Wild At Heart: A Novel

by Tucker, K. A.

“Have you asked her out yet?”

  He laughs, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Working up the nerve. By the way, what happened between you and Roy? I went to help him out today, and he asked me if you still wanted him dead.”

  “Really?” A blip of surprise stirs in my stomach. But what do I care if the curmudgeon’s been wondering that? I don’t give a shit about Roy Donovan.

  “What did he do?” Toby asks in a knowing tone.

  I shrug. “Typical Roy, but worse. We had a huge fight on the way home from the hospital yesterday. He said a bunch of mean stuff and told me to stop coming around, and he insisted on walking home from the main road.” I don’t really want to get into the details of Roy basically claiming I have daddy issues. I know what daddy issues are because I used to have them. Now all I have is a desire to keep my father’s memory alive.

  But there is no way that would ever happen in the form of Roy Donovan. Not unless Roy is the evil and monstrous Mr. Hyde version of Wren Fletcher.

  Toby chuckles and shakes his head. “I hope you let him walk.”

  “Not like I had much choice. I think he would have tucked and rolled out the door, broken bones and all.”

  Toby’s face splits into that wide smile that he inherited from his mother.

  “So, was he a pain when you went today?” I ask.

  Toby frowns. “No, actually. He was decent. Didn’t complain much at all. It was weird, now that I think about it.”

  That is weird. Maybe he ended up taking those painkillers after all and they’ve sedated him to the point of being “nice.” If that’s even possible for Roy, which I doubt. It sounds like he can swing far in the other direction, though, if what he says about his wife leaving him is true. But how far, exactly, is the question. What made her run, besides his acerbic disposition?

  What did he do wrong?

  This morbid curiosity with the old man in the woods is getting the better of me once again.

  “Well, unless he apologizes to me, I’m done helping him.”

  “Roy, apologize?” Toby gives me a doubtful look.

  “Exactly. So, sorry, but someone else will have to take over. Maybe your mom can find a friendly ax murderer, or someone equally insane.”

  “So, he wasn’t wrong about you wanting him dead.” Toby grins. “I’ll cover until your friend is gone, but be ready. She’s gonna try to strong-arm you. That’s just what she does.”

  “She can try all she wants. I’m not going unless he apologizes.”

  Toby’s grin falls off suddenly. “Shit. Sorry, I’ve gotta go hide behind the bar.” He scurries away.

  When I steal a glance over my shoulder, I understand why. Jessie Winslow has made an appearance tonight, in the same too-tight blue jeans and cropped boots as last time I saw her. She’s swapped her leopard-print crop top for a crimson one that clings to her ample curves.

  Her large blue eyes scan the heads, quickly spotting Jonah. She indiscreetly fluffs her hair and puffs out her chest and then cuts through the crowd. Another cord of tension weaves its way along my spine. Just what I need. I don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with that woman pawing Jonah tonight, on top of all my other issues.

  Muriel comes around the bar then and marches straight for our table. “Where’s your friend?”

  “Bathroom.” Probably fixing her makeup. I frown at the soft, camouflage-print gun case in Muriel’s hand. “Going somewhere?”

  She sets it down on the table, and that’s when I notice the pink bow affixed to one end. “Happy birthday, Calla.”

  Oh my God. “You bought me a gun?”

  “Not exactly. This was my first gun that my parents gave me. It’s a Winchester,” she says proudly. “Good for slight females like you. The ownership papers are in the case.”

  I don’t know what to say. Muriel knows I don’t like guns and have no intention of ever shooting one. She also knows me well enough to know that I’d never be rude and refuse a birthday present.

  But, buried in with all my apprehension is the fact that Muriel is passing along her first gun—a gift from her parents, and probably something she prizes—to me.

  Swallowing this confusing swirl of both aversion and appreciation, I settle on, “Thank you.” It is the thought that counts, after all, and this is Muriel being thoughtful.

  “It’s not meant to decorate your wall, Calla,” she warns.

  I was thinking I’d hide it in the back of my closet, actually.

