Haley glanced into Augusta’s face and noticed the dark circles under her eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Of course. I’m just tired like everyone else. How about you? Are you going to hold up all right? This isn’t exactly Scottsdale.”
“It’s only for twelve weeks. I can stand it.” In spite of her brave words, she wondered how she could get along without Nordstrom and Ann Taylor for a whole summer. No concerts or plays, no fine dining or museums. A dismal lump settled in her stomach.
Her grandmother smiled. “At least the sales will be starting when we get home.”
“You read my mind.” Haley forced a cheerful tone into her voice. “Which cot do you want?”
Augusta shuddered. “Neither looks comfortable. Or clean.”
“You can put your sleeping bag on top.”
Augusta studied her face. “You’re taking this well.”
“You haven’t got my bill yet.” She grinned and turned back to the common room, then went to find Kipp. “When do we meet with Tank Lassiter?” she asked.
Glaze spiked Kipp’s hair, and every strand had been carefully placed for maximum casual effect. She supposed someone in the public eye had to think about those things. Kipp’s gaze skittered away. Even after only two days in his company, Haley was beginning to realize he only imparted as much information to his team as he deemed necessary.
He waved his hand. “Let’s get this stuff put away, then we can worry about Lassiter.”
“I don’t like the sound of that. Is he a problem?” She picked up a box of canned goods and walked to the cupboard with it. Numerous scars and wounds gouged the pine cabinets. She opened the doors and shoved items inside. The stink of dirt and mildew began to give her a headache.
Kipp still didn’t answer her. A gust of wind blew in, and she realized the door was open. The cabin suddenly seemed darker. Haley turned to see a big man blocking the doorway. His shoulders spanned the breadth of the door. Shaggy black hair fell across his broad forehead and looked as though it needed a trim. He wore jeans tucked into hiking boots and a red and black wool shirt. Paul Bunyan, transplanted from Minnesota to Alaska. His scowl was as dark as the shadow he cast across the room.
Oscar yipped at him once, then scooted behind her. The dog peeked past her pants leg at the big man. When the man’s gaze raked her, Haley took a step backward and nearly stumbled over her dog. She wouldn’t want to get on this guy’s bad side.
“Good morning, Tank. The team was just asking about you.” Kipp held out his hand with a winning smile.
This was Tank Lassiter, the famous wildlife biologist? He looked like he’d be more comfortable hewing trees than documenting the bear population. His hands were as big as bear paws, and she wondered what size shoe he wore. At least a fifteen, she thought, eyeing his boots. Maybe his name was a nickname and not his real name. He looked like a tank. Dangerous and impervious to hurt.
Tank’s dark brows lowered over piercing blue eyes, and he looked even more ferocious. “You lied to me, Nowak.” He threw the paper in his hand to the floor. “You said you were here studying the effect of global warming on the bears’ hibernation patterns. Now I find that’s not it at all. You’re here to do a documentary—see the great Kipp Nowak hand-feeding the bears? See how strong and brave he is? See how bears aren’t dangerous?”
Kipp didn’t wince at his derisive tone. “I am here to study the effects of global warming as well. I saw no need to tell you the full scope until I was ready.”
“You mean until you went around my back and got the cooperation of my superiors,” Tank said. “You’ll have tourists thinking they can waltz in here and pet the bears.”
“Your boss at the Alaska Department of Fish and Game has given me permission to stay as long as I want and to film as many bears as I want.” His victory smile flashed. “I’ll need your services for the next twelve weeks.”
Tank curled his big paws into fists at his side, and his jaw hardened. “So I’ve been told. But I’ll not have any bears put in jeopardy by any of your stunts. I went to the Anchorage library and watched some of your videos. You’re not a scientist; you’re a menace. You won’t pull any of those shenanigans with my bears. No touching or feeding the bears here. Is that understood?”
Kipp smiled. “You’re blowing this all out of proportion, Tank. No one is going to get hurt. Not us or the bears. We’re all going to have a fun summer. You’ll see. For a big man, you’ve got a lot of fear. Let go of it and see how free you are.”
Tank’s mouth dangled open; then he seemed to realize it. He snapped it shut without a word, spun on his heel, and stomped out.
