“Don’t you think we should radio someone and tell them we’re delayed?” She picked up her sketchpad and pencil she’d left on her chair.
“The radio doesn’t work this far away from Gold Creek. We don’t have cell phone coverage here either, but I do have a satellite phone. We aren’t that far off schedule. After we eat, we’ll be on our way.”
“Sounds good.” She slumped down in the camp chair beside the fire. “Where’s Duke?”
Travis turned the foiled fish over in the coals with two sticks. “He’s running in the woods. As soon as this fish starts to smell, he’ll reappear.”
Fiddling with her pencil, she had the urge to draw a portrait of him. The setting was just too perfect: the river, the mountains, the cloudy sky, the spindly spruce trees.
“I’ve wanted to tell you I’m sorry I didn’t realize your art was so important to you.” Travis’ voice sounded serious and sincere. “I mean I knew you enjoyed it, but I had no idea.”
“It’s okay. You can’t know everything about me.”
He lifted his gaze from the fire and gazed at her in earnest. “We’ve worked together a long time. I should have known.”
“We kept our working and private life separate.”
Travis poked at the fire with a stick. “You have four or five of your paintings hanging up at the office—I should have known.”
“It’s okay. Really, it’s fine.” She said the words, but inside, she knew she did wish he noticed things about her. However, he did remember she didn’t like raisins in her carrot cake, so she must give credit where credit was due.
“I picture artsy types as a little less regimented. You know—free spirits.”
Chryssa stopped sketching for a moment to lean to the side away from the campfire’s smoke. “What does that mean exactly?”
“Not studious, or disciplined. You are an amazing administrative assistant who’s so organized.”
Her pride had been pricked. She could be a good admin, but not a good artist? Like the two weren’t allowed to coincide with each other? “An artist can be studious. In fact, being disciplined is important in any kind of job. Maybe art most of all.”
“No, no. I agree.” He smiled at her so warmly, she couldn’t be angry. “Completely. I agree with you completely. Discipline is good in any job.” He crouched down beside the fire and opened the aluminum foil wrapped around one of the fish.
“Thank you for not calling it my hobby, at least.”
“Why would I?” He folded the aluminum foil back around one fish and opened the other.
“Some people don’t take artists and their work seriously. They don’t consider it real work. But I work very, very hard to be good at what I do.” She always felt the need to defend her work—as if being a software engineer would hold more importance to the world than being an artist.
He stopped and looked at her from across the fire. “I believe you, Chryssa.”
His words were simple and tender.
They held each other’s gaze through the smoke from the flames a little longer than was comfortable before Travis said, “The fish is almost done.”
Chryssa’s breath caught in her throat. His eyes were so blue. She felt a pull toward him and wished she didn’t.
Travis turned and walked to the plane.
Chryssa flipped open her sketchpad. With her back to him, she resumed sketching his eyes, his eyebrows, and his nose. Quickly, she added more details: the lines creasing out from the sides of his eyes and the smudge of mud on his nose. She held the paper away from her lap to study it; she liked the result. In fact, she didn’t know that she’d ever sketched so well in such a short amount of time. She made sure Travis was still occupied at the plane before closing her eyes and envisioning him in a deeper sense—at one with this wilderness world he so obviously loved. Leaning over her sketchpad, she went to work. Her pencil took on a life of its own, adding contrast and texture in an eclectic, unstructured way she’d never created before.
At one with her surroundings, she let herself feel the texture of the paper, the breeze on her face, and the smell of the trees after the rain. She drew with renewed passion and urgency, without thinking, just creating.
“Wow.” Travis said from behind her.
She’d been so engrossed in what she was doing, she didn’t hear him. Chryssa clutched the sketchpad to her chest. “Um—you’re supposed to ask before you look.”
“I asked, but you didn’t hear me.”
“Oh, sorry. I get kind of…well, involved when I’m drawing sometimes.”
“Are those my eyes?”