  “You need to be able to protect yourself, especially when Jonah’s gone in September, workin’ with Jack Thomas.”

  “Oh, I’m flying home for those weeks.”

  “What?” That deep crevice forms between her eyes. “But that’s garden harvest time! We’ll be busy canning!”

  “Don’t worry, Muriel. She’ll be shootin’ the stem off apples in no time.” Jonah’s gruff voice from behind me is an instant balm, saving me from that conversation. Warm, strong hands land on my shoulders.

  I reach back to clasp them, and then stretch farther to admire the strength in his wrists and his forearms beneath my fingertips, imagining these hands on the rest of my body later tonight. As much as I love having Diana here, the anticipation of having Jonah to myself—to repair whatever’s going on between us—is overwhelming.

  A resort guest hollers out to Muriel, distracting her. Jonah settles down in the chair beside me and I waste no time combing my fingernails through his bristly beard and leaning in to capture his mouth with mine in a lengthy, searing kiss that’s probably too hot for the Ale House.

  When I pull away, he’s smirking. “How are you two doin’ over here?”

  “Fine. How about you? Having fun over at the bar?” I ask as lightly as I can.

  “I guess.” He nods toward Jesse Winslow whose impressive cleavage is eye level with a rugged-looking fisherman at a nearby table. “Your favorite local just came in.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. Toby ran away, fast.”

  Jonah laughs. “Don’t blame him. Heard her husband is a bear.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Marie watching us. Where I was once sympathetic to her status as the woman with unrequited feelings for Jonah, today I’m finding myself less inclined to care and more determined to make my feelings for Jonah—and his for me—clear.

  Brash impulse takes over, and I shimmy from my chair to Jonah’s lap, wriggling in comfortably, my arm curling around his shoulders. “You’ve been over there the entire time since we sat down,” I say, trying to keep the accusation from my tone.

  Jonah frowns. “Yeah, I figured you and Diana would want some time alone.”

  Leave it to Jonah to be considerate. “What I want is to spend my birthday with my favorite people.” I smooth a hand over his broad chest and up over the thick column of his throat, admiring the jagged bump in it. “That means you.”

  He gives my thigh a squeeze. “Where is Di, anyway? Did she fall asleep in there?”

  “Almost,” Diana announces, reappearing as if on cue. She flops more than sits in her seat. “I walked into a wall. Both literally and figuratively. I can’t tell if I’m really drunk or really jet-lagged, or both, but I’m sorry, I don’t have another hour in me. I’m not giving that best-friend badge back, though. I’ve earned it.” Her glossy, tired gaze lands on the camouflage case. “What is that?”

  “My birthday present from Muriel. It’s a gun,” I say slowly, giving her a look.

  “Wow. A gun.” Diana’s eyes widen in that “are you fucking kidding me?” way. “You have a gun. And it’s just right here, on the table in the bar, beside my martini.”

  Jonah chuckles. “Lemme go lock it up in the Jeep while you two finish your drinks. It’s time to go home.” He eases me off his lap, his palm smoothing over my backside in the process.

  “So, you can do that around here? Just give someone a gun for their birthday? And they can go lock it up in their car and take it home and do … whatever with it?” Diana asks soberly.

  “As l
ong as they’re not certifiable or a criminal.” He smirks. “Is there something we should know about Calla?”

  “Oh yeah, she’s certifiable all right. Certifiably in love with you,” Diana draws out her words, earning his snort and my laugh.

  Marie appears, her purse slung over her shoulder. “Hey, guys, I’m gonna leave now. I have a sick puppy in the clinic that I should probably check on before I go home.”

  Relief fills me that I won’t have to deal with Marie fawning over Jonah for much longer.

  “Perfect timing. I’ll walk you out.” Jonah collects the gun.

  “Happy birthday, Calla.” Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

  My return smile feels equally forced. “Thanks for coming.” I drop into my chair and watch her trail Jonah out the door, full of unease. I don’t care what she told Jonah—that woman is only tolerating me because of him.

  “A sick puppy in the clinic?” Diana gives me a questioning look.

  “She’s a veterinarian.”

