Awe-Struck: A Wolf in Winter, romance suspense, preview

Chapter One

"Girls, they just wanna have fun...

Oh, girls, they just wanna to have fun."

Gyrating to the beat, chestnut ponytail bouncing, Mikey howled along with the old Cindi Loper tape as she stirred the pot of chili bubbling on the gas range. The gloom of a winter's twilight was spreading through the rambling log lodge. But, intent on her cooking, she'd barely noticed.

"Mmmm! Perfect!" she sighed as she breathed in its aroma.

Happiness means many things to different people, but to Michaela Dunn it was the just-right smell of her cooking. She was humming and still swiveling her hips in time to the music a few minutes later as she pulled on a pair of oven mitts and bent to remove an apple pie from the oven.

"Ahhh!" Carefully she lifted out the golden brown dessert and inhaled the pungency of cinnamon and apples. "Wonderful!"

Then she felt the draft on her back. And her heart froze.

The pie still in her hands, she whirled. A man stood in the open doorway; a big man silhouetted by a nimbus of outdoor light that made it impossible for her to see him in detail. Tall and broad shouldered, he wore a fur hat, mukluks, and a parka and seemed to fill the opening as much with his presence as his size.

"How long have you been standing there?" she yelled above the blaring music. Her heart, once more back in motion, was hammering. She'd been dangerously careless. It could have been him.

"How long have you been feeling a draft?" he yelled back. He stepped inside, shut the door, and pulled the hat from his head to reveal thick, too-long, curly black hair. As he moved further into the room, into the circle of light created by the bulb above the stove, she saw he sported several days' growth of beard.

"Hadn't you better put that pie down?" he shouted. "It must be hot."

He was right. She felt the heat seeping through her oven mitts and turned hastily away to place the Pyrex plate on a cooling rack. Then she reached across the counter to turn off the ghetto blaster.

"Even if this is a snowmobile stop, you could have knocked," she snapped, her tone returning to normal. Relief dissolved into annoyance as she turned back to face him.

"Norm and Ida never had that stipulation." In the sudden quiet, his voice dropped to a normal speaking tone as he tugged off his mitts and threw them onto the nearest of the twelve rock maple tables.

"You know my aunt and uncle?"

"It's pretty hard to live around here and not know the only inn keepers in thirty miles."

"Inn keepers?" The description seemed as out of place as his clothes. No snowmobiler worthy of the sport would be caught dead in his duds. Neck to toe black leather topped off with balaclavas and crash helmets was their uniform. Except that his parka and boots were L. L. Bean all the way, this guy looked like a close relative of Nanook of the North.

"What would you call this place?" He waved a hand about at the chinked log sides, the big field stone fireplace surrounded by couches and arm chairs at the far end of the room, the rock maple tables and chairs in the restaurant section in which they stood in front of the counter and kitchen area, and the snowshoes hanging on wooden pegs along the walls. "It offers food and shelter to travelers, albeit not the old-fashioned horse and carriage type. That fits my definition of an inn."

He looked down at her and suddenly she was aware of his eyes as gray and intense as the February frost on the windowpanes. For a moment she was mesmerized. Suddenly he seemed as much a part of the winter wilderness as the snow-crusted trees and frozen lake outside her door. But it was only for a moment. Then she shook herself free of fantasizing and managed a reply.

"I hadn't thought of it that way." She turned back into the kitchen behind the counter that stretched across the rear of the room, picked up the spoon to stir the simmering chili, and felt embarrassment begin to seep over her. How much of her ridiculous musical performance had he witnessed? "Will you be staying for supper, Mr....?"

"Travis Harding. Are you expecting other guests?"

He threw the fur hat carelessly onto a table and Mikey felt a wave of revulsion wash over her. She hated the fact that people still killed animals for their pelts. Maybe this man was a trapper. The idea disgusted her and she had to remind herself quickly that he was a guest, one of her aunt's and uncle's customers and entitled to civil treatment no matter how heinous she thought his pursuits.

"No. Thursday is usually a slack day...at least that's what Uncle Norm told me." She forced aside her feelings and spoke civilly. "I'm getting food ready for the weekend. But," she glanced back over her shoulder at him. "You never can tell."

"In other words, don't count on our being alone?" She caught a glimmer of something she thought was a grin on his face. It subtly changed his appearance and made her realize that he might be tolerably good-looking under all that ragged stubble and uncombed hair.

"Something like that."

"Well, then, I'll accept your invitation." He turned and headed back outdoors. "I'll just see to the dogs first."

"Dogs?" Mikey formed the words with her lips, then scuttled across the room to look out a window by the door.

In the yard Travis Harding was freeing six huskies from a sled. Pink tongues lolling, they appeared too winded from a good run to bark. No wonder she hadn't heard his approach. Even with the music blasting, she'd have become aware of the roaring drone of a snowmobile.

But a dog sled! She still couldn't believe it. She wouldn't have thought that there were any true mushers left in the area. Her aunt and uncle hadn't mentioned any, and she felt certain that if dog sledders were common among their guests, they'd have let her know somewhere in their long list of instructions. This big, self-assured man had to be an exception.

As she watched him moving among the dogs, Mikey suddenly felt old stirrings and flinched. He was definitely a rebel, a renegade of some kind.

Wise up, Mikey, she gave herself a quick mental reprimand. You're twenty-nine years old now. It's time you put teenage attractions behind you. Anyway, just look at that hat. She glanced over her shoulder at it, lying on the table where he'd thrown it. That alone should be enough to turn you off on the guy.

As she returned her attention back to the man in the yard, he took five of the dogs, one at a time, to the side of the lodge that was sheltered from the wind. There he chained them to hooks in the lee of the building. She'd seen the metal fasteners on her arrival two days ago, but had been too engrossed with the tasks that had to be done immediately to ponder their significance. Now they reassured her. He had to be a welcome visitor, someone her uncle and aunt had provided for.

She continued to watch as he took bowls and food from the sled. Then, using an outdoor tap near the back door for the latter, he proceeded to feed and water the animals. After he'd given each dog a pat and a few words, he turned back toward the lodge door, the sixth and largest husky at his heels. Not wanting to be caught spying on him, Mikey hurried back to her meal preparations.

"Do you mind dogs?" Stamping snow from his feet, he stepped back inside. "Norm and Ida always let Doc come in, but if you're afraid..."

"Afraid!" She looked up from setting the plank table nearest the counter. "I love animals. Hi, Doc. Are you hungry? I've got some killer chili."

"Not for him, thanks." He knelt and placed one of two bowls he carried on the floor. It was filled with kibble. As the big dog dug into its food, the man arose and extended the other container to her. "But he would enjoy some of your excellent water. Doc is my lead dog and deserves the best."

"And my chili isn't?" She paused in setting out fresh baked bread and a square of butter.

"Not for him, but if it tastes half as good as it smells, it'll be perfect for me."

"Fine. Have a seat." She took the bowl from him, then went to the sink to fill it while he removed his jacket and hung it on a peg near the door.

"Mind if I wash up first?" he asked as she placed the water beside the dog.

"Go ahead. You probably know the way."

As she straightened up she found herself staring at broad shoulders and a muscular chest neatly encased in an Eddy Bauer turtleneck. Wow, she thought. Then she realized he was looking at her with equal interest.

"What?" She struggled for innocence as he paused, gray eyes unexpectedly bringing her to a startling, slow melt.

"Just thinking all serving wenches should wear designer jeans and green cashmere sweaters that match their eyes."

"Serving wench? Try hostelry manager, bud." She crossed her arms resolutely on her chest.

"Manager? Where are Norm and Ida? Are they okay?" There was no mistaking the concern in his words.

"Uncle Norm is fine. Aunt Ida's resting comfortably at her sister's in Moncton. The doctor says it'll be six weeks before she can get her cast replaced with one she can walk around in. Naturally Uncle Norm is staying with her...at least for a couple of weeks."

"Cast? What happened?"

"She took a bad fall last Sunday evening when she was out for a walk near the lake. A snowmobile nearly ran her down. She slipped on a patch of ice when she was trying to avoid it, fell, and broke her leg in two places."

"Some of the guys riding those things are jerks! I hope you had him charged."

