Wild at Heart (Wild, #2)

by K.A. Tucker

“Why’d you come back, then?” “Shit happened.” He picks up the picture of Diana and me. “Your sister?” I’m momentarily distracted. “Best friend. I’m an only child.” Though there was about five minutes last summer when I had convinced myself that my father had a secret daughter—Mabel. “What about you? Any sisters or brothers?” “One brother. Deacon.” I recall that framed hunting photo on the wall in the Ale House. “Older? Younger?” “Younger. By two years.” “Does he help run the resort, too?” If he does, I haven’t seen him around. “He used to,” Toby says, setting the picture back. “Before he disappeared.” I frown, replaying that in my head in case I heard it incorrectly. “Disappeared, like, he moved to Miami and you guys don’t talk anymore?” Toby’s gray eyes flash to me, a hint of grim amusement in them. “Like he went out hunting one day five years ago and never came back.” A chilling feeling washes over me. “Oh my God. Is he … I mean … do you think he might still be out there, somewhere?”

A sinking feeling stirs in the pit of my stomach. “There were some empty casings lying around. It looked like he fired a few rounds before he took off. They followed both sets of prints all the way to the river where they stopped.” “And then?” I dread the answer. Toby shakes his head. “They combed the area but never found Deacon or the bear. The way the ground looked, they figure he stumbled down the embankment and fell into the river, got carried away. That, or the bear caught up to him while he was trying to cross. There’s usually a body when that happens, though.” “When that happens?” I echo, my voice a touch shrill. “If it happens,” he amends, smiling as if to ease my panic. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m …” I shake my head, unsure what to say. “I’m so sorry.” He nods slowly. “It’s not the craziest thing in the world, for people to go missing up here. It happens more than you think. Especially when people aren’t smart. Deacon, he wasn’t smart. You don’t go out there alone.” Silence lingers as I search for the right words. I’ve caught myself imagining what Agnes went through, when Mabel’s father didn’t arrive at his destination. That fleeting worry, as I kiss Jonah goodbye before he climbs into his plane, that it’ll be the last time I kiss him, is always present. But I’ve never imagined Jonah going out one day and disappearing without a trace. My stomach roils at the thought. “That must be hard, to not have any answers after so long.” No sense of closure. No peace.

And there I was, on the first day we met, making jokes about tying meat to my neck and leaving me out for the bears. No wonder he had that weird look on his face. I unwittingly stuck both feet in my mouth. “Do me a favor?” Toby wanders over to the bookshelf and holds up the wildlife book Jonah gave me for Christmas. When he speaks again, his tone is lighter. “Promise you won’t go off in the bush alone because you’ve read this cover to cover.”

In the months that followed my father’s death, I’ve faced a wide range of feelings when talking about my inheritance—shock, guilt, sadness, discomfort, regret—but at no point would I say I was “excited” for it. It felt wrong to look forward to the day the money hit my bank account, given the cost—my father’s life, my family’s legacy. But now I’m back in Alaska, living a life that I believe would make my father happy and proud, and it’s in part because of the money he left both of us. I feel a thrill coursing through my veins over all the new possibilities.

Jonah shakes his head. “Wren didn’t leave you all that money so you could piss it away on custom screens and hot tubs and a fucking three-thousand-dollar fake antler chandelier!” He throws an accusatory hand toward the large box that arrived last week sitting by the fireplace. The local electrician is coming to hang it tomorrow. “You said you didn’t want it lookin’ like a hunt camp in here!” “Hunt camps don’t have three-thousand-dollar chandeliers!” I yell as my indignation flares. “I am not pissing my money away. And he left it to me, Jonah. I don’t need your approval on how to spend it!” “I’m not saying you need my approval,” Jonah begins through gritted teeth, as if struggling to control his temper.

By the way her shrewd gaze flits back and forth between us, I’ll bet she heard the shouting match. “Hello. Can I help you?” I ask in a forced polite tone. “You must be Calla.” Her voice is huskier than I expected. “You’re even prettier than the guys said you were.” The moment she smiles—a wide, feature-transforming grin that reaches her gray eyes—I know exactly who she is. “You’re Toby’s mom,” I say before she can introduce herself. The resemblance is uncanny. And I’m even more embarrassed that she’s a witness to our fighting. She thrusts out a rough-skinned hand wrapped in bandages. A hand that sees daily manual labor. “Muriel.” She turns to Jonah, sizing him up with a single astute look. “And you’re the pilot.” “I am. Come on in.” Jonah settles a hand on the small of my back—as if we weren’t just screaming at each other—and holds the door open for her to shimmy through. She heads down the long, narrow hall without pausing to remove her boots, leaving a trail of mud on our freshly finished wood that I’ll have to mop up the second she leaves. “So, he’s been tellin’ his mom how pretty you are,” Jonah whispers. I ignore him and move ahead, my anger set to a low boil for the moment.

