"Sounds like she's ready to eat." Wynne Baxter shifted
baby Isabelle from one shoulder to the other as the infant
made tiny mewling noises and stuck her fist in her mouth.
The noise did funny things to her insides β Wynne felt as
soft as a marshmallow at the feel of her tiny niece. She
marveled at the helplessness of the tiny limbs and the
screwed-up face that was a perfect replica of her sister
Becca.
Becca smiled and held out her arms. "It's past time." She
cradled the baby in her arms and settled herself on the
sofa to nurse her.
Wynne watched her sister, amazed at the transformation
over the past year. Becca had blossomed under Max's love
and care. The baby snatched a lock of blond hair in her
tiny fingers and gave a grunt of contentment. She burrowed
deeply against her mother.
"You act like you've been a mother forever," Wynne told
her. She heard the note of envy in her voice. Some days
she wondered what she'd missed by her obsession with old
ships.
Since she was a little girl she'd been fascinated with
tales of pirate ships, of clipper ships plying the waters
off Boston, of the great discoveries of Columbus. Stories
like that held her in thrall, and she'd translated that
passion into her life's work.
The work felt paltry and worthless when she looked at her
niece.
Becca glanced up. "Your turn will come soon enough."
Wynne didn't want to go there. Give Becca an inch and
she'd be calling all the eligible bachelors on the
island. "I don't know what I'm going to do with myself all
summer. I'm enjoying the time with you and Jake, but I'm
not used to just sitting around."
"I was thinking about that," Becca admitted. "Have you
ever thought of doing some searching in Lake Superior?"
Wynne stopped swinging her foot back and forth. "You think
there are some wrecks close to the island?" She knew there
were wrecks in Lake Superior, but the thought of searching
there hadn't crossed her mind.
"I'm sure of it. There are dozens of schooners lost in the
lake, and their whereabouts are unknown. You might find
something really important. One of the most hotly sought
ships is the Merchant. Someone claimed to have spotted her
masts thirty feet below the surface in the Grand Island
area, but she's never been located."
Wynne knew she should be content to spend time with her
family for the summer until her new project in Australia
started in the fall, but the prospect of three months of
inactivity took its toll on her spirits. Her mind danced
with visions of a century-old schooner, masts still
intact, and wonderfully preserved by Superior's cold
water.
Becca must have caught Wynne's fascination because she
chuckled. "You marine archaeologists are all alike," she
teased.
Wynne returned her smile. "I'll have to check into it,"
she said. "Do you think I could find a boat to rent?"
Becca put Isabelle over her shoulder and patted her
back. "Max's best friend, Simon Lassiter, has just the
boat you need. He's even got sonar equipment on board."
Sonar wasn't common equipment. "Why would he have a boat
all decked out for deep water searches?"
"He's been searching for Viking longboats for ten years.
He's convinced the Vikings made it this far, and that the
remains of a boat is out there somewhere just waiting to
be found. And it helps that he's part owner of a yacht
building company."
"And this crackpot is Max's best friend?" A memory teased
the edges of Wynne's thoughts. The name sounded vaguely
familiar. "Is he some old codger with more money than
brains?"
Becca bit her lip, but the smile she was trying to hide
broke through. "I think I'll let you discover that for
yourself. He's coming to dinner tonight. You can ask him
about his boat then."
For one, horrifying moment, Wynne thought her sister might
be matchmaking, then she dismissed the ridiculous thought.
Becca knew better than to try to hook her up with a fool.
Her sister knew Wynne didn't tolerate idiotic science. And
believing a Viking ship had made it this far inland was as
idiotic an idea as they came.
She smiled. "I'll try to keep my cool long enough to sweet-
talk him into taking me out on the water. This summer
might turn out to be fun after all."
"What is Isabelle, chopped liver?" Becca deposited the
sleeping infant into Wynne's arms. "Here, enjoy your niece
and quit thinking about leaving us."
Simon Lassiter guided his yacht to the Windigo Manor dock.
While he enjoyed Max Duncan's company, he had a feeling
there was more to tonight's invitation than the discussion
of football and hockey over coffee in the living room. Max
had been much too casual when he mentioned his sister-in-
law, Wynne Baxter, would be there as well.
After years of escaping the clutches of matchmaking mamas,
Simon could sniff out romantic intent like a lynx on a
rabbit trail. In Simon's experience, most women were
interested in his money, not in him. Maybe he was too
cynical and saw dollar signs in a woman's eyes, but he'd
been burned too many times. And since his fiancΓ©e, Amanda,
had betrayed him, his cynicism had deepened.
He thought he might have met Wynne when they were kids.
The name sounded familiar. He looped the rope around the
piling and stepped onto the dock. Max had given the
weathered wood a new coat of paint, he noticed.
