“That’s what scares me, Nem. He hasn’t said a word about the crash or your arm, or even asked how it happened. He just showed up here and asked to speak to whoever was in charge. Then he hugged me for two solid minutes, and told me to come in here while he spoke with the doctor.”
“I … I think maybe I should stay with Greta a few days,” Emma said. “You could, too, if you want.”
“In the same house as Wayne?”
So that bastard Poulin was somehow involved in this, was he? With renewed anger, and now with a direction to aim it, Ben left the hospital.
Emma had been expecting a lecture, and would have preferred it to that peck on the cheek and a gift that had teeth the size of elephant tusks.
She’d nearly killed his son, and now she’d opened a can of worms that had left her with a wound that ached like the devil, a nephew who was bruised and battered, and a tangle of metal that had once been her plane.
And a dog.
Emma ignored the beast that fell into step beside them as Ben carried her up to the house. Mikey was trailing behind, still looking a little lost as he carried the flowers he’d brought to the hospital.
Emma looked over Ben’s shoulder at the cove, where her Cessna usually sat. She’d loved that plane. She had scrimped and saved and extended herself to buy it five years ago. It was the workhorse of her business. Now it was gone, and she was laid up for at least a month. She’d have to call all the sports she had booked for this month and cancel their reservations.
Deer hunting season was her most lucrative time of year. Now she was going to have to return all the deposits and eat the loss, and leave a lot of people disappointed.
“Do you want me to take you to your bedroom, or do you feel like sitting up for a while?” Ben asked as they entered the kitchen.
Which was already occupied.
Her curiosity outweighing her fatigue, Emma said she’d sit at the table. “Mikey. Could you make me a cup of tea?” she asked as she eyed the two men standing by the counter.
Not appearing surprised to find men in his house, and with the energy of someone glad to have something to do, Mikey put the kettle on to boil.
Emma studied the two men with open curiosity.
Ben cleared his throat. “Emma. I would like you to meet Atwood,” he said, gesturing to one of the men. “He’s my secretary in New York.”
The man smiled. “Nice to meet you, Miss Sands.”
Emma stifled a snort as she shook his hand. Secretary, her ass. Atwood looked like he ate babies for breakfast. There was no way those beefy hands dallied on a keyboard all day—nor could she see him answering phones and serving coffee to clients. His hard, piercing blue eyes never stopped moving, as if he expected someone to come crawling out of one of the cupboards with a machine gun.
The other man, who was dressed like Paul Bunyan, looked like he hunted down the babies for Atwood’s breakfast.
“This is my brother-in-law, Skyler,” Atwood said, now standing back by the counter. “Mr. Sinclair was nice enough to let him join me for this trip. He’s on hiatus.”
From some battlefield, Emma decided.
Ben had returned from New York with a security dog, two bodyguards, and who knew how many other foot soldiers lurking in the shadows. She’d bet Medicine Creek Camps that for every man standing in her kitchen there were at least three more wandering around town right now.
When pushed, Benjamin Sinclair was apparently going to push back with enough force to start World War III.
Mikey must have spilled his guts last night when he’d called his father to tell him what had happened, and Ben had immediately assembled an army.
“Have either of you been to Maine before?” she asked, already knowing the answer. The closest either of these men had come to this wilderness was shopping at L.L.Bean or Cabela’s.
“No, ma’am. We’re used to slightly warmer country,” Skyler said, giving her a smile that was more feral than friendly.
Emma sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Well, you might as well make yourself at home in cabin five. It’s suddenly vacant.” She looked at Mikey as he set her tea on the table—along with a bowl so full of Elmer Fudge cookies, they were falling out. “We’ve got to call all my bookings for the rest of this month and cancel them, Mikey. Tomorrow you can help me send back their deposits.”
“Oh, Lord, Nem. I hadn’t thought about that. You can’t guide and we don’t have a plane anymore.”
“That’s only a temporary problem. The Cessna was insured. I’ll start hunting for a new one tomorrow.”
“You’re going to be busy tomorrow,” Ben said, sitting across from her and grabbing a handful of cookies.
“Doing what?”
“Recuperating.” He popped an Elmer Fudge into his mouth.
She was going to have to teach him how to properly eat the cookies, she decided, ignoring his unsubtle suggestion that she sit back and do nothing. She attempted to pull the two halves of her own cookie apart but her left hand failed her, and the cookie went sailing through the air. Beaker caught it before it could hit the floor.
“That’s good, Em,” Ben said, smiling at her, knowing damn well she hadn’t intended to feed the beast. “Keep giving him treats. That will help you two bond.”
She glared at the dog, who was looking at her with huge, expectant brown eyes. Her heart melted—a little bit.
He was such a quiet dog. And unobtrusive. He merely padded along with them like a silent shadow. He seemed polite, too. On the ride home from the hospital, Beaker had sat in quiet joy in the back, looking out the window at the forest zooming by.
“Chocolate’s not good for dogs,” she said, taking another cookie and managing to get this one open.
