Wild At Heart: A Novel

by Tucker, K. A.

  “Nah. Not unless he bites someone.” Jonah starts the engine.

  “You’re welcome!” I yell, unable to contain my annoyance with this man, especially after the day I’ve had because of his wandering animal.

  The corners of Roy’s mouth twitches, almost as if he’s about to smile, but then the fleeting moment is gone and he’s left glaring at me as Jonah pulls away, back down the muddy path.

  “I hope that dog bites him,” I say to myself, assuming Jonah can’t hear me over the engine.

  His body shakes with laughter.

  * * *

  “Come on!” I whine as Jonah steers us left toward the hangar instead of continuing home. I’m desperate for a shower and food. I haven’t eaten since this morning.

  He pulls up next to Archie, the Piper my dad left him, wrapped in canvas and sitting outside the door until Jonah can swap out Phil’s old plane, the hangar only able to accommodate two. “Gimme two minutes. I didn’t get to finish up properly.”

  Two minutes is never just two minutes when Jonah’s with his planes.

  With reluctance, I release my grip of his torso. He swings a leg over, hopping off. It always amazes me, how he moves so gracefully for such a tall, broad man.

  “It’s fine. I’ll be over here, gnawing my arm off,” I call out, my tone dry.

  “Just like Roy’s dog would have had you not been out there to find him.”

  I cringe. “Jonah!”

  “Too soon?”

  “Not funny!”

  “Who knew you had a soft spot for wild animals.” His chuckle carries as he disappears through the small door into the hangar, leaving me alone to pick at my thoughts about the turn my day took.

  After five minutes and no sign of Jonah, I waver between leaving him here to walk home and going inside to rush him. In the end, I cut the engine and head for the door, annoyed. He’s exactly where I expect him to be, circling Veronica with his clipboard, going through all his postflight notes and safety checks with a mask of deep concentration.

  “I think he’s been coming around here.”

  “Huh?” Jonah murmurs absently.

  “Something Roy said, about the dog taking off a lot lately. I think maybe he’s been lurking around here. And I think he followed us out to the cabin today.” Why else would he be out there?

  Jonah finally looks up from his clipboard. “What do you mean, lurking?”

  “Like, I think he’s been out there in the trees, watching me.” A shiver runs down my spine at the thought. “I told you how sometimes I sense something out there. And that day I thought I saw movement in the trees? I’ll bet that was him.” He’s the right size and color.

  Jonah shakes his head. “Doubt it, Calla.”

  “I’m serious!”

  “So am I. Zeke keeps gettin’ out. Don’t you think that dog would have slaughtered him the second he had a chance?”

  Jonah does have a point.

  He goes back to his clipboard and I let my gaze roam the hangar. Why Phil needed a place big enough to house two planes when he’s only ever owned one, I have to wonder. “I still think I’m right.”

  Jonah doesn’t answer, too focused on his clipboard. Or ignoring me.

  I wander over to Phil’s blue-and-white Beaver that sits on a trailer off on the far side, the panel for the engine pulled off. He told us he hasn’t had it in the air for three years because his eyesight issues. What does lack of use do to a plane after that long? “What year is this, again—’69?”

  “Fifty-nine.”

  “Even better.” I use the narrow ladder propped against the pilot’s side to open the door and climb in. I let my feet dangle out the side while I take in the silver strips of tape holding together the red fabric on the seats. Phil and his duct tape.

  The control panel of dials and switches is a replica of Veronica in my opinion, but I’m sure Jonah could point out a thousand differences between the two with a glance. “What do you think is wrong with it?”

  “For starters, it needs a new propeller. Phil said I could probably get another three hundred hours on the engine, but I’ll leave that to Toby to figure out.” They finally met today, under less than ideal circumstances, and shared a few quick words before we parted ways. At least Jonah seems lukewarm to giving him a shot, happy with how well the snow machine and ATV engines have been running since Toby worked on them.

  “You two should go out for a beer sometime.” It’d be nice for Jonah to make a local male friend, and soon. It seemed everyone in Bangor knew—and liked—him, but my father and Max were the only guys Jonah hung out with, outside of work. Now my father is gone and Max is back in Portland, suitably occupied with baby Thor.

