“A hobby. Used to do skeet shooting with my dad when I was a teenager.”
“Ah, ha! Sergeant Sam Steel of the Northwest Mounted. I should have guessed.”
She began to set the table, and he returned to building a fire, hoping that this time she was satisfied with his explanation.
Chapter Six
“Ahoy, me hearties.”
The following evening Frasier opened the door to find Emma wearing a white off-the-shoulder peasant blouse, wide black belt, and flowing, floor-length crimson skirt, a knapsack slung over her left shoulder. Her hair was tied back with a yellow kerchief, revealing the largest hoop gold earrings he’d ever seen. A black eye-mask covered the upper portion of her face. Under her right arm she carried Bruiser wearing a tiny tricorn, eye patch, and frock coat. A belt around his middle held a little plastic sword in a small scabbard.
“Trick or treat.” Emma grinned.
“What…?” he began.
“Don’t tell me you aren’t aware it’s Halloween?” She stepped past him as he continued to gaze slack-jawed at the pair.
“I did notice it’s the end of the month,” he said, staring in utter amazement at the pair. “But I never thought I’d get trick-or-treaters way up here.”
“Well, ya do, matey. Now fork over your goodies, or I’ll have to unleash my Dutch Mastiff. Fierce, Bruise, fierce!”
In response the Pug quivered his wide lips, showed a few overcrowded teeth, and let out something that sounded more like a grunt than a growl.
“Dutch Mastiff?” Frasier couldn’t help grinning.
“Haven’t you heard the legend of the Pug who saved the life of William the Silent of Holland in 1572? When William was surrounded by Spanish troops, his Pug cried and scratched and leaped into the face of the sleeping prince. He awakened him just in time.”
“Now, that I can believe…annoying the daylights out of someone.” Frasier chuckled as he took a box of dog biscuits from the cupboard.
“I’ll have you know Pugs are amazingly courageous when the safety of someone they love is at stake.” Emma threw back her shoulders indignantly.
“Sure. Moving on.” He flipped a couple of biscuits to Scout and the Pug.
Man, Emma Prescott has to be the sexiest pirate wench ever.
“What’s your pleasure, mistress?” Frasier left the pair of dogs munching contentedly and turned to her. Don’t stare, don’t goggle. “Coffee, tea, a beer?”
“Milk, if you’ve got it, kind sir.” Emma placed the knapsack on the table and pulled it open. “I’ve brought cookies.”
Frasier stared down at the plate of plastic-wrap-covered sugar cookies with jack o’ lanterns at their centre.
“You baked these?” he asked.
“Right out of the frozen cookie dough section of the supermarket,” she grinned, pulling off her mask. “My humble way of thanking you for saving Bruiser and me from that coyote.” She smiled coyly. “Until maybe some day when I’m allowed a better way.”
She sashayed off across the room to get glasses from the cupboard. He watched her go with a frustration level so high it would have blown the top off a thermometer if it had been mercury.
****
Ten minutes later they were seated at the table, the remains of tall glasses of cold milk and the cookies in front of them. Emma was telling a story about a wild major miscalculation she’d made early in her counseling career. Frasier was laughing harder than he could recall having laughed in months. This past summer if someone had told him he’d be having a great time over milk and cookies he’d have called them crazy.
Scout growled and jumped to his feet. He’d been lying in front of the fire with Bruiser. Now he stood, head lowered, hackles raised, staring at the door.
“What is it, boy?” Frasier swung toward the dog.
The door smashed open. Two men dressed in black and wearing ski masks burst into the room. One brandished a deer rifle, the second a baseball bat.
Accompanied by Scout’s snarl, Frasier jolted to his feet.
“Stifle that dog if you want to keep him alive!” the rifleman ordered, pointing the gun at the German Shepherd.
“Scout, at ease,” Frasier ordered. His adrenalin racing, he could barely restrain himself, never mind his dog.
“And, you, sit down!” the intruder bawled. “Sit down or I’ll put you down.”
Slowly Frasier obeyed.
“What do you want?” Out of the tail of his eye, Frasier could see Emma staring wide-eyed at the pair. Don’t challenge them, Emma, please don’t!
