Holding Off for a Hero

by Gail MacMillan

  “No, and I don’t see how you would, either.” She navigated a sharp turn that would have sent him slamming against the door if he hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt. “You didn’t seem all that mechanically talented when I found you staring into the innards of that fancy four-by-four as if it were some kind of Chinese puzzle.”

  “Yeah, well, a person doesn’t have to be a genius to feel this car hitting the road like a sledgehammer. Ouch!”

  She’d bounced them over another rock. He flew as high as the seatbelt would allow. This time his head smacked against the roof before he boomeranged back onto the snowshoe.

  “Bet you didn’t realize snowshoes were so rigid.” She cast him a quick glance from behind emotion-concealing Ray-Bans. Twitching at the corners of her mouth rankled him to the core.

  “No, I didn’t. But then I never thought I’d be riding one over a potholed woods road with the female equivalent of Mario Andretti trying to break a record for recklessness. Slow down!”

  “Look, I want to get my shopping done and return to the cabin asap. I have a ton of work ahead of me. You must have things to do, as well. I don’t want to waste any more of the taxpayers’ money than necessary by helping you slack off.” Acidity colored her tone.

  “Okay, okay. Just pay attention to the road. I see a deer up ahead, so unless you’ve got some twisted desire to murder Bambi…”

  ****

  Ten minutes later she swung the car out onto the chip-sealed secondary road that led to the highway. Frasier was about to heave a sigh of relief when she floored the gas. They took off with a squealing of tires.

  “Hey, hey!” he yelled. “Slow down! The speed limit is 100 km. You’re heading to 130!”

  “Look, I told you, I’m in a hurry!” she exploded. “I’ve got a ton of things to do back at the cabin. You see,” she continued, quieting and sounding sly, “I’m having a party tonight. I have to get ready.”

  “A party? You’re having a party? At the lake?” Ah, man, that just about tears it.

  “Actually, a bachelorette bash. One of my teacher friends is getting married next week, and a bunch of us decided we’d give her a real whing-ding of a sendoff…up at my cabin where there’ll be no witnesses. Teachers and the likes of myself have reputations to think of, you realize.” She cast him a wicked glance.

  “So there’ll be music and a lot of noise and…” The Professor’s blood pressure would skyrocket when he gave him this information.

  “Oh, y-e-a-h.” She dragged out the last word.

  “Couldn’t you have it somewhere else? Like a male strip joint in town?”

  “Didn’t you hear what I just said about teachers and others of that ilk? We can’t be seen parading into one of those places. Our superintendent would suspend every last one of us. Anyway…” She looked over at him. “I don’t see why it should be such a big deal for you. You don’t have to keep banker’s hours. If the noise bothers you, stay up, watch a video, and sleep in on Sunday morning.”

  “Okay, okay, but will you please keep your eyes on the road? And slow down! There’s a speed trap somewhere along…”

  Behind them a siren wailed.

  “Quick!” she ordered, pulling over as the police cruiser rolled alongside. “Hunch over and clutch your chest!”

  ****

  “That went well.” Ten minutes later she waved a cheerful goodbye to the officer and headed back out onto the road. Within seconds she’d accelerated to the top of the speed limit. “Better watch it from here on in, though. I don’t think the fact that you two happened to be buddies in university will save us twice in one day.”

  “Us?” He felt another flame of exasperation shoot through him. “You’re driving! You’re the one who got us stopped for speeding. Consider yourself fortunate that Constable Roy and I shared a dorm in university. Otherwise, that tall tale you started to tell him about me, a.k.a. your boyfriend, developing chest pains while we were making love would have landed us both in deep trouble.”

  “I could hardly stuff a pillow under your shirt and say you’re in labor, could I?” Emma’s equally exasperated tone lashed back at him.

  “Oh, and I suppose you’ve pulled that scam and gotten away with it?”

  “Nearly.” She shrugged as she swung the car into a merge section of the four-lane that led to Carleton. Frasier ducked when an eighteen-wheeler flashed past with inches to spare. “Unfortunately, the officer insisted on escorting my friend Mandy and me to the hospital. He even rushed in and brought out a wheelchair for her.” She chuckled. “You should have seen his face when Mandy pulled that rolled-up sweater from under her T-shirt.