I struggle to school my expression. Sentences that start with those words are never welcome. “But I’m guessin’ Jonah likes to have control.” Hearing her use the word “control” to describe Jonah makes my irritation flare. A controlling man is not appealing. “He likes to have his say. It’s not about control,” I correct. Jonah is assertive and he knows what he wants. Those are appealing qualities. Her head tilts in a “you silly, naive girl” way. “Men like him don’t do well havin’ no say over things like finances.” She’s Toby’s mother, I remind myself, biting my tongue and forcing a smile. “You know that resort? All those acres we own?” She juts her thumb in the direction of the Trapper’s Crossing resort. “That’s my family’s property. Teddy married into it. But the day I told him that we were gettin’ married or to quit wastin’ my time, I knew it would become as much his as mine. I still had a hard time lettin’ go, seein’ him as having an equal say. Took a few years to get used to the idea of that, especially for a stubborn broad like me. And I’ll tell ya, those were some hard years.” She shakes her head. “But there is no labeling ‘mine’ and ‘yours’ once you’re married.” “We’re not married.” “And you won’t ever be if you two let a big pile of money get in the way of it happening.” She points at the house. “It seems you’ve already made some big commitments to each other, buying this place, all the way out here. Rings and a ceremony … that’s all for show. It’s the day-to-day stuf...

“That spot where you have your garden, it wasn’t too much better than this when Colette and Phil took over. Of course, the Beakers had a little garden. Colette wanted bigger, so Phil gave her bigger. Lord, did that man ever love her, bless his heart. “Anyway, it took them a good five years to get it to size. Every year they’d clear and churn more. So much hard work put into it. That’s why it needs to continue being used.” Muriel straps her gun onto the rack and climbs back on her ATV. “Okay. You’ll want me to lead again so I’m gonna go around you and cut back onto the path—” A loud metal snapping sound followed by a howl of pain cuts through the silent forest, the echo sending countless birds from their perches, flapping into the air.

“Not without you needin’ a few dozen stitches in that pretty skin of yours. That there ain’t no friendly mutt. Besides, even if we could get the trap off, that leg is so mangled, I doubt he could keep it.” I study the trap again, meant for an animal at least twice the size—its giant metal teeth gripping flesh without mercy, cutting through tendon and muscle, anchoring into bone. I cringe with the thought of it clamped over my own leg. “What the hell is a bear trap doing out here, anyway? A person could have stepped in this!” “Who knows how long it’s been there. I remember Phil havin’ a bear issue a few years back, so maybe this was him. I don’t see any fresh bait anywhere.” I crouch, and with a tentative hand, reach for the nearby chain. The dog bares its teeth and emits a grating growl, warning me back. Muriel’s right—I’ll only end up getting hurt trying to help it. I stand, sighing with frustration. “So, what do we do?” A click sounds that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. It’s a sound I’ve heard only a handful of times, when Jonah loads his rifle. “What are you doing?” I ask warily, cold dread seeping into my stomach as I watch Muriel approaching with her gun. I know exactly what she’s about to do. She gives me a blank look. “I’m puttin’ the thing out of its misery.” “You can’t just shoot it!”

Our convoy of ATVs emerged from the woods as Jonah was landing, Marie sitting cross-legged in the trailer, cradling the animal’s head in her arms as best she could, a grim mask of determination on her pretty face. She never complained once through all of it. Not as the wagon hit bone-jarring bump after bump, not as the dog’s blood seeped through the gauze and blanket, staining her jeans, not even as Muriel attempted to instruct her about where she should put the tranquilizer, on how best to release the trap, and how tight to bandage the wounds. The woman who still secretly pines over Jonah was, for lack of a better word, inspiring. Also, incredibly intimidating for her even temper and skill. The least I can do is deal with this asshole while Marie tries to save a life. Roy is outside when we approach the cabin, removing slabs of wood from the back of his pickup truck. The barn’s door is propped open, giving me a glimpse of the many tools and work benches inside.

“You two should go out for a beer sometime.” It’d be nice for Jonah to make a local male friend, and soon. It seemed everyone in Bangor knew—and liked—him, but my father and Max were the only guys Jonah hung out with, outside of work. Now my father is gone and Max is back in Portland, suitably occupied with baby Thor. Jonah merely grunts in response.

“Can’t be that hungry, then,” he teases, ripping off a chunk between his teeth. “You’re not kissing me again until you brush your teeth.” I unravel the last of the paper to find a sculpture inside. It takes me two hands and a moment of rolling it this way and that, taking in all the angles, to identify the two coiled birds. “Wow. Is this handmade?” I ask, sliding my thumb over the surface. It’s smooth. “Yeah. Ethel carved it over the winter,” he says between chewing. “It’s ivory.”

“Ivory?” I feel the apprehension fill my face. “Walrus ivory,” Jonah corrects. “Alaska Natives are allowed to hunt them. And don’t worry, every last part of that animal would have been used to help Ethel’s family survive the winter.” “I don’t doubt that.” I study the two birds. They’ve been shaped to perfection. “The raven and his goose wife.” I smile softly as I hold it up for us to admire. Jonah shakes his head. “That woman loves her stories.” “She got this one wrong.” I am not Jonah’s goose wife. Or perhaps I am, but I’m a goose wife who survived to see the spring thaw, and who is determined to thrive alongside her raven. “It’s beautiful.” I already know where I’m putting it—on the top shelf of the rustic curio cabinet that I ordered last week. That Jonah doesn’t know about yet.

Jonah’s gaze isn’t on the sculpture, though. It’s on me, and his face is a grim mask. My stomach sinks. “What’s wrong?” With that look, something is definitely wrong. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Calla, but …” He hesitates for a few beats, long enough that my anxiety spikes. “You really need to take a shower. I’ve never seen you so filthy.” A grin splits his face. “Shut up!” I smack his chest, equal parts relief and outrage slamming into me. “Believe me, I’m trying to, but no one will let me go home! First Muriel, now you!” “You have dirt all over your face.” He rubs the pad of his thumb across my jaw and pulls back to show me the smear of brown sludge. “It looks like you were trying to avoid enemy fire out there.” Great. I went to Roy’s looking like I was playing war games? “Do you have any idea what my day has been like?” “Did it involve rolling around in a pile of mud?” he asks with mock innocence, reaching...

