Wild at Heart (Wild, #2)

by K.A. Tucker

I watch him hand his documents to the agent at the US-bound entry gate, who spends all of one second reviewing them before waving him toward the glass security doors. On the other side is his fourteen-hour flight home. In seconds, Jonah is going to be out of sight, gone. Who knows when I’ll see him again? He flew here to tell me in person that he’s been miserable these past two months since I left Alaska, that he doesn’t want to be a carbon copy of my father—spending his life pining over my mother—that he wants to find an “us” that will work. That he wants me beside him. I haven’t given him an answer yet, too afraid to leap. Until now. I feel the word rising inside me—an emotion about to erupt. “Yes!” My pulse pounds in my ears. Jonah turns to regard me with a raised eyebrow. Am I crazy? Maybe. But I’m fully committing to it. I take a step forward and swallow my nerves. “I’ll come back to Alaska.” Because being with Jonah again—laughing and reminiscing, having him in my space, waking in his arms—has only confirmed what I’ve suspected for months: I’m deeply in love with him, and living in Toronto when he’s not here doesn’t make sense to me anymore.

The severe frown cutting across Jonah’s handsome forehead as he stares down at me says he doesn’t, either. “Are you serious?” I nod. “Yeah. I mean, if you’re serious about moving to Anchorage—” “When?” he demands to know, his voice suddenly gruff. “I don’t know. As soon as I can?” How long does it take to pack up your life and move to a different country? Granted, a country I was born in and still have citizenship with but haven’t lived in for more than two decades. His eyes spark with determination. “Come for Christmas.” I laugh. “That’s like a month away!” “So? What else you got goin’ on?” It’s a challenge, delivered in Jonah’s typical blunt style. “I’m not going to see my mom in Oslo anymore. And Aggie and Mabel would love having you there. Especially since it’s the first one without Wren. You should come.” His Adam’s apple bobs with his hard swallow. “Come.”

“Okay?” I say on an exhale, my voice shaky. “If I can figure it out, I will. I’ll get there as soon as I can.” He pulls me into his firm body, leaning down to press his forehead against mine. “Damn, Calla, you know how to make a guy sweat.” I grin, reaching up to skate my fingertips over his stubbled jaw. I hid his razor two days ago to stop him from shaving. The act screamed of poetic justice to me, after he hid my cosmetics bags in his attic for all those weeks during the summer. Unfortunately, Jonah doesn’t seem bothered. “Sorry. I only decided a few seconds ago.” Though in truth, I think I’ve known all along. “Are you sure, though? Because you can’t tell me something like this and then chicken out. I’m gonna have to put the house up for sale now if we want any chance of being out of there by next summer—” “I’m not going to chicken out,” I promise. “I’m one hundred percent sure that I—” I bite my lip to stall the declaration that nearly slips out, my cheeks flushing. Jonah’s jaw tightens as he peers intensely at me. “You what?” I love you. Those three words have been on the tip of my tongue since the second I heard his laughter from our porch, and yet I can’t find the nerve to tell him. Crazy enough, I have found the nerve to move to Alaska for him. Probably because he asked me to. If Jonah told me he loved me, the same sentiment would fly from my lips in a heartbeat. But he hasn’t said it yet, not in so many words. “I’m sure,” I say instead.

And now here I am, standing in Pearson International at 5:17 a.m., gripping my phone that holds three boarding passes for three flights that will close the thirty-four-hundred-mile distance between me and Jonah’s arms, because it’s the only way I’ll ever know where this can lead. What would you think about this turn of events, Dad? It’s been over three months since Wren Fletcher passed away, and I still think of him daily. My chest still aches with each fond memory. My eyes still water when I flip through countless pictures from my time in Alaska this summer. My throat still clogs when I speak his name. To think he was virtually a stranger in July—a man estranged from me since I was fourteen and nothing more than a distant voice over the telephone before that—and yet he has inadvertently shaped a future in Alaska for me. Jonah was like a son to him. He’d be thrilled about this, I’m sure of it.

Jonah chuckles softly. “Yeah, for sure. See you soon, Calla.” I try not to drag my feet as I head for the luggage carousel. Thankfully, the belt is churning out suitcases from the Chicago flight. I don’t see mine on the conveyor belt yet, so I stand and wait, my disappointment with being stuck in Anchorage for a night—sans Jonah—weighing heavily on my spirits. Thirty minutes later, long after the suitcases have stopped sliding down the shoot for my flight and the last of the passengers have wheeled their belongings away, I add “missing luggage” to my list of “things that went horribly wrong when I moved to Alaska.” I’ll be able to laugh about this … one day.

