Fire Lake Read online

  Fire Lake

  By J.C. Paulson

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Copyright © 2019 J.C. Paulson

  ISBN 978-0-9959756-5-1

  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 Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Notes and Acknowledgements

  The Adam and Grace Series

  Chapter One

  Somalia, 1993

  “Look down, and shut up,” Abukar Dualeh told the children, as he blackened their teeth with sooty wax.

  The boys’ faces blended into the deep desert night. Only their eyes and teeth gleamed in the starlight, and the leader of the group, just fifteen but authoritative beyond his years, threatened them with beatings if they spoke or smiled.

  Dirty wax helped obscure open mouths, but a glint off a shiny molar could still give them away. Sunglasses or night goggles would have been more helpful than simply looking down, but the Somali children could neither access nor afford such luxuries. Indeed, had such things been available, along with sufficient food and clothing, night raids would be entirely unnecessary. Eyewear was first on the list of must-steals if found in the Canadian camp.

  The little band of six boys slipped into the open desert from the nearby village and took positions before dark. Tension knotted Abukar’s shoulders as he remained on constant alert, ensuring no one had followed them to their hiding place. Flattened on the cooling earth, bodies rigid, they waited with simmering impatience for the sentry change.

  The Canadian Airborne Regiment took its camp security seriously, but the change brought a split second of divided attention. A blink. A breath. Abukar saw his advantage and led the silent boys over scrub and sand toward the supply tent. Heads down. Mouths closed. They quietened their breathing, preparing to slide into the cache of treasure.

  A strong hand seemed to come from the sky. Before Abukar could react, it lifted him by the scruffy collar of his threadbare black shirt, and a voice said softly, in broken Somali, “Little one. Who are you?”

  The smaller boys turned and fled. Abukar, even at fifteen a skinny, starved “little one,” squirmed and kicked in the soldier’s grasp, but said nothing.

  “Listen,” said the soldier, sotto voce. “Do you understand English? Stop wriggling. I won’t hurt you. Stop, now.”

  Abukar nodded. He spoke English quite well and understood a great deal more. He had learned it in school, before the civil war began.

  “Go back to your village. This is very dangerous. You do not understand how dangerous. Do you hear me? Go, and don’t come here again. I may not be here the next time.”

  Abukar peered up at the enormous brown man who held him effortlessly and perceived that he pleaded not only with his voice, but his eyes.

  “Little one. Be careful. Now go. I will watch you. Do you understand?”

  The soldier put him down and gave him a gentle shove. Abukar hit the sand running. He could feel the Canadian corporal’s gaze burning into him, and he did not look back

  Chapter Two

  Grace glanced out the front window of her tiny bungalow for the seventeenth time in the last hour, and again checked her watch. Eleven o’clock in the morning, and the moving van should have been there by now, on the street, ramp down.

  How much did Adam really have to pack? He had sold all the furniture in his condominium, decided to leave behind the appliances and thrown away scores of books, ancient linens and sundry other items. Where was he? And the moving van?

  With an effort, Grace abandoned her vigil, uncurled her lithe body, slipped off the couch and padded into the kitchen. Coffee. She would make fresh coffee. No way would she call Adam and ask him what was going on. She refused to nag, complain, or even suggest that she was becoming very impatient. But she did peek out the window again.

  Nothing. No van. No one.

  Focus, Grace Rampling, she told herself. Make the coffee. Then sit down and read a book or the newspaper or something. Don’t think about Adam for five minutes, if you can help it.

  Two short weeks ago, she had asked Adam Davis to move in with her, and he had said yes. To this moment, she couldn’t believe she had done that — even in the throes of passion, Adam inside her, filling her, declaring his love for her. She hadn’t regretted it for a second, but was still surprised at herself, the quite remarkable nerve she had displayed that night. What if he had said no? Or that he had to think about it? Her heart would have shattered right there, along with her pride.

  But he hadn’t said either of those things.

  Grace. Oh, God, yes. I will come and live with you.

  When she thought about his words, her entire body shuddered with arousal and joy in equal measure. And today, he was coming. To stay. It had all been planned, yet Grace couldn’t help feeling nervous. What if Adam had changed his mind at the last second? Experienced cold feet? Made a run for the border?

  They had only known each other since March, although their relationship had really begun in June. Grace experienced its rapid development as a fire coursing through her body. It burned away all thought of anyone, and sometimes anything, else. His face, etched in her mind, could distract her in the middle of an interview she was conducting for the newspaper. A meeting with the boss. A laugh with a friend.

  Where was he?

  That Adam was theoretically moving in so soon after all this transpired was largely due to excellent timing beyond their control. The Saskatoon real estate market of late 2006 through 2007 was steaming hot, even as the summer had been. Few listings and a spectacular number of people seeking to expand the booming city’s population meant homes of all kinds, including beautiful condos like Adam’s, flew off the market. In some cases, sales took a day or two; occasionally, a week or two; and only the seriously awful product lagged for a month or two.

