Chapter 16
Morgan gripped the handlebars, gritting her teeth as the snowmobile shot across the frozen lake. She didn’t dare look down, thinking if she did she would jinx them and they would break through the layers of ice.
She and Quinn kept pace with Brett and Tristan, who zoomed full speed across the open expanse. Morgan cast a furtive look over her shoulder. The shoreline seemed so far away. Dotting the ice and up ahead was a cluster of shanties.
Following Brett’s lead, they made a straight shot toward the structures, a mixture of wood and metal.
Morgan eased off the throttle and coasted to a stop behind her brother. “These are cool. I don’t remember seeing shanties last year, but then I wasn’t snowmobiling out on the lake.”
“Welcome to Easton Island Shanty Town,” Brett said. “The islanders haul them out onto the ice as soon as it’s safe and keep them out here until it starts to thaw.”
“I’ve never been in an ice shanty before,” Tristan said.
Quinn shaded her eyes, surveying their surroundings. “Me neither.”
“The one with the fish painted on the side belongs to Denver Coates. Denver’s is luxurious by fishing shanty standards.” Brett removed his helmet and hung it on the handlebars. “You want to check it out?”
“Sure.”
Passing by a set of more modest structures, they cut through the middle until reaching Denver’s shanty.
Plexiglass covered a half-moon window next to the sturdy entrance door. Brett checked to make sure the coast was clear. “Denver isn’t here.”
Morgan crept closer. A built-in wooden bench sat along one side. Next to the bench was a portable heater. “Denver even has a heater.”
“Mr. Iceman brand,” Brett said. “There are only certain types of portable heaters considered safe for fish shanties. This is one of the more popular models.”
Quinn let out a low whistle. “A cool and cozy home away from home.”
“Denver’s place is stocked…fishing poles, cooking supplies.” Brett tapped the plastic bin on the shelf. “He even has a place to stash his snacks.”
Propped up in the corner were fishing rods of almost every size…small, tall and everything in between. Sitting on the corner of the bench was a clear plastic garbage bag.
Quinn gently pressed down on the bag. “Pillows?”
“With blankets at the bottom,” Morgan said. “Does he camp out here?”
Brett shrugged. “Could be. I’m not sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised. Denver’s first love is flying planes. Ice fishing is a close second.”
“Can we go ice fishing in a shanty?” Tristan asked.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have one, but I bet Denver would let us borrow his.” Brett promised to check into it.
The group backtracked and returned to the sleds. “I’ve given you the grand tour. It’s time to head to shore.”
“I’m ready to ride for a while.” Morgan tapped her friend’s shoulder. “Why don’t you drive, Quinn?”
“I dunno.” Her bestie wrinkled her nose, warily eyeing the sleek sled.
“It’s easy. All you need to do is remember which side is the gas and which side is the brake.”
“Morgan is right,” Brett said.
“Okay.” Quinn climbed on and waited for Morgan to settle in behind her.
Brett, with Tristan on the back, drove a few feet before stopping to make sure the women were following. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah.” Quinn hit the gas a little too hard, and they lurched forward. “Sorry!”
“It’s okay,” Morgan said. “This baby has some power.”
“No kidding.” Quinn squeezed the throttle using a lighter touch, and off they went, cruising across the open ice.
Dark clouds gathered, and flakes of snow drifted down. Sitting in the passenger seat gave Morgan a chance to appreciate the beauty of their winter wonderland. She spotted Bird Island and knew they were close to home.
Despite the fun ride across the ice, she let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding when they reached Easton Estate.
Brett and Tristan, who had gone ahead, sat waiting for them to catch up. “Tristan is wondering if we can give Chester a ride.”
“Sure. I brought his goggles, the ones we use when he rides in Wyatt’s sidecar.
” Morgan dashed inside to grab her pup. “I know you’re not a fan, but you’ll need your sweater.
” She pulled a red knit sweater over his head, wiggled his paws through the armholes and carried him out to where the others stood waiting.
While she was gone, Brett had strapped a bin to the back of the sled. She eased her pup inside. Chester sat perfectly still; his furry face filled with excitement while she checked to make sure his goggles were snug. “He’s never gone snowmobiling before.”
“Do you think he’ll try jumping out?” Quinn asked.
“No. He’s good about riding, at least on Wyatt’s motorcycle.”
“We’ll drive slowly, Aunt Morgan,” Tristan promised.
Climbing back on the sled, Morgan and Quinn took the lead along Dead Man’s Drop until reaching the main road. With a quick check for traffic, they drove to the opposite side and took the trail to the estate’s private beach.
Hugging the shoreline, she kept going until they reached Looking Glass Cottage’s beach. Brett, Tristan and Chester eased in beside them. “How’s he doing?”
“Great,” Tristan beamed. “Can we drive down to the pile of rocks?”
“Sure.” Morgan squeezed the throttle and took off, cruising at a comfortable speed until reaching the turnaround point. She and Quinn sat idling, patiently waiting for Brett, Tristan and Chester, who were traveling at a much slower pace, to catch up.
Brett swung the sled around in a wide circle. “We should start heading back.”
Tristan’s shoulders slumped. “Bummer.”
Brett climbed off and surveyed their stopping point. “This is mostly even terrain. Why don’t you take the sled out for a quick spin?”
“By myself?” Tristan scrambled to his feet. In his excitement, his boot got caught, and he fell face first in the snow.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He sprang to his feet. “My boot got caught.”
Morgan and Quinn stood off to the side while Brett gave his son instructions on how to operate the snowmobile. With Tristan in the front and Brett in the back, they took the sled for a test run before returning.
“Do you think you can handle the sled?” Brett asked.
“Yes, sir. I mean…yes, Brett.”
“Are you sure?”
Tristan nodded enthusiastically. “The most important thing is remembering the throttle is on the right and the brake is on the left.”
“And how fast can you go?”
“Twenty miles or under,” the boy said. “When I get to the end of Aunt Morgan’s property over by the trees, I’ll turn around.”
“Correct.”
With a look of awe on his face, Tristan scooched forward and gripped the handlebars. “This is my new best day ever.”
“Be careful,” Quinn said.
“I will.” Tristan started to hit the gas and abruptly stopped. “Can Chester ride with me?”
“I suppose, as long as you go slow.” Morgan placed her pup on the back of the snowmobile. “If you turn too quickly or move too fast, he might fall off and get hurt.”
“I promise I’ll drive really slowly.”
Morgan gave her pup a pat on the head. “Stay with Tristan.”
She braced herself, watching as her nephew pressed the throttle. The snowmobile lurched forward and then smoothed out. Off they went—Tristan and Chester, creeping along at a snail’s pace.
Brett placed a light kiss on Quinn’s cheek. “Thanks for being a good sport and agreeing to come along.”
“I had fun. Tristan’s enthusiasm is rubbing off on me.”
“Me too.” Morgan elbowed her brother. “So far, so good, huh?”
Brett crossed his fingers. “We’ll keep taking it one day at a time.”
“You’re handling it perfectly,” she said. “I’m sure there will be a few bumps along the way, but with the love and support of all of us, Tristan will be just fine.”