  “I assume you were fittingly fined?”

  “Oh, yeah. He even managed to get a couple of points shaved off my license.”

  “Good. Smart fella.”

  “He is, actually.” Tires squealed again as she changed lanes. “I really enjoyed dating him. But it soon became obvious he and Mandy were way more compatible. I was happy when they got together. It’s her bachelorette party I’m hosting tonight. She’s marrying Constable Jeff Cooper.”

  Frasier felt a sudden urge to pound his head against the dashboard, but he was afraid to take his eyes off the road as they careened in and out of lanes.

  ****

  When she double-parked in front of the Department of Natural Resources offices in Carleton, he climbed out, pulled free the snowshoe stuck to his bottom, and heaved it into the back seat. His “thank you” was a wheeze of relief.

  “Don’t forget,” she called as he started to close the door. “I’ll meet you in the SuperValu parking lot in an hour and a half. Let’s synchronize our watches. It’s 11:00 a.m., so…”

  Damn! He’d forgotten the drive back to the cabin.

  “Okay,” he muttered. “I’ll see you then.”

  ****

  At 12:15 p.m. Frasier headed for the supermarket. He’d met with the Professor, given an account of his progress, received a reprimand regarding the level of his success and of his failure to get rid of Emma, and dispatched a mechanic to Loon Lake to check out his vehicle problems.

  Finding Emma’s Sundance in the parking lot, he leaned against the passenger door to wait. At 12:30 p.m. she emerged from the supermarket, pushing a full cart.

  “Looks like it’s going to be quite a party.” He frowned at the noisemakers sticking out of one of the canvas sacks. Grinning, she slipped into the driver’s seat to crack the trunk.

  “Yeah, well, a girl only gets married once…hopefully.” She joined him at the back of the car, raised the lid, and lifted a large pink shopping bag from its perch on top of several bottles of wine, three quarts of liquor, and two cases of beer. “Hold this while I put the heavy stuff on the bottom.”

  While Frasier stood holding the bag and watching her pile the trunk full of party favors, the police cruiser that had pulled them over on the highway eased to a stop beside them.

  “Glad to see you made it safe and sound, Frasier.” Constable Vince Roy rolled down his window and grinned. “But maybe you should be careful with the contents of that bag, or next time she will be rushing you to the hospital with chest pains.” He drove away, chuckling.

  Frasier looked down at the cherry pink bag. On its side, silhouetted in gold, was a curvaceous female image in a minimalist’s idea of a bikini. Beneath it glistened the words “Nice n’ Naughty.”

  “Argh!” Frasier shoved the bag in on top of the groceries and headed for the passenger door.

  “Hey, hey, careful, mister! You’ll crumple everything!”

  “Crumple? Crumple?” He swung on her. “Right now I’m feeling pretty crumpled. Can we just head back to the lake…within the speed limit, if that’s at all possible? I want to get home without any further life-threatening or humiliating moments.”

  “Okay, fine.” She slammed the trunk, then watched as he pulled open the passenger door. “Oh, by the way, there are marks that look like some kind of grid on the back of your pants. Must have gotten there when y
ou sat on the snowshoe. Guess it was a bit dirty. I’m surprised someone at your meeting didn’t mention it to you.”

  ****

  At Loon Lake the mechanic’s bottom stuck out from under the hood of the white SUV. He straightened when Frasier approached.

  “Nothing serious,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag. “Just a couple of wires disconnected.”

  “Disconnected? How? Could they have jarred loose coming up the trail?”

  “Hardly. Pulled clear off.” The mechanic stuffed the rag into the back pocket of his coveralls. “Someone did it on purpose. You know of anyone who wants to give you a hard time?”

  Frasier shrugged. “I’m here on a university research project. I don’t know anyone in the area except…”

  He turned to look at Emma busily unloading her car while the dogs danced around her.

  “Been foolin’ around on the little woman?” the mechanic followed his gaze and grinned. “Better be careful, buddy. I remember one gal who put sugar in her boyfriend’s gas tank after she caught him cheatin’.”