"It was a sort of hit and run. He didn't actually hit her, but he kept going, without stopping to see if she was hurt."

"Irresponsible bum!" Travis snorted in disgust.

"I agree. They air-lifted her by helicopter to the hospital in Moncton. She's on the mend now, but someone had to take care of this place...it is the height of the snowmobile season, you know."

"So you're who from where?"

"Michaela Dunn...Mikey...from Toronto."

"That explains the get-up." He turned and headed down a corridor to the left of the fireplace.

"Get-up?" She looked down at her clothes. And chuckled. He must be assuming she dressed like this all the time. In her surprise at his entrance she'd forgotten she'd been trying on the outfit she'd bought for apres-ski on her aborted vacation at Whistler, British Columbia. She'd only planned to come out for a moment to check on the chili and pie. His arrival had delayed her plans to change back into her working clothes.

She glanced at the simmering pot, decided she didn't want to risk a stain on the expensive sweater, and headed for her bedroom. When she returned, he was helping himself.

"Thought you'd gone back for the bright lights," he said, concentrating on filling his bowl.

"I decided to change," she said, going to the counter on his left to set up the coffee percolator. "I don't want to get chili on a brand new outfit I was just trying out."

"You sure did...change, that is." He looked at her as he turned away from the stove and stopped short.

She had to stifle a grin at the surprise in his face as he stared at her faded Levi's and oversized purple sweatshirt with a dolphin leaping across its front. Beneath it, the caption read, "Save me."

"A total enigma, right?"

"Possibly." He carried his bowl to the table and sat down. "Why don't you join me? I 'd like to hear the entire story of how a lady with an outfit that would cost a couple of weeks' wages in a place like this ended up dishing out chili in the middle of nowhere. I think there's more to it than helping out an aunt and uncle who could have gotten temporary staff a lot closer than TO"

"Okay." She took a dish from the cupboard, filled it, and sat down opposite him. Why not give this guy something to think about? After all, it wasn't a secret. Her family and friends had known about it for years. "But I'm warning you, one of the reasons may seem like something straight out of a Stephen King novel."

"I don't terrify easily."

"Really? Then try this on for size." She settled back comfortably, emerald eyes narrowing, as she looked him over assessingly. This could be fun she thought. Aside from possibly keeping this big gorilla at bay, her story might even knock the socks off the nosy, smart-mouthed critter. "I'm possessed of special powers...fey, as my Scottish grandmother preferred to call it. I can see into people's souls. I can tell if they're lying or telling the truth, if they're good or evil."

He stared at her for a moment, then reached for a slice of bread. "Yeah, right."

"No, really. It's the other reason I ended up here...aside from Aunt Ida's accident. I'd just been suspended from the law firm where I worked for refusing to defend a client I knew to be guilty of an especially heinous crime."

"You mean to say I'm sitting in front of you in my psychological underwear?" He paused in buttering his bread to look over at her, quirking an eyebrow.

"Worse."

"Yeah, right," he repeated, but shifted slightly on his chair before he returned to his meal. "Good joke. I suppose if I make any wrong moves, you'll zap me into another dimension?"

"Okay, laugh. I'd hardly expect Grizzly Adams in an Eddy Bauer turtleneck to understand." She began to stir the food in the steaming bowl in front of her with more vigor than necessary.

"Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble," he muttered as he bent over his own food.

With a supreme effort she managed to ignore him.

"This is good." He looked up, his eyes widening after his first taste.

"You sound surprised."

"A big city lawyer in a cashmere sweater with a self-admitted knowledge of the black arts...none of that adds up to a woman capable of making great backwoods, stick-to-your ribs chili."

"What were you expecting, something out of a can?"

"Maybe at first, but after what you've just told me I was ready for a concoction of eye of newt and wing of bat."

"Okay, mountain man, that's it!" Mikey jumped to her feet and rounded the table toward him.

"Or what? No more chili? Maybe you'll settle for simply putting a curse on all my unborn children?"

"Try severely damaging your ego as I throw you out into the snow!" Mikey faced him squarely, the hot Irish temper she'd inherited from her father's side splashing over the rim of her self-control.

"Tough talk...but just that." Before she knew what was happening, he'd spun her about and onto his lap.

"I just didn't think a pretty city woman like you would be able to cook," he said softly, sensuously, his lips only inches from her.

Mikey felt a rush of something she'd never before experienced. For a moment she sat where she landed, galvanized by something even stronger than her own special powers emanating from the depths of those frost-gray eyes.

But it was only for a moment. The next instant he unceremoniously dislodged her and returned to his food.

"If I hadn't just been enjoying your chili complete with garlic and onions..." he justified his action.

"Excuse me!" She stumbled to her feet, eyes blazing. "I wouldn't want to get betwixt a critter like you and the trough!"

"No problem." He dipped his spoon into the bowl. "I was just thinking you'd make a great Santa Claus. You'd always know for sure who'd been naughty or nice."

"Okay, that does it!" She whirled on him. "You may be a paying guest, but right now I'm the manager and I can refuse service to anyone I choose! So I'm refusing! Slap that hideous hat onto your head, harness up your hounds and get out!"

"I'm sorry." He looked up at her, his empty spoon on its way back to the bowl. "I let teasing get out of hand. If I apologize, may I stay? The dogs are winded. They've had a long hard run. Ralph May tried to run us off the trail on our way here and would have hit us with his snowmobile if Doc hadn't kept swerving and making the others fly."

"Ralph May?" Mikey felt a rush of something between fear and outrage flood through her veins. He was in the vicinity.

"You know him?" Travis Harding looked surprised.

"Before Uncle Norm and Aunt Ida bought this place, they had a house in town," she said. "I spent most of my summers there with them when I was a teenager. I knew Ralph and a lot of other local kids back then." She hoped he didn't catch the shudder she repressed as she spoke.

"Then you're no doubt aware of his fads and fancies." He put down his spoon and looked over at her. "Not a real nice guy."

"Definitely not a nice guy. Okay, you can stay. But only because of the dogs."

She looked over at Doc who'd stretched out in front of the fireplace after gulping down his supper. Now, as if sensing her acquiescence, he raised his head, looked over at her, flapped his tail a couple of times, then once more lowered his snout between his paws and closed his eyes.

"That's a definite thank you." Travis let a crooked grin curl up one corner of his mouth. "I didn't think you'd see my buddies mistreated. From that shirt you're wearing I deduced you're an animal advocate. Or at least, sympathetic to animal rights."

"But judging from your hat, you're not." She pointed to where it lay on a table near the door. She felt anger rise to fill every cavity of her body just looking at it.

"Fake." He arose, strolled across the room, and picked it up. "Read the label." He tossed it to her. "I don't believe in killing animals for their fur. There are enough excellent synthetics on the market to render the practice obsolete. So how about declaring a truce now we've found some common ground?" He shot her a crooked grin that was all too appealing for comfort.

"And I'm supposed to be the lawyer." She barely had to glance into the hat to see the words "synthetic fur" and "made in China" on its label before she threw it aside and returned to her seat. "Okay, truce, but be advised, I'm only letting you stay because of the dogs."

"On behalf of Doc and his crew, I thank you." He returned to his chair and sat down. "And I'm sorry for kidding you about your special powers. Actually I do believe we all have another sense or intuition, whatever you want to call it. In some of us, like yourself, it's simply more acutely developed. I can see how that kind of ability could be a detriment in a criminal law office, though. Any desire to go back to it...after you've finished here?"

"I don't know." She looked at him suspiciously, but saw no insincerity in his expression. Nor sensed any. "My becoming a lawyer was my father's idea," she continued returning to her meal. "I had other aspirations...once."

"Which were?"

"Nothing very exciting." She shrugged. She wasn't ready to share any more personal information he could taunt her about. "What about Travis Harding? What does he do when he's not mushing across the frozen wilds of Northern New Brunswick? I don't imagine that lifestyle furnishes much of an income...unless you're into living feral, that is."

"I'm a writer," he said. "Does a piece of that apple pie and a cup of coffee come with the meal?"

"A writer?" She headed for the counter to get their dessert. "What exactly do you write? Something I might have read?"

"Hardly. Men's adventure stuff."

"The three g's?"

"Three 'g's?" he repeated.

