A Last Resort

by Brenda Sinclair

  “Do you have the recorder here?” Lyndon leaned back in his chair. “I’ll dig it out for you.”

  Emma thought for a moment, visualizing the machine sitting where she’d left it in the top drawer of her desk at home. “I forgot to pack it,” she admitted, groaning softly.

  “Then I’m your man.” Lyndon collected the dirty dishes and strode toward the kitchen. “I’ll make us each another cup of coffee and then meet you in the family room.”

  Emma sighed, realizing there’d be no talking him out of it. He seemed determined to help whether she agreed or not. Maybe after a day of painfully slow progress, he’d see reason and leave her to her own devices. Maybe doing research on DNA testing for paternity screening. She hadn’t completed that yet. Or she could brush up on the steps required in hiring a private investigator. She hadn’t thought to pack her notes on that topic from her research for book seven.

  Ten minutes later, she settled cross-legged on the sofa while Lyndon readied for business, seated on the floor with her laptop balanced on his lap, back braced against the sofa opposite hers, legs straight out in front of him, and ankles crossed.

  “Surely you don’t think you can work in that position?” The second the words left her mouth, she realized she frequently wrote on the laptop, cross-legged on the sofa. Enough to provide an ergonomics specialist with nightmares for a month. Who was she to question Lyndon?

  He glanced about. “Why not? It’s comfortable.”

  “Okay,” she muttered, waving off his choice of seat. “First of all, I’m going to skip ahead from where I was mid-chapter yesterday. This will be the beginning of a new scenario in the hero’s POV.”

  “POV?”

  “Point of view. His way of seeing things.”

  Lyndon nodded. “Got it.”

  Emma recited the first sentence of the chapter. She almost fell off the sofa watching Lyndon’s fingers as they flew across the laptop keys. He’d almost typed as quickly as she’d dictated the words.

  His head popped up and he glanced at her while his hands rested atop the keys. “Need a moment to collect your thoughts?”

  Emma shifted on the sofa seat and shook her head. “I’m shocked. Where did you learn to type so fast?”

  “If you knew the number of contracts I type up for my construction company in a year. The number of estimates for renovation proposals I prepare for clients. The number of plans I draw up with justification for choosing certain methods that fall within the restrictions and guidelines for designated historical properties, you wouldn’t question my typing abilities.” Lyndon grinned from ear to ear.

  “Okay, you surprised me, Carpenter Man.” Emma smiled and leaned back against the sofa cushions. What she’d anticipated would be the most drawn-out and embarrassing situation she’d found herself a part of since arriving, was quickly turning into a pleasant joint endeavor. “Sorry, I meant to say Lyndon. Let’s do this.” She continued the dictation…

  “I really like you, Anna Marie, but I’m not interested in a relationship,” Gerald insisted, knowing he couldn’t get involved with her. “You’re a beautiful, talented, remarkable woman, but we can only be friends.”

  Lyndon snickered and then chuckled. “Right. He wouldn’t want her in his bed at all. What a load.”

  Emma glared at the annoying source of the comment from the peanut gallery. Did all men think that way? Did Lyndon want her in his bed? Her body heated with the thought. “Just type, please.”

  He glanced up at her. “Sorry.”

  Gerald couldn’t explain his reasoning to her. Not yet. She would never understand his conviction to find his biological father before risking a relationship with her. With any woman.

  Lyndon snorted with laughter.

  Emma threw up her hands. “Just type, darn it.”

  “Yes, boss.” His hands hovered over the keys. “Ready when you are.”

  She blew out her breath.

  Without knowing who’d fathered him, he wouldn’t risk involving himself with someone. He wouldn’t father a child of his own until he’d discovered his roots. What if his biological father had been a murderer? Or a career criminal?

  “Or a barber who only gives really bad haircuts,” Lyndon muttered, chuckling.

  Emma leapt off the sofa. “Okay. That’s it. We’re done.”