“You’re in Alaska. People shoot and stuff things around here, and not only the men. It’s the way things are. Get used to it.” I groan. “Get used to it” seems to be Jonah’s new favorite slogan. “As long as you never bring home a carcass and ask me to clean and cook it.” I know Jonah hunts. I’ve seen the collection of rifles and shotguns in his safe. I’m just not sure how I feel about it yet. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” I hear the smile in his voice. “The restaurant’s cozy, though, huh?” “Yeah,” I admit. It’s plainly decorated in dark wood paneling and warmed by a rustic stone fireplace that blazes in a nearby corner.

I throw open the door, intent on grabbing breakfast along with my things. And gasp at the scruffy-faced male figure leaning against the wall, his tall, muscular body draped in a heavy plaid winter coat overtop layers of fleece, his ash-blond hair capped with a black beanie. His piercing icy blue eyes are locked on me. “What are you doing here!” I exclaim, as waves of relief course through my limbs. “Take a wild guess.” Jonah’s gruff voice rattles in my chest. God, I’ve missed hearing it in person. “But I thought … the storm—” “There was a decent break, so I took it, flew low, and prayed it would hold.” His gaze skates over my hair, my nose, my mouth, stalling there. “Was it bad?” “Would you get over here already?” He heaves himself off the wall, taking a step toward me. I dive into his chest, savoring the feel of his hard body against mine and the smell of him—spearmint gum and woodsy soap—as our lips find each other in a welcoming kiss. “My flight’s delayed.” He curls his arms around me and pulls me tight to him, his bristly hair scratching against my skin as he bends to dip his face into the crook of my neck. He inhales deeply and then lets out a contented sigh. “I know. The airport’s a mess. Tons of people trying to get places for Christmas.” I close my eyes. “I can’t believe you’re here.” Suddenly, spending our first Christmas together at the dead-animal hotel doesn’t seem so appalling.

“Of course, I’m here. As if I was gonna let you get stuck, alone, on Christmas.” “So, I’ll fly back with you, then?” “We’re not going back that way today.” There’s an edge to his voice, one that makes me think the trip here over the mountains was far worse than he’s letting on. And Jonah is fearless when it comes to flying. A part of me wants to reprimand him—what if he had crashed?—but a bigger part is overwhelmed with emotion that he made the risky trip for me. “I love you,” I blurt before I can give it too much thought. Several beats pass before Jonah pulls away, far enough to meet my gaze, a curious look in his. I hold my breath, suddenly afraid that I’m going to have to add this moment to the top of my growing list of things that have gone terribly wrong so far with this move. “I was wonderin’ how long it’d take you to get up the nerve to say it. Especially after you chickened out at the airport.” He brushes an errant strand of hair off my face. “Thought I might have to wait forever.” My mouth hangs open for a moment. “You knew?” “You Fletchers never have been good at speakin’ your mind.” A soft, crooked smile curls his lips. “Of course, I knew.” I roll my eyes even as my cheeks flush. In the dingy Anchorage lodge hallway, being chastised by Jonah for how much like my father I am is not how I was envisioning this moment going. “Well … great.” What else am I supposed to say, especially since he hasn’t echoed the sentiment?

His mouth splits into a perfect, white-toothed grin. “You’re cute when you’re vulnerable.” My indignation flares. “You know what? I take it back.” “Nah. You don’t.” “Yeah, I do. In fact, I think I hate you right now.” I make to pull free from his arms, but they coil tighter, keeping me in place. “Look at me,” he demands softly. After a moment of reluctance, I do. His blue eyes are severe as they pin me down. “I can’t remember what it feels like not being in love with you, Calla.” My pulse pounds in my veins. He leans in, presses his forehead against mine. “I can’t remember what it’s like to wake up and not have you be the first thing I think about. Every morning, I roll over in bed to check for a message from you. Ever...

“Wow. That’s …” I swallow the lump in my throat, about to float away on a euphoric high from his tender admission. That’s way better than just blurting out “I love you.” He cups my chin with his palms. “You were made for me. I am madly in love with you, Calla Fletcher.” His mouth catches mine in a deceptively soft kiss that threatens to buckle my knees. It draws a moan f...

“Where are we going, then?” “To see Santa.” “What?” “Do you trust me?” “Yeah, of course, but—” “’Kay, then stop talkin’, get ready, and meet me in the lobby. I’ll check you out of your room.” He plants a last, chaste kiss on my lips and strolls away, whistling “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” “But my suitcases—” “They’re at the front desk,” he hollers over his shoulder, adding in a booming voice, “but I told you already, Barbie, you’re not gonna be wearin’ any clothes for a few days.” My cheeks burn as I seek out the housekeeper, hovering by her cart with her head down, pretending she didn’t hear that. And then I rush inside to pack my things.

