“It’s not going to work, Mikey.”
“What won’t work?”
Emma stopped packing her gear, walked around her bed to her nephew, and touched his arm. “I know this isn’t easy for you, having your father suddenly show up out of the blue. And I also know you’ve always dreamed of this day. But he’s the proverbial rolling stone, Mikey, who never gathers moss.”
He just looked at her. Since she and Ben had returned this morning, the boy had been watching her like a hawk, silently but expectantly. Emma knew he was concocting something in that overintelligent brain of his, and was waiting to see what had come of his manipulations so far.
“Mikey. It’s very possible Benjamin Sinclair really didn’t know Kelly was pregnant. And I truly believe he didn’t have anything to do with your grandfather’s death. He wouldn’t be here now if I thought he did. But no matter how wonderful you might think he is, that doesn’t change what he is.”
“And just what is he?”
“A rolling stone,” she repeated, continuing to pack her gear. “Think about it. The man’s thirty-four years old, he’s not married and never has been. No children other than you—that we know of—and no commitments.”
“He’s been running Tidewater International for the last five months, Nem.”
“Well, bully for him. But he doesn’t even own a house, Mikey. He lives with his two bachelor brothers and grandfather.”
“Abram Sinclair died five months ago,” Michael told her, causing Emma to stop packing and look up again. “And his older brother, Sam Sinclair, just got married, and he’s thirty-six.” He grinned. “Ben will settle down when he finds the right woman.”
Emma gave him a good scowl. “How do you know all this?”
“It was in all the New York papers last spring, when Abram Sinclair died. My great-grandfather left his entire estate, including his shares in Tidewater International, to some woman he met on the Maine coast just six weeks before he died. She’s the woman Sam Sinclair married.”
Emma snorted. “That’s one way to get back your inheritance. Which only proves that just because biology makes Benjamin Sinclair your father, that doesn’t mean we can trust him.”
“So what are you getting at, Nem?”
Emma threw her pack on the bed and grabbed her nephew by the arms. “You’re not the only one who knows how to use the internet around here. I’ve read a few articles about the Sinclair men myself.” She sighed. “I just don’t want you concocting any dreams about the three of us, Mikey. There is our relationship, and there will be one between you and your dad, but there will never be one between the three of us. Understand?”
“You don’t like him? Not even a little bit?”
“That’s not the issue here. It doesn’t matter if I like him or not.”
Giving up any hope of making him understand, she turned and picked up her gear, then turned back to him. “You sent him after me on purpose, Mikey, hoping something would … evolve between us.” She poked him in the shoulder. “It’s not going to happen, little man.”
What she got for that declaration was a kiss on her forehead. “If anything needs to happen around here, it needs to happen to you. I love you, Nem. I want to see you happy.”
“D-don’t do this to me, Mikey,” she whispered. “Don’t make me cry. I’ve got sports to take out.” She reached up and touched his cheek. “Get to know your dad, Michael. But leave me out of it. Please.”
Before he could respond, she pulled free and ran out the door.
Chapter Six
“Women like flowers. How about you call down to Greenville and have a big bouquet sent up?”
“It would cost a small fortune to have flowers delivered way out here.”
“You’ve got a fortune.” Michael gave Ben a calculating look. “Which is good. The way I figure it, you owe Nem several hundred thousand dollars.”
Ben stopped walking down yet another damn tote road and stared at his son. “What makes you think I owe her a dime? And where in hell did you come up with that figure?”
The boy rested his shotgun on his shoulder and grinned. “Child support for the last fifteen years.”
“What!”
“I haven’t been cheap to raise, you know. Nem tried to see that I didn’t do without. My computer cost as much as a new boat and motor. And I broke my leg when I was eight. And I’ve been outgrowing my clothes faster than she can buy them. Then there were the floats on the plane.”
Ben started walking again, forgetting he was supposed to be hunting partridge, and darted a look at the boy walking beside him.
Michael hadn’t even blinked at the idea of missing school today. Ben wasn’t sure what Miss Flaming-Mad Emma would have to say on the matter, but they’d gotten back to Medicine Creek just before sunrise, and the woman had showered, changed clothes, and taken out her moose hunters. It was probably as much a perverse notion as a selfish one that had made Ben ask Mike to spend the day with him. After all, he was the boy’s father. He should be able to let the kid skip school.
“How did you damage the floats?”
Michael suddenly looked uncomfortable. “I … well, I sort of hit Crazy Larry’s dock at full power. But that didn’t damage them as much as when I bounced off it and hit the rocky shoreline.” He grinned at Ben. “Nemmy was mad enough to drown me.”
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen.”
“She wasn’t in the plane with you?”
“No. I was supposed to be practicing high-speed taxiing.”
