by Zuri Day
“I would have never guessed we’d have something in common.”
“See, books can’t always be judged by their covers.”
“Obviously.” She detected a slight lowering of his privacy wall. “It’s not only the hunting and fishing background our families share. Gold is what brought my ancestors to Alaska.”
Over the next hour, Teresa learned about the Athabascan, Yupik and Inupiat peoples, as well as some cultural places she might find interesting. By the time they’d finished dinner, Teresa thought Atka had more than earned it and insisted on buying their meals.
“You saved me from a boring dinner with my smartphone,” she joked, casting the smile that had melted a thousand hearts. “I enjoyed your stories and appreciate all you shared.” She also appreciated that because of his eventual comfort with sharing his culture, very little had to be shared about herself.
“I enjoyed the conversation, as well, and while I appreciate your generosity, paying for my meal is unnecessary. I eat here often and have a running tab.” He stood. “It was nice to meet you, Teresa. Good luck on your assignment.”
“Thank you, Atka. It was great meeting you, too.”
She watched him walk out and noticed more than a few pairs of female eyes watching him, too. A tall, tanned, sexy Alaskan? Call her stupid, but really, who knew?
She flagged over the bartender. “Everything was delicious. Can I get my bill?”
“Already taken care of, pretty lady.”
“By whom?”
“Atka.” He winked. “I’m glad you enjoyed.”
Atka. For the rest of the night that name and the face attached to it weren’t far from her thoughts. He was interesting, mysterious and seemingly not at all interested. She’d tossed out a few hints during the evening, and even though she’d learned he was in the fishing business, he’d not bitten once. Not even a nibble. Paid for her meal, and hadn’t wanted anything in return. She’d not met anyone quite like him, and wished she’d thought to give him her card. It probably wouldn’t have mattered. Crazy, but the thought of never seeing him again caused her a twinge of sadness.
The next morning, however, duty called. During the ninety-minute flight from Anchorage to Dillingham, Teresa tweaked her article on Paul Campbell, juggling how to portray him as an Alaskan political mover and shaker within the confines of a human-interest story. Dicey journalistic terrain, but Teresa found a way to traverse it.
By the time they landed, she felt the piece was nearly perfect. She decided to get settled in at the bed-and-breakfast— which, after discovering there were no hotels there, the newspaper had located and secured—then finish and send the article and then, if time allowed, do a little sightseeing and picture-taking. Photos always enhanced a story, and Teresa had to admit that some of the scenery was breathtaking.
It took her longer than anticipated to finish the article, but thanks to the long Alaska days this time of year, there was still plenty of sunlight. Teresa ate a light meal, layered her clothing, grabbed her camera and set out for the Dillingham attractions that Atka had suggested. Ten minutes into the boat ride to the State Game Sanctuary on Walrus Island erased all of Teresa’s preconceived notions about disliking Alaska and not looking forward to arriving at the last frontier. She’d even jokingly called it “my first and last time there,” when Jennifer had referred to Alaska by its nickname. But the scene before her—crystal-blue water, fluffy white clouds and varied shades of terrestrial greenery—was postcard perfect. She took picture after picture, totally captivated by the uncorrupted beauty. Her transportation resembled less the yacht on which she last hit the water and more the fishing boat her grandpa used when catching crawdads in Louisiana, yet the sights were so magnificent that she truly didn’t mind. She was as surprised as anyone would have been. She didn’t like fishing boats or crawfish.
After one of the most peaceful afternoons she’d had in a very long time, the adventuresome child who’d run barefoot across her grandfather’s lawn had reemerged from an obscure place in Teresa’s past. She returned to town and continued her explorations. The town itself failed to hold her interest. In terms of population, Paradise Cove wasn’t that much larger, although the B and B manager said fishermen and tourists swelled the numbers during the summer months. He also told her of a few sites she could check before visiting the fisheries tomorrow, so she rented a scooter and, per the B and B manager, went traipsing to a spot he said offered spectacular landside views.
He was right. She scooted and snapped, and for the first time since meeting him forgot about Atka, forgot about not having had a serious relationship in almost a year and, more importantly, she forgot George, the reason why she’d taken a break from dating. So absorbed was she in doing her job, at first she didn’t realize the temp had dropped and it had started to snow, a fact that made the landscape appear even more magical.
She looked beyond her and saw a small crest that would afford her a perfect image of the town for her corresponding story. Just one more shot.
The terrain became too rough for the scooter, so she placed it by a tree and continued on foot. Reaching her destination, she climbed the low precipice and quickly snapped several shots. Stepping back and crouching down, she maneuvered the camera so that the main buildings, surrounding terrain and water could all get in the shot. One more step back and she’d have it.
That one step back sent her careening down a trench that had gone unnoticed, twisting her foot in a way that caused so much pain she temporarily blacked out.
Chapter 3
Atka stopped and breathed in the crisp evening air. Here, on the outskirts of this small town amid lightly falling snow, he almost felt at peace again. As if the call from his mother that had him miss spending the day hunting with his grandfather and instead backtracking to Anchorage barely a day into his minivacation wasn’t enough, the woman he’d met last night—after being assured that his mother’s chest pains were just a bad case of gas—had caused a special kind of torture. On one hand, he hated that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. On the other, hers was the kind of face he hoped never to forget.
