Rogue's Revenge (12 page)

“James Wilcox? Me? You can’t be serious! This place certainly isn’t worth risking a murder charge.”

“Interesting. You seemed to think I was willing to give it a try.”

“Yes, well, maybe.” She finished unlacing his right boot, but this time she eased it from his foot. “The jury is still out on that one.”

“Ah, so now there’s a jury. I’m not being condemned without a trial. Guess I’ve moved up a notch in your estimation.”

“It had to be a thief or a vandal.” She recalled the well-dressed man who had accosted her and her mother at the funeral and found Heath’s suspicions farfetched.

“Then why didn’t he take anything while I was unconscious?”

“I can’t explain that. I only know civilized professional people do not resort to violence as a means to an end. Especially not for a few acres of trees.”

“You don’t know the facts.” Heath got off the stool. When she stood to face him, she discovered that even in his stocking feet he was still a good six inches taller than she.

“What facts?”

“The government has recently put a freeze on the sale of all crown-owned waterfront property along this river.” He walked gingerly across the kitchen, then turned to face her, his back to the cupboards. “Only privately owned property can be purchased, and that’s subject to a lot of environmental conditions. For example, land already designated for private recreational homes has to stay that way; there can no longer be any reclassification to commercial use. And since this is the only property on the river already with a commercial designation, it’s the only one available that can take paying guests. In other words, we’re the only game in town.”

“But why this river, this lodge? Surely there are others on other rivers…”

“Ah, yes, but not on a river like the North Passage. It’s an adventure river, offering everything from great trout and salmon fishing to Class Four rapids for adventurers. Its wildness and inability to be navigated by power boats has kept it pristine, its surrounding wilderness unspoiled. That was why Jack screened his guests so carefully. He didn’t object to catch-and-release fishing—it often provided his bread-and-butter crowd—but he did mind hunters and people on ATVs who had no respect for the land and its creatures. He wanted this to be a place people came to enjoy nature and the wilderness, leaving only tracks behind and taking only pictures and great memories away. And,” he said heading for the refrigerator. “I intend to see it stays just that way.”

He opened the appliance door and took out the largest beef bone Allison thought she’d ever seen.

“Here, buddy. I bet you’re hungry.” He handed it to the eager dog. “Can’t have anyone named Jack uncomfortable in this house.”

Chapter Seven

Allison watched Heath go through the swinging door, Jack happily carrying his supper in his jaws at his heels. She shook her head, then turned toward the refrigerator. Stubborn, that’s what Heath Oakes was, just plain stubborn.

Ten minutes later she followed, two steaming bowls of soup on a tray in her hands. When he jerked upright as she placed it on the coffee table in front of him, she suspected he’d been dozing. Painkillers kicking in, no doubt. Jack, gnawing contentedly on the huge bone, lay at his feet.

So much for canine loyalty
.
One tyrannosaurus rex bone and he’s anyone’s best friend.

“Soup’s on.” She handed a bowl and spoon to the man coming alert.

“Thanks.” He took them from her. “Looks good.”

“It’s only soup.” She sat down on the opposite end of the couch.

“Ambrosia to someone who used to live for days at a time on oatmeal and macaroni.”

Bullets of reality, his unexpected words shattered her image of him as always having been a tough, self-reliant street kid.

“You’re not serious,” she said, staring at him.

“Yeah, well…” He avoided her wide-eyed incredulity. “I guess being cold and hungry just now brought back a lot of ‘back in the day’ stuff.”

“So you became an outlaw…like Robin Hood?” she asked, remembering his innuendoes about an incarceration.

“Always the romantic, aren’t you?” He looked over at her, his eyes narrowing to yellow slits in the firelight. “No, I was just a street kid in secondhand clothes, out to make the world sorry it had kicked him in the teeth.”

“What did you do?”

“I told you. I stole a car. To top it off, I crashed it into a tree after a high-speed chase by police.” He replaced his soup bowl on the tray and hunched his shoulders into a stretch. “They can put you in jail for that kind of thing.” He leaned back on the couch and stared into the flames.

“And did they?”
So he had been an outlaw, of sorts
.

