Wild At Heart: A Novel

by Tucker, K. A.

  * * *

  Exhilaration courses through me as Jonah cuts the engine on Archie and I take in the familiar valley—the walls of sheer rock climbing into the sky on either side of us; the snaking river that stretches ahead, its water trickling over rock and pebble, circumventing fallen logs, the rivulets converging and diverging again.

  The last time we were here, we were on a mission to pick up a couple who’d been hiking in the mountains for a week, and the inclement weather forced an overnight stay. Now, fluffy white clouds float above us, breaking up an otherwise crisp blue sky.

  Jonah hangs up his headset. “Worth draggin’ your ass out of bed for?”

  “Absolutely.” I clasp his cheeks with my hands and pull his face into mine, planting a hard kiss on his lips. “This is the best surprise, Jonah. Seriously.”

  The floats attached to the amphibious plane make it too high for me to hop down easily. I wait for Jonah to appear on my side and then reach for his shoulders and jump onto him.

  He stalls my descent with a searing kiss, leaving my feet to dangle midair for several long moments before touching down on the dirt airstrip.

  “You’re acting weird,” I note. I can’t place a finger on what exactly it is that’s odd, but whatever it is, he’s been doing it since waking me.

  His brow furrows. “Because I kissed you?”

  “Yeah. Or, I don’t know. You seem … happier than normal? What gives?”

  “Can’t I be in a good mood?” He pulls out our small orange cooler from the seat.

  I frown. “Are we staying over?”

  “Nah. It’s just a light lunch.” He smirks. “Figured you wouldn’t want jerky again.”

  My eyebrows arch. “You packed a lunch? Because I was fairly certain you didn’t know how.” I’ve taken to making sandwiches for him that he can grab on his way in and out for work. It’s easier than dealing with his grumpy mood when he’s hungry and standing in front of the fridge, glaring at my salads and overnight oatmeal, complaining that there’s never anything to eat.

  “All right, smart-ass.” He slings his rifle over his shoulder—a reminder that, while we’re entirely alone out here, we’re never actually alone—and, taking my hand, he leads me toward the tree line.

  Wistfulness flutters in my stomach as we trek through the forest, passing the familiar archway with the antlers fastened to them. Our surroundings aren’t as lush as they were in the depths of summer. Everything is still waking from a wintry slumber—the deciduous tree branches bare, the ground cover only beginning to emerge. There isn’t a sound save for the weight of our boots along the time-worn path.

  “What if someone’s using it?”

  “Then I’ll kick ’em out,” he answers, his eyes dancing with mischief.

  The safety cabin is exactly as we left it, a quiet, rustic shack nestled among the forest, the windows boarded up, a stack of wood piled next to the door, waiting for occupants to seek shelter.

  “This is so weird.” A wave of nostalgia overwhelms me as we step into the dim interior. The tiniest rays of sunlight creep through the cracks in the window boards, offering little light. But it’s enough for me to make out important details—the spot on the floor where I made up a bed, unsure who would be occupying it; the rope line where Jonah hung my clothes, soaked from the downpour; the tiny kitchen with the dry sink and the dented pots, where he ordered me to strip; the black woodstove in the corner that warmed the air and our tangled bodies well into the night. It even smells the same—like musty wood and soot.

  It was the night that the tension brewing between Jonah and I erupted.

  Jonah’s gaze drifts over the interior for a long moment. I wonder what he remembers of that night, and how vividly. Me? Now that I’m standing here, I remember every touch, every kiss, every shudder of my body. At least it seems that way.

  He sets the cooler onto the table. “Gimme a minute to open it up a bit.” He brings my hand to his mouth to kiss it and then takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, his eyes steady and thoughtful and hinting at something—worry or fear?—as they lock on mine.

  “Jonah, seriously, you’re beginning to freak me out. Are you about to tell me you’re dying or something?”

  “Jesus.” He releases a breathy laugh and, shaking his head, heads out the door.

