“You’re one big mess, Nemmy.” He looked back at the plane and then at her, grinning like a drunken fool. “But we did it! We walked away from my first official crash.”

“Not many people have crashed so gracefully, Mikey. You did good, big man. You earned your wings today.”

His euphoria suddenly vanished. “We’ve still got to face Dad.”

Emma smiled. “Which means you get to earn your sonbadge next—because you’re the one who gets to tell him,” she said, just before everything went black.

Chapter Fifteen

B en stood outside thesmall, rural hospital’s room, not ready to face what he would find inside. Not until his anger cooled. Not until his hands stopped shaking. And definitely not until he trusted himself not to strangle the woman who seemed determined to give him a heart attack.

He was afraid that if he walked in there right now, he would lash out at Emma with the full force of the wrath he was feeling. Then again, he could just as easily crawl into bed with her, wrap her in his arms, and weep with relief.

So he stood silently outside the door, blatantly eavesdropping on the conversation taking place between his son and the woman he intended to marry as soon as he could find a preacher.

“You look worse than I feel,” Emma said, her voice a mere croak.

Ben moved just enough to see Mike standing beside the bed, his posture subdued, his face bruised, the flowers he’d brought forgotten in his hand.

“I … uh … Dad’s here,” the boy whispered as he moved closer. “And you know that civilized veneer we talked about?”

“Y-yes.”

“Well, it’s gone, Nem.”

Ben very nearly smiled when he saw Emma’s eyes widen in horror. Then she looked more closely at her nephew. “He didn’t lay a finger on you, did he?” she asked, her voice stronger—and outraged.

“I almost wish he had. He’s angry enough to kill someone, but I don’t think we’re the target he’s looking for.”

Ben saw Emma heave a giant sigh. She looked damn good for someone who had been shot and then managed to survive a plane crash. Her left arm was bandaged against her ribs and there was another bandage on her forehead, but otherwise she looked fit enough to face him.

He pushed the door open and quietly walked in.

“Give your aunt her flowers, Mike,” he told his son as he approached. He laid a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’re strangling them to death.”

Deep jade eyes the size of dinner plates stared up at him from the bed. Ben moved closer, and carefully touched his lips to her cheek. “Hello, Emma. Been keeping out of trouble while I was gone?” he asked softly.

She shook her head, then suddenly started nodding it up and down, her eyes still huge and unblinking. It looked to Ben as if she’d stopped breathing.

“So you’ve earned the present I brought you from New York?”

Hesitant, and clearly suspicious, she nodded again. Ben kissed her again, this time on the lips, then walked over and opened the window. He nodded to the man outside, and gave a low whistle through his teeth.

A large German shepherd lithely bounded through the window into the room.

A surprised squeak came from the bed.

“Meet Beaker, Em.” He touched the dog’s head and turned to Emma, bringing Beaker with him. “He’s six years old and he wants to move in with a family. He’s tired of city life, and is looking forward to retiring to Maine.”

The recipient of this gift was eyeing the shepherd with ill-concealed horror. Beaker was eyeing her in return, his nose pushed through the rails of the bed and his tongue lolling off to the side.

“Retiring from what?” she asked in a barely audible voice.

“Beaker’s been a personal security dog for the last three years.”

“What happened to whoever he was guarding? Did he eat them?”

Ben pushed Beaker’s head out of the way and dropped the rail on the bed. He sat down by Emma’s hip and patted the bed beside her. Beaker immediately accepted the invitation and lifted his front paws onto the bed and sniffed her.

She squeaked again and tried to scoot over to the other side. “I don’t think you’re supposed to bring a dog into the hospital, Ben. It’s unsanitary or something.”

“Beaker and I won’t tell if you don’t.” Ben frowned. “You’re not afraid of dogs, are you, Emma?”

“N-no. Not small, harmless dogs with teeth the size of toothpicks.”

He looked over at Mike, who had taken two steps back. The boy’s face looked as pale as Emma’s.

Well, hell. The Sandses were afraid of dogs.

Ben cupped Emma’s hip just as Beaker leaned forward and gave her a wet lap on the hand. She whimpered at the gentle greeting.

“Beaker won’t hurt you, Em. Actually he’s partial to women.” He looked at Mikey. “He likes boys, too,” he added as he pushed the dog down.

“We … we can’t have a dog at Medicine Creek Camps, Ben,” she said, her voice growing stronger in direct relation to Beaker’s distance. “They chase deer.”

“Beaker won’t. He’s been trained to stay close to people.”

Her gaze was on her new pet, who was now eyeing Mike with interest. The boy was all but plastered to the wall, and it looked like he’d stopped breathing, too.

“Good God, people. He’s not going to eat you,” Ben said with waning patience. “He’s a fine dog and will be a good addition to the household.”

“He’s nearly as big as Pitiful.” Emma pushed a button and lifted the head of her bed.

She immediately stopped when Beaker turned at the noise.

“Then the two of them should get along great.” Ben stood up, his hands on his hips and his expression showing that his patience was gone. “Beaker needs you as well as the peace and quiet of your woods. You’re going to have to coddle him. Take him with you wherever you go. He loves riding in the truck.”

He started out of the room. “So make peace with the animal, Emma. You’re all that’s standing between him and a nervous breakdown.”

“Wait!”

He stopped and looked back at her.

“Where are you going?”

“To clean up the mess you started yesterday.”

He stopped just outside the door, and waited to see how the three inside were going to deal with one another.

“Walk over to this side of the bed,” he heard Emma whisper. “Slowly, Mikey. Don’t spook him.”

Ben leaned forward to peek in the room. Mike was making a Herculean effort to unglue himself from the wall. The boy slowly inched his way around Beaker, never taking his eyes off the dog.

“Nice dog,” Emma said softly, staring at Beaker. She had her water pitcher in her hand, looking ready to hurl it at the poor, unsuspecting dog should he attack her nephew.

Ben shook his head. They were petrified of a gentle dog?

Well, Beaker was gentle with his charges. The highly trained guard dog could rip an assailant into pieces if he wanted to. He was intelligent, perceptive, and vigilant, having been trained at one of the best facilities in the country.

Ben only hoped the poor animal had plenty of patience.

“He doesn’t look that mean, Nem,” he heard Mike say, now that the boy had the safety of the bed between them. “He’s kind of handsome. And look at his eyes. They’re sort of sad-looking.”

“They look crafty to me. Who knows what he’s

really thinking?”

“Dad wouldn’t have brought you a dangerous pet, Nem. Beaker was trained to protect the people he lives with, not eat them.”

Ben saw Emma eyeing Beaker with suspicion. “I don’t like dogs—especially when they’re bigger than me. One bite and I could lose an arm or a leg.”

“Aw, Jeez, look at him. We’re hurting his feelings. We should talk to him.”