by Nina West
WOLF BAIT
Wolf Cove, Book One
By Nina West
Copyright 2015 Nina West
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Editing by Hot Tree Editing
Cover design by Nina West
Published by Nina West
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter One
February
“I didn’t mean for it to happen, Abigail. I swear!”
“You didn’t mean for it to happen! You didn’t mean to put your...” My words fall apart with my sobs. I can barely see Jed’s face through my tears. Tears that haven’t stopped since I ran for my dorm room earlier today. Tears that have left my skin raw and tight. And every time I think I’m all cried out, the image of Jed and her flashes inside my head and a fresh wave hits.
I wipe my dripping nose against my sweatshirt sleeve. I’m far past the point of caring what I look like. “Who is she, anyway?”
“Nobody important.” He brushes his own tears away with his palm and then reaches for my face, cupping my cheeks. “You are my whole life. You’ve always been my whole life. Always! You know that, right? Tell me you know that!”
I swallow against the sharp knot lodged in my throat but it doesn’t budge. I knew that. Up until today. “Then why would you break my heart?”
His handsome face flinches as if I’d slapped him. Something I wish I had the nerve to do. “You weren’t supposed to find out.”
Oh my God! “That makes it better?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” He hangs his head for a moment. “Look, we’re getting married next year and then it’s just you and me. It’s been just you and me for all these years. And,” he swallows, hesitates, “this is something I’ve been thinking about. A lot, lately.”
“About cheating on me?”
“No! About, you know...” He winces. “Sex.”
That’s what this is all about? “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have—”
“No, Abigail.” Jed’s face is suddenly stern. “You and me, we’re doin’ it the right way by waiting until we’re man and wife. You’re so innocent. So pure.” He leans forward, pressing his forehead against mine. “It means everything to me that you’ll give that to me on our wedding night. But”—a sheepish look overtakes his face—“I’m a guy. It’s different for me.”
“How is it different?” Who is this person sitting in front of me?
“Because we’re weak! This is something I need to do. I need to get this out of my system, or I’m afraid I’ll make a mistake down the road, when it really matters. Trust me on this one. You don’t want me straying later on, when we have kids, do you?”
I’m listening, but I’m not believing these words coming out of Jed’s mouth. “So we’re breaking up?”
“No.” He frowns. “Not exactly. We’re taking a little breather, okay? Just until I can get my head on straight. But we’re meant to be, you and me.” He brushes strands of hair off my face, like he’s done a thousand times. “I’ll come back to you. I promise.”
I’m so angry and hurt, I can’t even face him anymore, so I fix my eyes on the small gumball machine promise ring he gave me on my sixteenth birthday, my sobs drowning out the rest of his words.
~ ~ ~ ~
April
“Look directly into the camera when you answer the questions,” the woman commands, her cold blue irises piercing behind a pair of trendy horn-rimmed glasses. Between those, her honey-blonde bun, the fitted black business suit and four-inch heels, she could pass for one of those librarian/strippers instead of a corporate recruiter.
I adjust my practical gold-wire-framed round spectacles. “Okay.”
She readies the iPhone sitting in the stand for taping while I fidget on my stool, tucking wayward strands of my ginger hair behind my ear and smoothing the wrinkles from my shirt. I didn’t come dressed for a videotaped interview. I figured this job fair would be like any other; I’d wander by some basic booths, collect a few pamphlets, and talk to representatives who want to be anywhere but a Chicago library on a Saturday.
For the most part, that’s what it is. But the booth for Wolf Hotels is different. It’s three times the size as of the others, with sharply-dressed recruiters and an on-site interviewing station behind a screen, to help speed up the hiring process for those who meet the basic criteria.
And the only reason I made the basic criteria is because I lied on the paper application that I filled out twenty minutes ago. Now I’m petrified of getting caught.
“Full name, please.”
I’ve always hated being on camera. I clear my throat nervously. “Abigail Mitchell. But I go by Abbi,” I’m quick to add. My mama calls me Abigail, and everyone else from my hometown calls me Abigail because of my mama. I’ve never liked it.
The interviewer is stone-faced. She doesn’t care what I go by. “The role that you’re applying for?”
“Outdoor Maintenance and Landscaping?” I think that was the official title on the application form.
“And please describe your experience that will be invaluable to us, Abigail.”
“It’s Abbi.” I force my biggest smile and hope my annoyance doesn’t show on video when they play it back later. “Sure. Well, first off, I love the outdoors. I grew up on a farm and have spent years baling hay, throwing bags of grain, and hauling buckets of water for the animals. So don’t worry, I’m plenty strong.” People don’t believe that I am. My slim five-foot-five stature is deceiving, but one look at my body in shorts and a tank will attest that I’m feminine but honed with muscle from long days on the Mitchell farm.
