His grandmother raised her gaze to him. “Fifteen.”
“And I was born when she was sixteen?”
“Ii.” She nodded. “Holly grieved deeply for her father. And she loved to dance like her mother before her. She met your father when he was stationed here with the air force and ran off to Anchorage with him.”
“What happened to Holly?” Serena asked the question he used to ask often as a little boy. Where is Mama?
8
A STRAINED SILENCE followed Serena’s question. She’d put her foot in it again. Why couldn’t she control her big mouth? “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”
“No.” Evelyn squeezed Max’s hand and kept her sorrowful gaze on him. “She lives in Anchorage. Max—”
“I have to go.” Max shoved back in his chair and stood.
“Max.” Serena couldn’t walk away from the plea in Evelyn’s eyes. “Couldn’t I—”
“Let’s go.”
Serena sat a second longer, then got to her feet and impulsively hugged Evelyn goodbye. With Max eyeing her, she grabbed her purse and parka and headed out to his truck.
A couple minutes later, Max strode out the door, motioned for Mickey to jump into the truck bed and dropped behind the wheel, slamming his door. “If you print or publish any of the information you just heard, I’ll sue you.”
Serena felt her jaw drop. “Since nothing I learned here today is the tiniest bit newsworthy, I don’t see why I would.”
Hands tight on the steering wheel, he swung around to glare at her. “Don’t come here again.”
Could a body actually seethe? She clenched her fist around her purse strap. No one had ever made her so furious. “If I’m invited again, I’ll come.” It was better than You’re not the boss of me. Just barely.
His glare turned into a scowl. Then he faced forward, jammed the key in the ignition and started the engine.
Despite his temper he drove cautiously, slowing way ahead of stop signs and making turns at a snail’s pace. It wasn’t dusk yet, or foggy. Windy, as usual, but other than a little blowing snow, visibility seemed good.
“And you better not use anything you recorded yesterday either,” Max said.
“If I get permission, I will. I can always edit you out.”
His mouth tightened as he threw her a sidelong glance. “What would you want it for, anyway?”
“I’m thinking of making a documentary about Barrow.” Boy, talk about making stuff up off the top of one’s head.
“Yeah, right. How does that fit in with your ‘save the world’ crusade?”
“I’ve been doing some research.” She’d read as much as she could about Alaska before she’d left L.A. for the Iditarod assignment. But did when really matter? “There’s a climate change lab here.”
“Oh, here we go.”
“You’ve heard of the village of Shishmaref? Where houses are falling into the sea from the eroding coast line? And the thinner ice makes hunting walrus and seal more difficult.”
“You think if you film some cute kids racing sleds suddenly the politicians will fall all over themselves to pass new clean energy legislation?”
Serena gritted her teeth. “I’m not an idiot. But it can sometimes make a difference to juxtapose a personal story over a global problem.” Just keep shoveling it on, Serena.
“And you’d have to appear on all the big talk shows to tout your humanitarianism, right? Maybe even win a Nobel, huh? Meanwhile the people in Shishmaref are still trying to move their houses long after you and your cameras have exploited them.”
She opened her mouth to deny it, but she couldn’t. She’d never considered shining a light on a problem as exploitation. But was motivation a factor? If she were truthful, she’d admit part of her goal was to have something tangible to show her father. Max saw through her right down to the self-serving core.
She studied her fingernails. They’d gone from manicured, fake-tipped and polished, to broken and unvarnished, with a bit of dirt underneath. A metaphor for her life.
“You’re right,” she admitted quietly. “My motives are somewhat selfish.”
His mouth fell open. She couldn’t quite believe she was admitting it either. Not to him, at least.
“When I was a little girl I used to crawl up in my daddy’s lap while he sat in his study pecking away at his typewriter. He’d tell me stories about the corruption and lies he was exposing, and I wanted to be just like him. The great Simon Sandstone. I’d see his Pulitzer gleaming on the shelf behind his desk and I’d think, ‘Someday, I’m going to have one of those. I’m going to make a difference too.’”
