Rogue's Revenge - By Gail MacMillan Page 0,34

be a really hot moment, you know.”

She looked up and saw a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Don’t get carried away, He-Man Oakes. I’ve simply got too much of my parents’ compassionate blood flowing through my veins to let anyone or anything suffer needlessly.”

“And maybe a drop of Jack’s?”

“Okay, okay, maybe a drop of Gramps’ blood, too.” She yanked the boot from his foot and he flinched.

“Ugh.”

“Sorry. Stop your guilt tripping and I’ll try to be more gentle. Do you have any idea who might have caused your fall?”

“No, but whoever did it never meant to do more than shake me up. Otherwise he could have finished the job while I was out cold.”

“He might have killed you with the fall.”

“I don’t think murder was his intention. Dead, I couldn’t sign away my share of the Chance. James Wilcox is willing to play rough to get what he wants, but I think he’d draw the line at premeditated murder. And so, I think, would you.”

“James Wilcox? Me? You can’t be serious! This place certainly isn’t worth risking a murder charge.”

“Interesting. You seemed to think I was willing to give it a try.”

“Yes, well, maybe.” She finished unlacing his right boot, but this time she eased it from his foot. “The jury is still out on that one.”

“Ah, so now there’s a jury. I’m not being condemned without a trial. Guess I’ve moved up a notch in your estimation.”

“It had to be a thief or a vandal.” She recalled the well-dressed man who had accosted her and her mother at the funeral and found Heath’s suspicions farfetched.

“Then why didn’t he take anything while I was unconscious?”

“I can’t explain that. I only know civilized professional people do not resort to violence as a means to an end. Especially not for a few acres of trees.”

“You don’t know the facts.” Heath got off the stool. When she stood to face him, she discovered that even in his stocking feet he was still a good six inches taller than she.

“What facts?”

“The government has recently put a freeze on the sale of all crown-owned waterfront property along this river.” He walked gingerly across the kitchen, then turned to face her, his back to the cupboards. “Only privately owned property can be purchased, and that’s subject to a lot of environmental conditions. For example, land already designated for private recreational homes has to stay that way; there can no longer be any reclassification to commercial use. And since this is the only property on the river already with a commercial designation, it’s the only one available that can take paying guests. In other words, we’re the only game in town.”

“But why this river, this lodge? Surely there are others on other rivers…”

“Ah, yes, but not on a river like the North Passage. It’s an adventure river, offering everything from great trout and salmon fishing to Class Four rapids for adventurers. Its wildness and inability to be navigated by power boats has kept it pristine, its surrounding wilderness unspoiled. That was why Jack screened his guests so carefully. He didn’t object to catch-and-release fishing—it often provided his bread-and-butter crowd—but he did mind hunters and people on ATVs who had no respect for the land and its creatures. He wanted this to be a place people came to enjoy nature and the wilderness, leaving only tracks behind and taking only pictures and great memories away. And,” he said heading for the refrigerator. “I intend to see it stays just that way.”

He opened the appliance door and took out the largest beef bone Allison thought she’d ever seen.

“Here, buddy. I bet you’re hungry.” He handed it to the eager dog. “Can’t have anyone named Jack uncomfortable in this house.”

Chapter Seven

Allison watched Heath go through the swinging door, Jack happily carrying his supper in his jaws at his heels. She shook her head, then turned toward the refrigerator. Stubborn, that’s what Heath Oakes was, just plain stubborn.

Ten minutes later she followed, two steaming bowls of soup on a tray in her hands. When he jerked upright as she placed it on the coffee table in front of him, she suspected he’d been dozing. Painkillers kicking in, no doubt. Jack, gnawing contentedly on the huge bone, lay at his feet.

So much for canine loyalty. One tyrannosaurus rex bone and he’s anyone’s best friend.

“Soup’s on.” She handed a bowl and spoon to the man coming alert.

“Thanks.” He took them from her. “Looks good.”

“It’s only soup.” She sat down on the opposite end of