by Jan Colley
“Ethan, my boy,” his boss boomed, with a broad smile and a hefty clap on the back.
Ethan answered his smile with one of his own. In the six months since he’d last seen Magnus, he appeared to have lost weight and shed a few wrinkles. Ethan thought he’d never looked better. They shook hands warmly, then Magnus tugged him forward and turned to bring his wife into the fray.
Juliette Anderson was a stunner. Statuesque, golden, gracious. She looked like a beauty queen, vibrantly apart from and above other mere mortals. Glossier hair, brighter eyes, skin that glowed. Surely that flawless complexion, swept-up hair and perfectly buffed fingernails could only be achieved with a large team of stylists on hand around the clock.
“Ethan, it gives me great pleasure to introduce my wife. Juliette, meet Ethan Rae, a man I consider as close as a son.”
Magnus stepped back, releasing Ethan’s hand.
“Pleasure, Ms. Anderson,” Ethan murmured.
“Please, Juliette.”
He saw Lucy offer Magnus something off the heavy platter of hors d’oeuvres she carried. Narrowing his gaze, he murmured “Julie,” in a lowered voice.
Her golden eyes opened wide, then a definite arctic blast seemed to wash across her face. She took his hand. “Ju. Lee. Ette.” Her voice also lowered and there was a peculiarly intense diction to the syllables.
“Juliette,” Ethan repeated smoothly.
The woman nodded tightly. Lucy intervened with her platter of nibbles. When he glanced back at Juliette, her face had reverted to serene loveliness.
Ethan believed in laying his cards on the table. As soon as he could get her on her own, he would find out just what her game was. At least now, she knew he was watching her.
“Good evening,” came a voice from behind him. “Can I get you something from the bar?”
“My brother Tom,” Lucy told him.
“Half brother,” Tom corrected, extending his hand.
Ethan took an immediate and unexpected dislike to the man. Was it the heavy, untoned look of him? The moist softness of his hand? Or the almost imperceptible glance of disdain that he shot at Lucy while correcting her? Ethan wasn’t usually so quick to judge, but he trusted his instincts. “Wine. White and dry, thanks.”
The man turned away. Ethan watched him walk up to the bar, thinking there was little familial resemblance. Lucy was delicate, with a purity of proportion in her facial features. Tom looked as if neither his clothes nor his skin fit properly. Perhaps he’d recently put on weight, but he didn’t look as though he’d give a damn.
Lucy held up her platter. “Care for something?”
Ethan smiled at her, selecting a couple of delicious morsels and the napkins she offered.
“It’s been too long,” Magnus rumbled, taking another savory. He rolled his eyes at Lucy. “Like a son to me, yet too busy to make it home for my wedding. And now he invites himself on my honeymoon.”
Juliette took her husband’s arm. “The wedding was two months ago. And if this was our honeymoon, do you think I would agree to you going hunting for a week and leaving me all alone?”
“It’s four days, my sweet. Three nights and four days. And you will have Lucy to keep you company.”
Lucky Juliette, Ethan wanted to say. Instead he followed Magnus and Juliette over to a large sofa by the window, and answered his boss’s questions about his flight and accommodations. That did not stop his eyes tracking Lucy as she served the other couples in the room. Her easy charm and bright smile drew a favorable response from men and women alike. Her pretty outfit floated around her body in a swirl of sea-greens and blues. She was light and grace, and impossible not to watch.
Juliette excused herself to freshen up before dinner. There was a moment’s silence, then Magnus leaned forward. “She’s something, isn’t she?”
“Stunning,” Ethan replied woodenly.
“I’m talking about our hostess,” Magnus chuckled. “You haven’t taken your eyes off her since you came in.”
A jet of guilty pleasure whooshed up Ethan’s breast-bone, but he kept his voice casual. “A little young for me.”
Magnus cleared his throat.
“Oh, Christ, Magnus. Sorry. I didn’t mean…”
Magnus didn’t appear to take offense. “That’s all right, boy. I know I’m being tarred with your father’s brush, and I can’t blame you for it.”