“Your dad won a Pulitzer?”
“He single-handedly stopped a chemical company from dumping toxic waste into a nearby river. He was almost killed breaking that story. Even his editor wanted him to stop. We had police living with us after Dad received death threats. But he never revealed his informant’s identity.”
Max gave a low whistle. “Not easy to live up to.”
“You know what he said to me once?”
Max glanced at her. “What?”
“After I landed the Travel in Style show, he said if my only contribution to the world was going to be travel tips, he’d wasted his money sending me to Berkeley.”
She pushed down the knot in her throat and squeezed her eyes closed. Dang it, why was she crying now? She hadn’t cried when he first said it. She’d felt ambushed and shocked, and then pissed as hell. But she hadn’t let herself feel how much it had hurt.
She turned her face away and concentrated on staring out the window at the snow and ice. A tear slid down her cheek. She swiped at it and wiped it on her jeans. Risking a glance at Max, she was glad to see he was still watching the road, bouncing along in his truck, turning onto Main Street.
“You mentioned volunteering in New Orleans after Katrina?” Max murmured.
She sniffed. “Yeah.”
“Well, it’s not always about the Pulitzer, then, is it?” he asked.
Serena’s heart swelled. Just when she thought maybe she should give up and go home. “Thank you for saying that.”
He shrugged and there was companionable silence for a moment.
“So, what did you and my grandmother talk about?”
She tightened her lips to keep from smiling. “She told me about her people—your people, the Iñupiat.”
“Did she talk about me?”
Serena hesitated. “She said that you were brilliant at math in school and that, to this day, your favorite meal is her moose stew.”
He glanced at her again and she grinned. “I told her I wanted the recipe. I like to collect recipes from every place I visit.”
He pulled to a stop in front of the hotel, turned to her with raised eyebrows and laid his arm along the back of the bench seat. “You cook?”
“Well.” She thought of the five-star restaurants she’d eaten in all over the world. “I love to eat.”
“That’s what I thought.” His expression changed from dubious to serious, his stare intense. Desire glittered in his dark brown eyes. What would he look like without the long hair and beard?
She yearned to scoot over the couple of feet between them and kiss him senseless. To feel his hands and mouth on her aching flesh again, to hear his breath shudder and his low moan.
“You better go.” His voice had turned raspy.
He was right. She’d had enough insults from the man, and a rejection would ruin whatever meager truce they’d gained just now. “Thanks for the ride.” She shoved open the rusty door, jumped out and raced into the North Slope Inn before she changed her mind.
THE WIND PICKED UP as Max drove home, loosening snowdrifts into flurries across his path and whistling eerily through the doors of his battered pickup. The clouds thickened and by the time he pulled under his carport, it might as well have been sundown, it was so dark.
Mickey jumped out and whined at the cabin door.
The half of him that believed in
such things would say the earth was angry. But what did the earth have to complain about? He’d only been trying to protect his grandmother from a predatory would-be journalist.
Yeah, she’d looked real dangerous, sitting there sipping tea and listening to Aanaga tell old stories.
He slammed into his cabin and pitched his keys onto the kitchen table. Mickey barked by his food bowl.
“All right, I’m coming.” He fed Mick and then grabbed a beer from the fridge and dropped onto the sofa. There was probably a game on. He sipped his beer, contemplating turning on the TV.
Instead of cold glass touching his lips he could have a soft, fiery female beneath them. Damn, she’d looked good sitting beside him in his truck. With her Iñupiat parka and sealskin boots, she’d looked as if she belonged there more than he did.
Between that and the sob story she’d given him about her dad. Okay, so it had gotten to him. And she’d deployed the ultimate weapon. What man could resist that lone tear she’d wiped off her cheek?
But he didn’t want to soften toward her. And he sure as hell didn’t intend to let her go near his grandmother again.
