Wolf Bite (Wolf Cove #2)

by Nina West

  Movement on the front porch catches my attention. I squint against the blue sky and morning sun to focus on the tall form leaning against the rail, coffee in hand.

  My heart stutters.

  It’s him.

  Does he see me? The red in my hair isn’t as vibrant as it once was.

  Does he even care?

  Should I wave?

  If I do, and he doesn’t respond....

  I grip the railing tightly to avoid the temptation and potential letdown, the hollow ache in my chest growing.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Miss Mitchell?”

  I hear my name called. An older gentleman stands by, watching as John docks the ferry. He’s dressed in slacks and a golf shirt, and though I have to guess that he’s local, he looks completely out of place next to the fishermen busy loading crates and supplies onto their boats, their beard unshaven, their clothes thrown on haphazardly.

  “Yes?” I’m instantly wary. But John’s here, I remind myself. He wouldn’t let something happen to me.

  “My name is Sam. Belinda from Wolf Cove asked that I bring you to the airport.” He pops open the ferry door and holds out a hand, palm raised. “Here. Let me take your bag.”

  “Thanks.” I hand it to him. The airport can’t be more than a ten-minute drive from the port, but... okay. That was nice of her.

  “You gonna be okay, Abbi?” John frowns at me. “You look a little green.”

  “I took my motion sickness medication on an empty stomach.”

  “Oh. Well, alright. Best of luck that you get that flight home as soon as possible. I’ll say a prayer for your father.”

  I smile at the old man. It strikes me that I’ll probably never see him again. “Thank you, John. Enjoy Alaska.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry.” He chuckles, his gray-blue eyes drifting over the mountain range in the distance. “I always do. Every morning, and every night.”

  With that, I trail Sam along the dock.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Isn’t that the turnoff?” I point at the simple driveway and the rustic rectangular sign that reads Homer Airport.

  “Oh, yeah. But we’re not going there. They asked me to take you up to the airstrip, about twenty miles north-east of Homer.”

  I catch Sam’s eyes on me in the rearview mirror. He must see my confusion. “You have a family emergency or somethin’, it sounds like?”

  “Yeah.” I don’t really want to explain it, so I check my phone, even though I know there are no new calls or texts. My phone has sat clutched within my grasp since I left the hotel, as I anxiously wait for any news.

  “Well, you probably weren’t gonna have much luck gettin’ a commercial flight out this morning. Maybe to Anchorage, but then you’d be waiting a while there. And God only knows where you’d end up next. This guy, he’ll help get you where you need to go quick.”

  I’m picturing a small six-seater plane and a puke bag in my future, but if it gets me home, then I’ll take it.

  I just hope it’s quick enough.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Here we go.” Sam pulls past the chain-link fence, past the helicopter pad to our left, and towards a white hangar. My mouth drops open when I read the large black lettering across it.

  Wolf Private Airstrip.

  “The family built this airport when Walter Wolf started his hotel chain. He liked to come up to the cabin whenever he could get away. Would fly his jet up. That’s why the long runway.” Sam’s hand waves toward the stretch of pavement to our right, where a sleek-looking plane sits on the tarmac, waiting. “It’s a good thing Mr. Wolf was in Homer, or you’d be taking that helicopter to Anchorage and looking for a connection.”

  It finally dawns on me. This wasn’t Belinda’s doing.

  This is all Henry.

  He must have heard. I guess this means he doesn’t hate me for what I did, at least.

  That prickly ball already sitting within my throat swells.

  “You staff?”

  I nod, not trusting my voice.

  He shakes his head, more to himself. “Then they must treat their staff well, because I can’t imagine what this flight will run them.”

  Neither can I.

  He throws the sedan into park. I don’t bother waiting for him to come around to open the door.

  A man waits by the plane to collect my duffel bag and quickly moves for the open cargo door, as if he knows we’re in a rush. Despite the dire situation, I pause for a moment to take in this surreal scene.

  Is this actually happening?

