She thumped the thermos down on the table and went to the cupboard to remove the quiche from the basket. She appeared full of confidence, but Frasier saw her hands tremble when she lifted the pie from its nest of careful packing.
Man, she’s terrific.
He suddenly knew what he’d said to Andrea about loving Emma was the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Now if he could just keep these two women from open warfare…
“Really?” Andrea mocked Emma as she stood staring at her.
“Yes, really.”
Green eyes challenged brown.
Frasier braced for the worst. A man would have to be a complete fool to get between them.
“Well, fine. You can have him with all his crazy dreams about finding an Eastern Panther and his stupid, softhearted ways.”
The brunette whirled and headed back into the second bedroom.
“So she didn’t sleep with you.” Emma’s voice sounded cool and confident. She turned on the oven and slid the quiche inside.
“No, she didn’t.”
“I was right…about the Professor sending her up here?” She straightened up and swung to face him squarely.
“Yeah.” He looked down at his bare feet.
“Did you tell him we’ve made a pact to remain friends?”
“Yeah.”
“But apparently that didn’t satisfy him?”
“No.” He felt like a guilty kid.
“He can’t know you very well, or he wouldn’t have sent that woman up here to convince me she was your lover.” Emma took two mugs from the cupboard and returned to the thermos on the table. “A man as good and kind as you, Frasier MacKenzie, would never get involved with her.”
“Don’t worry, he won’t.” They turned to see Andrea Morgan standing at the end of the corridor, suitcase in hand, once more dressed in black leather. “You two deserve each other. Ugh!”
She broke off abruptly and stared down at the lower left side of her thigh-high boots.
Bruiser slowly lowered his leg and looked up at her, round eyes innocently wide as the puddle spread out around her feet.
“Filthy little beast!” she hissed. “Your time would be much better spent, Emma Prescott, in housebreaking this mutt than in making breakfasts for your neighbor!”
She strode across the room and out to her vehicle. A moment later they heard the SUV gunning off down the trail.
“What a dragon lady!” Emma breathed. She headed for the counter and paper towels.
“Don’t demean her,” Frasier responded. “She’s a top-notch professional at her job.”
“Just exactly what might that be? Or is it not polite to ask?” Emma bent and sopped up the puddle. Frasier fancied he saw Bruiser give her a sly, conspiratorial wink when they were at eye level.
“Not what you think. She’s a researcher connected with my project. She’s one of the best in her field.”
“Ah.” Emma slanted a skeptical glance up at him. “She could have fooled me. I would have pegged her as an escapee from a rock video, or…” She paused and looked him squarely in the face. “A secret agent.”
“Let’s just put your colorful ideas away for the time being and concentrate on the breakfast you thoughtfully provided.” He turned back toward his room. “I’ll pull on some clothes.”
“Don’t take too long,” she called after him as she threw wet paper towels into the garbage. “I have to leave for school in a half hour. Lord, I’m glad it’s Friday. I’m really looking forward to the weekend. I do declare, going one-on-one with Miss Hell-Bent-for-Leather has quite exhausted me.”
Stopped by her last sentence uttered in her feigned southern belle drawl, he turned back to see her fluttering her hands in front of her face.
“You’re a wicked woman, Emma Prescott.” He couldn’t help grinning. “I can only hope you didn’t train that Pug to pee on her.”
“Hardly.” She stopped abruptly and pulled out a slim volume that had been hidden behind the coffee maker. “What’s this, Frasier? Porn?”
“Give me that!” He lunged, but she swung away, perusing the cover. “‘Songs and Poetry of Scotland: Robert Burns.’ Frasier, I had no idea you were a fan of the Scottish bard.”
“It’s Andrea’s.” As soon as the explanation was out of his mouth, its utter ridiculousness hit him.
“The Lady in Leather? I would have thought she was more the James Bond type, visualizing herself as one of his most fabulous mistresses. Or were you perhaps trying to woo her with words and couldn’t find any of your own?”
