“I have work to do. And bed will be the front seat of my truck tonight.”
“What? Why?”
“I’ve got to stand guard over that moose, or every coyote within fifty miles will be filling its belly.”
He slowly shook his head, and Emma finally noticed what he was holding. His hands were on his hips, his legs were spread for battle, and in his right fist was a rope.
“If that’s the best rope Mikey could find, he’s regressing. It needs to be a lot longer and thicker. It’s a thousand-pound bull.”
“This rope is plenty big enough. I’m guessing you’re not a pound over one twenty.”
She frowned at him. “What in hell are you talking about?”
He stepped up to her and Emma stepped back, bumping into the bathroom door as she clutched her towel more securely. She had to tilt her head up in order to keep eye contact, and from this angle, the guy looked way too tall and determined.
“It means I’m going to tie you to that bed if I have to, Emma.”
He was bluffing. She lifted her chin in some semblance of authority. “You wouldn’t dare.”
His eyes ignited like silver moonbeams.
“Michael wouldn’t let you.”
“I’m bigger than Michael, too.”
“I have to go get that moose. It’ll bloat up like a balloon if I don’t field dress it tonight.”
“Mike and I will go get your precious moose. You’re in no condition to haul it out, much less sleep in your truck. I won’t tie you up if you crawl into bed and give me your word to stay there.”
“Medicine Creek Camps is my responsibility, not yours. And it’s not Michael’s anymore, either. Get out of my room.”
“Give over, Em.”
He wouldn’t dare tie her to the bed. Would he?
“Fine. I hope you fall in Beaver Pond and get frozen there until spring!”
“You know it’s for your own good, Em. You’re dead on your feet.”
She swept past him to her bureau. “If there’s one thing a woman always loves to hear from a man, it’s that he’s being a jackass for her own good.” She grabbed some long johns and an insulated T-shirt and marched into the bathroom. “Make sure you don’t wear one of your nice shirts, Mr. Sinclair. Bloodstains don’t come out of expensive material any easier than good old flannel. And don’t forget a pillow.”
With that parting shot, she slammed the door in his face.
When she opened it again, her hair dry and her body decently covered, there were two sets of stockinged feet in her room.
Emma walked right past them and pulled back the covers and plopped into bed. She fluffed her pillows, straightened her blankets, folded her hands on her lap, then finally looked up. One set of gray eyes was laughing at her and the other set was studying her with concern.
“I heated some soup for you, Nem. You didn’t have any supper.”
Michael placed a tray on her lap. Emma looked down at the bowl of steaming chicken noodle soup, a sandwich big enough to choke a horse, crackers, hot tea, and a whole package of Elmer Fudge cookies.
A peace offering. Michael had seen her stiffen when he’d called Ben “Dad,” and taking sides with him now was making the boy feel like a traitor.
Emma wanted to throw the entire tray against the wall, bury herself under her blankets, and cry for a week. But she didn’t want Mikey pulled in two directions by two people he cared for.
She looked up at the young man she’d taken into her heart the moment he’d taken his first breath. Knowing her eyes were swimming in unshed tears, she smiled at him. “Thanks, Mikey. I’m starved.”
“We’ll go get the moose and bring it back here tonight. You just rest and stay warm, Nem. Please don’t worry about anything. Da—Mr. Sinclair and I can handle it.”
“Just be careful. The moose is near the south shore.”
“We’ll find it. Eat. I’m gonna go get the equipment together now. Eat,” he repeated, giving her one last hesitant look before silently striding out of the room.
Emma picked up the spoon and slowly swirled it around in the soup, watching the steam waft into the air. The bed beside her dipped with Ben’s weight, and a hand settled on the blankets beside her as he leaned across her legs. When she lifted her gaze, intense gunmetal gray pierced her.
“This isn’t going to work, Emma. We have to stop clashing every time we get within ten feet of each other. It’s tearing Mike apart. He shouldn’t have to choose between us.”
“I’m not asking him to.” She looked back down at her dinner. “I was a little … angry when I came in. And hearing him call you ‘Dad’ caught me off guard.” She looked back at Ben. “I’m glad he likes you. I’m glad you had today together. Now you can take him home.”
He shook his head, his gaze never leaving hers. “No, I can’t. Mike’s not ready to walk away yet. Can’t you see that?”
Emma sighed, picked up one of the cookies and pulled it apart, exposing the chocolate. “Then I’ve got to give him a push,” she said, then raked the creamy center with her teeth.
“You push him, and he’s liable to push right back. Just give him some time.” He stole one of her cookies and popped it into his mouth.
The guy had no idea how to eat an Elmer Fudge.
“Give me some time, too, Em. Michael’s not the only one trying to feel his way through this mess.”
“Let me ask you something, Mr. Sinclair.”
“You could start making things easier for Mike if you called me Ben,” he suggested.
“Okay. Ben. Did you ever question that Michael might not even be your son?”
“Damn right I did. The moment I put down your letter.”
Emma ignored the fact that he still thought she had sent the letter. “But you don’t have any doubts now?”
“I didn’t have any before I came here. It’s like looking in a mirror twenty years ago.”
Emma smiled. “Yes. Michael’s the spitting
