LITMIR.BIZ

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chores. She’d gotten the retriever as a puppy when they moved from town to live on Great-Aunt Elkie’s property, and he’d grown into a magnificent dog with reddish-gold fur and a calm, protective nature.

      She was fixing dinner when a knock sounded on the door. Badger let out a sharp yip, his ears perked forward; it was his someone-I-don’t-know bark.

      “I’ll get it,” she called.

      But Badger and Danny both beat her to the door and she heard her son give a friendly greeting to their visitor.

      “Uh...yeah. I need to talk to your mother,” said a deep male voice.

      Hannah wrinkled her nose. Jake Hollister.

      “Is there a problem?” she asked as she turned the corner into the entry area.

      “Not at all. I just wanted to ask if there are any restaurants that deliver out here from town.”

      She thought about the sacks of groceries she’d seen in the trunk of Andy’s car. On top of which, she had put one of Luigi’s menus by the kitchen phone.

      “Luigi’s delivers pizza on the weekends, but when things are slow he’s willing to send someone out on other days. If nothing else, he’ll usually come himself at closing time. I’ll get their number for you.” She brought another copy of the menu to the door and gave it to him. If Hollister had let her show him around Huckleberry Lodge, she would have pointed out both the phone book and the menu, along with other things he might need. Still, the guy was in pain, she could see it in his face.

      Jake left with a low, almost grudging “Thanks.”

      When they were alone, Danny looked up at her. “Maybe he’s just hungry, Mommy. It makes me grumpy, too.”

      Hannah ruffled her son’s hair. “I know, but don’t forget we aren’t going to bother Mr. Hollister. We’re going to let him have peace and quiet so he can rest and get better.”

      Danny crossed a finger over his heart. “I’ll be good.”

      * * *

      YOU’RE A DAMNED FOOL, Jake thought as he walked back to Huckleberry Lodge with the menu Hannah Nolan had given him. The doctor had warned him not to overexert himself, so naturally he’d insisted on driving alone to Mahalaton Lake from Seattle and had sent Andy packing.

      And now he’d offended his landlady to the point she probably wanted to drown him in the lake.

      He collapsed on the couch and glanced at the menu without much interest. Ironically, the doctors had urged him to eat nutritious, high-protein meals, but the crap he’d been served at the hospital was barely edible—even the limited diet he’d shared with the Inupiat had been better.

      Or maybe it was just the environment. He’d grown up in the far corners of the world with his mother and they’d always eaten native when feasible; Josie believed you couldn’t learn about a culture if you didn’t eat their food and sleep in their beds.

      With pain throbbing in every inch of his body, Jake let the menu drift to the ground.

      Maybe he’d try ordering something later.

      Much later.

CHAPTER TWO

      THE NEXT MORNING, Jake woke as the sun was rising and realized he had fallen asleep on the couch.

      He was stiff, but some of the pain had subsided and a fine view greeted him through the windows overlooking the lake. The snowcapped peaks beyond were reflected on the water’s surface and he stared out for a while. Where was his impulse to capture the view in a unique way? Taking pictures had been his driving force since childhood, yet he had zero desire to start working.

      God.

      Maybe it was too pretty. That must be the problem. Why he’d ever agreed to doing a damned book on the northern Cascade Mountains was beyond him. The Cascades had been photographed to death; there was nothing new or unusual about them. He was going to be bored out of his skull.

      But even more important...how was he going to put his trademark adventurous stamp on the book? The thought of people rolling their eyes and saying he’d lost his touch because of the accident was unacceptable. And he’d already faced that scenario once before.

      Jake gritted his teeth.

      He had never intended to be a traditional photojournalist. He’d gone to the Middle East to help out an acquaintance whose wife was having a difficult pregnancy, but after receiving the Pulitzer, at least a dozen interviewers had asked, “How will you top this?” Hell, “topping” pictures of people killing each other was the last thing he was interested in doing.

      His stomach rumbled and he got up.

      Andy had insisted they stop and buy groceries in Mahalaton Lake, so Jake made his standby in all climates and altitudes—a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. It wasn’t inspiring, but cooking was not one of his skills. He always kept peanut butter in his backpack while traveling, and it wasn’t bad on most local breads.

      Munching on the sandwich, he wandered around the lodge. The spacious sunroom off the kitchen had tall windows on three sides, providing a view of the lake, the guesthouse and the wooded drive leading in from the road. A huge master bedroom suite was on the opposite side of the house. Other main floor rooms included a well-equipped utility room, two powder rooms, a library and formal dining area. Upstairs there were additional bedrooms and baths, with a family room in the center, and beneath the house was a half basement that provided storage.

      It was far more space than Jake needed, but had the benefit of being outside a town, and the natural wood beams and high ceilings gave it a relaxed, faintly rustic feel. And there were artifacts scattered here and there from around the world, such as jade carvings, masks from various tribes and pottery. In a curious way it was soothing to be surrounded by some of the things he’d seen in his travels. Perhaps that was why Andy had urged him to lease the lodge.

      Slowly he began sorting out his equipment and other supplies. The cameras he’d taken to Alaska had been destroyed in the crash, but Toby had personally brought Jake’s backup gear from the studio he kept in Costa Rica.

      Toby...

      A reluctant grin creased Jake’s mouth. Toby had bitched his usual stream of complaints, saying the magazine was willing to wait for its photos since they didn’t have any “goddamned choice,” and if Jake planned to go back to that frigging place, he was going alone.

      This time it actually sounded as if he meant it.

      Even so, Jake had expected he’d come along to Mahalaton Lake until Toby had sheepishly confessed that he and Vera were getting married in a few weeks and he was starting another job. Marriage was a career ender as far as Jake was concerned, at least for any career that involved extensive travel. Vera was a terrific woman, but she’d made it clear often enough that she wanted Toby at home.

      Jake rubbed his face, rough with beard stubble, and stepped to the bank of windows. The day was lighter now, though the sky was still pink from the sunrise. The dog he’d seen the previous day was racing along the shore below, his fur flying in silky waves. It stopped, grabbed a stick in its mouth and ran back to its human companion—presumably Hannah Nolan.

      He grimaced. An apology was in order; he’d behaved with the grace of an ill-tempered water buffalo. He let himself out a side door and walked down the grassy slope toward his landlady. The dog noticed him first, dropping his stick and hurrying to his mistress’s side.

      “Did you have a good night, Mr. Hollister?” Hannah asked politely when he got within earshot.

      “Good enough.”

      He’d slept for eleven straight hours on the wide leather couch—much longer than he would have in the hospital with their constant health checks. Getting chilled and stiff from his position on the sofa was his own fault.

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