It finally clicks. “The North Pole! Oh my God!” A wave of nostalgia washes over me. I can’t believe I hadn’t clued in already. “My dad always used to tell me he was flying there. I thought it was the coolest thing.” Back when I only knew his face thanks to a picture, when I’d prattle nonstop over the phone and he’d listen patiently. Jonah’s deep chuckle carries through the headset. “Yeah. Well, it’s not the North Pole, but it’s North Pole, Alaska. Christmas all year round. They’ve got giant candy canes along the main street. We can take the snow machine in tomorrow for somethin’ to do, if you want. It’s not that far.” He points to the expanse of buildings in the distance as a crop of lights ignite in the dusk, ahead of the coming nightfall. “That’s Fairbanks up ahead. It’s the second-largest city in Alaska.” Jonah wouldn’t divulge any more hints about where we were heading as we loaded my luggage into the passenger seats.

“It’d be nice to have a place like this to escape to.” His eyebrow arches. “Even with the outhouse?” “I’d only come in summer.” I discovered the three-piece bathroom in the back of the cabin, operational in warmer months when the water can’t freeze in the pipes. “There’s my little princess,” he teases, his hand sliding over my thigh affectionately. But then his voice turns softer, more serious. “We can have this, too, once we figure things out. Give us a few years to get settled somewhere and then we can look at buying a patch of land somewhere up here and building our own place.” “Like this?” “Maybe a bit bigger.” He pauses a beat. “Big enough for us and twelve kids.” “Only twelve?” I mock as flutters stir in my stomach. “How about we try for one and see how it goes?” Of all the things I appreciate about Jonah, his directness is near the top of the list. It forces conversations to happen that otherwise might not, if I’m left to my own devices. He first brought up the topic of kids back in Toronto. Almost as a checkpoint, I suspect, because his relief when I confirmed that, yes, I do want kids eventually, was palpable.

With a flick, the tension in the material gives way. An eager shiver runs through my body as he pushes the lace aside and cups my breasts within his palms, his touch far gentler than I ever expected from him. “The one I sent you on Saturday?” “You sent me a listing for a 3000-square-foot house in Anchorage, near a Walmart.” He guides my arms up and then hikes my shirt over my head. He discards my bra as if it’s a scrap, exposing my upper body to the cool night air. He leans back for a long moment, as if to admire my naked flesh and decide what he wants to do with it first. It’s such a simple move, and yet my breasts grow heavy and my nipples harden and blood rushes to my core. “It was a big lot. And the rent isn’t too bad.”

His gaze flickers to mine. “I’m gonna be thirty-two in April, Calla. I don’t wanna rent anymore if I don’t have to. Let’s look for somethin’ to buy. Somethin’ that’s a hundred percent ours. A smaller house with more land. No Walmart in our backyard.” His hands splay across my back, pulling my body closer. He leans in to lick one peaked nipple before taking it into his mouth and sucking hard. I revel in the conflicting feel of his bristly facial hair—it’ll be another month before I can call that a beard again—and his wet tongue, but my mind is spinning with thoughts. Jonah has mentioned buying instead of renting once before. My mother has been pushing hard for the latter. It’s far less permanent, she insisted. Less complicated to sort out should things not work between us. Easier for me to pick up and come home. Like she did. She insists she’s only doing her job as a mother, warning me of pitfalls before I tumble into them. But I am not her, and Jonah is certainly nothing like my father. He wants to settle down and have kids, with me. There are no accidental pregnancies guiding our decisions. That he’s so confident in us and our longevity gives me courage. “Okay. I can start looking at places for sale too—” “Calla?” Jonah whispers against my skin, his hot breath sparking goose bumps. I love the sound of my name on his low, raspy voice. “Yeah?” He peers up at me, his gaze hooded in the low cast of lamplight. I remember the first time I saw those icy blue eyes—a gorgeous feat...

Our mouths find each other with hunger, our teeth clinking and nipping, our tongues stroking, our lips bruising as we taste and kiss with reckless abandon. “It’s been three minutes,” I whisper, my inner muscles flexing with expectation. I rock my hips against him, seeking out his hard tip, lining it up with my body’s entrance, aching to feel him inside me again. He sinks deep with a single thrust and a moan. And the eerie silence in the cabin fills with the heady sounds of our long-awaited reunion.

All my complaints vanish the second I take in the shimmering green and blue lights that sway and surge and dance in the clear night sky, illuminating the expanse of stars above us and the frozen, snow-covered lake below. “The northern lights!” I exclaim, mesmerized. It’s as if the heavens have come to life. Jonah shifts to stand behind me, draping his arms around my body, cocooning me in his warmth. “This is one of the best places in the world to see them.” He presses his lips against my cheek. “That’s why I wanted to bring you up here.” I gape at the spectacular light show, stunned. “Is it like this all the time?” I can’t even see the stars back home, the city lights too bright. “On a clear, dark night? Yeah, there’s a good chance you’ll catch them, especially in the winter. But you have to be watching for them.” “God, this is … incredible! I need to get my camera—” “No.” His grip of me tightens, keeping me in place. “I’ll bring you up another time and you can sit out here all night, freezing your ass off and taking a million pictures. I promise. But tonight, this is for you and me. It’s our moment.” He rests his chin on my head. “The first night of the rest of our lives.” I relax into him. “Does everyone know you’re such a romantic?” “Shut up.” His deep chuckle tickles my ear. “I figured you’d like seeing this.” “I love seeing this.” I curl my gloved hand around his. “Thank you.” Is this what a life with Jonah means? Will he whisk me away to remote places and show me awe...