  “She’s not my little woman,” Frasier snapped. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Hundred fifty.”

  “What? To connect a couple of wires?”

  “Travel costs and know-how. You couldn’t get it going on your own, now, could you?”

  “No.” Frasier pulled out his wallet.

  Had Emma been responsible for the vandalism on his vehicle? The idea didn’t make sense. She’d offered to drive him to town. Still she had been in their dooryard in the night. Had she pulled those wires off on her way back to her cabin after she’d left him mellowed out on buttered rum? Had it just been buttered rum, or had she perhaps added something more potent? If she had, where had she gotten it? You’re getting crazy, MacKenzie. The Professor said she was okay. Leave it there.

  ****

  Frasier came out of his cabin in jogging clothes, Scout at his heels. He hadn’t gone for a run in a couple of days. Now, with Emma in the neighboring cabin, he could take the German Shepherd with him. No one would invade the area with someone in evidence in broad daylight. At least there was one perk to the lady’s invasion of his space. He began stretching exercises on the verandah.

  Scout gave a delighted bark, then rushed down the steps. Turning, Frasier saw Emma, also in running gear, on her front porch, the Pug beside her as she limbered up. His dog rushed up their steps to join them, then both dogs raced off to roughhouse in the yard.

  “Hi, neighbor!” she called. “Heading out for a run? Great! I love company.”

  No avoiding it. He locked his door and went to join her. Adjusting to each other’s pace, they started down the trail. Getting to know her better could be a good thing. An opportunity to find out her weaknesses.

  “This is great!” she enthused as they jogged down the trail, sunlight dappling their way, the two dogs at their heels. “Bruiser is a good companion, but he’s not much of a talker.”

  She flashed him a grin. Reflexively he grinned back. The lady had charm. Charm and great looks. And she was funny and bright and— Stop it.

  “Do you run a lot?” she asked.

  “I try to make it most days.”

  “I’m afraid I only manage weekends, and then not always. With a job that has regular hours and a fair commute, I don’t have the time.”

  “Was that another dig about my work? Because, if it was, I can assure you I work much better than a forty-hour week. Furthermore…”

  “Gee, you’re quick to take offense! That wasn’t what I meant at all!”

  “Sorry. I guess I am a bit prickly…ever since you made that crack about my project being a waste of taxpayers’ money.”

  “I’m sorry, too. Without research, how would we ever increase our knowledge? As an educator, I should have been more appreciative of your work.”

  They jogged in silence until she stopped.

  “Tired?” He hoped. He had to best her at something.

  “No, just time to turn back. I have a lot to do. Hey, how about a race? See you at the lake.”

  Leaving him in a metaphorical cloud of dust, she dashed back up the trail. So this is how Wiley Coyote feels behind the Road Runner.

  “Argh!” He took off after her. He had to let her win. His father had taught him to be a gentleman even when he felt least inclined. Nevertheless, the thought of her coming out on top again irked him.

  Running behind her, close enough to give her competition, he couldn’t help enjoying the way the curls of her ponytail bounced, the rhythmic movement of her shapely hips. The view made coming in second almost worth it.

  “Argh!”

  He went sprawling into the mud of a trail not yet dry from the previous night’s rain. Lost in his perusal of Emma’s derriere, he hadn’t noticed the Pug darting in front of him.

  The Pug’s yelp drew her attention. Emma swung back.

  “Bruiser, what happened?” She knelt beside the dog struggling to right himself. “Frasier, are you okay?” She swung toward him as he scrambled to his feet.

  “I’m just fine, but maybe in future you could keep your dog in heel position so I know where he is.” He brushed grime from his hands and knees.

  “Sorry. Forget the race. We’ll walk back…in case you did hurt yourself. Are you sure you didn’t skin your knees?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure.” He had a flashed vision of Emma offering to kiss them better. “Let’s just get going, okay? I’ve got things to do, too.”

  He’d skinned his hands and felt pretty sure his knees had suffered the same fate. Damn this lady and her annoying dog!