“We want you both gone from Loon Lake,” the rifleman growled. “It’s hunting season. You’re scaring away game.”
“We are not!” Emma bolted to her feet. “This is our home! We’re not about to leave just so you can murder the local white-tailed deer population!”
“Emma, sit down!” Frasier hissed out of the corner of his mouth.
“I refuse to be driven from my home by a pair of backwoods bullies!” she snapped. “Now get out of here, both of you, before I call the RCMP and have you arrested!”
“Emma!” Frasier felt a sick feeling welling up in his gut, a bilious sensation of terror for her safety. “Sit down!”
“That your dog?” The man pointed his gun at Bruiser who stood braced beside Scout muttering nasty Pug sounds.
“Yes.” The word faltered from Emma’s lips.
“Well, sit down and shut up, or he’ll become a memory real fast.”
Frasier saw Emma blanch, then sink back onto her chair. Bastards.
The bat wielder advanced slowly toward them. Mentally Frasier crouched. If that guy makes a move toward Emma…
The invader paused at the table and looked down at the remains of their snack. His dark eyes glistened. He drew the bat over his head with both hands and brought it down on the table. With a resounding crack, it snapped in two and crumbled, centre first, to the floor. Milk, cookies, plates, and glasses splattered and shattered, flying in every direction.
Emma’s hands flew up to protect her face, Scout snarled, and Bruiser let out a strangled yelp.
“Shut those dogs up, MacKenzie, or it’ll be their heads next time.” The rifleman swung in the direction of the dogs.
“Scout, at ease. Pug, be quiet,” Frasier ordered.
“Now you’re being smart.” The man turned and headed for the door. “Come on, buddy. I think they got the message.”
The pair turned and vanished back out into the blackness of the Halloween night.
****
“Stay where you are!” Frasier ordered Emma as he bolted to the cupboard drawer. He yanked it open, grabbed the .38 and strode toward the door.
“Frasier, no! It’s dark! You can’t see them! And you’re outnumbered!” Emma was instantly beside him, grabbing his arm. “Don’t be crazy!”
“Just shutting the door,” he reassured her. He closed it, slid the deadbolt into place, and drew a deep breath. “If I hadn’t forgotten to lock it after you came in, I would have had major repair work to do.”
“Frasier, do you keep that gun handy…always?” Emma released him and stared wide-eyed at the weapon in his hand.
“Is that your major concern? In case you’ve already forgotten, we were just threatened by a couple of masked men.”
“Your responses with that weapon are beginning to get to me, that’s all. You seem way too adept with it for a biologist, even one who was trained in firearms by a policeman father.”
“We’re living pretty much in isolation. It’s only sensible to have protection and know how to use it.”
“Do you also have condoms in that drawer?” She giggled wildly.
“Emma…” Her inane response startled him. She’d begun to shake. Not just tremble. Outright shake. Her teeth chattered.
“Emma!” He dropped the gun onto the counter and gathered her into his arms as she stood staring at the destroyed table, the remains of their Halloween snack scattered around it on the floor. “Emma, don’t. It’
s over, and they won’t be back. They’re not stupid enough to try anything like that again.”
“Frasier, I was terrified they’d shoot the dogs or beat you with that bat.” Her words, muffled against his shoulder, tumbled out.
“Threats, nothing more,” he muttered into her rainwater-soft, sweet-smelling hair with a lot more confidence than he felt. “No one’s stupid enough to kill dogs or inflict serious bodily harm for the chance to bag a couple of deer. Anyhow, it was probably only a Halloween prank that got out of hand as a result of too many beers.”
“You think?” She drew away and looked up, green eyes so innocently hopeful of reassurance he felt his heart lurch.
“Yeah, I think.” He kissed her on the tip of the nose and forced a grin. “In fact, I know. Those guys stank of booze. But I also know you’ll feel safer staying here tonight. You and the Pug can use the spare bedroom…again.”
He released her and went to stow the gun in the drawer. He had to. He couldn’t chastely hold a sweet, vulnerable Emma any longer.
