Someone to Trust

by Kay Lyons

  Chapter 2

  DYLAN TRIED TO KEEP A CIVIL appearance for the guests despite the anger coursing through his veins. The men followed him like puppies, excited about their upcoming adventures and not seeming to notice his mind was elsewhere. He let them talk, taking the time to think of an alternative plan.

  According to the attendant, Ms. Johnson had paced a hole in the carpet for all of five minutes, approached the desk to scribble out her apology and excuse, and hightailed it out of there. Even at twice the going rate the woman had changed her mind about the job at the last minute. Question was why? Was it because she’d balked at taking on a five-year-old kid, a stubborn old cuss post-heart attack, plus housekeeping and cooking for the lodge—or because she’d done a little research on him and didn’t want to work for someone once arrested for suspicion of murder?

  He had a feeling he knew the answer.

  Dylan searched the terminal for his missing guest and ignored the woman across the waiting area. She was probably here to visit family or friends and was waiting to be picked up. He didn’t care. Her reaction to viewing his scars had been the kick in his gut he hadn’t needed today, not when he was already stressed to the gills over leaving his son home with Zeke.

  His father was back on his feet after his heart attack but even with Dylan picking up the slack with the flights and fishing excursions, Zeke had his hands full keeping up with the meals and housekeeping. Adding a five-year-old to the mix had all the ingredients for another heart attack.

  Frustration ate away at Dylan’s nerves. What kind of father couldn’t provide proper care for his child? Even though money was often an issue, in this case it wasn’t. He hadn’t protested Zeke hiring a combination housekeeper-nanny. He’d even upped the wage Zeke offered because the woman would be working with Colt.

  “Dylan, something wrong? What did the gal at the desk say?”

  Shoving his anger aside as best he could, he focused on Ansel’s wrinkled face. “Flights were delayed all over the western U.S. due to a storm front but hopefully our guy is on the plane unloading now.”

  “And that gal over there? Who’s she?” Ansel asked with a nod of his head.

  Dylan glanced at the woman again and wished the mere sight of her didn’t hit him like a brick. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel the sting of her reaction so strongly. The look on her face… “I don’t know.”

  And he didn’t want to.

  Ansel gave Dylan a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Well, stop worrying and go find your man. I’m sure Zeke and Colt are doing fine but the sooner you find that guest, the sooner we can go make sure.”

  “Good luck hunting, guys,” he said, accepting the signed waivers and watching as Sam led the three hunters toward the exit on the far side closest to Sam’s plane. “Ansel, would you mind keeping an eye out while I walk down to the food counter? I don’t want to miss the guy if he shows up here.”

  “Don’t mind at all. But if by chance you’re looking for that guy from Pittsburgh, I say we forget him and leave now. It’d be safer for him,” Ansel explained. “All he ever did was sing and scare all the fish away. Thought for sure Walt was going to toss him to the bears last time.”

  Dylan smiled at the old man’s attempt to lighten the mood. “It’s not him. Help yourself to the coffee thermos and keep an eye out while I take a look around.” He excused himself and turned abruptly only to stumble when he nearly collided with the woman he’d mistaken for Ms. Johnson. “Sorry.”

  “My fault.”

  He looked down to see if he had stepped on her and noted the pointy tips of her ridiculously high-heeled boots going toe-to-toe with his Luccheses. At least his boots were comfortable. Why did some women feel they had to walk around on stilts? His wife had always been that way, teetering around with her toes pinched and miserable, all for the sake of fashion. “I probably hurt your feet stepping on them like that.”

  “No, you missed me. Look, I know we need to get going so I was wondering when we were going to get down to business?”

  He couldn’t hide his surprise. “Pardon?”

  Her face took on the slightest hint of color. And since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a woman blush, or known one who still could, Dylan found himself staring like an idiot.

  She lifted her chin a notch higher. “Shouldn’t I also get the paperwork out of the way?”

  It took him a second to switch gears from getting down to business to paperwork. “Those are for guests of Deadwood Mountain Lodge.”

  “Say, Dylan?” Ansel ambled close and gave the woman a welcoming smile. “I haven’t met your pretty friend.”

  She extended her hand to Ansel. “I’m Alexandra Tulane.”

