Hold on just a minute, young lady.” Cameron Armstrong stood to tower over her. “No one leaves this house without a good breakfast in their belly.” He strode to the cupboard and brought a bowl, glass, and spoon to the table. “Cereal and juice before you hit the trail, my girl.”
Fifteen minutes later, Allison climbed into her mother’s sports car and took the half-hour drive to the stables where she kept her chestnut hunter. She’d ride Heath Oakes’ image right out of her mind, she determined as she swung into the flat English saddle and trotted the long-legged thoroughbred into the arena under the critical eye of Jake Morgan, her instructor.
The lesson didn’t go well. She couldn’t settle her mind to bring herself into harmony with the mare. She took her over the series of jumps poorly, and she knew it. A second round was no better. Nor was a third.
“Ease up on the reins, Allison. Relax and she’ll go easier. She’s sensing your tension.”
“I’ve been riding since before I could walk, Jake. I think I know what I’m doing.” For the first time in the seven years he’d been her riding instructor, Allison snapped at the tall, gray-haired man. She whirled Pride about and headed back at a jump too fast. The mare struggled to rise over the bars but, off stride and over speed, hit the fragile barrier and sent it scattering.
“Drat!” Allison reined the blowing chestnut to a halt near the fence and adjusted her helmet.
“Not her fault.” Jake Morgan came into the ring and took the animal by the bridle. “Time to call it quits, Allison.”
“Okay, okay.” She swung her leg over the mare’s rump, kicked her left foot free of the stirrups, and slid to the ground. She paused to brush a fleck of dust from her navy blazer and adjusted her snowy stock. “The fact that the stables are under renovation is throwing her off. All that hammering, and so many strangers around.”
“Well…” Jake rubbed the horse’s nose and avoided meeting his student’s gaze.
“What?” Allison looked sharply at her middle-aged coach. “Spit it out, Jake. If you think I’m a lousy rider, just tell me.”
“You’re definitely not a lousy rider, honey.” His lean, weathered face mirrored all the uneasiness he was feeling. “You’re a very good rider, with a heart of gold and the courage of a lion. English style just isn’t your cup of tea, so to speak. I’d suggest you segue into western pleasure and ride like your Dad.”
“Western pleasure! You’ve got to be kidding. You mean with a quarter horse and a stock saddle and jeans and a Stetson and…”
“Don’t be so quick to turn up your nose, missy. Your dad was a cowboy before he went to medical school and became a fancy doctor. Or have you forgotten his Alberta roots?” Jake released the girth and pulled the saddle and pad from the horse’s back.
“No, I haven’t.” She looked down at her polished riding boots and remembered how proud she’d always been of her father’s rise from son of a struggling rancher to one of Canada’s best neurosurgeons.
“Well, then.” Jake slid Pride’s bridle over her ears and replaced it with a halter and lunge line. “Give this mare to your mother—she’s retiring her old Princess this summer—and let me find you a good quarter horse.”
“Are you saying my mother is a more sophisticated rider than I am?” Allison watched the big, rugged man as he led the mare to the center of the arena and started her moving in wide circles at the end of the lunge line.
“No, just more suited to English than you’ll ever be” He clucked to the horse to keep her moving and cooling. “This pretty lady…” He indicated the mare. “Deserves to be with someone who suits her style.”
A shrill cry came from the paddocks behind the stables. The mare pricked her ears and answered with a sharp whinny.
“Baby still not ready to leave her mom?” Allison recognized the interchange.
“Pride’s a great mother, but she realizes she has to get back to work.” He stopped the mare, who stood with her head high, eyes searching, and handed her lead to Allison. “Her baby just isn’t ready to give her up. Put this lady in her stall, honey. I’ll be in shortly to rub her down. I want to check on the filly. She can get crazy trying to get back with her mom.”
Allison took the rope and headed into the stable. It wasn’t renovations or Pride’s anxiety over separation from her foal that had ruined Allison’s performance. No, no, no. It was her lack of concentration caused by one backwoods barbarian named Heath Oakes and his determination to involve her in her grandfather’s business. In her mind, she saw his piercing eyes mocking her, felt his body against hers, his mouth covering hers in the most sensuous kiss she’d ever experienced.
Lost in thought, it was a moment before she became aware of hooves galloping into the barn behind her. The next happened so fast that later she’d have difficulty recalling its sequence. A workman’s yell, a crash as the mare reared, slamming into Allison’s shoulder, high-pitched equine screams.