Ethan’s hand curled into a fist in his lap. The way his mother had been discarded like yesterday’s news after the old man had struck it lucky still burned. After ten years—more—of slave labor and biting poverty. Just tossed aside for a younger model. He could forgive his father some things. Not that.
He took a deep breath and rested his hands on his thighs. “What do you really know about her, Magnus?”
“All I need to know. She makes me happy. I know some folk think I’m a silly old fool. I didn’t expect to find this sort of thing again. I’ve been on my own more than a dozen years, Ethan.”
“I know,” Ethan murmured, remembering the day of Theresa Anderson’s funeral. “I wish you all the best, you know that.”
“Thank you, Ethan.”
He wouldn’t push it tonight. He had little to go on anyway. Now wasn’t the time.
“Actually I’m here on business, Magnus. I have a proposal and I didn’t want to wait.”
Magnus watched his wife re-enter the room. “Tomorrow, I think. No business tonight.”
Juliette sat and began whispering into her husband’s ear. “Are you coming in to dinner?” Magnus asked.
Ethan stretched. “Do you mind if I don’t? I’m beat.”
Tom seemed to have disappeared, along with all but one of the other couples. Lucy wiped glasses behind the bar. He excused himself and approached.
“You’ve lasted well for someone with jet lag. More wine?”
He nodded when she held up a bottle of chardonnay. “Half a glass. Think I’ll call it a night.”
She looked surprised. “Aren’t you going in to dinner with the others?”
“No. These were delicious.” He indicated the depleted platter of food. “Are you the chef?”
She shook her head. “If you get hungry in the night, just call room service.”
He raised an eyebrow. “If I get hungry at three in the morning, you’ll bring me a sandwich?”
A slight flush tinged her cheeks, telling him she wasn’t slow on the uptake.
“Chef leaves around midnight, I’m afraid. Anyway, it’s bad for the digestion to eat at that time of the day.”
There was no mistaking the voluptuous lilt of her voice or the sparkle in her eyes. Ethan was enjoying himself. He must have tipped over into holiday mode earlier than the usual couple of days it took for him to unwind.
“I’ll remember that,” he said somberly, “and confine my appetite to chef’s hours.” He leaned back a little, and saw Tom re-enter the room. “Come show me the hunting gallery.”
She put her tea towel down and accompanied him to the alcove. Hunting did not interest him in the slightest, but it was no hardship to be in close proximity to Lucy as she explained that wapiti were what North Americans call elk, and that thar and sika were different varieties of deer found here. He learned they were in the roar, or mating season. This was the preferable time to hunt because the animals were endowed with impressive antlers which dropped off after the season. Why else would Magnus, a keen trophy hunter, be here now?
There were ample photos in the alcove of successful hunters astride their kills, which included mountain goats and wild pigs. But what he enjoyed most was Lucy’s evident pride in the magnificent landscape as she pointed to locations she had ridden to or picnicked at.
They were alone in the bar now, except for Tom. Everyone else had retired to bed or gone through to the restaurant.
“You didn’t say you knew the Andersons,” she commented.
“You didn’t ask.” He shrugged. “First time I’ve met his wife. His wedding was—unexpected.”
Ethan cocked a brow at him, noting that Lucy took a step back.
“It was not up to our usual high standard, I assure you.”
Lucy half turned away, pursing her lips. Darn Tom. Why did he have to make a song and dance about everything? No doubt Ethan would have forgotten the whole thing if Tom hadn’t brought it up.
She felt herself flush deeply at Tom’s next missive. “A series of unfortunate incidents regarding vehicles—and my sister’s poor timekeeping, I’m afraid.”
Her heart sank.
“Was she late?” Ethan’s quick response jolted her in mid cringe. “I’m afraid I was so charmed by your sister, I barely noticed the time or the transportation.”
“Oh. Well, that’s very generous of you.” Tom sounded a little strained.
