Past Lies

by Bobby Hutchinson

  Well, almost alone. He couldn’t discount the mosquitoes. He swatted at one buzzing around his ear. He’d quit smoking years ago when Rebecca first became pregnant with Annie, but at this moment he longed for the comfort of a cigarette—and the nicotine smoke that would drive away these pesky insects.

  He’d learned some surprising things today about his father. And about Ivy’s father as well.

  He grimaced at the thought of Tom. The older man had made it crystal-clear he despised him, although Alex had no idea what the reason was, apart from his relationship with Ivy. Or lack thereof, he amended with an ironic sigh.

  He’d been ready to take her standing up, out there in the meadow. He’d been half out of his mind with…he searched for the word. Lust? Desire? Sexual frustration? All of them. And she’d been just as wild as he. Just thinking about her hand on him made him hard all over again.

  And then he’d disgraced himself in front of her. His eyes flicked to the Beaver, floating at the end of the dock, securely moored and tied down. If he had his way, he’d never set foot in any type of aircraft again, particularly not a floatplane or, God help him, a helicopter.

  He heard boots on wood and turned to look.

  Ivy was striding along the dock, holding two cans of beer.

  “Want a nightcap?” She held out a can. He took it and she sat on the dock beside him, dangling her legs over the side. Her shoulder brushed against him and he caught a whiff of some fruity-smelling shampoo.

  He was glad he was sitting.

  “Thanks.” He popped the tab and took a long drink.

  “I saw you sneak away after KP, when I got corralled into talking about global warming with that environmental guy from Canada.”

  “I noticed that. I think he wants to do more than talk about global warming with you.” Alex had felt something very much like jealous rage when Simon took Ivy’s arm and herded her away from the others.

  “No. You think?” She widened her eyes and grinned at him. He could barely stop himself from grabbing her shoulders and kissing that teasing smirk away.

  “About today, Ivy.” He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, but he knew they needed to talk. And like the coward he’d proven himself to be, he avoided the real issue. “Sorry for being such a wimp about flying.”

  “Don’t apologize. We all have things we’re afraid of.”

  “You don’t seem to be afraid of anything.”

  “Oh, yeah? Shows how much you know. My list is lengthy.” She took a long pull on her beer. “To begin with, I hate crowds and noise. I get so nauseous and dizzy and scared I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

  “So you don’t like cities.”

  “Nope.” She sipped her beer and shook her head. “Frances once took me to New York—it was supposed to be a big treat for my sixteenth birthday. I’ve never been that miserable in my life. And cranky. Boy, was I cranky. I know most people love to travel—look at the hordes of tourists who flock up here. But not me. That’s why I’ve stayed here ever since that trip, where there’s wide open spaces and quiet places.”

  He wondered if he’d understood correctly. “You’ve only been south once?”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “Of course. Once was enough to find out I didn’t like it. Why would I do it again?”

  “To give yourself a second chance? If you’ve only ever been to New York—”

  “I’ve been to Anchorage, I don’t like it there, either. Did going up in the floatplane change your mind about flying in the helicopter?”

  She had him there. “Can’t say it did.”

  “So maybe diversity isn’t a sure cure, huh?”

  “Maybe not.” Why was it so important to him to convince her that south wasn’t a dirty word? “It’s just that there are other places besides New York. San Diego has the Pacific Ocean, miles of parks, lots of quiet places.” He hesitated. “But if you’re happy here, I guess there’s no real reason to travel.”

  “My attitude exactly.” She swatted a mosquito and tipped the can to her lips. He watched, mesmerized by the shape of her mouth, the movement of her throat, the swell of her breasts beneath the long-sleeved flannel shirt.

  “About today, Ivy. Before help arrived.”

  “Are you going to apologize again?”

  He couldn’t read her expression. “I wasn’t planning on it. You?”

  “Me, apologize?” She shook her head and gave a muffled chuckle that turned into a snort. “I don’t think so.”

  He cleared his throat. His voice was gruff. “Then I was thinking more along the lines of taking up where we left off.”

