A Last Resort

by Brenda Sinclair

“This is nice,” she whispered, gazing up into his eyes.

  “I agree,” he replied, softly. Then he leaned over and kissed her lips as one of her warm hands gently caressed his face.

  “Hey, you guys. Keep it PG over there,” Shelley called, smiling. She and Jake were wrapped in the duvet with only their faces showing.

  “Mind your own business,” Emma replied, laughing. “You’re all cuddled up with Jake. I’ll snuggle with Lyndon.”

  He glanced heavenward, thankful for the storm. Nothing could have brought them together in a better way. And he appreciated a glimpse of what life could be like for him one day, as a family man. Thankful indeed.

  Lyndon glanced out the window shortly after two a.m. and noticed the sleet had turned to huge fluffy flakes which would accumulate on the lawns and walkways. There’d be snow shoveling in his future. A moment later, the table lamp he’d turned on earlier flickered and then illuminated the room.

  “The power’s back on,” Shelley exclaimed.

  Emma sighed. “Thank goodness.”

  “Everyone back to bed.” Lyndon extracted Emma from the duvet and helped her stand. “The furnace will warm the cabin again. No need to sit by the fire. It’s dying down anyway.”

  Shelley and Jake wandered down the hallway together, and Lyndon didn’t mind the dog sleeping in her room the remainder of the night. The storm had unsettled the teen, and Jake as well. They’d be excellent company for each other.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” Emma mumbled, stifling a yawn.

  “The storm settled now. Only flakes gently drifting down.” Lyndon kissed her lips and accompanied her down the hallway, knowing the fire had almost burned itself out in the woodstove and wouldn’t need further tending. He paused outside her door and then accompanied her into the room. “Into bed and I’ll see you tomorrow.” He tucked her in and kissed her lips. “Sleep well.”

  “Goodnight,” she mumbled then turned on her side.

  He wandered back to his own room, experiencing unfamiliar but wonderful contentment. He silently vowed someday that remarkable woman would become his wife.

  Chapter 20

  The next morning, Emma couldn’t be more thankful the power remained working. Morning coffee had never tasted so good. She dressed in her ski jacket, boots, scarf and woolen hat to survey the storm’s damage. Lyndon and Shelley donned equally warm clothing and they all traipsed outside, across the stone patio, to the backyard.

  Emma inhaled the scent of fresh-fallen snow in the air and pulled her scarf tighter as a gentle breeze threatened to chill her exposed skin. She and Lyndon groaned as they stood in the middle of the yard and stared in disbelief.

  “Look at all this beautiful snow.” Shelley slowly turned in a circle, smiling in delight. Coming from Vancouver, she would only witness large snowstorms when they occurred there once or twice a year.

  Jake pushed his nose through the fresh-fallen accumulation which had already begun to melt in the morning sun. The dog rolled in the middle of the lawn, white flakes clinging to his coat. He also appeared to be smiling.

  “Thankfully, none of those downed trees landed on the cabin roof,” Lyndon observed, shading his eyes with his hand as he surveyed the trees and large branches strewn across the backyard. “It probably looks equally bad in the front.”

  “I can’t believe this mess.” Emma stared at the devastation left behind by the wind and the storm. Small branches littered the ground and a few wicker chairs had been overturned which served her and Lyndon right for not putting them away sooner. With November’s arrival, the chance of any more evenings spent together around the patio firepit seemed slim but a possibility. They’d been too hopeful, apparently.

  “Where the heck do we start?” Shelley bemoaned.

  Lyndon scratched his head. “I’ll get a chainsaw from the shed and start cutting up those trees. Most of them look dead anyway which explains why they came down so easily. Shelley, bring the wheelbarrow out and you can stack the firewood and then haul it over to the lean-to behind the shed. I’ll give you some snippers to trim the logs for easier stacking.”

  “Okay, but I’m not old enough for a driver’s license and I doubt I can even move a wheelbarrow full of wood.” Shelley glanced at Emma.

  “Once it’s full, I’ll wheel it over there and then you can unload it,” Lyndon conceded.

  “Works for me. Come on, Jake.” Shelley raced the dog to the shed.