"You know...guns, girls, and gore?" She turned back to him, the pie lifter in her hand.

"Oh, yeah, right. That kind of thing."

"As Travis Harding or do you have one of those really wild, macho pen names like Rock Hard or Mace Magnum?" She plopped a large slab of pie onto a saucer and poured coffee into a thick white mug.

"I use a pseudonym," he said. "This looks great," he continued with alacrity as she placed the rest of meal in front of him.

"Which is?" She returned to the counter for her own coffee and dessert.

"What?" He launched himself into the pastry.

"Oh, for heaven's sake! Your pen name!" His hedging was beginning to get to her.

"I'd rather not say. You might have actually seen some of my stuff in book stores and then you'd really feel uneasy having me around."

"That bad, huh?" She sat down opposite him and pushed her fork through the pie's flaky crust.

"Yeah, well, it sells. Keeps me in bacon and beans." He reached for the sugar in the center of the table and ladled a spoonful into his coffee. "Got any cream?"

"What, you mean a tough guy like you doesn't take it strong and black?" She arose and went to the refrigerator.

"I never said I was a tough guy. I just said I write about them. By the way, this pie is great; world class in fact."

"Do you really think so? Not too much cinnamon?" Enthusiasm made her words race as she returned to the table, a small pitcher in one hand. "I never use nutmeg...I find it overpowering...hinders the natural tang of the fruit. What do you think?"

"Sorry. I'm no expert on spices...or haute cuisine. All I have is a well-developed sense of taste that tells me everything about this meal is exactly as it should be."

"That's as good a compliment as any." Feeling slightly flushed by his praise, she let a smile tip up her lips.

It had grown dark while they'd been eating and now the lodge was filled with dusky corners and shallow splashes of illumination. In the shadows caused by the single light above the stove, the man with his long, curly hair and ragged stubble of beard appeared suddenly mysterious, maybe even dangerous. Mikey felt a little shiver of excitement dust over her. He was arousing old, hazardous desires. Instantly she stifled them. Good Lord, hadn't her taste matured at all over the past ten years?

"I'll bank the fire for the night," he said abruptly. He finished off his coffee and stood up. "Then I'll refuel the generator."

"Thanks," she said, beginning to collect their dishes. "You can put another log on the fire, but I checked the generator just before you arrived, before it got dark."

"Good idea." He crossed the room and removed the screen from the fireplace. "It's probably not wise for you to be outside alone after nightfall, especially with guys like Ralph May prowling around." He took a hefty log from the big wood box beside the hearth and placed it into the dying embers.

Mikey paused and found herself admiring the way the muscles of his back and shoulders tightened beneath his black sweater.

"Point taken," she said as he replaced the fire screen and she returned to her chores.

"Can I help you clean up?" He turned back toward her.

"No, of course not! You're a guest. Sit down and enjoy the fire...with Doc." She indicated the couch, love seat and overstuffed chairs surrounding the hearth. "I just have to load these things into the dishwasher and put the food away. It'll only take a few minutes."

"Okay. Thanks. But first, I'll settle my team for the night. They've had enough time for necessary outdoor activities by now. Norm has a corner of the generator shed boarded off and filled with straw for them." He began to gather up his outerwear.

"Go ahead." Mikey paused in clearing the table. "I've heard huskies can tolerate being left outside in sub zero temperatures, but I can't help thinking they wouldn't object to at least basic creature comforts."

"I agree." He paused at the door, pulled something from his pocket, and turned back to show her several bone-shaped biscuits in his hand. "For my group, that includes a bedtime snack."

Then he pulled open the door and stepped out into the night, Doc prancing about him, eyes bright and alert since his master had taken the dog treats from his pocket.

Well, well, Mikey thought as she began to load the dishwasher. A wild man of the north who writes novels full of sex and violence, yet who doesn't believe in trapping and feeds his sled dogs Milk Bones; a man who can act like a macho jerk one minute, then offer to help tidy the kitchen the next.

He was definitely a puzzle; a puzzle that was very nicely packaged in a great body and, maybe, under all the beard and hair, a half decently attractive face. Those terrific gray eyes had already done a job on a lot of her resolves.

Mikey was finishing up in the kitchen when he returned, Doc at his heels.

"It's one cold night," he said, pulling off his mitts and jacket. "A good time to curl up in front of a fire."

"Help yourself." Mikey indicated the fireplace at the far end of the room.

"Thanks. Come on, Doc. The lady has just made us an offer we'd be fools to refuse."

"Warm enough?" she asked a few minutes later when she'd finished her chores and was crossing the room to join him.

Her answer was a soft snore.

Rounding the couch, she saw him stretched full length on it, gray-stocking feet propped up on a pillow at one end, his head on a cushion at the other. His dog lay on the floor beside him. In jeans and that black turtleneck, the man's body was long and lean and muscular, the hair and beard only adding that touch of untamed earthiness that could appeal to her much too much if she gave it half a chance.

No way, Michaela, she told herself sharply. For once ignore your instincts. All they've ever done is get you into trouble. This character isn't any mysterious man of the wilderness. He's just a pulp fiction writer who produces such garbage he's ashamed of it himself. Any adventures he'll ever have will only be in his convoluted little mind.

She took one of her aunt's Afghans from the back of a nearby chair, and shook it out. She was about to spread it over her guest when a soft, rumbling growl from the big dog on the hearth stopped her. He'd lifted his head and was gazing at her through narrowed eyes, one of which she saw for the first time was ice blue, the other walnut brown.

Carefully she let one corner of the blanket fall. Then, with her free hand, she slowly raised a finger to her lips. The dog watched her a few seconds longer, then with a satisfied sigh once more lowered his muzzle between his paws and closed his mismatched eyes. Apparently given his approval, Mikey proceeded to lay the blanket carefully over the sleeping man.

He grunted and moved slightly, but almost immediately resettled to sleep. As Mikey paused to look down at him, she recognized exhaustion in his features and remembered what he'd said about his encounter with Ralph May. Apparently some people didn't change, she thought as she crossed the room to lock up for the night. She felt the old, all-too-familiar feelings of revulsion and fear start to rise in a nauseating wave. With a major thrust of will power, she forced them under control and continued with her chores.

At the window beside the door, she paused and looked out across the snow-covered lawn to the lake lying frozen at the base of the mountains beyond. In the moonlight, everything looked pristine and peaceful.

Suddenly stuffy courtrooms and people with heinous crimes on their uncaring consciences seemed far away, only something she wanted to forget. She pulled the elastic band from her ponytail and shook her thick, chestnut hair free to cascade about her shoulders in a soft tangle of waves and curls. Maybe she could be happy here, not just in the short term but...

Suddenly, a coyote howled. Its long, mournful note brought her upright, startled her out of her daydreams, as she remembered there was a serious danger for her in this country; a danger that could threaten her life if she wasn't careful.

With a sigh, she turned from the window and headed for the hallway that led to the bedrooms. As she passed the fireplace, she paused and glanced back at the earthy man sleeping on the couch, his features veiled in the flickering shadows of the flames dying on the hearth. Damn, he was appealing. And that definitely wasn't good. Ralph May had had that effect once, too, and look what had happened.

Well, she was a big girl now. A big girl, if not in actual physical size, large in maturity and readiness for whatever men like him might try. Years in a courtroom and several months of basic self defense training had left her confident she could deal with Ralph May. She could handle Travis Harding, too, she thought, shoving aside the memory of how easily he'd pulled her onto his lap, how instantly he'd made her respond to his blatant virility.

She, Michael Dunn, was tough as nails and sharp as a tack she told herself. These backwoods bumpkins didn't have a prayer. Trying to feel confident and empowered, she snapped off the last light and headed for bed.

Chapter Two

Dawn was graying the winter sky as Travis Harding crossed the silent dooryard. The snow, crisp from a bitterly cold night, crunched beneath his boots and he glanced furtively back over his shoulder toward the lodge. He wondered if Mikey had heard him leaving. He'd been as quiet as he could, but he had no idea if she were a light sleeper. After all the lies he'd told last night, he just wanted to get away to think things through, to figure out why this woman he'd known only a few hours had inspired him to act like a complete ass.