Jonah’s hands keep working, sliding all the way down to the ends of my strands. “Still attached. She doesn’t know how much use he’ll have of it, though. He’ll definitely have a limp forever.” “She really is amazing,” I murmur, even as a troubling thought stirs. “Roy said he didn’t want a lame dog.” Jonah snorts. “Roy’s full of shit. He called her office, like, thirty seconds after we left his place and demanded she do whatever is necessary to save him. No cost was too high. And when Marie called him back with the news, he thanked her.”

He stalls my descent with a searing kiss, leaving my feet to dangle midair for several long moments before touching down on the dirt airstrip. “You’re acting weird,” I note. I can’t place a finger on what exactly it is that’s odd, but whatever it is, he’s been doing it since waking me. His brow furrows. “Because I kissed you?” “Yeah. Or, I don’t know. You seem … happier than normal? What gives?” “Can’t I be in a good mood?” He pulls out our small orange cooler from the seat. I frown. “Are we staying over?” “Nah. It’s just a light lunch.” He smirks. “Figured you wouldn’t want jerky again.” My eyebrows arch. “You packed a lunch? Because I was fairly certain you didn’t know how.” I’ve taken to making sandwiches for him that he can grab on his way in and out for work. It’s easier than dealing with his grumpy mood when he’s hungry and standing in front of the fridge, glaring at my salads and overnight oatmeal, complaining that there’s never anything to eat.

I hook my heels around his thighs and pull him toward me, fitting his hips between my legs. Reaching up, I let my fingers drag through his beard. I smile as I recall the night I trimmed it the first time, exacting my revenge while he lay unconscious after the crash that totaled the plane. I can still hear my father’s laughter the next morning when he realized what I’d done to his golden boy, and why. So much has changed between us. That night we found ourselves stranded here, Jonah was an enigma to me. That sexy but intimidating man who spoke his mind, even when it wasn’t something I wanted to hear. My father’s right-hand man, the bush pilot who would never leave. He was temporary, as was my time in Alaska.

“I remember thinking that night how I was gonna fall hard for you.” “Really? Because I remember you being ready to stop doing this so I’d stay.” So we didn’t complicate things. “Nah, I was just tryin’ to be a nice guy.” His smirk is fleeting before it falls off. “One thing is for sure, Barbie. This was never gonna end. Not if I had anything to do with it,” he whispers, his hands coming to rest on either side of my jaw, cupping my face. “And in the year that I’ve known you—” “It hasn’t even been a year. It’s only been, like, nine months,” I correct him. How has it only been nine months? It feels like I’ve been living with him for years. “Almost ten, if you wanna be picky. May is more than half over. And stop interrupting me,” he scolds through a kiss. He takes a deep breath. “In all that time, I’ve never doubted that you’re the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.” May is more than half over. An alarm triggers in my mind—a gut feeling that I’ve missed something important—and I feel the blood drain from my face as I abruptly pull away from him. “Oh my God.” Jonah pauses. “What’s wrong?” “What’s the date?” I mumble, scrambling to pull my phone from my pocket to check my calendar. I do the math. “No, no, no, no …” My stomach drops as realization takes over. “I’m late.” “For what?” I shoot Jonah a flat look. “I’m late.” His frown instantly smooths as realization hits him. “Oh.”

It’s a good thing I’m sitting down because I suddenly feel off-balance as panic settles in. “How late?” he asks. “Four days.” “That’s not—” “I’m never late, Jonah. Never. My cycle is like clockwork. Oh my God, how could this happen?” My hands fly to my forehead, as if that will somehow help soothe the shock of this situation. “I mean, I missed one pill this month but I took it the next day. That shouldn’t have messed things up.” “Hey … Slow down, Calla.” He collects my hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze. “We will be fine. We can handle this. So, it’s a bit sooner than we planned—” “A bit? I’m not even twenty-seven yet! Try years sooner, Jonah. Like five, six years too soon.” I don’t even have a timeline in my head for having kids, that’s how “too soon” this is. “This is … Oh God! I’m becoming my mother! I’m literally reliving my mother’s life!” Sure, she was pregnant before she decided to move to Alaska, but she sure as hell didn’t plan on getting pregnant when she did. Jonah watches me quietly as I tumble into a full meltdown until his silence only exacerbates the situation. “Please, say something.”

“I’m not sure what to say, Calla,” he begins, his voice even. “It’s not crazy to have a kid at twenty-seven. And I’m thirty-two. Five or six years sounds like a long time to wait for me.” He chews his lip. “We’re living together, we have a house, and more than enough money to get by.” “Yeah, but a baby changes everything, Jonah. It’s permanent. It’s for life.” Jonah’s jaw tenses. “As opposed to what we are?” “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just …” I search for the right words. “We’re barely settled here. I’m still trying to figure out what I want my life to look like. Is The Yeti going to turn into something big enough to keep me busy all day? Will I be happy doing that for the rest of my life? Am I going to go back to school? Are we going to stay in Alaska long-term? And what about traveling? I wa...