  “Don’t even think about giving him a ride,” Lyndon called the warning. “All I need is my dog tumbling out of a wheelbarrow and landing on his head. There’s been enough trips to the vet already. Dog ownership comes with a hefty price tag. Especially a rescue.”

  “But worth it,” Emma suggested.

  “Totally,” he admitted, grinning. “And Jake is healthy now.”

  “I’ll rake up these branches and debris. Then I’ll straighten this furniture, clean it up, and put it away in the shed. I’ll get you to help me carry the larger pieces,” Emma said, outlining her plan to help.

  Lyndon nodded. “Sounds good. Pile the branches near the woodpile. Once they dry next spring, they’ll work as kindling. Or if the days stay nice, we can dispose of some of them in the firepit one night.”

  “Come on, you guys!” Shelley called, maneuvering the wheelbarrow across the yard in a zigzag pattern, like a child participating in a round of the dizzy bat game.

  Lyndon chuckled and whispered, “She’s right. She can’t drive a wheelbarrow.”

  Emma swatted his arm. “She’s fifteen. Besides, I doubt I’d do much better,” she added, laughing.

  “Leave the driving to me.” Lyndon waved his hand across the yard. “You guys work on this mess.”

  Emma grabbed a leaf rake from the shed and started rounding up the strewn branches. Her hands had completely healed long ago and she appreciated contributing to the cleanup effort by doing her part. She straightened the overturned wicker furniture as she worked her way around the backyard, planning to clean the furniture and tables once she’d finished raking.

  “Wow, this place is totally cool,” Shelley commented, pushing the wheelbarrow back toward Lyndon for another trip. “I love coming here in the summer to visit. We always have such a great time. I’m good at horseshoes, and Uncle Mike has his own horseshoe pit.”

  Emma smiled, recalling summer afternoon get-togethers here with two dozen or more of Mike and Rachael’s neighbors, playing games and sharing a huge potluck meal afterward. So many remarkable memories. Of course, Rachael always arranged for a couple single guys to attend, hoping for a bit of matchmaking magic to happen. As if. Lyndon mustn’t visit his parents too frequently since she didn’t recall ever meeting him before.

  “I’m stopping for lunch,” Emma called, leaning the rake against the waist-high stone planter on the patio. “Give me fifteen minutes to make sandwiches and heat up some chicken soup, then come inside.”

  Lyndon waved.

  “Okay,” Shelley called, pushing her wheelbarrow toward Lyndon.

  Emma entered the cabin, thankful for the warmth as she peeled off her outerwear. She couldn’t be more impressed with Shelley; the teen had worked as hard as Lyndon and her, all morning long without a word of complaint. She was truly proud of that girl.

  The door whipped open and Shelley rushed inside, stomping the snow from her boots. “Lyndon sent me in to help. He’ll be in as soon as he fills the chainsaw with gas.”

  “All right. Won’t say no to some assistance with lunch.” Emma washed her hands at the sink. “You open the soup cans and heat it, and I’ll make some sandwiches.”

  “What kind?”

  “Ham and cheese. Peanut butter and jelly. What do you want?”

  “Can I make the sandwiches?” Shelley asked, softly.

  Emma chuckled. “What creation do you have in mind now?”

  “You’ll see,” the teen chef replied, beaming.

  Emma heated the soup and occasionally peeked at Shelley as she fashioned her maste
rpieces: ham and swiss cheese sandwiches on Kaiser buns with some special sauce she created with mayo and pickle relish among other ingredients she’d hidden from her. Shelley made one without the ham, substituting tomato slices, for Emma.

  “Why the secrecy? Plan on trademarking the sauce recipe?” Emma teased.

  “I want to see if Lyndon can guess what’s in it, and I don’t want you giving him clues.” Shelley smiled.

  “Those look really delicious.”

  “They are. My dad loves them.”

  “So you’re not angry with him?”

  Shelley shrugged. “Not really. I’m just not going to Dubai. I’m hoping Mom decides she’s not giving up her part-time job or her book club friends, and insists on staying in Canada, too.”

  “Well, I hope you get your wish.” Emma hugged her with one arm.