  “Okay, I guess not,” I murmur, adding louder, “Don’t cut yourself again! I like this shirt too much for you to bleed on it!” I wander over to the rustic kitchen table to unzip the cooler bag, curious to see what he packed. Inside are multiple containers of grapes, cheese and crackers, a thermos of the barley soup I made yesterday. “Wow. You actually made sandwiches.” I peek under the croissant to find a tidy pile of ham. There’s a small, two-glass bottle of champagne tucked into the side. He even remembered to pack flutes.

  “Didn’t you eat breakfast?” Jonah asks from the doorway. With a window uncovered on either side, there’s plenty of daylight streaming in.

  “Just snooping.” I hold up the bottle. “What are we celebrating?”

  He shrugs. “How about being here again?”

  “Fair enough.” I smooth my hand over the rough surface of the rustic table, smiling slyly. “Remember this?”

  He kicks the door closed with the heel of his boot and strolls toward me. “I remember everything about that night.” He comes to a stop in front of me, his fingers coasting over my cheek, tucking my hair behind my ear.

  I hop up onto the edge of the table, allowing my legs to dangle off the side. “Feel like reenacting it?” I waggle my eyebrows.

  I expect him to laugh but instead, a contemplative look passes over his handsome face. “You ever wish you could hit rewind and relive that night?”

  I take in the tiny space again as I consider his question—and remembering everything that came after. I shake my head. “It was an amazing night. But so much happened after it that I wouldn’t ever want to face again.” So much pain. I found my father, only to lose him again, this time forever. And for months, I thought I had lost Jonah forever, too. That was agony of a different kind.

  I hook my heels around his thighs and pull him toward me, fitting his hips between my legs. Reaching up, I let my fingers drag through his beard. I smile as I recall the night I trimmed it the first time, exacting my revenge while he lay unconscious after the crash that totaled the plane. I can still hear my father’s laughter the next morning when he realized what I’d done to his golden boy, and why.

  So much has changed between us.

  That night we found ourselves stranded here, Jonah was an enigma to me. That sexy but intimidating man who spoke his mind, even when it wasn’t something I wanted to hear. My father’s right-hand man, the bush pilot who would never leave.

  He was temporary, as was my time in Alaska.

  Now … He still steals my breath and my every thought, but he’s all mine. He doesn’t intimidate me anymore because I know him inside out. I know the origin of every scar on his intoxicating body. I know that he gets irritable when he’s grounded for too long and giddy when the propeller begins to churn. I know he hates it when freshly dried clothes sit in the hamper for too long, and he can’t stand skin on chicken. I know he’s a light sleeper and a heavy snorer. I know he likes to be in charge of most any situation, but he’ll give a stranger the shirt off his back if they need it. I know he feels guilty for not seeing his mother more often, but every time he calls her, the sound of his stepfather’s condescending voice in the background makes his fists ball up.

  I know Jonah loves me. Maybe as much as I love him.

  “Where we are now is perfect,” I say. Almost too perfect.

  “It is.” Jonah’s throat bobs with a hard swallow, his gaze searching my face, lingering on my mouth before shifting to the small gold-and-diamond plane that sits nestled against my collarbone. I wear it every single day. He collects it between his fingers, studying it a moment. “I remember thinking that night how I was gonna fall hard for you.”

  “Really?
Because I remember you being ready to stop doing this so I’d stay.” So we didn’t complicate things.

  “Nah, I was just tryin’ to be a nice guy.” His smirk is fleeting before it falls off. “One thing is for sure, Barbie. This was never gonna end. Not if I had anything to do with it,” he whispers, his hands coming to rest on either side of my jaw, cupping my face. “And in the year that I’ve known you—”

  “It hasn’t even been a year. It’s only been, like, nine months,” I correct him. How has it only been nine months? It feels like I’ve been living with him for years.

  “Almost ten, if you wanna be picky. May is more than half over. And stop interrupting me,” he scolds through a kiss. He takes a deep breath. “In all that time, I’ve never doubted that you’re the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

  May is more than half over.