“What happened?”
“Crazy Larry’s niece was visiting.”
That certainly explained things. Ben slapped Mike on the shoulder, then left his hand there.
And it felt damn good.
Ben chuckled. “Hell, Mike. Show me any disaster, and I’ll show you a woman standing nearby, watching.”
“Yeah. Well. Nem wasn’t quite as understanding. I chopped enough firewood to keep Medicine Creek Camps heated into the next century.”
Two partridge suddenly flew up from the side of the road, startling them into nearly dropping their guns. Neither male took aim at the departing birds, instead stopping to face each other.
“Nem’s going to be mad you let me skip school.”
“She can’t possibly get any madder than she already is.”
“Did you … have you really come here to claim me as your son?”
“Damn right. Are you ready for a father? For me to be your father?”
Gray eyes, so innocent yet so old, shined back at him. “I believe I am, Mr. Sinclair. I love my aunt with all my heart, but it’s definitely time I had a father.” The corners of his mouth suddenly turned up. “I probably know more about you than you know about yourself.”
“How?”
“Nem kept a scrapbook. She gave it to me on my tenth birthday.”
“Emma kept a scrapbook?”
“She started it before we ever got internet out here. I suppose she thought I should be able to decide if I eventually wanted to contact you or not. After all, you could have been a jerk.”
“And just having this scrapbook, and whatever you could find on the internet, made you want to meet me?”
“That, and other things. Nem always answered any questions I had about you while I was growing up. When I was eight, she gave me a picture of you she’d found in a business magazine. But it was seeing everything pieced together that made me want to meet you: what kind of businessmen you, your brothers, and your grandfather are; what charities you support; even what sort of women you date.” He gave Ben a sidelong glance and a crooked grin. “I noticed you don’t date any one woman for very long.”
Ben switched his gun to his other shoulder and started walking again. He couldn’t believe this. His son knew all about him, and he hadn’t even known the boy existed.
“I’m sorry you didn’t know about me,” Michael said softly, as if reading his mind. “And I’m sorry Abram Sinclair died before I could mee
t him. We … I probably should have contacted you sooner.”
“Bram would have ransomed his kingdom to have met you.”
“I know how he rose from poverty to build a multimillion-dollar shipping business,” Mike said with awe. “And that you’re Tidewater International’s new CEO.”
Ben nodded. “My younger brother, Jesse, works with me. I can’t wait for you to meet him. And our older brother, Sam. They’re both very eager to meet you. Um … we should find something for to call me. ‘Mr. Sinclair’ is too formal, don’t you think?”
“What would you like me to call you?”
Ben felt the back of his neck heat up. Dad. Call me dad. “What would you be comfortable with?”
The boy obviously didn’t like his question answered with another question. Mike’s neck colored all the way up to his cheeks. “Well, how does ‘Dad’ feel to you?”
“I’d like that.”
“Okay then, Dad—if we don’t turn around and start back, Nem’s going to come home to a dark kitchen and no supper on the table.” He gave Ben an inquiring look. “You don’t happen to know how to cook, do you?”
“I’ve been known to burn a barbecue. You got a grill at Medicine Creek?”
“Yup. Now, about those flowers. I hear they can take the anger right out of a woman. And since you and Nem are both being tight-lipped about what caused this particular feud, maybe you should give them a try.”
“Maybe she should be sending me flowers.”
Mike cuffed Ben’s arm. “Jeez, Dad. Even I know it’s a man’s place to cave in first.” He got that calculating look again. “No one—not even Galen Simms—ever sent Nemmy flowers.”
Ben was beginning to suspect he could take lessons from this boy. “Is that so?”
“And would you like to really make my aunt melt?”
Now there was a thought. He was almost afraid to ask his next question. “How would I do that?”
“Elmer Fudge cookies.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nem loves them. Have a whole case of them delivered with the flowers, and your any wish will be her command.”
Emma Sands at his command. Lord, he was loving this boy! “Can I get the cookies in Greenville?”
Michael wrapped his arm around Ben’s shoulders and steered him back toward Medicine Creek. “Just leave it to me, Dad.”
Within the embrace of his new lease on life, Ben couldn’t even feel the ground under his feet. Dad. As casual and natural as could be, Michael was touching him and calling him Dad. Well, damn if he didn’t suddenly feel like one.
Her hands too numb to work the knob, Emma rattled the door with kicks until Michael finally opened it.
“Jeez, Nem. What happened to you?”
“Where were you today?”
He took a step back as he shot a frantic look over his shoulder.
Emma followed his gaze. “I should have guessed when I realized Mr. Man of the Mountain here was missing, too. You played hooky, didn’t you?”
