Wild At Heart: A Novel

by Tucker, K. A.

  “And here you are, turning down jobs that you really want so you can do supply runs all day long while she blows that money, decorating.” There’s no missing the critical edge in her tone.

  “That’s outta line, Marie,” he warns, his tone sharp.

  “I’m sorry.” She sighs. “I do like her. Please don’t think that I don’t. I just hate seeing you giving up what you love.”

  My heart pounds as I waver between storming inside to scream at Marie and demanding that Jonah tell me what the hell she means about giving things up. In the end, I keep my feet grounded where they are, wanting to see what more I’ll glean from this conversation.

  The silence stretches.

  “I should probably go. I told Roy I’d be by at seven to give Oscar his shots …” Marie’s voice grows louder as she approaches the hangar door. I shift backward, not wanting to get caught eavesdropping. But there’s nowhere to go, the driveway between the house and here stretching too far to hide.

  The workshop.

  I dart for the smaller building adjacent the hangar, thankful that the door is propped open. I make it inside just as Marie appears, her long, golden-blonde locks loose down her back, her hiking boots kicking gravel on the driveway.

  I’ve only been in the workshop twice, the clutter Phil left behind too much for me to digest. There are countless old tools and jars of screws and everything under the sun that a person might need to survive, but also straight-up junk—old rusty license plates and dented hubcaps cover the back wall; an old fridge that’s missing a door, rendering it useless, sits in the corner; old, used paint cans and supplies are stacked in a heap. It’s another major clean-out task for us that we’re both avoiding.

  I find my way to the small, grime-covered window in time to see Jonah grab Marie’s hand, stalling her from climbing into her truck. My anger flares over the fact that he seems to be consoling her after her harsh words—does she deserve comforting after what she said about me? And do I have a right to say anything, given I was listening in on a private conversation?

  They exchange words I can’t hear. With a quick parting hug, she ducks into her truck and peels away, leaving Jonah standing by himself, rubbing his forehead as if the day has already been too much for him.

  Abruptly, he turns and walks along the driveway toward the house.

  He’s on his way home to see me.

  Shit.

  There’s no real way around this, short of sprinting from tree to tree to try to get home in time, and lying that I was out here—a decidedly immature and high-risk charade I don’t want to take part in.

  Taking a deep breath, I step into the doorway and holler, “I’m in here.”

  Jonah’s head whips around, his face momentarily marred with surprise.

  Then with realization.

  His brow is furrowed as he doubles back and approaches as he no doubt replays his conversation with Marie, wondering what I caught of the exchange.

  “Sorry, I came down to see you and then you were talking to Marie and …” And what? Do I tell him that I know about the ring?

  He leans against the door frame, close enough that I can inhale the intoxicating scent of soap on his skin. “What exactly did you hear?” he asks.

  I falter. “Enough to know that you’ve been turning down jobs. And what’s this about my father giving you Alaska Wild?”

  He curses under his breath.

  “What jobs?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  I’m not sure what annoys me more—that I don’t know about it or that Marie does. “What jobs have you been turning down?”

  He bites his bottom lip. “A hunting outfit mentioned wanting me to work for them in September. It’s not a big deal, and I don’t even know if I’d want it.”

  “That’s not how Marie made it sound.”

  He scowls. “She doesn’t know what she’s talkin’ about.”

  That, or Jonah isn’t willing to tell me.

  I decide to leave that alone for the moment. “And what was that about my dad giving you Alaska Wild?”

  “I don’t know why we’re doin’ this—”

  “Because I want to know. Marie shouldn’t know things about your life that I don’t!” Especially as the woman you want to marry. “The last I heard, my dad offered to sell you Wild, but you couldn’t afford it.”

  He sighs heavily and shakes his head. “There was a brief point when Wren was thinkin’ about how to keep Wild running after he was gone. He asked if I wanted to buy it off him for whatever I could pay him, which wasn’t nearly what it was worth. He suggested it about a week before you showed up. That’s when I knew something was goin’ on with him. It didn’t make sense for him to walk away from the kind of money he could get sellin’ to Aro, who I knew was interested in buying him out.”