“Come on, Emma. Woo her with words? Anyhow, I have a taste for it myself. The MacKenzie name is pure Highland Scot, after all.”
“I never imagined you as having an interest in your heritage. But then, that’s one of the things that intrigue me about you. I’m never sure about anything.” She brushed a quick kiss over his lips before sashaying toward the bathroom, the Pug wiggling his bottom behind her. “Must wash up before I get our breakfast. After cleaning up poor Bruiser’s little accident, I need to give my hands a good scrub.” She turned back at the door, eyes wide and innocent. “I do hope Miss Andrea remembers to wash those fancy boots.”
****
“Mom.” Emma leaned back in her office chair, the phone to her ear. “Good, caught you at home. How is everything in Ottawa? How’s Etta? Have you heard from Andy?”
“They’re both fine.” Her mother’s tone held concern. “You don’t often call me on what I assume is your lunch break. Emma, is something wrong?”
“No. Yes. Well, just kind of.” She squeezed out the last. “Remember I told you about the man who’s living in the other cottage at Loon Lake?”
“Yes.” Maude Prescott’s tone oozed suspicion. “What about him? He hasn’t been bothering you, has he? Because if he has, it won’t take Andy long to drive down there. He’s back with his regiment here in Ottawa, but he won’t be shipping any time soon.”
“No, no, Mom, nothing like that. In fact, maybe the opposite is happening. I may be making a nuisance of myself with him.”
“I find that difficult to believe.” Her mother’s voice relaxed into a chuckle. “The wily Emma Prescott pursuing a man? He must be very special.”
“Oh, he is, Mom. He may not have ridden in on a white horse, but he does drive a white SUV, and he’s… Oh, Mom, do you remember that rock group I was so crazy about, called The Sound? Well, he was the Frase, the guy I had that incredible crush on. Only now he’s out of the band, and he’s an associate professor of biology at UNB, and he’s up at Loon Lake working on a project to prove the existence of the Eastern Panther, and—”
“Emma, slow down! Is it safe to assume you still have a crush on him…or is it more than that?”
“I don’t know, Mom. All I know is I can’t wait to see him again, and when I’m with him I’m incredibly happy, but…”
“But?”
“He’s kind and thoughtful and all that, but he just wants to be friends. His supervisor doesn’t want him distracted from his work by anything, and that includes me. Do you know that man actually sent this dragon lady up to the lake to pretend she was Frasier’s significant other?”
“Ah, so it seems Emma Prescott, heartbreaker extraordinaire, has finally come up against a man she can’t wind around her little finger. And fallen in love with him.”
“In love! No, Mom, the man has gone to incredible lengths to keep us apart. He’s…”
“Been kind and thoughtful, and don’t I recall your texting me he saved Bruiser’s little white hide on more than one occasion? All that hardly reeks of a man who doesn’t care about you.”
“You think? Mom, what you just said, I’m getting afraid that it might be true. I’m afraid he might be the one. He bought a book of my favorite poetry.”
“Maybe he just happens to like Robbie Burns.”
“The price sticker was still on it. A man who carries a .38 automatic isn’t prone to reading ‘My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose.’ ”
“He carries a gun? Oh, Emma, I don’t know—”
“For protection, Mom. He is tracking a big wildcat that has a bad reputation with people. Tell me. How did you know Dad was the one?”
“I listened to my heart, sweetie. That’s what you’ll have to do.”
“And if it tells me he’s the one? He’s not exactly about to come to me on bended knee.”
“Just be your usual charming, vivacious, disarming, unpredictable self. If the man has an ounce of testosterone in his body, he’ll come around.”
“Mom, I’m sinking here. I need more than that.”
“Well, my darling, unless you can think of some way to make all his dreams come true—”
“What did you say?”
“Make all his dreams come true. But—”
“Maybe I can.”
“Now, honey, I’m not advocating anything erotic or—”
“No, no, nothing like that. Mom, do you remember the way to Midnight Jim’s camp?”