  Lyndon crashed inside and Jake bounded in behind him. “Whoa, you need those paws wiped before you move another inch.” Jake remained on the mat, panting from playing so hard. He hadn’t stopped moving the entire time they’d been working outside. Lyndon wiped the dog’s feet on an old towel and the dog dashed across the tile floor to his water dish. Much slurping later, he sat beside the nearest barstool.

  Emma tossed Jake a treat from the container on the island.

  “Go to your bed,” Lyndon said, and the dog headed off to obey.

  Shelley sighed. “Jake’s such a good dog. I sure wish he was mine.”

  “You don’t have any pets?” In Emma’s opinion, every kid needed a pet. She even included dogs and cats in many of her books, believing her characters would enjoy the company of a four-footed companion.

  “Mom doesn’t care, but Dad claims my sister and I won’t look after a pet properly.” Shelley shrugged. “When I’m grown up, I’m getting a dog.”

  Lyndon smiled. “Good. Because you can’t have mine.”

  Emma chuckled. “You could leave all those books behind. You might have room for Jake in your backpack then.”

  “Don’t give her ideas,” Lyndon growled. “She’s smart enough as it is.”

  “I won’t steal your dog.” Shelley beamed. “Let’s eat. You’re going to love the sandwiches I made.”

  “I’m sure I will.” Lyndon tugged playfully on one of her long pigtails. “And thanks for all your help today. You did a professional job of stacking that firewood.”

  “Just followed the pattern that was already there. And I like working in the garden at home. Planting flowers with Mom. We grow our own herbs for cooking.” Shelley grabbed plates, bowls and cutlery and headed for the dining room. “All the best chefs grow their own produce, you know.”

  Emma laughed. “Well, everyone knows that.”

  Lyndon snickered and then met Emma eyes. “She’s really a level-headed kid.”

  “And she shouldn’t be forced to go to Dubai and leave her friends and school behind.” Emma tipped her head. “I think we should convince Mike and Rachael to keep her.”

  “But they live in Calgary.”

  “I know, but they could buy her parents’ home and move to Vancouver.”

  Lyndon shook his head. “Yeah, right. And I’ll set up a new business in Calgary and move into their place.”

  “No, your new business is down the road.” Emma smiled and winked at him. “Maybe they’ll let me move into their house in Calgary. I could house-sit for them.”

  “If it’s anything like this place, I understand your reasoning.”

  “No, nothing like this.” Emma chuckled. “It’s bigger.”

  “Come on let’s eat, you guys,” Shelley called from the dining room. “We’ve got work to do. That yard isn’t going to clean itself.”

  Lyndon threw up is hands. “She’s so mature, she could probably stay in Canada by herself.”

  “If it wasn’t illegal for a fifteen year old to live alone.”

  “That’s illegal?”

  “Of course it is. A child cannot leave home without parental consent until age sixteen.” Emma smirked. “Learned that while doing research for my second last book.”

  “Nobody is leaving home. And I’m not going to Dubai.” Shelley returned and grabbed the plateful of sandwiches. “I’ll just live here with you guys.”

  Chapter 21

  Lyndon stepped back to admire his handiwork. He really liked the Oxford Gray paint with the bluish tinge that he’d chosen for the office and bathroom walls in Mike’s workshop. He found the color relaxing and it worked well with the gray painted cement floors. He’d picked out a black leather sofa and black plastic chairs for the area, and cabinets crafted from gray weathered barnwood for the coffee maker stand and as a vanity in the bathroom. Together it would look great.

  The door to the office flew open and Shelley stood in the doorway. He’d left the door closed to prevent dust coming inside and ruining the paint.

  “What the heck…”

  “There’s something wrong with Emma,” she whispered, eyes brimming with tears.

  Lyndon’s heart almost stopped. He tossed the paintbrush onto the paint tray, wiped his hands on a cloth, and dashed out the door with Shelley on his heels. “Where is she?”

  “In the family room.”

  He raced around the corner of the cabin and flew inside through the front door. He tugged off his boots and headed directly for the family room. His heart beat rapidly and he could barely breathe. What could be wrong? Had she fallen? Fainted? Collapsed and hit her head on something? He should have asked Shelley for more details, but he’d discover the problem for himself soon enough.