I’ve already provided all of this information on the handwritten application form, but I guess they want the live version as well. “I’ve run my own landscaping company for five years, operating out of Greenbank, Pennsylvania, maintaining commercial properties with excellence.” I’ve been pulling dandelions and cutting grass around my podunk town every summer since I was fourteen. To call what I do “landscaping” is a farce. But if it gets me this job, far the hell away from my life, I’ll say anything.
“Were any of these properties hotels?”
“Yes.” Never say “no” in an interview. Always find a way to spin it into a yes.
“Please tell me about these hotels.”
Crap. And there it is. I’ve never been a good liar. “It was just one, actually. It’s called the Inn. It’s...an upscale bed-and-breakfast.” Three rooms in an old Victorian house, run by Perry and Wendy Rhodes. I hear one of the rooms is decorated with a cat theme. Cat wallpaper, cat pillows
. Cats, everywhere.
By the way the woman’s painted red lips are pressed together, I’m pretty sure my answer is not the one she was looking for. “Okay. Thank you. I also see here that you worked weekends serving customers at a place called the Pearl for several years.”
“Yes. That’s my aunt’s restaurant. I’d help her out during the busy season.” I hesitated about using Aunt May as a reference. I can’t be sure she’ll give me a glowing recommendation if it means I won’t be coming back to Greenbank for the summer. Mama would have her skin if she ever found out she helped make that happen.
“What type of establishment is it?”
“A family restaurant.”
“So, not fine dining?”
I sigh. “No. I wouldn’t call it that.” Slapping together hot turkey sandwiches and pouring Cokes from a fountain does not make for fine dining.
“And have you ever cleaned houses professionally... No,” she says, seeing me shake my head fervently, my face twisting with disdain at even the suggestion. That means dealing with fitted sheets all day long, and that sounds like torture to me.
“I see you’ve also done receptionist work.”
Finally, something I can answer truthfully and positively. “Yes. I’ve worked part-time in my church’s office for years. I still do, when I go home for the summer.”
“What exactly did you do for them?”
“Answer phones and schedule appointments for the Reverend. I also balance the church’s books and organize the annual Corn Roast weekend charity BBQ for our parish.” Something I can’t bring myself to do again this summer, but will be guilted into doing by my mama and the reverend, should I go back to Greenbank.
She scans my application. “I see you’re in school right now.” She pauses, and I realize that I’m supposed to answer her.
“Yes. I have one more year in a Bachelor of Arts degree.” The right side of my face is burning from the heat of the lamp. I imagine this is what an interrogation feels like. How much longer is this going to take?
“Are you able to commit to the four-month contract, from May through August?”
“North Gate College starts in September and exams finish at the end of this month, so that won’t be a problem.”
She smiles. “Good. And what are your plans for after college, Abbi?”
My face falls before I’m able to control my expression. That question catches me off guard. She’s talking about next summer, and all I can focus on is getting through today, tomorrow, and this summer. Ideally in Alaska.
Is this where I’m supposed to lie and say that I aspire for a career with Wolf Hotels? I debate my answer for a few heartbeats, and finally decide on the truth. “Honestly, I’m not sure anymore. I was supposed to get married and help run the family farm, but my fiancé and I are—” I stop myself with a deep breath and then an embarrassed little smile. So inappropriate for an interview. “My personal situation is in limbo,” I say instead, my voice growing husky, my eyes burning with the threat of tears. It’s all still too fresh, too raw. “I’ll probably go back home. My family’s there.”
“And help run the farm?” Her eyes graze over me—over my thick braid that I can’t help but toy with when I’m nervous, over my favorite royal-blue button-down that’s probably been washed one too many times, over my generic jeans, and down to my Converse—and I know she’s judging me. I sit up straighter, feeling more self-conscious than I already do being in front of a camera.
I look nothing like her, or any of the other recruiters here. They’re all put together, with smooth, richly colored hair and perfectly painted faces. I don’t wear much makeup; just a little lip gloss and, on occasion, shimmery pink nail polish. I don’t use hairspray and not a drop of dye has ever touched my hair for fear that it’ll make the color worse than it already is.
“Yes.” That has always been the plan. But now I feel like I need to defend myself. I’m not just another farm girl, getting ready to bake pies and pop out little farm babies. “I started a side business making soaps, moisturizers, and essential oils a few years back. It’s called Sage Oils. I’m going to focus on expanding that.” Sage, after my favorite herb, though my products involve everything from mint to lavender to lemon. Up until this point, the bulk of my sales have been thanks to the annual Christmas bazaar and summer fair. I can’t complain though; that money will pay for my flight to Homer, should Wolf hire me.
