Wild At Heart: A Novel

by Tucker, K. A.

  Contents

  Also by K.A. Tucker

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by K.A. Tucker

  Ten Tiny Breaths

  One Tiny Lie

  Four Seconds to Lose

  Five Ways to Fall

  In Her Wake

  Burying Water

  Becoming Rain

  Chasing River

  Surviving Ice

  He Will Be My Ruin

  Until It Fades

  Keep Her Safe

  The Simple Wild

  Be the Girl

  Say You Still Love Me

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Kathleen Tucker

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For more information, visit www.katuckerbooks.com

  ISBN 978-1-9990154-2-8

  ISBN 978-1-9990154-1-1 (ebook)

  Edited by Jennifer Sommersby

  Cover design by Hang Le

  Published by K.A.Tucker

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  To Lia and Sadie,

  If you learn nothing else from me, I hope you learn the value of determination.

  To Stacey,

  For laughing with me.

  To Juanita,

  Bless your heart.

  Chapter One

  November

  “So … I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

  I can’t manage words around the flaring lump in my throat, and so I simply nod. The past four days with Jonah in Toronto have been a blur. A bliss-filled blur that I’m not ready to let go of yet. The Uber driver shuttling me home after this parting will have the privilege of a sobbing mess in their backseat.

  An unreadable look flashes across Jonah’s icy blue eyes. I still haven’t grown accustomed to seeing him without a beard, though I’ll admit I’ve enjoyed admiring that chiseled jawline and those dimples. He takes a deep breath and turns away, his carry-on slung over one broad shoulder, his boarding pass and passport dangling from between two pinched fingers.

  I watch him hand his documents to the agent at the US-bound entry gate, who spends all of one second reviewing them before waving him toward the glass security doors. On the other side is his fourteen-hour flight home. In seconds, Jonah is going to be out of sight, gone.

  Who knows when I’ll see him again? He flew here to tell me in person that he’s been miserable these past two months since I left Alaska, that he doesn’t want to be a carbon copy of my father—spending his life pining over my mother—that he wants to find an “us” that will work. That he wants me beside him.

  I haven’t given him an answer yet, too afraid to leap.

  Until now.

  I feel the word rising inside me—an emotion about to erupt. “Yes!” My pulse pounds in my ears.

  Jonah turns to regard me with a raised eyebrow.

  Am I crazy? Maybe.

  But I’m fully committing to it.

  I take a step forward and swallow my nerves. “I’ll come back to Alaska.” Because being with Jonah again—laughing and reminiscing, having him in my space, waking in his arms—has only confirmed what I’ve suspected for months: I’m deeply in love with him, and living in Toronto when he’s not here doesn’t make sense to me anymore.

  I’m done saying goodbye to this man.

  Jonah leaves the line and retraces his steps to close the distance, dropping his bag by his feet. It’s five a.m. and we’re creating an obstacle, forcing travelers to weave around us on either side to get to their flights. Their grumbles touch my ears, but in this moment, I don’t care.

  The severe frown cutting across Jonah’s handsome forehead as he stares down at me says he doesn’t, either. “Are you serious?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I mean, if you’re serious about moving to Anchorage—”

  “When?” he demands to know, his voice suddenly gruff.

  “I don’t know. As soon as I can?” How long does it take to pack up your life and move to a different country? Granted, a country I was born in and still have citizenship with but haven’t lived in for more than two decades.

  His eyes spark with determination. “Come for Christmas.”

  I laugh. “That’s like a month away!”

  “So? What else you got goin’ on?” It’s a challenge, delivered in Jonah’s typical blunt style. “I’m not going to see my mom in Oslo anymore. And Aggie and Mabel would love having you there. Especially since it’s the first one without Wren. You should come.” His Adam’s apple bobs with his hard swallow. “Come.”

  Somewhere in between his words and his tone and the way he’s looking at me, I hear the silent plea. In truth, the idea of being near the people closest to my late father for the holidays sounds more appealing—and more feasible—by the second.

  “Okay?” I say on an exhale, my voice shaky. “If I can figure it out, I will. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

  He pulls me into his firm body, leaning down to press his forehead against mine. “Damn, Calla, you know how to make a guy sweat.”

  I grin, reaching up to skate my fingertips over his stubbled jaw. I hid his razor two days ago to stop him from shaving. The act screamed of poetic justice to me, after he hid my cosmetics bags in his attic for all those weeks during the summer. Unfortunately, Jonah doesn’t seem bothered. “Sorry. I only decided a few seconds ago.” Though in truth, I think I’ve known all along.