Maybe it had been because she'd come as such a complete surprise he thought, visions of her shapely little body gyrating to that wild music still working in his head. He'd better stop fantasizing and be quick about it. The mess he'd gotten himself into last winter should have convinced him once and for all that beautiful, clever, sophisticated women weren't for him.

As he entered the shed, the dogs got to their feet, stretching and yawning, their welcoming whines warning him they were about to burst into an all-out vocal greeting. He held a finger to his lips, a gesture he'd taught them to mean silence. Then he went back to his thoughts as he moved among them and reached for their harness.

And she was a Toronto lawyer to boot. At first he'd thought she was local. Hair pulled back into a ponytail and a face that looked as fresh-scrubbed as something out of a beauty soap commercial had fooled him. That first get-up she'd been wearing, however, should have sent him an entirely different message. It was big-city all the way.

Nevertheless, as he slid the straps about Doc, he couldn't help grinning. She was a lot of fun, he thought, recalling their bantering and how he'd managed to pull her onto his lap as a climax. The move had worked so well he'd amazed himself. That self-defense course his mother had insisted he take when he'd been traveling regularly to Toronto had finally proven its worth. Luckily he'd come up with that excuse about chili and onions that had gotten her off his knee post haste. Otherwise, that Toronto attorney would have known just how deeply she was affecting him.

And that bit about being a writer. When he'd first decided to come here, he'd made up that crazy explanation in case anyone questioned him. Until yesterday no one had. Until yesterday no one had been as curious or direct as the little counselor from TO.

Well, he'd really laid it on when the time came, hadn't he? Her calling him Mountain Man must have released every last drop of machismo in his body. Even as he'd heard himself mouthing the words, he couldn't believe he, Travis Harding, was saying them. He hadn't talked like that since he'd been a teenager, out to impress the hottest girl in his class. Now he was trapped in his tall tales. Man of Wilderness, Dashiell Hammett-type writer, right! If she only knew!

But what the hell. Why not impress this smart-mouthed, self-proclaimed clairvoyant/big city attorney with a few exaggerations? It could be fun, a bit of a diversion from the solitude he'd thought he craved a few months ago. She'd be gone back to TO before she had time to learn the truth. And with Ralph May in the vicinity he thought, becoming serious, it might be a good idea for him to stay close by; at least for a little while.

"Hey, easy, down, girl!" Happy, his largest female, knocked all solemn thoughts aside as she leaped up to smother him with kisses. He threw the harness over her wiggling body, then let his thoughts go back to Mikey Dunn.

She puzzled him as much as she turned him on...on a purely physical level. He'd been astonished at how his compliment on her cooking had made the outwardly cool, sharp-tongued lady instantly dissolve into a passionate culinary enthusiast. Her face, brightened by his praise, stuck in his mind. Adjectives like sweet, wholesome, and sincere flashed across his mind. Then, cognizant as he was by big-city female lawyers, he quickly drew a mental slash through all of the above.

"Come on, guys, it's time we hit the trail," he said, leading the harnessed team out to the sled. "And let's be quiet about it, okay? No need to wake the lady of the house."

They muttered and whined quietly as he hooked them up. It was almost as if they knew how important their silence was to their master; almost as if they knew he was afraid of his response if he were forced to face a warm, sleep-tosseled clairvoyant, chestnut hair freed from its pony tail tumbling about her shoulders, with powers that he was beginning to suspect might include those of a succubus.

He turned the team up the trail and jumped onto the runners. He'd let them pull him for a bit to take the edge off their exuberance. They enjoyed a good workout as much as he enjoyed the rush through the cold white morning behind six happy, healthy dogs doing what they'd been bred to do, the only sound breaking the pristine silence, the swish of the runners and the occasional snap of frost in the trees.

At moments like these, he felt completely at peace with the country, the dogs, and himself. Big cities and business suits and a woman named Jennifer seemed remote and foreign, from another place and time. At moments like these, he couldn't believe how committed he'd once been to all three.

Abruptly he swung the dogs to the right, along a trail exclusively theirs, one they knew well. He'd felt a sudden desire to visit the deeryard and see how they were faring. A quarter mile farther along, he halted the dogs, tied them and donned the bear paw snowshoes he always carried in his sled.

"Wait here," he said to Doc. "I won't be long."

He set off over his previous tracks; tracks that led down into a gully where a brook, by sheer virtue of its swiftness, stayed open all winter. He moved slower as he approached an area under a protective canopy of tall cedars and pines, where the tender tips of small hardwoods stuck up through the snow, and narrow, well trampled trails led in and out among them. Scattered along these paths were frequent depressions where an animal had lain during the night.

Pausing on a little rise, he surveyed the scene and felt a grin pulling at his lips as he remembered his sister's idea that a deeryard was a place where deer cuddled up together, like puppies in a whelping box. She'd been amazed when he'd told her such an area could cover several acres with the animals spread throughout.

As he watched, a doe carefully emerged from behind a clump of young spruce. Alert and ready to flee, she paused to sniff the air before bounding gracefully over to nibble a softwood tip.

Slowly others began to reveal themselves until nearly a dozen were within his view. Travis watched, enthralled as always, by their gentle beauty. Then, carefully, as quietly as he could and keeping downwind of the herd, he moved away, toward the brook. He didn't want to chance frightening them, scaring them out of their sanctuary of paths and trails, into deep snow where they'd be vulnerable to predators even though he knew they'd become relatively comfortable with him over the previous months.

All appeared to be well with the herd as he walked away, but he thought he'd just check the brook, make sure it was still open to provide them with drinking water. If it weren't, the hatchet he carried on his belt would soon remedy the situation. As he strode along, Mikey returned to his thoughts. Maybe he should have invited her to come along to visit the deer. Maybe he would some day soon. He had a gut feeling she'd appreciate their graceful, innocent beauty as much as he did.

He was nearing its bank, could hear the reassuring chuckle of water over stones when he saw the amber body lying in the snow. He felt an all-too familiar sickening knot forming in his belly as he moved to kneel beside the red fox laying dead in the snow, the heinous jaws of a leg-hold trap clamped onto its torn right front paw.

The animal had died of excruciating pain, sub-zero temperatures, and sheer terror locked in a desperate battle to free itself. A choking lump of disgust and outrage filled the back of his throat. He remembered himself as a ten-year-old boy finding his beloved Collie dying in a similar trap. The horror of the moment had never left him. Now, as always, its memory suffused him with a hot, blinding fury against traps and trappers. Gently, he reached down to stroke the small, dead body in a final act of kindness, tears stinging his eyes.

"Rest in peace," he breathed.

Carefully he removed the trap from the animal's leg. When he'd finished, he used his hatchet to chop the thing from its moorings.

"Rust in hell!" he roared seconds later as he flung the steel jaws into the brook.

Ralph May would pay for this atrocity and all the other atrocities he'd perpetrated on the area's wildlife he vowed. He'd see to it...personally.

* * *

Mikey was surprised to find him gone when she awoke. Money to cover the cost of supper and a room lay clamped under the coffee percolator. When she looked out into the yard she saw that a light, early morning snowfall still in progress had obliterated all tracks. It was almost as if he'd never existed, as if the man who'd come into her life surrounded by a halo of light had been nothing more than a figment of an overactive imagination in a lonely, isolated cabin. Well, she could blame that kind of thinking on her mother who dreamed up wild, handsome heroes for the romance novels she turned out like sausages.

But what a figment! Mikey turned away from the window and started to set up the coffee percolator, the memory of how his muscular body had felt when he'd pulled her onto his knee still making her tingle. The man had exuded a feral virility no Toronto attorney or CEO could in any way emulate. Mikey had never met the likes of Travis Harding and, although she certainly wasn't about to admit it to him, she'd thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

He'd probably never met the likes of Michaela Dunn, either. The idea made Mikey grin as she plopped bread into the toaster. After all, how many psychic lawyers/wilderness innkeepers could he possibly be acquainted with?

The sound of a snowmobile approaching brought her out of her thoughts and she returned to the window to see a machine with a provincial forestry symbol stop near the back step. She knew who its rider was even before she removed her helmet and shook her long, auburn hair free from a balaclava.

"Karen!" She dashed out onto the porch to envelop her long-time friend in a huge, sisterly hug. "It's great to see you! I was hoping you'd show up soon!"

