His frown made her laugh out loud.
“Jeez, Nem! That was a powerful one,” Mikey said as he ran into the kitchen, sliding to a sudden stop when he saw his aunt in the arms of his father.
Emma realized she was clinging to Ben and stepped back.
The kitchen door banged open, and Atwood and Skyler came running into the kitchen, Beaker fast on their heels. The two men’s eyes were nearly bugging out of their heads; Beaker was whining and looking for a place to hide.
Emma laughed out loud.
“What was that?” Atwood asked. “Maine doesn’t have earthquakes, does it?”
She shook her head. “Not usually. But we do get
little rumbles every once and a while. Just enough to rattle the dishes.”
“That was more than a rattle,” Skyler interjected.
“It’s the earth rebounding from being crushed by heavy glaciers thousands of years ago,” Mikey told them. “Or it might be the hot springs,” he said, looking at Emma. “They could be rumbling back to life.”
Emma preferred the image of Benjamin Sinclair’s arms upraised, commanding nature to his will. She forcibly shook it away. “Well, gentlemen. Since you’re all here now, Ben has something he wants to tell you.”
Ben looked at her, the spark of passion still in his eyes. “Maybe you should tell them, Emma, since you’re so full of … surprises this morning.”
Fighting down the heat suddenly threatening to color her face, Emma looked at the three expectant men, and at Beaker, who was sitting and staring up at her.
“Ah …” She looked at Mikey first. “Ben and I were thinking it’s time for you to go back to school.”
The boy immediately shook his head. “I want to stay home a few more days.”
“I think you’re over the trauma of crashing our plane, young man. You’ve milked it long enough.”
“But—”
“Go to school, Mike. Skyler, you’ll take him and pick him up,” Ben added, looking at Skyler, who nodded in return.
“Atwood,” Ben continued, “why don’t you see about filling that woodshed out back.”
Atwood quickly nodded, seeming relieved not to have to spend another day lurking close to the house.
Ben turned to her. “And you won’t lift anything heavier than a dustrag?” he asked, looking skeptical.
She placed her right hand over her heart. “I promise not to get into any trouble,” was all she said in agreement.
He kissed her firmly on the lips. “I’ll be home early,” he said, and walked out the door, calling Beaker to follow.
Emma went to the sink, and with a slightly trembling hand and pink face, she picked up the fallen pot. “Have a nice day, gentlemen,” she said without looking up as they silently filed out the door. Each of them stopped only long enough to dip into the bowl of cookies on their way out before letting the screen door slam behind them.
Emma eyed the empty bowl. They were going through the Elmer Fudge cookies like kibble. She didn’t know where they had come from, but there was a whole case in the pantry. And there always seemed to be a large bowl of them on the counter. She had decided it was magic, because one minute she’d notice the bowl was empty, and the next minute it would be full.
Her little addiction seemed to be contagious.
It was three o’clock before Emma heard the kitchen door slam again over the voice of Mary Chapin Carpenter coming from her earphones. She looked up from the paperwork scattered over the table to see Ben and Beaker walk in, both looking like they owned the place.
Beaker trotted up and immediately pushed at her arm for attention. Emma pulled off her headset and shut off her radio, then reached down to greet her pet.
“Something smells good,” Ben said, shedding his jacket. “What’s in the oven?”
“I got sick of Mikey’s cooking.” Emma patted her dog. “He’s got this thing about spices. That’s turkey you’re smelling.”
Ben looked concerned. “How did you get it in the oven with only one arm?”
“I called in reinforcements. Greta put the turkey in the oven,” she explained, looking back down at her paperwork. “You can either wash the potatoes or help me figure out how I’m going to come up with the funds for a new plane.”
“You said it was insured,” he said, scanning the paperwork from over her shoulder. “So what’s the
problem?”
“They’re not paying out until the FAA has finished its investigation. I … um … I don’t have an instructor’s license, and Mikey isn’t old enough to solo yet. And word’s out that he was at the controls at the time of the crash. The investigation could take months.” She tapped her pencil on her financial worksheet. “And I don’t have months. In the winter I change the pontoons to skis and fly ice fishermen into remote ponds and biologists in for animal counts. I need to replace my plane.”
“I’ll give you the money,” he said, rolling up his sleeves and going to the sink, apparently confident the problem was solved.
“No.”
He stopped in midstep and turned. “No?”
Emma picked her words carefully. “I appreciate the offer, Ben, but I don’t want your money. Don’t take it personally. It’s just that I … I wouldn’t be comfortable,” she finished, looking down at her papers.
He walked back to the table and stood over her, and silently waited. He was going to take it very personally, she realized. He’d made a generous, innocent offer, and she’d rebuffed him, no matter how diplomatically. Several long seconds passed before she found the nerve to look up.
“I can just write you a check.”
“I know you can, but I want to do this myself. Paying for a new plane isn’t the problem; it’s waiting for the insurance to pay that’s got me stumped. I just thought that with your business background, you might have an idea how I can temporarily shuffle my money around.”
He suddenly turned and headed back to the sink, once more rolling up his sleeves. “You need an accountant for that.”
Emma blew
