by Jean Barrett
She chose her words and tone with care, wanting him to realize she appreciated his concern but that he no longer had any right to be worried about her. In effect, reminding him that his overprotectiveness had been one of the sources of conflict in their marriage.
“No need to ask, but I’m just fine, thank you.”
Her politeness clearly annoyed him. “I could have been there for you if you’d let me ride with you instead of abandoning me to that female predator. I know well-preserved bones are supposed to be my specialty, but—”
“You can take care of yourself, Jack. You always have.”
“Not this time. The woman is as rapacious as a T. rex. Oh, hell, here she comes again.” He groaned aloud, much to Dan’s amusement.
Ronnie Bauer joined them at the foot of the dock, burbling, “What a delicious spot to get snowbound in!” She moved close to Jack’s side, adding far too obviously, “With the right individual, that is.”
Dan chuckled softly. “Afraid you’re out of luck on this trip. There’s no forecast of any real snow for the weekend. That’s what I’ve been assured, anyway.”
Ronnie’s scarlet mouth formed a little pout of disappointment. “Too bad, because I brought enough outfits to cover that possibility. Jack,” she pleaded, “you will help me up to the house with my luggage, won’t you? I have some of my good jewelry in one of the cases, and I’m not going to trust that to just anyone.”
Lane saw her opportunity to escape. “I wasn’t that foresighted. I have only one suitcase, and I can manage that on my own. See you at the lodge, everyone.”
Her case had been deposited with the others on the dock. She snatched it up before Jack could extricate himself from Ronnie’s latest ambush and fled up the path on the heels of an impatient Stuart Bauer.
The men had cleared the trails with snowblowers, and the ascent was gradual. Still, with a bulky suitcase to carry, Lane found the climb a challenging one. But Ronnie was right. The island was delightful with its thick forest and ledges of layered, mossy rock thrusting through the cover of snow.
She was puffing by the time she reached the crown of the bluff. Lowering her suitcase, she stopped at the edge of the woods to recover her wind. Stuart had disappeared somewhere ahead of her on a restless investigation of his own, and the others were still behind her. Lane had a moment to herself to enjoy the scene. And it was worth her appreciation.
Just below her, tucked into a spacious, open hollow at the sharp edge of the bluff, was the sprawling, two-storied lodge. Scandinavian in character, it was a pleasing combination of log and fieldstone. A jumble of chimneys, steep roofs and windowed bays made the composition even more appealing.
Her interlude ended when Jack overtook her seconds later. Dropping his burden of luggage, he confronted her. “Are you planning to avoid me the whole weekend?”
“Why are you here, Jack?” she responded tautly.
“Stand still for two minutes, and maybe I’ll tell you.”
“I don’t think I can afford that.” Seizing her suitcase, she moved on toward the lodge.
“Damn it, stop running away from me,” he called after her. “What’s wrong with you? Are you afraid to be with me?”
Lane neither paused nor turned her head when she answered him with an emphatic, unqualified “Yes!”
* * *
THE BEDROOM they had given her, like the rest of the house, was as enchanting as a Norwegian fairy tale. The folk painting known as rosemaling was expressed on cupboards and chests, even on the faces of the beams that crisscrossed the low ceiling. There was an abundance of peasant-style carving, as well. The genial trolls called tomtars were everywhere.
Then why, Lane wondered, did she persist in feeling so chilled by the setting? It had nothing to do with temperature, either, because she’d been assured that a powerful generator on the premises provided both electricity and a comfortable central heating.
When she stood by the window and examined the view, she thought she understood what was troubling her. Her room overlooked a topiary garden at the side of the house. Ranks of evergreens had been trained into the forms of mythical beasts. She found them somehow depressing. Maybe it was the season. Maybe in summer the place was more cheerful. But just now there was something about the garden...
She had started to turn away when she spotted a figure below her on the flagged terrace adjoining the garden. He was gazing at the topiary figures, and even from this angle she could see the brooding expression on his handsome face. Hale McGuire.
