Sharing Spaces. Nadia Nichols

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

      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.”

      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, undershirt 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