“Oh, yeah.” He pulled himself to his feet with a grimace and went to put a log on the fire. “They sure did.”

“Why would you do anything so foolish?” she asked. “If you felt you had to steal, why not food or clothes or…money? Something you could use?”

“Because I was mad as hell, fed up with never having what all the other kids seemed to take for granted, but mostly because I’d been humiliated by someone I thought really liked me.”

“A girl?” Allison asked softly and couldn’t help admiring his broad shoulders and narrow hips as he remained hunkered down in front of the fire, watching the new log begin to blaze.

“Yeah, a girl. A snotty rich girl whose homework I did for an entire term because she promised to go to a school dance with me in June.”

“And she didn’t?”

“She sure didn’t.” His words were a half caustic laugh, half sneer. “She let me come to her house all dressed up in a secondhand suit my mother had spent her last ten dollars to buy, a bunch of flowers I’d salvaged from a supermarket dumpster in my hand, then greeted me at the door with her real date and a bunch of her rich-kid friends. They were laughing up a storm.”

“Oh, my God.” The three words came out in a whispered gasp. “What did you do?”

“I did something really smart.” Sarcasm colored his words as he stood and turned to face her. “I stole her father’s BMW and wrapped it around a tree after a race with the RCMP.”

“Heath…” She tried to speak and failed. The image of a tall, gangly teenager in a shabby suit, his hopes and dreams shattered in one heinous moment of senseless cruelty, had formed a massive lump in her throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Go to bed. Just go to bed, will you?” His face in the flickering firelight was hard and cold, a twitch afflicting his jaw. “I don’t need any rich woman’s sympathy. You’re all a bunch of bitches.”

“Fine. Come along, Jack. We’ll leave Nasty Ned alone. He doesn’t need our company. I’m sure he’ll be able to amuse himself…tarring all financially secure women with the same brush.”

The poodle paused, looking up at Heath.

“Go on,” he waved a dismissive hand at the dog. “You belong with her.”

With a sigh, Jack turned away and followed Allison to her room.

****

“Coffee?” Allison stepped out onto the front veranda where Heath was replacing a rotted plank, two mugs in her hands. The bright, frosty morning raised steam from the cups and formed a misty barrier between them. Jack, who’d been at her heels, gave a joyful yelp and raced down the steps to run madly around the grounds.

“Thanks.” He got up, eyeing her suspiciously as he accepted the mug.

“Beautiful day.” She drew a deep breath of the crisp, clear air and savored it. “I’d almost forgotten how terrific early mornings are up here.”

“About last night.” He stared down into his cup. “I talked too much, courtesy of those painkillers.”

“Would you like me to forget it?”

“I’d be grateful.” He looked up at her.

“Done. Oh, look! A pair of black ducks. Probably coming to nest.”

He grunted and turned away.

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” She caught him by an arm.

“They won’t be coming much longer…not if this place is sold to National Realty.” He rested his hips against the railing and took a sip of coffee.

“Look, I know how Gramps felt about this place, how you feel about it, but I’m not about to commit myself to a life in the backwoods. I have a job…”

“Yeah, yeah, CFO of some big company, right?” He straightened up, set his coffee on the railing, and knelt to return to his work. “Making money like it was going out of style.”

“So what if I am?” she snapped. “You don’t know anything about me, about my plans and goals.”

“I know they don’t include a commitment to Jack’s hopes and dreams.” He drove a nail into a plank with a mighty blow. “I know you don’t give a damn if National Realty buys it for their client and he proceeds to pave these entire grounds with asphalt and puts flashing neon lights over the Lodge.”

“That’s not true! I do care! But I’m not going to spend the rest of my life trying to prevent it.”

“Okay, okay. Just don’t expect me to hand over my part of this place without one hell of a fight.” He picked up another nail and slammed it into the wood harder than the previous one. The veranda flinched.

“You’re on, Wilderness Willy. Be prepared to leave this place with your tail between your legs! Very soon.”

She snatched up his cup and strode back into the Lodge.

Jack paused in his cavorting to stare after her. Then his delight in the place resurfaced and he raced off again to play.

