Against the Wild (7 page)

After breakfast, Dylan went over Lane's choices for the plumbing fixtures, impressed by the interesting geometric designs that gave them an Indian flavor. The fixtures were perfect for the concept Lane had presented, yet the price was well within the budget he had mentally calculated as he'd laid out his plans for the lodge.

“I'll put the order in today,” she said.

“Sounds good.”

Lane went over to the computer and pulled up the product distributor on the Net. Dylan walked up behind her, set his hands lightly on her shoulders. He thought it was a good sign that she didn't pull away.

“I was thinking . . . you know, we work hard around here, but once in awhile we deserve a little time off. I thought maybe you'd like to take a boat ride, do a little camping.”

She swiveled around to face him. “Camping?”

“Sure. I know a good place. We can take Emily and Finn. We'll pitch a tent big enough for all of us, just take enough supplies for one night.”

“I don't know. I've never been camping.”

“You're kidding, right?”

She shrugged. “My dad was more into sports. It just never happened.”

“Then we'll make it happen. Soon as the weather clears, we'll go.”

She smiled up at him. “Okay, it sounds like fun.”

He liked that she seemed to have an adventurous spirit. Completely unlike Mariah. But then, everything about Lane was different from his ex-wife.

He let her go back to work and went upstairs to check on the crew. The drywall was up in the bathroom additions. In an area downstairs, some of the walls between the bedrooms had been removed, making the rooms large enough to create two suites. Those would have gas fireplaces that looked liked old iron stoves.

It was lunchtime before he saw Lane again. When Dylan walked in, she was sitting at the kitchen table next to Caleb, getting ready for the chicken salad sandwiches Winnie was serving for lunch. Lane was so engrossed in her conversation, she didn't see him.

“I heard them last night,” she was saying. “When I went out in the hall, there was no one there. But Dylan heard them, too.”

Irritation slid through him. “I told you last night it was only the wind.”

Lane turned as he walked toward the table. “I know that's what you said. I'm not sure I believe it.”

“Why not?”

“Because Caleb said the last owner heard footsteps, too. And there were other things. It was the reason he sold the lodge.”

“Jeff Fenton sold the lodge because his wife didn't like living in Alaska.” Just like Mariah. He understood that only too well. He turned a hard look on his friend. “I'd appreciate it if you didn't encourage her. We've got enough problems already.”

“Sorry.”

“I heard crying the other night,” Lane said. “It sounded like a child, but it wasn't Emily. I checked.”

Worry trickled through him. “You're sure it wasn't her?” But she rarely cried and not at all in the last few years.

“It wasn't her, but she heard it, too.”

He didn't ask how Lane knew. She seemed to understand his daughter in a way he was no longer able. “Until we get the place sealed up, the wind is going to make strange noises. That's all it is.”

“I want to find out what happened here. People gossip about it. Once we know, we can deal with it.”

“If something happened, it was a long time ago and it doesn't mean the lodge is haunted.”

Silence fell over the table. None of them had ever said the word out loud.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “How do you suggest we find out what happened—assuming something actually did?”

Lane gazed up at him excitedly. “We could start by looking at county records. We find out the names of the owners through the years, then look at newspaper accounts, see if there's anything there.”

“It's a borough,” he said darkly. “The borough of Waterside.”

“When are you going there next?”

“I don't know for sure.”

“How about today?” She grinned. “It's only fifteen minutes away.”

He couldn't stay mad at her. Not when she looked so damned cute. “Fine. If it isn't raining, we'll go this afternoon.”

Just then, Emily walked into the kitchen and conversation came to a halt. Since Dylan was sick of hearing about ghosts and sounds in the night, he was damned glad for the moments of silence.

It rained all day. A downpour that hammered against the windows and beat down on the heavy slate roof. Transfixed, Lane watched the deluge that churned the smooth water in the bay into whitecaps and left the sky a leaden gray.

In L.A., the weather was always the same. Sunny, sunny, sunny. It was wonderful, but occasionally boring. For a while, she stood in the great hall staring out the windows, watching the shifting clouds, the heavy mist hanging over the ocean, the endless buckets of rain.

Emily came in and stood beside her for a while, neither of them speaking, just watching the storm.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” Lane finally said, not expecting an answer. She was surprised when Emily reached over and took hold of her hand.

They stood like that for another few minutes before, by unspoken agreement, they wandered back to what they'd been doing, Emily returning to her studies with Mrs. Henry while Lane went back to the office to check on her e-mail.

Being able to connect on the Internet had made working at the lodge far easier than she had expected. She was able to stay in touch with her friend and partner, Haley Brodie, and keep an eye on Modern Design.

Having been best friends in college at the University of Illinois, the two of them had reconnected when Haley had come to L.A. to investigate the death of her father. There, she'd met Dylan's cousin, Tyler, a private investigator. The two had fallen in love and married.