She pushed her out appraisingly to arms' length. "Ah-huh. Still as disgustingly beautiful as ever, without even a touch of makeup. Do you know what most women have to go through to look even half as good as you?"

"You may be Scottish on your mother's side, but you're still full of Irish blarney from your dad, Mikey Dunn," Karen Wellsly laughed. "Come on, invite me in for breakfast. I've been on the trails since sunup with nothing but a single piece of toast and a half cup of black coffee to keep me going."

"So you can stay a while? Great!" Mikey drew her friend into the lodge and shut the door after them.

She and Karen had become friends during the summers she'd spent with Norman and Ida in town. Daring and as ready for a walk on the wild side as Mikey had been, Karen Wellsly had been her buddy as a teenager, and later her steady friend via marathon telephone calls and page-long e-mails.

Karen's life had been much different than Mikey's, however. Her father had died when she was twelve and her mother had had to struggle through years of low paying jobs to get her daughter through high school. Later, Karen had entered university to study forestry using student loans and bursaries to pay her way.

It hadn't been easy. Becoming a single mother during her first year had only served to further complicate things. Karen had managed, however, proudly refusing Mikey's offer of financial aid and graduating with honors three years later.

Karen had returned home to live with her mother who'd become her baby sitter while she took a job with the Department of Natural Resources. By that time, her daughter Melissa had been two and a half and Mikey had become her doting, absentee honorary aunt.

"How's Lissa?" Mikey headed for the stove to start breakfast as the ranger paused to remove her outerwear.

"Fine. She's looking forward to seeing Aunt Mikey. After that Christmas box you sent last December, she's convinced you have wings, a halo, and a magic wand. Really, Mikey, you shouldn't. Every year you get more extravagant."

"Oh, so you'd deprive me of some of the best fun of the Christmas season, would you?" Mikey took out a pot and oatmeal and measured water. "If it weren't for Lissa, I'd have no legitimate reason for haunting toy departments. I wouldn't know that Barbie's now a career woman and Ken is struggling to become a Renaissance man."

"Okay, okay." Karen chuckled as she took a seat at the table nearest the kitchen. "When can you come into town and have dinner with us? Mom would love to have your expert opinion on her latest pot roast recipe."

"Not for a while, I'm afraid." Mikey set the pot on the stove and added a sprinkle of salt and a cup of oatmeal. "I'm chief cook and bottle washer here until Uncle Norm and Aunt Ida can come back."

"How is Ida?"

"Recovering steadily, but it'll be weeks before she can work again." She turned back to face her friend and saw her gingerly rolling up a sleeve to reveal a red welt starting to purple into a large bruise on her forearm.

"What happened?" She moved quickly to the table and sat down across from her. "Karen, did you have a run-in with someone?"

"Run-in?" The ranger guffawed. "Yes, I guess you could call it that. I caught Ralph May in close proximity to a string of leg-hold traps. When I started to question him about them, he grabbed me by the wrist and twisted."

"You shouldn't have confronted him alone." Mikey was appalled at her friend's bravado. "You know what he's like, especially when he's angry."

"What choice did I have? I can't pick and choose the people I have to apprehend and the province doesn't provide enough funding for us to travel in pairs. We're expected to be able to handle any problems on our own."

Mikey heard the echo of weariness in Karen's tone and understood. These days wilderness protection in the province was a long way down the list of government priorities. Rangers were spread thin and expected to police areas alone twice as large as sections previously covered by officers traveling in pairs.

"I take it he didn't confess." Mikey kept her tone steady, but a nervous tick had begun in her stomach.

"Certainly not." Karen paused and rolled down her sleeve before she continued. "He tried to deny it, make a joke of the whole thing. When he saw his so-called charm wasn't working, he made a lunge for me."

"And now, I take it, he's either nursing a broken wrist or bruised ribs?" Mikey was trying to make light of it, trying to reassure herself with her knowledge of Karen's ability to defend herself, but the tick in her stomach was threatening to become a full-fledged peristalsis wave.

"Actually only a scratched cheek." Karen got to her feet and went to stare out the window into the brilliance of a winter sunrise that was sifting through the last lazy flakes of the light snow dusting that had begun at dawn. "When he grabbed my arm, my boot slipped on some ice. Before I could make a single move to defend myself, I fell flat on my back. All I could do was claw at him like some ridiculous melodramatic Victorian heroine when he dragged me to my feet. Damn!"

"Did you sustain any other injuries?" Mikey's words were thick, a little shaky and Karen turned quickly to face her.

"No," she said. "Only my arm and ego before I made him realize he could be charged with assaulting a law enforcement officer."

"And did you?" Mikey looked over at her friend.

"No." The word was another exhaled, exasperated sigh as she returned to the table. "With his brother-in-law the crown prosecutor, my charges would be dead in the water long before they got to court."

"Ralph May's sister is...Lucy...is married to the local crown prosecutor?" Mikey was astounded.

"Yes. His name is Colin Masters. His father held the position until his death. Then Colin returned to town to take it on."

"I don't remember his name. Did his family move into this area after I stopped spending my summer's here?"

"No, they're lifelong residents." Karen sat down, her face grim. "Colin was sent off to an aunt in Alberta just before you started coming down here for the summer. That's why you never met him. You didn't miss out on much." Contempt hung heavily in her tone.

"You don't like him, right?"

"My life would be a whole lot easier if I simply disliked the man. It's the fact that I can't respect him as a prosecutor or even trust him to deal fittingly with anyone I charge with an offense." Karen rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward to massage her temples with her fingertips. "Colin Masters is decidedly one huge headache for me."

"Sorry to hear that. A crooked prosecutor is worse than none. Fortunately they're few and far between."

"Unfortunately, I'm stuck with one of the minority." Karen sighed and returned her attention to her breakfast.

"So now I know about Ralph and his brother-in-law." Mikey stirred the oatmeal. "Can you bring me up to speed on another local?"

"Who?" Karen looked over at Mikey, surprised. "I hadn't thought you'd had time to develop an interest in anyone."

"Travis Harding. And I haven't developed an interest. I'm just curious."

"Travis? Oh." Karen stood and went to the coffee percolator, a knowing little smile tipping her lips. "So he's been to visit, has he?"

"Yes. And just what does that smug little 'oh' mean?"

"Come on, Mikey. It's me you're talking to." Karen was all-out grinning as she filled a cup. "I remember your penchant for handsome renegades. And Travis Harding certainly qualifies. Great body, right?"

"I'm nearly thirty, Karen, for heaven's sake. I've matured." Mikey tried to look indignant, but the next moment both women burst out laughing. "Yes, he has a great body," she agreed.

"And he's a social drop-out of some kind," Karen chuckled. "He's got a sophistication that didn't come from years in the back woods. Right up your street, Mikey Dunn."

"And yours, Karen Wellsly, don't deny it. I remember our misspent youth."

"Not any more." Karen was suddenly serious. "I've had my fill of good looking rebels. All I want now is a nice, decent man who'll make a good father for Melissa."

"I can appreciate that," Mikey nodded gravely and again bit back the urge to inquire about the child's father. "Travis Harding hardly qualifies, does he?"

"Well, he seems to be a genuinely nice man," Karen said slowly. She returned to her chair and took a sip of coffee.

"But?"

"But nobody around here seems to know anything about him...his past, where he came from, what he does for a living..."

"He's a writer," Mikey said, trying not to sound just a little triumphant at knowing more than most. "He writes men's detective-adventure stuff."

"Really?" Karen's eyebrows raised.

"What do you mean 'really'? Does it seem inconceivable that a great looking, outdoorsy type can do more than sign his name?"

"Mikey Dunn, you sound downright defensive. I do believe you're interested in our local hermit...on a purely intellectual basis, of course." Her eyes twinkling wickedly, Karen peered at her friend over the rim of her coffee cup as she raised it to her lips again.

"Can you seriously see me getting involved with some Nanook of the North type with no past and an iffy future as a fiction writer who lives next to feral in the backwoods?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Karen grinned. "Sorry I can't tell you any more about him. But then, maybe that would ruin the aura of mystery about him and tarnish a lot of his appeal."

"Karen..."

"I'd love to stay and talk but I've got miles and miles to patrol today."

