the Northern Star Lodge as an exclusive hunting club but, by the time my dad took it over, nobody was doing that much anymore and the clientele changed. It’s right on the sled trails, so it does okay.”
“What do the rest of them do?”
He might have resented the twenty questions game if not for the fact it gave him an excuse to ignore the green tree trunks left on his plate. “The oldest, Mitch, runs a controlled demolition company. It’s based out of New York, but he hotel-hops mostly. Then there’s Ryan, who builds custom homes in the Boston area. I’m in the middle and then there’s Liz, who lives out in New Mexico, of all places. Josh is the youngest.”
“Do you see them often?”
It was pretty benign, as questions went, but Sean took another sip of his drink to buy himself a few seconds. He’d seen them all but Liz a few days ago, when they’d gathered at Ryan’s place in Mass for a welcome-home party. With the lodge a five-hour drive from Boston’s Logan Airport on top of the flights and busy schedules, it had made more sense to gather at Ryan’s. And since he wasn’t quite ready to settle down and commit to anything, Sean had decided to spend some time in New Hampshire before heading home.
But, as far as Cat knew, he’d been out of the army for two years, not less than two weeks.
“I see them often enough to not miss them too badly,” he said, “but not so much we get on each other’s nerves.”
Emma cleared her throat. “Do you want some more chicken divan, Sean? There’s plenty.”
Hell, no. “No thanks. It was good, though.”
Her smile brightened, causing him a pang of guilt for the lie. Or maybe the pang was the broccoli. “I have an apple pie for dessert. Store-bought, of course, since I wanted it to actually taste good.”
Cat laughed. “I did everything I could to teach her how to cook. Lost cause, I guess. She’d rather play in the dirt. Do you cook, Sean?”
“I grill. We grill a lot.” He didn’t miss the way Emma’s eyes widened.
“At least you won’t starve. I’ve taken to grilling a lot in Florida because it’s better than heating up the house. More often than not we end up gathering at one person’s grill and throwing something on it, like a potluck. Maybe tomorrow I can make you my famous honey-ginger grilled salmon.”
Emma gave him a quick shake of her head, panic in her eyes. Shit. She didn’t own a barbeque grill? “It’s…uh. We had to scrap it.”
Cat’s eyebrows rose. “Scrap it?”
“I blew it up,” Emma said in a rush. “And we haven’t bought a new one yet. I mean, not a big explosion, of course, but I did something wrong with the propane tank and…I broke it.”
“And you wonder why I worry about you.”
Sean smothered a chuckle with his napkin. Way to convince somebody you can be left unattended, he thought.
“Of course, I worry a lot less now that you have Sean.”
The look she gave him—all sweet and trusting and gooey with gratitude—made him feel like a heel. No. Wrong body part. He felt like an ass and he had to grit his teeth to keep from spilling everything.
Then he looked at Emma and the urge receded. She was watching her grandmother and it seemed like some of the tension eased out of her body. Her expression was full of love and relief, reminding him of why they were in this position—to ease Cat’s mind so she could enjoy her retirement. At least it seemed to be working.
The store-bought apple pie went a long way toward making him more comfortable but, at the first opportunity, he excused himself. “I need to make a few phone calls, so I’ll leave you ladies to catch up.”
It was a lie but, hell, what was one more? On his way out, he ducked into Emma’s office and grabbed one of the umpteen pads of sticky notes she had scattered on the desk and rummaged around until he found a Sharpie marker.
Once upstairs, he went straight into their shared bathroom. He peeled the top sticky note off the pad and stuck
“What do the rest of them do?”
He might have resented the twenty questions game if not for the fact it gave him an excuse to ignore the green tree trunks left on his plate. “The oldest, Mitch, runs a controlled demolition company. It’s based out of New York, but he hotel-hops mostly. Then there’s Ryan, who builds custom homes in the Boston area. I’m in the middle and then there’s Liz, who lives out in New Mexico, of all places. Josh is the youngest.”
“Do you see them often?”
It was pretty benign, as questions went, but Sean took another sip of his drink to buy himself a few seconds. He’d seen them all but Liz a few days ago, when they’d gathered at Ryan’s place in Mass for a welcome-home party. With the lodge a five-hour drive from Boston’s Logan Airport on top of the flights and busy schedules, it had made more sense to gather at Ryan’s. And since he wasn’t quite ready to settle down and commit to anything, Sean had decided to spend some time in New Hampshire before heading home.
But, as far as Cat knew, he’d been out of the army for two years, not less than two weeks.
“I see them often enough to not miss them too badly,” he said, “but not so much we get on each other’s nerves.”
Emma cleared her throat. “Do you want some more chicken divan, Sean? There’s plenty.”
Hell, no. “No thanks. It was good, though.”
Her smile brightened, causing him a pang of guilt for the lie. Or maybe the pang was the broccoli. “I have an apple pie for dessert. Store-bought, of course, since I wanted it to actually taste good.”
Cat laughed. “I did everything I could to teach her how to cook. Lost cause, I guess. She’d rather play in the dirt. Do you cook, Sean?”
“I grill. We grill a lot.” He didn’t miss the way Emma’s eyes widened.
“At least you won’t starve. I’ve taken to grilling a lot in Florida because it’s better than heating up the house. More often than not we end up gathering at one person’s grill and throwing something on it, like a potluck. Maybe tomorrow I can make you my famous honey-ginger grilled salmon.”
Emma gave him a quick shake of her head, panic in her eyes. Shit. She didn’t own a barbeque grill? “It’s…uh. We had to scrap it.”
Cat’s eyebrows rose. “Scrap it?”
“I blew it up,” Emma said in a rush. “And we haven’t bought a new one yet. I mean, not a big explosion, of course, but I did something wrong with the propane tank and…I broke it.”
“And you wonder why I worry about you.”
Sean smothered a chuckle with his napkin. Way to convince somebody you can be left unattended, he thought.
“Of course, I worry a lot less now that you have Sean.”
The look she gave him—all sweet and trusting and gooey with gratitude—made him feel like a heel. No. Wrong body part. He felt like an ass and he had to grit his teeth to keep from spilling everything.
Then he looked at Emma and the urge receded. She was watching her grandmother and it seemed like some of the tension eased out of her body. Her expression was full of love and relief, reminding him of why they were in this position—to ease Cat’s mind so she could enjoy her retirement. At least it seemed to be working.
The store-bought apple pie went a long way toward making him more comfortable but, at the first opportunity, he excused himself. “I need to make a few phone calls, so I’ll leave you ladies to catch up.”
It was a lie but, hell, what was one more? On his way out, he ducked into Emma’s office and grabbed one of the umpteen pads of sticky notes she had scattered on the desk and rummaged around until he found a Sharpie marker.
Once upstairs, he went straight into their shared bathroom. He peeled the top sticky note off the pad and stuck
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