Alaskan Nights

by Anna Leigh Keaton

Isabella rolled over on the soft carpet of moss and put her arm over her head to block the annoying sound. The gun on her belt jabbed into her flesh. Damn it. She rolled to the other side. The whine grew louder, and she finally opened her eyes to find the little bugger and squash it into silence.

  The sun blazed down on her, and she had no idea how long she’d been sleeping. Overheated and completely drained of energy she sat up, her back moist from the damp moss and her own sweat. Jeez, the weather was fickle here. Pouring rain one day, hot and dry the next. She squinted at the sky.

  It wasn’t a mosquito she’d heard. A single-engine plane came in low over the lake. It must be someone looking for Brandon. Thank God, now his mother would know he was all right.

  That means he’ll be leaving.

  Panic shot through her. He was going to leave her? No, not yet. She wasn’t ready for him to leave yet.

  She pushed to her feet in a rush, straightened the shirt that had twisted around her while she slept, grabbed her pack from the ground, and headed down the long slope toward the cabin at the fastest pace she could without twisting an ankle or tripping over the hidden boulders and flash, slippery rocks beneath the thick layer of moss. She had to stop Brandon from leaving. She didn’t want him to go. She wanted—what was she thinking? Of course he’d leave. Why shouldn’t he? He wanted to get home to his mother. Reassure her he was safe. He probably had a job to get back to somewhere. He was already almost a week behind schedule.

  And why would she want him to stay? He’d been nothing but trouble. He was eating all her food, and he kept touching her. Yesterday he’d dumped her in the stream. She could have frozen to death. And then he’d kissed her senseless.

  “Aaagh!” she growled when her ankle twisted as she stepped into a hole. Better to keep her mind off his lips and on the path in front of her. But ohh, those lips!

  ~*~*~

  Brandon was at least a hundred yards from the cabin, chopping a downed, dead spruce tree for firewood. He’d found an axe under the cabin and spent a good hour sharpening it with the minuscule whetstone from the tackle box. There was plenty of wood stacked near the cabin, but he’d needed something to do. Some exercise to exorcize some of the burning desire putting him on edge. Besides, lying around, letting Bella wait on him, feeding him all sorts of good food, he was going to get soft. He needed his strength back. He’d spent too long doing nothing, first in the hospital and now here.

  He wondered where Bella had gone and hoped she wouldn’t get lost. He didn’t like her being out there all alone. He knew she’d taken the gun, but that didn’t really reassure him. He still didn’t know if she knew how to use it. She was so bent on taking care of herself she was liable to get herself killed.

  The trunk of the old, dry tree gave a satisfying crack as the axe made contact with the wood. It had been years since he’d chopped wood. It felt good. Comfortable. Almost exhilarating. He wondered if he could keep Bella out here forever. Just the two of them. “Me Tarzan,” he said under his breath as he swung the heavy axe. “You Jane,” he added as the wood splintered under his assault.

  Chapter Eight

  Brandon laughed at himself. He wouldn’t want to keep her here. He wanted to take her home and introduce her to his mother. Wanted to take her to meet Sheila and Case and the McCormicks. Hell, he wanted to take her out on a date, to a nice restaurant, maybe some dancing afterwards. He wanted...everything with her.

  It was hard to believe he’d been here less than a week. There was something about her—something wonderful—that made him feel as though he’d known her forever. Yet, there was so much mystery.

  Brandon set the axe against the trunk of the tree he’d been working at, pulled his T-shirt out of his back pocket and wiped his forehead, cleanly shaven cheeks and chest. His weakness disgusted him, his headache was returning, and his shoulder throbbed when he let himself think about it. He hadn’t been so weak since undergoing back surgery after his helicopter went down in a South American jungle nearly fourteen years ago. That crash had ended his career with the Special Forces. Because of his injuries, he’d been discharged from service. A year later, fully recovered, he’d joined the Seattle Police Department and started his career in law enforcement.

  He wished Bella had asked him to go hiking with her this morning. He wondered if she was feeling awkward about last night. She tried to pretend she was strong and capable, but he wanted to be there for her when her burdens became too much to bear.

