Holding Off for a Hero

by Gail MacMillan

  Damn! She’s hired a stripper!

  ****

  “You’ve got a stripper in there, haven’t you?” Frasier faced Emma in the shadows on her verandah and yelled at her above the beat of bump-and-grind music and the hoots and cries of enthusiastic female encouragement. It was 2:00 a.m. He’d given up trying to ignore the din.

  “What if we have!” she shouted back at him. “We’re all over twenty-one, and so is he!”

  “And everyone is drinking and planning to drive home after this fiasco! Don’t you realize how dangerous that is?”

  “It’s a sleepover. The only one who’ll be leaving tonight is our exotic dancer, and he’s stone-cold sober.”

  “Okay, okay, just keep it down. I’ve got to get some rest.” He turned and strode back toward his cabin.

  “Lookin’ good,” echoed in his ears. Glancing back he saw her raise her wine glass in a salute. “If you ever need extra cash, you can entertain a bunch of us ladies anytime.”

  “Argh!”

  At 3:00 a.m. he pulled a pillow over his head and tried to blot out the raucous drinking song that rattled his windowpanes.

  At 6:00 a.m. he struggled out of bed. Silence had fallen over the wilderness a couple of hours earlier. Blurry-eyed from lack of sleep, he showered, shaved, dressed, and pulled the power mower from the storage shed. It eased his frustration to give the start cord several mighty yanks before the machine roared into life. While he pushed it up and down the lawn surrounding both their cabins, he felt a smug if (he realized) childish satisfaction. Try sleeping it off now, ladies.

  When he finished, he got out a hammer and nails and repaired a few loose planks on his front porch. Even more childish? Maybe, but he couldn’t resist. Revenge and an opportunity to make life unpleasant for Emma Prescott had been just too tempting. A half hour later he watched as her guests trickled out of her cabin, climbed into their cars, and drove away.

  Maybe this afternoon she’ll pack up and leave, he fantasized.

  ****

  “Frasier.” As the last of her visitors’ cars disappeared down the trail, he looked over to see her standing alone on her verandah. She waved to him, skipped down the steps, and jogged over to join him. How, he wondered, could she possibly appear so chipper after partying most of the night?

  “Any more of that coffee?” She gestured to the mug in his hands.

  “Yeah, I suppose.” With a sigh he pushed out of his lawn chair and headed inside.

  “Thanks,” she smiled as he handed her a cup. “That crowd was more than a little thirsty this morning. They drank up every drop I had. But we sure had a good time.”

  “I heard.” The words reflected his grumpiness.

  “Oh, sorry. Well, don’t worry. I don’t have any more friends in immediate danger of getting married, so that will be the end of it…for a while. What about you? Planning any bachelor bashes in the near future?”

  “No.” He took a sip and stared out over the lake, determined not to let her exuberant good humor finesse him out of his belligerent mood.

  “Maybe you should have a bunch of guys up for a night of male carousing.” She finished her coffee and handed him the cup. “It might iron out those cranky kinks in your disposition.”

  She jogged back to her cabin, the Pug prancing at her heels.

  “Argh!” Frasier threw the remains of his coffee out over the grass, got up stiffly, and headed back into the house. He had work to do and, by damn, he’d do it in spite of Emma Prescott, her annoying friends, and her ridiculous little dog.

  ****

  The rest of the day stayed blissfully quiet. Colorful autumn leaves drifted lazily down in the warm sunshine. No sign of life issued from the neighboring cabin. Emma Prescott and the Pug must be sleeping off the results of that wild bash, he decided as he set out with Scout for a hike up into the mountains. Ostensibly he would be in pursuit of his quarry, but actually he was simply out to enjoy the peace of the beautiful autumn day. It would have been better if he weren’t feeling punch-drunk from lack of sleep.

  They traveled around the base of Mount Carleton, then up Mount Head until the trail dissolved into a mass of boulders he’d already scaled one day a week previous, looking for the Eastern Panther with no results. As he stopped to stretch cramped muscles, he looked up into the clear, blue autumn sky and wished he was simply in the area for recreational purposes, just out to enjoy this magnificent wilderness.