****
“Frasier, my place or yours for supper? I brought Chicken Kiev from town, but if you’d rather we do something from scratch…”
Her voice made Frasier start. He hadn’t heard her car churning up the trail. He got to his feet and strode to the door.
“How did you get home?” He bypassed a greeting. “I didn’t hear your car.”
“Ta-da!” She stepped back and swept out her arm to indicate her car, its sunroof back in place and its coat gleaming with a new wax job. “I got the old girl a facelift. With snow predicted tonight, I couldn’t very well drive with the top open, so I decided to go the whole nine yards and get all her ailing bells and whistles fixed. Pretty, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, I guess.” He peered out at the old car.
“So what is it, my place or yours?” She looked up at him and smiled. “We should celebrate my car’s rebirth, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Frasier, you sound absolutely disenchanted with the wonderfulness of my vehicle. And you’re repeating yourself. Oh, okay, my place. I can’t wait around while you gape and stammer. I have another bottle of Dad’s wine…”
“No, none of your father’s wine.” The words scrambled out reflexively.
“But I have chicken. White meat, and all that.”
“You can have wine, but none for me. I have an early start in the morning.”
“Men all turn into farmers when they’re afraid of being seduced into staying the night.” She tossed him a saucy smirk before she scuttled back down his steps.
“See you in a half hour,” she called over her shoulder. “I promise I’ll be a perfect lady, no matter how much wine I consume.”
Frasier watched until she and the Pug disappeared into her cabin. Then he turned back inside his own, an uneasy twinge starting in the pit of his stomach. Where had Emma suddenly gotten the money to rejuvenate that old buggy of hers? Damn! He’d be glad when this project was at an end and he wouldn’t be haunted by suspicion at every turn.
****
“I’ve realized something, Frasier.” Emma sat curled up on the couch, a cup of coffee in her hands. They’d finished their meal and were sitting in front of the fire.
“And what would that be?” He looked over at her, a whimsical grin quirking up the corner of his mouth.
“That I know next to nothing about your project. You’ve told me a history of the creature called the Eastern Panther but nothing about your work. Care to fill me in?”
“What would you like to know?” He took a sip of coffee and leaned back in his chair. Here was a subject he would feel comfortable discussing with her.
“Well, for instance, when was the last verified sighting in New Brunswick?”
“Verified? There never has been such a thing. At least, not one documented by photographs or a live specimen.” Frasier settled into his role as biologist. “Bruce Wright, a biologist who studied at the same university I’m representing, worked from 1938 until his death in 1975 to establish the existence of what he called the Monarch of Mularchy Mountain. In the 1960s, this province still contained some of the finest unspoiled wilderness in northeastern North America, and Mularchy Mountain would have been an inviting location for the big cats.
“Wright wrote a series of stories about this legendary cat and was convinced of its existence. Local legends he collected claimed this giant feline probably weighed about two hundred pounds and was seven feet long from tip to tip, although these are generally believed to be exaggerations.”
“Wow!” Emma’s eyes goggled. “I had no idea it was such a monster.”
“It isn’t. My research tends to point to a weight of about one hundred pounds or a little more. The latest and most convincing piece of evidence comes from findings near Juniper in this province. Tracks and scat from a panther of some type were found there on November 18, 1992 and later documented by the Canadian Museum in Ottawa. The question remains, however, was it a genuine, native Eastern Panther?”
“What else could it possibly have been?” Riveted by his story, Emma leaned forward, clutching her cup.
“Some biologists argue that it was a released or escaped panther, cougar, or puma brought here from some other part of the world. Although the provincial Wildlife Branch issued a press release at that time proclaiming evidence of a panther, the exact origin and lineage of the animal is still a question mark.”
“Interesting. These cats had been found in this province in earlier years?”
“There’s one mounted specimen believed to be of the Eastern Panther variety that was trapped in Somerset County, Maine in 1938. Bruce Wright purchased it during his years of researching the big cat. It measures seven feet one inch from its nose to the tip of its tail and is estimated to have weighed about a hundred pounds. It’s in the New Brunswick Museum in Saint John.”
