She frowned at him. “What in hell are you talking about?”

He stepped up to her and Emma stepped back, bumping into the bathroom door as she clutched her towel more securely. She had to tilt her head up in order to keep eye contact, and from this angle, the guy looked way too tall and determined.

“It means I’m going to tie you to that bed if I have to, Emma.”

He was bluffing. She lifted her chin in some semblance of authority. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His eyes ignited like silver moonbeams.

“Michael wouldn’t let you.”

“I’m bigger than Michael, too.”

“I haveto go get that moose. It’ll bloat up like a balloon if I don’t field dress it tonight.”

“Mike and I will go get your precious moose. You’re in no condition to haul it out, much less sleep in your truck. I won’t tie you up if you crawl into bed and give me your word to stay there.”

“Medicine Creek Camps is my responsibility, not yours. And it’s not Michael’s anymore, either. Get out of my room.”

“Give over, Em.”

He wouldn’t daretie her to the bed. Would he?

“Fine. I hope you fall in Beaver Pond and get frozen there until spring!”

“You know it’s for your own good, Em. You’re dead on your feet.”

She swept past him to her bureau. “If there’s one thing a woman always loves to hear from a man, it’s that he’s being a jackass for her own good.” She grabbed some long johns and an insulated T-shirt and marched into the bathroom. “Make sure you don’t wear one of your nice shirts, Mr. Sinclair. Bloodstains don’t come out of expensive material any easier than good old flannel. And don’t forget a pillow.”

With that parting shot, she slammed the door in his face.

When she opened it again, her hair dry and her body decently covered, there were two sets of stockinged feet in her room.

Emma walked right past them and pulled back the covers and plopped into bed. She fluffed her pillows, straightened her blankets, folded her hands on her lap, then finally looked up. One set of gray eyes was laughing at her and the other set was studying her with concern.

“I heated some soup for you, Nem. You didn’t have any supper.”

Michael placed a tray on her lap. Emma looked down at the bowl of steaming chicken noodle soup, a sandwich big enough to choke a horse, crackers, hot tea, and a whole package of Elmer Fudge cookies.

A peace offering. Michael had seen her stiffen when he’d called Ben “Dad,” and taking sides with him now was making the boy feel like a traitor.

Emma wanted to throw the entire tray against the wall, bury herself under her blankets, and cry for a week. But she didn’t want Mikey pulled in two directions by two people he cared for.

She looked up at the young man she’d taken into her heart the moment he’d taken his first breath. Knowing her eyes were swimming in unshed tears, she smiled at him. “Thanks, Mikey. I’m starved.”

“We’ll go get the moose and bring it back here tonight. You just rest and stay warm, Nem. Please don’t worry about anything. Da—Mr. Sinclair and I can handle it.”

“Just be careful. The moose is near the south shore.”

“We’ll find it. Eat. I’m gonna go get the equipment together now. Eat,” he repeated, giving her one last hesitant look before silently striding out of the room.

Emma picked up the spoon and slowly swirled it around in the soup, watching the steam waft into the air. The bed beside her dipped with Ben’s weight, and a hand settled on the blankets beside her as he leaned across her legs. When she lifted her gaze, intense gunmetal gray pierced her.

“This isn’t going to work, Emma. We have to stop clashing every time we get within ten feet of each other. It’s tearing Mike apart. He shouldn’t have to choose between us.”

“I’m not asking him to.” She looked back down at her dinner. “I was a little … angry when I came in. And hearing him call you ‘Dad’ caught me off guard.” She looked back at Ben. “I’m glad he likes you. I’m glad you had today together. Now you can take him home.”

He shook his head, his gaze never leaving hers. “No, I can’t. Mike’s not ready to walk away yet. Can’t you see that?”

Emma sighed, picked up one of the cookies and pulled it apart, exposing the chocolate. “Then I’ve got to give him a push,” she said, then raked the creamy center with her teeth.

“You push him, and he’s liable to push right back. Just give him some time.” He stole one of her cookies and popped it into his mouth.

The guy had no idea how to eat an Elmer Fudge.

“Give me some time, too, Em. Michael’s not the only one trying to feel his way through this mess.”

“Let me ask you something, Mr. Sinclair.”

“You could start making things easier for Mike if you called me Ben,” he suggested.

“Okay. Ben. Did you ever question that Michael might not even be your son?”

“Damn right I did. The moment I put down your letter.”

Emma ignored the fact that he still thought she had sent the letter. “But you don’t have any doubts now?”

“I didn’t have any before I came here. It’s like looking in a mirror twenty years ago.”

Emma smiled. “Yes. Michael’s the spitting image of you when you came here that summer. But how come you were sure before you even saw him? You must have known you weren’t the first man to be with Kelly. Michael could have belonged to someone else.”

Ben shook his head. “I had my lawyers check. And a private detective firm. I knew before I made my reservation here that Mike was mine.”

“I see.”

“I had you checked out quite thoroughly, too.”

“Me!”

“You haven’t had a very easy life, have you?”

Emma raised her chin. “I’ve had a wonderful life. Other than losing my parents and Kelly’s leaving, this has been heaven. Don’t you dare pity me.”

“Pity you! Good Lord, woman. I’m in awe of you.”

Emma snorted and grabbed another cookie. Ben plucked it out of her hand and replaced it with her spoon. “Soup first,” he ordered. He picked up the bowl of cookies, stood up, and put them on her nightstand.

Even in his stocking feet, the man had a tendency to loom. He stood there silently and patiently, and Emma knew that if she didn’t start eating he’d still be planted there come spring. She ate several spoonfuls laden with noodles, then pointed her spoon at the door.

“Enjoy yourself tonight, Ben. Consider field dressing that moose by headlight a rite of passage for father and son. I just wish I could be there to watch.” She gave him a brilliant smile as she got in the last salvo. “Mikey’s allergic to moose hair. So make sure you take your own knife.”

Her chin was suddenly lifted and her gasp muffled by warm, wickedly delicious lips—which were just as suddenly gone.

Chapter Seven

“Q uit rubbing your eyes. You’re making it worse.”

“I can’t help it. They itch.”

“Why in hell didn’t you let me dress the moose by myself?”

His son looked over at him with red, swollen eyes. “Because we were only trying to get the guts out, not butcher it. You were hacking off some of the best meat.”

“Yeah. Well. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I look at hamburger again.”

“Jeez, Dad. Beef isn’t born in plastic wrap.”

“Mine is.” He was so tired, Ben nearly dropped his head into the steering wheel. He rubbed his own eyes and peered out the windshield to see Medicine Creek Camps finally come into view. The sun was up, but blocked by mountains.

“Shit,” Mike said.

“Now what? Did that damn moose fall out of the truck?”

“Simms is here. That’s his truck.”

Ben saw a dirty black pickup parked next to the house. “It’s barely daybreak. What in hell is he doing here this early?”