Thrown against a stall door, Allison staggered, struggling to remain on her feet. As if in a nightmare she saw Pride snorting and pawing amid a cloud of dust and debris, her filly lying immobile on the cement floor in front of her. A six-foot beam lay across the little animal’s shattered head.
“Jake!” she screamed as the stable manager ran into the barn and workmen leaped and tumbled down from scaffolding. “Jake!”
****
“Drink this.” Myra Armstrong thrust a steaming cup into Allison’s hands.
“What is it?” Wrapped in her favorite old fleece housecoat, she sat in her parents’ kitchen and stared down into the light brown liquid.
“Hot, sweet tea. The very best thing for shock.” Her mother took the chair across from her at the kitchen table, a frown furrowing her forehead. “Honey, are you sure you don’t want me to call your father? He’s not operating this morning. You really should have your shoulder examined. And you’ve had a terrible shock.”
“I’ll be fine, Mom. Just need a little TLC before I go back to my apartment.” She forced a smile, but tears trickled down her cheeks. “Oh, God, it was awful! Pride screaming, little Joy lying there with her head covered in blood…”
“I’m sure it was, sweetheart. I empathize with Pride. I can’t imagine anything worse than witnessing the death of your baby.” She stood and rounded the table to put an arm around her daughter’s drooping shoulders.
“Ouch! Sorry, Mom. A bit tender, but I appreciate the gesture.” She sniffed and smiled up at her mother. “Got a tissue?”
“Of course.” Myra went to the refrigerator to fetch the box from its top. “Poor Jake. He must be full of self-recrimination, letting that filly get away from him. I’ll drive out later and talk to him. I hope I can reassure him it wasn’t his fault. And honey, I really think you should stay here tonight. I’d like you to be with your father and me…”
The ringing of the phone broke into her words, and she picked up the receiver from its wall rack by the door.
“Hello. Yes, this is Myra Armstrong. Yes, my family is involved with Chance Lodge. What? Oh, no! When? How badly is he injured?”
“Mom?” Allison was instantly at her mother’s elbow. “Who? What…?”
“Of course.” Myra waved her to silence as she listened. “Someone will be there within twenty-four hours. Thank you for calling.”
“Mom, for God’s sake, what?” Allison seized her mother’s arm the moment she hung up. “The Lodge, what’s happened? Who was that on the phone?”
“That was the doctor in Portage.” She turned to her daughter, her face paling. “That’s the town nearest the Lodge.”
“Mom, for heaven’s sake, I know where it is. What did the doctor say?”
“RCMP received an anonymous tip that there’d been an accident up at the Lodge.” She crossed the kitchen to drop into a chair at the table. “When they investigated, they found Heath lying unconscious beside the boathouse, a fallen ladder beside him. At first they thought he’d slipped while fixing the roof, but when he regained consciousness, he claimed he remembered the ladder hitting him across the ankles when he went to stand…hitting him too hard to have been a natural slip.”
“A deliberate attack?”
“The police aren’t certain. Heath has a concussion, and they think he might be confused, but they’re investigating, just in case he’s not. Allison…” She turned to her daughter. “Your father can’t possibly leave his patients, and I’m at a critical stage with my fundraising. You’ll have to go. You’ll have to take care of Chance Lodge until Heath is well.”
“No, Mom. Definitely no!” Allison went to put her empty cup in the sink. “I love you, and I’d do anything for you…except that. And just now, after all that’s happened today…”
“Allison, I know you carry some animosity in your heart toward Heath that you’ve never chosen to explain, but this is your grandfather’s place we’re talking about. It needs a caretaker, and right now that has to be you. With Heath recuperating at the clinic in town, there’s no one to keep it safe.”
“And you seriously think my presence can deter vandals?”
“Allison, the Lodge has a state-of-the-art security system. It just has to be activated at appropriate times. And then there’s food and rooms to get ready…guests in two weeks, Heath told me. Hopefully by that time he will be back on the job and his mother will be home, but until then…”
“How do you expect me take time from my job? I may not be a neurosurgeon or a miracle fundraiser, but my position with the company…”
“Didn’t you tell me before we went up to Dad’s funeral that you’d hired an assistant who’s been working out really well? Well, let him take over for a few days.”