Karen Wellsly rose and pulled on her jacket. "Thanks for breakfast. It was just what I needed. Not to mention the sympathetic companionship."

As she turned away to reach for her balaclava and mitts, the holstered gun at her belt bumped against the table.

"At least these days, you're armed." Mikey got up, too, and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

"For better or worse." Karen zipped up her jacket. "Unfortunately one party carrying a firearm sometimes begets the other party doing the same. I'd a lot rather wrestle with a man like Ralph May than shoot at him. Or have him shooting at me."

"Even if that wrestling deteriorates into a male-female thing?"

"Even if."

"You're a braver woman than I am, Ranger Wellsly." Mikey shook her head slowly.

"Not necessarily. I just dislike firearms. Now I really have to go." Karen pulled on her balaclava. "Like the poet said, 'miles to go before I sleep.'"

"Be careful. I'm sure you haven't seen the last of Ralph May." Mikey followed her friend to the door, then watched as she climbed onto her snowmobile and adjusted her helmet and mitts.

"Don't worry, I will. I'm no hero or masochist."

"Come back soon!" Mikey called as the ranger started the engine and waved good-bye. Then she went back inside to place another log on the fire. Her thoughts returned to Travis Harding as she replaced the spark screen. True, he was the best looking man she'd encountered in a good long time and great fun to spar with verbally. But, good Lord, a pulp fiction writer, backwoods recluse...

She gave herself a quick, mental shake. She had a mountain of chores before her and daydreaming about an earthy hermit didn't get them done.

Fifteen minutes later, she climbed onto one of the lodge's snowmobiles to make her daily trip to the ridge above the lodge to call her aunt and uncle. Cell phones wouldn't transmit from the valley by the lake. The sun had broken through the clouds and now lake, mountains, and forest, refreshed by the early morning flurries, glistened in its radiance. Mikey breathed deep and enjoyed the ambiance as she drove leisurely up the slope. It was going to be a great day.

"Hi, Uncle Norm. Guess who," she couldn't help teasing a few minutes later, knowing how he expected her call promptly at 10:00 a.m. each morning. She sat sidesaddle on her snowmobile and shook her ponytail free after being crushed beneath balaclava and helmet. "How's Aunt Ida?"

"Getting fidgety, so I guess that means she's on the mend." His voice boomed with strength and warmth as it always did. "How's everything at the lodge?"

"Couldn't be better." The phone crackled. "Uncle Norm, do you know Travis Harding?"

"Who? Oh, Travis. Yes, certainly. Seems to be a good young fella. Close-mouthed about himself, though. Has he visited you?"

"Yes. He had supper at the lodge yesterday and stayed the night." The phone stuttered, seriously this time, then lost contact for a couple of seconds.

"...worry...cause trouble..."

Her uncle's words scrambled in a sea of static. Why hadn't she remembered to recharge the thing? There was just so much to do, to remember to keep on top of everything alone up here.

"You're fading, Uncle Norm. I'm going to ring off. Talk to you tomorrow. "She couldn't catch his reply. With an exasperated sigh, she punched "end" and shoved the phone into her pocket. So much for modern technology in the bush.

But there were definite compensations she thought as she paused to gaze out over the panorama of snow-frosted trees glistening in the sun. In the valley at the bottom of the trail with a thin trickle of smoke rising from the fieldstone chimney rising slightly south of the middle of its snow-covered roof, the log lodge beside the frozen lake looked rustic and welcoming.

At the back was the sunroom which Norm and Ida left open with a fire in the propane fireplace and food and coffee on a table if they both had to be absent from the lodge. They made certain no snowmobiler would come to their place seeking food and shelter and not find it.

Only a corner of the combination snowmobile barn and generator shed sheltered beneath tall pines behind the main building was visible from her vantage point, but it was much larger than the inn itself. Beyond it, completely hidden in the trees, was the storehouse that held gas and oil for sale to the guests. A big operation for one person to run, Mikey thought, but she owed it to her uncle and aunt...more than they knew.

Actually the job was not without its perks. Mikey had to admit she liked everything about MacTavish lodge...its natural beauty, its sense of independence as it stood alone in this pristine wilderness, and the freedom it allowed her to be exactly what she always wanted to be. She could be...no, strike that...she was happy here.

And that was all wrong. She was a criminal defense attorney, a big city career woman who had no right to feel this contented dishing out chili, replacing toilet paper rolls, changing sheets, and pumping gas. Her father had been appalled when she'd agreed to do it even briefly, even during what he'd termed the re-evaluation sabbatical he'd forced upon her

"I don't approve of your running off to the backwoods of New Brunswick, even if it is ostensibly to help your aunt and uncle," he'd said. "I'm sure Norman could have gotten some local people to run the place if he'd bothered to look around." Norman MacTavish and Michael Dunn were light years apart in their philosophy of life. "Given this time" (why hadn't he just said suspension?) "I believed you'd use it to brush up on the latest cases, the newest precedents, go to court, sit in the gallery, study the faces of jurors, and stop looking at all and sundry through the prism of your grandmother's witchcraft."

Witchcraft. He'd called her gift witchcraft. Mikey climbed back onto her snowmobile, pulled on her headgear, and started the engine. Why did he insist on using that term? And how had her romantic, fiction-writing mother and her pragmatic hard-facts-only father ever managed to remain in a loving and devoted relationship for over thirty-five years? Opposites really must attract. Or maybe complement each other in some crazy way.

She revved the engine and was about to swing her machine around when she saw a pair of snowmobiles approaching. Possible guests for the lodge, she thought. She drove to the side of the trail to let them pass on down the hill.

When they reached her, one pulled his machine across in front of hers as the other slid in to block the rear. As the first arrival shut off his machine and removed his helmet, Mikey felt her heart plummet the moment she recognized Ralph May.

"Mikey, that you?" he yelled above the noise of her snowmobile as his companion also shut off his engine. He dismounted and stood grinning at her. "I thought that was one of Norm's old machines."

Trapped, she realized she'd have to try to brazen her way out of the situation. She shut off her motor, removed her helmet, and faced him.

"That's right, Ralph, but you'll have to excuse me. I've got a lot of work to do at the lodge. So if you and your friend will kindly move aside, I'll get to it."

He hadn't gotten any less handsome. He was still Tom Cruise with a leer and a scar that reached from cheekbone to chin down the left side of his face. But it was the leer, not the scar that ruined his looks for Mikey. She understood it all too well.

"Fine. We'll follow you. We can use some gas and a coffee break. Got anything a couple of hungry men can sink their teeth into?" The corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

"Possibly." Be hospitable. Be hospitable. Think of Uncle Norm and Aunt Ida. She forced the thought into re-run in an effort to be passably pleasant while every natural instinct in her body cried out, "Get lost, jerk!"

"Well, fine." He strode over to loom above her, his back to the sun, forcing her to squint when she looked up at him. "Bob can gas up the machines while you and I replay some old memories."

He pulled a hand out of a mitt and reached out to caress her cheek, his eyes as cold as the February day.

"I'd rather not." She brushed him off with a quick, instinctive move that bordered on a slap.

"No need to get nasty." He stepped back, braced his feet apart, and cracked his leather mitt against the leg of his black suit.

He was getting annoyed. Mikey remembered his anger and steeled herself for it. Surely he wouldn't try anything in front of his friend. But it was best to be prepared. And she was...this time. Armed with self-defense training she was reasonably sure she could take Ralph May. But what Bob-whoever decided to do could upset the equation and she knew it. A cold sweat began to trickle down her body. Then she saw the dogs.

Trotting briskly, they'd emerged from the woods and were heading toward the three snowmobiles, pink tongues lolling out of their mouths. Relief slid over Mikey like a silk glove as she watched Travis Harding and his team pull up a few feet away.

As he got off the runners and strode to join them, Ralph May turned to face the new arrival, a muttered curse in his throat.

"Good morning." Travis managed the greeting without warmth. "Great day, isn't it?"

"I thought I told you to keep those mutts off the snowmobile trails?" Ralph snapped. "I don't want them messing it up or getting in our way."

"I was on my own sled trail until a few yards from here." Travis faced the man with a controlled calm Mikey couldn't help but admire. "Now I'm on MacTavish land and have the permission of the owners to use their paths."

