Sharing Spaces. Nadia Nichols

didn’t hesitate. He’d obviously already figured things out. “The way I figure it, including the food and provisions, the diesel fuel for the generator, gas for the boats and the plane, insurance, wages for the employees…maybe ten thousand?”

      Senna straightened her spine, raised her chin and drew a steadying breath. “Ten thousand dollars. A mere pittance. Well, I suppose I should start cooking those caribou steaks,” she said, and marched into the kitchen.

      JACK LISTENED TO THE SOUNDS of domestic industry coming from the kitchen and set the mended harness aside, pushing to his feet and pacing to the window with the restlessness of a wolf. Although he’d known her scarcely six hours, he sensed that Senna McCallum had the power to destroy him. She was definitely a strong woman. The way she’d just handled that news about the business needing a financial boost had been admirable. She hadn’t batted an eyelash when he told her how much the business needed to get going, and now she was in the kitchen, calmly and considerately cooking supper for him. Clearly she was level-headed and sensible enough to realize that the lodge was worth saving. He only hoped she had enough of a nest egg in the bank to help out.

      He returned to his seat and for a few quiet minutes continued stitching up harnesses and then flinched as he heard a series of loud bangs and crashes from the kitchen. The sound of the frying pan hitting the stovetop. The clatter of silverware being flung on the table. Plates hitting the counter hard enough to shatter them. He heard her muttering to herself in angry undertones, and then, very clearly, she said, “You, dog, get out of this kitchen. Go on, I won’t have you sitting there drooling while I cook!”

      Chilkat skulked into the living room, casting an offended glance over his shoulder as he did. Just as Jack was about to effect his own escape from the lake house, Senna stalked into the room, brandishing a knife in one hand.

      “You really expect me to clean out my savings account to float the start-up of a fishing lodge I have absolutely no interest in?”

      “You own a half interest, so the way I see it, you should be at least halfway interested,” Jack corrected. “The only other alternative we have is not to open, and that’ll set you back a whole lot more because then we’d have to refund the advance deposits.”

      “Which total exactly how much, dare I ask?”

      “Oh, somewhere in the vicinity of thirty thousand dollars, give or take a few thousand.”

      “I see.” She whirled around and stalked back into the kitchen. He heard the loud hiss as the caribou steaks hit the hot frying pan. Jack turned once again toward the door, gesturing silently to the dog, but before he could take two steps, she reappeared.

      “I think it’s cowardly of you not to have mentioned these financial problems before now,” she said, waving the knife around for emphasis. “What if I don’t have ten thousand dollars?”

      “Then we’d better hope the fishing’s good and all of our guests are fish eaters.”

      “There are a million details in a start-up operation. You quoted ten grand, but it’ll probably be closer to twice that amount, though I won’t know until I see your set-up. How many guests can you take at a time?”

      “The lodge has six guest rooms with two double beds each and can accommodate twelve comfortably, but we’d need more guides to operate at full capacity. By law, there has to be one fishing guide for every two clients.”

      “How many employees?”

      “Four. A housekeeper, a cook and two guides. Three guides, if I can hire another. Four would be even better.”

      “Plus you. That’s seventeen or eighteen people eating three meals a day, seven days a week.”

      “That’s about what I figured,” Jack said, nodding.

      She spun and returned to the kitchen. More angry noises. Jack gave up on trying to escape. He knew he wouldn’t have time. Sure enough, she burst into the room again, eyes flashing. “And just how long do you think one cook is going to last with no helper and all those meals to prepare and no days off?”

      “It’s a short season, barely two, two and a half months. The cook’ll last, and that time will pass in the blink of an eye.” Jack snapped his fingers to emphasize just how fast summers flew by in Labrador. “You might even consider staying on yourself and pitching in. Think of it,” he continued, forging boldly onward in spite of her ominous expression. “In just twelve weeks time, you could easily double or triple what you’d get for your grandfather’s half of the business. You saw the reservation book. We’re going to be busy as hell. By summer’s end, you won’t have any trouble at all getting rid of your shares. It’d be worth your while to wait, and who knows? You might even enjoy spending the summer here and decide not to sell.”

      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