“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the thought, especially coming from a guy who buys his clothes at the local grocery store.” Which is why my gifts to him included designer dark-wash, straight-leg jeans that don’t sag on his ass and a few ultrasoft crewneck shirts without a hint of plaid. I spent days looking for the perfect gifts for him, recruiting Mabel to seek out his neck and waist size. They’re the nicest items in his closet, by far. “It’s practical, I guess, seeing as I’m living in Alaska. And it looks well made, for a hunting jacket.” I chuckle. “He also got me a children’s book on wildlife safety. And Mabel and Agnes bought me a mosquito jacket and bear spray and bells, for when I go jogging.”

The snow crunches under Agnes’s boots on her approach. In her gloved fist, she carries a cluster of pale pink silk calla lilies, to replenish the ones buried. My father’s favorite flower, he admitted one quiet night in those last weeks, while he attempted to teach me how to play checkers. “Happy New Year!” Her greeting is delivered in that accent I now recognize as common to a born-and-bred Alaskan, especially from this side of the state. My father spoke in that same slow, relaxed, folksy way. “Nice day for a visit with Wren.”

“Good.” She crouches in front of my father’s grave, her wise, near-black eyes resting on the cross for a long, silent moment. She nods toward the small plane that I placed next to the cross when I arrived. “That’s cute.” “It reminded me of Veronica. I thought he might like it.” I found it online and painted my father’s name and dates of life on its belly.

“What are we going to do when we’re not living across the road from you anymore, Agnes? How are we going to survive? Does this mean I’ll have to learn to cook?” It’s a joke, but I don’t miss the fleeting sorrow that flashes through Agnes’s eyes before it’s gone, replaced by something else, something indecipherable. She brushes at the dusting of snow that has settled atop my father’s cross. “You two will do fine, as long as you remember you’re in this together.” “I think we’ve done pretty well at that so far. And we’ve been through a lot.” Since the day I found out that my father would be refusing treatment for his terminal cancer, Jonah and I have stayed side by side to face the pain, the heartache, the tough decisions, each trusting the other for support. He has been my rock—steadfast and unfailing. “Yes …” Agnes hesitates, her gaze wandering to the distance. I sense a “but.” Agnes has never been one to deliver the “but,” always the unobtrusive listener, the kind, supportive voice who keeps her opinions to herself. That one seems to be dangling off the tip of her tongue sets off alarm bells. “You two are a good match for each other. Wren saw it right away.” “Really?” I grin, despite her ominous tone. My dad had hinted at the idea of Jonah and me getting together. He did it in his subtle way, never pushing. At the time, Jonah and I were at each other’s throats. “Sure, he did. We both did, or at least hoped. And right now, this must all feel like a whirlwind. Jonah, surpris...

“Just say what you want to say. Please.” She sighs. “Following Jonah around Alaska while he flies planes won’t be enough. Not for a girl like you, Calla. Loving him won’t be enough. Not forever.” Agnes smiles, as if to soften the blow of her warning. My stomach tightens. I expected this from my mother and, to a lesser degree, Simon. Never from Agnes. Maybe that’s why I’m not as quick to dismiss her words as scripture out of the Standard Parenting 101 handbook. “What will be enough, then?” Because I can’t imagine my life without Jonah in it anymore. Several beats pass as she considers her answer, the corners of her eyes crinkling with thought. “Find your place here. Something that’s going to give you—Calla Fletcher—purpose. Something that feels like you.” She nods slowly, as if agreeing with her own answer. “Find that, and then give it your all.” I hear what she doesn’t have to say out loud. My parents were madly in love—the kind of love that sunk its teeth in and held on despite decades apart—and they couldn’t make it work. If I follow my mother’s footsteps from twenty-seven years ago, newly pregnant and disillusioned about what life with a bush pilot in the wilds of Alaska would be like, focused on all that it’s not, I won’t last here, no matter how much Jonah and I love each other.

Leaving me alone in the cemetery once again. “You know you left a huge hole in our lives, right?” Would that bring people comfort in the afterlife, knowing they are so missed? “It’s not a bad thing, but it’s there, in all of us. Especially for Mabel.” The bubbly, energetic twelve-year-old who used to storm into the kitchen and talk in rushed spurts and run-on sentences has been replaced by a more reserved, at times sullen creature. Agnes blames Mabel’s behavior on burgeoning hormones but I don’t think any of us believe that’s all it is. I linger for another half hour or so, until my hands are numb and my cheeks hurt, and Agnes’s warning has taken root in the back of my mind. I ramble about nothing and everything, closing my eyes to recall the sound of Wren Fletcher’s quiet chuckle. Terrified of the day it fades from memory.