"Great. But if any of my friends or I ever come over that ridge and hit you and maim or kill a few of those mangy brutes, it won't matter whose land you're on. They'll be just as smashed up and you'll be just as libel for any damage or injuries incurred as a result!"

"Thanks for the warning. I'll make a note of it." Cold gray eyes met angry brown ones.

Again Ralph May muttered something under his breath. Then he turned away and climbed onto his snowmobile.

"Come on, Bob. We don't need that gas."

He started his engine and revved it hard. Doc, who'd lain down with the rest of his team, jumped to his feet, growling.

"Easy, Doc." Travis raised an arm in the "down" command and slowly the big animal obeyed, his mismatched eyes narrowed and wary.

"And stay away from my trap lines!" Ralph May yelled as he and his friend turned their machines back down the trail. "If I find out you've been tampering with them again..."

The last of his threat was lost as the pair gunned their powerful machines out of sight around a nearby bend.

"Well." Mikey looked over at Travis as the noise of the snowmobiles lessened in the distance. "Nothing like a good old fashioned confrontation to take the edge off an otherwise perfect day."

"Ralph can be a bit of a cloud," Travis grinned sardonically. "How's Ida? I assume you came up here to call her and Norm. I use this spot, too."

"You have a cell phone?" She stared at him.

"Sure. Some of us wild men do keep up with technology. I hear they're thinking of making a new Tarzan movie with the ape man carrying a micro computer in his loin cloth."

She guffawed softly and turned on her engine. "Want to come down to the lodge for coffee? I have some cinnamon rolls in the freezer it'll only take a minute to nuke up. I guess I owe you a snack...since you did stumble along at an appropriate moment."

He hesitated, then shrugged, "Sure."

* * *

"Hey, don't do that!" Travis tried to stop Mikey as she offered Doc a large chunk of buttered cinnamon roll.

"Oops! Too late!" The big Siberian had grabbed the food and was gulping it down as Mikey glanced across the table at Travis, green eyes sparkling with mischief.

"You'll spoil him." He shook his head as he reached for the butter.

"I think he deserves it, pulling you around on that sled all day, keeping his team in line. Works like a dog."

"Very funny. The team runs like a well-oiled machine, and most of the time I run behind the sled. Keeps me fit."

Yes, it definitely did. Mikey took a big bite out of her own roll and enjoyed the view across the table. Too bad he was a fiction writer...like her mother. Lawyers and writers were a bad combo. She'd seen the exasperation in both her parents' eyes on too many occasions as they'd struggled to come to terms with situations over which they had wildly divergent points of view.

Anyway, her personality wasn't set up for casual affairs. She was old enough and experienced enough to know that to be a fact. When those things ended, she was always left with too great a sense of loss and failure to make any pleasure she may have gotten out of them worthwhile.

Oh, well, some people took cold showers. She'd knead some bread dough and slap around a couple of piecrusts. That should relieve any of the sexual tension Travis Harding was producing.

"More coffee?" Mikey finished chewing, swallowed, and got up.

"No, I've got to be going. But thanks...from both of us." He patted Doc's head as he arose and reached for his jacket. "With a little effective marketing, those rolls could become famous."

"Really?" Mikey fought to keep the glow of pleasure his words inspired from rushing up her cheeks. "Thanks. What's on your agenda for today? Another chapter to finish?"

"Yeah." He zipped up his jacket and grinned over at her. "A real hot one, in fact. Care to be its inspiration?"

"Hardly." Mikey fought to play it cool, but his suggestion had sent an image of them locked in a passionate embrace racing across her brain. Quickly, she turned to go to the counter, empty coffee cup in hand. And tripped over Doc. The big dog had padded silently around the table, sniffing for crumbs on the floor.

The mug flew from her hands and crashed against a nearby table. Mickey smashed into Travis Harding's broad, hard chest as he caught her in his arms.

Instantly both froze, gazes locking. Mikey looked up into clear, gray eyes that were blank, then confused, then hot all in a blink in time.

"Damn!" he breathed and in another blink, his mouth was over hers. Before she could think to protest, his tongue was slipping lightly over her lips. The gesture was so sudden, so all out sensual, Mikey's entire body responded reflexively.

She parted her lips in welcome and he accepted. Relaxing into his arms, against his chest, full length against his hard body, Mikey was engulfed in a wild, dizzy sensation she'd never before experienced. As he ran one hand slowly up her back, the other at her waist thrusting her more tightly against him, Mikey dissolved into a new form of magic that had nothing to do with her gift. Her senses were reeling, her whole body free of the pull of gravity. She was floating, flying, flying...

Then as abruptly as he'd started it, he stopped and stared down at her, an annoyed expression coming over his face.

"Sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Well, then what was it all about?" She slapped him hard on the chest with a palms-up gesture and shoved him away, so angry her mouth went dry. "Research for Chapter Eleven?"

She hoped he didn't notice the high pitch she heard in her voice or saw the shakiness in her hands as she strode over the counter, picked up another cup and began to fill it. She felt as if every sense in her body had just been doused with ice water.

"Yeah, right, sure." The words were casual, blasé, careless. "Living up here I'd almost forgotten what it was like to hold a woman. Now I'd better get back to my cabin and write it all down before I lose the sensation. Come on, Doc."

He grabbed up his mitts and headed for the door.

"I trust you'll send me an autographed copy," she fired after him, the anger he'd set to bubbling inside her suddenly splashing over the rim. "It'll be a first for me. I've never been a muse for muck!"

He hesitated, his hand on the knob, then with a disgruntled grunt, went out, the dog at his heels.

Chapter Three

"Any more of that great chili, Mikey?" a customer called from the back of the packed lodge dining room. It was Friday night and a crowd of snowmobilers had descended on the lodge just as her aunt and uncle had predicted.

"Comin' right up, Kelsey." She took a fresh bowl from the shelf and began to ladle out a generous helping. Her shirt was damp, her face flushed, her hair wilting from the heat of the stove, but she was loving every minute.

This job was straightforward, simple, honest. Either the customers liked your food or they didn't. She didn't have to be concerned with guilt or innocence, she didn't have to care about seeing the mark of culpability on any of her customers or the mark of innocence on someone destined for incarceration.

She was returning to the counter, a smile still on her face from Kelsey Johnson's compliment, when she noticed a new couple come in and take the last unoccupied table. As they pulled off their headgear, Mikey recognized the woman.

"Jenny, hi! Welcome!" She changed direction and headed through the crowd to greet the newcomer with alacrity.

"Michaela?" The brown-haired woman looked up at her, startled, and, as Mikey reached her, she saw the dark circles under her eyes, the gauntness in a pale face she remembered as being round and cherubic and pretty. "Mikey Dunn?"

"Yes. I'm so glad to see you again, Jenny," she said and clasped her into a hug. "How are your parents? And your sister...Stephanie, wasn't it?" She released her and stood back, waiting for her response.

"Mom and Dad spend the winters in Florida now. They're retired. Stephie's working in Vancouver." The words were unsure, faltering as she avoided Mikey's eyes.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" Her attractive, dark-haired companion arose and grinned over at Mikey in a way she knew only too well.

"Oh, yes...yes. Michaela, this is Todd Kent...my husband."

"Hey, don't say it like that! Sounds as if you're not real eager to admit the fact. Hello, Michaela." He extended his hand and looked at Mikey in a manner she didn't have to be clairvoyant to interpret or dislike. "Jen's always slow to introduce me to good looking women. Scared they might go for me."

No problem here. Because of her regard for Jenny, Mikey let her reflexive response remain unspoken. Instead she allowed him to clasp her hand briefly before gladly withdrawing it from his hot grasp.

"Supper and a room? Or just supper?" She forced a smile and struggled to be the congenial host.

"Both." Todd Kent sat down again, but his eyes, bright with interest, never stopped roaming over Mikey. "We're staying put tonight...right here." The last two words were so filled with innuendo Mikey felt her hand itching to slap his leering face.

"It's our fifth anniversary," Jenny spoke softly. "Todd's mom offered to keep the girls...we have two daughters...so Todd...that is, we decided to come up here to the lodge."