Should she? Lane wondered. Why not? He was alone down there, and another opportunity might not so readily present itself.
There were two vital matters she needed to discuss privately with Allison’s bridegroom. One of them concerned the secret promise that had brought her to Thunder Island. The other, as of this afternoon, was Jack Donovan.
Lane didn’t know what surprised her more—that Allison had insisted she couldn’t get married without her or that her ex-husband had turned up as Hale’s best man. It was no accident Jack was here, and his presence worried her. A close friendship between the two men seemed unlikely to her, but since Hale had chosen Jack as his best man, she would begin with him. She meant to have answers.
Chapter Two
“Gruesome things, aren’t they?” Hale fingered the cedar fronds of a unicorn as he contemplated the other topiary forms scattered around the snow-blanketed lawn. “Why would anyone want to force a plant into looking like something it’s not supposed to be?”
Lane shivered in her green parka. The air was colder now that the sun was lower in the sky. Or maybe it was the mood of the garden that was still chilling her. She could swear there was a kind of stress that lingered here. She could actually feel it.
“I guess some people find them whimsical,” she said with a little shrug.
Hale grunted. He was silent for a moment, then turned his head to consider her, as though just realizing she had joined him. “You want me for something?”
Lane regarded him in his immaculate chesterfield overcoat. He was an impressive figure, well built and with eye-catching features, but there was no animation in his expression. Maybe that was an asset to him, she thought, trying to like him. Allison had told her he was a lawyer.
“It’s about Jack Donovan,” she said, beginning with the easier of the two subjects.
Hale frowned. “What about him?”
“I suppose Allison told you we were once married. To be honest about it, it was a shock having him turn up here as your best man.”
“Sorry if that’s a problem.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” She hoped. “I guess I’m just surprised that you’re close friends.”
“Friends?” There was a cynical note in his brief laugh. “I barely know the guy.”
“Then why—”
“Allison. She wanted Donovan as my best man, said she had her reasons, and I went along with her choice.”
Somehow the revelation didn’t surprise Lane. Now that she thought about it, it made sense that Allison was responsible for Jack’s presence. Yes, well, her friend owed her an explanation.
“Anything else?” Hale asked.
Lane hesitated. Should she? No, she decided. The mission she had been entrusted with was a delicate one, much too tricky to approach when Hale was obviously in a difficult mood. Better, after all, to wait.
She hated this situation and was beginning to wonder if her promise had been a mistake. She refused to hurt Allison or risk spoiling her wedding. But the problem was ultimately unavoidable. She’d been made to clearly see that several days ago. Somehow, for the sake of everyone involved, it had to be resolved.
“No,” Lane answered reluctantly, “nothing else.”
He nodded. “Then I’ll see you later.”
Yes, she told him silently, watching him as he turned and walked off through the garden, unfortunately, you will have to see me later. And something tells me you won’t like it. Only I wonder what’s bothering yo
u now?
There was no mystery about what was troubling her. Jack was still strongly on her mind. She needed to do something about that. But this time Allison would be her target.
Lane returned to the lodge and made her determined way up the massive staircase. The house was quiet, no one around. She assumed people were settling themselves in their rooms. And Jack? Well, he’d been placed in guest quarters semidetached from the main lodge. She wondered about that arrangement, too.
Allison’s bedroom was the first on the left at the top of the stairs. The door was ajar when she reached it. She had lifted her hand to rap on the frame when a gruff male voice close on the other side forestalled her intention.
“Where do you want these?”
“I don’t care about the luggage!” It was Allison’s voice, and there was a frantic quality to it. “Just tell me what I want to know. Why are you here, Chris?”
There was a sound of suitcases being bumped on the floor. “Why do you think? I’m working.”
