by Jan Springer
It fit him perfectly.
She drank in his wet, tousled hair and clean-shaven face and felt her throat go dry. The man looked even better after a shower!
Realizing he was watching her, she refocused her attention on the burgers.
“How do you like your burgers dressed—I mean done?” she corrected herself, feeling her face warm.
“Tons of relish, loaded with mustard, easy on the ketchup and mayo and a slice of lettuce if you have it.”
When he suddenly moved closer, her body tingled with excitement. She felt his warm breath dance across the back of her neck, and boy, he smelled very yummy.
“Looks fantastic,” he said. “I’m starved. Want me to set the table?”
“Sure. Plates are—”
“In this cupboard.”
Emily held her breath as he stretched his arms like a tomcat. Muscles bulged in his shoulder area, and for a moment, she thought the material might actually split as he reached up and dragged out a couple of plates and two glasses. Have mercy! The man certainly was built. And it suddenly seemed awfully warm in here.
“Um,” she began, trying hard to keep her voice as professional as one would speak to an employee. “I’m short on time today so I couldn’t whip up something more fancy than burgers, fries and a salad. I have to get over to Prince Edward Island. There’s a Halloween fair today on the main island near the North Cape. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
He didn’t say anything as he placed the plates and glasses on the tiny kitchen table.
Grabbing the plate of burgers and utensils, she asked him to sit. When he did, she swallowed to clear her suddenly dry throat and plunged ahead with her question. “I wanted to know if you could give me a hand and bring the food over to the fair?”
He shifted uncomfortably, and said rather quietly, “I’m not much for dressing up in costumes…or for crowds.”
Ah, this must be the shy side Daniel was talking about.
“I have to tell you I’m not much for fairs either,” she lied. “Costumes are optional. I’m not wearing one. Besides, I promised to help out at a food booth for an hour or so and then there is something else I need to do. I noticed your boat is a rental from town. We can tie your rental on to the back of my fishing boat, drop it off and you can wander around the fairgrounds until ten. I’ll give you an advance and you can ride on some of the roller coasters.”
“Roller coasters and a fair? Is this chore part of the job description?” The tips of his mouth curved upward in amusement.
She wanted to say no. Unfortunately, if she did, he would stay here while she was gone. The last thing she wanted was a total stranger among her things. “Yes, actually it is.”
He shrugged his shoulders and frowned.
“Okay, you’re the boss and your wish is my command.”
By the tightness around his mouth though, Emily could tell he wasn’t too happy about accompanying her to the fair.
* * * * *
The smell of hot dogs and frying onions assaulted Chance’s senses as he wandered away from the giant red tent where he’d left the last armload of food he’d trudged in for Emily. They’d been swarmed by a bunch of gray-haired elderly ladies whose eyes sparkled with curiosity as they examined Emily’s entries for the bake sale. When their attention focused on him, he’d quickly excused himself, but not before Emily slipped some money into his palm and secured a promise from him to meet her back here in an hour for something called the Pie Sell-Off Contest.
As he walked up the midway, the smells grew stronger and the crowds grew denser. He tried to tune out the steady cry of the barkers as they lured victims into their booths and grimaced at the popping sounds of the air rifles in the nearby shooting galleries. Shouts and screams from the people dressed as vampires, witches and the walking dead zombies made Chance edgy. The sounds of the guns and shouts churned up the memories he didn’t care to remember. Images of intense heat, metal bars, chain-link fences as well as gray cinder-block walls topped with rolls of sharp, shiny barbed wire.
All of it reminded him of stolen freedom. Fear. Anger. Pain.
Automatically his hands slipped to his neck, to the tiny Saint Christopher medallion. His uneasiness slipped up a notch. It wasn’t there!
Then he remembered stuffing it under the bed after Emily had woken him earlier today. There was no way he could allow her to get a close look at the medallion because if she read the inscription on the back of it, she’d freak out.