  An image of himself enjoying a picnic in a mountain meadow replete with daisies, warm September sunshine, and Emma flashed across his mind. He banged his hand onto his forehead. That woman again! She’d burrowed into his brain and lodged there, determined to drive him nuts.

  ****

  At 8:00 p.m. Frasier was scanning maps of the area, laid out on his kitchen table, when he heard her yelling and the Pug barking furiously.

  “What now!” He looked down at Scout in exasperation. An autumn dusk had descended, and he snatched up a flashlight on his way to the door. “Stay!” he ordered his dog, and the Shepherd sat down beside the fireplace.

  When Frasier stepped out onto his verandah, he saw Emma, with Bruiser beside her, shooing two black bear cubs away from a pair of coolers on her lighted porch.

  “Don’t!” he yelled starting to run toward her. “Get back inside! Their mother could be…”

  As if on cue, something big and black lumbered muttering and snarling out of the shadows. Frasier sprinted up her steps, snatched the yapping Pug, grabbed Emma by an arm, and propelled all three of them inside as Mama Bruin charged. He tossed Bruiser onto the couch and slammed the door, bolting it, all in one swift sequence of motions.

  “Are you crazy?” The words were a ragged rush of expelled air as he swung to face her. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you never, never to mess with a black bear’s cubs?”

  “No.” She stood staring at him. For once she had the decency to look shaken. “Black bears aren’t exactly grizzlies. Usually they run away when you shoo them.”

  “Unless the ‘them’ happens to be a sow with babies she thinks are being threatened. Then she becomes a grizzly at heart, willing to attack and kill anything that dares molest her kids.”

  “Well, how do you expect me to know all that, Mr. Associate Professor of Biology or whatever you are!” Her color was returning, and with it her spirit. “I’m a guidance counselor, not an animal behaviorist. What was that?”

  A loud crash issued from just outside the door. Frasier strode to a window to see the sow batter open one of the coolers. When the contents scattered across the lawn, the cubs scrambled to retrieve the treats.

  “That does it!” Emma reached for her cell. “I’m calling the rangers and telling them to come and get their bears!”

  “Hold it!” Frasier caught her hand. “This isn’t Jellystone Park. If you call those guys, they’ll tranquilize the mother, and transport her a hundred miles away. Her cubs could die without her to care for them. Do you want that to happen? Is a cooler and a bit of food worth the lives of two innocent little bears who were only looking for a lunch?”

  He was lying. He knew rangers would never transport a sow without making certain she had no dependent cubs. But he also knew he couldn’t have those guys scouring the surrounding bush and scaring off his quarry.

  “They’d do that?” Her hand released its hold on the phone. It dropped back onto the table.

  “Seen it happen.”

  Man, I hate lying.

  “Okay, okay.” She stood beside him at the window and watched the trio gobbling up gourmet cheese, the remains of two fruit and vegetable trays, and a bag of crusty Italian rolls. “Luckily I kept the leftover booze inside. The only thing worse than a hungry bear would be an inebriated one, right?”

  He turned to look down at her. In the light glowing in from the porch, he saw a grin spreading across her face. Suddenly they were both laughing, laughing so hard that Bruiser braced himself on four sturdy little legs and let out a full-bodied Pug howl in an attempt to join
in.

  “Damn it, Emma Prescott, you’ll turn my hair gray yet,” he chuckled finally.

  Her laughter quieting, she looked up at him.

  “I’d never want to do that,” she said softly. “You have terrific hair.”

  She touched him lightly just above the temple.

  For a moment he stood gazing into those amazing jade eyes. She was beautiful and bright and funny, and he wasn’t made of stone. Damn, damn, damn! Battling his instincts, he forced himself to step away and turn back to the window.

  “They’re leaving.” He looked out at the bears ambling into the forest. “But we’ll have to be careful around sunrise and sunset…that’s when they could come back looking for more easy pickin’s.”

  “Okay.” She turned away, too, clasped her hands behind her back, and looked demurely down at the floor.