  He saw her cheeks stain with rich color, and he heard her catch her breath. “I’d have to think about that. I told you my policy on short-term passion.”

  “You did. But policies change. If yours should happen to be open for revision, you know where to find me.” He got to his feet and walked down the dock and up the steps without so much as a glance back at her.

  MUCH LATER, Ivy heard the rain start. It pattered a gentle rhythm on the roof of her little cabin, and it should have been soothing. She pulled the comforter closer around her shoulders and listed all the reasons against getting involved with Alex. He was from Away, he hated flying, he wasn’t long-term, he was planning some harebrained scheme that involved going walkabout in the bush…. And to say Tom disliked him was an understatement. Captain had looked ready to throw a punch in the office today.

  And that gnawed at her. Alex had struck a nerve when he’d told her she’d need her father’s stamp of approval. Was she really that influenced by Tom and his opinions? Alex wouldn’t be around long enough to even cause ripples. Would she be sorry for what she hadn’t done, after he was gone?

  Ten minutes of pondering had her rummaging in a drawer for supplies she hadn’t needed for some time. Did condoms have a best-before date? She hoped not as she shoved several in her pocket. She pulled on a jacket and hoped Alex wasn’t in the habit of locking his cabin door.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I hope you’re not mad anymore. This is something I’ve got to do before I settle down with you and the sprout.

  From letters written by Roy Nolan,

  April, 1972

  ALEX WAS DREAMING. He was able to fly, no plane, no nothing. No fear, even. Just his body and the ability to move it at will through the air. He was soaring over the Arctic landscape, arms spread wide, dipping up and down.

  He was searching for Roy Nolan who’d somehow morphed into Tom Pierce.

  The feeling of euphoria evaporated when the click of the latch on the cabin door brought him instantly awake. He sat up, squinting to see. There was a faint glow through the windows of the cabin, but not enough to really make out who it was that quietly closed the door. He groped for his glasses and then paused when he heard, “Alex? Don’t shoot, it’s me.”

  Ivy slid her jacket off and dropped it on a chair. “It’s raining, hear it on the roof?”

  She ran her hands through her hair and then dried them on her pants. She stumbled over his boots and cursed under her breath. Giggling, she bent to tug her own off, hopping to keep her balance. She dropped them to the wooden floor with a clunk.

  Half believing he was still dreaming, praying fervently that he wasn’t, he stood and reached for her, hands closing on the soft skin of her upper arms.

  “Ivy. God, Ivy, I’m so glad you’re here.”

  She came readily into his embrace. She smiled at him, reached her hands up and cupped his face with her fingers, then pressed her mouth against his. Her hands slid up and skimmed through his hair, traced the shape of his ears and neck.

  The fire that had been smoldering inside him ever since that afternoon when he’d first kissed her ignited now. As her tongue chased his, she moaned and fumbled for the bottom of his T-shirt and tried to haul it over his head, but Alex resisted.

  “Not so fast.” All the decisions so far had been hers. Now it was his turn, and he was determined to make this good. He might not be
a hero when it came to flying, but this he knew how to do—and it was what he wanted, more than anything in the world at this moment. And he wanted it perfect.

  But she was in such a hurry, going slow was a challenge. His body urged him to tumble with her to the bunk, pull down her loose pants and slide—he swallowed hard. This was a time for distraction, just enough so he wouldn’t disgrace himself yet again.

  So he concentrated only on her lips, kissing her, at first shallow, then deeper, exploring her mouth in every way he could devise. He nibbled kisses along her throat, took her earlobe in his mouth and sucked, kissed her eyes, her nose, back to her mouth, deeper this time, longer. She was making little sounds in her throat, urgent moans that signaled desire. Sounds that once again threatened to send him over the edge.

  “Easy, pretty lady.” He slid a hand up under the loose T-shirt she wore, finding her bare breasts, teasing a nipple with his thumb and forefinger. He pulled the shirt off before bending his head and suckling, drawing her nipple deeply into his mouth, using his tongue on the hard tip.