“What is it?” I ask, reaching for the object, my fingers grasping cool metal as I lift it into view. A dainty plane dangles from a chain, its white gold glimmering from polish. “That’s your real Christmas present. The guy making it took longer than expected.” “Oh my God … it’s …” It’s so delicate and detailed, right down to the windows and doors, the propeller blades, the wheels. Tiny diamonds cover the wings, winking at me as their facets catch the late-afternoon sunlight that invades the living room through the bay window. But the detail on the tail, the minuscule replica of the Alaska Wild logo, is where my attention locks and my emotions swirl. “It’s beautiful.” “Something you’ll actually wear?” “Yes! Absolutely.” I’ll wear it with nothing but pride. “Is it better than the hunting jacket you hated?” The corners of his mouth betray him. “That was a joke?” “Of course, it was a joke.” He grins. “And so worth it. Man, you are a shitty actor.” “God, you are such a jerk sometimes!” I let go of the pendant to smack my palms hard against Jonah’s chest. Beneath my fingertips, I feel the vibrations of his low chuckle, as his hands settle on my hips, warming my body even through two layers of clothes.

He inhales deeply, his smile fading. “I can’t take all the credit.” He holds the small gold plane between his thumb and index finger. “This necklace, it’s not only from me.” His pale blue eyes dart upward to meet mine. He swallows hard. “About a week before he died, Wren asked me to get in touch with this friend of his, up in Nome.” The lump in my throat inflates. “He wanted you to have something to remember him by. Something you could open on Christmas morning.” Jonah clears his throat. “For a while there, he was hoping he’d last this long.” I clasp my hand over my mouth to muffle my sob. Tears blur my vision, slipping down my cheek in a steady, hot stream. It’s been months since my father’s death and just like that, again, it feels like he died yesterday. Jonah’s jaw tenses. “He was hell-bent on getting you something you’d wanna wear. I never saw him like that before, so determined. But he knew how you are, with your clothes and stuff. Anyway, the plane was his idea.” Jonah finally meets my eyes again and I note their glossy sheen, the gruffness in his voice. “I added the diamonds ’cause I know you like sparkly things.” It takes me a moment to find my words and when I do, they’re barely a whisper. “It’s the most perfect thing anyone has ever given me. I’ll never take it off. Never.” Jonah simply nods and then pulls me into him, his hairy face tickling the crook of my neck as I cry.

Jonah’s smile turns wistful. “But then he’d tell us to sell. That it’s just a house. To not make the same mistakes he did by tying ourselves down at the expense of people we love.” My head bobs in agreement. Jonah’s right. My father sold Alaska Wild—our family’s fifty-four-year-old legacy—because it was time for everyone to move on. That house next to us is just a bunch of walls and a roof and two hundred forty-four mallards with hand-drawn nipples. The Fletcher family is gone. “Then there’s your answer. You guys should sell to Barry.” He nods slowly. “I guess it’s time to do some serious house-hunting, then. What else you got here?” He flips through tabs on my laptop, pausing to frown. “You wanna live on a farm?”

“This the missus?” “Not officially yet but, yeah.” My heart sings at Jonah’s response, at all the promises and intentions buried within—though we haven’t discussed marriage seriously yet—and delivered without hesitation or fear, in typical blunt Jonah style.

It’s easy to trust a person unequivocally when you don’t have to worry about what they’re not telling you.

“Yeah, he was braggin’.” Phil chuckles, and it reminds me of an old car engine, struggling to turn. “Well, come on, then. Why don’t I give you a tour around, if you want, and then we can drop that off at the house?” “We’d love that. Right, babe?” Jonah’s eyes shine with curiosity as they dart about the property before landing on me, an odd, buoyant smile touching his lips. I can’t help but return it and lean in to whisper, “You have such a hard-on for this guy’s place right now, don’t you?” He loops an arm around my waist, pulling me in tightly. “I’m about to come in my pants.”

I hide my cringing smile behind a sip from my water. “Jonah’s been admiring it ever since we landed.” I shoot him a wry glance. More like Jonah has been strolling around in sub-zero temperatures with a full-blown erection for a giant metal shed. “Hoped you would. George swore up and down you’d appreciate this place.” Phil swallows another hearty sip of his whiskey. “That’s why I’d rather sell to you than that couple from Homer. So, when do you reckon you’ll have the money to buy me out?”