A familiar chopping sound captured his attention and Chance’s spirits soared as he recognized what was going on just up ahead. Maneuvering himself through the thick crowd, he found the Timber Sports competition in full swing.
Sweat glistened off the bare backs of the burly men and muscles bulged along arms as they swung double-edged axes into giant chunks of pinewood. A roar of cheers went up as a giant fellow, wearing a black witch’s hat, chopped through his block first. A few seconds later another ear-splitting roar erupted as two more men split through their logs.
“Well done, men!” a voice yelled.
Immediately Chance recognized the short, plump, white-haired man screeching into his bullhorn and found himself grinning from ear to ear. Buzz, nicknamed for his short army buzz haircut, had been the fair’s Timber Sports caller since Emily had first introduced Chance to the fair years ago.
“Next up is the Double Block Cut. We still have one opening for anyone interested in going up against our current champion.” Buzz hesitated then looked into the crowd. “Where is my current champion? Where are you, boy? Show yourself. Ah, here he is. Let’s hear a round of applause for our current champion. All the way from the Big Apple USA to defend his title, Skip Cole!”
Chance inhaled sharply at the name. The cheering crowd in front of him wavered slightly and his heart thudded in his ears. His fists tightened into knots and he felt his control slip as he watched the tall, dark-haired man he’d once called best friend step into the opening. What the hell was Skip doing here? The man was more comfortable following up a story in the war-ravaged streets of some foreign country than playing to a fair crowd.
The caller broke into Chance’s whirling thoughts. “Still an opening. Who wants it?”
“I’ll take it!” Chance yelled.
The cheers died and he hunched deeper into the crowd as all eyes locked on to him.
“Well, c’mon forward, boy. Don’t be shy,” the caller coaxed cheerfully, and before Chance could change his mind, gentle hands from nearby spectators ushered him toward the competition’s opening.
Toward Skip!
Chance’s first impulse was to start swinging his fists at Skip’s face and ask questions later. His second impulse was to dive into the crowd, leave the island and forget the past few years had ever happened. Running away, however, wouldn’t solve anything.
Since regaining his freedom he’d thought about asking him why the hell he was going after his wife and why the hell he’d stabbed him in the back by exposing his undercover work to the bad guys the way he had. But Chance’s brothers had talked him out of any confrontations until he was fully healed from all his surgeries first. Well, he was healed physically if not mentally.
Finding the son of a bitch here at the fair totally surprised him. Fortunately, all his uneasiness flowed away when Buzz handed him a heavy ax. Pain rippled through his shoulders as its weight caught him by surprise and the ax slipped from his hands narrowly missing his feet. The crowd laughed.
“Looks like you’re out of shape, mister. You sure you want to go up against the defender?”
“It’ll be a pleasure,” Chance replied.
“Suit yourself,” Buzz said, his white bushy eyebrows knitting together with concern. “What size boots?”
“Eleven.” Chance avoided Skip’s curious look as Skip sized him up. He grabbed a pair of damp, dirty work gloves from a nearby table.
“Here’s your boots. Slip ’em on. What’s your name, son? Where’re you from?” Buzz
whispered.
Chance slipped a sideways glance at Skip, who’d turned his attention to pulling on his own work gloves supplied by Buzz. The thought of revealing his true identity slammed into him. It would be nice to see Skip’s reaction. To see how horrified his once best friend would be when he found out that Steve McCullen was in fact alive. But that wouldn’t help Chance. He needed to find out if Skip was behind his incarceration and the only way to do that was give the name he’d been forced to use during his imprisonment. If Skip was behind it, Chance should be able to tell by the look on his face when he announced the name and the state where he’d been kept as a prisoner.
“Donovan. Chance Donovan. State of Texas. US of A.”
If Skip recognized the name, he gave no hint of it. He was busy waving to his ever-frantic fans.
Chance slid into his safety boots. A perfect fit.
“Our newcomer hails all the way from Texas,” Buzz shouted into his bullhorn. “Let’s give Chance Donovan a hand for being brave enough to go after Skip Cole, our defending champion for the past six years.”