  “I’m sorry. I haven’t any right to make jokes about your work. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself. Let’s continue.” He waved her back onto her seat.

  “No more comments?”

  “Not a one.”

  For the next hour, she dictated the remainder of the chapter she’d plotted in her head. In the scene, Gerald, the hero, finally explained his reasons for looking for his biological father and Anna Marie, the heroine, agreed to assist him in the search, in any way she could. Finally, voice hoarse and energy spent, she heaved a sigh.

  “Okay, that’s enough for now. I imagine your fingers require a rest and I could use a bathroom break.” Emma struggled to stand after sitting so long.

  Lyndon clambered to his feet, flexing his fingers.

  “I’d appreciate another cup of coffee also, please. My throat is getting a little scratchy from the dictation.” She handed him her mug, holding it between her socked hands.

  “Sure. Does the hero find his father?”

  Emma chuckled. She’d dictated one chapter and already she’d drawn him into the story. “I thought romance novels weren’t your thing.”

  He frowned. “They aren’t. Just curious.”

  “We call it hooking the reader. Making her, or him, keep turning the pages to discover ‘what happens next’.” Emma stretched her back and rotated her shoulders.

  “Well, does he?”

  She chuckled. “You’ll have to keep typing to find out,” she called on her way down the hallway to her bathroom. Thanks to elastic-banded yoga pants, she didn’t require his help for the only task she would otherwise truly struggle with. In lieu of hand washing, she kept a pile of socks in her ensuite to change them out. Soon she returned to the kitchen, a new pair of socks in place, and perched on one of the barstools.

  “You mentioned a construction company? How do you find the time to build a garage if you own a company?”

  “We closed out the season a bit early, and I sent my crew on a weekend vacation to Vegas awhile back.” He chuckled. “Anyone who won a million dollars at a casino had to share with the boss. I wasn’t holding my breath, which proved wise.”

  “Offer to help with their losses, as well?”

  “Not on your life. Do you know the odds of winning in Vegas?”

  “People don’t call it Lost Wages for nothing.” Emma laughed. “I’m horrible at gambling. And I complain endlessly when I lose. My friends won’t take me along anymore.”

  “But Vegas is much more than gambling. The restaurants and the shows. And the sporting events.” Lyndon set her mug in front of her again. “Anyway, three of my guys offered to buy the business when the season ended. They really want to own the company and they’ve tempted me with a very generous buyout figure.”

  “Then why the reluctance to sell?” Emma met his eyes. “You haven’t any idea what you’ll do next?”

  “That’s not it. In fact, it’s what brought on the purchase offer.”

  Emma leaned her arms on the countertop. “You’ve lost me.”

  “My parents have decided they’re ready to retire and they’re hoping I’ll take over the family business.” Lyndon sipped his coffee and then shrugged. “That has been the plan since I was a kid. And an only child.”

  “What business? Something you have no interest in?”

  “Not at all. I love the resort and I’m seriously thinking of taking over ownership and management.”

  Emma set her coffee mug down, utilizing the two-handed method she’d devised. “What resort? Somewhere in British Columbia?”

  “You might say that,” he chuckled. “It’s the Maskosis Resort.”

  Emma’s jaw dropped. “Y
our parents own the resort three miles down the road?”

  He nodded. “That would be the one.”

  “That’s a wonderful place.” Emma scooted to the edge of the stool. “I’ve never used the campground or tenting area or rented one of the dozen cabins, but they’ve always seemed busy. I’ve seen lots of kids on the playground. The resort is fairly rustic, but most everything you need is in the little grocery store where you check in. The gift shop area with all the local artisans’ crafts is remarkable. Rachael and I love shopping there.”

  He stood leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve plans for several more amenities that my parents have been reluctant to embrace.”

  “When do you have to decide?”

  “That’s the thing. The guys have the money in place and the lawyers are geared up and ready to finalize the paperwork.” Lyndon set his coffee mug in the sink. “I could sell tomorrow if I give the word.”