  “Alex, let’s lie down.” Her voice was hoarse and urgent.

  “Yeah, let’s.” He maneuvered them toward the bunk, tossing the blankets back.

  Rain pattered and then grew harder, hammering down on the roof as they undressed one another, slowly at first, and then with an abandon that matched the storm outside.

  When his boxers were off and he could feel the smoothness of her belly and thighs against his flesh, Alex yanked off his shirt and then tugged her bikini underwear off. Then he simply held her against him, half drunk with sensation, hungry for more, reluctant to ever get to the end.

  She whispered, “In my pants pocket, I have a—”

  “So do I.” He touched her with his eyes closed, letting his hands and lips blindly discover her narrow waist, the swell of hips, the hot wetness between her thighs.

  She was moaning louder, making inarticulate noises as he suckled and teased and licked.

  “Now, Alex. Right now.” She wrapped her legs around his hips, reached down and guided him into her.

  Ivy held on as if he were a life raft.

  Somehow he knew her body. He knew where to touch, to kiss, he sensed the rhythm that would suit her. There was no awkwardness, no hesitation, just an escalating, encapsulating rapture as he slid into her and, with maddening slowness, dipped deeper and still deeper.

  There was no room for anything but sensation. Nothing but glorious intensity, which grew and grew until it lifted her up to an unbelievable height. Her orgasm rocked her, wave after wave of sensation that made her cry out with joy—and drew him with her into release.

  They collapsed together, boneless, mindless. Ivy was trembling.

  “You cold, sweetheart?” He pulled the comforter up and tucked it around her shoulders, turning her in his arms so that she fit against his chest. “Easy, darling. Easy. Relax.”

  His gentleness brought tears to her eyes. In a moment she’d have to remind herself that this was very temporary, that she’d broken her own rules by inviting herself here, that it could only be a flight without a destination.

  But for the moment there were only these delicious tremors, euphoria and Alex’s body, wrapping her close and keeping her warm and safe.

  They made love again, gentle, slow, as early-morning light filtered through the screened windows and the birds called to one another. In the dim light, Ivy noticed the photo of the little girl. The professional portrait in a plain wooden frame was propped against a stack of books on the small nightstand at the foot of the bunks.

  Ivy picked it up and studied it. She knew Alex was watching.

  “Annie.” It wasn’t a question. The child looked about three, a sober little girl in a fussy blue dress. She’d refused to smile for the camera, and Ivy admired her for that. She had her father’s eyes, black, disconcerting in such a little person. And his jawline, strong and square. Hers had an enchanting dimple, though. Her hair must have come from her mother, black and impossibly thick, long and curly.

  “Yeah, that’s my Annie Marie.” The tenderness in his tone broke her heart.

  “She hated dresses, Rebecca insisted she put that one on for the photo and she was not happy about it.”

  “I can tell.” It reminded Ivy of herself as a little girl, when Frances forced her to put on something that didn’t match Ivy’s image of herself.

  “I have some snapshots that are more like her than that one.” He put his glasses on and dug into a pack on the floor, handing over a small photo album, the kind studios handed out when they developed negatives.

  “You’re shivering, get in here and cover up,” he ordered. “You can look at them while I light the heater.”

  He wrapped her in the blankets, and she held the album unopened as she watched him pull on sweats and a heavy shirt. His body was that of a runner, broad-shouldered but long and lithe, with muscles that weren’t evident under clothes. There was an elegance about him, a certain balance of proportion that pleased her.

  He knelt to crumple paper, and she opened the album.

  It was a record of Annie’s short life. In the first photo, she was just born, red and puffy and wonderfully ridiculous with an outraged expression and a full thatch of dark hair into which someone had stuck a pink bow.

  “Ah, she’s brand new here,” Ivy breathed.

  “She weighed almost ten pounds…she was a bruiser.”

  She turned the page. Here, the baby was an adorable three months or so, propped against a pile of pillows, smiling at the camera.