Heat crept up her neck. She wished she could lie and say they weren’t, but she couldn’t. “Yes.”
He reached out his hand. “Can I look?”
“I guess, since you already did.” She reluctantly released the sketchpad into his hands. Her stomach churned in nervous anticipation. “Only that one page though.”
He studied the page for a full minute. “Amazing. This is cool.”
Chryssa smiled and shook her head. Leave it to a guy to say it was “cool.” She shrugged. “It’s not my usual type of drawing. I usually draw landscapes, but… it just kind of happened.”
“My eyes are part of the river. They blend-in with the waves. Very cool. And my nose…it’s in the rocks and sand.” He laughed. “My nose and mouth are in a gravel bar. Then you drew the mountains and trees in the background. You’re really good. And I’m not even an art-knowing kind of guy and I can say this is really good.”
He thought her drawing was cool. She should be happy, but another part of her thought maybe it was a nervous laugh, as if he wasn’t sure how to react and maybe it made him uncomfortable. She’d never drawn anything so diverse in texture and shape. The drawing was a landscape, but it was a portrait too.
“Thank you…I think.” She pulled the sketchbook from his hands. “The fish smells delicious.”
CHAPTER 7
Travis boiled water in an aluminum canister and filled it with instant rice before he went to work peeling the pike’s skin away from the meaty part of the fish. Piling the white flakes on paper plates, he noted with satisfaction that he had cooked them to the right amount of firmness. He opened a can of peaches and dished them into two bowls. Glancing at Chryssa, he wasn’t sure how he felt about being in her sketchbook.
“The food looks really good,” she said.
“It’s not my best work, but it’ll do. I hope you like it.” In the outdoors, putting a simple meal together came easily to him. He enjoyed the basics of cooking over a fire, smelling the smoke, and breathing the spruce-scented air. However, this time felt different because of the company next to him. He’d done this same ritual dozens of times, but he suddenly felt determined to make it perfect.
Normally, if he burned the fish or scorched the rice, it wouldn’t matter to him, but he wanted to impress Chryssa. Which made absolutely no sense at all. But he would man-up to the fact that he wanted her to be pleased.
He hadn’t paid attention to Chryssa. Not really. But when she gave her resignation, he’d definitely taken notice. His mom had suggested the weekend at the lodge, and while he considered it the least he could do for her, he began to speculate how he might use the outing to his advantage and possibly convince her to stay. Couldn’t she pursue her art in Fairbanks? Why did she need to go to Arizona? He could offer her fewer hours at Tundra Air so she’d have more free time to paint.
“Is everything okay?” Chryssa interrupted his errant thoughts.
“Yes.” He dished up some rice, placed it next to the fish and handed a tin plate to Chryssa. “I was thinking I wish I had something else to offer you to drink besides bottled water, but that’s all I have.”
“This is perfect. Thank you.” She set her sketchbook back inside her bag and held the plate of food on her lap.
Travis handed her a plastic fork. He slid his nylon camp chair beside hers, away from where the smoke drifted. In rapt anticipation, he watched her ta
ke a bite of the fish. Except, from his peripheral vision, he noted Duke bounding toward them.
Duke approached them at full speed. Travis stood up. “Lay down, boy.”
His dog obeyed and stared at him with soulful eyes.
“He minds you really well,” she mumbled between mouthfuls.
Travis sat back in his camp chair. “Sometimes. Not always.”
“This fish is so good.”
Satisfied, he took a bite himself and agreed, “Nothing like fresh-caught fish.”
“Is that what makes the difference, or is it because of how you prepared it?”
“I’d like to take the credit with my fine culinary skills, but really, so much of the flavor in fish is how you take care of it. Fish needs to be kept on ice or it needs to be cooked immediately.”
“And if it’s not kept on ice, what happens?” she asked.
“The meat gets mushy. It’s not firm, like this fish is.”
“You’re absolutely right. I couldn’t decide what made this fish so good, other than it’s better than any fish I’ve ever tasted before. But part of it is the texture, like you said.” Her eyes shone with delight at this newfound information. “I never knew the taste difference between freshly caught fish and grocery store fish until now.”