  Jonah merely grunts in response.

  I drag my fingertip over one of the plane’s gauges, and it comes back with a thick layer of dust. She’ll need a good clean once she’s ready to go.

  That’s when it hits me. “We need to name her!” I holler. It was my grandfather’s tradition, then my father’s. Now, it needs to be ours. I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of this before.

  Jonah has finished his checks and is dangling half out of Veronica as he stretches to reach for something inside. His boots make a heavy thump against the ground as he hops out of the plane. In one hand, he clutches a crinkled brown paper bag and another package wrapped in newspaper. “I already did.”

  “Seriously?” An unexpected prick of disappointment stirs inside me. “How could you name her without—”

  “Wren. I named it Wren.” Jonah reaches up to smooth a hand over the fuselage. “It’s a he.”

  “Oh.” I bite my lip as a smile emerges in tandem with a bubble of emotion. “That’s a good name.”

  “Yeah. I thought so, too.” Jonah’s blue eyes are sad. It reminds me, yet again, that I am not the only one who lost—and still feels the loss—of my father.

  “Help me down?” It’s far too high to jump with the plane on floats and a trailer.

  Jonah obliges, stretching out his arms and opening up his broad chest.

  I lean down and, wrapping my arms around his neck, let myself drop, knowing he can bear my weight.

  He grunts but barely shifts, easing me to the ground with an arm roped around my back.

  I steal a kiss from his lips on my way down.

  “Here.” He hands me the awkwardly shaped package that’s wrapped in newsprint, secured with twine. There’s weight to it. “It’s a housewarming gift from Ethel.”

  “Ethel? When did you see her?”

  “Today.”

  I frown. “What was she doing up in Crooked Creek?”

  “I stopped at her village on my way home. Wanted to see how they survived the winter.”

  “What the hell, Jonah!” Ethel and her family live a subsistence lifestyle in a village up the Kuskokwim River. I’m not sure how far they are up the river from Bangor, but I know it’s not anywhere near Crooked Creek. “Remember the itinerary?” He arrived home a half hour later than expected but I was so distracted by the ordeal with the dog, I didn’t think much of it.

  “I’m here and I’m fine, okay? Come on, relax.”

  My hackles rise instantly. “Don’t tell me to relax!” I hate being told to relax.

  He gives me a look and then juts his chin forward. “Come on, open it.”

  I sigh. “This conversation is not over.” But I’m too tired and hungry to argue with him. I pick at the twine that holds the wrapping together. “How is she? Still threatening to chop off her son’s limbs?”

  Jonah smirks. “He still has both hands. For now.”

  “And her grandson?”

  Mention of the boy who’s alive today because of Jonah’s bravery—or insanity, depending on who you speak to—brings a wide smile that instantly melts my irritation. “Huge and running around.”

  “Must be all that muskrat his grandma feeds him. What is this?” I break through one layer of newsprint, only to find another beneath. It’s something hard, that much I can tell
. Hopefully not something morbid. That woman has an odd sense of humor.

  Jonah pulls out a long, brown strip of jerky from the brown bag and offers it to me.

  I shake my head. I already learned the hard way that it is most certainly not beef.

  “Can’t be that hungry, then,” he teases, ripping off a chunk between his teeth.

  “You’re not kissing me again until you brush your teeth.” I unravel the last of the paper to find a sculpture inside. It takes me two hands and a moment of rolling it this way and that, taking in all the angles, to identify the two coiled birds. “Wow. Is this handmade?” I ask, sliding my thumb over the surface. It’s smooth.

  “Yeah. Ethel carved it over the winter,” he says between chewing. “It’s ivory.”

  “Ivory?” I feel the apprehension fill my face.

  “Walrus ivory,” Jonah corrects. “Alaska Natives are allowed to hunt them. And don’t worry, every last part of that animal would have been used to help Ethel’s family survive the winter.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” I study the two birds. They’ve been shaped to perfection. “The raven and his goose wife.” I smile softly as I hold it up for us to admire.