“So there’s some evidence that they do, or at least did, roam these forests.” Emma’s excitement was mirrored in her face. He felt inspired to continue.
“That’s my premise. But they’re creatures of the deep woods. Farming, roads, logging, and summer homes have drastically reduced the terrain they would normally inhabit. They’re reputed to avoid people and are not the predators of humans they’re often depicted to be. However, it’s best to give them a wide berth. They’re unpredictable and perfectly capable of being savage if they feel threatened.”
“Don’t worry.” Emma suddenly yawned. “I don’t plan on bagging one to help you complete your project.”
“Well, good.” He finished his coffee and stood. “Now I’m heading home. You’ve had a long day and it’s catching up with you. Try to put all thoughts of ghosts and Eastern Panthers out of your head and have a good sleep. I’m right next door if you need me. You can either holler or give me a call on your cell.”
“Thanks.” She yawned again. “Really, Frasier, I’m sorry. As the old saying goes, it’s not the company, it’s the hour.”
“Sure, sure.” He headed for the door. “Come on, Scout. We’ve heard that old chestnut before. See you tomorrow.”
****
The following morning Frasier awoke to the first snowfall of the season. As he stood and stretched, he glanced out his window to see big, gentle flakes drifting down to join those already forming a three-inch ground cover. It all looked so innocent and peaceful no one would ever guess—
A dull thud on his front door ended his reflections. Someone, and it didn’t take an Einstein to figure out who, was pelting his cabin with snowballs.
Pulling on a robe, he padded barefoot into the living area. Scout was leaping about the room, whining and running eagerly to the door.
“Okay, okay, you can go out and play with the Pug,” he muttered as he crossed the room. “Only be advised, this will do nothing to enhance your credibility as a guard dog.”
Scout gave an impatient yelp. The moment Frasier opened the door, the big dog darted out to join Bruiser. The Pug, dressed in a bright red turtlene
ck and fake-fur-trimmed boots, cavorted in the fresh snow.
“Howdy, neighbor!” Emma, her cheeks pink from the crisp air, stood at the bottom of his steps in a snowsuit, boots, and the most ludicrous Elmer Fudd-style hat he’d ever seen. “Ready to come out and make snow angels?”
“I’m just getting up. I haven’t showered or shaved.” Man, he sounded grumpy. “And I haven’t eaten. And,” he continued, gaining focus, “I haven’t time to fool around. This new snow is perfect for tracking. I need to get to work.”
“Don’t be such a killjoy! You’ve been working seven days a week since I came here. You know what they say about all work and no play. Can’t have Frasier becoming a dull boy.”
“Emma…” he began, but a big soft ball of snow hit him full in the chest, where his robe hung open, and slithered downward. In an effort to get rid of the ice-cold thing, he flapped the robe open and yelped.
“Emma Prescott…!”
“Wow! So it is true what they say about guys and cold.”
With a smug smile, she turned away, leaving him to pull his robe shut and blush like a startled virgin.
“Come over to my cabin as soon as you’re decent,” she flung back over her shoulder. “I’ll have a stack of blueberry pancakes waiting for you.”
****
“Today we find Midnight Jim’s camp.” Emma got up, shoved back her chair, and began to gather their breakfast dishes.
“What? I thought you didn’t know where it is.” Exasperated, Frasier looked over at her. He still smarted from her “guys and cold” innuendo.
“I told you the trail that led to it started between two huge white pines about halfway down our road,” she said, putting the plates into the sink.
“But from there? I was trying to decipher a path beyond that point when I was shot. I’ve been back a half dozen times since, with no better luck. What makes you think you can do any better?”
“Because I’ve actually been there, and you haven’t.” Emma looked loftily over at him, her nose in the air. “Have you got a map of the area? Let me show you.”
Holding Off for a Hero Page 20