  The whine of a single engine plane snared his attention. From where he was, standing amidst the twenty-five foot tall black spruce trees that struggled to grow in the mossy tundra, he couldn’t see the lake or the cabin. He pulled his T-shirt on, picked up the axe, and headed for the cabin. He couldn’t wait to get word to his mother.

  As he came into the clearing near the cabin, a blue and white Cessna was taxiing up to the rocky beach of the lake. He went to greet the pilot.

  “Who the hell are you?” the oversized blond man said as he stepped out of the plane and stood on one of the floats.

  Brandon didn’t take offense. If this was the pilot that had brought Bella in, he wasn’t expecting her to have company. “Brandon Wilks. And you?”

  “Where is Ms. Hammond?”

  Brandon realized he was still holding the axe and probably didn’t look very welcoming. Good thing he’d shaved, or this guy would probably think he was Charlie Manson. He set the axe aside and held out his hand to take the tie down rope from the pilot. “She’s off hiking.”

  “Wilks,” the man said. “As in the guy who went missing a few days back? Search and Rescue has just about given up on you.” He threw Brandon the tie down then pulled a duffle bag from the back seat of the plane.

  “Yeah, that’s me.” Brandon tied the plane to a near-by tree. “Ms. Hammond saved my life. My plane’s right out there,” he pointed into the lake, “about a hundred feet out.” He waited until the man was next to him. “I didn’t catch your name?”

  “Sorry. I was a bit startled to find a man here instead of Ms. Hammond. I brought her some supplies. Wanted to check on her. Me and the missus don’t like a young woman being out here all alone.” He shoved a beefy hand out for a handshake. “Bjorn Carlton. That’s one helluva nasty looking bruise you got yourself.”

  Six foot six if he was an inch. In his late fifties, at best guess. Brandon shook his hand. “I was knocked clean out. Ms. Hammond dragged me out of the water and fixed me up.”

  “So... you’ll be wanting a ride back to Fairbanks when I leave?” Bjorn asked.

  The big man’s eyes said it all, and Brandon couldn’t miss the questions behind the question. This giant of a man didn’t trust him. Not with something as precious as Bella. Brandon instantly liked him. “I’ll let you know. I hope you don’t plan on taking off before Bella gets back.”

  “No. I’ll stick around ’til she shows. Want to make sure she’s all right.”

  At least the big pilot wasn’t trying to beat around the bush about his feelings. “Come on up to the cabin. I’ll fix us a pot of coffee. I could probably scrounge up some lunch, too, if you’re so inclined.” Brandon started toward the cabin, knowing Bjorn would follow.

  “Coffee will do me.”

  ~*~*~

  Out of breath by the time she reached the clearing surrounding the cabin, Isabella spotted Mr. Carlton’s plane tied at the bank. She frowned. He was two weeks early. She glanced around but didn’t see him or Brandon. They must be inside. She went up the steps and pushed through the door. Mr. Carlton and Brandon sat at the little dining table, laughing like old friends.

  “There she is,” Brandon said with a big grin. He turned back to Bjorn. “As you can see, she’s fine.”

  “What are you doing here, Mr. Carlton?” Isabella asked as she dropped her pack on the floor near the cold barrel stove and unbuckled her belt to remove the holster.

  “Well now, I was in the neighborhood and wanted to make sure you were doing all right out here all by yourself.” B
jorn smiled at her.

  Isabella didn’t feel like smiling. Brandon would be leaving with him. She didn’t like that thought. Not at all. Oh, why did Bjorn have to come? “Thank you for the consideration. As you can see, I’m doing well. And since someone else decided to drop in a few days ago, I wasn’t alone.”

  Bjorn laughed, a deep rumbling that made him sound more like a big teddy bear than a man. “That’s what he said. Search and Rescue has been looking for a downed plane for days.” He motioned toward the couch where a big black duffle bag lay. “I brought you some more supplies. Some fresh fruit, bread and some cheese. Thought you could use a break from all your boxed meals.”

  “She’s a great fisherwoman,” Brandon said, then took a sip of his coffee. “We’ve had fresh grayling every night since I arrived. Not a bad cook, either.” He winked at her.