  Adam’s downtown condo attracted four bidders and sold for fifteen thousand dollars over the list price in two days flat. He would have moved into Grace’s Buena Vista bungalow a week earlier had he been able to rent a truck large enough for his remaining possessions. That he found one at all was only because it was the middle of September and not the end of the month.

  The phone rang, making Grace jump. But the number on her screen wasn’t Adam’s.

  “Hello? Mom? Dad?”

  “Hello, my girl,” Wallace Rampling said, in his characteristic affectionate rumble. “How are you doing?”

  “Hi, Dad. I’m fine. And you?”

  “Fine, too, honey. I’m calling to see if you’re busy next weekend.”

  “No more than usual. What
’s up?”

  “Your grandmother. She’s having that hip replaced Friday; Mom got the call this morning.”

  Her grandmother Margaret had been on the waiting list for some time, hoping to sneak in ahead of the competition for precious operating room time if she was ready to go at a moment’s notice.

  “So we’re off to Regina for a week or two,” Wallace continued. “Can you handle the cabin, sweetheart? You know the drill. I can ask David if you can’t make it, but Hope is busy with adoption meetings. She’s close to a decision on a child. It could wait until Thanksgiving, but we could also have a foot of snow by then. I’d rather not take the chance. Remember last year?”

  “Yeah, that crazy blizzard. It was impossible to get in there. Sure, I can go, Dad. And I’ll call Gran today sometime. I’m so glad she’s getting that hip. Say hi to Mom.”

  “Will do, Grace. Thanks for this. See you soon.”

  Closing the cabin, as Grace well knew, was no small or unimportant thing. The small, rustic but comfortable three-bedroom, perched lakefront in Saskatchewan’s mid-northwest, was not winterized. Frozen water pipes were not a threat but a sure thing in a climate that reached thirty and even forty below on a regular basis, every damned winter. Grace’s brother David was busy finishing his degree, and her sister was working on an adoption; so, she was the best person to go.

  Besides, Grace hoped that if Adam indeed moved in, and hadn’t caught the morning plane to Mexico, he might be able to come with her to the lake. Unlikely, considering how busy he was putting together evidence for two murder trials, but she could always dream. She couldn’t wait to take him there, to show him its beauty, to slip naked into the water with him under cover of early, warm darkness.

  The coffee pot spit, gurgled and made a small beeping noise, announcing the completion of its duty. Grace poured herself a mug full just as the door flew open; she jumped and spilled a few drops of the cup’s contents.

  “Good morning, Babe,” Adam said, striding in, a grin sliding up one side of his stubbled, chiselled, beautiful face. He flung his arms around Grace and kissed her soundly, two-day beard scratching her cheek and upper lip.

  Grace felt her heart hammering against him. He’s here. Not in Mexico, cold toes buried in hot sand. Here.

  “Sorry to be late.” Adam loosened his grip so he could look at her. “We stopped for a bite, and the truck wasn’t ready until nine.”

  “As long as you’re here, and not in Puerto Vallarta.” Grace hugged him in relief and buried her face in his chest.

  “Puerto Vallarta? Why the hell would I be in PV?” Adam asked, sounding honestly puzzled.

  “Never mind. Just my goofy imagination. Want some coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I’d like to get this done. Three men waiting outside probably feel the same way.”

  “Who’s out there?” Grace asked, trying to look over Adam’s shoulder and failing, even on tiptoe.

  “James, Bruce and Lorne Fisher.” Adam cocked an eyebrow. “This shouldn’t take long.”

  Grace laughed. No, it shouldn’t. This could be the shortest move in history, considering the men on the job: James Weatherall, Adam’s right hand in the police detective department and as fit as a human being could be; his spouse, Bruce Stephens, approximately the same substantial height and build as Adam; and superhero-sized Constable Lorne Fisher, the biggest and strongest man Grace had ever seen in real life.

  “Tell me what I can do to help.”

  “Nothing. Direct traffic, maybe. Refill your coffee cup? Sorry. I think I startled you.”

  “I was . . . woolgathering.”

  “You’re not used to another person barging through your door. I should have knocked.”

  “No. This is your home too, Adam. Barge away.”

  “My home too,” he echoed.

  Adam’s face softened from the bright, excited expression he wore when he had indeed barged in. Navy eyes darkened, and he bent slightly to meet Grace’s forehead with his own, his arms sliding again around her waist.

  “You’re home, Adam,” she whispered, and touched his lips with hers.

  *****

  Untamed auburn curls tumbled around the box as Grace bent over it, musing about where its contents should go.

  Packed inside were Adam’s framed diploma from the University of Saskatchewan and other illuminating mementoes. Summa cum laude, eh? I knew he was smart, but that’s ridiculous, thought Grace, considering Adam’s brain in a new and more brilliant light.

  The box also contained a university ring and evidence that Adam had contributed to a Huskies’ Vanier Cup win, as a receiver on the squad; the national university football championship trophy didn’t often land in Saskatoon.