  The next photo was obviously a record of her first step. Her dark eyes were wide and intense, and she had her arms spread out and a look of utter concentration on her face as she lunged toward the camera.

  There were birthday photos of Annie with icing on her chin, in her hair, on both hands. In another she was being cuddled by a petite woman in a policeman’s uniform. Mother and baby had identical black curls and pouty, rosebud smiles.

  “That’s Rebecca,” Alex confirmed. Ivy figured he must have been glancing over at the snapshots in between feeding kindling into the stove.

  “She’s a police officer?”

  “Not anymore. Now she does grief counseling.”

  Ivy studied the other woman, how pretty she was. Lavishly rounded, she was a very feminine woman, which the tailored uniform emphasized.

  Suddenly she was very conscious of her short hair, her tall, boyish body, her small breasts.

  The last photo was a family shot. Alex was wearing a white golf shirt and casual slacks, holding Annie in one arm with his other around Rebecca. Annie had her cheek pressed against her father’s, and all three of them were smiling.

  “That was just weeks before she died.” Alex was crouched beside the bunk.

  “You all look so happy.”

  “We were, in that moment.” His voice was wistful. “Maybe that’s all we ever get in life, just fleeting moments when we actually recognize we’re happy.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” She handed the album back to him and looked at the clock. It was just past five. “Yikes, I’ve got to get moving or the whole place will know I spent the night with you.”

  “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

  “I’ve carved out a reputation as a vestal virgin, no point in destroying the illusion.” She wrapped the sheet around her. “Besides, Mavis isn’t going to be happy with me unless I get over to the kitchen and help with breakfast. And then I’m taking Oliver and two fishermen to a river high in the mountains.”

  “Even in the rain?” It was still coming down, lighter than it had in the night, but steady.

  “Fishermen actually think fish bite better in the rain, go figure.” She made a move toward the bathroom.

  “Wait.” He caught her and held her against him, sheet and all. “Ivy, last night was—” He searched for a word but came up empty. He kissed her instead.

  Ivy closed her eyes and let herself get lost in sensation again, just for a mome
nt. “I wish we could spend the day right here,” he whispered.

  She pressed her nose to his neck, sniffing in the scent that was his individual signature with a lot of her mixed in. “I wish so, too,” she confessed.

  “Will you visit me again tonight?”

  “I’m not sure.” How many times could you use a potent drug without becoming addicted? “Being with you could easily become a habit, Professor. That wouldn’t be the best thing for either of us, now would it?”

  She waited for him to deny it.

  He didn’t. Instead he slowly released her. “I’ll make us some coffee while you’re in the shower.”

  “That would be great.” She kept her tone cheerful and light, but she wished she could just pull her clothing on and head straight out to the floatplane. She felt unsettled, and there was an ache in her stomach. She wanted to climb in the Beaver, focus on procedure.

  Flying was the only thing that always made her feel better.

  One thing about having short hair, showering was fast. The coffee was ready by the time she was done, just as he’d promised. She took the mug he offered and said, “So what’s on your agenda for today?”

  “I want to get the cabins framed now the foundations are poured. I’d like to have them finished before Theo gets back, so he doesn’t get any ideas about working on them himself. Have you heard when he’s coming home?”

  “Nobody knows for sure. I talked to Sage last evening, the doctors have him on a new medication. Caitlin told Sage it’ll probably be another ten days at least. Aunt Cait’s anxious to come home, and I know he is, too.”

  “It must be tough on them to be away from the lodge. This place is their life.”

  “It sure is.” Ivy paused and then said, “How about you, are you feeling homesick, Alex?”

  He looked surprised. In typical fashion he thought the question over before he replied. “Not at all. I like it here.”

  “Enough to stay?” Now why had she asked that? The last thing she wanted was to appear needy. “Not that it’s a good idea, staying up here. Lots of people come for a visit in the summertime, fall in love with Alaska and decide to move here, but most of them don’t make it through the first winter. Too dark, too depressing, too cold.”