  “Wow. And if you sell, you’d secure the funds to purchase the resort from your parents,” she reasoned.

  “Dad and Mom suggested an annual lease amount instead of outright purchase, if I hadn’t the financial means to buy them out. But I’d rather finalize a proper sale and acquire complete and total ownership immediately. Then I’d feel justified in initiating changes and operating the business my way.”

  “I’d wager you’ve been considering the pros and cons for weeks now.”

  “Months. I’ve run so many scenarios through my mind, I fear my brain is mush.” He chuckled. “And I still haven’t made a decision.”

  “Have you considered rock, paper, scissors?” Emma suggested and then shook her head. “Won’t work. You need two people. Maybe eenie, meenie, miney, moe would do better.”

  “And here I went to the bother of preparing a business plan and consulting with my investment advisor.” Lyndon threw up his hands. “What was I thinking?”

  Emma giggled. “All right. I deserved that. But seriously, I hope whatever you decide, it works out well for you. You deserve to be happy. And fulfilled, doing whatever you love most in life.”

  “Such as writing books for a living, like someone I know?” He playfully tossed a tea towel at her.

  She caught it and balled it up as best she could before throwing it back at him. “I love my job. But my new typist is a real goof-off. He should return to work or this book won’t be finished for months.”

  “Touché,” he said, grinning. “My decision will keep for another day. I’ve promised my men I’ll make up my mind by the end of the year at the latest, so I have to advise them of my decision by Christmas or shortly after. If not sooner.”

  “Good luck with that. But I’m confident you’ll make the right choice.” Emma hopped off the barstool and turned toward the family room.

  “Wait up there. Not so fast. We should apply the medicated cream again,” Lyndon called, halting her exit.

  “Yes, Doctor Reynolds.” Emma smiled and held out her hands. “Do you have another pair of these socks? I never wear the same pair of socks two days in a row,” she teased.

  He laughed. “Very funny. I know for a fact you would have changed them a few minutes ago. But I brought three dozen since I shower every night after work and I hate doing laundry. We won’t run out.”

  Emma reached out and touched his arm. “Thank you, Lyndon. I cannot imagine being stuck here with anyone else but you. You’ve been so generous and I do appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”

  He squeezed her arm. “You’re welcome. I’m happy I was nearby when you needed me.”

  “So am I. I wouldn’t have had the first clue. Not a lot of poison ivy growing in my Calgary neighborhood.” She chuckled and started tugging off a sock. “Thank goodness you knew what to do.”

  Lyndon peeked at her hand when it was uncovered. “Hey, it’s starting to look a little less red.”

  She stared at her hand. “I don’t see it. Looks horrible still.”

  “Trust me. It’s an improvement.” Lyndon strode out of the kitchen and returned shortly with the medicine in hand.

  Emma had removed the other sock by then. “This is going to take a week?”

  “A week to ten days.” Lyndon busied himself with tending her hands and applying the medicated cream. He slipped the socks onto her hands. “There. All ready to go again.”

  “Thank goodness you can type,” she muttered, heaving a sigh.

  “And cook. And tend pretty ladies suffering from poison ivy. And care for rescue dogs. And… am I missing anything?”

  “And still remain so humble while doing it,” she teased.

  He chuckled before cleaning up and putting the supplies away.

  Lyndon really was saving her from losing a week’s progress on her book. And caring for her without a single word of complaint. She’d never met such a remarkable man in ages, and she couldn’t help wondering what life would be like if they were in a committed relationship, perhaps even married. He couldn’t be caring for her any better if they were.

  She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Seriously, thank you again. For everything,” she whispered, her throat tightening with each word.

  “No problem.” He looked deep into her eyes. And then his hand cupped her chin and he kissed her lips. Gently, like the brush of a feather.

  She kissed him back, relishing in the softness of his lips and the taste of hazelnut creamer from his coffee. Wanting more, needing more of him. He wrapped his hand around the back of her head and deepened the kiss, sending her emotions into a tailspin. They really shouldn’t be doing this. Better they keep this cabin-sharing arrangement nothing more than a friendship for now, especially since they were essentially working together.