  “Are you sure, though? Because you can’t tell me something like this and then chicken out. I’m gonna have to put the house up for sale now if we want any chance of being out of there by next summer—”

  “I’m not going to chicken out,” I promise. “I’m one hundred percent sure that I—” I bite my lip to stall the declaration that nearly slips out, my cheeks flushing.

  Jonah’s jaw tightens as he peers intensely at me. “You what?”

  I love you. Those three words have been on the tip of my tongue since the second I heard his laughter from our porch, and yet I can’t find the nerve to tell him. Crazy enough, I have found the nerve to move to Alaska for him. Probably be
cause he asked me to. If Jonah told me he loved me, the same sentiment would fly from my lips in a heartbeat. But he hasn’t said it yet, not in so many words.

  “I’m sure,” I say instead.

  His gaze narrows in that assessing way of his, as if he’s trying to read my mind. “Okay.”

  “Okay.” I let out a nervous laugh. “Holy shit, we’re doing this!”

  “We are and it’ll be great, you’ll see.” He kisses me again, slowly and deeply, his palm cradling the back of my head, his fingers weaving through my loose hair.

  Someone grumbles, “Get the fuck out of the way,” and Jonah breaks away to shoot a menacing glare. The small, pinched-faced man ducks his head and pretends it wasn’t him.

  “I should go.” Jonah glances at his watch. “I’m already cuttin’ it close. Plus, I think we’ve pissed off half the airport.”

  I stretch on my tiptoes to steal one more kiss. “Call me as soon as you land.”

  I get one of his crooked smirks in return, the kind I used to want to slap off his face but now clamber to catch a glimpse of. “Have fun tellin’ Susan.”

  Chapter Two

  December

  “I guess this is it!” my mother announces with a degree of finality, her hazel-green eyes glossy as they roll over the US-bound entry gate sign. Even at this ungodly hour, hordes of holiday passengers amble toward it.

  “Mom.” I give her a look. “I’m not dying.”

  “Of course, I know that. It’s just …” She catches a tear with her freshly polished nail—cranberry, for the season. “I finally understand that look on my mother’s face all those years ago, when I told her I was moving to Alaska. I should probably phone her and apologize.”

  My heart races with anticipation. It’s been four weeks, five days, and twelve minutes since I said goodbye to Jonah in this very spot after his surprise visit to Toronto.

  Since then it’s been a flurry of preparation: copious forms, signatures, and exorbitant rush fees to renew my US passport; hours spent online learning about Anchorage; a myriad of “are you really sure you want to do this?” questions and cautionary “what if he’s after your inheritance?” discussions with my mother that sparked more than one catastrophic fight; and carefully worded, psychoanalytical conversations with Simon over his secret stash of instant mashed potatoes—about how my feelings for Jonah could be a residual of our deep connection after facing my father’s death together and, if so, not a strong foundation upon which to begin a life together.

  And, of course, countless texts and phone calls to Jonah as I packed and planned and counted down the days.

  And now here I am, standing in Pearson International at 5:17 a.m., gripping my phone that holds three boarding passes for three flights that will close the thirty-four-hundred-mile distance between me and Jonah’s arms, because it’s the only way I’ll ever know where this can lead.

  What would you think about this turn of events, Dad?

  It’s been over three months since Wren Fletcher passed away, and I still think of him daily. My chest still aches with each fond memory. My eyes still water when I flip through countless pictures from my time in Alaska this summer. My throat still clogs when I speak his name.

  To think he was virtually a stranger in July—a man estranged from me since I was fourteen and nothing more than a distant voice over the telephone before that—and yet he has inadvertently shaped a future in Alaska for me.

  Jonah was like a son to him. He’d be thrilled about this, I’m sure of it.

  “Susan, we really ought to think about catching the train to our terminal,” Simon warns in that gentle Hugh Grant-esque British accent of his, patting her shoulder while stealing a pointed glance my way. We all knew saying our goodbyes in the airport wasn’t a smart idea. That didn’t stop Mom from booking their flight to Turks and Caicos to leave twenty minutes after my flight, thus guaranteeing we’d be in this exact situation.

  She adjusts the wide-brimmed sun hat perched atop her head as it was far too fragile to pack in her suitcase. My own hat much like it—the one I foolishly wore on my flight to Alaska the first time—is hanging on a hook in Jonah’s house. I left it there, both to remind Jonah of me and because I was uninterested in the tedious effort of flying home with it.

