Page 158 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

“I love you too, baby girl.” His heart ached as he watched her smile at him so trustingly. He’d cost her the mother who should still be here with her.

CHAPTER TWO

Two days later Becca found herself clinging desperately to the side of the boat as Lake Superior waves slapped the vessel like a giant hand. The motion left her feeling queasy. She’d forgotten how uneasy her stomach got in rough water. Lifting her face into the cold spray off the lake, she focused on the landscape instead of her tummy.

Clutching her cat Misty in her arms, she watched the island draw nearer. Lake Superior glittered like some fabled jewel. She leaned forward and fastened her gaze on the imposing house just coming into view. A shiver started at her back. It had always been her first reaction. Jake used to say Windigo Manor looked like a great bird of prey looking down on its hapless victims.

His comparison had given her nightmares when she was growing up. She told herself she was no longer a child, but the shakes wouldn’t stop. She didn’t want to think about the last time she’d been here. Staring at the manor, she watched it draw closer.

The house could have been the setting forJane Eyre. Weathered stone and three stories high, its mullioned windows cast a glassy stare over the crashing waves below. She’d never felt comfortable in that house. That was probably the reason shenever wanted to live there. And now, she was doing that very thing.

The sooner she found what she wanted and got out, the happier she’d be.

She rehearsed what to say to Max Duncan and smoothed her linen skirt with nervous fingers. The boat owner, Dutch he called himself, eased the boat to the dock then jumped out and looped a rope over a piling.

He shook his head as he looked at her. “If you don’t mind me saying so, Miss, you sure you know what you’re doing, eh?” Dutch took off his faded baseball cap and scratched his head before slapping it back over his bald head. “There’s no fun times out here. The Baxters are a mighty dour folk. A woman as fine-looking as you could find another job with no problem.”

He was a bonafide Yooper, as residents of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula were called. Becca smiled at his characteristic twang, part Canadian and part Finnish inflection. “I’ll be fine. You go on back.” She straightened her jacket and tucked Misty inside then smoothed her hair. Max wouldn’t be inclined to hire a woman who looked like a rattled mermaid.

Clambering over the side of the boat, she planted her feet on the beach. The heels of her shoes sank into the sand, and she staggered. She bit her lip. She wanted to portray a persona of competence not ineptitude.

Tugging her heel from the sand, she stared at the woods. She’d forgotten how the massive trees blocked out the sun. The wind soughed through the pine trees along the cliff’s edge, and the back of her neck prickled as if someone were watching her.

She caught herself looking for shadows, and laughed, though even to her ears, the laugh sounded shaky. Her grandparents’ housekeeper, Moxie Jeffries, used to tell her all about the Windigo, Ojibwa spirits who roamed the North Woods lookedfor people to devour. Childish nonsense, surely. But why did her hands still tremble?

Dragging her luggage behind her, she marched to the front door and lifted the knocker. The door opened, and Becca found her gaze traveling up and up until she stared into the dark blue eyes of the man filling the doorway. Unruly black hair spilled over a wide forehead that was creased in a surprised frown. His sheer size made Becca feel small and dainty which was something few men accomplished. At nearly six feet tall, she wasn’t used to the sensation and wasn’t sure she liked it.

It made her feel out of control. Not an unusual feeling, but Becca had hoped to be like Wynne, cool and calm.

She drew herself up to her full height. “Mr. Duncan?”

He nodded and leaned against the door jamb. “Ms. Lynn, I presume?”

“Yes.” She held out her hand. “Please call me Becca since we’re going to be working together.” She wasn’t sure she’d remember to answer if someone called her Ms. Lynn.

“You don’t look like a Becca. I’d expect a Becca to be small and dainty, not a towering Valkyrie.” His shoulders still blocked the doorway, and the surprise in his face changed to anger as he looked at the cat in her arms.

Becca’s mouth dropped open. She simply couldn’t help herself. Didn’t he know it was bad taste to remark on a woman’s height? She bit her lip and told herself to stand up to him.

She recovered her composure and gave him what she hoped was a calm, competent smile. “Look, Mr. Duncan, I didn’t come all this way to discuss my name—or my size. May I come in?” Though she hated to admit it, even to herself, this man’s intimidating stare had shaken her. She just prayed he couldn’t feel the fear radiating off her like heat baking off Eagle Rock in the summer. Some people could smell fear. She hoped he wasn’t one of them.

His brows drew together. “Remember this is a trial period only. I’ve never had a research assistant, and I’m not sure how we’ll get along. Especially a woman who shows up with a cat without asking if it’s all right.”

The derision in his voice stung. He stared at her, his blue eyes raking over her face like twin lasers. She wanted to cower but managed a sweet smile. “Only curmudgeons don’t like cats.”

“Then I freely admit to being one. Just keep that animal out of my sight.” He hesitated then took her suitcase and swung the door wide. “The parlor is on the right.”

The wordsI knowwere on the tip of Becca’s tongue, and she bit them back just in time. Whew, this was going to be harder than she thought. She started inside then tripped over the doorplate. Max grabbed her before she tumbled to the floor. Misty yowled and shot out of her grasp then dashed across the hall and cowered under the hall tree.

Her face burned, and she tugged her arm out of his grasp. “Thanks,” she said, not wanting to look at him. She glanced around. It was exactly the same. Grandma’s hall tree, its mirror scratched and the silver coming off in places, still graced the corner near the door. The same wallpaper brightened the plaster walls with a floral pattern. The faint scent of decay still wafted in the air.

“Misty, come here.” She tried to coax her cat out from under the table.

“Leave the stupid cat,” Max walked past. “Let’s talk.”

Suppressing another shiver, she started down the hall. Without her grandmother’s presence, the old mansion seemed even more sinister, especially with the man behind her in residence. He would have made a good pirate with his black hair and cynical smile.

Becca stepped inside the parlor and gasped at the wave of pain that swept over her at the empty room. She’d half expectedto see her parents here, she realized. She hadn’t understood how hard it would be to come here again and not see her mother bent over her photo scrapbooks and her father working on a crossword puzzle. Their presence had been like a safety net, and the sense of being on her own dried her mouth and made her knees tremble. She curled her fingers into fists, the sharp edges of her nails cutting into her palms. She couldn’t afford to let Max Duncan suspect anything.

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