by Cindy Gerard
Maggie’s soft, lyrical voice intervened, lessening the tight-wire of tension between them. “We’re very excited about you being here, Mackenzie. But we’re sorry you arrived in the midst of this terrible storm. Now that it’s over, I’m sure Abel will show you how beautiful and how much fun Minnesota can be in the winter.”
Mackenzie was tempted to tell them that the only part of Minnesota Abel wanted to show her was the part that appeared in a rearview mirror of a bus heading south.
She might have, too, if Nashata hadn’t made an appearance right then.
“Nashata.” Maggie reached out to pet the wolf dog. “How are you, girl?”
Hershey, the chocolate lab, who had until this time been lying on the rug by the door, rose with a tail-wagging, hip-wiggling gait and approached Nashata. The two animals nosed each other with affection.
“She had four puppies this morning,” Mark volunteered, then turned a brilliant red when Maggie grabbed his hand.
“She had her puppies?” she squealed in delight.
“Hershey, you old dog you!” A grin split J.D.’s handsome face from ear to ear, his chest swelling like a proud grandfather’s. “You’re a daddy.”
Mackenzie had to smile at the thought of the unlikely pair of animals together. The lab was as different from the wolf dog as silk was from sandpaper. As different as she was from Abel, she conceded on an afterthought, when their eyes met and held for a telling moment.
When Nashata nuzzled Hershey, then turned to leave the room and head for the loft, Hershey followed. If those two could get together, then there was hope for her and Abel. No matter how surly he looked at the moment.
“Can we see them?” Maggie asked, her excitement shining in her eyes. “Will it hurt anything if we take a peek?”
Mark looked to Abel for approval. When he nodded, Mark beamed.
“Come on. I’ll show you where they are.”
Abel wasn’t sure exactly when he’d lost control over his life. He just knew that with Mackenzie Kincaid’s appearance in it, control had slipped away like ice in a sun melt. With J.D. and Maggie’s arrival he felt as if he’d become a spectator to a major disaster—a disaster he could do nothing to avert. It would have done no good to tell them that Mackenzie and her brother weren’t staying. They wouldn’t have listened, anyway. They were too busy interfering and matchmaking.
At Maggie’s urging, Abel had reluctantly radioed Scarlett and Casey to tell them about the puppies. Even before he’d made the contact, he’d known the result. He’d promised Casey the pick of the litter. She’d been calling daily for the past two weeks, and he’d had no doubt she would badger her mother into coming over.
That’s why, two hours later, he had a houseful of people—all of them alternately cooing over the pups or grinning sly, expectant grins at him and Mackenzie. None of them were the least bit successful in hiding the fact that they thought the idea of him getting married ranked right up there with winning the lottery.
Then there was the pot luck. Damned if they weren’t having pot luck in his kitchen. J.D. had run back home on his machine and, following Maggie’s instructions, had brought half the contents of their refrigerator back to his cabin. With the snow stopped and the snowmobile trails clearly marked, it hadn’t taken Scarlett and Casey long to pack up their contributions and ride the trails from Crimson Falls to his back door.
So here he was, sitting on the outer edge of four different conversations—all of them less-than-artful attempts to find out more about Mackenzie and Mark, and all of them, in the process, dishing Mackenzie the goods on him.
He’d learned more than he’d wanted to about her. Like the fact that she had worked as a bookkeeper for a small paper supply company and had been going to school at night studying business management. And that Mark liked motors and music, in that order.
Of course, his friends made sure Mackenzie learned a few things, too. J.D. was just putting the finishing touches on the story about how the four of them—he, Maggie, J.D. and Hershey—had put a dramatic end to a bear poaching ring last summer, when Maggie gently but firmly called a halt to the storytelling.
“Blue, stop. You’re embarrassing Abel,” Maggie admonished J.D. “And you’re embarrassing me.”