  Jonah shakes his head. “That woman loves her stories.”

  “She got this one wrong.” I am not Jonah’s goose wife. Or perhaps I am, but I’m a goose wife who survived to see the spring thaw, and who is determined to thrive alongside her raven. “It’s beautiful.” I already know where I’m putting it—on the top shelf of the rustic curio cabinet that I ordered last week. That Jonah doesn’t know about yet.

  Jonah’s gaze isn’t on the sculpture, though. It’s on me, and his face is a grim mask.

  My stomach sinks. “What’s wrong?” With that look, something is definitely wrong.

  “I don’t know how to tell you this, Calla, but …” He hesitates for a few beats, long enough that my anxiety spikes. “You really need to take a shower. I’ve never seen you so filthy.” A grin splits his face.

  “Shut up!” I smack his chest, equal parts relief and outrage slamming into me. “Believe me, I’m trying to, but no one will let me go home! First Muriel, now you!”

  “You have dirt all over your face.” He rubs the pad of his thumb across my jaw and pulls back to show me the smear of brown sludge. “It looks like you were trying to avoid enemy fire out there.”

  Great. I went to Roy’s looking like I was playing war games? “Do you have any idea what my day has been like?”

  “Did it involve rolling around in a pile of mud?” he asks with mock innocence, reaching up to pick a twig from my topknot. “What were you trying to do? Blend into the forest?”

  “Okay, you know what, smart-ass? I’m leaving.” I stroll past him, housewarming gift in hand. “If you want a ride on the ATV, you better get moving.”

  “I’d rather walk, thanks.”

  I can’t help but laugh, even as I throw my middle finger in the air.

  “Seriously, though, if you wait by the side of the house, I’ll be there in ten minutes to hose you off. You shouldn’t step inside our house like that.”

  “You know what? Screw you and your brussels sprouts!” I holler as I push through the door.

  * * *

  I’m working my shampoo into a rich lather—the muscle ache from today’s labor already settling into my shoulders and arms—when the bathroom door creaks open. A moment later, Jonah is pushing the shower curtain open and stepping into the tub behind me.

  “Need some help?” He doesn’t wait for my answer, gripping my hips to spin me around.

  I revel in the feel of his touch as he massages my scalp with strong, skilled fingers.

  “Marie called.”

  My heart skips a beat, nervousness splicing through the moment of peace. “And?”

  “He’s gonna survive.”

  “Oh, thank God!” I fall against Jonah’s broad, bare chest, the soft blond hair tickling my cheek. I’m surprised with myself for feeling this much relief over an animal that isn’t mine, that I’m quite certain has been scaring me to death, lurking around for the past two months. “What about his leg?”

  Jonah’s hands keep working, sliding all the way down to the ends of my strands. “Still attached. She doesn’t know how much use he’ll have of it, though. He’ll definitely have a limp forever.”

  “She really is amazing,” I murmur, even as a troubling thought stirs. “Roy said he didn’t want a lame dog.”

  Jonah snorts. “Roy’s full of shit. He called her office, like, thirty seconds after we left his place and demanded she do whatever is necessary to save him. No cost was too high. And when Marie called him back with the news, he thanked her.”

  I feel my eyebrows pop as I try to consolidate that with the miserable old man we dealt with not that long ago. “He actually used the words?” He knows the words thank you?

  “A few times. And then he asked when he’d be able to come get him.”

  I shake my head. “What is that guy’s problem?” Teddy did warn me that, more times than not, we’d face the wrong side of Roy Donovan. But, to be that confrontational just because we want to run a charter plane business? It doesn’t make sense.

  “I don’t know.” Jonah’s soapy hands smooth over my back. “But you did good today, Barbie.”

  “I did do good. Muriel was about to shoot him.” The dog would be dead.

  “She was doin’ what she thought was right. And if Marie hadn’t been there, it probably would have been the right thing to do.” Jonah gives my shoulder a squeeze, earning my whimper. “From workin’ outside?”