Chance started. Six years! The fucking bastard hadn’t wasted any time in taking over his old position as champion of the Double Block Cut version of the Lumberjack Competition. Which led him to the question of exactly how long had Emily being seeing Skip? His brother Daniel had said the relationship and marriage proposal had come out of the blue a few weeks ago. Had he lied? Or not been told the truth by Emily?
“All right men! Get ready!” The caller’s shout drew his attention from his thoughts.
Chance stepped onto the huge chunk of pine he was about to chop into, nestled his feet comfortably at the edges of the blocks of wood, held the heavy ax firmly over his head and concentrated with all his might on the scratch marks where he was to chop. When the announcer shot off the signal gun, Chance began his downward swing. The blade of the ax slammed into the thick block, sending jarring vibrations through his arms and straight into his neck. He ignored the discomfort.
His concentration deepened and he kept swinging. Soon he couldn’t hear anything but his steady breathing and the blood roaring through his veins. Rivers of sweat cooled his body, and the next thing he knew, burly men with cheerful smiles were slapping his back as cheers flew into the air.
“Congratulations to our new champion, Chance Donovan. All the way from Texas. Winner of one thousand dollars.”
Chance gasped at the sum he’d won. The prize had increased in his absence. Cheers flew into the air.
“C’mon, Chance. C’mon get your prize money!” the caller shouted into the bullhorn.
Excited hands pushed him toward Buzz, who slapped ten crisp brand-new hundred dollar Canadian bills into his shaking hand.
“Don’t worry, they aren’t counterfeit,” the caller chuckled, and Chance found himself answering his smile.
The cheers and claps shot into Chance again, and to his surprise, he found himself enjoying all this attention. He smiled sheepishly, rolled up the bills and shoved the wad into his front jeans pocket. The crowd quickly forgot about him as the next lumberjack competition got underway.
A hand slapped painfully onto Chance’s back and he froze at Skip Cole’s warm voice. “I’ve been trying to get rid of that title for years.”
“Why’s that?” Chance managed to croak, his throat clogging up with mixed emotions at seeing his old friend. At wondering yet again how had Skip managed to betray him the way he had?
“The title belonged to a good buddy of mine. I tried to hold on to it in his memory but—” Skip frowned and shrugged his shoulders. “Things change, y’know. Life’s getting too busy to fly here to defend the title. My fiancée’s moving back with me at the end of next month. We probably won’t have the time to come to next year’s fair, so I can’t defend the title. Might have a kid by then. She’s always wanted a whole bunch of them.”
A sliver of reality brushed across Chance as he remembered Emily’s dreams of having a houseful of kids. Being an only child herself, she’d always craved the company of brothers and sisters and wanted their kids to have lots of them.
Why the hell was Skip telling him all this personal stuff, anyway? Was this his way of informing Chance he knew his true identity?
Skip’s voice cut into Chance’s thoughts.
“You don’t sound like a Texan. Lost your accent somewhere?” He slapped his knee and burst into uncontrollable laughter.
Chance didn’t know how to react so he stood there inspecting his former best friend.
Skip laughed the same way he always had. Free and easy. Straight up from his chest. When they both began working for the same newbie New York newspaper as investigative journalists, both men had bonded instantly. Chance had sensed immediately that Skip shared the same passion for adrenaline-rush adventures he enjoyed. They’d saved each other’s butts on more than one harried occasion while smuggling out stories from war-torn countries. At the same time Skip’s easy-going nature and flair for humor had livened up the tension that accompanied their dangerous treks.
When he finished laughing at his Texas-accent joke, his dark brown eyes held no hint of hatred or betrayal, only humor. “I suppose you must hear that line all the time?”
Amusement tinged Skip’s voice and his eyes laughed with humor. It seeped beneath Chance’s hate and began to nibble away at it, putting doubts into his ironclad idea Skip was the man who had tipped off the bad guys that Steve was setting them up for a big fall with a disc containing important names of people involved in the illegal transplant network.