“Okay.” She forced a shaky smile. “Hope the neighbors don’t gossip.”
“Haven’t yet met an indiscreet bear or bunny.” He matched her teasing tone. “Come on. I’ll lend you a T-shirt to sleep in.”
She started to follow him into the bedroom, then stopped short.
“Frasier, one of them called you MacKenzie! They know you!”
“Not surprising.” He turned back to face her astonished expression. “It’s no secret. I’ve been living up here for a while. Remember, I am famous locally as the hermit at Loon Lake.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” she said slowly. “Do you have any idea who they were?”
“None.” He shrugged and turned back toward the bedrooms.
“Frasier.” She stopped him again. “What if one of them was the person who shot you? What if…?”
“Do you seriously think the person who confused me with a deer would show up on my doorstep after he’s apparently gotten away with it? Come on, Emma. I know those guys aren’t mental giants, but think about it.”
“I suppose,” she said doubtfully.
“Just try to put the whole thing out of your mind. Let’s get that T-shirt. Do you want to take a hot shower? Might help you relax. You’ll find clean towels on the bathroom shelf.”
But as he headed into his bedroom, he wondered why the bat wielder hadn’t spoken. Was it because he feared they’d recognize his voice? Was it because he perhaps had a distinct British accent? Maybe Nigel, alias Roc Hard, hadn’t seen anyone running away from Emma’s cabin. Maybe he’d invented the story to try to frighten her and possibly even Frasier away.
****
“Frasier?” She was tapping on his bedroom door. He hadn’t been sleeping even though the dial on his clock radio indicated it was 1:33 a.m. The evening had left too many unanswered questions racing around in his mind.
“Yeah?” He rolled onto his back and hoped he wasn’t about to hear the response he suspected.
“I can’t sleep. Can I come in?”
“No!” He bolted from the bed and fumbled for his pajama pants. “Wait there. I’m coming out.”
Damn, what does the woman think I’m made of? He couldn’t imagine anything more resolve-shattering than a bed-tousled Emma, wearing only a too-large T-shirt, coming into his bedroom.
“I’m sorry, Frasier,” she looked up at him apologetically when he stepped out of his bedroom pulling a sweatshirt over his head. “I thought I’d be okay, but I had this awful nightmare of those men shooting Bruiser and then Scout and then you and…”
“Okay, okay.” He was relieved to see that she’d wrapped herself in a quilt. “I’ll make some hot chocolate, and we’ll sit up for a while. I wasn’t enjoying a peaceful night’s rest either.”
Afterwards he wasn’t quite sure how it began. He only remembered an impression of Emma suddenly with her arms about his neck, her lips on his, her warm body pushing him back into his room.
“Emma.” He came up for air as the back of his legs hit the edge of his bed. “Emma, I…”
“Frasier MacKenzie, don’t you dare say this isn’t a good idea.” Her hand slid up under his sweatshirt, over his chest, touching him with an intimacy that caused a fantastic flinch to shoot down his entire body.
“Kiss me, Frasier. Like you did before. Take my breath away. Make me forget what just happened.”
Coming from Emma, soft and sensuous, the words sounded like the most erotic he’d ever heard. When her roaming hand slid lower, to the top of his pajama pants, where it released the tie, common sense and reason vanished. He covered her mouth with his in what he hoped was the best kiss he’d ever given.
As her soft, warm body melted into his, he reacted instantly and completely, but when he shifted his feet to pull his hips tighter against hers, his pants dropped and tangled around his ankles. In an effort to regain his balance, he staggered. Emma gave him a quick shove and he toppled onto the bed.
“Seems I’ve got you right where I want you, mister.” In a shaft of moonlight, she gazed down at him, green eyes twinkling wickedly.
“Damn it, Emma.” He struggled to sit up, but she pushed him back.
“Don’t struggle, and I promise to be gentle.” She pulled the pants from around his ankles. “Can’t have you at a disadvantage, now can we?”
“Emma…” Words stuck in his throat as she pulled the T-shirt over her head. She stood in front of him, the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen.