He lifted his face to the dying light. The early June
sunshine had softened to the gentle quality of late
afternoon illumination that bathed the world in a warm
glow. With an evening like this, it was hard to let even a
possible matchmaking situation bother him.
He flicked a bug from his otherwise impeccably clean khaki
trousers and bounded up the hill to the house.
Max answered before Simon had a chance to rap on the
door. "Hey, buddy, right on time."
"You sound surprised. I'm never late." Simon stepped onto
the oak floors inside the house.
Windigo Manor never failed to enthrall him. The ornate
woodwork and thick plaster walls had weathered storms both
inside and out. History no one would fully know had played
out inside these ten thousand square feet. Sometimes,
Simon imagined he heard the echo of voices from another
time and wished he could eavesdrop on the life lived here
a hundred years ago.
Max clapped him on the shoulder, and Simon noticed a spot
on his friend's shirt. "Looks like the princess couldn't
quite keep her milk down."
Max glanced at the wet stain. "Trust you to notice. You'll
likely have one of your own before the night is out."
Not if Simon could help it. Infants terrified him. The
thought of being responsible for someone so tiny and
fragile made him want to run. He followed Max down the
hall to the parlor. The thick carpet muffled their steps,
and he could hear Isabelle's cooing. He stopped in the
doorway and glanced into the room. The young woman holding
the baby must be Wynne Baxter.
Strands of curly black hair sprang from their confinement
in a braid that hung nearly to her waist. The unruly curls
circled her head like a halo. Her tiny bare feet barely
touched the floor in the rocker, and she was dressed in
white capris with a red V-necked top that revealed tanned
and toned arms. Something about her dark eyes was
familiar. Then he remembered, and he nearly took a step
back. Seeing her brought back an embarrassing time in his
teen years.
He cleared his throat, and her gaze intercepted his. Her
dark brows winged up, and she gave a tentative smile. He
saw the recognition on her face, and heat flooded his own.
He knew it was irrational, but his shoulders tensed. How
stupid to stress over a childish indiscretion now.
"Simon. I forgot that was your real name." She shuffled
the baby to her shoulder.
Max looked suddenly interested. "What did you think his
name was?"
"Never mind," Simon said hastily. The last thing he wanted
was to get that nickname going again.
Becca looked uncertain from the tension jumping between
them. Wynne was sure her sister felt it. Becca scrambled
to her feet and hurried to hug Simon. "I was just telling
Wynne about you. She needs to rent a boat for the summer.
Thunderbird would be perfect!"
"Oh?" He tried to put a hint of discouragement in the
word. He glanced back at Wynne. "If you're wanting to go
deep water fishing, there are some other boat owners I
could recommend."
"That's not quite what I had in mind," Wynne said.
"I'm a marine archaeologist, and I thought I might explore
some of the old wrecks in Superior, see what I can find."
His eyes widened before he could stop himself, and his
hackles rose even more. Over the years, he'd seen
searchers come and go. "Superior doesn't give up her
secrets to the common passerby."
The corners of Wynne's lips lifted. "I hear you've been
looking for a Viking ship."
He could hear the amusement in her voice. Most people
thought he was nuts, and sometimes he wondered about his
mental state himself. Aware he couldn't be rude, he forced
a smile. "Sounds crazy, huh? About like teaching a fish to
fly. But there's real evidence for it."
Her dark eyes danced with humor, and he found his forced
smile turning to a genuine one. There was no malice in her
amusement, and he knew his dream sounded far-fetched.
Dimples appeared at the corners of her mouth. "I could
sink my teeth into a find like that. If you ever come
across remains, this summer would be a good time so I can
take part. If you'll have me, of course."
Was that mockery on her face? He could only hope and pray
she never told anyone what she'd seen. Max would never let
him live it down. "I have an opening on my team right now
for a chef." His grin broadened, knowing she would refuse.
One dark brow lifted. "Oh dear, I hope your crew has a
penchant for peanut butter sandwiches and chips. I'll take
it."
His smile faltered, and his gaze connected with Max's. His
buddy shrugged and grinned. "Wynne is always up for a
challenge. I hope your crew has cast-iron stomachs. I've
sampled her cooking."
His wife elbowed him. "Wynne is a good cook." Wynne burst
out laughing. "Only a sister could call that concoction I
fixed last night good. You know how our housekeeper can
be. Moxie will be horrified when she gets back tomorrow
and sees the remains in the refrigerator. But I'm game if
Simon is."
Her gaze challenged him. "Why am I suddenly afraid?" He
couldn't help it. He liked her spirit. His cell phone
chirped, and he dragged it out. "Lassiter," he said.
He recognized the new sheriff's voice. There was no trace
of warmth in Mitch Rooney's voice. "Simon, Jerry has been
found."
Simon's muscles tightened. He had something to say to his
cousin when they met. Though in hindsight he knew he and
Amanda were wrong for each other, he'd never expected
Jerry to try to come between them. "Where is he?"
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