  “So, why didn’t you take it?” My dad did say that Jonah was the one person who would do right by Alaska Wild.

  He shrugs. “Didn’t feel good, takin’ advantage of the situation like that. He’d basically be giving it to me. Plus, I knew he had a daughter, even if you hadn’t seen each other in forever. It’d be like robbing you of what was rightfully yours. Anyway, as soon as you showed up, Wren came to his senses and realized it was time to let Wild go completely. I even offered to run it, if he wanted to leave it all to you. And I would have, for however long you wanted me to.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

  “Because he wouldn’t agree to it. He didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on either of us. It’d mean tying you down to Alaska and something that kept you two apart for so many years. So, he took that option right off the table and sold it to Aro.” Jonah watches me. “He said he could die peacefully, knowing you’d always be taken care of. Financially, at least.”

  What if my father had agreed to Jonah’s proposal, that he leave the company to me and have Jonah run it? For starters, I’d be screwed if Jonah decided he didn’t want to do it anymore. It’s not like I was about to move to Western Alaska to try to run things. And for how long would I be expected to keep it alive? What if I wanted to sell it? I’d be selling my family’s legacy—that my father loved and gave up everything for—to the highest bidder.

  The guilt with that decision would have weighed me down. It’d be a thousand times worse than Agnes signing over the deed to his house for possible demolition. Would I find myself resenting my father for putting me in that position, for tying me down to his life?

  Jonah would still be attached to Western Alaska—for life, or as long as I was relying on him. We wouldn’t be living here.

  We might not be living together.

  Jonah probably wouldn’t have a ring in his pocket.

  In the end, my dad made the right call. He put me ahead of Alaska Wild. Something he never seemed to be able to do before.

  “You should have told me.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Maybe not. Though, if I ever needed proof for my mother that Jonah isn’t after me for my money, I have it.

  Jonah places a hand against the small of my back and pulls me closer to him. “How are you feelin’ today?”

  I reach for him. My palms smooth over the hard curves of his chest, his collarbone and shoulders, settling on his biceps. “I’m fine. A bit achy.” I always am on the first day of my period.

  “How long were you listening for, exactly?”

  “Long enough to know I’m not a big fan of Marie’s right now.”

  He smirks. “She was challenging me. That’s what a good friend does.”

  I level him with a look.

  “Tell me Diana wouldn’t have a few harsh words about me if she was worried about you.”

  I can’t tell him that because Diana would shred Jonah’s character if she thought I was sacrificing my happiness for him. “But Diana isn’t also in love with me.”

  He sighs, but he doesn’t deny it this time. “What else did you hear?” He’s fishing for vital information. Mainly, do I kno
w about the botched proposal?

  I’ve never been able to lie successfully to Jonah. “What else should I have heard?” I ask instead.

  His jaw tenses as his gaze roams my face, as if he’s deciding whether to take the plunge and admit his true intentions in yesterday’s trip. “How much I love you, and that we don’t need to rush anything.”

  What does “anything” mean?

  Babies, I assume.

  But is he pulling back the reins on the idea of marriage, too?

  I hesitate. “Please tell me we’re okay, because I feel like we’re not okay—”

  “We’re okay, Calla. I promise,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead, his voice turning gruff. “We’re more than okay. I’m sorry if I let you think we weren’t.”

  “I was so scared,” I admit in a whisper, my fingers clawing at his waist, gripping him tightly.

  “I’m sorry.” Clutching the back of my head, he leans in to kiss my lips, stroking his tongue against mine in a deep, tantalizing way he normally reserves for the bedroom, when our clothes are off and our bodies are tangled.

  A soft moan escapes my throat, unbidden.

  “Sam won’t be here for a bit,” he whispers between ragged breaths, one hand fisting my hair, the other moving down to grip my backside and pull me flush against his arousal. “You want to go back to the house and get in the shower?”

