by K. A. Tucker
“Soy,” I correct. “And yeah. It’s for my coffee.”
“Huh. Well . . . now I know.”
“Right. Like now I know that you wouldn’t have eaten any of this.” I wave the knife in my hand over the salad bowl.
“I would have eaten every last bite, kiddo,” he says with certainty, then disappears into the living room.
Leaving me smiling at a wall of ducks.
Mabel lets out a whoop, snatching the black checker piece from the board and adding it to her growing pile. “What’s it like, losing fourteen games straight to a little girl?”
My dad’s brow is pulled tight as he puzzles over the game board, as if replaying the last moves. “Seems I’ve taught you too well,” he murmurs, leaning back in his La-Z-Boy. His gaze wanders over to the couch where I sit cross-legged, my MacBook nestled in my lap. “You sure you don’t want to give it a try, Calla? ’Cuz I’m on the search for an opponent I can beat. My ego needs it.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” I say in a noncommittal way.
Dad chuckles. “Thank you for lying to spare my feelings. Your mom always flat-out refused.”
Mabel’s curious eyes drift from me to Wren, and back to me. I wonder how much she knows about our history. Can she sense the tension in the air when we’re in a room together? A tension that, thankfully, seems to be ebbing away ever so slowly.
My dad begins placing pieces back on the board. “Same time, same place, kiddo?”
I try to ignore the way my gut tightens. He’s called her that at least a half dozen times tonight and every time has been like a siren for me, a stark reminder that this kid has something with him that I never had, even all those years ago when I’d still call and he’d still answer.
Despite the fact that they’re not blood-related.
Despite the fact that he and Agnes aren’t even together.
They have a genuine father-daughter relationship.
Mabel glances at the clock on the wall and says with reluctance, “Fine.” But then adds with a devilish spark in her eye, “I’ll let you win tomorrow.”
“That’d be a nice change.”
“It’s on. See ya.” She leans forward and plants a quick kiss on my dad’s forehead, with not a hint of hesitation, as if it’s something she’d done a thousand times.
How will she react when she finds out he has cancer? The fact that everyone has sheltered her from that grim truth so far tells me it won’t be well.
She grabs the sweater she draped over the back of my dad’s chair. “Hey, Calla, you should come berry picking with me tomorrow. A bunch of us from in town are going in the morning.”
I push aside my dark thoughts. “Yeah, maybe?” I can’t remember the last time I did that.
“Okay.” She shrugs, like it doesn’t matter to her one way or another, but based on what Agnes said about me being the shiny new thing, I’m guessing that’s an act.
Just as quickly and easily as Mabel strolled through the door, she now strolls out, leaving a palpable calm in her wake.
“I hope you liked the pasta,” I murmur, biting into my apple. “There’s enough left to feed twenty people.”
“To be honest, I can’t tell the difference between this week’s and the last eight weeks’ worth,” my dad murmurs, eying my empty plate, which I filled twice with my own dinner. “Too bad you can’t help me with it. Seems like you can put away a lot, for such a tiny person.”
“I think the time difference is messing with my appetite,” I admit. “Plus Jonah’s trash panda ruined my lunch, so I didn’t eat much today.”
My dad frowns. “Trash panda?”
“Raccoon.”
“Ah.” My dad nods knowingly, smiling. “So you’ve met Bandit.”
“He’s keeping that thing as a pet. You know that, right?”
Dad chuckles. “Jonah found him living under his house last year. He was just a kit; guess he’d lost his family. So he started tossing him scraps of food to help him out until he moved on his way. But he never did.”
“Of course he didn’t. No one’s going to leave an all-you-can-eat buffet to starve in the wild.”
“Jonah built him a little den on the porch and he lives in there. Seems quite comfortable.”
“He was petting it today.” I cringe.
“Bandit’s a friendly enough little guy. He likes the attention.” Dad sounds like he approves of this.
“You guys do realize that raccoons carry disease, right?”
