Dylan Brodie and his eight year old daughter Emily live in the lodge he recently purchased in the separate family wing. Big and sprawling and two stories high, Dylan plans to restore the Alaskan hunting lodge to its original state and invite paying guests to enjoy the hunting and beautiful sights of Alaska. Emily's mother left them, hating Alaska, and eventually was killed in an accident. Emily has not spoken a word since her mother's desertion. Dylan can't imagine living anywhere except the beautiful state where he was raised along with his brothers, Nick and Rafe. Old legends have it that the lodge has been haunted by ghosts since a mother and child were murdered years ago. Two natives were blamed and hanged in error for the murders, leaving the future natives vowing to clear their ancestors' names.
Lane Bishop has accepted Dylan's offer to help remodel the old fishing lodge. As owner of Modern Design in Beverly Hills, Lane is anxious to spend time in Alaska and foremost with the gorgeous dark haired man that she was completely taken with when they first met. Both of them have visions of extracurricular activities while she visits. Accompanying Lane is her 90 pound Irish wolfhound, Finnegan, and the love of her life. When visions of a ghost and misplaced items happen, the legend is impossible to ignore. To complicate matters, a young woman is murdered and Dylan's sidekick, Caleb Wolfe, is being blamed. Finally giving into their hot sexual desires, this only complicates things as Lane herself becomes the object of a stalker and murderer. Traipsing through the mountains, surviving an emergency plane landing, and protecting which is his, keeps Dylan on his toes while also dreading the day Lane has to go home.
If it's suspense, hot sex, plenty of excitement, and the most gorgeous country alive that you want, this is the book for you. I have read many of Kat Martin's stories and she always delivers. I have not been disappointed in this book nor any other that I have read by her. The chilling tale of protecting the ones you love from a deranged person, always makes for a most interesting read! Kat Martin certainly knows how to weave a tale to keep the reader's total interest.
The low moaning of the wind awakened him. The old fishing
lodge, constructed in the thirties, was built of hand-hewn
logs, the chinking between them worn by time and weather,
leaving spaces for the air to blow through. An eerie
keening echoed inside the house, a chilling sound that sent
shivers down Dylanβs spine.
Just the wind, he reminded himself. Nothing to do with
stories of ghosts and hauntings. Just an inconvenience,
nothing more.
Still, he had Emily to think of. Dylan Brodie swung his
long legs to the side of the bed, shrugged into his heavy
flannel robe, and padded barefoot down the hall toward his
daughterβs bedroom.
Dylan had fallen in love with the place the moment he had
seen it, perched on Eagle Bay like a guardian of the two
hundred forested acres around it.
Old legends be damned. He didnβt believe in ghosts or any
of the Indian myths he had heard. Heβd waited years to find
the perfect spot for his guided fishing and family vacation
business, and this was the place.
The wind picked up as he moved down the hall, the air
sliding over rough wood, whistling through the eves, the
branches on the trees shifting eerily against the window
panes. Dylan picked up his pace, worried the noise would
frighten Emily, though so far his eight-year-old daughter
seemed more at ease in the lodge than he was.
Frosted glass wall sconces dimly lit the passage as he
walked along, original, not part of a remodel of the
residential wing done a few years back, before the last
owner moved out and left the area.
The four bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs on this side of the
building werenβt fancy but they were livable while he worked
on the rest of the lodge. The master suite had been
updated, but it wasnβt the way he wanted it yet.
Eventually, he would rebuild this section, as well, bring it
all up to the four-star standard heβd had in mind when he
had purchased the property.
Dylan paused at the door to Emilyβs room, quietly turned the
knob and eased it open. His daughter lay beneath the quilt
that his housekeeper, Winifred Henry, had made for her as a
Christmas gift, princesses and unicorns embroidered in puffy
little pink and white squares, all hand-stitched to fit her
youth-size four-poster bed.
His gaze went to the child. Emily had the same dark hair
and blue eyes that marked her a Brodie, but her complexion
was as pale as her motherβs. Unlike Mariahβs perfect
patrician features, Emilyβs mouth was a little too wide, her
small nose freckled across the bridge.
She was awake, he saw, her eyes fixed on the antique rocker
near the window. It was just her size, fashioned of oak and
intricately carved. She loved the old chair that had been
in the lodge when he bought it.
Emily never sat in it, but she was fascinated by the way the
wind made it rock on its own. Dylan found it slightly
eerie, the way it moved back and forth as if some invisible
occupant sat in the little chair. She was watching it now,
her lips curved in the faintest of smiles. She mumbled
something he couldnβt quite hear and Dylanβs chest clamped
down.
It hurt to watch his little girl, see her in the make-
believe world she now lived in, forming silent phrases,
nothing he could actually hear.
Emily hadnβt spoken a single audible phrase since her mother
had abandoned her three years ago. Not a meaningful word
since the night Mariah Brodie had run off with another man.
Dylanβs hand unconsciously fisted. Maybe he hadnβt been the
husband Mariah wanted. Maybe heβd been too wrapped up in
trying to make a life in the harsh Alaskan wilderness he
loved. Maybe he hadnβt paid her enough attention.
Maybe he just hadnβt loved her enough.
Guilt slipped through him. He never should have married
her. He should have known she would never be able to adjust
to the life he lived here. Still, it didnβt excuse her
cruel abandonment of their daughter. An abandonment Emily
had not been able to cope with.
Dylan forced himself to walk into the bedroom. Emilyβs eyes
swung to his, but she didnβt smile, just stared at him in
that penetrating way that made his stomach churn.
βEm, honey, are you okay?β She didnβt answer, as he knew
she wouldnβt. βItβs just the wind. The lodge is old.
Thereβs nothing to be afraid of.β
Emilyβs gaze went to the window, where a lone pine branch
shifted restlessly against the sill. Ignoring him as if he
werenβt there, she snuggled back into her pillow and closed
her eyes. She blamed him for the loss of her mother, he
knew. It was the only explanation for why she had withdrawn
from him so completely.
Tucking the quilt a little closer beneath her chin, he
leaned down and kissed her cheek. The wind picked up as he
walked out of the bedroom and eased the door closed. Emily
was his to watch over and protect, his to care for and
comfort. But he had lost his daughter three years ago.
When he had driven her mother away.
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