  My cramps have temporarily vanished, the promise of feeling Jonah’s body within mine an antidote for any discomfort. Yet the idea of trekking all the way home seems anticlimactic, and I feel the overwhelming desire to please him. I catch his bottom lip between my teeth in a teasing nip. “I can’t wait that long.” My hands slip under his sweater. His stomach muscles tense beneath my cool fingers as I unfasten his belt and zipper and slide my hand past the elastic band of his boxer briefs to grip him firmly.

  “That’s fine with me,” he rasps. “You’ve just always wanted to do it in the—” His words die as I drop to my knees before him, tugging his jeans and boxers down his powerful thighs along the way.

  “Fuck,” he hisses, his blue eyes flaring with heat as he watches me take him in my mouth. Plaiting his fingers through my long hair, he settles back against the door frame with a guttural moan, his appreciative gaze wandering between me and the vast wild vista surrounding us.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Wow. She wasn’t kidding,” I say as we pull up to the Ale House. The parking lot is filled with vehicles—mud-splattered pickups, ATVs, the odd shiny sedan. More have found space on the grass behind.

  Jonah groans as he slows to search for a vacant spot. “Do we have to do this?”

  “You think dealing with Muriel isn’t exhausting for me?” Though, she has only been by twice in the past week to make sure I haven’t ditched my daily garden duties. Oddly enough, I’ve found myself out there every morning without her prodding, curious about what new growth I might find. It’s early days, but tiny stems with two leaves are cropping up where I sowed beet seeds. Today I compared the tomato plants to pictures I took on the day we planted them, to see that they’re noticeably taller, thanks to the long Alaskan days.

  “She said this place’ll be full of fishermen and hunters, and people who rent their cabins out to tourists who want to go sightseeing. We need to meet people if we want to drum up more local business, right?”

  “Weren’t you complaining I was gone too much?” He backs the truck into a spot on the grass in between two others.

  “Actually, I was complaining that you spend too much time playing with your planes in the hangar.” I do my best to not complain about the hours he puts in for work. “Since when did you become so antisocial?”

  “Seriously, Calla?” His blue eyes sparkle with humor. “I’ve always been this antisocial.” He nods toward the front door where two burly men in black jackets and camo hats step out, reaching for cigarette packs, one of them studying the unlit string of colorful lights as they chatter. The sun is high at seven p.m. It’ll set after eleven tonight, leaving the sky dusky until it rises again at four thirty, a reality I’m no more accustomed to now than I was last summer, staying at my father’s house. “This isn’t my scene.”

  A middle-aged couple wearing matching plaid jackets hurry across the lot as if late for something. In the woman’s grasp is a Crock-Pot. “Uh … Just so we’re clear, this is not my scene, either. But I need a night out to talk to someone besides you, a goat, and a raccoon, so suck it up. For me, please.”

  “Fine,” Jonah grumbles, but he leans in to press his lips against mine. “You look good tonight, by the way.”

  I smile. It’s the first time since moving to Trapper’s Crossing that I’ve made “night-out” effort with my hair and makeup and clothing, choosing a pair of tight blue jeans, my black leather riding boots, and a flattering yellow-and-black checkered button-down over our new branded, form-fitting T-shirts—an outfit that in my opinion says “Alaskan chili cook-off,” but with style.

  “So do you.” I drag my fingernails—that I spent an hour filing and painting after scraping out garden soil despite wearing gloves—through his freshly groomed beard.

  It’s been a week since our trip to the safety cabin and the pregnancy scare and, much to my relief, things between us feel right again. More than right, actually. We’ve been all over each other—the touches frequent, the kisses lingering, the showers long enough to empty the water heater. It’s as if we’re both wordlessly trying to reassure each other and ourselves that all is okay. Or maybe that sharp slap of reality—two, if I count the engine-failure scare—has brought us even closer.

  Either way, we feel perfect again.