  He felt his body react. Above bare feet, in a faded plaid shirt and frayed jeans, she exuded the most potent, natural, innocuous appeal he’d ever encountered. He had to get out of there. Fast.

  He’d made two strides toward the door when she stopped him.

  “Frasier?”

  Her voice caressed his name. He half-turned toward her, his hand on the knob. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks. I’m sorry if Bruiser and I have made things difficult for you. We’ll try to keep out of your way in the future.”

  “Great, terrific,” he heard himself croak as he yanked open the door.

  He vaulted over the verandah railing, ran to his cabin, and took the steps two at a time. It didn’t help. As he paused and turned to look out across the dark lake to the black silhouette of the mountains beyond it, he chafed with pent-up frustration.

  He struck the post beside him an open-handed smack. There’d been women enough in his past, more than he’d wanted at times, but none had gotten under his skin like Emma Prescott. He had to get himself under control…fast.

  From inside the cabin Scout whined.

  “Coming, boy.” He drew a lungful of frosty air. Opening the door, he was met with the Shepherd’s cavorting welcome.

  “Ah, come on.” He tried to brush the dog’s greeting aside. “You’re a highly trained, no-nonsense guard dog. Don’t start imitating that foolish Pug.”

  The Shepherd paused, then turned and walked slowly back to the hearth, tail drooping.

  “Okay, okay! Geez, come here, you big baby.” He hunkered down. The dog turned, stared at him for a moment, then bounded back to knock him onto his behind.

  “Just one indignity after another since that lady arrived at Loon Lake,” he muttered, struggling to right himself as Scout proceeded to wash his face with a long, wet tongue.

  ****

  He decided to go to bed early. Emma’s party and getting up at 6:00 a.m. had taken its toll. He opened the window on the side of his room next to Emma’s cabin. He enjoyed falling asleep listening to the hooting of an owl and the gentle rustle of a soft breeze in the pines. He even liked the yelping and howls of coyotes.

  The open window would also allow him to monitor any unusual comings or goings around her place during the night.

  ****

  “What the…?!”

  He bolted upright as heavy metal music burst into the room like a blast of cannon fire. He blinked and stared at the luminous dial on his bedside clock glowing in the darkness.

  6:00 a.m. Who could possibly be blasting music at 6:00 a.m.?

  As his senses cleared, the only possible answer came to him. She must be up and getting ready for school. So much for the soothing wilderness sounds of hooting owls and breezes soughing softly through the pines. He fell back into the bed and covered his head with a pillow.

  ****

  Putting his ATV in the storage shed behind the cabins late that afternoon, he remembered he hadn’t checked the fuel for the generator that provided electricity for both cabins. With Emma’s cabin also consuming energy, he’d have to replenish it more often.

  He stopped short. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? All he had to do was shut off her power supply, feign ignorance about getting it started again, and she’d have to leave. He headed for the generator shed, whistling.

  ****

  “Frasier.”

  He was taking a pan of barbecued chicken from the oven when he heard her calling him. A crafty smile kinking his lips, he placed it on a cooling rack. He’d heard her arrive a few minutes earlier. By now she’d have discovered her power outage. Of course he’d offer to help, give her supper, and a place to sleep for the night, but he’d tell her he couldn’t correct the problem. He’d advise she move out the following day.

  “Frasier!” She was coming up his steps. “My power was off when I came home.” She walked past him as he opened the door. “Mmmm…something smells incredibly good.”

  “Barbecued chicken.” He watched her cross the room to sniff the dish. “No power?”

  “No. Breaker must have kicked out. Dad showed me how to remedy the problem when we came up here years ago. Our family used to spend vacations up here when I was a child. That’s why I was able to turn it on when I arrived last week. Simple, really. It couldn’t have happened long ago. Nothing in my refrigerator or freezer spoiled.”

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course she knew how to operate the generator.

  She paused and favored him with a glittering smile.

  “Frasier, this chicken looks absolutely amazing. Do you mind if Bruiser and I stay for supper?”

  He felt like banging his head on a hard surface…again.

  “Frasier?” She was looking up at him, emerald eyes questioning. “Supper? Do you have enough for two?”

