Rogue's Revenge - By Gail MacMillan Page 0,29
You’ll have to take care of Chance Lodge until Heath is well.”
“No, Mom. Definitely no!” Allison went to put her empty cup in the sink. “I love you, and I’d do anything for you…except that. And just now, after all that’s happened today…”
“Allison, I know you carry some animosity in your heart toward Heath that you’ve never chosen to explain, but this is your grandfather’s place we’re talking about. It needs a caretaker, and right now that has to be you. With Heath recuperating at the clinic in town, there’s no one to keep it safe.”
“And you seriously think my presence can deter vandals?”
“Allison, the Lodge has a state-of-the-art security system. It just has to be activated at appropriate times. And then there’s food and rooms to get ready…guests in two weeks, Heath told me. Hopefully by that time he will be back on the job and his mother will be home, but until then…”
“How do you expect me take time from my job? I may not be a neurosurgeon or a miracle fundraiser, but my position with the company…”
“Didn’t you tell me before we went up to Dad’s funeral that you’d hired an assistant who’s been working out really well? Well, let him take over for a few days.”
“But he’s still new at the game…”
“Now, you listen, young lady.” Allison was startled by the change in her mother’s tone. “This is your family we’re talking about. I know whatever Heath did years ago turned at least part of your heart to stone, but it’s about time you started reacting with what’s left of the soft bit.”
She picked up the phone and began to punch in a number.
“What are you doing?” Stymied, Allison stared at her.
“Calling our travel agent. You’ll need a ticket to catch a plane out of here tomorrow morning.”
“But we haven’t had time to discuss that crazy will! I haven’t consulted my company attorney!”
“You can contest the will a week, a month, a year from now. But it will be a pointless battle if the Chance is destroyed. Yes, hello. I want an open-ended ticket to Portage, New Brunswick. And a large dog crate.”
“There,” she said five minutes later as she hung up the phone. “All arranged.”
“Mom, I do think this is more than a bit uncaring, expecting me to go up to the Lodge to take over God knows what duties from a man I detest, especially after all that’s happened today.”
“Especially after what’s happened today.” She put an arm about her daughter. “Dwelling on what happened to Pride and her little Joy won’t help anything. On the other hand, getting involved in the challenges involved in taking care of the Chance will. Now you start packing while I get Jack’s things together.”
“So that’s why you asked for a dog crate. Really, Mom, Jack will only be a nuisance. He’s never even been in the woods…at least not that kind of woods. I know you take him with you when you ride the bridle trails out at the stable, but northern New Brunswick wilderness is a long way from carefully groomed paths.”
“He’ll be fine.” She smiled benignly as she pulled a bag of dog food from under a cupboard. “He’s proven to be a fine guard around the house. I’ll feel much better if you have him with you. Actually, he’s nearly as resourceful as his namesake…your grandfather.”
****
Going back to the Chance and that miserable man. In the last two days my life has done a complete one-eighty.
She plunked down on the edge of the bed in the pink-and-white room she’d occupied as a child and teenager before going off to college, before she’d become Allison Armstrong, tough business woman. What a romantic I must have been. She looked around at the frills and ruffles and again felt the pain in her chest that her denial of all that was lovely and romantic always caused her. And it was all his fault, all because of him.
She picked up the receiver of the pink princess phone beside the bed and tapped in her office number.
“Millie, this is Allison. Put me through to Andrew Burns, will you?”
It was a moment before the corporate attorney’s voice answered.
“Allison, good to hear from you. How are things in the wilds of New Brunswick?”
“Good afternoon, Andrew. Have you finished the work on Gramps’ will, the copy I faxed you yesterday?”
“Yes, but I don’t think you’ll be thrilled with what I’ve found.”
“What? Don’t tell me…”
“It’s ironclad. One of the tightest documents I’ve run