Sharing Spaces (26 page)

Senna was taken aback by the grim delivery of this
statement. She sat for a moment in silence, trying to fathom his sudden change of heart. “Are you saying you
want
me to sell my half of the business to Earl Hammel?”

He turned his head to look at her. “I want you to do what
you
want to do, whatever that may be.”

Senna drew a breath. It was time to tell him just how she felt about him, no matter how vulnerable that made her. “Jack, I…”

“Good morning, you two early birds!” a bright voice said. Ida Snell appeared in the kitchen doorway cradling a cup of coffee and came out onto the porch to join them. “I was hoping I'd find you here, Mr. Hanson. Do you think we might go fishing again this afternoon? I could bring my camera along, and take a picture of my next trophy trout.”

 

A
FTER THE FIRST ROUND
of clients went off in the boats, the others donned waders and worked the pools above and below the lodge. Bert and Ida sat side by side on the porch enjoying the early sunlight while Senna began cleaning the rooms. By the time she finished that chore and was halfway through the laundry it was time to help Goody with lunch. They were setting the platters onto the sideboard when she heard both boats approaching the dock and then another sound that drowned out all others; that of a twin-engine plane. Strange, they weren't expecting visitors, though Jack had called the hospital earlier and found out George Pilgrim was being released the following morning. Jack had promised to pick him up, but perhaps George had jumped the gun and signed himself out of the hospital a little sooner.

The plane made three slow flyovers of the lodge be
fore landing on the river and taxiing to the dock. Senna stood at the top of the ramp, shielding her eyes against the sun and watching while the pilot of the plane jumped out and secured it. Two men disembarked. Two bags were deposited on the dock. Senna felt a sharp stab of foreboding, especially as the shorter of the two men turned and looked up toward where she stood. She drew a sharp breath and her heart skipped a beat.

Tim. And other man could only be Earl Hammel. Jack was tying his boat up to the other end of the dock and helping his clients out. He would know without even being told who those two men were and what was happening. He would think she'd called Tim and told him to bring Earl Hammel to the lodge because she'd decided to sell. She could almost see the rigid set of Jack's shoulders from here. Tim had spotted her and was raising his hand in a wave, but Senna was so shocked she couldn't respond. There was no place for them to stay. Tim knew they had no room, yet the pilot was depositing two more bags, accepting what Senna assumed was a tip from the taller man, then climbing back into the plane and starting the engines up.

Tim waved to her again. “Senna!” she heard him call.

Her legs felt rubbery as she walked down the ramp. Tim was smiling as he moved toward her and met her halfway, his broad, friendly face earnest.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I know this is a surprise, but Earl was going to come with or without me. I thought it would be better if I could at least introduce you.”

“But Tim, I told you several times that we have no room here. He can't stay. And…and the thing is, he shouldn't have come. He's wasting his time. I've de
cided that I don't want to sell my half of the business, either.”

Tim glanced over his shoulder to where the tall, distinguished-looking man watched the fishermen disembark from the boats. He looked back at her with a shrug. “Well, he's here. At least listen to what he says. He's prepared to offer a lot of money, Senna. Just give him a tour of the property and let him make his pitch. Then if you still don't want to sell, don't sell. It's your decision and you have nothing to lose making an informed decision.”

Earl Hammel was younger than Senna had imagined, in his early fifties, with the bronzed complexion and athletic physique of one who spent much time out of doors, except for the diamond the size of a grape flashing in his ring. He shook her hand as Tim introduced them. “I'll tell you straight off that I like the place already, from what I saw from the air,” he said. “And Jack here tells me the Atlantic salmon fishing on this river is outstanding.”

“Then you've already met my business partner, Jack Hanson. You'll have lunch with us, of course,” Senna said. She knew she was supposed to smile, always smile, but she'd never felt less like smiling as she studiously avoided Jack's gaze and led Tim and Earl up the ramp to where guests were already converging in the dining room and exchanging fishing stories. This was hardly the time to be discussing business, and she was grateful that Tim and Earl Hammel joined the other guests at the table and allowed her to help Goody with the midday meal. She was taking a pan of fresh biscuits from the oven when Jack walked past the kitchen window, heading toward the guides' camp. She yearned after
him, filled with a peculiar sickness that made her tremble all over.