  “Huh. So, Jonah’s best friend is a beautiful woman who literally saves cute, cuddly baby animals, and you’re totally okay with this.”

  “And she’s in love with him. Don’t forget that part,” I add bitterly, taking a swig of my drink.

  Diana presses her lips together, struggling to hold her opinion to herself.

  “No, I’m not okay with it,” I finally admit. Not lately, anyway. Not today. “But I trust Jonah.” I don’t trust her out there with him when I’m questioning the endurance of our relationship in here. “Let’s finish these and go.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Ten minutes later, after guzzling a potent drink that has left my head swimming and thanking Muriel, Toby, and Teddy each in turn for their kindness, we’re strolling out the door, arm in arm, a slight stumble to our step. Loud music and voices carry out the open windows into the quiet, clear night.

  “This is so weird,” Diana moans, staring at the sun that clings to the horizon—a hazy orange thanks to the smoke in the sky. We’ve passed the equinox and the days are already getting shorter, but for now, a near-midnight sun is still a recurring event.

  My shiny blue Jeep is parked ahead, where Toby put out a Birthday Guest of Honor sign atop a pylon to reserve our spot for the night. Jonah isn’t there. I spot him farther down in the lot, leaning against the side of Marie’s pickup, so deep in conversation, he hasn’t seemed to notice us yet. I can’t see her, hidden by Jonah’s broad form and between two trucks, but I can imagine her teal-blue eyes, peeled wide as she gazes up at him longingly.

  That’s an awfully long goodbye.

  My stomach churns with thoughts of what they could be talking about—namely, me. Has he divulged this morning’s disaster to her, in the spirit of needing advice again? What would she say? What harsh little truths would she whisper in his ear? They won’t necessarily be wrong. He does tend to be impatient, and passionate, and move fast.

  But who is she really trying to help here?

  I am not the jealous, insecure girlfriend type who doesn’t allow her boyfriend to have attractive female friends, who storms in on them and demands to know what’s going on, as if there must be something nefarious in the works every time they’re alone.

  I tell myself this, even as I release my grip of Diana and my feet move of their own accord.

  “I’ll wait here,” Diana’s words are followed by a hiss and a slap against her skin. She refused to put on bug spray, claiming it would clash with her perfume. “Get him to unlock the Jeep doors?”

  I throw a thumbs-up to her and keep walking. The closer I get, the less the music carries, the more I can hear of their conversation.

  And the more I hear, the slower is my approach, the lighter are my steps.

  “… fly out in the morning and be back by Monday night,” I hear Marie say.

  “Yeah, I don’t know if that’s a good idea anymore.”

  “Why not? She has her friend here. And I haven’t been out to the villages in months.”

  Marie is trying to get Jonah to fly her out west. They used to do that all the time, back when he lived in Bangor. She’d come in on the regional airline that travels between Bangor and Anchorage daily. They’d spend days together, hopping from village to village, Marie the Animal Crusader, saving lives. She could find another pilot to fly her around, of that I’m sure.

  But it’s becoming more and more clear to me that she doesn’t want another pilot.

  She wants mine.

  He reaches up to work his fingers through his hair, sending it into disarray. The black shirt I bought him clings to his frame, showing off the angles of his muscular shoulders and his trim waist. I can’t help but admire him, even as my fists tighten by my sides and I imagine storming in between them to scream my accusations in a fit of rage.

  “Yeah, I know, but things aren’t great right now,” Jonah says, a touch more softly.

  I falter. My stomach, already tight, clenches.

  Aren’t great?

  Jonah thinks things aren’t great? Things between us, he means, obviously.

  I mean, I know, after this morning, that things couldn’t be called perfect, and yet hearing Jonah say it out loud—to her—sparks a fresh wave of surprise and hurt and anger.

  “Hey, we need to get Diana home. Can you unlock the Jeep?” I call out, not wanting to get caught eavesdropping. I pray they can’t hear the strain in my voice.

  Jonah turns, sees me approaching, and his eyes soften. “Yeah. Of course. She must be dying.” He digs into the pocket of his jeans and hits the key fob. A chirp sounds, followed by Diana’s desperate cry of “thank you!” that makes him chuckle.

