“Emma, did you see it? Did you actually see an Eastern Panther?”
“Damn it, Frasier MacKenzie! I’ve just had a horrible experience, and all you can do is ask stupid questions?”
“Ah, Emma, Emma.” He gathered her into his arms, the flashlight bobbing shafts of illumination around the clearing as it went behind her back. “You’re safe now. Come on, let’s get you into your cabin. I’ll start a fire while you clean up.”
Keeping his arm protectively about her shoulders, he let Bruiser out of the passenger seat, then herded her toward the steps. Once inside, Frasier snapped on a couple of lamps and headed her toward the bathroom.
“Get a hot shower,” he said. “I’ll start a fire and rustle up some food.”
She turned back to him, her tear-streaked face wrenching at his heart.
“You…you don’t have to…not the last, I mean. I brought a you-bake pizza, and there’s a bottle of Dad’s homemade wine in the refrigerator. I was planning on treating you tonight because you were so good to Bruiser and me. Some treat, right?” She tried to grin but her lower lip trembled.
“It’s a super treat.” He leaned forward and planted a light kiss on a clean spot on her forehead. “I’ll put the pizza in the oven. Now, go, get out of those filthy clothes before you get sick.”
“Always the romantic, aren’t you?” This time she was able to feature a weak grin. “Last time you got me out of my clothes, it was because you said I stank.”
“Go.” He turned her about and gave her a gentle push toward the bathroom. “And be careful. You’re teasing a man who’s been celibate a very long time.”
“Really?” She glanced back over her shoulder as she reached the bathroom door. “I would have thought…” She gave him a head-to-toe appraisal, winked, then disappeared behind a door.
Recovering fast. He headed out to her car for the pizza. And ready to torment the daylights out of me again.
So the Eastern Panther did exist, and nearby. That complicated the situation. He paused, listening to water running in the shower, then made a quick trip over to his cabin for a bottle of Chianti. Although he hated to admit it, he no longer trusted any booze supplied by Emma.
He opened it, placed in on the table, and went to check the pizza in the oven. Browning nicely. Too bad the rest of his life wasn’t going so well. The close proximity of the panther made it even more important that he force Emma and her funny-looking little dog away from Loon Lake immediately.
By the time she returned, he had two chilled glasses waiting.
“Better?” She spread her arms wide and smiled. She was wearing a pink jogging suit, her hair, freshly blown dry, looked like curly silk, and her face scrubbed clean of makeup reminded him of Doris Day and the girl-next-door types in all those ancient movies he’d watched on late night TV when he couldn’t sleep after shows. His gut wrenched, and he swallowed hard.
“Much.” Ah, damn. If you only knew. Hell, man, get a grip! “What about emotionally?”
“Much also.” She accepted the drink and sank down on the couch in front of the fire with a sigh.
“Want to tell me about it…again?” He sat down in a chair opposite her.
“Yes.” She took a sip of wine. “Now that I’ve gotten over my basic hysteria, I would. But first let me tell you about my day. That will bring me back to earth.” She curled her legs up under her and gathered Bruiser into her arms. “I have this student…let’s call him Ted…who’s been coming to me supposedly for help since school recommenced. He’s got huge problems only a full-fledged psychiatrist could sort out, but he refuses to see one. The only reason he consents to come to me is because he’ll be suspended or quite possibly expelled for the rest of the year if he refuses. That would mean losing contact with a lot of his customers and potential customers.”
“A drug dealer.” Frasier sighed, leaned back in his chair, and remembered the student he’d seen in her office earlier that week.
“Previously, but not any longer…I hope. He knows I know what he’s up to, but he’s clever. Carleton is a small town with a small police force. They haven’t the time or resources to catch Ted, and he’s well aware of the fact. I try to explain the damage drugs can do, but he just sneers. Sometimes…” Emma leaned back and wearily closed her eyes. “Sometimes I think that boy has absolutely no conscience and that I’m wasting my breath trying to reason with him. The worst of it is the influence he has over other students…like Jesse Jones, the student you met in my office.”