Dad waves my concern away. “Nah, he’s fine. Jonah’s friend is a vet. She gave Bandit his rabies shot. Boy, did they have a time of it. Jonah had to put a sleeping dart into him.” He pauses. “’Course, I don’t think Marie’s supposed to be vaccinating them so, as far as anyone knows . . .” He gives me a look of warning.
“Who am I going to tell?” Besides my mother, and Diana of course.
Dad shifts checker pieces around absently. “What about you? I remember you being pretty set on getting a dog, way back when. Did that ever happen?”
“No. Simon’s allergic to pretty much everything on four legs. That’s fine, though. I have too much going on in my life anyway. I had a fish one time, though. For Christmas.”
He frowns in thought. “You know, I think I remember that.”
“His name was Guppy. He was . . . a guppy.” I roll my eyes at my childish simplicity. “He lasted a week before he went for the golden flush.”
“So . . . no pets.”
“No pets.” I snort. “Not unless you count Tim and Sid.”
My dad’s eyebrows arch in question.
“These two neighborhood raccoons that have been terrorizing me forever.”
“Terrorizing you,” he echoes, amusement flickering in his gaze. “They sound like horrible creatures.”
“They are horrible! And huge. Twice the size of Bandit. And vicious.” Not that they’ve ever done more than annoy the hell out of me.
“Did you know that raccoons aren’t native to Alaska?”
“I did not know that,” I say slowly.
“Yes. They were introduced into the state in the 1930s for the fur trade.”
“That’s . . . fascinating.” I can’t keep the dryness from my tone, but it earns his soft laughter.
“Truth is, we’re more worried about the foxes, as far as rabies goes. Those little buggers are always getting into villages and attacking the dogs. Marie flies in from Anchorage once a month for a few days to run a clinic in Bangor, and Jonah usually takes her out to the villages so she can give rabies shots to the strays. She’s a bit of a crusader, that one.”
“This Marie person and Jonah sound pretty close, if she’s risking trouble to vaccinate Bandit for him,” I say casually. “Are they, like, together or something?”
My dad’s brow furrows. “No, no . . . they’re just friends. As far as I know, anyway. Though Jonah doesn’t talk about the girls he’s . . . dating.” He falters over that word, making me think that “dating” wouldn’t be the best word he’d use to describe what Jonah does with girls he’s interested in. “Of course, Agnes is convinced that Marie would like to be more, but she says that about most girls that come around him.”
“I don’t get it,” I murmur, baffled. Kayley the coffee girl . . . Marie the vet . . . even twelve-year-old Mabel has a crush on the big brute. Though I’m guessing Jonah’s a hell of a lot nicer to them than he has been with me, if that flirtatious interaction between him and Kayley is any indication.
But what I really don’t get is that twinge of something I felt when Jonah was ogling Diana in her short skirt. It’s been lingering in my stomach ever since. It feels like a shade of disappointment, but it can’t possibly be, because I don’t like Jonah that way. I’m barely tolerating him at this point.
My dad regards me peculiarly for a long moment. “You two still not gett
ing along?”
“I think we might have turned a corner today. He’s going to help me build a website for Alaska Wild.” Maybe we’ll come out on the other end of it as friends.
That, or one of us won’t come out on the other end at all.
My dad’s eyes widen. “A website?”
By the time I’m finished explaining the reasoning, just as I explained it to Jonah earlier today, my dad’s gaze is thoughtful. “Did he ask you to do this?”
“No. I offered.”
“And that’s what you’ve been working on all evening?” He nods toward my computer.
“Yeah. I’ve already got a skeleton set up.” I climb off the couch and walk over to set my laptop where the checkers board had been. “We can play with the colors and styles, to make it better, and then all we need to do is add content and pictures.”
“I wish I had half your business sense. Would have made running Wild a lot easier.” He smiles thoughtfully. “You turned out pretty smart, kiddo.”