“Because I called you an avenging angel?” J.D. grinned unapologetically as Maggie reddened. “Well, shell, Stretch. If you could have seen yourself, brandishing that shotgun and telling that thug what for—”
“Enough,” she insisted. “Eat. That ought to shut you up for a while.”
But not for long, Abel realized, as he dug into his meal in silence and wondered how he was going to get out of this. Clearly everyone present—including a smiling Mackenzie Kincaid—assumed that they’d gone past the point of no return. Everyone had chalked this marriage up to a done deal.
As he sat there, listening to the good-natured joking and warm overtures of welcome toward Mackenzie and Mark, he actually found himself wishing it could happen.
He axed that thought in a heartbeat. What J.D. had with Maggie was special. It was also beyond him. He’d learned long ago that he wasn’t like other people. Someone had always been willing to point that out to him. He’d made it a point to prove them right.
The Hazzards and Scarlett were among the few who accepted him as he was, no questions asked. He’d met Scarlett and Casey through J.D. and Maggie. An attractive strawberry blonde who’d passed her good looks on to her daughter, Scarlett was struggling to make a go of it with the historic Crimson Falls Hotel. It wasn’t easy for a woman on her own. But then, life didn’t often serve things up easy—as Scarlett knew too well.
She’d been stung by a bad man and a bad marriage. With pain came wisdom. She knew that happily ever afters were reserved for fairy tales and rare exceptions. Even at that, though, he could see in Scarlett’s eyes that she envied the love Maggie and J.D. shared, even if she’d given up hope of having it for herself. And he could sense that she’d be as mad as a bear with its paw in a trap if she thought he was throwing away the chance to have it, too.
She didn’t waste the opportunity to bring it up to him.
“I like your Mackenzie,” she said softly, lagging behind in the kitchen with Abel when the others had trooped into the living room by the fire.
“She’s not my Mackenzie.”
“Not yet,” she said with gentle speculation. “But she can be. All you have to do is say the word.”
He let out a deep, frustrated breath. “It’s not going to happen.”
“Oh, I know—it’s not exactly conventional. But that doesn’t mean it can’t work. It’s so...romantic,” she added with a wistful smile, and tucked a runaway strand of hair back into her French braid.
He snorted. “It’s lunacy and you know it.”
She studied him closely. “No. I don’t know it. And I think that even though you don’t want to admit it, you want to go with this. I say, why not? Think hard—real hard, before you throw this chance away.
“Besides,” she said, her eyes flitting to the living room where Mark and Casey had dropped their pretense of ignoring each other. “I think Casey’s smitten. Mark, too. Those shy, flirty little glances they keep sneaking each other’s way when they think no one’s looking are sure signs of infatuation.
“Even though they got off to a rough start, I’d say that little girl of mine has a big bad crush on Mark. She’d never forgive you if you send them back to California before they even have a chance to have their first real fight. I overheard them making plans to meet tomorrow. Casey wants to come over and take Mark snowmobiling after she’s had her fill of drooling over the puppies.
“Think about it real hard, my friend,” she said in earnest, her gaze following his to where he had latched on to Mackenzie like a tractor beam.
With that, Scarlett walked out of the room, leaving him to either stew on that juice or join the gathering by the fire.
He opted for the shadows of the kitchen, even though his gaze was drawn repeatedly
to Mackenzie. The firelight glanced across her shining cap of flyaway hair. The smile on her face was open, accepting, attuned to the warmth extended around her.
He fought it, but as he watched her from this small distance, he was forced to admit that he liked seeing her here, in his home. He liked the way her eyes danced when she laughed. The way her breath caught on a sharp little hitch when she looked toward the kitchen and saw him staring.
And he liked—far too much—the fire that rolled through his blood when he thought of her slight, sexy little body pressed against his.
He clenched his jaw. The damn woman struck too many chords, played on too many weaknesses.
She wasn’t the only one. Before he left, J. D. Hazzard played on a few of them, too.
“So,” J.D. said, feeling his way carefully when he and Abel had left the women in the living room and Mark and Casey in the loft with the puppies. “Things are going well?”