“I’m not saying no to kids, Jonah. I do want one or two eventually—” “No, I get it.” He releases my hands to hold his up in the air in a sign of surrender. “It’s okay, Calla. Really. You’re right. It has been only a few months.” He voices these words, but his frown says something different. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t apologize.” He shakes his head. “I’m always pushing you to be honest with me about what you want. Or don’t want, in this case.” “So … What are we going to do?” A fresh wave of panic hits me as reality sets in and I look down at my abdomen. Is there a human growing inside me? “I guess”—he pauses, searching for words—“we need to find out for sure first. There’s no point worrying until we know for sure.” As usual, Jonah is right. “I’ll do a test as soon as we get home.” Uncomfortable silence fills the cabin, the previous nostalgic mood obliterated, replaced by something sour. Jonah has stepped away from me—to give me space, perhaps?—his hands now occupied with his coat pockets. I’m searching for the right words to get back to our previous conversation when Jonah sighs heavily. “Maybe we should head back. I don’t think either of us will be able to think about much else.” That’s probably for the best. I barely nod before he’s moving for the door.

A warm hand slips over my thigh. I turn to meet Jonah’s furrowed brow. He offers me a thin-lipped smile but says nothing. He doesn’t seem to hate me for my glaring lack of excitement about our predicament, but he can’t hide the disappointment in those blue eyes. Jonah is ready to go there now. “When do you have to work again?” I ask, craving a safe topic of conversation. “Day after tomorrow. I was thinking we could fly out to Bangor. Visit Wren’s grave and see Aggie. Yell at Mabel, get her to smarten up.” “Yeah, because rebellious teenagers respond well to that,” I say sarcastically, noting how he emphasized the “was,” as if flying west is no longer an option. “Maybe not, but I need to say something before she fucks up her life—” He stops talking abruptly and frowns at the gauges in front of him.

I stare hard at the tiny window, turning it this way and that under the light of the naked bulb above, searching for the second pink line that’s supposed to appear within two minutes. It’s been five and there’s not even a hint of one. Based on this test, I’m not pregnant. Relief sweeps over me, though I know we’re not in the clear yet. Jonah crumples and tosses the pamphlet into the trash can. “So, what now?” His mood hasn’t improved since Sam’s friend brought us home. We left Archie at the edge of the lake, secured by ropes and anchors, and I know it’s eating at him. “I’ll do another test in the morning, to make sure. Maybe my hormones are messed up this month.” I can’t hide the hopefulness in my voice. Just as Jonah can’t seem to hide the disappointment from his face. He nods slowly. “Did Toby respond yet?” “Yeah. He said he’s free to go today if you want,” I say. “Today would be ideal.” He hesitates. “You good with staying home, or did you want to come with us?” I can’t help but sense that Jonah would prefer the former of those two options. After my epic meltdown at the cabin, I wouldn’t blame him.

I watch for the three bouncing dots that signal a response. It takes a full minute before they appear. Jonah: OK. “Okay?” I don’t know what answer I expected from him. You must be so relieved. Let’s make sure we’re more careful. Don’t worry, I love you and next time, we’ll both be ready for it. “OK” seems so … not okay. That feeling begins to gnaw in my stomach again, that our relationship took a major hit yesterday with this pregnancy scare. But I could also chalk it up to Jonah not being keen on texting. And it’s easy to misinterpret thoughts and feelings in texts. It’s too easy for your own insecurities to breed falsities in a simple word.

I gasp at the diamond ring that stares back at me, and the pieces fall into place. Jonah was wearing this jacket yesterday. The surprise trip to the cabin … the lunch … the bottle of champagne … him, acting so strange … He was going to propose. Before his words triggered the pregnancy scare, he was talking about spending the rest of his life with me. I remember—vaguely—one hand leaving my face, reaching toward his pocket. He was literally in the process of asking me to marry him when I panicked about being late. “Seriously?” Wild flutters stir in my stomach. With no warning? No marriage conversations beforehand? I mean, we’ve only been living together for five months! We’ve known each other less than a year, and yet, here is this ring—this stunning diamond ring designed to look like a snowflake, with countless diamonds of various sizes—and he was going to propose to me yesterday. And I would have said yes, I realize with absolute certainty. I would have been shocked speechless when he asked, but I would have said yes, as I said yes to Alaska and yes to this house, because being with Jonah is not optional. Because, despite knowing him for less than a year, I can’t imagine my life without him in it anymore. I never want to be without him again. I would have said yes. I would be wearing this ring. We would be engaged. Instead, I freaked out about the possibility of being pregnant and probably not in a way that screamed, “We should get married!”

I frown at the silver truck parked next to ours outside the hangar. There’s no doubt whose it is. A magnetic sign with her veterinarian clinic name clings to the door. But what is Marie doing at our house at 6:45 a.m.? Does this have something to do with Oscar? As far as I know, the wolf dog is back home with Roy, slowly healing from his leg wound. “… and then everything blew up from there.” Jonah’s voice carries from the gaping hangar door, stalling my feet. “So, I guess you didn’t get a chance to ask her, then.” Marie’s soft, sympathetic voice answers “You kidding? There wasn’t exactly a way to segue back to marriage after that.” It’s clear they’re talking about what happened yesterday. Jonah must have told Marie he was going to propose. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s his closest friend. And yet, an unpleasant feeling settles in the pit of my stomach, knowing that he has obviously divulged the pregnancy scare to her as well. It feels like a betrayal of confidence. It’s something private between the two of us that we haven’t fully discussed, and yet here he is, talking about it with her. That’s why Marie is here. Jonah must have called her. He needed to talk about it with someone who isn’t me.