“But he’s still new at the game…”
“Now, you listen, young lady.” Allison was startled by the change in her mother’s tone. “This is your family we’re talking about. I know whatever Heath did years ago turned at least part of your heart to stone, but it’s about time you started reacting with what’s left of the soft bit.”
She picked up the phone and began to punch in a number.
“What are you doing?” Stymied, Allison stared at her.
“Calling our travel agent. You’ll need a ticket to catch a plane out of here tomorrow morning.”
“But we haven’t had time to discuss that crazy will! I haven’t consulted my company attorney!”
“You can contest the will a week, a month, a year from now. But it will be a pointless battle if the Chance is destroyed. Yes, hello. I want an open-ended ticket to Portage, New Brunswick. And a large dog crate.”
“There,” she said five minutes later as she hung up the phone. “All arranged.”
“Mom, I do think this is more than a bit uncaring, expecting me to go up to the Lodge to take over God knows what duties from a man I detest, especially after all that’s happened today.”
“Especially after what’s happened today.” She put an arm about her daughter. “Dwelling on what happened to Pride and her little Joy won’t help anything. On the other hand, getting involved in the challenges involved in taking care of the Chance will. Now you start packing while I get Jack’s things together.”
“So that’s why you asked for a dog crate. Really, Mom, Jack will only be a nuisance. He’s never even been in the woods…at least not that kind of woods. I know you take him with you when you ride the bridle trails out at the stable, but northern New Brunswick wilderness is a long way from carefully groomed paths.”
“He’ll be fine.” She smiled benignly as she pulled a bag of dog food from under a cupboard. “He’s proven to be a fine guard around the house. I’ll feel much better if you have him with you. Actually, he’s nearly as resourceful as his namesake…your grandfather.”
****
Going back to the Chance and that miserable man. In the last two days my life has done a complete one-eighty.
She plunked down on the edge of the bed in the pink-and-white room she’d occupied as a child and teenager before going off to college, before she’d become Allison Armstrong, tough business woman. What a romantic I must have been. She looked around at the frills and ruffles and again felt the pain in her chest that her denial of all that was lovely and romantic always caused her. And it was all his fault, all because of him.
She picked up the receiver of the pink princess phone beside the bed and tapped in her office number.
“Millie, this is Allison. Put me through to Andrew Burns, will you?”
It was a moment before the corporate attorney’s voice answered.
“Allison, good to hear from you. How are things in the wilds of New Brunswick?”
“Good afternoon, Andrew. Have you finished the work on Gramps’ will, the copy I faxed you yesterday?”
“Yes, but I don’t think you’ll be thrilled with what I’ve found.”
“What? Don’t tell me…”
“It’s ironclad. One of the tightest documents I’ve run up against in twenty years of practice. Contesting it would be pointless.”
“That can’t be. There has to be a loophole in such a bizarre document.”
“Surprisingly, no. Your grandfather and his attorney left nothing to chance.”
The following morning she watched southern Ontario disappearing beneath a heavy cloud cover. As the plane reached cruising altitude and leveled off, she settled back in her seat to consider her next move.
As much as she disliked the prospect, she’d check on Heath as soon as she arrived in Portage. After all, he was an injured creature. Next she’d determine if she needed a temporary caretaker…if she could find a competent one. And if she couldn’t? Stay on and run the place herself until she could come up with some way of ridding herself of her share and make a profit doing it?
She leaned back in the seat, closed her eyes, and tried to unwind. What a rotten week this had turned out to be. First, her grandfather’s death, then the terrible accident at the stable, followed by the news of Heath’s injury, and finally her lawyer’s report that he’d found no way to break the will that bound her to the man Gramps had monikered his acquired son.
Heath. His name echoed around in her head as she drifted into a doze. Suddenly he was with her, holding her, those amazing eyes looking deep into hers with a penetrating intensity…
“Would you like a drink, miss?” The flight attendant interrupted her half-lucid thoughts.
“Yes, please.” She jerked upright. “A diet soda. With lots of ice.”
Late that afternoon, after the commuter plane had touched down in fog and mist at the small northern New Brunswick airport nearest Chance Lodge, she collected her luggage and Jack. With the dog’s leash in one hand and her single suitcase in the other, she hailed a cab.
“Where to, miss?” the driver asked, eyeing the big poodle.
“To the medical clinic.”
“I don’t usually take dogs. Shed much?”
“Not at all. He’s a poodle. Double fare?”
“Climb in.”