  An alarm triggers in my mind—a gut feeling that I’ve missed something important—and I feel the blood drain from my face as I abruptly pull away from him. “Oh my God.”

  Jonah pauses. “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s the date?” I mumble, scrambling to pull my phone from my pocket to check my calendar. I do the math. “No, no, no, no …” My stomach drops as realization takes over. “I’m late.”

  “For what?”

  I shoot Jonah a flat look. “I’m late.”

  His frown instantly smooths as realization hits him. “Oh.”

  It’s a good thing I’m sitting down because I suddenly feel off-balance as panic settles in.

  “How late?” he asks.

  “Four days.”

  “That’s not—”

  “I’m never late, Jonah. Never. My cycle is like clockwork. Oh my God, how could this happen?” My hands fly to my forehead, as if that will somehow help soothe the shock of this situation. “I mean, I missed one pill this month but I took it the next day. That shouldn’t have messed things up.”

  “Hey … Slow down, Calla.” He collects my hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze. “We will be fine. We can handle this. So, it’s a bit sooner than we planned—”

  “A bit? I’m not even twenty-seven yet! Try years sooner, Jonah. Like five, six years too soon.” I don’t even have a timeline in my head for having kids, that’s how “too soon” this is. “This is … Oh God! I’m becoming my mother! I’m literally reliving my mother’s life!” Sure, she was pregnant before she decided to move to Alaska, but she sure as hell didn’t plan on getting pregnant when she did.

  Jonah watches me quietly as I tumble into a full meltdown until his silence only exacerbates the situation.

  “Please, say something.”

  “I’m not sure what to say, Calla,” he begins, his voice even. “It’s not crazy to have a kid at twenty-seven. And I’m thirty-two. Five or six years sounds like a long time to wait for me.” He chews his lip. “We’re living together, we have a house, and more than enough money to get by.”

  “Yeah, but a baby changes everything, Jonah. It’s permanent. It’s for life.”

  Jonah’s jaw tenses. “As opposed to what we are?”

  “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just …” I search for the right words. “We’re barely settled here. I’m still trying to figure out what I want my life to look like. Is The Yeti going to turn into something big enough to keep me busy all day? Will I be happy doing that for the rest of my life? Am I going to go back to school? Are we going to stay in Alaska long-term? And what about traveling? I want to take a vacation with you at least once before I’m trapped at home with diapers and bottles and whatever the hell else comes with all that. I’m just … I’m nowhere near ready to start popping out babies!”

  The questions and wishes and doubts fly out of my mouth in rapid fire, and Jonah’s expression … well, it looks like he just had the wind knocked out of him. “I’m not saying no to kids, Jonah. I do want one or two eventually—”

  “No, I get it.” He releases my hands to hold his up in the air in a sign of surrender. “It’s okay, Calla. Really. You’re right. It has been only a few months.” He voices these words, but his frown says something different.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.” He shakes his head. “I’m always pushing you to be honest with me about what you want. Or don’t want, in this case.”

  “So … What are we going to do?” A fresh wave of panic hits me as reality sets in and I look down at my abdomen.

  Is there a human growing inside me?

  “I guess”—he pauses, searching for words—“we need to find out for sure first. There’s no point worrying until we know for sure.”

  As usual, Jonah is right. “I’ll do a test as soon as we get home.”

  Uncomfortable silence fills the cabin, the previous nostalgic mood obliterated, replaced by something sour. Jonah has stepped away from me—to give me space, perhaps?—his hands now occupied with his coat pockets.

  I’m searching for the right words to get back to our previous conversation when Jonah sighs heavily. “Maybe we should head back. I don’t think either of us will be able to think about much else.”

  That’s probably for the best.

  I barely nod before he’s moving for the door.

  * * *

  I steal another glance behind us but all I see are jagged mountain peaks. The cabin and valley are long gone from view.