  “Miss Mitchell. It was a pleasure meeting you. I wish you all the best,” Sam offers.

  With a nod of thanks, I make my way up the narrow set of stairs that leads into the private jet.

  A man in uniform waits at the top of the stairs. “Good morning, Miss Mitchell. I’m co-captain Jack Rodan. We should be taking off within fifteen minutes.” He gestures toward the back of the plane. “Any seat you want.”

  “Thank you.”

  He leaves me to study the cream leather interior. There are six seats to choose from, the two closest to me facing the back of the plane, and four more facing this way, each one wide and comfortable-looking.

  I move toward the back, to allow me some privacy as I find Henry’s number on my phone. With only a moment’s hesitation, I hit dial.

  Disappointment fills me when Henry’s recorded voice fills my ear.

  “Hi. I’m at your airstrip. I guess you heard about what happened.” Did Belinda call him? Or did he see me on the ferry and ask? Not that it really matters. “Thank you. I don’t know how bad it is but... this is a lot, and I just wanted to say, thank you. You didn’t have to. But thank you.” I hang up before I say too much, settling into chair to focus on the mountain range in the distance.

  This may be the last time I ever see it again.

  Will I ever be back? Seeing as I don’t have to pay for a flight home, I could probably afford it. If Dad was somehow miraculously okay, which he very likely won’t be, seeing as a tractor rolled over on him.

  Please God. Please let him survive this.

  A loud roar fills my ear as the engines kick in, and a flutter of nerves stirs me. This is only my second time in a plane, ever, and this one is a lot smaller than the last. How safe are these private things, anyway?

  I sit patiently, because I can’t be anything but, while Jack Rodan hits buttons near the stairway again. I guess on a small flight like this, there’s no need for a flight attendant.

  Five minutes pass.

  Ten.

  Fifteen.

  Then twenty, and I begin to get antsy.

  “Took you long enough!” Jack yells at someone. A moment later he’s backing up.

  And Henry steps on board.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Henry smooths the back of his windswept hair down. “Had to wake my chopper pilot up. He wasn’t planning on flying me in again so soon.”

  “Neither were we.” Jack chuckles and clasps hands with Henry. “Grab a seat. We’re ready to go.”

  My heart is pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. Henry’s here? He’s going to fly to Pittsburgh with me?

  Crystal-blue eyes land on me, weighing me down with a hundred emotions. “Where are we refueling?”

  “Just outside Seattle.”

  “Perfect.” Instead of taking a seat, Henry ducks into the cockpit, and I hear him exchanging greetings with someone else. The captain, I presume.

  I watch quietly, brimming with excitement and trepidation, as Jack seals the door. Henry reappears. “Cooler’s stocked?”

  “Yes, sir.” Adjusting his hat, Jack disappears into the cockpit, pulling that door closed.

  Henry sets a brown paper bag on the table in front of me. “Figured you didn’t eat, so I had the kitchen make something for you.”

  “Thank you.” I’m starving, actually.

  He peels his jacket off and tosses it onto the seat. I admire the soft charcoal-gray t-shirt beneath, and the simpl
e way it hangs over his jeans, in just that perfect way: not too tight, but enough to show his muscles.

  How I miss the feel of him beneath my fingertips.

  To think I was allowed to touch that—that he was mine—for even just a short period of time.

  Until I got jealous, and possessive, and mistrusting.

  And there’s nothing I can do to change that, or make it better. If I regret anything for the rest of my life, it’ll be that.

  Folding into the seat across from me, he fastens his seatbelt and begins fiddling with the media system, until soft music fills the cabin. “You should eat, Abbi.”

  The world outside us begins to move as the plane rolls into position for takeoff. To distract myself, I dig out the contents of the bag and set them in front of me. Granola, yogurt, fruit, an omelet, bagels with various cream cheeses, lox, bacon, and danishes. Basically, most of the breakfast menu.

