Come Fly With Me

by Addison Fox

  Could they make a real go of it? A successful go? For as much as it pained her to think of leaving him in Indigo, it hurt even more to think of how desolate she’d be if they did try to have a relationship and it didn’t work out.

  And her own track record of success in that area didn’t exactly sit in her favor.

  She stared up at the monument once more. The piece stood for real, enduring love that would withstand the test of time, a love that formed a bedrock between two lives.

  She believed that she and Mick had the foundation. But was it enough?

  So many questions without answers. Rationally, she knew there were no guarantees and you simply did the best with what you had. But what if the cards were stacked against you from the first?

  On a sigh, she stamped her feet to warm them and moved on. She could ask herself questions all day and it didn’t mean she was any closer to the answers she sought.

  The cemetery lay about a hundred yards from the monument and she could see the wrought-iron gates that surrounded the edge of the grounds. She walked toward them, surprised by the sheer trepidation that filled her with each step closer to her father.

  It wasn’t until she passed through the gates that she saw the lone figure, his large frame standing vigil over a grave, his head bowed.

  Mick.

  Mick heard the crunch of snow and turned away from his mother’s headstone. A hard fist lodged in his throat as he registered Grier’s small form, wrapped head to toe in wool.

  He thought to say something to her—knew he should—but all he could do was reach for her and pull her up into his arms, burying his face in the curve of her neck and breathing in.

  Deeply.

  Grier.

  And in that moment, he knew what he needed to do. Stepping back, he kept her hand firmly in his. “I’d like you to meet my mother.”

  Her gray eyes glistened with tears and she nodded. “I’d like that.”

  The moments passed quietly and he filled in some of the gaps he’d been unwilling to discuss in Fairbanks. He was still living in his parents’ house at the time, saving up enough money for the business he and Jack were working on. He was supposed to be out on a run, but it had been canceled at the last minute due to a change in the customer’s order.

  He recounted the sheer terror of that moment when his father had called for him and he had known something was wrong. And the even more terrifying moment when he rushed downstairs and outside, only to see his mother lying, motionless.

  Her hand tightened on his. “I’m so sorry, Mick.”

  “So am I.”

  She squeezed once more. “Tell me something about her. Something wonderful.”

  The question caught him off guard for a moment as he fought to push aside those last images. To dig deeper to find something else.

  “She loved cookie dough. With a passion.”

  “Smart woman.”

  He laughed at that. “She’d make a batch of cookies and we’d be lucky to get half of them baked. She’d give herself a stomachache, she loved the batter so much, but she’d keep on eating it anyway. Would keep on, all the while saying how bad it was for her.”

  Grier’s laughter joined his, bright music that tinkled in the wind swirling around them. He couldn’t help but feel lighter at the memory.

  “Did she have a favorite kind?”

  “Not really, so long as it was raw. Chocolate chip, peanut butter, sugar—she loved them all.”

  “I can see the photo of her, with her smiling face. The one in your grandmother’s house. And now I can picture that warm smile as she laughed in the middle of her kitchen. It’s a lovely image.”

  Yes, it was, Mick thought. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For making me remember something other than the end. I haven’t meant to, but somehow I’ve let that horrible image of her, lying in the snow, crowd out all the wonderful images that came before.”

  He’d robbed himself of something by not focusing on the good and it was time to start getting it back. As the memory of cookies faded, others came up to swamp him. Christmas mornings and birthdays and random Tuesdays when she helped him puzzle through his algebra or quizzed him and his sister on spelling words.

  Those and so many other images that made up their life and formed his childhood.

  With one last squeeze of their hands, he knew it was time to help her. Mick pointed toward a row of markers about three lanes past his mother’s. “Jonas’s grave is over there. Would you like me to go with you?”

  Something like relief swam in her eyes and he could see the transformation come over her face. The small lines that bracketed her eyes faded and a slight furrow above her eyebrow relaxed. “Yes.”

  “Let’s go.”

  He held her hand until they got to Jonas’s row, then shifted to walk behind her, his hand on her shoulder as he helped her navigate through the snow.

  And he felt those slim shoulders shudder as they neared the granite marker.

  Kate stood outside Jason’s hotel room door, shifting from foot to foot. It was early enough that she’d avoided any real notice in the lobby. Chris was on duty and his sleepy hello hadn’t suggested he was about to burn up the phone lines with gossip.

  And it wasn’t as if she needed to explain herself.

  She was a grown woman and she could come and go as she pleased. Could do as she pleased. Could risk making an absolute fool of herself if she pleased.

  It was that last part, really, that had her hesitating.

  What if he wasn’t interested?

  What if he brushed her off?

  What if…

  On a quick rush of courage, Kate made a fist and rapped on the door of his room.

  There was no going back now.

  She heard sounds on the other side and then nearly melted at the sight when Jason opened the door. His normally straight hair stuck up in odd angles at the back of his head. The look would have been little-boy cute if it hadn’t been counterbalanced by his very naked—and broad—shoulders and chest that tapered to a narrow waist covered in navy blue sweatpants.