Lucy glowed with delight from the top of her head to her toes. What a nice thing to say—and how smooth. Tom was not going to like being put in his place like that one little bit, and she would no doubt have to pay for it. But for now, she reveled in the pleasure of approbation. She charmed him. Of course she did.
She could barely contain herself from skipping as all three walked to the bar, but she did manage a grateful grin at her champion.
“If there is anything we can do,” Tom continued, “to make your stay with us more comfortable…”
Ethan glanced at Tom briefly, then returned his gaze to her. “Any chance of organizing a fax in my room?”
Lucy nodded. “I’ll get on it first thing in the morning.” She gave him a warm smile that she hoped conveyed the gratitude she felt. It was not often someone stuck up for her. She wanted him to know she was aware of it, and thankful.
Not just thankful. Absurdly pleased.
He smiled back. After a minute, Tom took a step back, huffing about clearing up.
“Goodnight, Lucy.” Ethan threw a nod at Tom. “Tom.”
“Sleep well.”
She reluctantly turned back to Tom as he wiped the top of the stone bar. It had been a shock to discover earlier that Ethan was the vice-president of Magnus Anderson’s company. Tom was fit to be tied, frantic in case she’d said anything inappropriate. The slight undertone of flirting on the way here did not worry her—to her mind it was mutual and harmless. But she could possibly have been more—deferential or something. Tom had a real bee in his bonnet about Magnus and his precious club.
“I told you he was cool about it.”
“It’s not the point. I need you to pick your socks up. No more fiascos like today. This is a five-star operation, and our guests don’t want excuses. They want professional courtesy. Excellent facilities. Punctual service.”
Exasperation, something she rarely gave in to, bubbled to the surface. “You should have confirmed the time. That’s our deal. And do you think I can just conjure up vehicles out of nowhere?”
He scowled. He was a big man, like their father, but lately he had appeared more beefy than powerful.
“We need the club, Lucy. We cannot afford not to be on the Global List.”
She rolled her eyes. “Seems to me we’d be a lot busier if we were allowed to advertise in the normal places, instead of just the stupid list.”
“The Global List is regarded as one of the top three accommodation publications in the world. I don’t think you appreciate the honor it is to be included.”
Lucy privately thought it was a bit high-handed of the club to demand exclusive advertising rights. “Honor is all very nice, Tom, but it won’t pay the bills, and you do seem worried about money all of a sudden.”
“Which is something you have never given the slightest thought to,” Tom retorted. “Swanning off all over the world for years with your hand out.”
That stung, even as she recognized the truth in it. She loved traveling, and goodness knows she hadn’t been wanted around here since her mother had left. But the moment she’d heard of her father’s stroke, she had come home.
Never mind that it served as a timely escape from a tricky entanglement.
And when Tom had asked, she was only too pleased to help him with the business. But the truth was, she didn’t really care about the lodge. Of course she would hate to see it fail, but her love was the forty thousand acres of countryside. Her birthright—and Tom’s.
“I’m sorry for that, and I’ll do anything I can to help.”
Trouble was, with the life she had led so far, she didn’t know how much help she would be.
“Anything?”
She touched his hand, feeling sorry he’d had to carry this burden alone. “Anything. You’re really worried, aren’t you?”
“I am. If you want to help, I’d like you to think about selling the land. Part of it, anyway.”
Lucy jerked her hand back. “The land? Our land?”
“Lucy, since the farm manager quit a year ago, I’ve let the farm run right down. Half the stock that’s left is wild. And the rest I pay next door to drench and move. We either need the farm to pay its own way or get the money for it. Otherwise how will we keep this place up to scratch?”
She could hardly believe her ears. Foreboding, deep and menacing, hollowed out her stomach. “What’s going on, Tom? Why are things so bad?”
He turned away from her, his shoulders slumped. “It’s a downturn in the market, that’s all. We have to be prepared to explore other options.”
“I’d sell the lodge before the land any day,” she declared. “This is farming country. It’s McKinlay farming country.”