  Those long legs were gridiron weapons. He ran like a hungry animal on the savannah; Grace had seen him in full flight more than once.

  Grace unpacked a tiny golf trophy. Unearthed commendations from the police service. Discovered a certificate verifying that Adam had completed police training. Found a letter welcoming him to join the local force — in fact, insisting upon it — from the chief of police.

  Bloody hell, thought Grace. How will I keep up with Mr. Athlete of the Year? Detective Sergeant Superman? Shaking her head, she picked up the box, took it into the living room and cleared space on the bookshelf. There, she carefully arranged the degree, the tiny trophy, the police training certificate . . .

  “What are you doing?” Adam’s big, booming baritone rang out behind her, and Grace gave a start.

  “God, you scared me, Sergeant. For someone so big, you can sure creep up on a person.” That was another excellent attribute in a cop, she thought — the ability to sneak up on folks. “I’m putting up your commendations and things. Adam, for heaven’s sake — summa cum laude?”

  He coloured a bit, then regained his composure.

  “And you, Grace? Did you fail horribly at journalism school? Or in political science?”

  “Well . . . no, but . . .”

  “What was your degree designation?”

  “Magna.”

  “You do realize that many of my classes were in science, yes? Objective, not subjective?”

  “Your point, mister?” Grace asked.

  “It’s pretty easy to get an A if the answers are fact-based. You, on the other hand, were writing for subjective marking. Stories and essays and so on. Very different.”

  Grace’s eyes widened. She was even more impressed, and horrified at the same time. He got those marks in science classes? At a university known for failing more than half of its first-year biology students?

  “You don’t have to put that old stuff out on a shelf.”

  “I’d like to.”

  “Why, Babe?” he asked, walking over and putting his arms around her.

  “It’s nice to look back on the good things, the milestones. And it lets me in on a little piece of your life, before . . . you know, before . . .”

  “I think ‘us’ is the word you are looking for. Before us.”

  He wrapped his arms around her more tightly, tugging her into his chest.

  “We are now us, you know. You can say it out loud, Grace. In front of anyone you want, including me.”

  His voice lowered half an octave and reverberated as he swept a hand through Grace’s wild curls and pushed them back to touch her cheek.

  “You are mine.” Adam’s blue eyes met Grace’s slightly-troubled chocolate gaze. “Believe it.”

  “There may be a small IQ differential.”

  “No. But there is definitely an EQ differential. Who’s the genius at three in the morning, when I’m thrashing around and gasping like a fish on the beach? You’re not really worried about this, are you, Grace? It’s just a bloody piece of paper.”

  She looked down. Grace feared that Adam was both more intelligent and more attractive than she was; that he would tire of her, and find other, more alluring women.

  “Grace, my God.” Adam broke into her thoughts, clearly reading them correctly
. “You are worried. Quit it. You are the most intelligent, fearless, beautiful and erotic woman I have ever met, or even seen.”

  Grace shook her head slightly, still troubled.

  “I’m going to have to prove it, am I?” Adam growled.

  He swung her abruptly into his powerful arms, buried his lips in the soft skin at the base of her throat and bore her off to the bedroom, taking the short hallway in a few strides.

  He didn’t put her on the bed, as Grace both hoped and expected. Instead, he placed her carefully in front of the full-length mirror and stood behind her.

  “This flaming glory,” he said, swirling her mane to one side and staring at her in the glass. “These eyes, so deep, so thoughtful. This skin, rich and soft and white as magnolia blossoms.”

  Grace went pink, belying his comparison, and tried to turn around. “Oh, Adam . . .”

  But he held her firmly between his thighs, unzipped the rather filthy old fleece she wore for unpacking, and ran his fingers along her collarbone. “These delicate wings.”

  Long fingers slipped lower, touching high swells. He unhooked her bra, slowly, deliberately, and soon she stood naked to the waist as he cupped her breasts, stroking the nipples, still watching her face in the mirror.

  “And these. These defy description. Look at them, Grace. Silken and soft, and hard and high and so, so beautiful. I remember our first night. I couldn’t wait to see them. I still can’t, every damn day.”

  Grace stared back, mesmerized and writhing; speechless, and aroused.

  Adam reached down and slipped her casual pants over her hips and down to the floor. “Step out,” he demanded, before standing again.

  Now completely naked, she peered shyly at herself in the mirror, and then up at Adam’s face.

  “Do you see, Grace? How beautiful you are? Smooth and sleek and succulent. Wild and windblown. And that, love, is just the outside.”

  His hands roved softly over her breasts and belly, her thighs and buttocks, as he gently forced her to watch by placing his cheek against hers. Grace could feel him rising as he pressed into her back; she thought her knees might give way. When he finally slipped a hand between her legs, they buckled. Adam picked her up again and his mouth crashed into hers, tongue plunging in, his own desire getting its way.