Wild Heat (Northern Fire)

by Lucy Monroe

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  For my sister Katy. Thank you for pushing me to push myself and believing in me even when I’m not sure I do. I love you so much and am so grateful God made you my big sister!

  CHAPTER ONE

  We’re all going to die.”

  Caitlin Grant’s head snapped up at the high-pitched tone of the small boy in the seat beside her.

  He looked at her with an earnest brown gaze that dared her to disagree. The urge to hug him and tell him everything was going to be all right like Caitlin’s gran used to do for her was strong. Children should not be afraid.

  “Shhh, sweetheart,” his mother comforted from his other side, though she sounded more worried than confident. Still, she rubbed his short nappy hair in a tender gesture. “It’s going to be fine, Joey. You heard the captain. It’s just turbulence.”

  “The plane is shaking, Mom. This can’t be good.” Joey sounded so adult and so childish at the same time.

  Caitlin felt her lips curving into her first smile in months as she laid a hand on his forearm. “We’re coming into Anchorage. It’s usually choppy on these flights, but it’ll be fine.”

  “You’ve been on a shaky plane before?” the boy demanded.

  Caitlin nodded, one bright red curl slipping from its clip to brush her cheek. She pushed it back impatiently. “Many times.”

  She should have used more hair product this morning. Taming her wild red curls was a science. Fighting the near irresistible urge to go to the bathroom so she could smooth her hair uniformly back into the clip, despite the captain’s instructions to remain seated, Caitlin tucked the errant strands more firmly behind her ear.

  “This is really bad.” Joey’s tone indicated disbelief for her calm assurances.

  Doubt in her judgment was something Caitlin was very familiar with. Whether it was the way she chose to wear her hair or the orchestra she hired to play at their annual outdoor fete, her ex-husband had frequently expressed concerns about Caitlin’s questionable choices, opinions, and taste. She’d learned not to defend herself because arguing always made it worse.

  But Joey wasn’t her ex and Caitlin couldn’t ignore his worry.

  Taking a deep breath, Caitlin forced further reassurance from a tight throat. “I’ve been on planes that shook worse than a baby’s rattle and made a lot more noise.”

  How ridiculous for it to be so difficult for her to add support to her own assertions.

  “Really?” Joey asked hopefully.

  Caitlin managed another smile. “Really.”

  “And you didn’t die?”

  She actually had to suppress the urge to grin at that. Schooling her expression into lines of seriousness, she said, “No.”

  His mother wasn’t as adept at hiding her reaction, doing a poor job of hiding her chuckle with a cough.

  Joey didn’t seem to notice. “Cool.”

  A burst of raucous laughter from the rows behind them surprised Caitlin enough to draw her gaze. She knew that voice, though for a second she couldn’t place it. It was just a reminder of Cailkirn, a sound that brought forth feelings of safety and regret in competing measure.

  She turned and tried to get a good look at the man whose laugh had drawn her attention. Stylishly cut dark hair topped a handsome face, and surprised recognition mixed with the other emotions his voice had engendered. Rock Jepsom’s younger brother.

  The last Caitlin had heard, Carey had taken off for Hollywood with his inheritance and no intention of returning. Ever. Just like Caitlin, except her inheritance had barely covered the cost of university.

  Carey had had a couple million to support his dreams. He sure didn’t look like he was coming back broken like she was. In fact, he was surrounded by a group who were clearly in the industry.

  Caitlin had spent eight years living the life in LA, and she could recognize actors and production people as easily as she could a knockoff Chanel bag.

  What were they all doing heading into Anchorage? It was unlikely they were here for a shoot, because even though a lot of movies purported to be set in Alaska, few actually were. It was something of a joke among residents how seriously wrong the media usually portrayed America’s largest state. But who knew, maybe they were here for a shoot. Stranger things had happened. She certainly never thought she’d be moving back to Alaska.