  “Ansel Williams.” Ansel pumped her hand like a slot machine. “Nice to meet you. This your first trip to Alaska?”

  Alexandra Tulane—Alex Tulane? He looked down at the clipboard in his hand. The guest he was looking for?

  “Yes.” Her gaze shifted to Dylan and held. “Like you, I’m a guest of Deadwood Mountain Lodge.”

  Ansel continued to shake her hand like a long lost relative. “Well, isn’t that nice? Thought you said you didn’t know her. Dylan and Zeke don’t get many female visitors at the lodge, do you, Dylan?”

  “No.” Because the lodge didn’t appeal to them. Ninety percent of women traveling into Alaska preferred one of the nicer resorts or inns. They wanted wallpaper and china and sheets that smelled like flowers, not cold floors and men who farted, burped and didn’t always shower after a day of fishing.

  Once the shock wore off, suspicion set in. He couldn’t help it. Why would a woman who looked like Alexandra Tulane want to go to a lodge like Deadwood? It wasn’t a matter of cost because there were cheaper places to stay. Flight time, fuel and food had to be factored into the weekly price, which is why Zeke catered to dedicated fishermen and hunters wanting to be close to the action and spike camps but away from the tourists. Not that he could blame them.

  Dylan wanted to be away from them all. He wished Zeke would leave well enough alone and stop inviting the world to join them, but even feeling that way he found himself flying his father’s guests to the lodge since Zeke was grounded until he passed the flight physical—which probably wasn’t ever going to happen again. Zeke had been lucky he’d had his heart attack on the ground versus midair.

  Ansel winked at Dylan and gave him an encouraging nod, the kind that indicated Dylan ought to be thrilled at the prospect of a beautiful woman joining them.

  “That’s Walter over there,” Ansel continued when Dylan remained quiet. “He’s a retired navy man. We’ve been coming fly-fishing up here every year for a while now. Those guys over there,” he said, pointing to the hunters on their way out the door. “Sam’s a pilot, but you probably heard Dylan introduce him earlier. And that’s Bill, John and Stan.” Ansel leaned toward her and added, “Stan tells corny jokes, so watch out for that one or you might find yourself stuck listening to them all the time. They’re after bear and joining us later in the week. They lucked out with it being such a warm winter so far, eh, Dylan? That’ll help the hunting.”

  Ansel nudged him hard in the ribs. Dylan snapped out of his daze and glanced at his clipboard even though he knew what it said. “This says Alex Tulane. You’re not an Alex.”

  Her husky laugh filled the air. Like before, he felt an unwelcome rush of heat. He didn’t want her at the lodge. With his father’s health and Colt’s emotional issues, as well as his responsibilities until Zeke figured things out, Dylan didn’t want or need the distraction of a woman. Especially a high maintenance one who would doubtlessly need a lot of attention if her appearance was anything to go by.

  “I’m the guy you’re trying to find?”

  His expression must have given her the answer.

  “Oh, sorry about that. I didn’t know or I would’ve spoken up earlier when you approached me. Then again you would have had to give me time to introduce myself instead of walking away like that, so I guess
we’re both to blame.”

  She said it with a curl to her full lips and a Southern drawl that softened her words and made him think of home, hearth and humid summer days when the only things moving were flies and mosquitoes.

  He’d grown up in California ranch country about as far away from city life as his father could get, but he and Zeke had made a couple trips to the southern United States to visit his grandparents when they were alive. The memories were fond ones.

  Alexandra’s words, edged with his mistake though they were, made him remember his grandmother’s admonishments about manners, and how in his stress about being delayed and Ms. Johnson bailing on him, he’d been as rude as Alexandra implied.

  “What’s going on?” Ansel asked, his balding white-haired head swinging back and forth in confusion.

  Alexandra tucked a tendril of dark hair behind her shell-shaped ear and flashed the old man a magazine-worthy smile.

  “Just a misunderstanding, Ansel.” To Dylan she said, “Mr. Bower, I have no idea how the mistake was made, but surely there isn’t a problem? Does it matter if I’m a man or woman?”