“A Walmart. You think that’s what I need?” He throws his hands in the air. “Hell, I don’t know! You’re the one who keeps bringin’ up Walmart!” His gaze furtively searches the wall behind me as if there’s a convincing argument buried somewhere within the wood paneling. “Marie lives near Wasilla.” “Your super-close female friend who is secretly in love with you. Even better,” I mutter, though there’s no animosity to go along with that. When I met the pretty girl-next-door veterinarian, it was just after Jonah and I had kissed for the first time, and I was burning with jealousy. It was clear to anyone paying attention that she was hoping their friendship was a stepping stone to something more. Jonah himself admitted that they’d kissed once. He also said that he couldn’t give her what she wanted. I’ve seen Marie twice since then—once at my father’s funeral—and she seems to have retreated a step, as if trying to respect an invisible boundary that’s been put in place, now that I’m in the picture. In any case, I have no issues with Marie, but it’s not exactly a selling feature for buying Phil’s place. Jonah rolls his eyes. “She’s not in love with me.” “We agreed on Anchorage,” I remind him. “No. We agreed on closer to Anchorage. This is a hell of a lot closer to Anchorage than Bangor.”

“Maybe not intentionally, but that’s what you were doing. And that’s not you. You’ve always been open and honest. You speak your mind. That’s what I love about you.” Hadn’t I just finished thinking about how much I love that quality about him? “This deceptiveness? It isn’t you.” It’s why I never caught on to his plan, which, in hindsight, I’m an idiot to have missed.

“I won’t be able to give you my half until March or April. Maybe later.” There’s still some estate red tape to process before the funds are released to me. “About that.” Jonah’s brow furrows. “Look, the land and hangar must be worth at least half the cost, so I’m willing to cover all that plus half the house—” “What?” I glare at him. “No.” “Come on, Calla. Wren left you that money so you can set yourself up for life. So you can invest in something.” “I am investing in something.” I frown. “Us.” He shakes his head. “I know what Wren sold Wild to Aro for, and I don’t ever want you or anyone else thinkin’ that I’m takin’ advantage of you.” “Since when do you care what anyone else thinks?” My tone is escalating again, along with my irritation. “I care what Susan and Simon think,” he says.

“Tell you what … bring him on over.” Jonah stalls. “Really? I appreciate it—” “The hounds have gotten fat and lazy over the winter. Figure a good chase an’ kill ahead of the summer might do ’em some good. Though I doubt he’ll give them much of a chase.” I grimace. I may not like goats but the picture Roy just painted is far more disturbing than creepy pupils and unpleasant childhood memories.

“I’m glad you think so.” I plaster on an innocent smile and pat the extra-large yellow rubber gloves on the counter. “Because these are for you, to scrub the drunk-man pee off that bathroom floor up there.” He slips my glass from my hand and scoops me into his arms. “Told you, Calla, I don’t care. I have you and my planes, we have this place …” His eyes are bright and wistful as they roam the beams in the pitched ceiling. “We have it all.”

“Right?” “Say hi to Jonah for us.” “I will. And figure out when you’re coming!” We end the call as Jonah’s voice carries in. “… refuses to go back there if he’s there. Bandit seems okay with him so far, at least.” The front door creaks open. “I’ll ask around and see if anyone is interested,” comes a familiar female voice. “Somethin’ tells me there aren’t many people looking for a useless old goat who hates men. Hey, Calla, Marie’s here!” Jonah calls out, as the tall, willowy woman steps into our house. I peel off my rubber gloves and toss them aside before turning to meet Marie’s teal-blue eyes. It’s been two months since we last saw her, when she flew to Bangor to provide veterinarian services to the villagers. And now she’s here, living only fifteen minutes away. “Hi, Calla,” she offers, her hands fidgeting around a house plant and a gift bag in the shape of a liquor bottle. “I thought I’d stop by to see how you guys were doing.” I drag my fingers back through my hair, smoothing my wayward topknot. “It’s good to see you.” And it genuinely is good to see a familiar face while we’re in the depths of house-purging hell, even if Marie and I have exchanged little more than polite conversation and I’m one hundred percent positive she’s in love with my boyfriend. Marie tucks the gift bag under one arm, freeing a hand to brush a strand of long, golden-blonde hair off her face. She tucks it behind her ear. “So …” She edges around the mountain of trash bags. “How’s it going?”

“Well … I’m wearing a dead woman’s clothes while I go through her belongings. I just found a hemorrhoid cushion in the back of the hallway closet. I’ve broken every fingernail, and I’m seriously considering opening a bottle of wine at”—I glance at my watch—“noon.” Marie presses her lips together to hide her smile, her gaze pausing on the bleach stains that I earned yesterday while on my hand and knees scrubbing the main-floor bath. “You look great. But you always do.” “Thanks, but I look like a vagabond,” I counter, borrowing a favorite word of Simon’s. Marie’s appearance is more polished than her usually casual, fresh-faced style. She’s still in jeans, but the sweater showing through her opened winter coat is pink and hugs her slender body. A light dusting of shadow coats her eyelids, a stroke of brown mascara makes her already thick fringe of lashes longer, and the beachy waves in her hair were likely created by an iron. I wonder if this is how she looks when she’s not the crusader, flying around Western Alaska, or if she put extra effort in, coming here today? Marie laughs and her focus drifts over the space. “There’s a lot of stuff here.”