Hurt pricks my chest as I edge in closer and eavesdrop shamelessly. Jonah sighs. “I’ve never seen her like that before. I mean, I’ve seen her snap plenty, believe me … but this was somethin’ else.” “She is only twenty-six, Jonah. And she’s gone through a lot in the past year. Her whole life has been turned over, more than once. She’s obviously not ready to have it flipped again yet. Cut her some slack.” Yes! Exactly! “No shit.” He snorts. “But five or six years? I’ll be almost forty.” “You’re not that old,” Marie chides. “I will be if it turns into eight or nine. And it might. You should have seen her, Marie. It was like the idea of being pregnant was a death sentence.” I feel my cheeks flame. I know having children is important to Jonah, but he told me it was okay that I wasn’t ready, that I shouldn’t apologize for not being ready. Was he lying to me when he said that? “Or it could turn into two or three years, once she settles and her priorities change,” Marie counters. “Don’t forget, when you met her, she was living at home with her parents. Her focus was on looking good and going out to clubs.” Is that what Marie thinks of me? “But, Jonah, you haven’t even started trying to have kids. What if she ends up not being able to at all? What are you going to do then—divorce her?” There’s an accusatory tone in Marie’s voice, almost a challenge to admit he’d be so callous, and my heart softens for her again.

“Fuck, of course not! I just …” His voice trails for a long stretch. “Maybe I am moving too fast.” No! No, you aren’t! I want to cry out. I mean, it is fast, but I’m ready for this, for us. I never realized how ready I was until that ring fell out of his pocket. “Yeah, you’re not known for your patience,” Marie says, and I hear the smile. “But you can’t help it. You’re so passionate when it comes to someone or something that’s important to you.” There’s a pause, and when she speaks again, there’s a hint of yearning in her soft voice. “It’s one of the things I’ve always loved about you, Jonah.” Despite Marie’s earlier words of seeming support for me, a wave of jealousy burns my insides, hearing her remind him in a not-so-subtle way that, yes, they may be just friends but she’s still waiting on the sidelines for a chance at more. I’m sure Marie would be more than happy to deliver Jonah’s baby on the ground of the hangar right here, right now, given the opportunity. That I’m not ready feels like a strike against me, a competitive edge that she has over me, even though the diamond ring in Jonah’s pocket is meant for my finger. “Marie, you know how I feel about Calla—” “Of cou...

Just like that, any goodwill I felt toward Marie withers. “You wanted to be free to fly wherever, whenever. It’s why you didn’t take over Wild from Wren when he tried to give it to you, remember?” “It wasn’t mine to take.” “You were like a son to him, Jonah. No one would have thought anything of you for accepting his offer. You could have had the entire thing.” I frown. What does she mean by that? My father did ask Jonah if he’d be willing to buy Wild at one point, but Jonah didn’t have the money. “And here you are, turning down jobs that you really want so you can do supply runs all day long while she blows that money, decorating.” There’s no missing the critical edge in her tone. “That’s outta line, Marie,” he warns, his tone sharp. “I’m sorry.” She sighs. “I do like her. Please don’t think that I don’t. I just hate seeing you giving up what you love.” My heart pounds as I waver between storming inside to scream at Marie and demanding that Jonah tell me what the hell she means about giving things up. In the end, I keep my feet grounded where they are, wanting to see what more I’ll glean from this conversation. The silence stretches.

I find my way to the small, grime-covered window in time to see Jonah grab Marie’s hand, stalling her from climbing into her truck. My anger flares over the fact that he seems to be consoling her after her harsh words—does she deserve comforting after what she said about me? And do I have a right to say anything, given I was listening in on a private conversation? They exchange words I can’t hear. With a quick parting hug, she ducks into her truck and peels away, leaving Jonah standing by himself, rubbing his forehead as if the day has already been too much for him. Abruptly, he turns and walks along the driveway toward the house. He’s on his way home to see me. Shit. There’s no real way around this, short of sprinting from tree to tree to try to get home in time, and lying that I was out here—a decidedly immature and high-risk charade I don’t want to take part in. Taking a deep breath, I step into the doorway and holler, “I’m in here.” Jonah’s head whips around, his face momentarily marred with surprise. Then with realization. His brow is furrowed as he doubles back and approaches as he no doubt replays his conversation with Marie, wondering what I caught of the exchange. “Sorry, I came down to see you and then you were talking to Marie and …” And what? Do I tell him that I know about the ring?

He leans against the door frame, close enough that I can inhale the intoxicating scent of soap on his skin. “What exactly did you hear?” he asks. I falter. “Enough to know that you’ve been turning down jobs. And what’s this about my father giving you Alaska Wild?” He curses under his breath. “What jobs?” “Doesn’t matter.” I’m not sure what annoys me more—that I don’t know about it or that Marie does. “What jobs have you been turning down?” He bites his bottom lip. “A hunting outfit mentioned wanting me to work for them in September. It’s not a big deal, and I don’t even know if I’d want it.” “That’s not how Marie made it sound.” He scowls. “She doesn’t know what she’s talkin’ about.” That, or Jonah isn’t willing to tell me.

We might not be living together. Jonah probably wouldn’t have a ring in his pocket. In the end, my dad made the right call. He put me ahead of Alaska Wild. Something he never seemed to be able to do before. “You should have told me.” “It doesn’t matter.” Maybe not. Though, if I ever needed proof for my mother that Jonah isn’t after me for my money, I have it.