“Come on, now.” He hated to see her weary and discouraged. He’d become accustomed to the other Emma, the vivacious one with a wicked twinkle in her green eyes that belied a sincere generosity of spirit…and the power to arouse him to the quick. “No one ever said the battle against drugs was an easy one. I believe it’s the most serious one this country is facing. Your job is an essential in the war. You’re working at the grassroots level to stop teenage users and pushers from creating a whole new generation of addicts.”
Her eyes opened, widening as she looked over at him.
“You sound pretty vehement on the subject for a man who’s led the sheltered life of an academic and a backwoods researcher,” she said.
“Yes, well, I’ve seen the damage drugs can do on a university campus. Not pretty.” He shook his head sadly. “Young people ruining their futures, destroying their families. Believe me, Emma, although you may not respect my work, I most definitely respect yours.”
“Frasier, I’m sorry.” She sat up straight and leaned toward him, jade eyes warm and sincere. “Proving the existence of a species believed extinct is important work. The reason I came on so strong against it when you first told me about your project was because I’d just been burned out of my apartment the day after one of the students agreed to go to the police and testify against Todd—Ted, I mean. It took me a couple of days to recover and relocate, and by then he’d changed his mind. Actually it was Jesse. I’ve been trying to win him back to my camp ever since.”
“Probably he was threatened.” He looked over at her. “Has the fire marshal given you his report on the cause of the fire?”
“What are you suggesting? That Todd—Ted set fire to my home to scare Jesse…and me?” Her eyes rounded.
“Didn’t it occur to you as being too much of a coincidence?”
“Not until now.” She jumped to her feet and began to pace. “Oh, God, Frasier, if Bruiser hadn’t wakened me with his barking, we could have been killed!”
She stopped in front of him, and he saw horrified disbelief in her expression.
“I’m probably wrong.” He set his glass aside and got up to stand inches in front of her. “Just be careful.”
He could smell the shower freshness of her, the tantalizing scent of her clean, damp hair. He wanted to take her into his arms and soothe away her shock and fear, but he didn’t trust himself. He opted for a light touch.
“Come over to the table. That pizza must be ready by now.” He turned toward the stove. “Git a few slices of that down ya, and I reckon ya’ll live to counsel another day.”
As he lifted the pan out of the oven, she came to stand beside him.
“Thanks, Frasier.” She put her hand on his arm and stretched up to plant a kiss on his cheek as he straightened up. “I’ve been naive. I didn’t want to admit children their ages could be so dangerous. I’ll be on my guard from now on.”
“Good. That’s all that’s required.” He placed the pizza on a cooling rack and took up a cutter.
Steam rose as he sliced into the hot crust. Appropriate.
“Hey.” She suddenly looked down at her glass. “This isn’t Dad’s wine.”
“No, it’s a bottle from my place. I didn’t think anything as powerful as your father’s vintage would be appropriate with you under serious stress. It could hit you way too hard.” He focused on his cutting.
“Frasier MacKenzie, don’t you trust me?” He caught the taunt in her tone. When he looked over at her, those res
olve-melting green eyes were sparkling. “I’d never take advantage of a nice old professor like you.”
“Yeah, well, just taking precautions.”
****
“Feeling better?” Frasier returned from putting their plates and utensils in the dishwasher, a mug of coffee in his hand. He sat down opposite where she was curled up in a corner of the couch.
“Much, thanks. By the way, this coffee is delicious.” She cradled a mug in her hands and smiled at him. “You’re the first man I’ve known who can come up with a decent brew.”
“Oh, and have there been a lot?” he heard himself asking. Damn, why couldn’t he put Mr. Muscle out of his mind?
“The usual number,” she replied, her eyes teasing him over the rim of the cup. “What about you?”
“The usual number,” he taunted back and then they were grinning at each other.
