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Authors: Nadia Nichols

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Senna teetered beside him as the dock rocked beneath her feet. She stared dubiously at the aircraft. “It looks ancient.”

“She's a sweet old girl, a four-passenger Cessna 195. They don't build 'em like this anymore,” he said, giving the bright-yellow wing that overhung the dock an affectionate slap, as if it were a favorite work horse.

“What year is it?”

“Nineteen fifty, sporting a Pratt and Whitney 985. Beautiful motor.”

“Dear God, that's older than ancient. And my grandfather owns half of it?”

“The half that never breaks down,” he said with a grin. “So. What do you think of the view? This lake's four miles across and forty miles long.”

Senna looked across the lake to the far shore. “It's a big lake,” she said, thinking that this land was lonely and isolated and more than a little forbidding, yet compelling in a way that made her want to see much more of it. “A big land. Are there any towns out there?”

Jack squinted across the distance and nodded.
“Standing on this dock we're looking almost due north. About a thousand miles in that direction there's a village called Kangiqsualuiuaq, on Ungava Bay. Across the Hudson Strait is Baffin Island, and there a few native settlements on that, as well.”

“You mean to say that the nearest town to our north is a thousand miles from here?”

“Could be a little closer as the crow flies,” Jack admitted. He grinned again at her expression. “Most folks up here follow the waterways, and they seldom run in a straight line. Ever read about the Hubbard expedition?”

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.

CHAPTER THREE

B
Y 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.”

Senna looked back out the window, flustered by his nearness. “Maybe they do,” she said softly.

“Think I have time for a quick shower before supper?” Jack asked, leaning over the sink for a closer look at the loons and brushing his shoulder against hers. Accident? She doubted it. John Hanson possessed enough arrogance to keep ten men puffed up and strutting around like roosters.

“Yes, plenty,” Senna said, focusing on scrubbing a plate and breathing, two mundane tasks that had suddenly become extremely difficult. She wished he wouldn't stand so close, and when she felt him move away and heard his footsteps climbing the stairs she glanced over her shoulder with a frown. Was he planning on making a pass at her tonight? After all, they'd be sleeping under the same roof and sharing the same living spaces for the next two weeks. He probably thought if he seduced her, he could change her mind about selling her half of the business…as if she'd ever allow that to happen!

Senna rinsed the plate and put it in the dish rack with a sudden twinge of guilt. She'd forgotten to call her mother. She'd promised to let her know the moment she arrived and now it was almost eight o'clock. She wiped her hands on the dish towel, retrieved her cell phone from the rental car and walked out onto the dock to give herself the best wide-open shot at reception before dialing. Nothing happened. No call went through. The little screen on the cell phone's face said, “No Signal” and the tiny bar codes that indicated the signal strength didn't even begin to register. She tried several more times before giving up.

Damn! She'd have to drive clear into North West River just to call her mother to let her know she was okay. She entered the house at the same time Jack was descending the stairs and they met head-on. “That was a mighty quick shower,” she said, taken aback by the suddenness of his appearance. He'd shaved, nicking himself in a couple of spots. His hair was damp and disheveled. He was wearing a reasonably clean set of clothes along the same lines as the original—jeans, un
dershirt with a flannel shirt pulled over, unbuttoned down the front and sleeves rolled back He looked virile and disturbingly handsome.

“Mighty quick and mighty cold,” he agreed amiably. “You used up every last drop of hot water cleaning the kitchen.”

“Oh!” Senna felt her cheeks burn. “I'm sorry….”

“Don't be. The kitchen looks great.” He glanced at the cell phone she held. “Were you trying to call someone?”

“Yes,” Senna said. She kept recalling the heart-stopping sight of that mountain lion she'd seen, that wild, powerful symbol of strength and grace that reminded her so much of Jack Hanson.

“Why not use the house phone?” Jack asked, one eyebrow raised. “You'll get a helluva lot better reception. Cell phones don't work here. No towers.”

“I didn't know there was a regular phone.”

“In the living room on the end table.”

“If there's a phone, where are the phone lines? I saw no telephone poles for the last half mile of road.”

“Underground cable. The admiral didn't like the idea of wires strung everywhere. The electric and phone cable was expensive, but considering the wild storms we get up here on the Labrador, it was a good idea.”

“I see.” Senna stared at him for a moment more, unable to help herself. He possessed an animal magnetism that was stronger than anything she'd ever encountered. “Supper will be a little late. I'll get started right after this phone call.”

He nodded, brushing past her on his way to the kitchen. He smelled faintly of soap, and the residual
scents of wood smoke and mosquito repellent that clung to his clothing. He smelled good.

Senna wandered into the living room, the next room on her cleaning agenda. It was a masculine room whose focal point was a big stone fireplace flanked by deep bookshelves. The wall of large windows overlooked the lake, and the comfortable rustic furnishings were well suited to the lake house's character. She located the phone and sank down on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her as she lifted the receiver. Moments later she was speaking to her mother, who was anxious to hear about everything. Senna heard the screen door bang and craned to look out the window. She spied Jack walking out toward the dock, Chilkat by his side. Good. He wouldn't overhear.

She abruptly interrupted their staid conversation about legal matters and as quickly as she could she filled her mother in on the true state of her grandfather's Labrador affairs. “This is going to be much more complicated than I expected, given the fact that everything was co-owned in a full business partnership,” Senna concluded. “Tomorrow Jack's flying me out to see the lodge. I only hope it's in good repair and won't take too long to sell.”

“What's he like?” her mother asked.

“Jack? Oh, he's okay, I guess, a little younger than I expected….”

“Why doesn't he just buy out your grandfather's half of the business?”

