“Fallen Hero,” she said with a little smile, reminded of how she’d helped Cam title his pieces. Yeah, she liked the sound of that.
Brandon stood at the kitchen counter drawing water from the jug when she stepped back into the cabin.
“You’re up.”
“What did you do with the blasted aspirin?” His voice was rough, strained, his eyes glassy when he turned toward her.
“Oh, no! I’m sorry. I put them back in the first aid kit.” Dropping her sweatshirt and the tackle box on the table, she laid the string of fish in an aluminum bowl on the counter and fetched the first aid kit from the pantry. When she turned back with the bottle of aspirin, Brandon was eyeing her strangely. She must look an absolute fright, sagging skin and all. Ignoring his stare, she popped open the bottle and handed him two white tablets. “I... I always put things away so that I can find them again.”
He downed the aspirin with the water then went back to the couch and carefully lowered himself. “Awfully small space to misplace things. You know how to use that thing?”
She realized he hadn’t been looking at her uninteresting figure but the pistol strapped to her hip. “Of course. At least, I can’t imagine I’d shoot my toe off or anything. Why? You don’t think a woman can handle a gun?”
Brandon’s brow crinkled slightly in a frown but almost immediately relaxed. Probably hurt to make faces at her. “I said no such thing.” His eyelids closed and he sighed. “I once had a female partner who was damn near the best marksman I ever met. That just looks a bit big for someone of your size.”
“It’s a loaner. The man who flew me in here didn’t want to leave me without protection. Told me to wear it whenever I left the cabin. Something about rabid squirrels and killer mosquitoes.”
Brandon’s soft chuckle at her joke made that strange tingling return to her skin. “You shoot a squirrel with that, I bid you luck finding much more than a few pieces of fur. Seriously, did he show you how to fire it?”
Isabella shivered. She knew all too well how to fire a handgun. “Don’t worry. I was taught how to shoot when I was very young. I won’t harm myself.”
Brandon’s eyes opened, and he gave her that little lopsided smile. His eyes were a bit glazed, though. “I was more concerned about my own hide than yours.”
She unbuckled her belt to remove the gun. “I only fire when I feel threatened. So, unless you plan to attack me, you’re safe. Of course…” She grinned at him. “…all I’d have to do is hit you in the head and you’d be down for the count.”
“That I would. Nice looking fish. You know how to cook ’em?”
She set the pistol, still in its holster, on a shelf in the pantry. When she turned toward Brandon, she scowled and planted her fists on her hips, bristling at the know-it-all male tone in his voice. “I think I can manage. I also do laundry, dishes, and windows. If you’ll notice, I managed to catch them, and I’m pretty sure I cleaned them properly. If not, I’m sure you’ll point out my flaws, now won’t you?”
“Whew, inhale a little too much Deet out there? Someone came home in a rotten mood.” He held up his hand in surrender. “Guess all the sweet-talking and pampering is over, huh? Time to fend for myself?”
Surprising herself, she burst out laughing. It seemed like it had been so long since anyone put her in her place when her mood got bent out of shape. “Sorry. I hate mosquitoes, and I hate the smell of bug repellant. Deep woods scented, my butt.” Her smile faded. “But most of all I hate my competence being questioned. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“And anyone else that drops in your lap. I’m sorry. Outside of Alaska, I’m not used to seeing women walk around with a .45 strapped to their side. I guess I’ve been away from home too long. I know you are perfectly capable. You’re wonderfully capable. You’re just plain wonderful.”
She laughed again as she headed to the counter to start peeling potatoes. “Laying it on a bit thick now, aren’t you?”
“Not in the least.” He stretched out on the couch, his head where he usually propped his feet, and watched her work. “I have a feeling you saved my sorry hide. I owe you.”
Sending him a frown, she shook her head. “You don’t owe me anything. Actually, it’s nice having you here. I think I was going a little crazy being by myself.”
“I thought you wanted solitude. That’s why you came here. All I’m doing is ruining your alone time.”