Pleased she enjoyed it, he watched her savor the meal he’d prepared. Loose strands of dark hair blew across her face, and he realized he’d never noticed a lot of things about Chryssa Baros.
Staring at her, he tried to remember an occasion when he cooked a meal next to a campfire for anyone other than his hunting buddies, his family, or a client. He couldn’t come up with one, at least not one as beautiful and easy to be around as Chryssa.
He’d invited Karin to accompany him on camping and fishing trips many times, but she’d never indulged him. His former longtime girlfriend wouldn’t consider getting dirt under her fingernails to accommodate his desires to enjoy the outdoors. That would have been asking too much.
The sound of the river splashing over rocks and the occasional raven squawking was like music to Travis’ ears. “How much camping have you done? Looks like you’re pretty experienced.”
Chryssa took a swallow of water and coughed. “Um, my experience with camping would be a pop-up tent in the backyard with three girlfriends when I was about twelve years old.”
His mouth spread into a wide grin. “Really?”
“Yes, unless you want to call staying at a Howard Johnson motel with a mosquito in the room roughing it, that’s about the extent of my camping experience.”
Laughter rumbled from deep within his chest. “Okay, I’ll believe you. You’re doing pretty good for your first time in the woods. I don’t think I’ve heard a complaint from you yet.”
Her green-gold eyes gazed at him with complete confidence. She radiated warmth and accepted his teasing in stride. “Nah. What is there to complain about? A fabulous evening in the wilderness with my trusted Alaskan pilot. What better sendoff from Alaska could I have?”
Her leaving was the crux of the problem. Travis was used to fixing any situation for the better, or least for the better in his opinion. He’d been called a schmoozer, a networker, a mingler… He was good at looking at any given situation and making the most of it. But he’d be darned if he was coming up with anything good about Chryssa leaving. “This trip isn’t meant to be a sendoff.”
Chryssa unscrewed the lid on her bottled water and gulped. “I thought that’s what it was. A parting gift, I believe you said.”
She was right. “Yes, I did say that, but…Why can’t you do your artwork here in Alaska? Can’t you work at an art gallery in Fairbanks? Why do you have to go all the way to Arizona? I don’t understand.” He peppered her with questions and maybe it wasn’t his place to ask them, but he really wanted to know the answer.
“Well, it just worked out at this other gallery,” she said with sincerity. “And it’s time for me to move on.”
“Why?” he asked.
She looked confused. Her eyebrows furrowed and she didn’t look him in the eye.
Travis twirled his plastic fork in his hand and studied her. “Move on from what?”
She arched an inquisitive brow and studied his face. “I’m moving toward something, not necessarily away from something else.”
Travis leaned back and took in her expression. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to ask such a personal question, but he knew her and he knew she wasn’t being completely forthcoming. There was something more going on. More than just a new job. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew beyond a doubt that she was hiding something. “So essentially you think this new job is the best decision for you?”
She looked at him as though he asked a trick question. “Well, yes.”
“And of course, there’s Niles to consider.”
She laughed. “You’re bringing my parakeet into this conversation? Actually, it’s beginning to feel more like an inquisition. Why are you interrogating me, Travis?”
Nothing like being direct. One good turn deserved another. “My assessment is that you’re a good person. A person who makes good choices and does the right thing. Don’t you agree?”
“Well…I’m not sure how I’m supposed to answer that.” She twitched her lips. “I’d like to think I make good choices, but I’ve made bad ones too.”
“Really?” He leaned forward, his knee an inch from touching hers. “Tell me.”
A boom of thunder sounded in the distance. Chryssa jumped up out of her chair. “Oh, my gosh, that scared me.”
That thunder had perfect timing—perfectly bad—just as he was starting to get somewhere. He sensed some indecision in her, and he needed to find out what was going on. “We better get going while the weather is still good to get to Gold Creek.”