“You’re a liability already, and we’ve only just arrived,” she muttered to the dog as the driver deposited her suitcase in the trunk and she opened the rear door to let the animal inside. With a happy bark, Jack leaped up on the seat and took his place by the opposite window.
“I’d like to see Heath Oakes,” she told the receptionist at the front office a few minutes later. “My name is Allison Armstrong. My grandfather owned Chance Lodge.”
“He checked himself out early this morning.” The gray-haired, middle-aged lady behind the desk surprised her with the reply. “Dr. Henderson tried to convince him he wasn’t in any fit condition, but, well, if he works for your family, you must know what he’s like. There’s no stopping him when he’s got his mind set. If Dr. Henderson couldn’t convince him to stay in the clinic, no one could. I’m sure they’ll be announcing their engagement any day now. And who is this fine fellow?” She turned her attention to the dog and beamed down at him. Jack, tongue lolling happily, looked up at her, bright and pert.
“Nell, what are you gossiping about now?” A brunette with gorgeous violet eyes, porcelain complexion, and shampoo-model hair stood framed in the doorway of an examining room, her white lab coat open to reveal a short, fitted dark skirt, red silk blouse, and legs that seemed yards long in black hose. Allison’s heart plummeted.
“Dr. Henderson?” She hoped her voice wasn’t squeaky with surprise.
“Yes. You were looking for Heath. I overheard.” She crossed the room and extended a cool, slender hand. “I’m Jessica Henderson, his doctor.”
“Allison Armstrong.” She accepted the introduction with what she hoped was mature, woman-to-woman cool. “When my mother and I learned he’d been injured, we decided one of us would have to come. How is he, Doctor?”
“Stubborn, tough, and definitely on the mend.” She shrugged and smiled ruefully. “I would have preferred his staying here a couple more days until I was sure all was well, but he refused. He had work to do at the Lodge, he said…guests arriving soon, and all that.”
She went to a cupboard in one corner of the immaculate room, unlocked it, and took out a bottle of pills.
“I assume you’ll be going up to the Chance?” She handed it to Allison. “These are painkillers he should be taking.”
“I imagine you’ll be coming up soon, too.” Allison couldn’t resist testing the waters of the relationship the receptionist had mentioned.
“Me? No. Not unless one of you think I’m needed.” The doctor looked puzzled. Then her expression cleared, and she chuckled. “Oh, Mom’s been airing her wishful thinking again, has she?”
“Now, Jesse, he’s a fine man, and you’re not getting any younger, and I would like to be a grandmother before I die…”
The receptionist arose and went to put a placating hand on the doctor’s arm.
“Mom?” Allison was surprised.
“Meet Nell Henderson, my mother, receptionist, and shameless matchmaker.” Jessica Henderson put an arm about the older woman’s shoulders and hugged her. “It’s fortunate I love her and understand she wants only what she thinks is best for me. You have a mother, Miss Armstrong. I saw you with her at Jack’s funeral. You understand.”
“Definitely.” Allison pocketed the pills and forced a smile. “Thanks. I’ll let you know if Heath needs further medical attention.” Good lord, why did I put emphasis on “medical”?
Out in the street she saw her cab and hailed it again.
“Chance Lodge, please.” She started to put her suitcase into the rear seat, but the driver stopped her.
“Sorry, lady, but I won’t take this car up there…not even for a double fare. Only four-wheel-drives on that road.”
“Well, then, how am I supposed to get there?”
“You might try renting Jordon Jones’ Tracker.” He pointed to a service station/convenience store across the street. “He lets it out sometimes.”
“Thanks.” Allison shut the cab door, hefted her luggage, adjusted her hold on Jack’s leash, and headed across the street.
“Good afternoon,” she said to the blond teenage clerk behind the counter as she entered the service station’s store section. Over in one corner, four local men whose mackinaws, work pants, and steel-toed boots branded them woods workers were gathered around a coffee machine. They stared at her and Jack. One of them pointed at the poodle and snickered.
“What’s that? A cotton ball on legs?”
“I’d like to rent a four-wheel-drive.” She ignored them and spoke when the girl behind the cash register looked up from the magazine she’d been scanning. “The cabbie said I might be able to get one here.”
“We only have one.” The teenager snapped her gum and looked Allison critically up and down. “And it’s out right now. Where’d you want to go?”
“Chance Lodge. How long before it gets back?”
“Tomorrow, probably.” She shrugged and returned to her reading. “Ben Jenkins never is real exact about when he’s coming down out of the woods. Likes to keep his wife guessing.”