Chance quickly brushed the newfound feelings.
“Actually, no I haven’t,” he replied, injecting coldness into his voice.
Skip appeared to sense his hostility and immediately sobered.
“Well, I can see you must be tired after whacking away at the wood with that heavy ax, so—” Abruptly he stopped talking and his eyes brightened as he peered over Chance’s shoulder.
He jumped as Skip suddenly started waving and shouting to someone in the crowd. “Hey, honey! Over here!”
Whirling around, he spotted Emily stumbling through the dense crowd toward them. The last thing he wanted was to socialize with the happy couple. He turned to leave, but Skip’s hand curled around his elbow, stopping him cold. Before he could yank himself free, Emily’s surprised voice captured his attention.
“I thought you couldn’t make it in this year?”
“What? Miss the fall fair?” Skip chuckled. “Not see you? Not on your life.”
Chance’s teeth slammed painfully together and his jaw clenched tight with anger as he witnessed Skip kiss Emily on the cheek.
“Mr. Donovan!” Emily’s cheerful voice shot through his rising anger.
Chance threw Emily a watery smile.
“You two know each other?” Skip asked.
“We’ve…met,” she said with a warm smile that lifted Chance’s spirits.
She glanced at her watch and gasped. “Oh my! Look at the time! I have to get over to the pie contest. It starts in five minutes. Are you two coming?”
Skip linked his arm with Emily’s and threw Chance a somewhat pouty scowl. Chance flipped him a smirk and would have flipped him his middle finger if Skip hadn’t already turned away. Skip seemed jealous, but then again so was Chance.
* * * * *
“Our last contestant is Emily McCullen!”
Emily’s cheeks flushed hot from embarrassment as the announcer called her name through the microphone. She wiped the perspiration from her damp palms, lifted her pie and headed on to the stage.
“This Pie Sell-Off Contest was Emily’s idea and all the money will go toward providing food and shelter for the homeless this winter on Prince Edward Island,” the caller hollered.
Loud claps and earsplitting whistles rippled through the huge, warm tent housing what Emily would guess to be over three hundred spectators. People who sat in rows of chairs, staring at her and her pie. Nineteen women and one man had gone before her, enter
ing their pies into the contest, and so far they had tallied a good amount for the cause. More than she had imagined.
“Emily has made her late uncle Jeb’s famous seaweed-apple-blueberry pie. Who wants to start the bidding for an evening date with Emily and a chance to eat her delicious pie?”
When Skip’s hand shot up, Emily breathed a sigh of relief. She’d much prefer to go on a date with someone she knew.
“Twenty dollars,” he called out cheerfully.
“Twenty-two dollars,” Dr. Baker shouted.
Emily winked at the physician to thank him for his bid.
“Twenty-five dollars,” Skip said with a grin, and Emily found herself answering his smile.
She hadn’t expected him to show. She’d received an email from him only two days ago saying he probably wouldn’t make it because he was very busy with work. When she heard nothing today, she assumed he wasn’t coming. Obviously he had decided to leave his job to crash the fair. She hated when he dropped in unexpectedly. It made her change her plans at the last minute to accommodate him. God help her when they got married.
“Fifty dollars?” the caller shouted. “How about fifty dollars for a date with Emily and a taste of her delicious seaweed-apple-blueberry pie?”
No one lifted a hand.
So far no one was crazy enough to pay fifty dollars for a pie. The highest bid had been forty-five dollars from a husband of one of the women who’d entered.
“Oh c’mon, folks. It is for a good cause. No one?” He peered anxiously into the crowd. “Looks like she might go to Skip Cole. Going once! Going twice!”
“One thousand dollars! Cash!” a man shouted.
Emily blinked in disbelief. The announcer looked shocked. A deadly quiet floated across the crowd. All heads turned toward the back of the tent where the voice had erupted.
“I said one thousand dollars.”
Emily’s breath locked in her throat as Chance stepped into the aisle. He flashed a pile of bills in the air.