  “Oh, yeah…sure.”

  “Great. I’ll go over to my cabin and make a salad. Brusier, you stay here and play with Scout.”

  Foiled again! He took a pair of plates from the cupboard and began to set the table for two. May as well make the best of it. Maybe he could make her talk, find her Achilles heel, something that would drive her away from the lake for good.

  It didn’t happen. Emma proved the perfect dinner guest, bright and cheerful, with an extensive knowledge of current events, books, movies, and music, and a sense of humor that had him chuckling more than once. He became so enthralled he forgot his plan to pump her for personal information. Only when he watched as she waved back at him when she and the Pug headed for their cabin did he realize she’d once again upended his plan.

  He piled dishes into the dishwasher and headed off to bed, feeling a complete idiot.

  He awoke shortly after 7:00 a.m., stretched, and got to his feet. Scout bounded off the end of the bed and headed for the door.

  “Okay, okay.” He walked groggily across the cabin to open it for him. “So you need a bathroom break.” Coffee, that was what he needed. At the counter he filled the machine, set it to brew, and headed into the shower.

  Back in the kitchen area fifteen minutes later, he filled a cup and headed out onto the verandah. From the sunlight beginning to stream in his windows, he gathered that another beautiful autumn day was already on deck. Drinking his coffee outdoors in the peace of a wilderness morning provided one of the perks of his job, and this morning there was no rock music blaring. He didn’t want to waste a minute.

  He pulled in a deep breath of clear mountain air. Something caught his peripheral vision. He swung to the right, toward his neighbor’s cabin.

  Scout lay on Emma’s verandah watching while the lady herself sat on the bottom step with the Pug. An assortment of birds, rabbits, and squirrels formed a semi-circle around her as she fed them from her hand.

  A Disney heroine and her little forest creatures. All I need is for an Eastern Panther to stroll out of the trees and lie down among that menagerie, never mind that my guard dog is watching as meek as a lamb!

  “Don’t you know some of those creatures are rodents, that you’re encouraging squirrels to come around the cabins and, given half a chance, into them?” He strode down his steps and started across the yard. The wild
life scattered.

  “Look what you’ve done!” She stood to glare at him. “It takes time to gain their confidence. Now you’ve blown it. I’ll have to start all over again! Your dog does a better job of dealing with the little forest creatures than you do, Mr. Biologist!”

  “Squirrels are rodents. If they get into our cabins, they will make one hell of a mess. Wildlife is supposed to be just that. You’re not supposed to go around making pets of them. As for my dog, I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from modifying the behavior of a well-trained guard dog. Making friends with birds and bunnies does nothing to enhance his abilities.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” She picked up her basket of seeds and crumbs. “I can’t imagine any of these little animals as the kind of threat that requires a one-hundred-pound German Shepherd to thwart. Come on, Bruiser. We have to be on our way to town.” She started up the steps, then paused to glance back over her shoulder. “Some of us have jobs that require us to show up at an appointed hour.”

  Frasier stifled a retort as the screen door banged behind her.

  “Come on, Scout. You’ve had enough mellowing for one day…for a month—hell, for the rest of your life.”

  The big dog stood, stretched, yawned, and came down the steps to join him. Together they returned to his cabin.

  ****

  “Frasier! Frasier, help!”

  He bolted from the chair at the table. It had been three days since the power outage incident, and they’d been relatively Emma-free. After their barbecued chicken supper together and their 7:15 a.m. meeting over the birds and bunnies, the only evidence he’d had of her presence was the occasional blasting music at 6:00 a.m. and the sound of her old car leaving and returning each day.

  In long strides he crossed the room and out of the cabin, Scout at his heels.

  At the top of the verandah steps the stench enveloped them. The Shepherd muttered a strangled yelp and skidded to a halt.

  “Wimp,” Frasier labeled his companion, but he put a hand over his own nose as he looked around for Emma.

  “Frasier! Over here!” She came around the corner of her cabin waving her hands in front of her face. “Bruiser chased a skunk around back and he…the skunk, that is, peed all over him and the rear wall!”