  “Yeah. Muriel is not only an executioner, she’s a tyrant. I’m amazed she didn’t bring a whip with her.”

  “It looks great back there. You did an incredible job.” Jonah gives my shoulders a soothing rub.

  I wince, even though his hands feel like a masseuse’s touch. “It’s going to take way more ass-kissing to get me to plant your stupid brussels sprouts, Jonah.”

  His chuckle fills the tiny bathroom, carrying over the running water. “Believe me, we haven’t even gotten to the ass-kissing part.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Hey … Calla.” Jonah’s voice stirs me from my slumber.

  I crack a lid to find him standing over me. It takes a moment for me to register that he’s already dressed for outside, the collar of the navy-blue wool jacket I bought him for his birthday flipped up. It’s a sexy look, likely unintentional on his part. “You promised you wouldn’t work today.” Even groggy, my voice is heavy with disappointment. I was hoping for one full day with him this week.

  “I’m not.” His rough fingers caress my temple, pushing my wayward hair back off my forehead. “We’re going out. Get dressed.”

  “Where to?”

  “Out.” An indecipherable look flashes across his face. “I’ve switched out the skis on Archie and wanna take him out for a spin so he’s ready for the season. He’s been sittin’ too long.”

  “Okay,” I say through a yawn. “Give me an hour?”

  He smirks. “So you can log in more sleep?” He knows me too well, because that’s exactly what I was envisioning. And to think there was a time when I’d use every one of those minutes to primp. “Be ready in twenty.”

  I check the clock. “It’s only seven a.m.! What is wrong with you? Don’t people sleep in on their days off in Alaska?” I’ve been getting up at six every morning lately to see Jonah off on a rash of supply runs from Anchorage to remote locations in the interior. I went with him for two of those days, mainly so I could meet people and get scenic shots for social media, both for The Yeti and for my own personal use. But the carpenter was here to install the screens for the porch, so I’ve had to be around. It’s not a hardship, if I’m being honest. As much as I love spending time with Jonah, the supply trips are becoming repetitive and mundane. I feel more productive in the office with paperwork and marketing than I do rattling around in turbulence and delivering boxes of ground coffee to
a remote resort for the tourist season.

  It was different last summer, when all this was new and thrilling, when the clock was ticking on my time in Alaska and with Jonah. It’s still exciting to be in the air with him, but now that I’m here for good, I don’t feel the necessity to tag along on every flight.

  Though, if we leave soon, I might get a day off from Muriel. True to her word, the day after the bear-trap disaster, I heard the buzz of her ATV coming up the driveway at seven a.m. She arrived with trays of tiny green plants strapped next to the gun on her rack and a hand-drawn map to mark where everything had to be planted. A replication of Colette’s garden.

  Every morning since, she’s shown up at our side doorstep, rain or shine, dragging me out to check on the electric fence and the piles of dirt and tiny seedlings, confirming that nothing has changed save for the few weeds that pop up here and there. She even makes a point of releasing Zeke and Bandit from the pen along the way.

  “Come on, sun’s been up for hours. It’s a nice day out.” Jonah punctuates his words by strolling over to yank open the curtain.

  I attempt to block the beam of light with a hand, squinting against the brightness. “Half an hour,” I negotiate.

  “There’s coffee ready downstairs.”

  “A latte?” My barista machine—a duplicate to the one Simon bought—arrived yesterday.

  “You know I have no damn clue how to use that thing.” Jonah drags our comforter off the bed, leaving my bare skin exposed to the chilly morning air.

  I groan loudly as I stretch my arms above my head. “Stop being such a morning person. It’s annoying.”

  He opens his mouth to respond but stalls, his blue eyes surveying my naked body.

  I could still win this. “So … an hour?” I taunt, arching my back just enough to bring his heated gaze to my chest.

  He curses under his breath and then spins around and marches out the door, hollering, “Twenty minutes!”

  “You’re in full-on yeti mode. Great.” I stare up at our wood-planked ceiling. Jonah doesn’t fall easily to distraction when he’s like that. With my attempts at seduction thwarted, I haul my tired body to the bathroom.