Kipp followed him as far as the doorway. “I’ll be over later today. You’re to give us your full cooperation,” he called. He shut the door with obvious satisfaction. “He’ll cooperate now.” He glanced around the room. “Let’s go looking for wildlife this afternoon. Maybe a wolf or an eagle.”
The last thing Haley wanted to do was to watch him gloat. “Maybe later. This place needs cleaning before I can sleep here.”
Kipp frowned. “I’ll be back in a while. Anyone want to go with me?”
“I’ll tag along. I might get some ideas for the text.” Augusta grabbed a notebook and followed him.
“I like your grandmother,” Denny said. “How many books has she written?”
“Nearly fifty. Her travelogues, some biographies, and her famous zoo books.”
“She’s a cool lady.”
“She can be demanding. She likes things to run her own way.” Haley opened the box marked Cleaning Supplies and lifted out a bottle of Mr. Clean. The burly man on the front reminded her of Tank Lassiter minus the mop of wild hair. “Did you know we were going to run into objections from Lassiter?”
“Nope. Kipp likes surprises.” Denny grabbed a roll of paper towels and glass cleaner. “I call dibs on the windows.”
“Bless you,” Haley said. If he was trying to get on her good side, he was succeeding.
Denny went toward the hand pump at the sink. “We need some water to prime this. You got a bottle anywhere?”
“Probably somewhere.” They’d had one of these growing up, but Haley didn’t remember it looking so much like an alien creature. Or some kind of torture device. She shuddered.
Denny gave the pump a few experimental pushes. “It sure takes me back. We lived in a shack with a sod roof. Had a pump like this.”
She looked at him again. Really looked. “Do you ever miss that life?”
He shrugged. “It was a lot simpler. We wore caribou clothing—over our Levi’s, of course—and ate what we killed. There was no endless cycle of materialism. I should show you my seal carvings sometime. But in the end it wasn’t enough for me. I love what I create on film.”
She hadn’t seen his work yet. “I’m sure it’s very good.” She looked at the pump. “So you know how to prime this thing?”
“Sure. Get me some water.”
Haley nodded and went to the bedroom, where she found Augusta’s water bottle. She returned to the kitchen with it. Denny took it and poured the rest of the water into the pump. “Now try it.”
After a few attempts, cold water began gushing out. It looked like rusty mud and smelled like nails. Haley recoiled. Where she came from, water was clear and summoned by the twist of a tap.
“We’re in business,” Denny said.
“You don’t seriously propose we drink that.” Haley hefted the handle again. More water gushed out, but this time it was a little clearer.
“If we pump it a few more times, it will clear up.” Denny took over, and the water soon looked more normal. He held Augusta’s empty plastic bottle under the flow and filled it, then handed it to Haley. “See how it tastes.”
“I’m no guinea pig. You try it.”
“Well water is good. You’ll like it.”
Haley grimaced and took the bottle. It looked okay. She took a cautious sip, then spit it into the sink. “It tastes like rust mixed with rotten eggs.�
��
“Well water has minerals in it. Think of it as a One-A-Day vitamin.” Denny pumped the handle and quickly cupped his hands under the flow before it stopped. He bent his head and slurped at the water in his palms. “Delicious. You’ll get used to it.”
Never. Haley would endure it, but she wouldn’t like it. She set the bottle of water down.
Denny grabbed a battered pan and pumped water into it. “Now we heat this so I can clean. You want to do it?”
“Do I look like Suzy Homemaker?” She smiled to take the sting out of her words. “This looks like a propane gas stove. You might see if it works.” She found an old broom and swept the floor, then scooped the debris onto a piece of cardboard. She and Denny worked steadily. The menial labor helped Haley keep from thinking about the burned cabin, but she knew she was going to have to face it sooner or later. Preferably later.
Two hours later her stomach growled, and she realized it was lunchtime. The cabin looked good though. “I think I’ll have a cup of soup.” Denny had cobwebs and dust in his hair. Haley didn’t want to look too closely in case the cobwebs were occupied.
“Sounds great,” he said. “Should we fix something for Kipp and Augusta?”
