Throughout the day, she’d drawn contrasts between him and her mother’s men. Rose had complained that her mother had constantly bent over backward to serve her husbands, but with Colby, the case was completely opposite. As much as Rose had wanted to help, he wouldn’t let her, claiming she needed rest.
Without him she would’ve been lost in this wilderness setting, but with him, she felt happy and secure.
Trouble was, none of this was real. It was a vacation. In a few days, their kidnappers would return them to Kodiak Gorge.
In a couple of months, Baby Talbot would be born, and she’d no longer be clumsy and vulnerable, but back to her usual capable self. There’d be no need for Colby to watch out for her.
“Talk to me,” she said, for her child and for herself. She wanted to collect memories of the way Colby was now, instead of the angry, bitter way he might be when custody battle lines were drawn.
“’Bout what?”
“Surprise me,” she said, her voice raspy in the eerie almost-dark.
“When I was a kid, my mom worked hellacious hours at the lodge. It wasn’t that she wanted to, but I guess she had to. After school, she used to haul me back down there, and I’d get bored. I resented her for not just letting me stay home alone.”
“How old were you?”
“Nine. Ten. Somewhere in there. Brody’s mom ran the grocery store, so she was never home, either, but Brody got a choice of either staying on his own, or going out with his dad on welding jobs. Mom said I was all she had left, so she needed to keep me close.”
He rolled over and sighed.
“I knew she was doing her best,” he went on, “but I remember this feeling of suffocation. Like I had to get away.”
“But you were so young.” Rose rolled onto her side to face him, resting her cheek on her hands.
“Yeah, but once my dad left, I matured fast. Mom tried being brave, but I used to hear her crying in the middle of the night. I’d go into her room, you know, just to tell her everything was going be okay, and she’d grab hold of me, squeezing so hard sometimes I thought I’d break. I wanted to help, but couldn’t.”
“What’d you do?”
“Ran away. Nugget took me and Brody and some other guys up here on a camping trip once. It used to be an old fur trader’s cabin, but over the years it got run down, and pretty much anyone who wanted to use it did. I’m still not sure how she did it—maybe through the state Homestead Act—but Mom gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday.”
“Okay, but wait. You were nine or ten, and just ran away up here?”
“Uh-huh.”
“But it’s so far! How long were you gone? Your mom must’ve freaked.”
“I left her a note.”
Panic welling in her throat over what she’d do if her son ever tried such a stunt, Rose said, “So I’m assuming some sort of rescue crew came out for you the next day?”
“Nah,” he chuckled. “In the note, I’d told her where I was going. She already knew Nugget had taught me how to live off the land.”
“And…”
“And she climbed into the family Jeep, delivered my schoolwork for the week, then told me she’d check back on Saturday.”
“You were nine?”
“Maybe ten.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“She sounds like an incredible woman.”
“She is. I’d like you to meet her one of these days.”
Slipping out from under her covers, Rose winced when her feet hit the cold hardwood floor. Then she hustled to the couch to give Colby a big hug.
“What was that for?” he asked, yanking off the sofa’s back cushion, then tugging her down beside him, drawing the covers over them both.
“I feel sad for you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. You were a little boy. I wish you’d never been put in the position of feeling you had to run away.”
“Oh, in the end I think it was probably good for me and Mom. I got my space, and she learned to both trust me and rely on herself.”
“Still…”
“What?” He tucked escape strands of her hair behind her ears.
“You were essentially a baby.”
He laughed. “I was a baby the day before my sixth birthday. By the day after, I’d been forced to grow up.”
“Oh, Colby.” She hugged him again, only this time, her heart went out not only to him, but also to her unborn son. What was she doing, dooming him to a childhood like Colby’s, without a dad? But on the other hand, hadn’t he just pointed out that after a few growing pains, he’d essentially been fine?
She kissed his whisker-stubbled cheek, then asked, “If you could snap your fingers and bring your dad home, would you?”
“No.”
“That was fast.”
“It’s the truth. From the second I realized the bastard wasn’t coming home, I didn’t care. It was like a light switch flicked off inside me where my feelings for him were concerned.”
Rose’s training had taught her it couldn’t have been that simple. “There had to be more to it than that?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, come on.” If only the room were brighter. She wanted to read his expression. “Weren’t you scared? Didn’t your mom try looking for your dad? You know, thinking he could’ve been hurt?”
“Can we please change the subject?”
“Sure, but—”
He silenced her by moving his hands to her cheeks, then kissing her. Hard at first. Urgently. Then softly, making her limbs sluggish and weak.
He shifted, wrapping his hand around her belly. She angled into him, overcome with emotions raised by his kiss and by having him so close to their son.
As intensely as she’d tried pretending this baby was solely hers, she could no longer do that. This man, this soon-to-be father, was real—and growing more so by the moment, as he flooded her mind and body with memories of the night they’d made this miracle growing inside her.
“Take me back,” she said.
“Where?”
“To that night. To the way things first were between us.”
“Why?” he asked, his breath warm in her ear.
