sensed someone's presence, but this man moved so quietly. Jonas had a shaved head, which wasn't the wisest thing in Alaska, but it probably worked well where it was hot and humid.
Mitch had joked, "I taught Jonas everything he knows, which means he's pretty smart." She thought the man's wide, dark eyes under his sleekly arched brows backed that up. Jonas was always watching others--keeping his own counsel, as Mitch had put it when he'd given her a pre-arrival rundown on their guests. Yes, she could see that Jonas Grant was always calculating what to say and do. Truth be told, she was wary, too, so she'd recognized that in him right away. And she liked the color of his skin, a lot like the Alaskan sun-and wind-burnished complexions of her people--that is, her former people, before so many turned their backs on her for what she had done.
"Sure thing," she told him with a nod. "I'm fixing salmon tenders with strawberry dip, moose enchiladas and squares of fresh-baked bread with black raspberry spread for appetizers. You want something to drink, too?"
"No, thanks--just hungry."
As she fixed him a hearty plate, she glanced out the window to note no Mitch, but no kayak either. She squinted into the sun to see Ginger Jackson getting in her motorboat for the across-lake trek home. Ginger made all of the baked goods for the lodge and brought them each afternoon, especially the array of yummies for the breakfast buffet the next morning. How she managed to bake all that with a bum right hand was beyond Christine. The only bad thing about Ginger's baking was that she fed her brother Spike too much. In the summer, when he wasn't running the dogs but was mostly taking tourists flightseeing, he put on weight around his middle.
Spike Jackson's red seaplane sat at the far end of the lake since some guests had complained about the early-morning noise when he took off near the lodge. If guests didn't want to drive or land at Talkeetna's airport, he flew them in from Anchorage. He also took people on what was called flightseeing. Earlier today he'd flown Mrs. Bonner, who had her own private pilot's license no less, to view the entire area from Talkeetna clear down to Wasilla. She'd said she wanted to see the little town where that spunky, ambitious Sarah Palin was from, who had come out of nowhere--though folks hereabouts didn't think of big-boom Wasilla or the capital, Juneau, as nowhere--to run for vice president of the United States. Mitch had mentioned that Mrs. Bonner had a brother who was big in Florida politics and aiming higher, so no wonder Mrs. Bonner was interested in Alaska's Governor Palin.
Christine handed the filled plate to Jonas. "Thanks," he said with a big smile that flaunted lots of straight, white teeth. "My boy would say this really rocks--not the smoked salmon but moose in an enchilada."
"How old is he?" Christine asked as she followed him toward the door to the big common room that comprised the living area and dining room. The lodge bedrooms were upstairs in two wings, guests to the east side, Mitch's suite to the west. Christine's room was at the back corner of the first floor, next to the small library loaded with books about Alaska and overlooking the stone patio with the barbecue, fire pit and Finnish wood-fired sauna and hot tub, and then the lake beyond.
Actually, the Duck Lake Lodge--the original name for the lake was Dukhoe--was the most beautiful home she had ever had. Made of rough-cut local spruce with pine-paneled walls, it boasted a seven-foot bubble window overlooking the lake. The entire building and the outlying cabins were heavily insulated, so in the winter it was like being in a thermos that held heat from the big, central stone fireplace.
The fourteen-foot cathedral ceiling above the common room had hand-hewn beams that soared above comfortable clusters of upholstered sofas and chairs interspersed with rocking chairs all set around woven area rugs in muted blues and greens. Snowshoes, quilts and antlers decorated the walls, except in the little library where Mitch had insisted she put the remnants of her collection of Yup'ik dolls on display. Her real realm, the kitchen, looked strictly modern, with new stainless steel appliances that would make a Fairbanks restaurant proud. Off and on, as needed, two women came in from Bear Bones to help with housekeeping chores.
"My boy's nine," Jonas was saying in answer to her question.