  Jonah has been chattering back and forth with another pilot on our frequency. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s enjoying the idle conversation with a stranger, or if he’s avoiding conversation with me.

  Right now, I’m fine with either.

  A baby.

  I take a deep breath, trying to reconcile myself with the concept of becoming a mother at twenty-seven years old. It certainly wasn’t part of my plan. Then again, moving to Alaska wasn’t, either.

  If there is anyone’s baby I’d want to have, it’s Jonah’s. I’ve felt the desire, in momentary flashes and twinges, whenever I’ve seen him watching a child at the grocery store with amusement. He’ll make an excellent father—a quality I never even considered in any guy I dated until I met him. These facts tell me that I’ll get there, eventually.

  But we’ve only been living together for five months, in this house for not even three. It’s far too soon. We’re just finding our bearings as a couple. Things between us are perfect.

  A baby would change that.

  I think of Sharon, twenty-three and sitting in the receptionist desk at Wild, her belly bulging, her ankles swollen, rocking a passenger’s mewling newborn. She confided in me that she’d been waiting to have a baby since she was seventeen, after her first date with Max. The fact that I’m feeling nothing more than shock and fear tells me that no matter how much I love Jonah, I’m not ready to go there yet.

  A warm hand slips over my thigh. I turn to meet Jonah’s furrowed brow. He offers me a thin-lipped smile but says nothing. He doesn’t seem to hate me for my glaring lack of excitement about our predicament, but he can’t hide the disappointment in those blue eyes.

  Jonah is ready to go there now.

  “When do you have to work again?” I ask, craving a safe topic of conversation.

  “Day after tomorrow. I was thinking we could fly out to Bangor. Visit Wren’s grave and see Aggie. Yell at Mabel, get her to smarten up.”

  “Yeah, because rebellious teenagers respond well to that,” I say sarcastically, noting how he emphasized the “was,” as if flying west is no longer an option.

  “Maybe not, but I need to say something before she fucks up her life—” He stops talking abruptly and frowns at the gauges in front of him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He curses under his breath.

  “Jonah?”

  His attention darts between the sky ahead and his panel, up and down, up and down. Not answering.

  My pulse begins to race. “Jonah, what’s going on?”

  “Just, uh … an issue with the oil pressure,” he says in an odd
ly calm, detached tone that only makes his words sound more ominous.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we’re gonna land.”

  “What. Like now?”

  “Pretty much.”

  I scan our surroundings. Everywhere I look are jagged mountains and trees. “Where?”

  He chews his bottom lip in thought as he studies the river below us. “I think I remember there being a lake up ahead. Around that bend.”

  “You think?” Everything looks the same around here. People have gotten lost following the wrong river; they’ve crashed into mountains, misidentifying peaks and making the wrong turn.

  He pulls a map from a side pocket, instructing me to open it up as he angles the plane to fly lower. “Can you find Rainy Pass on there?”

  “I … uh …” I fumble with the paper. “I don’t know.” In our office, with the map stretched out, I’ve gotten pretty good at reading these things. Cramped in a tiny plane as we descend toward the trees? Not so much.

  “Here. Lemme see.” He keeps a keen eye on our flight path as he traces a river down through the mountains. “Yeah, there. I think that’s up ahead.”

  It’s the second time he’s said, “I think.”

  “Can’t we turn around and fly back to the cabin?”

  His gaze flickers to the gauge again. “No. You’re buckled in, right?” He does a quick glance over.

  My adrenaline surges as a mental flash of twisted metal and rivulets of blood running down Jonah’s forehead hits me. A scary day that I never wanted to repeat, and yet here we are. This time, in the mountains, where there are far bigger things to hit than a crop of field stones. “Jonah, are we going to crash?” I hear the panic in my voice.

  “No, Calla. We’ve gotta land.” He begins calling out our location over the radio as we descend.

  * * *

  “We’re not dead.” I release a long, shaky sigh as we float on the placid water in utter silence.