“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.”

Emma preferred the image of Benjamin Sinclair’s arms upraised, commanding nature to his will. She forcibly shook it away. “Well, gentlemen. Since you’re all here now, Ben has something he wants to tell you.”

Ben looked at her, the spark of passion still in his eyes. “Maybe you should tell them, Emma, since you’re so full of … surprises this morning.”

Fighting down the heat suddenly threatening to color her face, Emma looked at the three expectant men, and at Beaker, who was sitting and staring up at her.

“Ah …” She looked at Mikey first. “Ben and I were thinking it’s time for you to go back to school.”

The boy immediately shook his head. “I want to stay home a few more days.”

“I think you’re over the trauma of crashing our plane, young man. You’ve milked it long enough.”

“But—”

“Go to school, Mike. Skyler, you’ll take him and pick him up,” Ben added, looking at Skyler, who nodded in return.

“Atwood,” Ben continued, “why don’t you see about filling that woodshed out back.”

Atwood quickly nodded, seeming relieved not to have to spend another day lurking close to the house.

Ben turned to her. “And you won’t lift anything heavier than a dustrag?” he asked, looking skeptical.

She placed her right hand over her heart. “I promise not to get into any trouble,” was all she said in agreement.

He kissed her firmly on the lips. “I’ll be home early,” he said, and walked out the door, calling Beaker to follow.

Emma went to the sink, and with a slightly trembling hand and pink face, she picked up the fallen pot. “Have a nice day, gentlemen,” she said without looking up as they silently filed out the door. Each of them stopped only long enough to dip into the bowl of cookies on their way out before letting the screen door slam behind them.

Emma eyed the empty bowl. They were going through the Elmer Fudge cookies like kibble. She didn’t know where they had come from, but there was a whole case in the pantry. And there always seemed to be a large bowl of them on the counter. She had decided it was magic, because one minute she’d notice the bowl was empty, and the next minute it would be full.

Her little addiction seemed to be contagious.

It was three o’clock before Emma heard the kitchen door slam again over the voice of Mary Chapin Carpenter coming from her earphones. She looked up from the paperwork scattered over the table to see Ben and Beaker walk in, both looking like they owned the place.

Beaker trotted up and immediately pushed at her arm for attention. Emma pulled off her headset and shut off her radio, then reached down to greet her pet.

“Something smells good,” Ben said, shedding his jacket. “What’s in the oven?”

“I got sick of Mikey’s cooking.” Emma patted her dog. “He’s got this thing about spices. That’s turkey you’re smelling.”

Ben looked concerned. “How did you get it in the oven with only one arm?”

“I called in reinforcements. Greta put the turkey in the oven,” she explained, looking back down at her paperwork. “You can either wash the potatoes or help me figure out how I’m going to come up with the funds for a new plane.”

“You said it was insured,” he said, scanning the paperwork from over her shoulder. “So what’s the

problem?”

“They’re not paying out until the FAA has finished its investigation. I … um … I don’t have an instructor’s license, and Mikey isn’t old enough to solo yet. And word’s out that he was at the controls at the time of the crash. The investigation could take months.” She tapped her pencil on her financial worksheet. “And I don’t have months. In the winter I change the pontoons to skis and fly ice fishermen into remote ponds and biologists in for animal counts. I need to replace my plane.”