  Her stomach clenched in a wash of need and she fought to pull her gaze up toward his eyes.

  Sleep-glazed eyes that were rapidly clearing.

  “Kate. Good morning.”

  “Hi.”

  As if catching himself, he pulled on the door and gestured her in. She stepped past him and a wave of raw desire washed over her at the heavy scent of him. He smelled of sleep—that warm, dry heat that was still unspoiled by the day—and she wanted to wrap herself up in him.

  Drawing on pure courage and the small, flickering flame that had come to life since Grier’s arrival, she took a seat on the desk chair that flanked the edge of the bed. That flame had lit up inside her, reminding her she wanted more out of her life and she wasn’t going to get it if she didn’t start taking some risks.

  “So, I know you’re leaving soon and I wanted a chance to talk to you.”

  “Sure. Good.”

  “I wanted to say something last night, but you looked occupied with Mick and, well, Trina’s a bad audience.”

  He smiled at that and she took the small encouragement to mean he was still interested in hearing what she had to say.

  “So I thought it might be better to talk to you alone, away from prying eyes.”

  “The bane of small towns.”

  “Our observations are our greatest strength and our biggest sticking point.”

  “Sort of like anonymity in New York. It’s great and it sucks.”

  That made a poetic sort of sense, Kate thought. The things that defined us often were our biggest Achilles’ heel. She’d learned that lesson well enough from her parents.

  “I’ve been rather unwelcoming to Grier since this whole thing with my father started. And I’ve felt pretty ashamed of it, too.”

  He said nothing, but his gaze never wavered, so she continued.

  “After I got past the initial sho
ck of my father’s secret, I think the person I’ve been most upset with has been me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Kate marveled at how quickly the tears welled up, clogging in her throat in a tight, painful ball. “I always thought I’d be braver. With a life far more interesting than the one I have.”

  Up until now, he hadn’t moved from the doorway of the hotel room. Fascinated, Kate watched as he walked toward her, the tight sinew of his shoulders shifting in tantalizing motion at the slight swing of his arms. He came to a stop in front of her and planted his hands on the rails of the chair before leaning down to press a kiss at the base of her neck.

  “I think you’re very interesting.”

  Heat lit up a path from the point on her neck where his lips pressed in a powerful wave to her very center. His breath was hot as he trailed a kiss up to her jaw.

  “And quite brave.”

  He continued moving until his lips pressed to hers. “And you’re someone I’d like very much to get to know better.”

  Kate heard the words but couldn’t quite believe them. She knew the interest arcing between them hadn’t been one-sided, but the evidence of his attraction to her was heady. And sexy. And so very, very life affirming.

  Before she could say anything in response, his hands grasped her arms and pulled her up so they stood face-to-face. With infinitely gentle movements, he placed his hands at the base of her throat, the pad of his thumb playing over the sensitive flesh there.

  “I want you. But I don’t want to sell you a bad bill of goods. I don’t live here and I can’t live here.”

  The hope that had flared to life dimmed. She knew her face telegraphed her emotions and it took all she had to reach up and lay her hands over his, ready to pull them away.

  She suspected she’d follow Jason anywhere, but one simply didn’t say that to a man she’d known a week and hadn’t even kissed.

  Or had just kissed.

  As she was about to step away, Jason tightened his hold. “But I’d like to get to know you better. And if you wanted to come visit, maybe we could find out just how much you liked New York, too.”

  Hope returned on swift feet and Kate nodded. “I’d like that. A lot.”

  “I’m so glad.” Jason leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

  As she wrapped her arms around his neck, accepting his kiss and the promise of so much more, Kate knew she had made a move toward her future.

  After several long minutes, he lifted his head. “Maybe we could go grab some breakfast?”

  “I’d like that.”

  As he smiled down at her, Kate knew life would never be the same again.

  Grier’s vision blurred as she stared at the name on the grave marker.

  WINSTON

  Grier read two names underneath, in neat chiseled rows: JONAS SHANE and LAURIE MARIE and a series of dates.

  From the dates listed, she saw her father’s birthday would have been in two days. She’d known he was born in January—she had seen it on some initial paperwork that had come to her at the start of the inheritance process—but the reminder struck a chord.

  For the first time in sixty-one years, he’d not be here to celebrate the day.

  That thought morphed into another. She knew her father had married someone else—Kate’s existence was the proof of that—but seeing it etched in granite felt so real.

  Finite.

  And offered indelible proof that the woman he chose to spend his life with was not her mother.

  “Are you all right?” Mick’s voice was gentle and he kept his hand at her lower back. The gesture was warm and supportive, and she hadn’t realized just how badly she needed it until she leaned into him and soaked up his quiet strength.