“He told me the banks wouldn't look twice at him.”

“You hardly know this man, Senna. Do you think he's safe to fly with?”

“Mom, don't worry. I have a feeling he's a very good
pilot. I'll call you tomorrow night. Right now I have to get supper started. I promised I'd cook if he showed me how to tend the sled dogs.”

“Sled dogs?”

“Huskies. The real thing. Twenty of them.”

“Goodness. Senna, Tim called. He tried to reach you at your apartment and got worried when he couldn't. I told him about your grandfather dying and that you had to go to Labrador. He sounds pretty down.”

“I'll call him. Bye, Mom. Love you.” Senna sat for a moment after hanging up and then dialed Tim's number, peering out the window once again while the call went through. Jack was doing something with the airplane. The door was open and he was inside. Good, twice over. She especially didn't want him to hear this conversation.

Tim answered on the third ring. “I'm sorry I bothered your mother, but I was worried,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“Fine. My grandfather's death was unexpected and he named me as his executor. I'll probably be here for two weeks settling his estate. It's very beautiful and remote country.”

“I can imagine,” he commented. “They probably still travel by dog team there.” After an awkward pause, he said, “How's everything going?”

“As well as can be expected. My grandfather owned half shares in a business that includes a lake house, a fishing lodge and an airplane, which complicates things. Somehow I have to find a buyer for his shares. How are things with you?”

“Okay. I landed that big account I've been working
on. Ameri-Dyne. You know, the huge dental practice off Forest Ave.”

“Wow, that's great news, Tim,” she said. “Congratulations. I know how hard you've been working for that.” Senna caught a flash of movement outside the window and saw Jack and Chilkat walking toward the house. “Tim? I have to go. I have a meeting with my grandfather's business partner.”

“I miss you, Senna. Let me know if you need anything at all,” he said, sounding forlorn.

“I will,” she promised.

Senna was sick with guilt as she attacked supper preparations in the kitchen. Sooner or later Tim would realize that their relationship was over. But that didn't ease the pain he was feeling now, and she was the cause of it. He adored her. Was she wrong to break things off? Why couldn't she love him the way he loved her? Senna gave herself a mental shake. This was no time to be dwelling on her relationship with Tim. She had a meal to prepare. Caribou steaks, russet potatoes scrounged from a musty sack of sprouting spuds she found in a lower cupboard, and canned corn. In the refrigerator she unearthed two sticks of butter, several fist-sized chunks of mold that might once have been vegetables, endless half-empty jars of condiments and a container of very sour milk. This wouldn't pass for a gourmet meal by any standards, but Senna realized as she slipped the scrubbed potatoes into the oven that such standards no longer mattered. She hadn't eaten since breakfast and was ravenous.

By the time Jack wandered into the house, carrying what looked like a shapeless snarl of nylon webbing, things were reasonably under control. “It'll be another
forty-five minutes,” she called out as he dropped into a chair in the living room, the webbing in his lap, and began threading a large curved needle from a spool of dental floss. “I hope you can wait that long.”

“That's just about right,” he replied, concentrating as he drew the floss through the needle. “Mending these harnesses will probably take that long or better.” He picked up a piece of webbing that had been chewed in half and lit a match to melt the ragged ends before beginning to stitch the harness back together. “So,” he said, jabbing the needle into the thick webbing. “Have you given any thought to keeping your share of the business?”

Senna moved toward the living room, crossed her arms in front of her and leaned against the door frame. “No. I mean, yes, I have, but no, I don't want to own half of a fishing lodge, thank you very much. Don't you have a friend or relative who might be interested in buying my grandfather's share?”

“Nope.” He drew the floss through the harness, pulled the thread tight and cast a brief glance in her direction. “There aren't that many people out there as crazy as the admiral and me. What about your brothers? You have two of them, don't you?”

“Yes. Billy's a computer programmer for a large engineering firm in Boston, and Bryce is a market analyst living in New York City.”

“Do they fish?”

“No, nor are they or their wives particularly outdoorsy.”

His shoulders slumped. “That explains it, then.”

“Explains what?”

“Why the admiral named you as his executor. You were his last great hope.”

Senna felt a flush of anger heat her blood. “Are you certain the banks won't loan you the money?”

“I've already looked into it. Even if the bank appraisal came in high enough, there's no surety there. I don't have a steady job, and the fishing lodge hasn't generated any income yet. I'd have to have a co-signor to get any sort of mortgage, and I can't think of a soul on earth who'd be crazy enough to co-sign a loan for me.” He paused for a moment, needle poised in mid-air, eyes fixed on a point somewhere between Senna and Baffin Island, then shook his head in a gesture of defeat and returned his attention to mending the harness.

“Why did my grandfather keep sled dogs?” Senna asked, abruptly changing the subject to avoid further jabs from Hanson.

“He liked them. He met a trapper from a village near Mud Lake who was selling his team. The admiral bought the dogs, the komatik and a bunch of traps. He decided he was going to make some money on furs.”

Senna felt a twist of revulsion as she pictured the pained and frightened creatures caught in the steel leg-hold traps. “I think trapping's cruel and awful and ought to be outlawed.”

Jack uttered a short laugh. “So did he, after about a month of it. It was brutal work. The snow here is so damn deep and unpackable that the dogs had to swim through it hauling that heavy sled. The admiral would try to break the trail on snowshoes, but he couldn't keep ahead of the team. The leaders would run up on the tails of his shoes and he'd pitch head first into the snow. So he recruited me as his trail breaker, but my trapping career spanned less than a day. I tell you what, it's not easy
getting out of deep snow when you fall facefirst into it. A couple of times I was sure I was going to suffocate.”

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