Rogue's Revenge - By Gail MacMillan Page 0,30
up against in twenty years of practice. Contesting it would be pointless.”
“That can’t be. There has to be a loophole in such a bizarre document.”
“Surprisingly, no. Your grandfather and his attorney left nothing to chance.”
The following morning she watched southern Ontario disappearing beneath a heavy cloud cover. As the plane reached cruising altitude and leveled off, she settled back in her seat to consider her next move.
As much as she disliked the prospect, she’d check on Heath as soon as she arrived in Portage. After all, he was an injured creature. Next she’d determine if she needed a temporary caretaker…if she could find a competent one. And if she couldn’t? Stay on and run the place herself until she could come up with some way of ridding herself of her share and make a profit doing it?
She leaned back in the seat, closed her eyes, and tried to unwind. What a rotten week this had turned out to be. First, her grandfather’s death, then the terrible accident at the stable, followed by the news of Heath’s injury, and finally her lawyer’s report that he’d found no way to break the will that bound her to the man Gramps had monikered his acquired son.
Heath. His name echoed around in her head as she drifted into a doze. Suddenly he was with her, holding her, those amazing eyes looking deep into hers with a penetrating intensity…
“Would you like a drink, miss?” The flight attendant interrupted her half-lucid thoughts.
“Yes, please.” She jerked upright. “A diet soda. With lots of ice.”
Late that afternoon, after the commuter plane had touched down in fog and mist at the small northern New Brunswick airport nearest Chance Lodge, she collected her luggage and Jack. With the dog’s leash in one hand and her single suitcase in the other, she hailed a cab.
“Where to, miss?” the driver asked, eyeing the big poodle.
“To the medical clinic.”
“I don’t usually take dogs. Shed much?”
“Not at all. He’s a poodle. Double fare?”
“Climb in.”
“You’re a liability already, and we’ve only just arrived,” she muttered to the dog as the driver deposited her suitcase in the trunk and she opened the rear door to let the animal inside. With a happy bark, Jack leaped up on the seat and took his place by the opposite window.
“I’d like to see Heath Oakes,” she told the receptionist at the front office a few minutes later. “My name is Allison Armstrong. My grandfather owned Chance Lodge.”
“He checked himself out early this morning.” The gray-haired, middle-aged lady behind the desk surprised her with the reply. “Dr. Henderson tried to convince him he wasn’t in any fit condition, but, well, if he works for your family, you must know what he’s like. There’s no stopping him when he’s got his mind set. If Dr. Henderson couldn’t convince him to stay in the clinic, no one could. I’m sure they’ll be announcing their engagement any day now. And who is this fine fellow?” She turned her attention to the dog and beamed down at him. Jack, tongue lolling happily, looked up at her, bright and pert.
“Nell, what are you gossiping about now?” A brunette with gorgeous violet eyes, porcelain complexion, and shampoo-model hair stood framed in the doorway of an examining room, her white lab coat open to reveal a short, fitted dark skirt, red silk blouse, and legs that seemed yards long in black hose. Allison’s heart plummeted.
“Dr. Henderson?” She hoped her voice wasn’t squeaky with surprise.
“Yes. You were looking for Heath. I overheard.” She crossed the room and extended a cool, slender hand. “I’m Jessica Henderson, his doctor.”
“Allison Armstrong.” She accepted the introduction with what she hoped was mature, woman-to-woman cool. “When my mother and I learned he’d been injured, we decided one of us would have to come. How is he, Doctor?”
“Stubborn, tough, and definitely on the mend.” She shrugged and smiled ruefully. “I would have preferred his staying here a couple more days until I was sure all was well, but he refused. He had work to do at the Lodge, he said…guests arriving soon, and all that.”
She went to a cupboard in one corner of the immaculate room, unlocked it, and took out a bottle of pills.
“I assume you’ll be going up to the Chance?” She handed it to Allison. “These are painkillers he should be taking.”
“I imagine you’ll be coming up soon, too.” Allison couldn’t resist testing the waters of the relationship the receptionist had mentioned.
“Me? No. Not unless one of you think I’m needed.”