Jonah places a hand against the small of my back and pulls me closer to him. “How are you feelin’ today?” I reach for him. My palms smooth over the hard curves of his chest, his collarbone and shoulders, settling on his biceps. “I’m fine. A bit achy.” I always am on the first day of my period. “How long were you listening for, exactly?” “Long enough to know I’m not a big fan of Marie’s right now.” He smirks. “She was challenging me. That’s what a good friend does.” I level him with a look. “Tell me Diana wouldn’t have a few harsh words about me if she was worried about you.” I can’t tell him that because Diana would shred Jonah’s character if she thought I was sacrificing my happiness for him. “But Diana isn’t also in love with me.” He sighs, but he doesn’t deny it this time. “What else did you hear?” He’s fishing for vital information. Mainly, do I know about the botched proposal? I’ve never been able to lie successfully to Jonah. “What else should I have heard?” I ask instead. His jaw tenses as his gaze roams my face, as if he’s deciding whether to take the plunge and admit his true intentions in yesterday’s trip. “How much I love you, and that we don’t need to rush anything.” What does “anything” mean? Babies, I assume. But is he pulling back the reins on the idea of marriage, too? I hesitate. “Please tell me we’re okay, because I feel like we’re not okay—” “We’re okay, Calla. I promise,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead, his voice turning gruff. “We’...

My cramps have temporarily vanished, the promise of feeling Jonah’s body within mine an antidote for any discomfort. Yet the idea of trekking all the way home seems anticlimactic, and I feel the overwhelming desire to please him. I catch his bottom lip between my teeth in a teasing nip. “I can’t wait that long.” My hands slip under his sweater. His stomach muscles tense beneath my cool fingers as I unfasten his belt and zipper and slide my hand past the elastic band of his boxer briefs to grip him firmly. “That’s fine with me,” he rasps. “You’ve just always wanted to do it in the—” His words die as I drop to my knees before him, tugging his jeans and boxers down his powerful thighs along the way. “Fuck,” he hisses, his blue eyes flaring with heat as he watches me take him in my mouth. Plaiting his fingers through my long hair, he settles back against the door frame with a guttural moan, his appreciative gaze wandering between me and the vast wild vista surrounding us.

But I need a night out to talk to someone besides you, a goat, and a raccoon, so suck it up. For me, please.” “Fine,” Jonah grumbles, but he leans in to press his lips against mine. “You look good tonight, by the way.” I smile. It’s the first time since moving to Trapper’s Crossing that I’ve made “night-out” effort with my hair and makeup and clothing, choosing a pair of tight blue jeans, my black leather riding boots, and a flattering yellow-and-black checkered button-down over our new branded, form-fitting T-shirts—an outfit that in my opinion says “Alaskan chili cook-off,” but with style. “So do you.” I drag my fingernails—that I spent an hour filing and painting after scraping out garden soil despite wearing gloves—through his freshly groomed beard.

It’s been a week since our trip to the safety cabin and the pregnancy scare and, much to my relief, things between us feel right again. More than right, actually. We’ve been all over each other—the touches frequent, the kisses lingering, the showers long enough to empty the water heater. It’s as if we’re both wordlessly trying to reassure each other and ourselves that all is okay. Or maybe that sharp slap of reality—two, if I count the engine-failure scare—has brought us even closer. Either way, we feel perfect again. Though, there’s been no hint of an impending proposal or mention of marriage. When I went to sneak another peek at the ring, it was no longer in his jacket. I’ve had to bite my tongue more than once before I let on that I’ve seen it. I hadn’t given serious thought to marriage before that day, and now I catch myself peering down at my naked left finger and wishing things had played out differently. But I keep telling myself that he’ll ask when the time is right. Jonah slides a warm hand over my thigh and leans in closer, his mouth finding the crook of my neck. “You wanna skip this and go test out that overpriced hot tub? It should be warm.”

Within minutes of us settling onto the last two vacant stools at the bar, Muriel marches over, shimmying to fit her broad hips between the tables. “Well, don’t you look cute tonight, Calla,” she exclaims, in a tone that could be a compliment but also might not be. It’s hard for me to read this woman. “Maybe we should stick you behind the bar, instead of that face.” She juts her chin toward Toby who’s busy pouring a pint from the tap. “We’d definitely sell more.” Toby casts a friendly wink my way. I can’t get over how much younger—and more like Muriel—he looks without facial hair. I saw him this morning when he came to work on Archie in the hangar, and he still had his beard then. He shaves it off for this weekend every year, he explained, when I first saw him tonight and gawked at his baby face. “Jonah, have you met Jack Thomas yet?” Muriel asks by way of greeting. “Can’t say I have,” Jonah says slowly. She points out a man with a mop of unkempt gray hair and a thick, untrimmed mustache sitting at a nearby table with two other men. “You should go and talk to him. I think you two will get along well.”

“Right.” Jonah’s gaze flickers to me. This must be that hunting outfit that wants him to fly for them in the fall. “Well then, go on and say hello!” she urges, and I can’t help but smirk, relieved that for once, I’m not the target of her doggedness. As hardheaded as Jonah can be, I’ve noticed he always shows the utmost patience and respect to the Agneses, the Ethels, and apparently the Muriels of the world. So I’m not shocked when he murmurs, “Yes, ma’am,” and hops off the stool. The hand he had settled on my thigh earlier slips around my waist, his thumb stroking my side. I’ve felt his constant touch since we strolled through the door and into a boisterous, crowded room of about fifty, and I’m beginning to think it has less to do with affection and more to do with the attention I seem to be corralling. I’ve felt the looks—in this casual sea of flannel and jeans and angler- and hunter-branded baseball caps, I stick out. Some glances are merely curious. Others are leering. And Jonah seems intent on marking his territory. “You good here?” he leans in to kiss my lips.