  Not that she had any intention of asking. Caitlin wasn’t the extrovert she’d been when she left Cailkirn. She was a lot more judicious about who she spoke to and why. The fact that she’d chosen to interact with the small boy beside her was as surprising as Carey’s presence on the plane.

  “They’re all laughing. They’re not afraid,” Joey said, sounding like he was trying to process what that might mean.

  “I imagine they are used to flying, sugar,” his mother said.

  Caitlin nodded. “I’m sure they are and they know just like I do that we’re all going to be okay.”

  Joey’s smile was worth her foray out of her self-imposed shell.

  His mother’s silently mouthed, “Thank you,” caused an unfamiliar furl of warmth inside her as well.

  Maybe Joey wasn’t the only one who needed to know they were going to be okay. Maybe Caitlin needed to remember she was okay too. That she’d taken the steps she needed to get her life back. She wasn’t running away from anything now, just returning to safety and the one place maybe she really belonged.

  * * *

  Tack MacKinnon finished nailing down the new stair riser on the back porch steps of the Knit & Pearl Bed-and-Breakfast.

  It was a rare morning off for him during tourist season. Even though it was early May, he still had plenty to do getting his business ready for the busier months to come. Whether he was out blueprinting a new tour, navigating old ones and looking for changes in the land over the past year, or taking out some of the early-season clients, Tack’s long hours had already started.

  He’d planned a trip into Kenai for this morning, but when the eldest Grant sister had phoned to ask for his help, he hadn’t even considered saying no.

  He might be a MacKinnon, but everyone pitched in to help the Grant sisters. The Grant sisters were the last of that particular founding family still living in Cailkirn, and Alma, Moya, and Elspeth were as close to town royalty as anyone was ever going to get.

  Even though Miz Alma was technically a Winter by marriage and Miz Moya, her sister-in-law, was a Grant because she’d married the only brother, most folks didn’t distinguish between them. They were still “Grant sisters.” Sadly, both women had lost their husbands before Tack had even been born. The final sister, Elspeth Grant, had never married.

  And was one of the most vigilant matchmakers in all of Alaska, along with her sisters. Though few questioned the claim that Miss Elspeth was the most romantic of the lot.

  “Oh, thank you, Tack. You’re such a good boy.” Miss Elspeth smiled at him from the wide porch. “You’ll stay for some tea, won’t you?”

  “Of course, Miss Elspeth.” It was getting too late to make the trip into Kenai and be back in time for his afternoon tour anyway. “A man would have to be a fool to turn down your shortbread cookies.”

  Miss Elspeth went pink with plea
sure. “Maggie Grant brought the recipe from the Old Country and it hasn’t changed in nearly two centuries. Our dear grandmother passed it down to me even though Alma is the oldest.”

  “My da won’t admit it, but they’re even better than my gran’s shortbread.” Tack grinned up at the elderly spinster. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention that to Gran MacKinnon, though.”

  Miss Elspeth laughed, the sound soft and youthful despite her being closer to seventy than sixty. “Your secret is safe with me. I’ve got a secret of my own, you know.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I haven’t even told Moya,” she finished in a conspiratorial whisper.

  “Oh?” he asked, indulging the sweet elderly woman.

  “Nope.”

  That surprised him. The two women had been best friends before they became sisters via marriage and were extremely close. Usually, what one knew, so did the other—and both delighted in knowing something Miz Alma did not.

  The childlike delight in Miss Elspeth’s faded blue eyes made him smile. “Are you going to tell me?”

  “You know, I think I just might.” She nodded, her straight red hair fluttering in the breeze. “Yes. You deserve it; you take such good care of us.”

  * * *

  Some might think the Grant sisters were a few crayons shy of a full box. What with all three of them still dying their hair red, claiming to be a good twenty years younger than they were, and wearing fancy hats to church every Sunday. Then there was the way Miz Moya talked to the ghost of her deceased husband, in company. And all three of the sisters were convinced their home-turned-bed-and-breakfast was haunted by the first Maggie Grant.