“But it was your brother who was hired to—”
“Mike couldn’t make it. He got sick last night. Something he ate, I guess. Frankly, he needs the money, and Dorothy and Nils couldn’t manage the weekend on their own. There was no one else available, so I agreed to replace Mike. You didn’t think I was eager to see you get married.”
“It doesn’t have to be this way, Chris,” Allison pleaded.
“Let’s not start in on that again. We both know it does have to be this way. Look, don’t worry about it. I plan to make myself as scarce as possible. All I’m here for is to do Mike’s job.”
“I hate it when you’re like this.”
Lane, conscious that she was overhearing something intensely emotional, realized she had no business standing here listening to any of this startling conversation. She started to back away, but before she could manage a safe retreat, the door was flung open. The brawny Chris Beaver, his face stiff with pride, stormed past her without a glance and disappeared down the stairs.
Lane was afraid to guess what that little scene meant. She turned her head and discovered Allison standing in the doorway. The anguished expression on her friend’s face said it all. Hale’s dark mood in the garden suddenly began to make sense.
Lane had been embarrassed. Now she was simply worried. “Are you all right?”
Allison recovered herself. “I have to be. I’m the radiant bride, remember.” She seemed to realize then that Lane must have witnessed her exchange with Chris, and she quickly changed the subject. “Were you looking for me?”
“Uh, nothing that can’t wait.” This was definitely the wrong moment to press for an explanation about Jack. Dear Lord, was there anyone in this house, herself included, who wasn’t struggling with an unpleasant secret?
Lane started to leave, but Allison stopped her. “Come out to the chapel with me. I’m going to check on Teddy’s flower arrangements.”
“Now? Are you sure that—”
“I can’t wait to see how they’ve turned out. It’s going to be fun. The whole thing tomorrow is going to be fun. A wedding we’ll all remember.” There was a fierce determination in her promise, as though nothing else must be allowed to matter.
Lane was beginning to have the uneasy conviction that Allison had no business at all getting married tomorrow. And certainly not to Hale McGuire.
“Allison, do you think maybe—”
“Please, I’d like to go.” Refusing to discuss anything but the flower arrangements, she insisted that Lane accompany her.
They paused on the lower floor to admire the florist’s efforts in the house. There was a replica of a Viking hall off the foyer, a cavernous place where the wedding luncheon would be held following the ceremony in the chapel. The table was already set for the celebration. The flowers were impressive—masses of scarlet poinsettias and tall candles in keeping with the wedding’s Christmas theme.
Allison, restless and overeager, snatching at conversation, inspected the arrangements. “Wonderful, aren’t they? I loved that holly bouquet with the gilded angel back in the foyer. Teddy really has a special touch. The flowers in the chapel should be spectacular.”
They left the house, Allison hurrying them toward the rustic chapel at the far end of the garden. Lane had been told the wooden structure was a tiny version of a Norwegian stavkirke. As they approached it, she found herself charmed by the pointed gables, the small belfry, the half-enclosed porch.
The interior, which they reached through a stout oak door, was a delight with its wealth of native carvings on the raised pulpit, baptismal font and high-backed pews. The primitive stained-glass windows and delicate wall frescoes glowed like jewels.
“Allison, it’s marvelous!” Lane pronounced. “I can see why you want your wedding here. And when the candles are lit tomorrow in all those iron wall holders it will be...well, pure magic.”
Her friend had no response. Lane glanced at her where she stood by the door, her hand still on the light switch. Allison was frowning, and for a second Lane feared her mind had returned to Chris Beaver.
“They’re missing,” she finally murmured.
“What are?”
“The flowers. There aren’t any.”
Lane had been so busy picturing the beauty of a wedding ceremony in the serene setting that she hadn’t noticed. But Allison was right. There wasn’t a single ar- rangement in sight.
“Maybe Teddy was afraid they would freeze out here and left them somewhere in the house.”
Allison, annoyed, shook her head. “Nils put the heat on in here for him early yesterday before he went back to the mainland. It was all prearranged.”
“Then there must be an explanation.”