The phone rang and he snatched it off the base. His phone seldom rang unless Chris or his grandmother needed something. “Taggert.”
“Max, you forgot to bring in more firewood before you left.”
“Aanaga?” He leaned forward and set his beer on the table. “I’m sorry for storming out today. I’ll be right over.”
“No, I have enough for tonight. But if you come in the morning, I’ll make you breakfast like I used to when you were a boy.”
“I’ll be there at first light. But you don’t have to cook.”
“Yes, I do. I have a guest coming. By the way, could you pick up Serena on the way? That woman is no good with directions.”
Max leaned back on the sofa, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, Aanaga. I don’t want her there. She only wants to use you for a story about me.”
“Max, do you trust me?”
“I trust that you mean well. But—”
“I know what I’ve seen. I know what is right. In my heart. In my soul.”
“But, Aanaga, you don’t understand.”
“And besides. I have already called to invite her. I’ll ask Chris to bring her.”
“No, Aanaga.” But she’d already hung up. Punching the off button, he tossed the phone onto the cushion beside him.
Dammit.
He sat up, snatched his beer off the table and took a long swig. As much as he did not want to see Serena again, he couldn’t stop thinking of her, the way she’d looked in her hotel room this morning, her silky top torn and bunched around her waist, stubborn as hell and defying him one minute and then admitting he was right the next. And baring those full, rose-tipped breasts, her long hair tousled from being taken against the wall—he’d never had a woman that way before. So wild and abandoned. He groaned and finished his beer.
It was going to be a long night.
MAX WAS UP before dawn, restless, agitated. He almost called Chris to ask him not to drive Serena, but Max wouldn’t put the poor guy in the middle of this mess. Best to take care of this himself.
After updating his business accounts and paying a few bills, he headed to his grandmother’s to bring in firewood and intercept Serena.
When he pulled his truck into the driveway, Mickey barked and scratched to get out as Serena got out of Chris’s SUV and waved him off. She was dressed in her traditional parka and snow boots. The hood was pulled up and her purse hung off one shoulder.
Max climbed out of the truck as she walked by, and Mickey almost knocked him over to jump on her. She stooped to scratch behind his ears and comb her fingers through his thick fur, talking to him in a high, sweet voice. It was disgusting how Mickey lolled his tongue out and drank in the attention.
Max watched her fingers massaging Mick and wanted them tangling through his hair, dammit. Awareness of her was a constant irritant, like fleas biting at him. Breathing in her tantalizing scent didn’t help. He’d already spent most of the night in this tortured condition.
“I told you to stay away from my grandmother.”
She glanced up. “And I told you if she invited me, I’d come.” Her eyes were narrowed and her lips tightened in defiance.
“We’ll see about that.” He headed for the door, opened it without knocking and stepped in, slamming it shut behind him just as she reached it. He heard her huff of anger and smiled to himself.
A loud knock sounded on the door along with Mickey’s bark. Let the traitor dog stay out there with Ms. Stubborn. He strode into the kitchen, where the aroma of sizzling bacon made his stomach growl. “Aanaga?”
His grandmother spun from the stove just as another knock sounded at the door. “You break my heart, grandson.” She pressed a hand to her chest.
“Aanaga, you are too trusting.”
“And you are not trusting enough.” She shuffled close to him and cupped his face in her gnarled hands. “Tell me I did not raise a man to be so rude.”
Max closed his eyes against the pleading in hers. But it was no use. He could never withstand her censure.
With an aggravated growl, he went to open the front door. Serena had her hand raised to knock again. She glared at him. “In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s freezing out here.”
He stepped back and gestured for her to come in. “I’ll be here the whole time, in case you try to trick her into giving you information again.”
Sparks of fury lit her eyes as her glare turned fiercer still. Her cheeks flushed pink, her lips compressed.
Feigning indifference, he folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.