“You know she’s going to be a nightmare for any girl you bring home, right?” “Why do you think I’m single?” His cheeks flush as he collects an empty draft glass from a man who approached the bar and refills it from a tap. I guess fresh glasses for each drink are a luxury around here. “You know who else is single?” I wait for his eyes to flicker to me. “Marie, the veterinarian.” Toby grins, his face turning a deeper red. “She seemed nice.” “And smart, and pretty …” And maybe if she starts dating someone else, she’ll stop playing the dear, considerate friend to Jonah while waiting for our relationship to run its course. That’s what I’ve convinced myself her angle is. I mean, that’s what I would do, if I were in love with a good friend and didn’t think the woman he was with was right for him. As much as Jonah might value their relationship, after last week’s ordeal, I’ll never entirely trust her around him, whether her intentions toward me are insidious or not. Thankfully, I trust him. Jonah’s boisterous laugh carries over the crowd. I know him well enough to know he can’t fake that. Not that he can fake any laugh. The guy has the worst poker face when he doesn’t like someone. It means he’s enjoying himself with his new acquaintances.

Jonah doesn’t think he can take it because of the promise he made to me. But he told Marie about it, and if he’s talking about it with her, then he must be interested, despite what he said to me. Another loud burst of laughter comes from Jonah, along with the other men at the table. I don’t think I’ve heard him laugh like that since … Well, since he was joking around with my father. Guilt pricks me as Marie’s words come to mind. Are you happy turning down jobs because you’re afraid to leave your girlfriend alone? How long will she hold you to that? I’m holding Jonah back from doing something he wants to do, and for what? Because I—an almost twenty-seven-year-old woman—don’t want to be home alone. And of course he’ll keep his word, because that’s who Jonah is. But are my reasons justified?

“Thanks to Calla.” Roy grunts. Toby sets the bottle of Coors in front of Roy, and a fresh Corona in front of me, winking. “You look like you’re ready for another one.” I’m guessing I’ll need twenty more before the night is through, if this conversation goes much longer. “Here.” Roy slaps a twenty-dollar bill onto the counter. His weathered hands are a mess—his cuticles torn, his skin wrinkled, his knuckles cracked. “For mine and hers.” “Uh … Thanks.” I steal a quick glance at Toby, who flashes a surprised look before heading to the till. I thought Roy didn’t give or do anything out of kindness? Roy stares hard at the bottle in his hand. “How’s that old goat doin’?” Are we attempting small talk? “Still alive.” Roy smirks. “Have you trimmed his hooves yet?” “We’re supposed to do that?” I cringe as I imagine touching those dirty things. He rolls the bottle in his grip but doesn’t take a drink. “You need to keep goats’ hooves trimmed, otherwise they could end up infected. Bacteria and all that.” “Oh. Great. I’ll let Jonah know.” I may tolerate Zeke following me around, but I draw the line at goat grooming. Roy’s gaze wanders over all the pictures pinned to the back wall with thumbtacks, seemingly engrossed.

“Thanks for the beer,” I offer, because, unlike Roy, I won’t be outright rude. His head bobs slowly, his focus on the bottle within his grasp. I assume that’s all the response I’m getting from him and so I make to turn away. “I know I can be a real SOB,” he says. “But thank you, for what you did for Oscar.” His gaze flashes to mine briefly, long enough to show me the sincerity in his words before he turns back to his bottle. It looks like I got the right side of the coin toss today. “Hope you like chili,” Toby hollers after me, his laughter following me as I cut through the crowd.

He groans, finally getting the hint. We shift again, and I shimmy off his leg to immerse myself in the hot water. Jonah leans back against the side of the tub, the hand that was between my thighs settling to a more neutral spot on my knee. “Is this about that woman? Because I didn’t encourage that.” “No. I don’t care about Jessie Winslow.” Though she did nearly end up with Crock-Pot Number Four chili over her head. I wasn’t surprised when she took one look at Jonah and eagerly pulled up a chair to their table, touching him at every opportunity. According to Muriel, who must’ve seen the way my fist curled around the ladle when Jessie pawed Jonah’s thigh, the woman has “issues with the drink.” Luckily for her—and for Jonah—he made a point of excusing himself from the table and coming over to sample the food. And I made a point of sampling his mouth for her to see. “What’d Roy say to you?” “That he knows he’s an SOB and thanks for saving his dog.” “No shit.” Jonah’s eyebrows pop with astonishment. “What’d he want with Muriel?” “I don’t know.”