  “I didn’t know what you would want. I figured I’d give you options.” Henry opens the fruit container and pops a grape into his mouth. “It’s going to be a long flight.”

  “How long?”

  “Nine to ten hours. We won’t get to Pittsburgh until late tonight.”

  I take a deep, shaky breath. Nine to ten hours. Way better than fifteen to twenty, but will my father still be alive when we land?

  “I almost forgot.” He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out two sticks of turkey jerky, tossing them onto the table alongside everything else. “Just in case.”

  I can’t help it, I burst out laughing, thinking of that first day with Henry. All the hope and excitement and nervousness. The wonder. The impossible what-if.

  Before I screwed everything up.

  It’s not long before my laughter morphs into tears. I’m not even sure what I’m crying about anymore. Henry, my dad. Leaving Alaska. Nothing seems to be going well right now. “I’m sorry.” I wipe the tears with the back of my hand, but more replace them instantly, until I can’t even see through the blur.

  I hear his seat belt unfastening and then, a moment later, so is mine, and strong arms are lifting me out of my seat. Together we sit on the other side where there’s no table, with me on his lap, wrapped within his arms, my face burrowed against his neck.

  “Don’t we have to be in our seats for takeoff?” I whisper, inhaling Henry’s scent, hoping it will help calm my nerves.

  “This is my plane. We can do whatever the fuck we want.”

  “Okay.” I don’t want to move. Ever. I curl my fingers around his t-shirt and stay put as the engine roars with the sudden increase of speed, and then we’re off the ground and climbing high into the sky.

  I don’t want to say anything to scare him off, so I bite my bottom lip and keep quiet, letting the moments pass, memorizing the feeling of being in Henry’s arms again—how lucky I was to ever experience it in the first place.

  “I wish I could go back in time,” I whisper against him.

  His chest swells with a deep sigh. “Not now, Abbi.”

  He’s shutting me down.

  I close my eyes and let myself dream about his mouth, and his hands, of his bare skin against mine.

  Wishing it was mine again.

  And that’s how I drift off.

  ~ ~ ~

  I awake in Henry’s arms to the captain’s voice over the intercom, telling us that we’ve begun our decent into Seattle.

  The awful reality of the situation hits me like a brick to the chest. My dad. The accident. I instantly reach for my phone.

  “He’s still in surgery as of half an hour ago. I’ve been keeping an eye out,” Henry says.

  “I guess that’s good?”

  He pushes my matted hair off my forehead and then, as if catching himself, pulls his hand away. “Yeah, that’s good.”

  “You could have moved me.”

  “I didn’t want to wake you. You looked comfortable.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t sleep much last night, and the anti-nausea meds sometimes knock me out.” I let my eyes wander over his handsome face. “And I was comfortable.”

  He offers me a tight smile in return. Suddenly I feel awkward, like I should either climb off him or kiss him. He hasn’t given any indication that he’d be okay with me kissing him, so I climb off his lap.

  He must have been waiting for that because he stands and, stretching his arms over his shoulders, he makes his way to the tiny restroom in the back.

  The food he brought is still all laid out on the table. I shift over to that seat and pick at the cold bacon and chewy omelet, too hungry to be grossed out.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll have something hot delivered in Seattle.” Henry slides into the seat across from me, checking his phone.

  “I’m fine. I like fruit.” I shift over to the yogurt and granola, accidently knocking a lid off the table in the process. When I reach down to collect it, I get a good look at Henry’s shoes and socks.

  I press my lips together to hide my smile but it doesn’t work.

  “What?”

  “I take it you don’t ask Miles to dress you?”

  His eyes narrow. “Why?”

  I purposely stall answering by dipping a strawberry into the yogurt and then sucking it off the end. I feel his eyes on my mouth and I revel in the moment of attention, remembering when those heated eyes would be looking down on me, when I was allowed to suck him like this. “Because you’re wearing two different shades of blue socks.”

  He groans, but then he’s chuckling at himself. “Dammit. It was nice, not to have to worry about doing that for a while.”