“I agree.” Chryssa helped him gather the dishes.
Duke barked.
Travis put the fishing gear and camp chairs in the plane, then he folded up the tent. All the while he thought about Chryssa and if he’d lost his marbles or if she really was hiding something. Either way, he was determined to find out.
* * *
THE FLIGHT DIDN’T TAKE LONG, LESS than an hour. The thunderclouds stayed east of them. They approached Gold Creek. The small town had two rows of buildings and a few outlying houses. After landing on the gravel runway, Chryssa was struck by the beauty of the area. The surrounding mountains reflected in an oblong-shaped lake. In any direction stood mountains, hills, wilderness, and hardly any signs of human civilization. She’d never seen anything quite like it. She could hardly wait to get settled in the lodge, grab her sketchpad and paints, and get to work.
Throwing herself into her art would be the medicine she needed to mentally move on. She had a new plan for her life, she reminded herself—that no longer included pining for Travis Forrester. True, he’d be around the lodge this weekend and would likely distract her, but she would get some sketching and painting done. The more completed pieces she had, the more likely she could get her own showing some day. Whatever she finished this weekend, she’d add to her collection.
They walked a short distance to the natural log lodge. A huge deck overlooked the lake, and mountains stood at attention in the background. Travis guided Chryssa inside the main entrance. A set of moose antlers adorned one wall. A massive rock fireplace stood on one side, while cathedral ceilings with log beams draped evenly across the building’s width. A set of two-story windows lined the prow front by the deck. “Wow, this place is breathtaking. Photographs don’t do it justice.”
Travis stood beside her holding her bag. “True.”
A beautiful woman with blonde hair, close to her age, and a sunny smile approached them. She knew from the photographs in Travis’ office that this was his sister-in-law. “Hello, you must be Chryssa Baros. So nice to meet you.” She glanced at Travis before looking at her again. “Welcome to the Forrester Lodge.” The woman put out her hand. “I’m Sabrina Forrester. My husband and I do most of
the day-to-day running of things here at the lodge.”
Chryssa shook her hand. “I’m so happy to be here.”
“My mother-in-law Molly says you’ve worked for Travis for quite a while,” Sabrina stated. “I’m surprised we haven’t met before.” She glanced at Travis. “He should have brought you up for a getaway long before now.”
Chryssa got the feeling there was some kind of unspoken communication going on between Travis and his sister-in-law. She could have sworn a private look had been exchanged between them.
Sabrina ushered her farther into the entryway. “Molly says you’re an artist. I want to hear all about your artwork.”
“Oh? Okay.” Chryssa was hoping to go to her room, but maybe not.
Travis interrupted. “She’s accepted a new position at an art gallery in Arizona.”
“Impressive.” Sabrina said. “What’s your medium?”
“Mostly watercolors, but some oil on canvas as well.”
“I would love to see your work,” Sabrina replied.
“I’d be happy to show you a little later.” Chryssa reached for her bag in hopes that they’d move away from her art and on to another subject.
“She only likes to show her finished work,” Travis pointed out. “I saw one of her sketches. Or, actually, I saw it by accident and it was incredible.”
“I’m happy to show my finished work, but my sketchbook is the idea phase. Nothing I’m usually willing to share,” Chryssa said.
“That makes sense,” said Sabrina. “Come sit in the front living room. You must be tired from your journey. I’ll make you a cup of tea. We strive to make everyone feel like this is their home away from home. I’m certain your creativity will flow here.”
Chryssa followed Sabrina. While she wanted to escape Travis’ constant gaze, she couldn’t help but be taken in by Sabrina’s quick smile and easy manner.
The front room overlooked the lake. The fireplace and the furniture adorning the room must have been ordered straight out of Field & Stream magazine—if they sold furniture. The room had an outdoorsy feel to it—hardwood floors, leather sofas, rock fireplace and pine end tables.
Her Alaskan Pilot: An Alaskan Hero Novel Page 5