Allison nodded. “I’ll have to find out.”
She started to douse the lights, as if intending to return immediately to the lodge. Lane put a hand on her arm to delay her. They were alone out here, and the thought occurred to her there might not be another opportunity for privacy.
“Could we talk for a minute first?”
She could feel Allison stiffening under her hand. She thinks I’m going to ask her about Chris.
The tall blonde gazed at her, asking warily, “Is this a subject I’m going to like?”
“Probably not.” Lane’s answer was dry. “It’s about Jack.”
Allison relaxed slightly. “Oh. Yes, I expected that to come up. All right, let’s sit for a second.”
They settled side by side in one of the back pews. Lane turned to her, seeking an explanation. “How did Jack wind up as Hale’s best man? Hale told me he barely knows him.”
“It just sort of happened,” her friend confessed with a note of evasiveness. “Jack called me to offer his best wishes. He’d seen the announcement of my engagement in one of the Chicago papers. I got to telling him about my wedding plans and how you were going to be my attendant but that nothing had been settled yet about the best man. We talked for a long while and...well, one thing led to another.”
“Uh-huh. And just whose idea was it for him to play best man this weekend? Or was it a joint conspiracy?”
“I don’t remember. Jack’s, maybe.”
Lane might have known. Jack Donovan could charm his way in or out of just about anything he put his considerable talents to, which was exactly why she hadn’t trusted herself to go directly to him for this explanation. And this time he’d talked himself into a weekend on a secluded island where his ex-wife would be virtually trapped. The question was...
“Why?” she demanded of Allison. “You’ve told me how he came to be here. Now tell me why he wants to be here.”
“I think he just means to—” She broke off, squirming uncomfortably. “No, I can’t say. It’s for him to tell you.”
“If it’s what I think it is...” she said warningly.
“Lane, I was wrong to agree to this situation. I know I was wrong. And maybe it’s none of my business to say that your divorce was a mistake, but the two of you...oh, you know
what I mean.”
Lane avoided looking at her. She stared grimly at a carving of a sleeping angel above the altar rail. A reconciliation. That’s what Allison was driving at. Oh, no! Never! Not in this lifetime! Jack Donovan’s rarefied world had cost her enough anguish. Oh, she’d been vulnerable, all right, was probably still much too vulnerable, but she wasn’t suicidal.
Allison laid an imploring hand on her arm, her voice suddenly remorseful. “I couldn’t get married tomorrow if I thought you were mad at me, though I suppose I deserve it. I don’t want to lose your friendship, Lane. God knows, when you’re in a position like mine—you know, the money and all—there are few enough people you can really count on or trust, and you’ve never asked anything of me. Now if I’ve gone and—”
“Allison, it’s all right. I’m not happy about the situation, but it’s too late to change it. All I can do is survive it.” Another disturbing possibility occurred to her. “Wait a minute. You didn’t deliberately put Jack out in the guesthouse because you thought he and I might—”
“No, of course not. It’s just the way the arrangements worked out.”
But Lane wasn’t so sure. Her friend’s denial had been too quick. “Okay, let’s forget it. Just promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“No more playing matchmaker. Because what you want isn’t going to happen.”
“Promise,” she agreed reluctantly. “But it really was your happiness I was thinking of. I guess I just figured that someone might as well...”
She didn’t finish. She shook her head resolutely.
Chris Beaver, Lane realized. Allison was thinking again of Chris Beaver and her. Lane thought about them, too. And Hale, as well. She didn’t know who to feel sorriest for in this regrettable triangle. Or why it even existed. Only one thing was clear. Allison didn’t want to talk about it, and she respected that.
They returned to the house by way of the Viking hall and found Nils’s wife arranging place cards and wedding favors on tomorrow’s luncheon table. Dorothy Asker, like her brother, was a full-blooded Menominee. But she shared none of Chris’s dark good looks. Tall and sturdy, she had a face as round as a moon and a nature that was placid.