  He paused in the doorway, taking in the scene before him. Emma paced the floor, muttering to herself while huge tears streamed down her face. Lyndon’s heart tightened. Had she received bad news? Had someone died? Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

  He hurried to her side, turned her around to face him, and then wrapped his arms around her. “What happened?”

  “Shelley… Shelley guessed… the father’s name right off. After all the work I put into that book… a fifteen-year-old girl figured it out in a second.” Emma cried even harder.

  Lyndon blew out his breath. “For Pete’s sake, I thought something terrible happened. You almost scared me to death for nothing.” He buried his face in her hair and inhaled the familiar sweetness of her strawberry-scented shampoo, hating himself for loving the wonderful warmth of holding her against his body while she was so upset. But she fit perfectly in his arms.

  “Nothing? This is worse than terrible… it’s… it’s a crisis.” Emma’s tear-filled eyes met his. “I’m not finishing the book. It’s complete garbage. No one is going to read it. I’m emailing Rachael and telling her—”

  “That book is so good!” Shelley exclaimed, standing in the doorway.

  Emma gaped at the teen.

  “I… well, the reason I knew… I may have read all of it,” Shelley confessed in a whisper.

  “What?” Emma’s jaw dropped. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve read all your books and I’m a huge fan.” Shelley twisted her hands in front of her. “I… I couldn’t wait. A few nights after you guys went to bed… I may have read the new book… on Emma’s laptop.”

  “My laptop is password protected,” Emma blurted and untangled herself from Lyndon’s embrace.

  Shelley scoffed. “RomWriter is not much of a password, Emma. It was a lucky guess but I figured it out in fifteen minutes.”

  “You read the book?” Emma threw up her hands. “The whole book. Already. Well, what’s finished. I still have the final chapter to write.”

  Shelley nodded slowly. “That’s how… I never guessed. I knew who the father was because I read the book. That story is wonderful.”

  “I’m changing my password.” Emma grabbed her laptop then met Shelley’s eyes. “You really think it’s good?”

  “One of your best. I didn’t guess the outcome. I had to read the last couple pages. You fooled me as usual.” Shelley smiled weakly.

  Lyndon s
tood, glancing from one female to the other while the conversation played out. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He hadn’t suspected Shelley had been anywhere but safely tucked into her bed and sound asleep every night. Some father he’d be. At least, the kid had remained in the cabin. He recalled, as a teen himself, sneaking out a couple nights to meet up with his friends. Just dumb luck that he hadn’t been caught.

  What would a dad do in this situation? Shouldn’t there be some sort of punishment for the kid? And poor Emma, convinced she’d written a bunch of crap since a key element of the story had appeared so obvious to a fifteen-year-old kid.

  “For the rest of the week, no music and you’re confined to your room by eight o’clock,” Lyndon decreed, laying down the law. “That’s your punishment for hacking into Emma’s laptop.”

  “I didn’t hack her, I only guessed…” Shelley sighed. “Okay, I suppose I deserve that.”

  “Her work is confidential until published. You had no right to read it without her say-so.” Lyndon placed his hand on the teen’s shoulders. “So you suffer the consequences.”

  Shelley peeked up at him. “Do you hate me?”

  “No. I don’t hate you. Maybe a little disappointed. Have you learned a lesson?” He dropped his arms to his sides.

  The teen nodded. “Yeah, I’ll better respect other people’s property in future.”

  “Good. But remind me to change the password on my laptop the minute I return to the workshop,” he added.

  “No need,” Shelley replied. “Unless you plan to start writing really good romance novels.”

  Lyndon chased her into the dining room, the teen screaming, “Save me, Emma!”

  “Sorry, busy here. You think FabRomWriter is a good password?” she teased, closing her laptop and walking to the kitchen.

  “Absolutely!” Shelley called from the far side of the table. “You nailed it.”

  Emma followed Lyndon into the dining room, watching his standoff with Shelley, each of them taking up a position across the table from the other. “Yeah, right. You’ll never guess the new one so don’t even try.”