  Still, Tack liked them.

  No one in the town loved Cailkirn more or was more dedicated to the town’s thriving.

  None of them wanted it to turn into another Anchorage, or even Fairbanks, but Cailkirn was less than a decade shy of its two hundredth birthday. He and the Grant sisters shared the need to know that it would celebrate that centennial and many more.

  Miss Elspeth had fussed Tack’s muscular six-and-a-half-foot frame into a sturdy wooden chair at her kitchen table and put the kettle on before she returned to her secret. “Someone’s coming home.”

  Tack didn’t want to steal Miss Elspeth’s thunder. So he didn’t tell her that he’d heard rumors of Rock Jepsom’s younger brother coming home. Carey and a bunch of his friends had booked into the Northern Lights Lodge. With twenty guest rooms, it was the only thing resembling a hotel in or around Cailkirn.

  The vast majority of Cailkirn’s tourist income came from the half a million guests of the cruise ships that docked daily in their ports May through September. Day-only visitors, they had no need for local lodgings.

  In a bid for town harmony, Tack did his best to share the MacKinnon Bros. Tours clients with the lodge run by the Sutherlands and the Grant sisters’ B&B. Thankfully the different types of accommodations appealed to different types of his “Enjoy the Real Alaska Experience” clients.

  “Who’s coming for a visit, Miss Elspeth?”

  “Oh, she’s not coming for a visit. She’s coming home to stay.”

  “She?” he asked in thunderstruck tones, disbelief causing a major disruption in the synapses of his brain.

  “I always knew she would, no matter what Alma said. Sean would have, too, if he and Gina hadn’t been in that terrible accident.”

  A frisson of foreboding spun through Tack, sliding right into no-the-hell-way.

  Miss Elspeth could not mean who he thought she did. She hadn’t stepped foot in Alaska since dropping out of college to marry Nevin Barston eight years ago. No way was she coming home to Cailkirn. Unlike Tack, her former best friend and the fool who’d loved her too much and too long, the petite redhead hated Alaska. She especially despised life in the small town that her parents had fought so hard to leave behind.

  “Yes, my niece.” Miss Elspeth put her hands together as if in prayer. “Kitty’s coming home.”

  Tack took a big gulp of tea and then choked as he tried not to spit it out in shock at its scalding heat.

  Kitty—call me Caitlin, please—was coming home.

  Miss Elspeth was up patting his back before he realized she’d crossed the kitchen. “Are you all right, Tack? You work too hard. You need to take a day off.”

  He didn’t mention that today, or at least that morning, was supposed to be exactly that. Doing so would be churlish and there was something truly wrong about being grumpy with a Grant sister. Even after she announced the woman who had broken Tack’s heart and abandoned their friendship for the acceptance of people like Nevin Barston was coming home.

  Moving home.

  “What about Barston?”

  “She divorced him.” There was something in Miss Elspeth’s tone.

  Grief. Anger. Satisfaction.

  It was all there.

  “I didn’t realize they were having problems.”

  “Well, it’s not as if you listen to anything said about her. You practically run from the room when Kitty is mentioned.”

  “I do not.” Though probably? He did.

  She’d been the love of his life and she’d never seen him as more than a disposable friend.

  “Well, that is neither here nor there. Kitty always said everything was fine, but we could see there were difficulties. She lost her spark, our Kitty. She also lost so much weight she looked like a skeleton.” Miss Elspeth had maintained the trim figure of her Miss Alaska days, but she’d never been rail thin like so many of the women he’d met in Los Angeles.

  “That’s not all that abnormal for LA, Miss Elspeth.” He didn’t like the thought that Kitty’s blue eyes had lost their shine, though.

  Her summer-sky gaze, so different from his dark one, had been the first thing his six-year-old self had noticed about the new girl in school. Pale with tiny freckles, she was so different from the boy who took his coloring from his Inuit mother. He’d been mesmerized by that difference and she’d never lost her fascination for him.