“Because it was good. Fun.”
She reached under his shirt, tugging it off. She wanted his bare skin against hers.
She wanted to feel safe, the way only he had ever made her feel. Even if it was just for one more night or, if she was lucky, the rest of her brief time in Alaska.
Crying now, for reasons she couldn’t begin to fathom, she dragged off her own shirt. “Please make me feel safe like you did that night.”
“Rose, no.” His words spilled warm and moist on her collarbone where he’d just pressed an openmouthed kiss. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Yes,” she whispered, raining kisses down his chest. “I do.”
Gripping her shoulders, he gently pushed her back. “Then tell me why.”
“Because I…” She bowed her head.
“I’d like to flatter myself by assuming it’s because you’ve miraculously grown to love me, but since you keep refusing to marry me, I’m guessing that’s not it.”
Silence.
“And, sure, maybe it’s just because you’re hot for me, but since the woman I know once told me she doesn’t indulge in casual sex, that’s not it, either.”
Silence.
“Bringing me to the granddaddy reason of them all. You feel guilty about your plan to leave here with my son. But somehow, I don’t even think that’s what this is about. I think it’s deeper—even more selfish. I think you want to have mindless sex with me because just like that night up on the mountain, it’ll make you forget. That night, you wanted to forget the fact that you very well could’ve died.” He shook his head. “So let’s hear it, Rose. What’re you trying to forget tonight?”
“That was uncalled for,” she said softly.
“But you don’t deny it’s the truth?”
Escaping to her bed, grabbing her pajama top from the floor, she muttered, “Can we please just get some sleep?”
“Sure, Rose. Let’s sleep. But if you think you’re going to wake up in the morning with this whole thing behind us…you’re wrong.”
Chapter Twelve
LONG AFTER COLBY’S soft snoring told Rose he’d fallen asleep, she lay awake, cursing him yet again for being right.
Was he reading her mind?
Yes, she had been trying to forget.
Trying to forget she’d ever met Colby Davis.
Meeting him had been akin to catching a most pleasant virus, one she hadn’t been able to cure. He was noble and caring and funny and a good listener and cook. And now she was carrying his son. And he wanted to marry her, but she couldn’t marry him because she refused to give herself up. She refused to abandon her career. Most important of all, she was terrified he may someday, somehow turn into her abusive father. Highly unlikely, but it was in the news all the time. How veterans snapped from PTSD, only to need months—if not years—of treatment.
Guilt consumed her. She wasn’t being fair.
Colby had never given her the slightest reason to believe he’d ever be violent with her or their son. The truth? Maybe she was most scared of herself. Losing herself in him the way her mother had in her men.
Rose had spent most of her adult life preparing for where she now was in her career. How did she give that up? There was no law stating parents had to marry. Why couldn’t they remain status quo? They’d forever be friends. Best friends who held their son’s best interests at heart.
Sounded great in theory, but the more time she spent with Colby, the more she feared that maybe, just maybe, there was a part of her that did want to marry him.
What did that mean?
She’d only been back in his arms for a couple of days, yet felt as though they’d never been apart. With a few well-aimed verbal arrows, he had the uncanny knack of slicing straight through her every defense. Yet his words, however naked they left her feeling, were meant to be thought-provoking rather than cruel.
Why didn’t he thunder and rage? Why was he always such a gentleman? Why did he always have to be the perfect embodiment of the kind of man she’d only believed existed in dreams?
If I’m a bad guy, then you’re the good guy by default. You’re not only right in keeping me away from my son, but noble. You’re taking the high road, while I’m thousands of miles away where you can forget all about me.
Was that what she wanted? To forget him?
Did she never want to see his easy smile again? Or remember the way he smelled of sun and sweat and leather and the faintest trace of airplane fuel? Did she want her son growing up in the city, or learning to live off the land like his dad had done at such a tender age?
When Rose was ten, she’d spent a lot of time worrying about her mom’s newest husband, but she’d also played with Barbie dolls and friends. She was at last fundamentally safe. She’d have had no more thought of running away than of flying to the moon.
For all her grousing about how tough it had been when her dad went to prison, with him gone, she’d finally managed to have a pretty normal childhood, all things considered. Colby, on the other hand, felt he’d been forced to become a man at the age of six.
Maybe that was why she was so devastatingly attracted to him? Because he was truly a man in every sense of the word? He provided not only for her physical needs, but her emotional ones. She was tired. And a part of her selfishly wanted someone else to help with life’s daily grind.
In its purest sense, maybe that’s what marriage truly was? A melding of emotions and lives and responsibilities that, if done right, could be a wonderful thing? But countless case studies—as well as her own mother—proved that making marriage a partnership instead of a dictatorship was a near impossible task.
Armed with that knowledge, why would Rose want to try?
Maybe because being married to a great guy like Colby might be worth the effort?
DETERMINED TO GIVE her brain, fogged by too many questions, a much-deserved day off, Rose woke bright and early the next morning vowing that today she’d show Mr. Perfect a thing or two about cooking—namely, that she was every bit as good as he was.