Isabella laid the first peeled potato in a cooking pot. “I thought that’s what I wanted too, but I was wrong.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I’m not good with loneliness.”
Chapter Five
A tiny fist seemed to squeeze Brandon’s heart. What was her story? He had to know. But he wouldn’t push for answers now. Timing was everything during an interrogation, and if the wrong question was asked at the wrong time, the subject would clam up. She needed to feel comfortable with him before he dove into the big questions.
“So, how do you plan to cook those fish? I’m not questioning your competence now,” he added hastily, flashing his trademark make-the-women-swoon grin, “so don’t get upset. I’m just curious.”
She glanced at him, a little smile tipping her lips a fraction of an inch. Damn, she was pretty.
“Actually, I asked the pilot. He spent the first afternoon here with me, showing me how to use the fly rod. Showed me how to clean the fish and how to cook them dipped in seasoned flour and fried in oil. I had no idea the tails were even edible, all nice and crispy. I swear these are the best fish I’ve ever eaten. Well, no. The one night I stayed in the hotel in Fairbanks I ordered Alaskan halibut. Now that is some good fish.”
Brandon chuckled. “I have a feeling you’ve seen things and been places in this world I could only dream about, yet you carry on about Alaskan fish like it’s ambrosia.”
“I think it is.” She flashed him a quick, warm smile that made her simply light up. “Well, fresh Maine lobster and haddock is right up there on the list.”
“Wait until you try Alaskan king crab straight out of the ocean.”
“I saw those in the grocery store when I was buying supplies to come here. I’ve had snow crab at restaurants, and I’ve seen king crab legs in stores, but that was the first time I ever saw a whole crab. They’re huge.”
Brandon did laugh then. Something about her seemed so innocent, so young, even though her eyes showed a level maturity and pain that stunned even his jaded soul. He had to learn her story. He needed to know. “Ever seen a live halibut?”
“Just the little California ones. I’m from San Francisco. But I was told they are the size of barn doors here.”
“Big, very big barn doors. A hundred pounds can almost be called average.”
She shook her head.
Her hair puffed wildly out the back of a 49ers baseball cap. Curling tendrils hung against her cheeks and long, shapely neck. With her belly bare, she looked as though she’d lost a lot of weight all at once, much too quickly for her body to adjust. Her pants were baggy, slung low on her hips, baring the enticing waistband of her pink panties. Cotton. Probably comfortable. She definitely wasn’t into pretense. Damned if he didn’t liked her more and more every moment. Even her true redheaded temper turned him on.
“So, tell me about this woman who was your partner,” Isabella said as she lit the propane burner and set the pot of potatoes on it.
“Since I’m sure you went through my wallet, you probably saw her picture.”
Isabella frowned. “The old lady?”
Laughter burst out, and he clutched his throbbing head to keep it from exploding. “That’s my mother! And I can guarantee she would not like being called an old lady.”
Isabella was at his side, sitting on the edge of the couch, when he opened his eyes. Her hip touched his, warm and soft even through layers of denim. “Don’t laugh so hard. Give your head time to heal.” Her fingers were cool and slightly damp against his forehead. “You don’t have a fever, but your eyes
look a bit glassy. Don’t tell your mom I called her old.”
Unable to stop himself, Brandon caught her hand and held it against his bare chest. “I promise. She’d probably smack me for even repeating it. I was talking about the other picture. The big blond guy, woman and child. The woman is Sheila Cassidy—no, Johnson. She was Cassidy when we worked together. She left the force to start a family. One of the best cops I ever knew.”
“And you carry her picture?” Bella’s fingers curled slightly into his chest hair, and he almost groaned at the exquisite tenderness of her touch.
“She’s my best friend. Her in-laws treat me like part of the family. But I move around quite a bit now, so we can only stay in touch through a few letters, emails and phone calls.”
Brandon watched as Bella’s pretty eyes glistened with tears. Now what had he said to upset her?