“Those?” I nod toward the wall of animal trophies. Jonah glares at me the same way he did when I tossed an old, tattered book into the burn box. “We’re not burning those.” “Fine. Then, just me,” I grumble, reaching back to rub the painful knots in my neck, wincing with the ache. “End my suffering.” I’m desperate to have an empty, clean house to start with. Jonah saunters over and drops his rough hands on my shoulders to knead them with skilled fingers. I let out a deep groan of appreciation. “I take it that helps?” He dips his head to press a kiss against my jawline. Marie averts her gaze, staring intently at a cheap, framed poster print of Denali National Park that I haven’t yet taken down. Is it to give us privacy? Or is it to avoid the inevitable sting that comes with watching someone you care about being intimate with someone else? Jonah may be oblivious, but I’m not. I’m also not naive. You can’t just turn off feelings for someone because they love someone else, as much as most people would like to. What if our roles were reversed? What if Jonah and I were “just friends” and I had to stand idly by and watch him fall in love with another woman? A sharp prick of sympathy stabs my chest at that thought. “To be continued later,” I whisper, giving him a knowing look as I slip my hands over his, squeezing them until they stall. Jonah steals one last kiss from my neck before stepping away. “You got big plans for today, Marie?”

The snow machine’s engine churns loud and ragged as I race along the driveway toward the plane, holding out hope that it doesn’t die on the way, and that Jonah spots me coming before he takes off. When the door pops open and Jonah hops out, I sigh with relief. I come to a stop on the edge of the strip and wait for him to reach me, his strides long and purposeful, his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?” I cut my engine. “You didn’t say goodbye.” He was gone before I stirred this morning, leaving nothing but the smell of brewed coffee in his wake and the faint memory of a kiss against my temple. “Yeah, I did. You were half-asleep.” “Then it doesn’t count.” He reaches out with both hands to tug the sides of my winter hat down over my ears. The temperature is above average by a few degrees for this time of year, according to the local radio station, but there’s still a wintry chill in the air. “I found your itinerary form. It’s filled out and sitting on the desk.” “Great. Thank you.” Agnes said to make sure Jonah never leaves without completing an itinerary. It has his destination and his flight plan. It’s the only way I know where to direct help, should he not arrive. “What time will you be home?” “Around five. It’s far, and it took me a while to get that stupid thing goin’ before I could clear the snow.” He juts a chin toward the tractor, the cherry-red plow attached to the front wearing several dents. Another engine in need of a mechanic. “I’ll call you on the satphone when I ge...

“Yeah, yeah.” He smirks, leaning in to steal a quick kiss, obviously in a rush to get off the ground. I grab hold of his neck before he has a chance to pull away and hold him there, prolonging the feel of his lips against mine. He’s frowning curiously when I release him. “Am I gonna get this kind of goodbye every time I fly off somewhere?” “Yes,” I say with more seriousness than I intended. “Don’t ever leave without saying goodbye to me. Please.” He studies my face a long moment. “I’m not gonna crash, Calla. I promise.” His voice is soft, lulling. “You can’t promise that.” Though I desperately want to believe him. He leans in to kiss me again, this time more deeply. “Fine. But I will always find my way back to you,” he whispers against my lips. “Love you. See you in a few hours.” “I love you, too.”

Probably because he hasn’t flown since the day we arrived almost two weeks ago. The longest he’s ever gone without being in the air since he moved to Alaska, he noted last night, as we lay naked and out of breath, in postcoital bliss. Suddenly, he spins to face me, walking backward. “By the way, what is that stuff in the fridge? In the jars?” “Chia pudding. I made it for breakfast. Like it?” “No.” He screws up his face. “Not even a little bit.” I shrug. “It’s healthy for you.” He waves off my words, turning his back to me. “You should go for a run!” he hollers over his shoulder. “You must have cabin fever by now!” “Yeah! Log cabin fever, thanks to you!” A run isn’t a bad idea, though.

I slow my pace to a walk, my hot breath producing a billow of misty cloud as it merges with the icy air. My body is suitably warm from the three layers I dressed in, but my lungs burn from the cold. Six kilometers. That’s the distance I had to run—past chained driveways and smokeless cabins—to spot signs of another living being.

My stomach quivers with unease at the possibility that Jonah and I have found ourselves surrounded by assholes. “Yeah. I was out for a run and I saw the sign for small-engine repair?” I throw a thumb in the air, pointing out to the road. “Anyway, I was wondering if you fix snowmobiles. Sorry, snow machines. Still getting used to saying that,” I mutter, more to myself. “We just moved in down the road and the ones that came with the place sound like they’re about to die.” When he frowns, I clarify, “Did you know Phil Gorman?” “Oh, right. I heard he sold.” His thumb drags over his short, brown beard. I’d put him in his midthirties. “That explains it.” “Explains what?” I dare ask, unsure whether I want to hear his answer. Suddenly, his face splits into a wide grin, one that softens his hard features and makes him look five years younger. “The four bear bells. You’re not from around here, are you?” I can’t help but laugh, even as my chilled cheeks heat from embarrassment and my hand instinctively reaches to cover the bell secured to the opposite hand’s wrist. I also have one on each shoe and one attached to the bear spray chest holster. “I’m actually from Toronto. But I will have you know that a born-and-bred Alaska Native gave me these for Christmas and made me promise I’d never go running without them.” “And you should definitely use at least one of them. Especially when the bears come out of hibernation next month.” He pulls himself off the counter—he’s barrel-chested and on...