Although to see him now, one leg hiked over the sofa back, one leg on the floor, covers askew, snoring loud enough to wake a hibernating bear, one-upmanship took a back seat to guilt over not having insisted he share the bed. Then there was that other pesky something making her chest tight with an achy yearning for something she couldn’t even identify.
Not wanting to wake him, she straightened Colby’s covers, covering his poor cold toes.
After struggling to dress herself in a fresh maternity jogging suit, then waddling on out to the so-called bathroom, she was back. Standing in front of the kitchen stove, wondering what to do next.
Time to break this down. She had watched Survivor and Game of Thrones. If they cooked with no modern-day appliances, then so could she. After further analysis, clearly the first step toward breakfast was building a fire in this iron beast’s belly.
Colby, being the efficiency guru that he was, already had a galvanized aluminum bucket standing by with twigs she assumed he used for kindling. Also readily available were extra-long kitchen matches and small logs.
With all the necessary equipment in place, now all she had to do was use it.
Easier said than done.
Thirty minutes later, after dozens of false starts, she had a fire all right—a raging inferno that had turned her sunny-side-up eggs into charcoal briquettes!
Coughing and blinded by smoke, Rose reached for the cast-iron frying pan, but forgot to use a pot holder and jumped back in pain. By the time she’d grabbed one of the oven mitts hanging from a rack on the wall, the toast she’d thought was browning burst into flame.
“Colby!”
In seconds, he leapt from the sofa to run to her aid. “What the—”
“Help! Breakfast is on fire!”
“You think?” He calmly reached beside the stove for a fire extinguisher, then put out her meal. That done, he opened the cabin’s windows, using a cookie sheet to fan the smoke. “You should get out of here. It’s not good for you or the baby to breathe this smoke.”
“But, Colby, I—”
“Out,” he said, hands over her shoulders as he marched her out of the kitchen to the bedroom. “Shit. It’s smoky in here, too. Time for Plan B.”
“What’s that?”
He snatched his blanket off the sofa, wrapped her in it, then gave her a gentle push toward the paned door leading out to the screened porch. “Go. I’ll bring you some tea.”
“But I wanted to cook a nice, hot meal for you this morning.”
“How about you settle for eating a nice, hot meal with me?”
“Not funny.”
He pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead, then opened the door and nudged her outside.
Rose huffed her way into a comfy chair, put her feet up on the porch rail and glared at the breathtaking view.
Brilliant blue sky, sparkling blue water, woodpecker at it again, yadda, yadda, yadda.
The place was gorgeous.
She got it.
What she also got was that never in her whole life had she felt like more of a klutz.
How was it that for twenty-five years she’d managed to take care of herself just fine—better than fine, judging by her latest raise—yet out in the woods she couldn’t survive ten minutes on her own? Talk about an ego blow.
Even worse? Under fifteen minutes later, her resident mountain man carried out a tray loaded with two plates of steaming hotcakes and sausage!
“O-M-G that smells good.” How had he prepared such an incredible feast in such a short time? “Where’d you get the meat?”
“Nugget packed a bunch of perishables on dry ice. I stashed them around back in a bear safe—basically an iron cage with a padlock.”
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�Good thinking,” Rose said through her first sinfully delicious bite. “You’re a cooking god.”
He grinned. “Thank you—and yes, I am.”
“Is there nothing you can’t do?”
“What can I say? Around here, unless a guy wants to be at Nugget’s mercy for food, he’s got to fend for himself.”
“Or find a wife.”
“Nah.” He winked. “In my case anyway, I figure why burden myself with a ball and chain when I can already do everything on my own?”
“Everything except bearing a son?” The syrupy taste in her mouth turned sour. Here, all along, she’d been under the assumption that like the men who’d married her mother, Colby would expect her to conform to his every wish and command. Maybe he truly did want just her son. Once he legally had him, Colby wouldn’t care whether she stayed or left.
“I’m teasing.” There was nothing the least bit funny about his tone. “You know that, right? Even after you damn near burned down my cabin, I’m not going anywhere, Rose. I want the three of us to be a package deal.”
The three of them. It did have a nice ring to it.
Of course, he’d been joking. What was wrong with her? Even to herself she was starting to sound out of her mind. Colby was a wonderful man—of that she was sure. He wanted his son near him because, even though the baby wasn’t even born yet, he already felt a bond.
As for her marrying Colby, it may not be the best solution for sharing their son, but it was good. Logical in a weird sort of way. Sort of. Except for the fact that she’d be living thousands of miles away in Chicago. But it would save a small fortune in legal custody bills. But then came the truly insane question of what might happen were she to actually not just marry Colby in name, but heart and soul?
The mere thought of how she’d recover if things turned ugly welled instant tears.
“Aw, man…” He set his plate on the porch rail, then did the same with hers. “Please, don’t cry.” When he hugged her, tears seriously flowed. “I wasn’t going to let on I knew this, but when I was up at Global the other day, Dot—”
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