  Which was why he’d never allowed himself to stick around when people were talking about her. The only way to sever his Kitty addiction had been to cut off all ties to her, just like she’d cut off all ties to him.

  “If you’d seen her, you wouldn’t say that. When she called from the hospital, she weighed ninety-three pounds.”

  Pain pierced Tack’s heart, though he’d never acknowledge it. “That can’t be right.”

  Sure Kitty had lost some weight once they moved to California to attend USC, but she’d been healthy the last time Tack saw her. She might have been a little thin for his taste, but she still had curves in all the right places. And she’d still turned him on like no other woman ever had. Kitty hadn’t been bone-protruding skinny by any stretch.

  Miss Elspeth sat down with her own cup of tea, her expression somber. “Our Kitty almost died and we weren’t there. Moya went, though, after our girl called. She stayed with Kitty for six weeks. You remember?”

  “Yes.” It had been the previous winter.

  Despite her lifelong and very vocal lack of desire to ever visit the Lower 48, Miz Moya had said she was going south for the sunshine. Tack had thought it odd but chalked it up to the elderly woman missing her only grandchild.

  “Kitty said that’s why she’d had so many broken bones over the last couple of years. They’d gotten brittle she said.” Miss Elspeth frowned. “Grant bones don’t go brittle. We’re hardy stock. My grandfather lived to be ninety and Gran another twelve years after that. Neither had a single bone break in all those years.”

  “Kitty broke something?” Tack asked in disbelief.

  She’d gotten into more scrapes as a kid, always taking risks. He could remember the tumble she’d taken when they’d been hiking on Resurrection Pass when they were twelve. It had about stopped his heart, but she hadn’t so much as gotten a hairline fracture.

  “More than one something. She didn’t break her wrist, crack two of her rib
s, and break her clavicle bumping into walls, no matter how brittle her bones.”

  Bile rose in Tack’s throat. “Nevin Barston beat her?”

  That son of a bitch! The primal urge to protect rose in Tack. Images of beating Barston until Tack had broken every bone that Miss Elspeth had listed, plus a few more, flashed through the red haze in his mind.

  Elspeth’s lips thinned in a sad line. “Kitty never said so, but that man destroyed our girl.”

  “She’s coming home now, though.” Tack just didn’t understand why, if it had been that bad, Kitty hadn’t come back a long time ago.

  Or at the very least last spring when a pretty subdued Miz Moya had returned to Cailkirn. She’d stayed in California another full year by his reckoning.

  Was her dislike for their small-town life so strong she’d rather live with a monster than come back to it?

  Miss Elspeth reached out and patted Tack’s hand, her smile belied by the tears sparkling in her faded blue eyes. “You’re right. She is moving home. And it’s going to be all right.”

  Tack rose from the table and gave the older woman a gentle but firm hug. “Of course it will.”

  Tack had more doubts on that front than he’d had since bringing his broken heart home to Cailkirn seven years ago, but he wouldn’t voice them.

  * * *

  Keyed up by the idea of returning to Cailkirn for the first time in almost a decade, Caitlin walked behind Joey and his mother toward baggage claim.

  When they arrived, a huge man stepped forward, stopping the mother and son’s progress. Like a lot of Alaskan men, particularly those who lived outside of the major cities, he had facial hair. Before she could stop it, an image of the close-cropped beard and mustache Tack MacKinnon wore popped into her head. It was the perfect, perpetual five o’clock shadow and the only beard Caitlin had ever found appealing.

  It didn’t bode well that she’d been on Alaskan soil for less than an hour and she’d already started thinking about Tack. Moisture slicked her palms at the prospect of seeing the man again, nerves superseding the anticipation she shouldn’t be feeling. She’d callously jettisoned him from her life, betraying years of friendship. She doubted Tack would have the time of day for her anymore, much less be interested in renewing their acquaintance.