“I’ll drive you up to the Chance.”
One of the men moved out of the coffee group and ambled over to her, Styrofoam cup in hand. He was huge and bearded with black whiskers. Equally dark, untidy hair stuck out from beneath a stained baseball cap. Over six feet tall and weighing, Allison estimated, well in excess of two hundred pounds, he was a formidable brute.
“How much?” She looked up into his small, bear-like eyes.
“Forty bucks, take it or leave it. Ten more if you’re taking that white thing along. Marty Mason don’t dicker.”
“Fine. Let’s go, Mr. Mason.” What a rip-off, but I have to get there.
“Hold your horses. I have to gas up first. Darrell, you wanta give me a hand? Wait here, lady. I’ll give you the high sign when I’m ready. No need for you to wait out in the cold and damp.”
****
“Come on, come on!” He waved impatiently at her through the service station window five minutes later. “I want to get back to town before dark.”
Grabbing her suitcase and Jack’s leash, she went to join him beside a dented, mud-splattered Jeep.
“That thing…” He jerked a finger at Jack. “And your suitcase in the back.”
What happened to the guy who didn’t want me waiting in the cold and damp? Allison lowered the tailgate, hefted her suitcase into the rear, and urged Jack into the grungy space beside it. The poodle circled twice before finding a place he deemed decent to plant his bottom. He turned reproachful eyes on Allison.
“I know, I know,” she hissed below the hearing of the driver, who was revving the engine. “It’s filthy, but it’s the best I…we can do.” She slammed the dented tailgate back into place and went to the passenger side, glad she’d chosen to dress in jeans, turtleneck, barn coat, and running shoes.
The interior was no better than the exterior. Dirty and reeking of stale smoke, the vehicle had torn upholstery and a dash so smeared and streaked Allison wondered how the man could read the gauges. Dead bugs coating the windshield lowered road visibility. Don’t get picky. It’s only a little over a half-hour drive to the Chance. I can tolerate this backwoods creep and his filthy excuse of a vehicle for that long.
“You’re Jack’s grandkid, right?” With a grinding of gears, they headed out of the parking area.
“Yes,” she replied, trying to keep the stench from unhinging the stomach muscles responsible for keeping her last meal in place.
“Old Jack. Now, there was a character.” He chuckled and flashed a grin over nicotine-yellowed teeth. “Real birds-and-bees lover. Wouldn’t kill a black fly if it was on the end of his nose. Crazy as a loon, I always said.”
“He was a conservationist.” Allison forced back a sharp retort. She couldn’t quarrel with this man. At least not until he got her to the Chance.
“Yeah, well, that’s as may be. But he should have had at least one rifle up at his place, what with all those stories of sasquatch sightings the last year or so.”
“Sasquatch sightings! Up at the Chance? You’ve got to be joking. There are no such creatures. And even if there were, they’re supposed to be native to the Pacific Northwest.”
“Maybe.” Her driver shrugged. “But Jack’s business is suffering because of it. Men who used to bring their wives and kids up to the Lodge started coming alone.”
“That’s crazy!” Allison snapped. “It’s just a stupid ghost story.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” He turned on his headlights as fog began to creep over the road and the mist thickened. “I’ve seen it myself, and it’s something I won’t soon forget. I won’t go into the woods up there without a rifle while that half-man, half-ape thing is around. No, sir, not me. I tried to tell Heath to be careful, but he wouldn’t listen. How is the stubborn bugger, anyway? I heard he had an accident.”
“He fell from the boathouse roof,” she replied. “According to Dr. Henderson, his injuries are painful but not life threatening.”
“Well, good. Him and me, we’ve had our differences from time to time, but I wouldn’t want to see him hurt bad or anything— Sweet merciful heaven, look!”
He braked to a violent stop that sent Allison pitching forward and brought a yike from Jack. Following the direction of the man’s stunned stare, Allison caught a glimpse of something large and hairy shambling across the fog-shrouded trail about twenty yards ahead of them. As quickly as it had appeared, it vanished into the trees.
“There! I told you,” Marty Mason barked. “Sasquatch. Second time I’ve seen the hairy bugger. Now maybe you’ll believe me.” He let off the brake and roared ahead up the trail at such a speed Allison, in spite of her seatbelt, bounced nearly to the roof.