Tangling himself with the sudden desperation of his effort, he sat up and struggled to pull the sweatshirt over his head.
“Let me help.” Emma knelt on the bed beside him. The instant she’d pulled the shirt free, he had her in his arms and they were together in his bed—like he’d dreamed, only it was better, so much better, than he’d fantasized.
He kissed her lips, her neck, her shoulders, and on down to her breasts. His hands slid over hips as soft as silk. Her fingers in his hair held his mouth to her.
But when she moved to be on top, he pushed her back and took the position. She’d instigated their lovemaking. Now he’d show her it had been worth the effort.
As he positioned himself between her legs, she took him into her hands.
“Frasier, oh, my!” Emerald eyes opened wide in the moonlight. Then, “Oh, my!”
When he entered, when he made love to her with a sincerity he’d never before experienced, the tangled words and sounds of pleasure gasping from her lips told him he must be doing something right.
“Emma.” Her name was an exhale as he climaxed. Oh, my God!
When he rolled away to gather her into his arms, a magnificent sense of peace and fulfillment enveloped him. This was what he’d been waiting for all his life, through those years of hard work and struggle. There’d been other women, but none to compare to his beautiful, smart, funny, bold Emma. He wanted to stay with her forever, to make love to her again and again.
With a sigh, she snuggled up against him, drew him into her arms, and settled her head on the pillow next to his.
“Emma.” He breathed into her hair. Her reply was a soft sigh, then the gentle, regular breathing of sleep.
He planted a gentle kiss on her cheek. Soft, warm, beyond-comparison Emma. He wanted to hold her forever, to protect her forever. To hell with the Professor.
He slept.
He woke and rolled his shoulders like a contented feline. Something had left him feeling totally relaxed and mellow. Emma! Emma had made love with him. He rolled to his right. His bed was empty. Damn, don’t let the entire thing turn out to be a dream!
“Emma?” He pulled himself to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes. “Emma!”
“Yes?” She appeared in the doorway in the pirate wench outfit she’d worn the previous night.
“Come here…please.” He leaned back against the pillows and held out his arms. He couldn’t wait to have her back in his bed, back in his arms. And this time he’d do the undressing.
“Frasier, I’m sorry. Last night was a mistake brought about by a near-death experience.” Her words hit him like a whip lash. “You were right. You shouldn’t get involved with me.”
“Damn it, Emma! You can’t push a man into his bedroom, pull off his clothes, make love to him, and then say it was a mistake! What kind of tease are you?” He jumped out of bed to stand beside it naked. “Or…” His words slowed and deepened as the thought struck him. “Today is November first. Was I just Mr. October?”
For a moment she stared at him. Then she drew a deep breath that made her breasts swell against the thin cotton of her blouse. “If that’s what you think, Frasier MacKenzie, then I’ve made the right decision. I’m sorry I ever got carried away and made love with someone who thinks so little of me and my values.”
She whirled and went out, banging the bedroom door shut behind her.
“Idiot!” he labeled himself. “Absolute idiot!”
****
“Frasier, let’s be absolutely honest.” She turned from making oatmeal at the stove to face him twenty minutes later when he came into the kitchen, fresh from a shower and shave.
Good. She’s cooled down. “Okay.” He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms on his chest. “Let me have it.”
“Okay.” She heaved a deep sigh. “Last night showed we’re both way too attracted to each other to cohabitate platonically in comfort. So until you’re ready to be more than my friend, to make a commitment to our relationship, it’s only sensible we keep our sleeping arrangements as separate as possible.”
“Emma…”
“Oh, come on, Frasier!” She strode across the room to stand a foot in front him. “How much actual rest do you get when I’m sleeping over here? And don’t even mention last night. It’s not included. About as much as I got when you were injured and sleeping at my place, I bet. That isn’t healthy for either of us. We’ve both got jobs that require us to be alert. We can’t do them justice if we’re running on sleep deprivation.”
“You didn’t sleep when I was staying at your cabin?” He felt a rush.
“No, I didn’t. And last night was a perfect example of things getting out of hand before their time. So I’m moving home…alone.”
Holding Off for a Hero Page 18