I feel a flutter of nostalgia in my stomach. I know that nickname isn’t reserved solely for me anymore, but it still feels like a connection to oh so long ago.
“Jonah also told me you asked him if he wanted to buy Alaska Wild.”
“He told you that, hey?” My dad presses his lips together, his gaze drifting to the matted carpet.
“Was he not supposed to?”
“I guess I didn’t tell him not to,” he says after a moment. “Of everyone I know, he’s the one who’d do right by it. There’s been some interest from Aro Airlines to buy me out, but Wild would get swallowed up.” He smiles sadly. “Don’t know if I’m ready to see that happen yet.”
But Jonah says he doesn’t have the money anyway, so what option does that leave my dad with?
“He said you were thinking of retiring.”
He takes a long, deep breath. “Considering it. It’s been a long thirty years. Wouldn’t mind taking a bit of a rest.” He pauses, and then asks, “You tired?”
“Not really. I had a nap this afternoon.” That Benadryl knocked me out. Thankfully, the swelling has not expanded beyond the blue ink lines I drew.
“I’ve got some movies over there in the cupboard. They’re old, but they’re some of my favorites.”
Is my dad asking me to watch a movie with him in a roundabout way? Is this Wren Fletcher, trying to get to know his daughter again?
“I could go and pick one for us to watch,” I say, tentatively.
“Yeah? Well, okay then.”
I shut down my laptop and cast it aside, and then head for the corner cabinet.
But not before catching the small smile of satisfaction touching my dad’s lips.
Chapter 13
I stir to the distant sound of someone knocking.
A moment later, the knock sounds again, only it’s more like pounding.
And it’s on my bedroom door.
I push off my eye mask and squint against the glow of sunlight from around the edge of the curtains. “Yeah?” I call out, my voice hoarse with sleep.
There’s no answer, only more knocking. It’s an urgent sound, and it puts me on edge.
I wrestle with my covers to free myself and stumble for the door, throwing it open.
Jonah is filling the doorway.
“What’s wrong? Is my dad okay?” I ask in a panic, searching the hall for any signs of him.
He stares hard at me for a long moment, his gaze skating over my features.
“Jonah?”
He blinks several times. “So this is what you look like, without all that shit on your face.”
I sigh with exasperation. “I’m not in the mood for your crap this early. What do you want? Where’s my dad?”
Jonah’s eyes drop to my chest, reminding me that I’m in a cotton tank top, braless. And the air is crisp.
I fold my arms across myself reflexively, even as a strange shiver dances along my skin.
His gaze snaps up. “He had to fly to Anchorage. I thought you’d be up.”
I study those glacier-blue irises for a moment. They look somehow darker. Heated. Is he . . . turned on? “We stayed up late to watch a movie and then I couldn’t fall asleep. What time is it, anyway?”
“Seven. Get dressed. You’re flying today.”
That pulls me out of whatever fog I’m trapped in. “I’m what?”
“It’s a clear day and your dad wants you to see more of Alaska. You’ve been here three days already. It’s time you get in a plane.”
“With you?” I say doubtfully.
He smirks. “Come on. You can get some pictures for Wild’s website. You said you wanted to do that, right?”
Anxiety is quickly rising in my belly like a twirling windstorm at the thought of getting into a plane—with Jonah—again. But with it is a strange sense of excitement. Besides, I don’t want to spend the day sitting around, looking for ways to kill time until my dad comes home. “Fine. Give me an hour.”
He barks out a laugh. “You have five minutes.”
“Yeah, right. I can’t get ready in five minutes. I’m not you.”
I get a flat look in return. “You’re in Alaska. Throw on some clothes, brush your teeth, and let’s go.”
“Half an hour.” If I skip showering and rush my makeup, I can do that.
“Five minutes.”
“Twenty,” I barter.
His normally icy gaze slides over my mouth, my throat, my chest, and farther, before coming back up to meet my eyes. His hard swallow fills the silence. “You don’t need all that to look good, Calla. Seriously.”