  “I’ve avoided coming here.” Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears—the husky tones thick with emotion. “I expected to be sad, maybe even angry I never had a chance to know him. But I never expected I’d be jealous of Kate for having her parents lying side by side, six feet under the ground.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, they never seemed, at least on the surface, to be a love match.”

  Others had made similar comments, whether in hopes of making her feel better or simply passing on what little they’d observed. None of it assuaged the searing sadness that she couldn’t shake.

  A piece of her life had been taken away years ago by the actions and decisions of others, and now she could never hope to get any of it back.

  “I used to imagine what my father would be like.”

  “Your mother never talked about him?”

  A harsh laugh choked her as she thought about her mother’s stubborn refusal to engage in discussion on this subject. “She didn’t even have him named on my birth certificate.”

  When Mick’s only response was to tighten his grip on her waist, she let the rest of her thoughts spill out.

  “She married my stepfather when I was an infant, so I didn’t know until I was a teenager that I even had a father other than William Thompson. When he left my mother, the truth came out.”

  “He abandoned you?”

  “No, but the divorce proceedings and custody hearing took into account I wasn’t his biological child. I begged my mother to tell me who my real father was, but she wouldn’t tell me. And through the subsequent years, I’d painted him into some sort of mythical figure.”

  “Who could leap tall buildings?”

  “Something like that.” Grier laid her head on his upper arm, just below his shoulder, and took comfort in the solid feel of him. “He was a lot of things in my mind, but the one thing I never imagined was a man who couldn’t be bothered to have anything to do with me.”

  Grier stepped away from Mick’s solid strength and moved up to stand at the foot of the grave plot. A small bouquet of roses sat at the base of the marker and the pink ribbon that wrapped them up said Loving Daughter in gold script.

  Kate had been here.

  The flowers struck her on a level she couldn’t describe, and whatever anger she’d harbored for her sister fled on the harsh January wind.

  Kate had been deceived as well. She’d spent a life never knowing she had a sister, either. Yet she’d still come to honor her parents.

  The words of Maeve’s letter once again filled her thoughts and Grier puzzled through the mixed emotions of guilt and anger. Jonas deserved her visit to his grave.

  Did he?

  He’d never visited her. He had never found a way past his own grief or pain or fear. Grier knew it made her a small person. She knew her inability to see past this would only continue to hurt her, for the dead had already been laid to rest.

  But damn it, she’d deserved better.

  And staring down at her father’s grave, she couldn’t find it in her heart to feel anything. The nameless, faceless father Patrice had always refused to talk about hadn’t been worth a single fantasy she’d spun about him.

  And all that was left in her heart was a gaping, empty hole.

  Her gaze caught on the flowers once more and Grier thought again about Kate. There was a relationship that possibly she could still fix along with a person she could get to know better and see if they had anything in common.

  A small spark flared in her heart, lighting up that dark, gaping hole. Maybe all wasn’t lost.

  Turning to face Mick, she reached up and placed a hand on his chest. “Please, take me away from here.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “Your place.”

  “Grier, are you sure?”

  Whatever doubts she’d harbored since arriving fled on the renewed hope that beat in her chest. Despite his absence, her father had led her here.

  To her family.

  And to Mick.

  What she had with him was real—the sort of heart-pounding, blood-pumping real that made her feel alive. With a soft smile, she nodded. “Yes. I’m sure.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Heavy twilight lit the sky outside his bedroom w
indow as Mick ran his hand over Grier’s bare shoulder. Her arrival at the cemetery had been a balm to his battered senses, and even now, hours later, he marveled at how simply and succinctly she made him remember the good times.

  The violence of his mother’s death had rattled him, but it wasn’t until the trip up to Denali to rescue the researchers that he realized just how fresh the scars still were. How had she managed with one request—to tell her something wonderful about his mother—to begin a healing fifteen years in the making?

  It was with that sense of awe and gratitude that he struggled to make sense of her pain. And he wished like hell he could find some way to help her.

  Although he couldn’t see much of her face as they’d stood over Jonas’s grave, both of them staring in the same direction, he didn’t miss the weight of her grief that lay so heavy over her shoulders.

  She was so compassionate and vibrant. He’d watched her over the last weeks—hell, he’d been watching her since she arrived—and Grier always took great care and consideration of the people she was with.

  Sloan and Avery were the recipients of her fiercest support and loyalty. She was warm and respectful of everyone in town, completely ignoring how unfriendly and unwelcoming they’d originally been and putting it behind her as if it had never happened. And despite the temporary debacle with the offered puppy, Chooch and Hooch—harsh critics on their best day—sang her praises up one side of Main Street and back down the other.

  In a matter of months, Grier Thompson was universally loved by everyone. Even more important, the entire town liked her.

  She stirred next to him and he shifted to press a kiss to her hair.

  And he realized one powerful truth.

  He loved her.

  Over the years, he’d come to believe he’d feel some pain, or maybe disgust at being an easy mark if he ever fell in love. Instead, all he felt was a deep joy.

  Bone deep.

  As if he’d finally found a missing part of his soul.