  Though, there’s been no hint of an impending proposal or mention of marriage. When I went to sneak another peek at the ring, it was no longer in his jacket. I’ve had to bite my tongue more than once before I let on that I’ve seen it.

  I hadn’t given serious thought to marriage before that day, and now I catch myself peering down at my naked left finger and wishing things had played out differently. But I keep telling myself that he’ll ask when the time is right.

  Jonah slides a warm hand over my thigh and leans in closer, his mouth finding the crook of my neck. “You wanna skip this and go test out that overpriced hot tub? It should be warm.”

  “Funny how you’re suddenly so interested in it,” I whisper, reaching over to cut the engine and snag the keys. The installers left around four, after maneuvering the deluxe unit onto the porch to set it up, fill it, and test it. “The sooner we go in, the sooner we can leave.” I hop out of the truck, pausing to smooth a finger over the new Yeti vinyl decal I affixed to the door.

  An annoying buzz catches my ear. “Hurry up! The bugs are out!” It’s like the mosquitos and black flies all woke up one morning. I stepped outside and got swarmed. Since then, I’ve had to wear a bug-net jacket or bug spray if I want to venture beyond the screened-in porch, and even then, they hover.

  Toby promised they’ll ease off a bit later in the season. Until then, I’m trying to not let them get to me, but I’ve caught myself hiding indoors and praying for a scorching heat wave or some sort of blight to come and kill them all.

  Jonah takes his time easing out of the truck, much to my annoyance. “Told you to wear bug spray.”

  “I don’t want to smell like that on a night out!”

  “What do you think everyone in there smells like?” He pulls me into his side as two men step out the front door. Loud, boisterous voices, a lull of old rock music, and the pungent scent of simmering meat and spices carries out in the space between them.

  I scrunch my nose and quietly admit, “I don’t actually like chili.”

  * * *

  Within minutes of us settling onto the last two vacant stools at the bar, Muriel marches over, shimmying to fit her broad hips between the tables. “Well, don’t you look cute tonight, Calla,” she exclaims, in a tone that could be a compliment but also might not be. It’s hard for me to re
ad this woman. “Maybe we should stick you behind the bar, instead of that face.” She juts her chin toward Toby who’s busy pouring a pint from the tap.

  “We’d definitely sell more.” Toby casts a friendly wink my way. I can’t get over how much younger—and more like Muriel—he looks without facial hair. I saw him this morning when he came to work on Archie in the hangar, and he still had his beard then. He shaves it off for this weekend every year, he explained, when I first saw him tonight and gawked at his baby face.

  “Jonah, have you met Jack Thomas yet?” Muriel asks by way of greeting.

  “Can’t say I have,” Jonah says slowly.

  She points out a man with a mop of unkempt gray hair and a thick, untrimmed mustache sitting at a nearby table with two other men. “You should go and talk to him. I think you two will get along well.”

  “And why is that?” That faint amused look lingers on Jonah’s face. He’s probably wondering what I am—how would Muriel know who Jonah might get along with? She’s had three brief conversations with him since they met. She doesn’t know Jonah at all.

  “’Cause he’s lookin’ for a pilot!” she says matter-of-factly, and perhaps a touch annoyed. “He owns Big Game Alaska. The one Toby was tellin’ you about the other day.”

  “Right.” Jonah’s gaze flickers to me.

  This must be that hunting outfit that wants him to fly for them in the fall.

  “Well then, go on and say hello!” she urges, and I can’t help but smirk, relieved that for once, I’m not the target of her doggedness.

  As hardheaded as Jonah can be, I’ve noticed he always shows the utmost patience and respect to the Agneses, the Ethels, and apparently the Muriels of the world. So I’m not shocked when he murmurs, “Yes, ma’am,” and hops off the stool. The hand he had settled on my thigh earlier slips around my waist, his thumb stroking my side. I’ve felt his constant touch since we strolled through the door and into a boisterous, crowded room of about fifty, and I’m beginning to think it has less to do with affection and more to do with the attention I seem to be corralling.