“By the way, it’s my turn to entertain.” She settled back comfortably, and he felt a rush of apprehension wash over him. What does she have in mind? “Since I can’t play an instrument or sing all that well, I’ll tell a story, a ghost story. But I’m warning you, it will curl your toes.”
As if you’re not already curling them, Emma Prescott. He leaned back in his chair. “But if you’re trying to scare me away, forget it. I’m on the trail of a catamount, a puma, the biggest and most dangerous cat in North America. Something as insubstantial as a ghost is no competition.”
“Okay, here goes.” She gave the little dog cuddled up beside her a kiss, then began. “In the 1920s, loggers came to this area to harvest the vast stands of white pine. The men in charge, timber bosses they were called, were tough guys who worked their crews hard in the bitter cold of winter and during the log drives on the river each spring. The most notorious was a man they called Midnight Jim. He worked his men from dawn to dusk, often in waist-deep snow. If there was enough moonlight, he sent them back out into the bush at night.”
“A regular Captain Bligh of the forest,” Frasier commented, when she paused to take a sip of coffee.
“Exactly. Finally one of his lumbermen had enough. One night after Midnight Jim had ordered them back into the bush, he lay in wait for him outside the privy. When Jim stepped out, the lumberman threw his razor-sharp ax with all the accuracy that had come from years of experience. It hit Jim in the middle of his chest. He died within minutes.”
“Damn painful way to go.”
“Definitely. But that’s not the end of the story. Legend has it Midnight Jim still roams these mountains and forests at night, the ax embedded in his chest, bent on avenging his murder.”
“And just how close are we to the place where this alleged killing took place?”
“I’d estimate a few miles. My father took our family up to see the ruins of Midnight Jim’s camp several times while we were staying here at Loon Lake.”
“Do you think you could find it again?” An idea was forming in Frasier’s mind.
“I didn’t pay close attention. Why? Do you want to try to catch a glimpse of Midnight Jim?”
“Well, it might provide comic relief from hunting another phantom.”
“You’re not getting discouraged, are you?” She placed her cup on the coffee table and leaned toward him, concern furrowing her forehead.
“Would it matter to you if I were?”
“Well, of course it would! It’s your job, your work, and, I imagine, a big part of your raison d’être, right? It would be like my giving up trying to help kids in trouble.”
“Thanks,” he said and then smiled. “It’s good to know someone besides the Professor is on my team. Now…” He got up. “I’d better be going. Scout must be getting lonely over at our place, guarding my research.”
“Wait!” She scrambled to her stockinged feet and padded into the kitchen. She put the last slice of pizza in a plastic container and handed it to him.
“What’s this, bait? I think the night’s events have established there’s an Eastern Panther nearby. He sounded hungry.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s for Scout. Poor guy missed the entire evening.”
“Not exactly traditional dog food,” he said, looking down at the tomato, cheese, and meat topping the pie.
“So who says we have to stick with tradition? Actually, I don’t think there’s anything really traditional about any of us, and I’m including our dogs in that statement.”
No, he though gazing down at her. Even if you look like a character out of a movie adaptation of a regency novel with an equally old-fashioned name, there’s definitely nothing traditional or old-fashioned about you, Emma Prescott.
“Just be careful, okay? Don’t let the Pug out after dark or let him roam more than a few yards from the cabin. He’d make a nice, light snack for the Panther. The same goes for you.”
“Are you implying I’m a tasty treat, as well?” She cocked her head to one side, a sly smile curling her lips.
Hell and damnation!
“For a big cat like an Eastern Panther, definitely.” Ignoring her teasing strained his nerves to the limit. The words came out as an exasperated sigh as she handed him the pizza slice.
“Okay, we’ll be careful. And, Frasier, thanks for caring.”
“No problem.” As her fingers brushed his on the container, he flinched. “See you in the morning.”
****
Instead of going inside his cabin, Frasier let Scout out for a run. Leaning against a verandah post, he watched the big dog sniffing around in the darkness and tried to organize his thoughts. As if he didn’t have enough to be concerned about, now an actual Eastern Panther had been added to the list.