Abel shut the door to his office behind them. “Things aren’t going anywhere.”
J.D. eased a hip onto Abel’s drafting chair. “Right. And next you’re going to tell me you don’t find her attractive.”
“Attraction has nothing to do with it.”
J.D. quirked a brow and tucked his tongue in his cheek.
“Stop gloating, Hazzard. I’m sending her back to L.A.”
At that J.D. studied the can of soda dangling between his fingers. “Does she know that?”
“She knows. She just doesn’t want to accept it.”
“I guess I’m having a little trouble accepting it, too. What’s the problem?”
Abel glared at him.
“Okay.” J.D. held up a hand, conceding the point. “So in theory, soliciting a bride isn’t exactly a politically correct way to start a relationship. And in reality, if we hadn’t been buzzed that night I never would have talked you into placing the ad.” He grinned again. “But hey, it’s done. She’s here. She seems like a nice woman. So why not at least give yourself a chance to get to know her?”
Abel walked to the window, wishing he hadn’t been asking himself the same question ever since they’d sat in his kitchen and she’d laid into him about bargains and choices and risks—and then kissed him like she was trying to reinvent sin.
“You want to,” J.D. stated, daring him to dispute it. “It’s obvious she wants to. Why fight it?”
“Even if I did want to, it couldn’t go anywhere. I can’t ask her to stay. Not now.”
J.D. cocked a brow. “Not now? Not now, what?”
His friend knew him well. Well enough to wait until he decided to talk.
In the end Abel did just that. “I’ve got a problem at the logging site,” he said, turning back to face J.D.
His relaxed slouch was gone. His lazy grin had been replaced with an alert scowl. “What kind of problem?”
. There had been a time when he wouldn’t have been able to place his trust in any man. Or woman. That had been before he’d met Maggie and J.D. It was a measure of how much stock he placed in their friendship that he confided in him now.
Methodically and concisely, Abel told him about the fire, about the problem with his machinery that had preceded it and about his suspicions that neither incident had been accidental.
“Who?” J.D. simply said, not questioning why Abel suspected foul play.
His ready acceptance was another reason Abel valued J.D.’s friendship. He’d spent a lifetime justifying his existence and his motives. J.D. accepted his statement on blind faith.
“I can’t prove anything. But I have my suspicions. Grunewald,” he added, providing J.D. with the name of the owner of Grunewald-Casteele, the largest paper mill in the state.
“Why Grunewald?”
The question was not one of doubt but of curiosity.
“He wants my land.”
J.D. snorted. “He owns three fourths of the timber in the state. Why would he want yours? You’ve got what—a couple hundred acres? Granted, it’s choice, but it’s like a grain of sand compared to Grunewald’s beachful.”
“It’s not that he wants the land for the timber. It’s more that he wants me off it.”
“Why?”
Again, there was no doubt in his question, just more curiosity.
Unknowingly, Abel touched a hand to the scar that ran the length of his face. “We had a run-in once. Years ago. When I was a kid. A stupid kid,” he amended, thinking back to a time when he’d strutted his pride like an invitation for someone to try to take it away from him. “He’s still holding a grudge.”
J.D. stared at Abel’s scar and made the connection. “Grunewald did that to you?” Clearly shocked, J.D.’s eyes widened. “We always figured you’d had a run-in with a bear.”
“No bear. Grunewald and a bunch of his buddies.”
“He knifed you?” Disbelief colored each word.
Abel nodded. “Wanted to teach me a lesson. Put me in my place.”
“Let me get this straight. He cuts you and you figure he’s the one holding the grudge?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s holding a grudge,” Abel stated, picking up a glass paperweight from his desk and palming it.
“Why do I get the feeling there might have been a woman involved?”
A grim smile tipped up one corner of Abel’s mouth. Absently he set aside the paperweight and resettled a hip against the edge of his desk. “I was eighteen. I was the ‘breed’ from the wrong side of the blanket. And I stepped across a line when I let a ‘respectable’ girl take her walk on the wild side with me.”