"Yeah." He grinned sardonically. "But it wasn't Jen's first choice. She wanted to go to Halifax to a dinner theater. Dinner Theater!" He guffawed and Mikey felt her blood pressure rise as she glanced over at Jenny and saw her shrinking beneath his sarcasm.

"Well." Mikey swallowed the huge chunk of annoyance threatening to color her reply and forced a smile. "Since this is a special occasion, I insist you take our best room complete with fireplace and Jacuzzi."

"Now that sounds like a place a man could have a good time...with the right woman." He winked at Mikey.

"I'll get it ready for you." Mikey's words were calm and friendly, but the outrage she was battling almost overpowered her. "Dinner's on the house."

She turned and strode back to her other guests, the palm of her right hand itching to land just one good crack across his insensitive face.

Well she thought later as she finished getting the small, intimate suite ready for the couple. Maybe this will give Jenny a little pleasure on her anniversary.

A small fire crackled on the hearth, the king-sized bed plumped with quilts and pillows was turned down with a pair of chocolates ready on a lace doily, and in the adjoining bath, thick white towels and robes were laid out beside the Jacuzzi. She'd even placed a bottle of her uncle's elderberry wine in an ice bucket on a coffee table with two long stemmed glasses and put her own brand-new-crazy-purchase silk and lace nightgown across the end of the bed. Then she dimmed the lights and opened the curtains on the garden doors to give a full view of a silver moon hovering over the frozen lake and snow-iced mountains.

Pretty darned romantic she thought, pausing to survey her handiwork. And suddenly Travis Harding and the memory of that head-spinning, heart-swirling kiss were all over her mind. Quickly she turned and left the room.

It was 10:00 p.m. when the last of her guests left for camps further along the trail. None except Todd and Jenny had opted to stay overnight. She had to admit she wasn't sorry. With twelve overnight guests expected the following evening, she could do with a short hiatus in her hosting duties. As much as she'd enjoyed the evening and reveled in the compliments on her food, she'd found the work every bit as exhausting as a day in court.

But the exhaustion she'd felt then, even when she'd won her case, hadn't been the good, satisfying tired she felt now. She put the last of the bowls, cups, and utensils into the dishwasher, then straightened up to yawn and stretch.

She took a final glance around the big room, tidied and ready for breakfast, snapped off the lights, and, in the glow of the fire dying on the hearth, headed for the door to lock up for the night.

Then she heard the roar of engines approaching and sighed wearily. She was going to tell whoever they were that that she was closed. Norman and Ida had told her they stopped serving at 9:00 p.m. and she intended to follow their policy. Most snowmobilers were reasonable people. They'd understand.

If they were cold and tired and hungry and needed shelter for the night, however, she'd have to invite them in she knew. That was also part of her relatives' philosophy of an innkeeper's duty. She crossed her fingers and hoped they weren't and didn't.

But when the door banged open a few moments later, she received a gut-wrenching shock. Ralph May, his friend Bob, and another man strode into the lodge with all the reticence of marauding barbarians.

"Hey, Mikey, where's our buddy Todd?" Ralph demanded. "He's supposed to be playing poker with us tonight. Don't tell me he's sacked out here...with his old lady?"

She grimaced. The stench of rum was overpowering The liquor had washed away any semblance of civilized behavior he might have possessed and now Mikey saw in front of her a Ralph she remembered all too well.

"As a matter of fact, Todd and his wife have retired to their room," Mikey managed to respond casually as she turned and walked toward the fireplace. "And the dining room is closed. If you want a room for the night, however..."

The offer threatened to stick in her throat, but she had to make it. They weren't fit to be out on the trails.

"Do you go along with one of them?" Ralph followed her. "I could go for that idea, Mikey...big time."

"You could, could you?" She'd reached the fireplace and suddenly swung back to face him, a brass poker clutched in her hand, her eyes sparking emerald fire.

"Hey, Mikey, take it easy." He stopped and held up his hands, palms toward her.

"Then back off." Mikey felt hatred rising like a scalding steam from every fiber in her body.

"Ralphie, that you, boy?" Todd Kent suddenly appeared out of the bedroom hallway, bare-chested, waving the bottle of elderberry wine in his hand and swaying on his feet.

"We've been waiting for you, Todd," Bob broke in. "The game's all set up at Ralph's place. Get dressed and come on. You can sleep with your old lady any night, but a good poker game, now that's something else."

"No kiddin'! Give me two seconds and I'll be right with you." Todd Kent turned and headed back toward his suite.

* * *

"He wasn't always so careless." Jenny Kent, one of the lodge's white terry robes covering Mikey's sexy nightgown, huddled in a corner of the love seat and clutched a tea cup in her slender hands.

"No, I'm sure." Mikey refilled her own from the pot on the tray she'd brought to the suite. "And I'm sure he's not now. Peer pressure doesn't end with adolescence, you know." Whoever said white lies were easier than the truth was an idiot. "Have a cookie. These oatmeal raisin are genuine comfort food." She picked up the plate and held them out to Jenny.

"I'm sorry, Mikey." The woman shook her head and turned away. "I haven't much of an appetite. Oh, I hope Todd has enough sense to stop before he gets any deeper in debt to Ralph May."

Jenny Kent put down her cup and stood. Agitatedly she went to the window to stare out into the cold night, her arms wrapped tightly about her.

"Todd owes money to Ralph?" Mikey looked over at her in surprise. "How? I thought Ralph owned a resort hotel in town. I didn't know he was in the money lending business."

"Gambling. High stakes poker games like the one they'll no doubt be having tonight." She shuddered. "Oh, Mikey!" She turned to her, breaking down completely. "Todd owes Ralph over $40,000 already! We've taken out a second mortgage on the house, I've gone back to work, but it just gets worse and worse! Todd keeps thinking his luck will turn, that he'll be able to win it all back, but it's impossible! Ralph May never played fair and he never will! I hate that man! I wish he was dead!"

* * *

Mikey had just plopped a mound of bread dough into a large bowl to rise when she heard snowmobiles approaching. She glanced at the clock above the stove. It was only 7:10 a.m. and still dark outside. These guys had to be real hard core. Well, given ten minutes she could have bacon, eggs, baked beans, and toast on the table. In fact, the idea exhilarated her. She was off and running on another day of doing work she loved.

She hurried across the room to unlock the door and welcome the new arrivals. But when she opened it, her pre-arranged smile faded. The two machines bore RCMP logos; their riders, law enforcement badges on their shoulders.

"Good morning," one of the officers said as they dismounted, removed their helmets, and approached. "Michaela Dunn?"

"Yes. Good morning, officer. Breakfast?"

"Thank you, no." The man stopped in front of her. "I'm Corporal Larson and this is my partner, Constable Fraser. May we come inside?"

"Certainly." Mikey moved aside and kept the welcoming expression on her face with grim determination. She'd met with a lot of law enforcement people in her years as a defense attorney. She could read trouble on their faces as easily as advertising on a twelve-foot high billboard.

They pulled off their headgear and followed her inside, removing mitts and loosening the top fasteners on their jackets as they went. Mikey could sense they were preparing for a long talk as she offered them a seat near the fireplace. Not a good sign.

"At least let me get you some coffee," she said. "I just made a fresh pot." She treated them to her most gracious smile.

"Thank you. We'd appreciate it." The Corporal's reply was polite and business-like.

"Well, now, what can I do for you gentlemen?" Mikey used her best cooperating-fully-with-the-authorities voice and stance once she'd served them and taken a seat across the coffee table from where they sat. They'd completely unzipped their jackets now. Oh, God, Mikey thought.

"Miss Dunn, did you have a guest here last night named Todd Kent?"

"Yes, Todd was here for dinner." Don't lie and don't over-explain. The facts, just the facts as basic and spare as possible until I see where all this is going.

"But he didn't stay the night?"

"No."

"Do you know what he did after dinner, where he went?"

"He left with friends." Mikey could stand the suspense no longer. "What is this all about, officer? Has something happened to Todd Kent?"

"He was involved in a snowmobile accident...some time after he left here." As Mikey drew a sharp intake of breath, he hastened to continue, "He's not seriously hurt, only a few bruised ribs and minor cuts and abrasions. But he did destroy his own machine and that of the gentleman traveling ahead of him. According to witnesses, Mr. Kent appeared intoxicated. When his blood alcohol level was taken shortly a