  Isabella smiled and warmed under his praise. He’d shaved and looked a little less rugged. She wondered how his skin would feel. Would he smell like the raspberry gel she’d left for him, or would he still smell completely manly? She loved his scent. Last night when he was holding her, her nose against his chest, she’d breathed deep his sensual musk.

  “Bella?” Brandon asked.

  “Hm?” Pulling her attention back to the present, she forced herself to listen to what Brandon was saying.

  “Mr. Carlton is heading back to Fairbanks. He’s offered to give me a ride.”

  “Oh.” She knew it would happen, so why did she feel like bursting into tears? Maybe she could go back, too. No, she still had things to do. She still had to write that résumé and get in some more hiking. She liked it out here. Except for the mosquitoes. “Did you happen to bring any more mosquito repellent?” she asked Mr. Carlton, not wanting to deal with the loss of Brandon yet.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Bjorn answered. “Two more cans. They’re nasty out here, aren’t they?”

  Isabella nodded. “Oh, and... well this is silly, but I found one fly that the grayling seem to love, but it’s getting worn out. I was wondering—”

  “I’ll let you go through my tackle box. You can take whatever you like.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.” Everyone she’d met in Alaska had been so friendly, so willing to share whatever she needed. From some guy at the airport who’d actually given up his taxi for her, saying she looked exhausted. And now Bjorn, flying all the way out here to bring her more supplies and check up on her. Yes, she was definitely falling in love with this place. Her gaze wandered over to Brandon. And all the people in it.

  “Is there anything else you can think of?” Bjorn asked as he handed his mug to Brandon for a refill.

  “No, actually I think we’re doing all right. The food’s lasting because the fishing has been terrific, and the blueberries are ripe up on the hill.” So why did she feel so horrible? Because she knew, as she watched Brandon hand Bjorn the cup of coffee then sit down on that horribly wobbly chair with a grace that belied the fact he’d been half dead only a few short days ago, this was the last time she’d see him.

  Brandon wondered if she’d intentionally said “we” when answering Bjorn’s question. He hoped he hadn’t misinterpreted the disappointment in her eyes when he’d told her that Bjorn had offered him a ride back. Would he be welcomed to stay?

  He’d write his mother a note and ask Bjorn to get it to her and to notify FAA that he was alive. He’d also write out a quick resignation letter and have his mom forward it to his superiors back in Detroit. He was due back to work in a few days. He wasn’t going to make it. He didn’t want to make it. He never wanted to go back. Once he got back to Fairbanks with Bella, he’d call and have a friend clean out his apartment. There wasn’t much he needed from it. The rest could be sold or given to Goodwill.

  “Come on down to the plane,” Bjorn was saying to Bella. “You can go through the tackle box and decide what you’d like. I could leave a second rod here, too, if the boy needs one.”

  Brandon grinned at being called a boy, and Bella turned and looked at him, her eyes full of questions. He raised an eyebrow at her over the rim of his coffee mug. He’d prefer if she asked him to stay, but that was probably hoping for a little more than she was willing to give at this point.

  “Go on,” Brandon said to Bella. “I’ll be out in a couple minutes.” Her eyebrows knitted as she turned to follow Bjorn from the cabin.

  Brandon searched the cabin for the notebook Bella was always writing in. He found it in the pack she’d dropped on the floor. The pen was clipped to the wire binding. Flipping past pages and pages of Bella’s flourishing script, he found an empty one.

  ~*~*~

  “Now, Ms. Hammond, I don’t want you to think I’m sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong, but are you all right here with him?”

  Isabella looked up into Bjorn’s crystal-clear blue eyes. He was such a gentleman, calling her Ms. Hammond even though she’d told him countless times when he brought her here that she had a first name. And he’d flown all the way out here, not being paid to do so, to bring her extra provisions and to check on her well-being. “I’ve been fine. Actually, I was getting a bit lonely before Mr. Wilks dropped in.”

  Bjorn snorted a laugh at her little joke. “I’ll get that tackle box.” He was back in a couple minutes carrying a plastic case the size of a toolbox. “Anything you need, you take.”

  Isabella hunkered down on the ground and opened the box. It was a treasure trove of just about every imaginable kind of fishing lure needed for freshwater fishing. Bjorn opened up a little can with a screw lid to show her a variety of different flies.