“Must be nice to have a family,” she whispered. “When I lost Cam...”
Brandon released her hand and gently tugged her to his chest. “Oh, sweetheart.”
She laid her cheek against his bare chest and almost instantly relaxed. Her arms went around his sides, and she took a deep, shuddery breath. Brandon’s heart constricted for her.
“I’ve pretty much been on my own since I moved to Anchorage for college when I was eighteen,” Brandon said softly, not knowing if what he said would upset her or calm her. He hoped if he told her a bit about himself, she’d be more willing to open up to him.
Her softness felt nice against him. Too bad all he could smell was pine-scented mosquito repellent. Last night she’d smelled sweet and feminine.
“Mom and I didn’t get along my last couple years of high school. I was a typical teenager who got into scrapes and a little bit of trouble with the law. Right out of college, I joined the Marines. Since then I’ve only been home a handful of times to visit her. It wasn’t until the McCormick family—that’s Sheila’s in-laws—kind of adopted me that I realized what I’d been missing. My dad died when I was young, and I was an only child.”
Did Bella just kiss him? Brandon could have sworn he felt her lips against his skin. He smoothed his hand over her shoulder, wishing he wasn’t hurting so bad and could wrap both arms around her.
“My dad took off before I was born,” Isabella said in a whisper. “My mother and stepfather died when I was twelve. I’ve lived with Cam ever since. Well, almost. There were a few years in there that...are better left unmentioned.”
Brandon frowned. “How old are you, sweetheart?”
“I’ll be thirty-two at the end of the month.”
She sighed again, her hot breath ruffling his chest hair, tickling him, sending a quick shot of pure lust through him. Yeah, he could definitely get used to the feel of her against his body. His mom would adore her. The McCormicks would think she was wonderful. Sheila would go crazy when she found out Bella had saved his life. Sheila worried about him constantly, especially since the meth lab explosion.
“I’m a little old to be—” She shot up when the potatoes boiled over. “Damn,” she said under her breath as she pulled them off the flame, burning her fingers on the hot pan.
Brandon tried to get up to help her, but a wave of dizziness hit when he stood up too fast. He collapsed back to the couch.
“Don’t you dare move, Brandon,” she said from the kitchen.
“You’re hurt.” He struggled to gain his feet again.
She gave a cute, totally unladylike snort. “Yeah, right. And you’re the picture of health. I singed my fingers. I’ll live.”
And then she was pushing against his shoulders, which, unintentional as it was, hurt like hell. He had no choice but to lay back.
“As I said before, Mr. Wilks, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I want you flat on your back until your head feels better or you need to use the outhouse.”
Brandon gave her his most charming smile. “Then come back down here and join me. I’m sure I’d heal much quicker with you draped over me.”
The number of emotions that shot over her face astounded him. An instant of indignation, a flare of anger, and then a pretty blush that started at her shoulders and worked up to her hairline.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” She stalked back to the kitchen, picked up a deadly looking knife, and poked at the potatoes in the pot.
“I was hoping you’d take me up on the offer, not ignore me.”
She looked more flustered than mad, so he didn’t feel too bad about teasing her. When she blushed, all those sexy little freckles on her shoulders nearly disappeared. He wanted her body back against his. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d snuggled with a woman and just talked. Maybe never.
She didn’t answer, just kept stabbing the potatoes with the humongous knife.
“They’ll be harder to drain if you break them all up into little pieces.”
“I know how to cook, thank you very much.” But she threw the knife down and slammed a lid onto the pot. Picking up the potholders this time, she drained the water from the potatoes into the sink, which was nothing more than an aluminum basin with a hole that drained out below the cabin. Steam rose up around her, making her skin flush even deeper.
Pretty Bella was something else. Silently he watched her as she prepared the fish for the frying pan, put oil on to heat, opened a can of corn and dumped it into a smaller pot and put it on the other burner. Her motions were jerky, but she still didn’t seem angry. She acted as if a man had never before come on to her. But how could that be? Thirty-two was no spring chicken.