Haley was now in charge of art acquisitions and placement, her area of expertise. As an added benefit, she seemed to have a knack for knowing how to handle the three temperamental designers who also worked at the studio.

Lane checked her messages, saw a couple from Haley that had just come in, updates on current projects. Though Lane was enjoying her stay in Alaska, she felt a pang that everything seemed to be running so smoothly without her.

She e-mailed Haley back.

Haley answered right away, clearly sitting in front of her computer. Wow, that's cool. Have you seen it?

Lane laughed. She had only gone out with Kyle Whitaker a couple of times before she'd realized that as good-looking as he was, the man just wasn't her type.
Only guy I ever dated who wound up in jail,
she thought
.
She didn't think she had to worry about that with Dylan.

But then, she'd had rotten luck with every man she'd dated after Jason. She had loved him so much. No other man could compare.

She finished her e-mail and signed off, thinking of Dylan. He was completely different from the fiancé she had loved and lost, less self-absorbed, less demanding. Lane realized that aside from the incredible attraction she felt for him, she was actually coming to like him very much.

The question remained, was she ready to sleep with him? Her brain said no, but her body whispered a determined
yes.

The rain didn't let up. It was just part of living in such a scenic place. It rained a lot in the panhandle, but it also kept the landscape green and lush, kept the glaciers on the distant mountain peaks gleaming with snow year-round, and the water in the bay mirror-clean.

And when it stopped two days later, everything sparkled as if it were newly created, reborn in some way.

Dylan looked up as Lane bounced into the kitchen, a big smile on her face. Damn, she was pretty. He wanted to haul her back upstairs and into his bed. He wanted to keep her there for the rest of the day. Hell, the rest of the week.

“The sun's out,” she said. “I'm ready to go to Waterside whenever you are.”

Inwardly, he groaned. He'd been hoping she'd forget about the lodge's past, and ghosts, and instead focus on work and maybe a little on him. “You're sure you want to do this?”

“Are you kidding? You never know what we might find out.”

True enough. Which was a good reason to stay home. But he loved to fly and with all the work on the lodge, he hadn't been doing a whole lot of that lately.

“All right, we'll head to town as soon as we're finished with breakfast.”

They ate French toast drenched in butter and Winnie's homemade maple syrup, thick slices of bacon, and gallons of hot black coffee. The crew was hard at work by the time Dylan was ready to leave. He was waiting for Lane when she stepped out of the office into the hall, looking a lot less buoyant.

“What is it?”

She ran a hand through her heavy red hair and Dylan felt a deep jolt of lust. He wanted to see that glorious hair spread out on his pillow. He just flat wanted her.
Damn.

“I did some checking. The ownership records for the area are kept in Ketchikan. We'd have to go all the way down there to get a look.”

A smile broke over his face. “Helluva lot more fun that a fifteen-minute flight to Waterside. Grab your bag and let's go.”

“Really? You'll take me?”

“It's only a hundred miles. We'll be there in time for lunch.”

She rushed upstairs and grabbed her jacket and her purse and came back down, her hair pulled into a ponytail. “I can't believe I'm actually looking forward to the flight.”

“It grows on you. I've always loved to fly. Up here, it's like being close to heaven.”

They headed for the float dock and a few minutes later were up in the air. The trip went smoothly, Lane snapping more pictures with her small digital camera. As he began his descent, she started pointing wildly toward the ground.

“Oh, my God! There's a bear right there on the beach! I can see it from here, Dylan!”

He chuckled, swooped a little lower, circled around so she could get a shot before the big bear lumbered back into the woods.

Lane leaned back in the seat. “That was amazing.”

He was glad she was enjoying herself. They didn't have that much time before she'd be heading back to L.A. The thought had the smile sliding off his face.

The recorder's office was on Main Street in Ketchikan, a town of around eight thousand whose economy was based on tourism and salmon fishing.

As they approached the counter, a plump, gray-haired woman wearing jeans and a white knit sweater walked up. “May I help you?”

“My name's Dylan Brodie and this is Lane Bishop. I own a piece of property near Waterside. We'd like to do an ownership search, find out who built the place originally, get the names of the people who've owned it since.”

“We're in the process of putting everything on the computer,” the woman said, “but I'm afraid we aren't quite there yet. A lot of it's still on microfilm. I'm Mrs. O'Neal. Maybe I can help you find what you need.”

“That would be great.”

“First we'll need to locate your property on the map,” she said, “find out the tax parcel number. Then we can go back through the records. Or we can start with your name and the date of your purchase and go back that way.”

“Sounds good.”

They ended up using a combination of both his name and the date he'd bought the place, then going backward on the computer as far as the sixties. When the records got older and harder to sort out, they went to the map, located the acreage on Eagle Bay, and searched for the original owner.