“An airstrip.” His heavy brow furrows and I laugh. “My boyfriend’s a pilot and he wanted his own airstrip. And I needed to be within easy-ish driving distance to Anchorage.” I shrug. “He fell in love with Phil’s place and suckered me into it. It’s been an adventure ever since.” “Right.” Toby nods, adding quietly, “of course.” “Sara called!” comes a loud male voice from somewhere unseen. “Did you hear Jax got trampled by a moose?” A moment later, a round man with a long, bushy white beard and wearing mustard-colored overalls pushes through a two-way swinging, saloon-style door. He stops abruptly when he sees me—and the horrified look that must be splayed across my face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya, dear. Jax is a sled dog. “Oh.” I’m not sure if that makes me feel any better. “Yeah. He crossed paths with a mama and her baby during the Iditarod. Turned nasty fast.” “Dad, this is Calla. She moved into Phil’s place. Calla, this is my dad, Teddy.”

“Toby and Teddy. I think I can remember that.” “He plays Santa at the town’s Christmas dinner every year. You’ll never guess why.” Teddy gives Toby a playful slap upside the head before coming around to offer his hand. “Phil told me he was sellin’ to a nice young couple. You’re from Canada, right?” I smile. “I am.” “From what I’ve heard, your husband’s one heck of a pilot.” I don’t correct him on the husband label as my chest surges with pride. I already knew Jonah was one of the best around—my father said as much. But to hear complete strangers say it feels somehow more authentic. “He is. He flew for Alaska Wild for ten years and now we’re starting a charter business here.” It still sounds surreal. Me, part owner of a charter plane company? “Alaska Wild.” Teddy strokes his beard in thought. Beneath the mass of wiry white hair, his cheeks are a rosy red, with tiny capillary lines marring his skin. “That went under, didn’t it?” “No.” I say more abruptly than I intend, but Wild—and Wren Fletcher—did not fail. “My father had terminal cancer. He decided to sell.” Sympathy passes through Teddy’s blue eyes. “Well, we get all kinds of people coming through here. We’ll be sure to pass along your hubby’s name if they mention lookin’ for a ride somewhere.” “That would be amazing.”

“Hey, you know what you guys could use in here?” Teddy and Toby both frown and, while they look nothing alike, there is a definite family resemblance in that expression. I grin. “Some animal heads for your walls.”

With the goat safe within his cage, I pause, taking a moment to study the two faces staring back at me. I shake my head. “Is this my life now? Spending my days talking to a raccoon and a goat?” Zeke bleats and kicks at the fence, rattling the entire structure. I hurry inside, my gaze on the surrounding forest the entire way.

“Nice. I was thinkin’ about that. Sounds like we’re gonna get snowed in starting late tonight. I’ve gotta bring in a bunch of wood for us.” He empties his pockets onto the desk—a wad of cash that I assume is from the run today, a fuel receipt, the satellite phone, and his iPhone. He leans in to kiss me. I give him my cheek. It might be the first time I’ve ever done that. Finally, he seems to get the message. “Is something wrong?” “Seriously?” I meet his blue eyes, his furrowed brow. Is he that oblivious? “You were supposed to be home at five.” “I got hung up talkin’ to Bo Sterling and ended up givin’ him a ride to Talkeetna. It was on the way.” “And you didn’t think to call me?” “I did call you. When I landed in Unalakleet. Remember? I stayed on the line with you for almost ten minutes while you walked home?” “Jonah! I was two seconds away from calling the state troopers and reporting you missing!” My voice cracks.

“So …” Jonah’s hands smooth over my thighs with affection. “How did you escape today’s goat attack? It must have been a harrowing ordeal?” I’m smiling now. “Shut up.” He pulls me onto his lap. “You know, I’m not used to being lectured by anyone, especially not a Fletcher.” His lips are cool as they graze my collarbone, sending shivers through my body. “Coming from you, it’s kind of hot.”

He pops open the door and heaves the table off my lap. “Did you carry this out?” When I nod, he frowns curiously. “You’re a lot stronger than you look.” “More like highly motivated. There’s a table like this for a grand online that I’ve been dying to buy, but Jonah was giving me grief.” He lets out a long, slow whistle. “Don’t blame him. Especially since someone probably donated it to her. That, or she found it in the trash.” I gasp, which earns his laugh.