“It’s a last resort, Lucy. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. We have to make sure Magnus has a great hunt and his wife has an equally good time.” He turned off the lights to the bar and stood at the door, impatiently waving her through.
“You wouldn’t… You can’t be serious.” How could he drop a bombshell like that and then just expect her to go to bed? She stalked past him, fingers of agitation squeezing her throat.
“And try to organize a tour or something for Rae,” Tom ordered, his imperious voice riling her further. “I don’t like the idea of him sniffing around while I’m on the hunt.”
“Perhaps I should give him a tour of me,” she told him snippily. “I could seduce him. Get him on our side that way.”
She almost laughed at her half brother’s shock.
“You will not! You’ll keep your distance and be totally professional with that guy. I know his type—all business. He’d eat you for breakfast.”
Lucy turned her back on him. “Man, I wish I knew what was bugging you lately.” She shot him a scowl as she stomped off down the hall. “I was joking.”
“I mean it, Lucy,” Tom called after her. “Keep away from Rae. He’s dangerous.”
Three
Lucy rose in the half light, too restless to sleep. As was her custom when she stayed at Summerhill, she put her swimsuit on under a warm track suit, tossed a towel around her shoulders and skipped downstairs and out to the pool. It was just past six-thirty and she expected to have the pool to herself, but, to her dismay, she had been superseded.
A dark-haired figure made short work of the thirty-three-meter pool, long powerful arms scything effortlessly through the water.
Yes. She had wondered if he might be a swimmer or long-distance runner. Ethan would not lift weights or play a stop-start team sport. His body had the long clean lines that epitomised endurance, power with leashed—as opposed to explosive—energy.
She watched from the door as he executed a perfect turn: sleek, smooth, long-reaching. Lucy could not tear her eyes away and just as she was about to step fully into the room, Tom’s comment of the night before came back to her. Keep away…. He’s dangerous.
The whole upsetting conversation returned and she backed away.
It was necessary to release some tension, get moving. If swimming was out, an early-morning ride was the next best thing. Ten minutes later she exited the house and walked
quickly to the stables. Monty, her horse, nickered in greeting. She lifted the pail of water to his gray nose and dug a couple of sugar cubes, filched from the breakfast tables, from her pocket.
“Monty the Monster,” she chanted as she saddled him. He tossed his head and nudged her, looking for more sugar. “Frisky today.” Lucy raised the pail again. He’d need a drink. She intended to use him hard.
They set off into the cool, dim morning, the struggling sun unable to pierce the clouds. The first part of the trail was tricky, especially in the dawn light. But about half an hour up, the trail planed out into a fast ride along the top of the huge gorge that ringed the valley. And when Monty took that final step up out of the scree and thistle and onto the plateau she pulled him up, patting and talking for a minute, and then gave him his head.
“Go boy, go!”
Lucy hunched forward, every muscle in her body screaming. Cold tears stung her cheeks. Her mouth twisted in concentration and velocity and her eyes squeezed into thin slits. Her Polar Fleece cap protected her ears, and sheepskin-lined gloves ensured her fingers were not stiffened with the cold.
“Ha! Good fella!” she yelled, her legs jammed hard into the horse’s flanks.
They raced just a few feet from the lip of the gorge that sliced the land down sixty or seventy meters to the river below. This gorge ringed Thunderstrike Valley for as far as the eye could see, across to the great Southern Alps.
When it was over, they slumped, heads hanging, breathing in great gulps of freezing air. Her cheek rested on the steaming neck of the animal for a minute or more until the horse moved restlessly. Then she roused herself and slid shakily down.
She loosened Monty’s saddle and drew a grubby scrap of towelling from the saddlebag, rubbing the horse’s chest and sides briskly. He seemed intent on backing away from her toward a patch of greenery. She tugged him over to a big overhang of rock. It crouched like a frog, ten meters from the edge of the gorge. Boulders and shrubs of prickly, yellow-flowered gorse clustered at its base. There was an opening that you could not see unless you stood directly in front of it.