  I could turn back and leave them, but Marie has kept Jonah from me long enough tonight, and so I approach until I’m melding into his chest, roping my arms around his back, and pushing away all emotions but my overwhelming love for this man.

  Jonah doesn’t hesitate, enveloping me into his warmth. “Ready to go?”

  I rest my chin on him, tip my head back, and purr, “Yes.” My gaze traces his lips for a moment before giving him an intense look, trying to convey everything I want to do to him tonight in that single glance.

  “Got it,” he murmurs, his own eyes flaring with heat. To Marie, he says, “I’ll give you a call next week.”

  “Sure. Okay.”

  I catch a hint of disappointment in her voice, and it brings me a spiteful bubble of satisfaction.

  I had no idea what I was going to say on the way over, but it hits me then. “Hey, Marie, I think Toby would love to go out to dinner with you sometime.” An innocent-enough suggestion.

  “Oh. Really?” She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. A tell, I’m beginning to notice, for when she’s uncomfortable or nervous.

  “Yeah. You should ask him.” I level her with a look while clinging to Jonah. “He’s single.”

  Jonah is not.

  She opens her mouth to speak but falters, her cheeks flushing as she steals a glance toward Jonah. “I’ll keep that in mind. Good night.” She ducks her head and climbs into her truck.

  Jonah sighs heavily as he leads me out of the way. “What was that about?”

  “What do you mean?” I feign innocence.

  “Calla …”

  Marie’s engine roars to a start. She backs out of her spot and coasts past us, her taillights blinking red.

  Jonah throws a hand up to wave goodbye, but his jaw is tight with tension. “Do you want her dating Toby?” he asks in an overly calm voice.

  “Sure. He’s a nice guy and he’s cute. So why not?”

  “Specifically Toby?” Jonah fixes me with that serious, assessing stare. “Or just anyone besides me?”

  “What does it matter?”

  He shakes his head. “Because we’ve been over this before. She knows we’re together, Calla.”

  “But she’d be happy if we weren’t.”

  He curses under his breath. “Come on …”

  “No!
You come on! I heard her that day in the hangar. How you’re so passionate and that’s what she loves most about you. Don’t tell me she meant that in a platonic way. We both know she didn’t!” His response that day, reminding her how he feels about me, is proof that it didn’t come across that way to him, either. I’m tired of pretending otherwise.

  He opens his mouth but stalls on whatever he was going to say. “She knows that’s not gonna happen, though.”

  “Are you so sure of that?” A dark thought sparks in my mind, and I don’t allow myself the opportunity to weigh it before it tumbles from my mouth. “Do you have an issue with Marie dating someone else?”

  “Why would I?” he asks, his tone sharpening.

  “I don’t know.” That dark thought is spinning into a convoluted weave with this growing tension between us, and a voice inside screams that it’s ludicrous to say it out loud. Yet I can’t keep it to myself. “Maybe you want her there as a backup option in case this doesn’t work out.”

  He laughs but there’s no humor in the sound. “Jesus, Calla. How many drinks did you have?”

  “I’m not drunk!” I deny, feeling my indignation flare. Not that drunk.

  “Are we really going there tonight?”

  “Never mind!”

  “Nah.” He shakes his head. “It’s too late. What the hell do you mean by that?”

  Fine. I push on. “She’s perfect for you! She’s beautiful and smart and nice. She spends her days saving animals. She belongs in Alaska. She’s ready to settle down and have babies like now, I’m sure. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t give her what she wanted.”

  Jonah’s mouth is open but he’s struggling with an answer.

  Finally, he booms, “Because she’s not you!”

  “Well, things ‘aren’t great’ between us, right? Didn’t you just finish telling her that? Why would you tell her something like that?” Tears flow down my cheeks without warning. It feels like a betrayal, to hear him say that to anyone, but especially to Marie, who I know would find some level of delight in that admission. It’s what she wants to hear.

  It’s what I’d want to hear if I were in her shoes.