“Here, now, lass, you'll burn yourself, standing there with that hot pan,” Goody warned, and Senna set the pan on the counter.

“I'll be right back,” she promised, dashing out the door and racing down the porch steps. “Jack!” she called out. “Jack, wait, we need to talk!”

He paused in mid stride and waited for her to approach. “You don't need to say anything,” he said. “Just do what you have to do.”

“I didn't know they were coming. I'm sorry,” Senna said, her heart aching at the stoniness of his expression.

Jack shrugged. “It would have happened, sooner or later. Today, tomorrow, what difference does it make? This place is special and there are people out there who would snap it up in an instant. There's just one thing I'd ask. Let the summer run itself out. Don't close on the property until we've finished up the season. Don't disappoint Ida Snell. She was counting on going fishing with me this afternoon.”

“Jack, wait!” Senna said as he turned and continued on. She rushed after him, reaching for his arm, and was startled by the vehemence of his response. He spun around and raised both hands in a warning gesture.

“Don't,” he said. “I can't do this. I told you before, you have to decide what you want. I can't make you buy into this dream. I was wrong to think I could. I was wrong to try.”

“No, no, you weren't. I didn't want Hammel to come here. I don't want to sell to him!”

He stared. “You don't?”

“No, but he's here so I'm going to listen to what he has to say, and then I'm going to tell him how I feel.”

“If you really meant that about keeping your half of the business, Senna, you'd tell him before lunch,” Jack said, turning on heel once again. This time he didn't stop when Senna called his name. She knew he wouldn't. She also knew he was right. She should march over to the lodge and call Thunder Air to come pick Tim and Hammel up. But why did Jack tell Hammel that the Wolf was a first-class salmon river? Why? Why would he want Hammel to like the place?

Feet dragging and heart on the ground, she returned to the lodge to help Goody with the rest of the meal. She felt numb as she moved between the kitchen and the dining room. Smiling, always smiling, pleasant to the guests in spite of her inner agony. Did Jack want to get rid of her? Was he hoping that she'd sell to Hammel?

Senna arranged fruit on one platter, cookies and other assorted sweets on another, and was heading for the dining room when Jack crossed by the kitchen window again, on his way back down to the boats. He had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and she stood at the window long enough to watch him toss it inside his plane. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach intensified.

She carried the desserts into the dining room and set them on the sideboard, but when she returned to the kitchen she couldn't see Jack on the dock, nor did she see him after lunch, except to catch a glimpse as he and Charlie loaded the next group of clients and their gear into the boats. Ida had opted out of the afternoon fishing to play cribbage with Bert. Goody had retired to the cook's cabin for her restorative afternoon nap and Tim
dogged Senna's footsteps as she cleaned up the kitchen and prepped for afternoon tea.

“I'm really sorry about showing up this way,” he said again. “I didn't realize how much work this was for you. I just want you to know that we brought a tent. We don't expect to sleep at the lodge.”

“That's wise of you, since there are no rooms,” Senna said. Her patience with Tim was running thin.

“Earl would really like to go out on the river after the tour of the lodge. He'd like to experience the fishing first-hand before he makes any solid decisions.”

“Right now we're short on guides, Tim. There isn't anyone who can take him. And what decisions? I'm not selling.”

“Talk to him first, Senna,” Tim pleaded. “He's waiting in the living room. Just talk. That's all. Earl's really a nice guy. I realize you've been through a lot in the past few weeks. You've been run ragged, that's plain to see. Take ten minutes to sit down and listen to him.”

“I have to get things ready for tea,” Senna said.

“Ten minutes,” Tim said. “Then, if you don't like what you hear, we'll leave in the morning. Senna, I only want what's best for you. For what it's worth, I'm only trying to help you settle your grandfather's estate in the fastest and most profitable way.”

“I know that, but…”

“Ten minutes,” Tim repeated, and after a long pause, Senna gave a reluctant nod.