Beneath the water, he runs his palm back and forth over my thigh. “Maybe I don’t wanna be without you for that long. Ever thought of that?” I smile with the reminder that I’m not the only one who would struggle with this arrangement—Jonah would miss me, too. “You’re a big boy. You’ll survive. We both will. I mean, come on … Jessie Winslow’s husband leaves her for weeks at a time, and look how well she handles it.” Jonah snorts. “Yeah, I heard exactly what she tries to handle. You sayin’ I’ll come back to you pounding draft beer and hittin’ on Toby?” “If you do, go easy on him. He’s probably tried to fend me off.” “Yeah, doubt that,” he mutters. I rest my head on his shoulder. “Jonah, take the job. I know you want it, and I don’t want you turning down jobs you want because of me. That doesn’t make me happy.” He sighs, and I could be mistaken, but I sense his relief. “I’ll call Jack tomorrow. He’d have to accommodate my schedule for those two hunting parties I’ve already committed to, but he said it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Glad I could help.” And I am, even though the result has me feeling a mixture of relief—that I’m doing the right thing by pushing him—and an unsettled feeling I can’t quite put my finger on. “You know what’s an even better idea?” “No. What?” He seizes my waist and hoists me up to perch on the edge of the tub. “It’s cold!” I grimace, my sopping-wet skin instantly erupting in gooseflesh. I attempt to slide back into the water, but Jonah holds me in place, smoothly pivoting to part my legs and fit his chest in between. His icy blue eyes lock on mine as his arms curl beneath my thighs to angle my hips for better access. Despite the shock of the temperature, a thrill erupts inside my belly. I lean back against the porch post and watch with greedy anticipation as he trails soft kisses up the inside of my thigh, all thoughts of the cold temperatures and fighting fires and three weeks without him vanishing the moment his mouth lands on its destination.

For those on the outside, there’s something exotic about my life. It seems an enviable dream, even when I share the many trials. Of course, I keep the darkest parts to myself. No one would know that, on our second day in our “romantically rustic” log cabin, elbow-deep in Phil’s trash, I locked myself in the bathroom and cried. Jonah doesn’t even know that secret. And they’ll have no idea, when they fawn over the picture of Jonah in the hot tub, that I feel like I’ve hardly seen him since the night I took the shot two weeks ago. Sam Reed called him the day after the chili cook-off, enticing him to go out for a day and see how he liked it. It took no convincing and when Jonah arrived home that night, he was buzzing with excitement. I knew, before he confirmed it for me, that he’d already accepted the job, committing to being on call for Sam the entire summer. Despite what I’d said the previous night, a part of me felt betrayed, that he is abandoning our fledgling charter company, forcing me to block off the booking calendar until October. But I smiled and offered my congratulations, and I convinced myself that Jonah’s doing something that makes him happy, which makes me happy. Which means I’m going to be nothing but encouraging. The people who gawk at that photo and read my loving, playful caption don’t know any of this. They have no idea that there’s an inexplicably odd, hollow feeling blossoming in the pit of my stomach as of late; I’m trying my best to be understanding an...

I stir as the mattress sinks beneath Jonah’s weight. Moments later, his hot, naked body is molding itself against my back. His lips graze my neck, and his hand slips into the front of my panties. “The ring of fire,” I mumble, letting my eyes adjust to the faint glow of the bedside lamp he turned on. “What?” Humor laces his tone as one talented finger slips inside me to caress my core. I roll over to face him, checking the clock on his nightstand. It’s almost one a.m. “Why didn’t you tell me that we live in the ring of fire?” That’s what the horseshoe-shaped line of volcanos in the Pacific Ocean is called. “And that Alaska has 11 percent of the world’s earthquakes and that there are on average 10,000 measured earthquakes each year, and we literally live on a fault line?” I spent hours watching the news and then reading articles about Alaska’s history with this natural disaster. Jonah sighs, removes his hand, and flops onto his back, whatever moment he was trying to stir effectively doused. “Is there a way to block you from accessing Wikipedia?” “It’s not funny! I was hiding under a table at the community center tonight, Jonah!” But at least I wasn’t home alone. I don’t know how I would’ve handled that.

Jonah pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s struggling to keep his patience in check. “Honestly, it didn’t even cross my mind to warn you. That’s how not-a-big-deal it is. It’s just something you get used to. You haven’t even noticed them until now.” “Great. Another thing for me to get used to.” As if the long, dark winters, turbulent weather, menacing mosquitos, threatening wildlife, and general isolation aren’t enough, now I have to worry about earthquakes—and potential tsunamis. “Why are you home so late, anyway?” And why did he turn on the light? “I helped get some smoke jumpers back to their base camp. They’d been out there for almost four days.” Right. Those crazy people who jump out of planes to fight fires in remote spots. At least Jonah hasn’t told me he wants to try that. Yet. “We’re supposed to get some rain over the next two days.”

“That was just a website. And it didn’t mean anything.” My father ended up selling the company right after. “Hey. It meant something. It was the first time I realized you had a big brain in that pretty head of yours. You impressed me.” He pauses, as if to let that sink in. “And you basically set up an entire charter plane company for us in a few months.” “Agnes helped me.” “She helped a bit, but no, it’s because you’re smart as hell and you can figure out anything if you put your mind to it. So, if this is something you want to do, then you tell Muriel that you’re doing it! End of story.”

“See? You sound like you know what you’re talkin’ about.” “Now to convince Muriel.” “You’ll figure out a way.” He eases my night shirt up, uncovering my stomach and chest. I lift my arms up and over my head to help him slide it off completely. Goose bumps erupt over my body. “Some clever way …” Material tightens around my wrists and, before I understand what’s happening, my hands have been bound to the headboard using my nightshirt. “Jonah!” I tug at the binding in vain. “What are you doing?” It clicks. The hot tub picture. Oh shit. With everything that happened today, I completely forgot about it. But the look on Jonah’s face says he knows that I’ve finally remembered.