“My, you’re quite the enterprising young woman. And so busy. Landscaping and soapmaking businesses, college, farming...” I can’t read the woman’s tone to tell if she’s genuinely impressed. “And what do you do for enjoyment, Abbi?”
I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from saying “Umm” while I think. Wolf Hotels is one of the most posh lines of hotels in the world. I need to sound smart if I have a hope in hell of getting this job. “As you have noted, I’m quite busy with work and school. When I have free time, I spend it with my family, and with my church, solidifying my faith.” Which is in some dicey water as of late. “I also volunteer at the local animal shelter, both here in Chicago as well as at home.”
“So you like animals?”
“Yes!” I nod emphatically. “I’m excited to see Alaska’s wilderness.”
She offers me a tight smile. “Right. Last question. Why should we hire you to work at Wolf Cove in Alaska?”
I look down at the pamphlet in my hand—pictures of white-capped mountains and vast wilderness, glacier valleys and volcanoes.
Thousands of miles of serenity, of nothingness.
Thousands of miles from my current life.
They don’t want to listen to my sob story, and it’s sure as hell not going to get me hired. I struggle to smile as I stare into the camera, silently pleading with my eyes to whoever is making the hiring decisions. “Because I’m smart, hardworking, diligent, and ethical. I respect people and I love a challenge. Plus, I’ve always wanted to visit Alaska, and this looks like an incredible once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” I clear my throat. “I have nothing to distract my focus. I will give Wolf Cove everything I have to offer this summer.”
She presses a button and steps around. “Great. Thank you. We’ll be in touch.”
“When will you be making your decisions?” It’s the beginning of April; I’d be flying out in four weeks if I get hired.
“Shortly. We’ve already filled many of the positions from our pool of current Wolf employees who are interested in the Alaska location. We’re just plugging some last-minute holes with outside recruitment.” She sticks my application into a red file folder. Is that the reject file?
“Do I have a chance? Honestly.” I can’t believe I asked that, but I have nothing left to lose.
“We tend to hire people who already have luxury hotel chain experience. But we’ll be in touch.” She stands there with her arm leading the way to the exit.
My shoulders sag. I force myself to leave before I beg her to put in a good word for me.
There’s no way I’m getting this job.
Chapter Two
May
I inhale deeply, reveling in the crisp ocean air as land approaches ahead. Chicago was in the seventies when I left this morning. Two layovers, a flight delay, and fifteen hours later, the fifty-five degree day’s high has dipped to low forties and I had to dig my winter jacket out of my suitcase.
“Have you ever been to Alaska before?” the captain, a soft-spoken white-haired man named John asks, his hands resting easily on the ferry’s wheel.
I shake my head, my gaze drifting over the sea of evergreen and rock as far as the eye can see. We left the dock in Homer thirty minutes ago. It didn’t seem like it would take that long to cross, but Kachemak Bay is vast and wide and unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
And on the other side of it is my home for the next four months.
I’m so glad I remembered to pop an Antivert an hour before boarding. I’d be puking over the rails by now had I not. Boats and I have never coexisted well.
“So, what made you come?” I can tell John likes to talk, as much for conversation as to assess the foreigners coming to his homeland.
“A brochure,” I answer simply, honestly.
He chuckles. “Yeah, it’ll do that, all right. Lures plenty of folk our way.”
I smile, though his words resonate deep inside. It “lured” me. Yes, that’s exactly what it did.
Frankly, the brochure didn’t need to work too hard.
When things take an ugly turn, people are always saying they’re going to pick up and move far away. Australia, France, anywhere that puts an ocean between them and their problems. Most don’t ever act on that. I certainly had no intention of doing so.
And then I went to that job fair in the city library, more than a little panicked about what I was going to do this summer. Recruiters were peddling administrative and counselor positions, trade internships, day care. Nothing I was interested in. Plus, they were all local Chicago-based positions. The last thing I wanted to do was stay in Chicago for the summer. I needed to separate myself from it and its bitter memories, if for only a few months until school started again in the fall.
But the idea of going back to Pennsylvania, where everyone including the cows had heard the nitty-gritty details about my breakup with Jed, was even more unappealing.
That’s what happens when you grow up in a small town and then go away to college with your high school sweetheart, who’s also the reverend’s son, who you were supposed to marry the summer after you both graduate college.
Who you’ve been saving yourself for.
Who you caught with his pants down and thrusting into some raven-haired jezebel.
And, while in the depths of despair, though you know better, you tell your upstanding, churchgoing mama, who is known around town as much for her raspberry pie as for her big mouth.
That scandal sure gave the folks of Greenbank something to talk about during Pennsylvania’s long, cold winter. It’s been months since D-Day, or what I like to call Dick Day, when I caught him. February 2, to be exact.