“You can if you want. I didn’t come along to be a personal maid and cook. My job is to chronicle Kipp’s contact with the bears.” And make her peace with Chloe in the hope that the nightmares would cease.
Tank Lassiter wanted to break something, but he always made every effort not to let his strength get out of hand. Throwing a chair through his cabin window would scare his daughter. Five-year-old Brooke sat coloring at the rustic kitchen table. Sunlight dappled her hair as she bent over the book with an absorption that made him smile. She’d be six in four months.
Tank panted as he did two more lunges with his weights. Perspiration dripped down his back and face. The muscles in his legs bulged with the strain. He set his weights down and grabbed a towel to wipe his face.
“Hard day?” His sister, Libby Lassiter, sat cross-legged on the braided blue and yellow rug that covered the center of the hard plank floor. She was restringing the cello across her lap. “You haven’t said two words since you came charging in here like a bull moose and went straight to your weights.” The aroma of beef stew—a trifle burned—hung in the air. He grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat from his face.
“I’m going to have to babysit an idiot who thinks bears are cuddly animals that can be tamed. I met him a few weeks ago, but he didn’t tell me what he was really here for. I just found out he’ll be here all summer to make a documentary that shows how safe bears are. We’ll have tourists being mauled next year, you mark my words. I don’t have time for this. I need to be tagging bears and working on my own research. Have you ever heard of Kipp Nowak?”
Libby’s eyes widened. “The Kipp Nowak? Have you been living in a cave? Oh, I forgot, you have.” She giggled. “My dear obtuse brother, Kipp Nowak is a crazier version of Steve Irwin, only with bears. I can’t believe you’ve never watched him. He’s a wild man. Totally fearless. And the bears never hurt him. He’s yummy.”
Tank snorted. “He’s at least fifty—way too old for you.” He gave her a thoughtful look. “Speaking of yummy, maybe his viewers would relish the sight of a bear eating him. Maybe I could arrange that.” She made a face just like he thought she would, and he grinned at her.
“Twenty years isn’t too much of a spread,” she said loftily. “He might be looking for someone to help him stay young.”
Libby’s grin told her brother she was being deliberately annoying to coax him out of his mood. “I’ll be glad to introduce you,” he said.
“Is he by himself ?”
He shook his head. “A young woman was there with a camera around her neck. I imagine the man is the producer. Maybe a cameraman. I don’t know what the older lady does. He didn’t introduce them. Either way, it’s the usual hodgepodge of weekend nature lovers.”
Libby looked suddenly eager. “Maybe I’ll take them some cookies. It’s been awfully boring around here lately. You don’t talk much, and sometimes I get hungry to do more than answer Brooke’s constant barrage of questions.”
“Cookies? Or hockey pucks?” He grinned. She stuck her tongue out at him.
When Leigh died a year ago, Libby gave up her cellist seat with the Philadelphia Orchestra and came to help him raise Brooke without a murmur. Libby deserved fun and happiness, but it was a major effort to get to town several times a month for supplies. His gaze swept the cabin. These five rooms with their handmade furnishings were a small domain after the excitement of a big city.
Tank’s smile faded. “I’m sorry, sis,” he said.
“Don’t look so guilty. I love being here with you and Brooke. But sometimes it’s nice to meet new people. People who aren’t covered by fur and don’t hibernate, I mean.” Her grin widened.
“You need to get married and have some kids of your own.” He winced inwardly at his faux pas. It was a touchy subject. Her fiancé had not been happy when she came up here. He broke off the engagement.
She looked away. “There’s time for that later. I’m not ready to settle down yet.” She stood and looked out the window. “Hey, Chet is here.”
“Brooke, Grandpa’s here,” Tank said.
“Gramps?” His daughter dropped her crayon and slipped down from her chair. She ran toward the door and tugged at the doorknob. He joined her and opened the door.
Trooper Chet Gillespie lumbered toward the steps like a genial moose. Dressed in his blue uniform, his belly hung over his gun and holster. His smile broadened when he saw his granddaughter. “Hi, munchkin. Come give your old Gramps a hug.” He stopped and caught Brooke when she launched herself into his arms.
She wrapped chubby arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “You’re not old, Gramps. You’re vintage. Aunt Libby says vintage means classy and worthy instead of old and decrepit.”