  “Frasier?” She moved close in front of him. “You’ve got mud on your face. Here, let me.”

  She pulled up the bottom of her sweater and used it to wipe his cheek, treating him to a view of a taut, bare midriff and a bit of sports bra. He sucked in his breath.

  “There.” She pulled her sweatshirt into place and stood back. “Much better. Can’t have an associate professor of biology running around with mud on his cheeks.”

  He caught her taunt and started off at a pace that made his knees smart but his pride feel at least a bit better.

  Back at his cabin, Frasier washed his hands and knees, applied antiseptic, and changed into his bush clothes. In jeans, sweatshirt, boots, and jacket, he strode to the storage shed at the rear of the property and backed out his ATV. With more vehemence than necessary, he revved the engine, ignored Emma who stood on her verandah waving, and, with Scout galloping behind him, tore off, up into the mountains. Not only did he need to do some serious searching to satisfy the Professor, but he had to get away from her. He hadn’t had skinned hands or knees since he was seven years old. In less than a single day in her proximity he had both, and had been made to feel like a clumsy kid.

  And she’d foiled him again. In any of the chick flicks he’d endured with last year’s romantic interest, even accidentally kicking the heroine’s beloved pet would have been grounds for a verbal battle. Inevitably it would have ended with the heroine clutching her critter and striding away. Words like “I never want to see you again!” were generally thrown back over a retreating shoulder.

  But not his nemesis. No, sir. She’d expressed concern for both of them, leaving no room for a fight that would make her pack up and leave Loon Lake. Damn!

  By the time he’d reached the summit of the mountain that rose up directly behind their cabins, he’d cooled down. He remembered how great she looked in jeans that clutched her body in all the right spots, and how her hair shone in the sunlight, and how her jade eyes lighted up when she was happy or angry or excited. And the way she smelled when she brushed up against him. And what that brushing up did to him.

  Forget it, man. Just forget it.

  He braked to a stop, removed his crash helmet, and pulled binoculars from his saddlebags. Miles and miles of forest and streams spread out below him. Not for the first time, the enormity of the task the Professor had assigned to him threatened to overwhelm
him. It was like looking for a particular grain of sand on a beach. Nevertheless he knew he had to make good on it. The importance of this project overrode every other consideration…even Emma Prescott and her killer body and teasing emerald eyes.

  “Eastern Panther, where are you?” he asked.

  Scout looked up at him and whined.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right, boy.” He lowered the field glasses and bent to pat the dog. “I may be going a little nuts. Being the hermit at Loon Lake isn’t as easy as it sounded when I took on this assignment.” He stashed the binoculars, replaced his helmet, and started the bike. “We’ll just take a quick look down the other side of the mountain before we head home. It’ll be getting dark soon, and Ms. Prescott’s guests will be arriving. I suppose I should take at least a cursory look at them.”

  ****

  Frasier shut the door of the storage shed, flipped the lock, and headed for his cabin. He paused to look out over the calm surface of the lake and listen to the calls of the loons. The evening promised to be perfect, clear, and with the first hints of frost. He sucked in a deep breath and enjoyed…for a moment. Destroying the twilight hush, a car revved into earshot. The first of Emma’s party guests. He grimaced.

  He got to his verandah just in time to see a Cavalier brake at her front step. Five women piled out, laughing uproariously, shrieking as they pulled packages from the trunk.

  Oh, yeah. Frasier shook his head, turned, and went into his cabin. The games are about to begin.

  Within the next hour four more cars, each containing their full complement of women, pulled into the cabin area. He sat behind a half-drawn mini-blind and watched.

  In the late evening dusk, Emma’s cabin seemed to rock with music and laughter. At 10:00 p.m. a black SUV drove into the yard and a man swung out. Tall, broad-shouldered and, from what Frasier could see in the illumination of his vehicle’s interior light, good-looking, the newcomer pulled a black box from the seat beside him, then went up to the door and knocked.

  The minute Emma answered, he pushed a button and raucous music blasted. Frasier heard the female cacophony escalate at the speed of light when Emma drew the man, gyrating, inside. Hoots and catcalls echoed out into the wilderness night.