My words falter. Was that a compliment?
From Jonah?
And why is this heated gaze I’m seeing not making me uncomfortable?
Why does it seem to be doing the exact opposite, sending a small thrill through me? Am I . . . ? No, even if the top half of his face is attractive and his body is impressive, I can’t be attracted to him. I can’t get past the yeti hair.
But something about the look in Jonah’s eyes is arousing my curiosity.
“Fifteen minutes,” I say, clearing the wobble from my voice.
“If you’re not out in five, I will come in here, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you out.”
“You will not.”
He gives me a wicked smile in return, one that makes my blood start to flow. “Try me. And just know, I won’t care if you’re not dressed.” He pushes a few buttons on his watch.
“Did you just start a timer for me?”
“Five minutes. I’ll be waiting in the truck.”
I glower at his retreating back.
“Tick tock!”
“Asshole.” With a huff, I dive for my jeans.
“Are you trying to hit every last crack in the pavement?” I snap, glaring at my own reflection in the vanity mirror as I attempt to apply a second coat of mascara to my eyelashes.
“You’re in the Alaskan bush. Stop with all that,” he mutters, but slows a touch. Still, the ground is too bumpy for a steady hand.
I give up on a second coat, cap my mascara, and throw it into my purse. “Why does everyone keep calling it ‘the bush’ anyway? ‘The bush’ means dense forest where I’m from. There’s no forest here. There’re barely any trees. No bush.” I add quietly, “Besides the one on your face.”
“Aren’t we a bit plucky this morning.” He sounds amused.
I slide my sunglasses on to block the blinding sun, a welcome change from the drizzle but not when it’s shining directly into my eyes. “If you don’t like it, next time don’t drag me out of my bed and chase me out the door.” I’m never in good spirits when I’m forced to rush in the morning.
“I gave you an extra three minutes.”
“You’re too kind.” I reach for the travel mug of coff
ee I managed to fill before Jonah plowed into the kitchen, his watch alarm dinging. “I don’t know how you keep all the women around here from beating down your door.”
His soft chuckle sends a warm shiver down my spine. I hate that he has an appealing laugh. “Glad to see that you have a little fire in you, after all.”
“I guess you bring out the best in me,” I mutter. I’m not normally like this. It’s as if I’m itching for a fight.
He takes the next right turn too quickly and coffee splashes onto my white cotton T-shirt.
“Dammit!” I brush it away, but it’s no use.
“Relax. It’s just a T-shirt.”
“It cost me a hundred bucks.”
“You paid a hundred bucks for that?” Jonah’s eyebrows tighten as he looks at me with a clear “you’re an idiot” expression.
“What! It wears well and still looks new after fifty washes.”
“For a hundred bucks, I sure as shit hope it washes itself.”
“Are you saying that your high-quality clothing from the local grocery store doesn’t?” I cast a cutting look at his shirt, which, despite being basic, looks nice on him.
He smirks. “Have you been enjoying your soy milk these last couple mornings?”
Crap. I completely forgot. And of course he’d bring that up after I delivered a low blow, just to make me feel extra small. He doesn’t fight fair. “Thank you for that.” I hesitate. “That was nice of you.”
“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for everyone who has to be around you.”
I grit my teeth to stop from responding and turn my body away from him, focusing on the airport ahead.
So much for our truce.
Agnes’s sharp eyes shift from me, to Jonah, to me, the curiosity shining in them. “Two go out, two come back, right?”
“She needs me to fly, so she can’t do away with me.” Jonah accepts a small ambulance-red case with a strap from Sonny and hoists it into the back of the orange-and-white plane. “At least, not until we get back.”
Thank God this plane is bigger, I note, eying the two seats side by side in the front, and another row behind. The seat material is a deep burgundy that clashes terribly with the orange stripe on the exterior. Not that color coordination matters to me. I just want this thing to stay in the air.