Forget it, Atka, he told himself. A city girl like her would never want a frontier guy like you.
A thud. He knew he’d heard one, or something, just ahead of him. But he was here now, at the precipice that had been his destination, a quiet area on the outskirts of Dillingham—or Curyung, as it was called in Yupik— where he could almost always count on spotting some of the more than two hundred species of birds that inhabited the state. Sure enough, he’d seen both a brown-winged sparrow and a black-backed woodpecker and had heard the sounds of songbirds resting in nearby trees. Earlier, he’d spotted a starling and a brown-headed cowbird. It had taken him a while to recall its moniker. But his apaaq would be proud.
A moan. His breath stopped. Nothing, not even a hair on his head, seemed to move. He became one with nature—the ground, the trees, the wind. And something else. Something warm and breathing and...oh-h-h-h-h!...in pain.
The sound spurred Atka into action. His long, lean legs quickly ate up the distance between him and where he’d heard the moaning. The snow had increased, going from tiny specks to giant flakes blanketing the ground. Dry grass crunched under his booted footsteps. His eyes scanned from left to right, searching for a sign of life on the deserted streets.
“Help!”
It was soft, almost inaudible. But his ears, strained and alert, had heard it. To his right, and a bit behind him. He doubled back, moving closer to the precipice he’d walked farther down.
“Where are you?” His voice was loud yet calming, authoritative yet filled with concern. And then he saw her.
He shook his head as if to clear it from what was surely a vision, a mirage brought on by the snow and the cold. There’s no way it could be her. Except it was. Teresa. She lay there, raven hair splayed against the sn
ow, her foot at an awkward angle. The cold and snow had painted her bronze cheeks rosy. The grimace on her face did not mar her beauty. She looked like an angel, though a broken one.
Through the haze of disbelief came a disturbing thought. Had she wrangled information about who he was from Joe the bartender and followed him here? Was she determined to make him a part of her newspaper story? Or even worse, was she one of those materialistic women who, after finding out about his wealth, determined to add money from his bank account to her own? A barking dog snapped him back to the present and the urgent issue at hand. She was in trouble. He could rescue her. His questions and suspicions would have to wait.
“Stay still. I’ll help you.”
The cavern was fairly steep, but Atka, who not only often worked alongside his fishermen but worked out regularly, navigated it with no problem. He reached the wounded stranger, quickly assessed her legs and ankle, and believed the ankle badly sprained but not broken.
Her eyes fluttered, opened and widened in surprise. His heart melted a little more.
“Moving you is going to hurt, but you’ve got to get out of the elements to someplace warm and dry.”
“I’m...it’s...”
“Shh. Save your energy, Teresa. Don’t try to talk. I’ll make a splint and secure your ankle as much as possible.”
He found a sturdy limb, pulled out his knife and smoothed its surface. Then he reached beneath his leather jacket and sweatshirt to his undershirt and ripped off the bottom. Returning to her, he gingerly yet quickly stabilized her leg as much as possible.
“Put your arms around my neck. I’m going to lift you.”
She did as he’d asked. Picking her up was effortless. Though she was covered from head to toe in denim and sheepskin, he sensed her curves, imagined soft skin.
“Ah-h-h-h!” She wrapped her arms tighter, burying her head in his neck against the pain.
Atka mentally kicked himself for daydreaming. Now was not the time. Yet something in his heart shifted in that moment. I will ask the spirit guides to help you. Children soon come. Ridiculous. Improbable. Highly unlikely. He dismissed the thought of his grandmother’s words proving prophetic. Pure silliness. Her being here was coincidence. Wasn’t it? Or was it something more treacherous? It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had used business as a way to try to get close to him. He’d ignored them, but was well aware of last night’s subtle flirtations. Maybe their conversation hadn’t been as off the record as she claimed. Or maybe she was going to try to use what he’d shared to a more personal advantage.
He searched the area for signs of life. Any other time, someone he knew would be passing by, on their way home or to the grocer. Tonight, there was not a moving car or another person in sight. She shivered. He glanced down as she covered her ears with the end of her scarf, noted her delicate finger and painted nail visible through a hole in her woolen gloves. Snagged on something during the fall, he imagined, even as he wondered how she got here alone. This woman didn’t look like someone who worked. She looked well kept. Maybe not even a writer at all, but here with her millionaire boyfriend on business, out to have a little fun. The immediate surge of jealousy surprised him. The scent she wore assailed him. Without thinking or asking, he headed away from town and to his cabin, less than a mile away.
* * *
Even through her haze of agony, she’d noticed. Strong jawline, covered by the shadow of a two-day-old beard. Full lips. Shocking dark blue, almost black eyes. The face of the man she thought she’d never see again. Atka. Like a guardian angel he’d rescued her from a literal depth of despair. Here she was, in the wilderness, being carried by a near stranger to God knew where. Yet inexplicably she felt safe, almost peaceful. Even though her ankle throbbed. Relentlessly. She doubted her rescuer and thought it broken.