 

T
HE AFTERNOON SEEMED ENDLESS
to Jack, plying the boat through the lower rapids and into good, deep holding water, advising the clients on which flies to use, pointing out the most promising pools, holding conver
sations about Atlantic salmon, arctic char, grilse, pike, and brook trout, trying to be engaging when all he could think about were Tim and Hammel showing up at the lodge unannounced, flying in as if they already owned the place and making themselves to home. And Senna, pretending she knew nothing about it. Did everything they'd shared together in the past two weeks mean nothing to her at all?

No way in hell was he hanging around to watch her entertain them. He'd fly to the lake house, spend the night there, and pick up George first thing in the morning. While his thoughts churned, one of his clients hooked into a twenty-pound Atlantic salmon and played it to the net, holding it up briefly for a picture before releasing it back into the clear, swift water. Fly rods whipped back and forth with great enthusiasm after this. The hours dragged on. Tim and Senna were back at the lodge together. Talking. Or maybe not talking. Maybe they were making up for a two-week dry spell.

Queasy thought.

The sun lowered ever so slowly. Happy hour finally beckoned, and he motored his clients back upriver to the lodge, helped them onto the dock, and was dismayed to see Tim and Earl coming down the ramp as the guests ascended. Earl Hammel didn't beat around the bush.

“I've had the tour of the lodge and I'd really like to try the river before sundown,” he said. “I'll pay you three hundred bucks, American, for two hours of your time.”

“Does that cover both of you?”

Tim shook his head. “I don't fish.”

Great. Tim would stay behind with Senna. The bastard knew how to sink the knife deep and twist it. Jack
wanted to refuse but he knew he couldn't. Earl Hammel wanted to buy the lodge, and if he'd been given a tour and was standing here asking to go out on the river, apparently Senna, in spite of her statement to the contrary, must have decided to sell. “All right,” Jack said, more curtly than he intended. “We'll go out right after supper.”

After they left to join the other guests for drinks in the living room, Jack neatened the boat, readied the gear, filled the gas tank. He puttered around on the dock feeling about as low as he ever had, then wandered back to the guides' cabin to feed the dogs. Charlie had beaten him back with his own boatload of clients and was reading on his bunk. When Jack entered the cabin he glanced over. “Five big salmon, two huge pike,” he said around an exaggerated yawn.

Jack scowled. “You win only because I was distracted. I don't suppose you fed the dogs.”

“Not yet. I was about to.”

“Yeah, right.” Jack fed and watered the dogs, cleaned the dog yard, returned to the cabin and poured himself a hefty shot of whiskey. He drank it sitting on the wall bench outside the cabin, staring bleakly down at the river. Senna would be in the kitchen with Goody, getting supper ready to go, and no doubt Tim was hanging with her. Jack wasn't sure if it was the whiskey that burned in his stomach or his own bitter jealousy. He didn't go up to the lodge for a plate of food, but shared a can of beans with Charlie, then pushed away from the table and pulled on his hat. “I'm taking a client out for a couple of hours, then I'm heading for the lake house. I'll spend the night there and bring George Pilgrim back in the morning. Can you feed the dogs?”

“Sure,” Charlie said, not glancing up from his book.

“I mean, really feed them?”

“I'll feed them and water them,” he promised.

Earl Hammel was waiting on the dock, fly rod in hand. Not just any fly rod, but a custom made Thomas and Thomas. Everything Hammel wore or carried was of the finest quality. He didn't talk much as Jack turned the skiff upriver, opening the throttle and picking his way through the rapids, into a broad, calm stretch, then around several bends to a place where ledges hemmed both sides and the current was swift.

“Try under that shallow rock overhang there,” Jack said, throttling back just enough to keep the boat moving slowly forward until he could set anchor.

“That doesn't look like a very promising spot to me,” Hammel commented, but he stripped off some line and made a cast. Ten minutes later, after a long and tiring fight, he landed and released a twenty-eight-pound Atlantic salmon. Jack continued up the river to a deep holding pool at the foot of another set of rapids, where Hammel hooked into five different big fish in an hour of casting. He was a cool customer, but in the end he couldn't contain his enthusiasm when he heard the distant howl of a wolf echoing across the black spruce forest.