  But her heart told her brain to stop questioning the kiss and simply enjoy the sensation of his mouth on hers. Thankfully, Emma agreed with her heart and lost herself in the warmth of his lips.

  There’d be plenty of time for rational thinking later.

  Much later.

  Chapter 8

  Lyndon settled into a pleasant routine with Emma, typing for several hours every day while she dictated chapters to him. He hated to admit it, but he couldn’t wait to start the process every morning, eager to learn what would happen next in the story. In addition to the romance between the hero and heroine, the subplot centering around the hero’s biological father had his fingers flying in anticipation of what he’d learn with each writing session. And Emma stubbornly refused to reveal the story’s ending which he found totally annoying.

  When he wasn’t typing, he retired to the garage to complete more construction on the workshop. And to think. More accurately, to fret. Should he sell his company? Should he buy the family resort? Was he prepared for such a drastic change in his life? Going from the frantic world of coordinating several projects consecutively and scheduling subtrades and ensuring all the permits were in place and sufficient workers were scheduled for each worksite, to the more laidback lifestyle in the resort’s off-season. Of course, next spring would be a different matter when everything geared up for another hectic regular season of guests and activities.

  Time wasn’t on his side. With less than two months until Christmas, he needed to finalize this decision on his future. And soon. He locked the garage and jogged down the stone path, returning to the cabin. He discovered Emma seated cross-legged on one of the family room sofas, surrounded by research books and file folders and poster boards covered in sticky notes. He hadn’t any idea how she kept track of it all.

  “Em, do you want to take a break?”

  Her head popped up and she smiled. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Road trip,” he replied.

  “I’m in.” She flipped the file folder closed and tossed it aside, and then clambered off the sofa. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.” He held her jacket while she slipped her arms into the sleeves, and then tied her shoelaces for her while Jake danced around in eager anticipation.

&
nbsp; “Want to go for a ride, big guy?” Emma patted his head with one sock-covered hand. “I have no idea where we’re going either, but I haven’t left here since I arrived. I’m as excited as you.”

  Jake woofed.

  “Yes, let’s go.” Emma glanced at Lyndon. “Do we need to pack anything? Water? Snacks?”

  He shook his head. “We won’t be gone too long.”

  Soon, they’d all piled into Lyndon’s work truck and he drove down the mountain road to the intended destination. A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of the Maskosis Resort office. “We’re here.”

  Emma stared at him. “You need milk or something?”

  He chuckled. “No. I require your opinion on whether or not I should purchase the resort. And what better way to consider the pros and cons than to tour the place.”

  “I’ve shopped for last minute items here a dozen times, but I never paid close scrutiny to the actual facility, having no reason to stay here.” Jake sat at Emma’s feet on the vehicle floor. He stretched his neck and attempted to peek out the side passenger window. He woofed and wagged his tail, no doubt recognizing where they were.

  “Grandma’s house,” Lyndon teased.

  Emma opened the door and the dog shot outside, intent on the building’s front door.

  Lyndon’s father opened the office door and Jake disappeared inside. His dad walked toward the truck, smiling. “Son, how are you? Weren’t expecting you today.”

  “Spur-of-the-moment idea, Dad. This is Emma Sullivan. She writes books for Rachael Lewis and we’re sharing their cabin right now. Emma, this is Ralph Reynolds, my father.”

  Mr. Reynolds stuck out his hand. “Please to meet… holy cow, what did you do, young lady?” he blurted mid-sentence.

  “Poison ivy,” she admitted, clasping his hand with her socked ones. “I’m delighted to meet you.”

  “Thank you. Always happy to meet any of our son’s friends.” Ralph waved them toward the office. “Come on in. I just put on a fresh pot of coffee. Your mother’s been knitting all morning, and she decided it was time for a break.”