“Let me guess. Grunewald considered her his property.”
The smile, this time, was the smile of a cynic. “And now he considers her his wife.”
J.D. let out a long, speculative breath. “That was a long time ago.”
“It would have been... if she hadn’t decided she wanted to pick up where she left off, when I came back to the lake.”
Abel remembered clearly the night that Trisha Grunewald had shown up at his cabin looking for him. She’d had seduction on her mind and gin on her breath.
“I take it Grunewald found out.”
Restless, Abel moved back to the window. “There was nothing to find out Unless you count the fact that I turned her down flat.”
“Then why...” Realization dawned before J.D. finished his question. “Never mind. I think I got it. A woman scorned and all that.”
He shrugged. “That’s my guess. She was pretty hot. She left here spitting like a cat and promising she’d make me pay. It was a couple of years ago, but I figure she’s been working on Grunewald ever since, and he’s finally decided that since he couldn’t buy me out, he’d force me out.”
“So he’s tried to buy you out?”
“Several times. Just like he’s already bought out everyone else.” He paused as J.D. stared in thoughtful silence, then downed the last of his soda in one swallow.
“This was all Chippewa land at one time,” Abel went on, sharing with J.D. what others had only speculated about. “When a Frenchman from Quebec married my great-great-grandmother, he bought this tract of timber for her as a wedding gift so she would never have to leave her home. When she passed it down, it was with the stipulation that it would never be sold out of the family. My mother honored her wishes.” What he couldn’t bring himself to confide—what he’d never confided to anyone—was that her determination to pass the land on to Abel had probably cost her her life.
“Grunewald will never get this land.”
If J.D. was aware of the anger that twisted in Abel’s gut, he wisely let it alone.
“So what do you want to do about it?” he asked instead.
Abel shook off the memories. “Nothing. Not yet. So far nothing has been damaged too badly. I’ll wait him out a little longer. Either he’ll tire of his little game or he’ll tip his hand. Then I’ll confront him.”
“We’ll confront him,” J.D. amended. “I’ve got no time for a back-stabbing s.o.b.”
“It could get
ugly.”
“It’s already ugly,” J.D. said, prepared to back him all the way.
Abel didn’t verbalize his appreciation. He knew he didn’t have to. Instead, he reinforced his argument about Mackenzie. “And that’s why she can’t stay. Even if I wanted her to, I don’t want her or the kid getting into the middle, if it blows up.”
J.D. considered him for a long moment. “I’m not going to pretend that if Grunewald is behind this that he’ll stop short of violence. I’ve heard stories of his extreme methods of making deals to get what he wants. But I think you’re selling Mackenzie short. A woman who would give up everything she knows to marry a man sight unseen strikes me as someone who can hold her own. Besides, Grunewald’s quarrel is with you, not her.”
It was the same argument he’d been having with himself every time he’d come close to reconsidering his decision to send her away.
“And I know you,” JD. continued. “You won’t let Grunewald get near her or her brother.”
That much was true. He protected what was his.
That thought stopped him cold. Mackenzie Kincaid wasn’t his to protect. No matter how badly everyone else seemed to want her to be.
A soft rap on the door sent both their heads around.
Maggie poked her head inside. “When did this turn into a private party?”
J.D. grinned and tucked her under his arm when she walked into the room. “Men stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Stow it, Hazzard,” she said with a smile warm enough to melt ice. “Why don’t you scoot? It’s my turn to have a shot at him.”
“You’re in trouble now, Greene,” J.D. warned. After planting a kiss on his wife’s brow. “And you’re on your own with this one.” He stopped, one hand cupping the open door. “Just remember what I said.” Then he planted a kiss on Maggie’s cheek.
“The man’s insufferable,” she said on a sigh, as J.D. shut the door behind him.
Abel studied her face and saw what he wanted to see. “And you love him for it.”
“Yes. I love him. For that and for much, much more.”
She hesitated then, just long enough for Abel to sense what was coming.