turned those liquid brown eyes her way. She suspected he heard subtext the way other people hear regular conversation. He nodded. “That’s fine. I flew in. Is there a taxi?”
Before she could speak, Lynette said, “Claire will drive you into town. We pride ourselves on Northern hospitality.”
Claire smiled through gritted teeth and decided she and her beloved grandmother were going to have a serious talk before too long. She strongly suspected there was some very unsubtle matchmaking going on. As she’d told her grandmother on many an occasion, simply because Lynette had married another bush pilot didn’t mean Claire was going to follow suit.
She even made a point of dating men who kept both feet on the ground most of the time. She’d gone out with the town’s only dentist, a tugboat captain and a mining engineer. All lovely, interesting men. Didn’t matter. Lynette checked out every new bush pilot as though she were measuring him for his wedding tux.
“Come on,” she said to Max. “I’ll drive you into town.”
“Did I pass the interview?” he asked as they headed to the old Yukon. The SUV was pitted with rust and caked with dust, but it was still as serviceable as when she’d learned to drive on it a dozen years ago.
“Are you kidding? She didn’t just hire you. She practically adopted you. She never invites anyone to stay on the property.”
She hiked herself up into the driver’s seat. Max threw his duffel into the back and climbed in beside her.
“Is that a problem for you?”
She gazed at him. She was a pretty good judge of character and, if you didn’t count Carmondy, she’d say her grandmother was even better. Her instincts told her that she could trust Max Varo. “No. It’s not a problem.”
They headed past the Cessna she knew was his.
“You brought your own plane?”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “Like an old cowboy would bring his own horse.”
She smiled. He must have saved for years to afford his own plane. She sensed he was as avid a flyer as she was. And that her grandmother was completely smitten.
As they rattled down the road she saw him looking out the dirt-specked window, at the runway, the ocean. “It’s beautiful,” he said.
“See if you still feel that way in January when the mercury dips below zero. That’s when you find out if Spruce Bay is for you or not.”
He glanced over at her. “And is it? For you?”
“Honestly? I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Oh, sure, I love a trip to New York or L.A. to go shopping and eat in great restaurants, but I’m always glad to come back. Spruce Bay is in my blood.”
Though it might not be in her family much longer if she didn’t figure out how to save the business.
She pulled up to the Spruce Bay Inn. “This is the one I recommend. It’s the priciest, but the beds are firm, the restaurant’s good and they have Wi-Fi.”
He turned to her and said, “Have dinner with me.”
“What?”
The term Latin lover flitted through her mind when he turned the full force of those eyes and that charm on her. “Have dinner with me, tonight.”
“I can’t have dinner with you. I’m your boss.”
“No. You’re not. First, I don’t start work until tomorrow. Second, Lynette told me she is my boss.”
“I don’t—”
“I understand if you prefer not to be seen with the hired help.”
“It’s not—I’m not a snob!”
When he smiled that slow, come-to-bed smile, she knew he had her. “I’m new in town. I have a lot of questions and I hate eating alone.” He shrugged. “That’s part of my heritage.”
“It’s just dinner,” she told him.
“Of course.”
She glanced at her watch. “It’s four-thirty. Get a room and get settled. I’ll come back at seven.”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
He got out of the Yukon, didn’t seem to notice the way the door screeched when he opened it, pulled his bag out of the back, then leaned in and said, “Thanks for the ride. See you at seven.”
She checked email on her phone for ten minutes, figured that should be enough time for Max to get settled in his room, and then walked into the inn. She walked straight past the front desk to the back offices, looking for the hotel manager.
Laurel Enright was her best friend and the person she most needed to talk to. Fortunately, she was in her office, talking on the phone. When she spied Claire she waved her in and made a face.
“No. I completely understand. Of course, a moose charging your car could make anyone miss their reservation. Absolutely. I quite understand. I don’t blame your husband. I’d probably drink a bottle of scotch, too. Let’s just be glad no one was hurt. Not even the moose. Of course I won’t charge you for tonight. We’ll look forward to welcoming you to the Spruce Bay Inn tomorrow. Uh-huh. You’re welcome. You, too.”
“Don’t even ask,” Laurel said when she put down the phone. She leaned forward. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?”
“Crazy busy, but good.”
Laurel stood and walked around her desk. “Check out these babies. I bought them online.”
Laurel was a vivacious redhead who’d been fighting to lose twenty pounds ever since Claire had known her. Claire thought she looked wonderful with her full breasts and hips, but she knew her friend didn’t share her opinion. One thing they both agreed on, however, was that no matter how bad the climate, how deep the snowbanks or how sloppy the mud, shoes mattered. It had taken Claire a while to get used to carrying her good shoes in a shopping bag when she went out in the winter months, wearing her winter boots and parka and then changing into real shoes in the mudroom. But now she’d been doing it for so many years it seemed normal.
But it was summer now and Laurel had worn a kicking pair of cream half boots to work. “I love them.”
“I know. Online shopping makes me feel a tiny bit less isolated. Too bad you can’t mail-order men.” She sighed and sat back down. “So, what brings you here?”
“I was dropping off our new pilot. He’s going to stay here at the inn for a couple of days. Then Lynette wants him to move into the old caretaker’s cottage.”
“Hah. Is she trying to match you up with him?”
“Of course.”
Laurel knew of her grandmother’s attempts to get her attached to another bush pilot. “I think it’s kind of sweet. She wants you to marry a pilot so you can take over Polar Air. Just
