“How about a guess, then.” Ben looked at Emma. “Who do you thinkwas shooting at you?”
She shrugged her good shoulder. “If I had to guess, I would say it was Wayne Poulin.”
“Why?”
“Because he knew I had been snooping in his room. And if those coordinates are important to him, he was probably checking to see if I had been out there.”
All three men silently mulled over her theory. Emma stood up and grabbed the cane Mikey had hooked on the back of her chair and Beaker stood as well.
“I’m going to take a nap,” she said as she started hobbling out of the kitchen.
“I’ll carry you,” Ben said, moving to intercept her.
Beaker moved between them, the hair on his back raised, and growled.
Ben stopped and his face reddened. “Goddammit! Beaker!”
The dog advanced a step, his growl rising in volume.
“Maybe you should try feeding him cookies, boss,” Atwood suggested, sounding like he was strangling on a laugh.
“I’m going to feed him to the crows,” Ben said through gritted teeth. “Beaker. Sit!”
The dog ignored him.
Emma laid her hand on Beaker’s head. “It’s okay. Let’s go have a nap, and leave these men to contemplate the future.” Then she looked at Mikey. “Why don’t you call Stanley Bates and see if he’d be willing to haul our Cessna home.”
Mikey nodded, staring at the dog as if it had two heads and a forked tail.
Satisfied the remaining males could get on with their foolish little war without her, Emma led Beaker into her bedroom and softly closed the door. The dog stood looking up at her, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth and his eyes a soft liquid brown.
“If I let you up on the bed with me, do you promise not to hog it?” Emma gingerly sat down and patted a place beside her. “You promise not to eat me if I wake you up from a sound sleep?”
Beaker eagerly accepted her invitation, jumping up and plopping himself down right in the middle.
Emma carefully settled on what space was left, making sure she didn’t jar her throbbing shoulder.
Beaker immediately snuggled against her.
There was an advantage to having a big dog, Emma decided. Beaker radiated a pleasant heat down her entire back, supporting her at the same time.
Maybe, just maybe, she’d keep him.
Chapter Sixteen
F ive days. Five long, boring days of being treated like an invalid by five males, one of which had four legs and a cold nose.
She was totally sick of it. Her ankle was healed, her shoulder couldn’t move but it was out of the sling, and her beautiful house looked like a dust bowl. It was time to clean it out, and Emma started with her watchdogs—including the four-legged one.
“Are you headed into town again this morning?” she asked Ben over her cup of tea, sitting across the table from the man who could, with just a look, send her pulse into overdrive.
She’d been getting a lot of those looks lately—whenever he was home. Ben had been leaving the house every morning for the last five days, returning only for supper. He called her every noon to check on how she was feeling, but Emma knew he was really checking to make sure she was behaving herself.
“Yes,” he said, his piercing gray eyes sending another ripple of awareness down her spine as she tried to remember her question. “And what are your plans for the day?”
“I thought I would do some dusting.”
“You’re not well enough to do housework,” he said with all the concern of a man who didn’t see dust or cobwebs or accumulating laundry.
“I think I can manage a dustrag. And the first thing I’m cleaning out is all you men. Mikey’s going to school, and Skyler is taking him. I want him to pick him up this afternoon also. Atwood can go to cabin six and do ‘secretary’ stuff. And you’re taking Beaker with you into town. That poor beast is more bored than I am,” she finished, raising her chin.
He merely smiled. “Are we driving you nuts, Emma?”
“I can’t turn around without tripping over testosterone.” She set her cup on the table with a thunk. “It’s bad enough I have to stay cooped up all day; I don’t need an army of guards watching my every move.”
His frown returned. “You’re liable to get an idea into your head and take off or something.”
“A person can only take so much coddling, Ben.”
He stared at her, his face chiseled stone. Emma felt another ripple run down her spine. Ben hadn’t said one word about her nearly getting his son killed six days ago. And not once had he commented on the tangle of metal, now sitting behind the garage. He didn’t speak of Wayne Poulin or the coordinates, of drug running or the shots fired at them. Nor did he mention the bullet wound in her shoulder.
Ben looked down at Beaker, who had sidled over and set his chin on her knee. “I suppose you could use a break,” he said, his face softening. “You’re too independent for all this attention, and Beaker and I could use a little time together.”
Immensely pleased with her little victory, Emma patted Beaker on the head as she took a piece of toast from her plate and fed her new friend.
Ben pushed his chair back and walked over to the counter, where he grabbed the bowl of Elmer Fudge cookies. He returned to the table and proceeded to pick out a cookie, break it apart, and use a table knife to scrape the chocolate center into his plate.
Beaker immediately raised his head to watch.
Ben performed his little operation on two dozen cookies, making a huge pile of vanilla wafers. Then he swept them up and stuffed them in his pocket.
“Bribery, Ben?” Emma asked with a laugh.
“Self-defense,” he answered as he stood up. “Come on, Beaker. Let’s go for a ride.” The dog stood, his tail wagging as he stared at Ben’s pocket.
Ben walked to the door and opened it. “Come on, Beaker. Outside.”
Her faithful guardian obediently trotted to the door, but stopped and looked back at her with uncertainty. Emma nodded. “Go on, boy. Go for a ride.”
The dog bounded outside.
Ben let the screen door slap closed as he walked back to the table, and grabbed her chin in his hand. “Now that he’s out of the way …” he whispered, just as his mouth captured hers.
Emma’s toes instantly curled, and she had to grab the table for support. Holy hell, he was dangerous to her heart. But she wouldn’t allow her fears to rob her of this enjoyment anymore. She wrapped her good arm around his neck and kissed him back.
That was all the invitation he needed. He carefully pulled her to her feet and into his arms, wrapping her in his warmth and strength and sweet-smelling maleness. Her head reeled with unleashed passion. The very floor beneath them rumbled. Dishes rattled. A pot on the counter crashed to the floor.
Emma pulled back and looked up at him. “How do you keep doing that?” she whispered in awe.
His frown made her laugh out loud.
“Jeez, Nem! That was a powerful one,” Mikey said as he ran into the kitchen, sliding to a sudden stop when he saw his aunt in the arms of his father.
Emma realized she was clinging to Ben and stepped back.
The kitchen door banged open, and Atwood and Skyler came running into the kitchen, Beaker fast on their heels. The two men’s eyes were nearly bugging out of their heads; Beaker was whining and looking for a place to hide.
Emma laughed out loud.
“What was that?” Atwood asked. “Maine doesn’t have earthquakes, does it?”
She shook her head. “Not usually. But we do get
little rumbles every once and a while. Just enough to rattle the dishes.”
“That was more than a rattle,” Skyler interjected.
“It’s the earth rebounding from being crushed by heavy glaciers thousands of years ago,” Mikey told them. “Or it might be the hot springs,” he said, looking at Emma. “They could be rumbling back to life.”