Rogue's Revenge - By Gail MacMillan Page 0,38

ambience of being welcomed back home, of belonging.

“I’m so sorry about your grandfather.” Mildred Wilson became serious. “He was a fine man. His Lodge and its guests were a real boon to this village where there’s no industry and most people live by lumbering, farming, or fishing. Oh, we survived before the Chance, and I expect we’ll survive again, if…” She paused. She didn’t have to finish. Allison got the picture.

“I can’t believe Gramps’ guests would find much to buy here.” Allison gently tried to downplay the Lodge’s importance. “Most of those people were a pretty upscale lot.”

“That’s exactly the point!” Mildred Wilson clapped her nicely manicured, heavily ringed hands. “Some were seasoned outdoors people, but a lot weren’t. They frequently arrived here with all the wrong clothes, all the wrong equipment. Why, I finally brought in a whole selection of hiking and recreational clothing, just to fill their needs. Ellis’ Hardware sold fishing equipment like you wouldn’t believe!”

“Really?” Allison was astonished.

“Definitely. Mary Davis’ craft boutique has flourished because of their appetite for handmade quilts, home-knitted sweaters, and authentic wood carvings. Even the service station benefited from those who drove up here, and, would you believe, Douglas O’Brien has actually become famous for his oyster stew!”

“I had no idea the Chance had such a wide-reaching effect on the community,” Allison said.

“Well it has…had. Before Jack opened up, we survived. Afterwards, we had a little icing on our cake. Oh, well,” she changed the subject as Allison’s forehead furrowed. “Enough reminiscing. What can I do for you, honey? Some hiking clothes, maybe?” She looked hopeful.

“Actually what I need is a nice, simple dark suit. Mine got ruined in the rain at Gramps’ funeral.”

“Dark suit? Hmmmm. Size eight? Ten? Not much call for dark suits in May. Let me look upstairs. Browse around while I’m gone. You might see something else you’d like.”

Allison was idly flicking through a rack of Nonfiction sweatshirts when she happened to glance out the front window and saw Heath and Jessica Henderson seated at Douglas O’Brien’s newly established sidewalk cafe. The proprietor was standing back, hands on his broad, white-aproned hips, apparently awaiting their opinion on the steaming bowls of food in front of them. His famous oyster stew?

Heath dipped a spoon, raised it to his mouth, tasted, then looked up at the chef with a nod of approval. O’Brien gave a thumbs-up gesture and ambled back inside. As soon as he’d gone, Heath leaned across the table to speak to his companion. His expression told Allison the subject was serious.

At first Jessica appeared to be listening receptively. Then the situation changed. She shook her head vehemently and threw up her hands.

Heath leaned across the table, talking fast, seizing one of her upraised hands. For a few moments she continued to protest, but as he kept up his flow of words, slowly acquiesced. As Allison watched, the doctor’s hand fell to the table top, enveloped in his. Something in Allison Armstrong, CFO, sank like a stone. What can he be saying to her, trying to convince her about?

He picked up his hat from an empty chair and stood, still holding her hand. Reluctantly, it appeared to Allison, Jessica followed suit. To her dismay, they headed across the street toward the clothing store.

“Mrs. Wilson? I have to leave. I’ll try to get back later,” she called up the stairway. “Thanks for your help.”

She dodged between racks of Levis, past stacks of hiking boots, and through the rear door.

Once outside, she flattened herself against the old building’s weathered shingles, then wondered what in the world she was doing. She had every right to be in town, in that store. Why was she hiding? She wasn’t afraid to face a man she despised, or his lady friend. She’d march back in there and…

She started to open the door. Through the first few inches she saw Heath holding up a pair of women’s bush pants for the doctor’s approval. She took them from him and held them to her waist.

Allison eased the door shut. Planning a camping trip together. Good. That would keep him out of her way. But as she turned to walk back to the service station, she wished she didn’t feel so annoyingly dejected.

It was Mildred Wilson’s telling her of the Chance’s importance to the local economy that caused her miserable feelings. She didn’t care that Heath Oakes and Dr. Jessica Henderson were preparing for a romantic getaway. She returned to the service station, paid the attendant for