Jake's Biggest Risk. Julianna Morris
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photographers out of her mind, she began chopping vegetables.
Two hours later the scent of garlic and other spices filled the air and she was in better sprits. The front door opened and she heard Danny call, “Hi, Mommy!”
“Hi. Did you have a good time?”
“The best! We went to the zoo and saw the polar bears, just like the ones Mr. Hollister takes pictures of.”
Her dad kissed her forehead. “Smells wonderful, sweetheart.”
“It’s Thai chicken. You and I will have to spice it up with chili garlic sauce since I made it mild for the wimps.”
“I heard that,” her mom called from the other room.
Hannah grinned.
“How was Mr. Hollister?” her father asked.
Her grin faded. “Fine, as far as I could tell. But he’s a slob. No wonder he wanted someone to clean house. What a mess—jam dripping onto the kitchen floor, things thrown about, Great-Aunt Elkie’s books all over the living room.”
Hannah’s mother hurried in, frowning. “Has he done any damage to the lodge or furnishings?”
“Not as far as I could tell. Honestly, though, I think the only things he’s eaten since getting here are Luigi’s pizza and peanut butter. Cold pizza, most of the time.”
“Pizza is yummy,” Danny said.
“I know, darling. But once a week is enough. That way it stays a treat. And we like it nice and hot, not cold and stale.”
“Uh-huh. Poor Mr. Hollister.”
Hannah nearly choked.
She did not feel sorry for Jake Hollister. He seemed to delight in annoying her and she’d be lucky to get through a month without him finding out how loudly she could shriek.
* * *
JAKE WAS FIXING a peanut-butter sandwich when an ambrosial smell invaded Huckleberry Lodge. He went into the sunroom and looked out the windows he’d left open. A blue SUV was parked in the driveway and he wondered if another boring suitor had arrived to court Hannah.
But it was the fragrance coming from the guesthouse that commanded most of his attention. He sniffed—lemongrass, coconut, garlic...it was as if he’d died and gone to heaven. Whatever Hannah was preparing reminded him of dishes he’d eaten in Southeast Asia and beat the hell out of another peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.
PB&J, he reminded himself.
And he could well imagine what his stubborn landlady would say if he tried to wrangle an invitation to dinner. Something sharp and pithy, no doubt. Perhaps he shouldn’t have teased her so much—if her cooking tasted as good as it smelled, it would have been worth holding his tongue for a taste.
Paying for additional services—cooking and laundry and grocery shopping—was another possibility. If he’d thought of it earlier, he might be eating something more interesting than a sandwich for dinner.
Danny, the little boy, came out on the large deck of the guesthouse. He saw Jake and began waving.
Jake waved back halfheartedly, expecting the child to take it as an invitation and come barreling over to chatter his head off. Instead Danny settled down on a chair, head bent, looking at something, with his dog next to him.
Making a face, Jake closed the windows and returned to his sandwich. The bread was getting stale and he’d used the same knife to spread the peanut butter as he’d used on the pizza earlier, so everything tasted vaguely of pepperoni. As he’d told Hannah, he’d eaten much worse in the far-flung corners of the world, but then it had been spiced with exotic scenery and anticipation of the next great photo.
A year, he thought dismally.
That was how long the doctors had said it would take for him to recover and be able to work and travel the way he’d always worked and traveled. If he pushed himself too soon, he risked permanent disability.
Not that he had to stay in Mahalaton Lake the whole time, but it was the best way to photographically capture all four seasons for the book he’d agreed to do. So that meant a year of peanut butter and pizza and a feisty landlady with a small child. Hannah might be fun to tease and a treat to look at, but he’d rarely slept two months in the same bed, much less a year.
And since lovely Hannah was off-limits—obviously not being interested in brief liaisons—he had little to look forward to in that area, either...other than frustration and cold showers.
“THAT SOUNDS GOOD,” Hannah said to Gwen Westfield as she scribbled notes on a pad.
They were planning the upcoming ice cream social fund-raiser for the Mahalaton Rescue Squad, one of several fund-raisers held annually for the squad. The local community enjoyed the events, but they were also geared to bring in tourist dollars. It seemed only appropriate, since a good number of the squad’s rescue calls were for visitors. Though not always.
Hannah shivered at the reminder of her high school boyfriend who’d pushed a climb too far—Collin had loved testing the limit in everything, and that time was his last. For months she’d woken up, unable to escape the horror of that day, hearing her own voice begging him not to go up that rock face alone, followed by her screams as he fell. Sometimes her heart still ached when she thought about how things might have turned out if Collin had lived.
He’d survived the fall, but only for a few hours, and all she could do was listen to him moaning and talking half-deliriously. Someone in the group had been carrying a satellite phone so they could call for help, but it had still taken too long for anyone to come. Back then they didn’t have a local team trained in mountain rescues, which was why supporting the rescue squad was so important to her. After all...Collin might still be alive if help had arrived sooner.
Hannah sighed. It was painfully obvious that she had a weakness for restless risk takers. Steven had been a lot like Collin, with the same devil-may-care attitude and hidden demons. And she found Jake Hollister dangerously attractive as well, a response she was determined to squelch. Not that it mattered; he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in the things that mattered to her. Insultingly clear. And she was reasonably sure she hadn’t revealed any sign of her attraction to him to justify a warning.
“I think we should try avocado ice cream,” Gwen said eagerly. “I saw a recipe in a women’s magazine while I was at the dentist’s office.”
Hannah resisted making a face. She liked trying new foods, but the people who lived in Mahalaton Lake were conservative in their tastes, and their summer visitors seemed to feel the same way. “I don’t know if anyone is ready for something that different. Remember the garlic ice cream last year?”
“Oh. Right.” Gwen looked crestfallen. She’d gone to California on vacation with her family and tasted garlic ice cream at the Gilroy Garlic Festival. Inspired, she’d made a gallon for the social, only to throw most of it out. It was one thing to sample garlic ice cream at a garlic festival, another to see it miles from the nearest garlic field. “Maybe I’ll bring something else. Are you making your usual?”
“Yup. Two gallons of wild huckleberry.” Every summer Hannah picked huckleberries in August and September, making jam with some and stowing the rest in the freezer to use throughout the next year, including for the June ice cream social.
“Everybody loves huckleberry.”
“Make strawberry ice cream. Everybody loves that, too,” Hannah suggested.
“But it’s so ordinary.” Gwen had moved to Mahalaton Lake five years ago when her husband, Randy, had been hired as their head of emergency services. Though a born New Yorker, she loved the town; she just got frustrated with the limited culinary tastes of most of the residents.