Narrowing his eyes in contemplation, he ventured to ask, “How long were you married?”
She ignored him.
“He was a fool,” Brandon said, knowing darn well she could hear him, even over the popping of hot oil as she gently laid the floured fish into it. “If you were mine, I’d never let you go.”
He’d known her for only a few hours...maybe a full day if the time he was unconscious counted. But damned if he didn’t want to keep her. Strange, but he’d never felt possessive over any other woman. Not like this. He’d never in his life had a notion to take a girl home to meet his mom.
Bella had a past she wasn’t ready to talk about, but he didn’t think she had an illicit background. He had a sense when it came to criminals—as most in law enforcement did. The sadness behind her eyes stretched beyond losing her last living relative. He wanted to hold her, protect her, take care of her. Not that she’d ever let him, of course. She seemed determined to do all the caring and nurturing and take nothing in return. The definition of independent.
After turning the fish over she finally faced him, brandishing the spatula like a weapon. Her big green eyes flashed at him, and he was positive he’d never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.
“I’m not yours. Nor will I ever be yours or any other man’s ever again. I don’t like games. I hate the games between men and women. I refuse to play them. We might have a long time together out here, and if you insist on...on...talking like that, you can just take the tent and move to the other side of the lake.” She turned back to the sizzling, popping fry pan. “And the bears can eat your ass for all I care.”
The last was said under hear breath, but Brandon heard it. What a woman. Little did she know that he wasn’t playing any games. Or maybe it would be the best game of his life. Winner take all. He definitely wanted to take. And give. Anything she needed, he wanted to give to her.
Rubbing his fingers over the tight spot in his chest, he wasn’t sure he was ready for this much emotion for a waif of a woman who had enough courage to dive into a frigid Alaskan lake and save the life of a stranger.
Bella tried to stay upset with him, almost spilling his plate of food on his lap when she all but threw it at him. She ignored him as she sat at the table and ate, then while she cleaned up after dinner. After supper she brought in a fresh jug of water and started a fire in the barrel stove. Eventually, she settled down at the table with the lantern to writ
e in a notebook. During it all, she avoided even a glance in his direction.
But all it took was one small groan as he tried to get up, and she was there at his side, her arm around him.
Brandon smiled at the top of her frizzy head. She’d washed up on the trip to bring in water. Her hair was slightly damp, curls springing up here and there as they dried. She smelled of soap—all traces of bug repellent gone—and a faint scent that was sexy, warm woman. If she only knew how much better her touch made him feel, how much he already wanted her, she’d have sent him packing. Without a tent. To be left at the mercy of the bears and mosquitoes.
He leaned against her as she walked with him out the door and down the steps. He loved the feel of her soft body, her warmth. She walked him to the outhouse, and he could hear her slapping at mosquitoes and grumbling while she waited for him. Truth was, his head was now only a dull ache. His shoulder muscles hurt worse than anything. Actually all his muscles hurt, but he was far from incapable of walking to the outhouse without assistance.
“Thanks,” he sighed as he carefully lowered himself back to the couch once they returned to the cabin.
Isabella scratched at her shoulder and scowled. “Dang mosquitoes.”
“You’re the one who washed off all the bug dope,” he said as he sprawled out on the couch. “I have to admit you smell much better now, but—”
“Don’t smell me anymore.” She plopped back down on the chair by the table and it almost toppled over. “Shoulda left you on the bottom of the lake.”
She was mumbling again. All bluster. He’d wear her down, he was sure of it, but he’d have to wait until he felt a little better.
Her profile was cute. Everything about her was cute. She had a little, turned up nose, a strong, pointy chin, high cheekbones, and tiny, perfect ears with plain silver studs in them. The word precious came to mind. A woman to be treasured. Would she let him cherish her? Someday? Damn but he hoped so.
Alaskan Nights Page 5