“Hey, slow down.” Sasquatch or no sasquatch, she didn’t want to be killed when this dirty vehicle left the road and crashed into a tree.
“Not on your life, lady. It’s gettin’ on to dark, and I want to be back in town before moonrise. I don’t relish bein’ caught out on this road alone with that critter.”
Someone in a Halloween costume. Or a really big black bear, its coat grayed with mist. Both perfectly reasonable explanations. Or were they? With her heart still bumping at her ribs, she knew she’d be glad to get out of this shadowy forest and into the safety of Chance Lodge.
****
Chance Lodge and its grounds appeared deserted when Marty Mason stopped his vehicle in the dooryard. Only the canvas-topped Jeep and the Cherokee parked near Heath’s cottage denied the fact.
“I’ll be takin’ that pay now, miss.” He looked over at her, eyes narrowing as he held out a grubby hand.
“Of course.” Allison dug into her pocket, pulled out a wallet, and handed him the fare. “Thank you.”
A slight sound made her turn toward the storage barn, and she saw him. Watching her from its doorway, one hand above his head gripping the top of the frame, he was a tall, lean outline in the mist.
“Brought you a little something to make you feel better, Heath,” Marty Mason hollered out his window as Allison climbed out and headed for the rear of the Jeep. “I’d advise small doses, though. I do believe she’s potent stuff.”
Allison barely had time to retrieve her suitcase and get Jack to jump out before, with a raucous laugh and grinding of gears, the man swung his vehicle around and headed back down the trail.
“What are you doing here?” Heath asked when the noise had died in the distance. “Managed to break the will or something?” He remained where he was, his tone sardonic.
“No.” She held her ground, too, and stayed, suitcase in one hand, Jack’s leash in the other, where she was. “Dr. Henderson informed my mother of your accident and she—my mother, that is—decided someone from our family had to come to see if the Lodge needed a temporary caretaker. Dad has a full caseload, and Mom is winding up a major fundraiser. I was the only one she saw as being available.”
“Myra. I should have guessed.”
He dropped his hand and advanced toward her, limping. When he got close enough for her to see his features in the fading light, she gasped.
“My God!”
His left eye was black and swollen, his lower lip split, and his right cheek purpled with bruising. “I had no idea…”
“I’ve survived worse.” He looked down at Jack, his features relaxing into a crooked grin. “Who’s this handsome lad?”
“This is Jack.” No snide remark, no cotton ball joke. Surprising.
“Hello, Jack.” The dog gave a sharp little bark, sat, and held up his paw.
“Nice to meet you, too.” He accepted the offer. “Guess you’re named after someone pretty special. Come on.” He straightened, extended his hand for her suitcase, and grimaced. Hurting more than he wants anyone to know.
“Never mind.” She pulled it back from him.
“Fine.” He turned toward the Lodge, limping. “You don’t have to keep that poor guy on a leash up here. Let him stretch his legs. What did you have to do to get Marty Mason to drive the two of you up here?”
“Money convinces.”
“Doesn’t it always. Come on, Jack,” he continued as she released the dog. “I think I have a nice, juicy bone in the refrigerator.”
With a joyful bark, the poodle bounded along beside him, apparently delighted with his new friend.
Right. Alienate my dog, why don’t you. What great protection he’ll be once he’s been plied with his favorite food. Hefting her suitcase, Allison followed.
“That man, Marty Mason, didn’t seem to be overly fond of Gramps or anything to do with this place. Why?”
They were at the Lodge steps. As he mounted the first one, Heath turned back on her. “Because I fired him a month ago.”
“Again, why?” Allison looked up at him.
“He was belligerent and not adhering to our environmental code and goals. Satisfied?” He continued on up the steps and pulled open the door.
“Satisfied.” She followed him. “He told me there’s a sasquatch living on the Chance. Actually, we did glimpse something on the road…”
“Yeah, right.” Heath’s response was a sneer as he stepped aside to let her proceed him inside. “One foolish woman sees something furry in the bush and right away we have a sasquatch. It would have passed like the farce it is if she hadn’t spread the story like jam on a hot muffin.”
“And that hurt business?”
“What do you think?” He snapped on a light to relieve the twilight gray spreading into the room.
“Do you have guests now?” She set her suitcase to one side and removed her jacket.
“No, not for another ten days. Don’t worry. My mother will be back by then, and I’ll be able to handle my work.”
