Sharing Spaces. Nadia Nichols
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“I already have a career, Mr. Hanson, and it doesn’t involve Labrador.”
“No,” he said. “It involves other people’s weddings. I got that part. But this place’ll grow on you, I guarantee it, and the fishing lodge will generate enough income to make you happy even if you’re an absentee business partner living and working in Maine.”
He towered over her, his eyes intense. “We’re only two weeks away from opening. I just need to find another fishing guide or two. At least think about keeping your grandfather’s half. But know this,” he added. “If you decide to sell out, I’m not going to make it easy for you. I’ve worked my ass off to help make this place what it is. This is my future we’re talking about, not to mention your grandfather’s lifelong dream.”
Before Senna could respond, he strode away, leaving her standing on the dock staring after him.
Her life, up until this very day, had been fairly steady, safe and predictable, but suddenly she found herself in the middle of a whole bunch of unknowns—and in spite of the dubious circumstances, she found herself looking forward to exploring them, even if it was just for two weeks.
Dear Reader,
I am haunted by Labrador. I first saw this wild and lonely land in 1991, behind a team of Alaskan huskies while running the Labrador 400 sled dog race. The race began in a snowstorm that ended two days later and found my team and me lost in a kind of wilderness we’d never experienced before. This is a land of caribou and wolves, of Innu and Inuit, of savage shrieking winds that both humble and exult. This is a land of brilliant displays of northern lights, a land where the silence—when the storm finally passes—is so still that it’s loud to the ears.
We eventually found our way out of that wild place, thanks to a bush pilot my parents hired to find us, but we never found a way to escape the pull of it. That pull brought us back to race the following season, and the memories of those two journeys tugged at me throughout the years and caused endless discussions of “going there again” with my father, who had been equally taken by the truly wild character of the land. In fact, one of the last conversations I had with my dad was about Labrador and buying a cabin there. I bought a place in Labrador last year, on the first anniversary of his death. It’s a remote cabin fifty odd miles from the nearest road, on the shores of the same wild lake that scrambled me and my team so badly in that first race. Wolves and caribou travel the gravel strand in front of the cabin, the wind blows free and the waves lap up against the shore. It’s a beautiful, lonely spot, a place that heals the spirit and nourishes the soul.
This story is about two people from different worlds and different backgrounds being thrown together as business partners in this remote wilderness. How they adapt to this reluctant partnership and come to terms with each other and with the land itself is a tribute to their characters, and perhaps even more than that, it is a tribute to the healing power of nature and love’s eternal optimism.
Nadia Nichols
Sharing Spaces
Nadia Nichols
This one’s for you, Dad.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
LIKE MOST WEDDINGS held at the Inn on Christmas Cove, this one had been in the works for well over a year, but unlike most weddings, this one had been under Senna McCallum’s sole charge right from the start. She was personally handling this wedding because Sheila Payson, the bride’s mother, had asked her to, and nobody said no to Sheila Payson, who was heir to the Payson dynasty and used to getting her own way in all things. Senna had been working at the inn her mother’s sister owned for the past five years, her first two as a sales associate, learning the ropes, and then as head of the sales department, the person who oversaw each and every function and made sure everything down to the smallest detail was perfect. At twenty-nine, Senna had already garnered enough of a reputation to have attracted the attention of Mrs. Payson, which was quite an achievement for someone with a bachelor of science in wildlife biology.
The details had been endless, and the phone calls and visits from the bride and her mother had become more and more frequent, as many as two or three a week as the date drew near. Now that the big day had finally arrived, Senna was relieved. The weather, which was iffy in late June on the Maine coast, was bright and clear. Fogs could shroud Christmas Cove, creating a damp gray mood not at all conducive to nuptial festivities, or it could be stormy and rainy. But luck was with them, and the dark, sparkling cove with its rugged granite ledge and wind-stunted evergreens had never looked more beautiful.
The ceremony itself was held beneath the arbor in the rose garden and had gone off without any problems. The first hour of the reception before the guests moved into the ballroom for dinner was in full swing to the accompaniment of a string quartet. The wait staff were passing crab cakes with rémoulade, lobster salad in endive spears and chicken satay with peanut sauce. The first and second hors d’oeuvre stations were abundantly supplied with jumbo shrimp, Jonah crab claws, mahogany clams and oysters on the half shell. The reception was progressing more smoothly than Senna had dared hope when the inn’s general manager took her aside.
“Senna? You have a call from your mother,” Linda Sherwood said, handing her the portable phone.
Senna thanked Linda and moved around the corner of the building for privacy. “Hi Mom, what’s up?”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” her mother said. She sounded upset, and Senna’s grip on the phone tightened. “Your grandfather passed away on Wednesday. His lawyer called a little while ago.”
Senna closed her eyes with relief that her brothers were okay. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mom. I wish we’d been closer to him, but—”
“Senna, I know you’re busy so I won’t beat around the bush,” her mother interrupted. “According to the lawyer, the admiral named you as his executor.”
“What? Are you sure? Why not Billy or Bryce?” Senna caught a glimpse of movement. The banquet director hovered nearby, an apologetic look on her face, and tapped the face of her wristwatch. It was time to move the wedding party into the ballroom. Senna nodded that she understood. “Mom, I’m sorry, but I have to go. We’re right in the middle of a big wedding. I have tomorrow off so I’ll come over right after I get out of work tonight and we can talk in the morning. Love you, and leave the porch light on for me.”
Senna stood for a few moments, collecting her thoughts before rejoining the wedding party. It had been five years since she’d last seen her grandfather. A lean, stern man, gruff to the point of being scary and used to being obeyed after a career in the Navy, Senna had always been more than a little afraid of him. Secretly she’d pitied her father, the only child of a man who had probably never dispensed a word of praise or a heartfelt hug in his entire life. Maybe that’s why he’d turned out to be so aloof himself. With the admiral as a role model and a mother who’d died when he’d been a boy, what choice did he have? But why on earth would the