Damn it, why couldn’t the woman take a hint! Hadn’t someone tried to burn her out in town? Couldn’t she see danger when it was looking her right in the face? He drew a deep breath and let his gaze roam over the clearing, the lake, and the surrounding blackness of the night forest. Both of them were vulnerable. As for himself, he figured he could handle anything that came his way. He and Scout. But Emma and that innocuous little dog!
He stretched his shoulders, trying to rid himself of the stiffness lurking between their blades. It had been so much simpler when there’d been just himself to watch out for.
“Scout, come on, boy, time for bed,” he called to the dog. Together they went into the cabin. Frasier stirred the embers on the hearth and added a log. Yes, it had been simpler when he’d been living alone at Loon Lake. But not nearly as intriguing. Or arousing.
Rain began to spatter on the steps. Great! It would wash out any prints the big cat had left in the vicinity of Emma’s flat tire incident. Proof gone.
****
“Rise and shine, nature boy. It’s 7:30 a.m. We’ve got a cat to catch.”
Frasier awoke to the sound of Emma’s voice and an incessant pounding on his cabin door. He blinked at the luminous dial of his bedside clock. A thin shaft of sunlight peeked in through his window.
He stumbled to his feet, pulled on his flannel pants, and, rubbing sleep from his eyes, headed for the door.
He opened it to find Emma dressed in hiking boots, bush pants, camouflage jacket, and khaki baseball cap. On her back was a knapsack, and in her hand was a plastic bag with a loaf of bread sticking out of the top. The Pug beside her wore a camouflage vest and a big grin.
“What—?” He could only stare.
“We’re going to help you find that big pussycat.” She and her dog pushed past him into the cabin. “We figure it’s the least we can do to try to repay you. But first I’m going to make us some stellar oatmeal and whole grain toast while you shower and—” she looked meaningfully at his stubbly chin— “shave.”
“No, no, really, this isn’t necessary.” He tried to protest, but she was shoving him into the bathroom. “And I don’t like oatmeal,” he howled in final, bleak protest.
“Ya will when I gets through with it, laddie.” She jerked open the door just as he was about to step into the shower. “Do you prefer peaches or bananas?�
��
He scrambled for a towel but only managed to grab a washcloth.
“Oh, my.” For a few seemingly interminable seconds she gazed at him before closing the door, a chuckle bubbling in her throat.
Damn, damn, damn. He turned on the shower and yowled again. It was ice cold.
Chapter Four
He had to admit he’d never tasted oatmeal like it. She’d spruced it up with cinnamon, laced it with bananas, and topped it with a drizzle of maple syrup.
“Told you,” she said, watching as he scraped his bowl.
“It was good,” he admitted looking up at her. “But about today…”
His cell phone broke in on his words.
“Professor. Good morning… No, I’m not out in the field yet. Just finishing breakfast. I’ll be leaving momentarily.”
He looked up at Emma again, and she took the hint. She gathered up their bowls and cups and tiptoed toward the dishwasher. It wasn’t far enough for her not to overhear, but at least he wouldn’t have her closeness to distract him.
“No, sir, nothing definite yet.”
Emma dropped a saucepan and swung to scowl at him. “What about last night?” she mouthed the words.
“Just dropped a pan, sir.” He got to his feet and began to pace. “I’m cleaning up breakfast. Yes, I’m leaving now. Yes, I’ll give you a full report tonight. Until then, sir.”
Frasier stopped, punched End, and replaced the phone in his pocket.
“Why didn’t you tell him about last night?” She threw up her hands, eyes rounding, tone pitched with exasperation. “I can’t imagine your not being eager to tell him about your first—It is your first, isn’t it?—actual evidence of an Eastern Panther! Isn’t such proof crucial to the continued funding of your project?”
“I’ll do it later.”
Holding Off for a Hero Page 9