“Go into the living room and put a match to the fireplace.” She wasn’t about to let him start hitting her with sentimental junk. “It was always kept ready, and I’m sure you’ve continued the practice. I’ll get food. There must be homemade soup either in the freezer or refrigerator. It used to be a staple here.”
“Refrigerator,” he said, gingerly removing his plaid mackinaw. “Beef barley. So you do remember some of the traditions.”
“Some of them.” She pulled the bottle of pills Dr. Henderson had given her from her pocket and handed them to him. “From Dr. Henderson.”
He snapped off the cover, shook a few into his hand, and gulped them down.
“Hey, how about reading the directions?”
“He-men don’t read instructions.” He choked.
“Right. Besides your face…?” Allison headed for the sink and poured him a glass of water. She tried to keep compassion out of her voice as she got a good look at him in the kitchen light. He’d needed those pills.
“A few bruised ribs, a twisted hip, nothing life threatening.” He took the water and swallowed.
“Sit.” Allison shoved a kitchen stool over to him.
“What?”
“Sit. I’m going to take your boots off.”
“No way. I’m perfectly capable of…”
“Sure you are.” Her tone softened. “But it hurts, and there’s no need to punish yourself. So let go of that macho pride and sit.”
“Okay, okay.” He sank back onto the stool. She knelt and began to unlace his left boot.
“This could be a really hot moment, you know.”
She looked up and saw a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“Don’t get carried away, He-Man Oakes. I’ve simply got too much of my parents’ compassionate blood flowing through my veins to let anyone or anything suffer needlessly.”
“And maybe a drop of Jack’s?”
“Okay, okay, maybe a drop of Gramps’ blood, too.” She yanked the boot from his foot and he flinched.
“Ugh.”
“Sorry. Stop your guilt tripping and I’ll try to be more gentle. Do you have any idea who might have caused your fall?”
“No, but whoever did it never meant to do more than shake me up. Otherwise he could have finished the job while I was out cold.”
“He might have killed you with the fall.”
“I don’t think murder was his intention. Dead, I couldn’t sign away my share of the Chance. James Wilcox is willing to play rough to get what he wants, but I think he’d draw the line at premeditated murder. And so, I think, would you.”
“James Wilcox? Me? You can’t be serious! This place certainly isn’t worth risking a murder charge.”
“Interesting. You seemed to think I was willing to give it a try.”
“Yes, well, maybe.” She finished unlacing his right boot, but this time she eased it from his foot. “The jury is still out on that one.”
“Ah, so now there’s a jury. I’m not being condemned without a trial. Guess I’ve moved up a notch in your estimation.”
“It had to be a thief or a vandal.” She recalled the well-dressed man who had accosted her and her mother at the funeral and found Heath’s suspicions farfetched.
“Then why didn’t he take anything while I was unconscious?”
“I can’t explain that. I only know civilized professional people do not resort to violence as a means to an end. Especially not for a few acres of trees.”
“You don’t know the facts.” Heath got off the stool. When she stood to face him, she discovered that even in his stocking feet he was still a good six inches taller than she.
“What facts?”
“The government has recently put a freeze on the sale of all crown-owned waterfront property along this river.” He walked gingerly across the kitchen, then turned to face her, his back to the cupboards. “Only privately owned property can be purchased, and that’s subject to a lot of environmental conditions. For example, land already designated for private recreational homes has to stay that way; there can no longer be any reclassification to commercial use. And since this is the only property on the river already with a commercial designation, it’s the only one available that can take paying guests. In other words, we’re the only game in town.”
“But why this river, this lodge? Surely there are others on other rivers…”
“Ah, yes, but not on a river like the North Passage. It’s an adventure river, offering everything from great trout and salmon fishing to Class Four rapids for adventurers. Its wildness and inability to be navigated by power boats has kept it pristine, its surrounding wilderness unspoiled. That was why Jack screened his guests so carefully. He didn’t object to catch-and-release fishing—it often provided his bread-and-butter crowd—but he did mind hunters and people on ATVs who had no respect for the land and its creatures. He wanted this to be a place people came to enjoy nature and the wilderness, leaving only tracks behind and taking only pictures and great memories away. And,” he said heading for the refrigerator. “I intend to see it stays just that way.”
He opened the appliance door and took out the largest beef bone Allison thought she’d ever seen.
“Here, buddy. I bet you’re hungry.” He handed it to the eager dog. “Can’t have anyone named Jack uncomfortable in this house.”