Chet laughed. “Vintage, huh? I’ll go for that. You’re too precocious, Brooke.” He nodded at Tank. “What a week.”
“Trouble in town?” Tank stepped back to allow his father-in-law to enter with Brooke in his arms.
“Just busy. The town is swarming with search-and-rescue workers and their dogs in for a training exercise. They’ll be in town for several weeks. And a couple of youngsters broke into the mine by the Walsh archeology dig. Said they were looking for the lost gold.” He grinned.
“The boys should talk to Mort. He’d tell them he’s already combed every inch of land out here.” Alaska was steeped in legend—some of it true, but much of it not. The legend of the lost Russian gold mine was one of the myths that wouldn’t die, in spite of the lack of proof.
Chet grinned but didn’t look at Tank.
Tank’s senses went on alert. He took Brooke from Chet’s arms. “Hey, sweetheart, why don’t you and Aunt Libby go get me and Grandpa some coffee and cookies? Grandpa looks hungry.”
Libby frowned, then looked from Tank to Chet. “I could do with a cookie myself. How about you, Brooke?”
“Mommy said sweets are bad for my teeth. But I’ll get you one.” Brooke took her aunt’s hand, and Libby guided her to the kitchen where they couldn’t overhear.
Chet wore a pained expression. “She looks so much like Leigh. I was afraid she’d forget about her.”
“If anything, she talks about her mom even more now. I don’t think this is a social call, Chet. What’s up?”
Chet slowly reached into the pocket of his jacket and brought out an envelope. It looked official, and Tank’s gut tightened. He didn’t need any more blows. Losing his wife a year ago had grieved him enough for a lifetime.
Chet extended the envelope, but Tank didn’t reach out to take it. “I’m sorry, Tank,” Chet said. He laid it on the table. “Marley is suing you for custody of Brooke.”
“What?” While Tank hadn’t known what to expect from the official-looking document, this possibility had never crossed his mind. He balled up his fists. “Can
’t you stop her? And what lawyer would take a case like this? She doesn’t stand a chance.”
Chet pressed his lips together so hard they turned white. “I tried to talk her out of this, but she was beyond listening. She and Leigh were so close—twins usually are—and losing her seems to have changed Marley in ways I can’t do anything about. If her mother were still alive, maybe she could get through to her. Her lawyer is a sorority friend from college. She’s always catered to Marley.”
Tank couldn’t seem to get his mind around it. “It’s not like I neglect Brooke or anything.” His sister-in-law had been vocal in her opinion that it was dangerous for Brooke to be raised out here. He and Leigh used to roll their eyes at Marley’s overprotectiveness.
“She blames the wilderness for killing Leigh and doesn’t want the same thing to happen to Brooke.”
There was more Chet wasn’t telling him. Tank could feel it. “What else?”
Chet sighed and rubbed his forehead. “She intends to move outside once she has custody. To New York.”
“She can’t do that! I’m Brooke’s father. She needs to be with me.” He remembered the moment he first held Brooke. Her small face was red, and her mouth was screwed up into a little bow. A tuft of dark fuzz stuck out from the top of the yellow quilt Leigh’s mother had made. She’d been as light as a handful of cottonwood seeds when the midwife placed Brooke in his arms, and a wave of protective love had nearly choked him. His daughter was totally dependent on him and Leigh. Now Brooke was all he had left. They were a family. What was Marley thinking?
“I’ll have to talk her into dropping the case. She can’t take Brooke away from me.” He would be lost without his daughter. She was the glue that held him together. He wanted his daughter to grow up to love God and have more original thoughts than new shoes and designer handbags. Marley had no interest in spiritual things.
Chet’s head wagged like he was trying to clear it. “Good luck. She seems set on her course.”
Tank had never gotten along well with Marley. She thought him too far beneath her sister. Her dreams for Leigh hadn’t included living in a cabin with no electricity and only a hand pump for water. Her attitude had added to Leigh’s discontent with their marriage once the stars wore off. Maybe he even blamed Marley a bit for Leigh’s death. His wife’s dissatisfaction had caused the restlessness that drove her to the lake.
Alaska Twilight Page 3