She crossed her arms too. “Since you hate me being here so much, you want to fly me to Shishmaref tomorrow?”
“No.”
“I’d pay you, of course.”
“I told you before. I don’t fly passengers.”
“Then I guess I’ll be spending a lot of time with your grandmother.” She sailed past him and turned into the kitchen with a smile. “Evelyn.” She took his grandmother’s hand. “Mmm, it smells wonderful in here. Once you get past the stench by the door,” she threw over her shoulder at him.
“Serena. Chris said you saw our dancers last night?” She pulled out a chair and sat, gesturing for Serena to join her.
Serena nodded. “Arna and Chris took me. I loved the beating drums and watching the intricate traditional movements.”
“I remember the year Max danced with them.”
“Aanaga.” Max leaned against the fridge, his arms still folded over his chest.
“Max dances?” Serena smirked at him. “I can’t picture it.”
“My grandmother taught me when I was a kid,” he offered.
“Oh, I wish I could have seen that.” She was grinning at him, her white teeth flashing, her beautiful blue eyes twinkling.
“Why? What do you care about me as a kid?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I can’t explain why, but you fascinate me.” The curve of her face was framed by the soft sweep of her long brunette curls falling past her shoulders. When she smiled and turned on the charm, her extraordinary beauty hit his psyche like an arrow to his chest. Throw in her unusual interest… He better watch himself around her. She shouldn’t have that kind of power over him.
“I’m going to bring in the firewood.” He turned and stalked off.
MAX’S GRANDMOTHER WAS a wonderful cook. Hot coffee, cinnamon rolls, bacon, eggs. Serena sat and stared into her creamy coffee. Did she really even care about Shishmaref? Its story had been told, or she wouldn’t have read about it in her research. An update might be interesting, but she still burned to know what had happened to Max the day of the crash. And flying with him somewhere would have given her a chance to ask some questions with a captive interviewee.
She still wanted to know why he blamed himself so much that he’d holed up in his cabin for months. Was it just the horrific exp
erience of almost dying? Or survivor’s guilt? Or had something else happened that fateful day?
She’d decided she wouldn’t use his grandmother as a source. Not that she would willingly hurt Max with the story, but she was after the truth, whatever it turned out to be. And if the facts turned up something bad, she’d hate herself for using Max’s sweet grandmother.
Not that the woman seemed prone to tell Serena anything useful.
“That should be enough firewood to last you the week, Aanaga.” Max dusted off his hands on his jeans as he stood from a crouch where he’d dropped the last armload of logs next to the fireplace.
Evelyn’s house was basically a two-room cabin. The large front room was kitchen and dining on one side and a living room on the other, with a bedroom and bathroom in the back.
“You are a good man, grandson.” Evelyn patted his bearded cheek as he sat next to her.
“Only you think so, Aanaga.” He slid a glance at Serena.
When Max called his grandmother Aanaga, his voice softened. His whole demeanor changed when he spoke to her. “Maybe if you didn’t work so hard to make everyone believe you were bad…” Serena challenged him.
“He has always been that way,” Evelyn said. “He set himself apart from the other children, never making friends. Always so angry.”
“You want more coffee, Aanaga?” Max interrupted her.
The carafe was closest to Serena, so she refilled Evelyn’s mug.
“He would come home with a bloody nose or a black eye from fighting with bullies who called him half-breed, and I could do nothing.”
Suddenly feeling intrusive, Serena tried to change the subject. “I was hoping you would give me that recipe for moose stew.”
Evelyn pinned her with a sharp-eyed look. “You must not fight your destiny, Serena. The Searching One will find Max’s wandering soul.”
“Aanaga, enough.” Max stood. “If you’re going to keep talking like that, I’ll take Serena home.” His face was stone hard, and he glared at her as if this was somehow her fault, which was ridiculous—she was on his side on this. Even if she believed in destiny, she believed one made one’s own fortune.
Primal Calling Page 9