She directed her question to Mikey, but she was looking at Benjamin Sinclair, whose eyes were also wide with shock, moving up and down her wet, shivering body.
“Uh … yeah,” Mikey said. “Nem, what happened?”
She turned her glare on her nephew. “I’ve been swimming in Beaver Pond.”
“In your clothes?”
That question came from Sinclair, who stepped up—rather protectively—beside Michael.
“Get in here by the stove, Nem. You’re freezing,” Michael instructed, grabbing her sleeve and giving it a tug.
“No kidding, Sherlock.” She pulled free and waggled her finger in his face. “I called the school to get you out to help me. They said you weren’t there.”
“I … we … Dad and I went partridge hunting.”
Emma’s finger froze. He was calling Ben “Dad”? “I see.”
“Nem. Come on.” He grabbed her by the sleeve again and pulled her over to the woodstove. “Why did you need my help? Oh, God. Is Pitiful okay?”
“I have no idea where Pitiful is hiding,” she told him, fumbling with her coat buttons, finally snapping two off to get it open. She let it drop to the floor with a soggy plop. “One of our great white hunters saw a moose feeding in Beaver Pond and shot the damn thing. Right there—in five feet of water, over a hundred yards out!”
“Jeez.”
She glowered at her astonished audience as she held her hands over the firebox. “The damn moose sank right to the bottom. I wanted to tie a rock around that guy’s neck and sink him beside his trophy bull.”
“Jeez, Nem,” Michael said again. He softly touched the frozen ends of her hair. “But you were guiding Martha Perry today. She shot the moose?”
“No. Martha’s husband was the brilliant one. I knew better than to agree to let him come along. I should have followed my rule about not guiding men. But it was Martha’s hunt, and she wanted him there.”
“You didn’t try to get it out by yourself, did you?” Mikey asked.
“Oh no. I had the gracious help of Mr. Perry. How in hell do you think I got soaked? At least he’s as soaked as I am. And so is Martha.” Emma grinned nastily. “My only satisfaction is that she’s madder at her husband than I am.”
“Where’s the moose now?” Ben asked.
Emma shivered. “With any luck, it will surface tomorrow.”
“You left it there?” Michael asked, sounding outraged.
“It’s a thousand-pound bull, Mikey. And it’s stuck on a sunken stump.” With squishing feet, Emma started out of the kitchen. “I’m going to change, and then you and I are going to pull it out with the truck. Dress warm. And grab some rope on your way to the truck.”
“Wait.”
Emma turned to face Ben, her eyes telling him to butt out. “Yes?”
“You’re not going out again tonight.” Apparently immune to her icy glare, he continued talking. “It’s dark, it’s below freezing, and you’re hypothermic. You need a hot bath, food, and then bed.”
“What I need, Mr. Sinclair, is for you to mind your own damn business while I mind mine. Get going, Mikey.”
Michael looked back and forth between her and his dad, his expression uncertain, his eyes filled with indecision.
So this was it. She had already lost him. Emma closed her eyes and turned for the bedroom, her shoulders drooping beneath the weight of her wet clothes and heavy heart. “Never mind, Michael. It’s time I learned to rely on myself anyway.”
“Nem?”
She didn’t stop at his hoarse plea. She squished her way to her room and softly closed the door, leaning back against it and lifting her face to the ceiling to keep her tears from falling down her cheeks.
Oh God, she had known this day would come. She’d been preparing herself for it forever, but there was no way she could ever have been prepared for the wrenching pain she felt.
The only person she loved would be leaving her life in just weeks, maybe even days. Michael would write and call and come to visit, but in between she’d be more alone than Jonah had been in his whale.
Standing by the door, with hands shaking either from the cold or the force of her heart shattering, Emma shed her clothes. She stepped out of the water that quickly pooled around them, then padded into her bathroom and turned on the shower. Not until she was under the hot, driving spray did her tears break free, washing down the drain with the mud and the last of her hopes.
She stood there until the shivering stopped and the tears ran out, then dried herself off and opened the bathroom door with a sigh of resignation. She wasn’t leaving that damn moose to rot all night. Even if Mr. Perry had been more enamored with the trophy than the meat, Emma refused to let it go to waste.
With her truck, a long rope, and her wits, she could drag the moose out of the bog and field dress it. Tomorrow she’d get it loaded and down to the tagging station—even if she had to camp out all night to guard the damn thing.
It was only a matter of logistics.
Emma was wrapping the towel around herself when she exited the bathroom, mentally making a list of the equipment she would need, when she suddenly stopped at the sight of two stockinged feet at the foot of her bed.
She snapped her head up and met Ben’s scowl.
“Get out of my room. Now.”
“I’ll get out just as soon as you get in bed.”
“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!”
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