  I’m much more practically dressed this time, in leggings and a loose, cozy sweater, and suede hiking boots that will be a pain through security but are otherwise perfect for a day of travel.

  “I wish you guys would reconsider spending the holidays with us,” Mom mutters.

  “It’s a bit too late for that.” On December 23, I doubt there are any seats to Turks available anymore. Certainly not ones that don’t cost five thousand dollars per ticket.

  But I know my mother isn’t holding out hope for a last-minute switch. Jonah’s not going to change his mind about needing to be with Agnes and Mabel this year.

  And I’m not going to change my mind about needing to be with him.

  “I’ll text you when I get to Jonah’s tonight,” I promise. The guy finally invested in internet at his house.

  “And call me as soon as you wake up.”

  “Yes, yes …” I wrap my arms around my mom’s shoulders, pulling her into me. “Have a merry Christmas, beachside.”

  Her returning embrace is fierce for such a slight woman. As she squeezes me tight against her, I inhale her floral perfume. So apropos for a florist. “I’ll pray that the snow holds off until you get there,” she whispers, and the hoarseness in her voice makes the knot in my throat flare. “Say hello to Jonah for me.”

  “Will do.” I peel away from her, shifting my attention to Simon, who’s been relegated to suitcase lackey and is busy tugging on the collar of his winter coat, his face flush from heat. Ever since I came back from Alaska in September, I’ve noticed his age that much more—the lines marring his forehead and mouth, his wrinkled hands, his sparse, graying hair. He was the only father figure I could turn to for twelve years of my life. Now that I’ve lived through the pain of losing my real father—a man I learned to love again—I’m acutely aware that I’ll have to live through losing Simon one day, too.

  I’m banking on that happening many years from now, though.

  “Work on that tan, will ya?” I tease. Simon will no doubt spend his days hiding beneath the largest umbrella he can find, slathered in SPF 100, with a stripe of zinc down the bridge of his nose for added protection.

  “You, too.” I laugh as he pulls me into a tight hug. “She’ll be fine. I won’t let her mope,” he says, too low for anyone but me to hear. “You do this Alaska thing with Jonah for as long as it makes sense to you, but you’ve always got a place here, if you find you need it, with no questions asked. Well … maybe a few.” He winks.

  “I know. Thanks.” My stomach stirs with butterflies as I hike my backpack over my shoulders, relieved that the three suitcases containing everything I need to survive are already funneling through security for the plane to Chicago. “Okay, so … talk to you guys soon?” What else do you say to your parents on the day you move to the other side of the continent?

  Mom’s head bobs up and down, her throat shifting with a hard swallow, her hand blindly pawing for Simon’s.

  “I’m just a phone call or text or Facetime away,” I assure her, the soles of my boots sliding across the polished tile as I edge away. “Safe flight.”

  “You, too.” Simon offers an encouraging smile.

  Fishing my newly issued US passport out of my purse, I trudge forward to hand it to the stone-faced man in uniform. It’s the first time I’ve flown as a US citizen in over twenty-four years. He barely eyeballs it before thrusting it back, admitting me with a head nod.

  I turn back one last time to see Simon’s lanky arm encircling my mother’s shoulders, pulling her tight to his side. She wasn’t anywhere near this emotional the last time I left for Alaska. Then again, that was temporary. That was for my father. And for me.

  This time …

  I’m movi
ng to Alaska for Jonah.

  The blunt, abrasive yeti who made my life hell, who I hated only months ago, who I’ve been through so much with since.

  Now, I’m leaving everything I know behind to be with him.

  With a deep breath, I step through the sliding glass door.

  * * *

  “They’ve already canceled it.” I glare at the red word flashing on the screen next to my flight from Anchorage to Bangor, set to leave in four hours.

  “Yeah, I saw. It’s been snowing like crazy since last night. Way worse than they were forecasting. Everything’s grounded on this side of the state,” comes Jonah’s gruff response in my ear.

  I peer out the expanse of windows that overlook the runways. Nothing but blue skies and a crisp, white snowy vista, and a frosty coating around the windowsills to emphasize the cold temps. “There’s nothing here.”

  “Well, there’s four hundred miles and a mountain range between you and this apocalypse.”

  Jonah had mentioned the possibility of “some snow” in the forecast. At no point did he ever use the term apocalypse. “Do you think there’s any chance it’ll ease up?” We had decided it would be easier and cheaper if I grabbed a commercial flight rather than make him come all the way here to pick me up. But given the situation, maybe he could jump in a plane and—