A half hour later, the sound of a vehicle made her glance out the kitchen window. He was driving out of the yard in the Cherokee. Going to town? He had to be. Otherwise, he would have used the old Jeep. To meet with a lawyer? Or maybe to see the beautiful Dr. Henderson? She tried to put a quick end to the sinking feeling that came over her at the latter possibility.
Mind over matter
, she told herself sharply.
Just imagine living indefinitely with the creature. That should fix it.

She rinsed the coffee cups, then wandered about the Lodge, Jack at her heels, as she reacquainted herself with each nook and cranny. Nothing much had changed, she discovered. The same outdoor and wildlife paintings donated by Jack’s wealthy guests still adorned the walls of the dining and living rooms; the same dishes and silverware still graced the sideboards and china cabinets, and, to her chagrin, the same feeling of home and hearth and security still prevailed.

I don’t belong here, not anymore, not now, not with him, so shelve the sentimental stuff.

She reached the door of her grandparents’ apartment. With her hand on the doorknob, she hesitated. This had always been a special place for her as a child, the equivalent of Grandma’s house. She felt she couldn’t bear it if it had been changed in any way. God forbid it had been made into a storage area for extra furniture. The idea made her shiver. Steeling herself for the worst, she shoved open the door. A wave of relief swept over her. Everything was exactly as she remembered it.

Stepping inside, she felt a rush of nostalgia so powerful it left her lightheaded. She walked softly into the reverend hush, crossing the room to open the curtains on the wide patio doors that led to a deck overlooking the river. A beam of sunshine illuminated the apartment, and in it Allison suddenly saw the image of her grandmother sitting in the big rocker by the window, knitting and looking up to smile fondly at her only grandchild.

“Gram.” The word choked as the vision dissolved into dust motes dancing in the radiance.

With a lump rising in her throat, she turned toward the big fourposter bed at the back of the room. Plump with pillows and quilts, it appeared the epitome of warmth and intimacy, a place to share with someone special. How lonely that bed must have been these past ten years for her grandfather.

She moved to the corner fireplace. Its grates had been swept clean, but she could still remember chilly evenings spent before its cheerful blaze.

On the mantel were photos of herself with her parents as a baby, as a child, as a teenager, and as a college graduate.
Gramps loved me, and I wasn’t there when he needed me, all because of a barbarian named Heath Oakes.

Her eyes burned, her throat constricted.
I don’t need to load myself down with any more recriminations. Heath Oakes is doing a state-of-the-art job of it.
She sucked in a deep breath.
Moping around here isn’t helping. Shopping might help raise my spirits. I’ll go to town.

She looked out the window at the old Jeep sitting alone by the shed.
Well, since there’s no choice…Anyhow, if he can drive it, so can I.

Ten minutes later, struggling to get the knack of driving the ancient standard-transmission vehicle, she was roaring about the Lodge grounds. It bucked and balked and was every bit as trying as a two-year-old colt. But Allison Armstrong had mastered more than one of those in her time. With teeth clenched and lips drawn into a pencil-thin line, she persisted until she felt reasonably in control. Then she headed down the tunnel of greenery toward Portage. She was glad she’d left Jack in the Lodge. In this vehicle, he’d have been bounced more than she cared to think.

At the service station on the edge of the village she noticed the gas gauge was reading empty and the oil light was flashing.

“Fill it up and check the oil, please,” she told the attendant, who was appraising her critically. “May I use your phone for a long-distance call? I’ll use my card.”

“You’re Jack’s grandkid, aren’t you?” he asked. When she nodded, he grinned, “Sure, sure, go right ahead. Anything for Jack’s family.”

She went inside and told the gum-chewing teenager she had permission to use the phone. Hardly bothering to look up from her magazine, the girl shoved it across the counter toward her.

The place was empty except for the distracted clerk. Allison quickly punched in her parents’ number. She preferred to talk to her mother without an audience, and at any minute someone might come in.

Shortly she had Myra on the line and was telling her that Heath appeared perfectly capable of looking after the Chance.

“I’ll be on the flight to Ottawa tomorrow afternoon,” she concluded.