“Where’s the nearest hospital?” she managed to say through chattering teeth.
He pulled the woolen scarf she wore over her mouth. “Keep covered to stay warm. We’re almost there.”
In truth, the Kanakanak Hospital wasn’t too far away. But still in the throes of an unusual possessiveness and, yes, even a bit of selfishness, Atka alone wanted to tend her. The thought of another man touching her smooth, sun-kissed skin was something he didn’t want to contemplate. Plus, he knew that one look at her by the resident doctor, a newly transplanted playboy popular with the ladies, and the angel might have more than an ankle to mend.
He reached his one-room sanctuary and hurried inside, placing her gingerly on the couch that doubled as his bed. He removed her coat, noted her soaked clothing and quickly covered all but her injured ankle with several quilts, used a pillow to elevate the swollen ankle, then retrieved an instant ice pack and a bottle of ibuprofen from a kitchen cabinet. In another cabinet was a bottle of water. He reached for it and the first-aid kit and returned to Teresa’s side.
“Just lie back. Try to relax and focus on your breathing, not the pain. We need to get that ankle on ice as quickly as possible. Removing your boot and sock will hurt a bit. I am sorry.”
Teresa grit her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Soon, one tear and then another made its way down the side of her face. She’d not made a sound, yet something caused Atka to look at her. He set the boot he’d removed on the floor and reached a hand to the side of her face. “I am so sorry, papoota taya. The ice and medicine will help lessen the pain.”
His touch was tender, his expression sincere, stirring something within her heart. He was unlike the boisterous alpha men she usually went for, yet the strangely strong attraction she felt toward him could not be denied. Around him again for only a matter of minutes but Teresa was sure she’d never met anyone quite like him. She was also certain that she didn’t want this to be the last time they spent together. A feeling so inappropriate that Teresa began to wonder if during the fall she hadn’t also hit her head and knocked the sense right out of it.
Atka abruptly pulled back his hand and refocused his attention on her injured foot. It was singularly the most painful yet erotic experience she’d ever had. He removed her sock and held her injured foot as if it was made of glass. His touch was soothing to the point of healing. They’d just met the night before, yet she was experiencing ludicrous imaginings that they’d known each other a long time, weird feelings of closeness and a sense of completeness. Had she taken the pill, she could have blamed the medicine. But it still lay in her hand. The water remained on the table beside her. Still, the fall had obviously dislodged logic and common sense from their secure place in her brain. The scrambling had also dulled her senses, because now, with the tight boot off and the ice pack on her foot, the throbbing was considerably less. All this, and she didn’t even know his last name. Atka. The fisherman. The sexy Alaskan who was making her think crazy thoughts about staying in Alaska.
He stood and walked to the fireplace. Teresa watched his calm, economical movements, his tall frame moving with the grace of a dancer. He seemed refined, worldly, yet built a fire in what she swore was under a minute. Her brother Warren, the cowboy of the family, with five wood-burning fireplaces in his home, couldn’t beat that time. Who are you and what are you doing to me?
“How did you find me?”
Atka stood, dusted bits of kindling from his hands as he turned around. His face was a mask. “I could ask that same question.”
She frowned, and not from pain. “You think I went looking for you at the bottom of a ditch?”
“That obviously happened in the midst of your search for...whatever.”
“I was searching for the perfect shot! I was trying to capture the—my camera! Did you see it?” She frantically looked around her. “Oh, my goodness. It’s probably still in the ditch. I’ve got to—” She gasped as pain shot up the leg she’d just tried to move.
He noticed immediately and was back by her side. “Stop moving! I’ll go find the camera.
Did you take the ibuprofen?”
She shook her head. “Shouldn’t I go to the hospital, and make sure my ankle isn’t broken?”
“It isn’t broken, but if you’d feel...safer there...then by all means.” He turned off the fire under the teapot and walked over to where he’d hung his coat.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
He gave her body a quick, almost imperceptible once-over, his eyes intense and unreadable. A squiggle ran from her core to her heart. She shivered. His eyes narrowed. “Of course you are. I understand. You’re alone with a stranger in a one-room cabin. It’s totally understandable and in hindsight it was thoughtless of me to bring you here. Forgive me. My only concern was to get you out of the elements before a deep chill set in, and to get ice on that ankle.” He lifted his sheep-lined leather jacket from the coatrack. “We can go now, and pick up your camera on the way.”
The thought of leaving him filled her with an inexplicable sadness. And more, as crazy and inappropriate as it was, she’d fall in the cavern again, and risk a broken bone, for time in the presence of this strange man who was making her think and do strange things.
She reached for the bottle of pills. “Just go get the camera. I’ll take two of these and see if I feel better. If not, we can go when you get back.”
* * *
Atka jumped into his Jeep, returned to the spot of her fall, found the camera and drove back to his home. It took less than five minutes.
He walked in shaking snow from the camera half-buried when he’d arrived. “Here you go. If the moisture from the snow hasn’t got inside of it, you should be fine. How do you feel? Better?”
He looked at her with a hopeful look on his face.
“That was pretty quick. The ibuprofen have hardly had time to work their magic. I can stay for a little while. Like I said before, I’m not afraid of you.”