  Until I fucked it all up.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t, Abbi.” His jaw tightens as he pulls his phone from his pocket and begins scrolling.

  I do my best to keep my tears at bay. “Do you have a lot of work to do?”

  “Always,” he murmurs absently.

  I sense he doesn’t want to speak, so I focus on the view out the window as we approach Seattle.

  ~ ~ ~

  “What’s taking so long?” Henry doesn’t hide his irritation well.

  “There was a delay with the fuel truck. We’ll be back in the air shortly,” Jack promises on his way out the door.

  Henry looks to me.

  “Jed says he’s still in surgery.” That means he’s still alive.

  With a slight nod, Henry dials someone on his phone. “Yeah.... Where are we with the specs?” I stare unabashed at him as he watches the refueling truck outside the window and listens to someone one the other end of the phone.

  Have those full, soft lips touched anyone? What about those hands. My eyes drop farther, to his jeans, and his belt.

  What about the rest of him?

  Not that I’d have any right to ever say a word, given what I’ve been doing. Both Connor and Ronan texted me to see if I was okay. I haven’t answered. That world, them, me with them... it’s already so far from my mind.

  “Okay, here we go.” Jack is back and carrying two food trays toward the table.

  “Here.” I scramble to help clear what’s left of breakfast.

  “Thanks. I don’t have this flight attendant thing down pat yet,” Jack mumbles.

  “They don’t teach that in flight school?”

  He chuckles. “I guess I missed that day. All right. We’ll be taking off in a few minutes, in case you want to stick your head out for some fresh air before you’re trapped in this tin can again.”

  I giggle. “I think I can handle this tin can.”

  “Not a bad way to travel, hey?” He winks. “Come up and check out the cockpit later, if you want.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  “...I don’t care if it takes another year, we need to open with at least two runs!” Henry’s impatient “do as I say” voice is creeping in. “The bottom’s been clear-cut for three years already. Yeah. We used the wood to build the lodge.”

  He’s talking about Wolf Cove. What is he planning now?

  “No.... Shi
t, I can’t remember. Hold on.” Henry starts fumbling with the dossier on his lap, unzipping it with one hand. A piece of paper slips out and floats to the ground.

  I don’t think twice, crouching to retrieve it for him. My hand freeze when I realize that it’s a picture of me.

  The one that Hachiro took that day, on the deck at his grandfather’s cabin, when I was staring off into the water, my thoughts drifting into a life with Henry.

  Henry actually printed it off. He’s kept it all this time.

  “The permits are as good as signed. That’s a nonissue.” Henry is still staring out the window and talking. He doesn’t seem to have noticed the picture. Would he be angry that I know? I never know with him.

  I quickly tuck it into the back of my jeans.

  “See if you can get a revised plan by end of week. I want to start the work before winter, which isn’t that far off up there.” He hangs up with a sigh. “What did they bring in to eat?”

  Trying my best to sound normal, I lift the metal cover. “Looks like chicken parm.”

  He moves in across from me, unraveling the cloth napkin for his lap. “Good. I’m starving.”

  I alternate my focus between my food, Henry, and the view outside, as the engines roar and we’re speeding down the runway, into the sky once again.

  Deciding what to say. If I should say anything, or if I should just ignore it.

  I can’t ignore it. Why does he still have this picture of me in his dossier, nearly two months after our disastrous downfall?

  I’d love to think it’s because he still cares about me.

  Finally, I decide to not say a word. I simply reach behind my back and pull out the picture, sliding it across the table to sit next to his plate.

  He pauses with fork midair, his steady gaze on it.

  And then he continues eating. Not saying a single word about it. Not until he’s cleaned his plate and is wiping his mouth.

  “It was my fault.”

  “What was?”

  He tosses the napkin onto his dishes and then brings the can of Coke to his lips. I count four throat bobs before he relents, setting it down in front of him. “When you told me what Scott had done, I should have worried about you. Not about me, not about what he was up to.”