  “I think the boy intends to stay out here with you and not come back with me,” Bjorn said very matter-of-factly as he pulled out a couple flies. “I’ve found the grayling find these little babies exceptionally tasty this season.”

  “He’s staying?” Bella asked.

  “Not if you don’t want him to. I’ll get him out of here if you want him gone.” He reached down to the tackle box and pulled out a couple leaders for the fly rod. “You take these, just in case. Don’t want you having to tie big knots in your line.”

  “No, I won’t make him leave. Are you sure he wants to stay?” she asked.

  “Nope, can’t be sure,” Bjorn said as he pulled a few more items from the box. “But when I offered him a ride, he said, ‘we’ll see.’”

  She’d been sure he was going to leave. On the trek down the hillside, she’d readied herself to deal with his departure. Now she wasn’t so sure she wanted him to stay. What did it mean if he didn’t leave? What did he want? He should be chomping at the bit to get home to his mother, to let her know he’d survived. Sure, Bjorn would contact whoever needed to be contacted to call off a search for him, but wouldn’t he want to talk to his mother in person? Oh, for goodness sakes, he wasn’t a child who needed his mommy. But for his mother’s sake...

  “See here, these pink little things,” Bjorn was saying as he held up a tiny pink fuzz ball with a hook attached, “they’re called Salcha Pinks. Some places the graylings really go nuts for them. Why don’t you take one and give it a try?”

  “Thanks, Mr. Carlton,” she said as she took the imitation bugs from him and tucked them into the pocket of the flannel shirt she wore.

  “You gonna want that extra rod?” he asked.

  Isabella came to her feet. “I don’t know. I guess you’ll have to ask Brandon. If he’s staying.”

  “You sure you want him to?” Bjorn’s gaze held hers. Such a nice man. So concerned.

  “I won’t stop him one way or the other,” Isabella said softly. “It’s his call.”

  Bjorn nodded. “Got everything you need?”

  Looking down at the battered gray box, she nodded. “I think so.” She glanced up as Brandon came out of the cabin.

  “What kind of goodies have you got for us, Mr. Carlton?” Brandon asked as he came to stand next to her.

  Warily she watched him, confused now more than anything. Why would he want to stay? She’d b
een straightforward with him that she wasn’t going to sleep with him. And after last night, any normal man would have been high-tailing it out of there. Unless...

  Oh, that’s it. The realization hit when she caught a glimpse of his tattoo while he reached for a fishing bug Bjorn held out to him. He was a protector. He was worried about her. He was staying to make sure she didn’t shoot her toe off or starve to death. It all made depressing sense.

  Bjorn handed Brandon the small can of flies to look through as they discussed different insects used for fishing. Strange names that meant nothing to her. If Cam were here he’d be taking notes, jotting down names of lures, what they’re best for catching. Arctic grayling, northern pike, sheefish, trout. But Cam wasn’t here, and Isabella had no interest in writing a piece on fishing in Alaska. She was sure there were numerous books on the subject, anyway. She’d seen a couple in the gift shop at the airport in Fairbanks.

  “So, you’ll be wanting that other rod?” Bjorn asked Brandon.

  Isabella looked up at Brandon, waiting for his answer. He stared at her. Was he waiting for her to answer for him? Was he waiting for an invitation? She wouldn’t do that. An outright invitation would give him too much power. She wouldn’t want to hear him say later, “You asked me to stay.” She could take care of herself, damn it. And if he stayed, she didn’t want him there to protect her. She wanted him there for…what? To hold her when she woke up scared? To dump her in the stream when she got in a snit? To kiss her until she felt as if they were the only two people on Earth?

  No, no and no.

  “Yeah, he’ll take it,” she heard herself saying. Unbelievable! What was wrong with her? “He can start working for his supper now that he’s getting better.”

  Brandon’s smug smile said her words had pleased him, and she had the urge to get the cast iron fry pan and use it on him as she’d threatened. Or herself. Yeah, that was a better idea. Knock some sense back into her own head. She scowled at Brandon, which made him grin and his eyes sparkle with humor.