  “Of course not.” He knew to dodge the sexual discrimination rabbit hole. Dylan shook his head to clear it and tried to think of potential alternatives, all the while staring down into two of the most uniquely beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.

  “Oh, none of that mister stuff here. We don’t stand on formalities, do we, Dylan?” Ansel said.

  Dylan shrugged, still staring and unable to stop himself. At first Alexandra’s eyes appeared to be blue but closer perusal revealed them to be deep, pure lavender, the irises rimmed with a darker shade and set in a square-shaped face with a pointy little chin that shrieked stubbornness. “No, we don’t. Dylan’s fine. And I think I know how the mistake was made. My father, the lodge owner,” he clarified, “took the reservations from our service over a radio and must have misunderstood.”

  “I see.”

  No, she didn’t. And he couldn’t imagine spending the next week with her. “Look, Alexandra, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure you know what you’re getting into here.”

  Dylan tried to think of a tactful way of saying what needed to be said. Alexandra was a striking woman. She wasn’t classically beautiful thanks to a nose that was too narrow, the tip upturned a tad too much and rounded on the end.

  But more notable was that, despite her long flight, her makeup and appearance were perfect. Every lash was coated in inky black, her lipstick a bold, eye-catching red. With her jet-black hair and sun-kissed skin, Alexandra Tulane exuded a raw, sensual appearance. Combined with her body hugging clothes that showcased her slim form in all its attractiveness, she’d drawn attention not only from Sam and the hunters, but from travelers and airport employees passing by the gate, as well.

  “Oh? Why do you think that?”

  Dylan quickly ran through a list of reasons why she shouldn’t stay with them and searched for the sentences to get his point across without stirring her anger. The irony wasn’t lost on him. As a bestselling author who’d made his living at choosing just the right words, the fountain he’d always had at his fingertips seemed to be in short supply and had been the past couple of years.

  Dylan tucked the clipboard under his arm and shoved his fists into his coat pockets out of habit, even though the gloves covered his hands and the reminders of his past. “Have you ever been to a hunting and fishing lodge?” He didn’t give her time to respond, quite certain he already knew her answer. “Some are nicer than others but Zeke’s lodge is very plain. Bathrooms are shared, the entertainment is the fishing and hunting as well as the animal viewing opportunities—and that’s about it.” He glanced down and noted the smooth shine on her perfect nails. “Zeke hasn’t been doing this long so there aren’t a lot of extras, and we certainly don’t have room service, a spa or a manicurist.”

  Her lavender eyes took on a sparkle of amusement. “That’s perfectly fine,” she said in her sweet twang. She lifted her chin another notch, a small smile curling the corners of her lips. “I can entertain myself—and paint my own nails.”

  It was more than her nails. He’d spent enough time in New York and abroad to know a designer coat and clothes when he saw them. His wife, Lauren, had owned two closets full of the overpriced stuff.

  Only a very high maintenance woman used to the finer things and having her every need catered to would wear four-inch spikes into the Alaska bush without thought to the consequences. She’d sink into the ground and not be able to get herself unstuck, and he sure didn’t have the time to be pulling her out or caring for her wrenched ankles afterward. “Alexandra, I think you need to consider rescheduling or letting me refund your money. I’d be happy to recommend a luxurious accommodation more befitting your…sense of style.”

  “You’re discriminating against me because of how I look?”

  There was that word again.

  “You do look a little soft,” Ansel offered from the sidelines, his wrinkled features and scrunched up expression similar to that of Elmer Fudd.

  He and Alexandra both turned to stare at the man and Ansel wisely excused himself to amble over to where Walter waited.

  Alexandra tilted her head to one side, the glint of a diamond earring sparkling amongst her glossy hair and the hat pulled to the top of her ears. The accessory was sexy, with a bill she wore to the side and cocked at a jaunty angle. But one good breeze and all her body heat would escape through the loosely knitted holes.

  He could see it now. She’d be cold, sick and stuck in the mud in no time flat. “All I’m saying is that you might want to reconsider,” he said before she could dance on the discrimination minefield.

  Women like her wouldn’t fare well at a lodge like theirs and with Zeke moving slower than normal, Dylan didn’t have time to minister to her every complaint—and without a doubt he knew there would be complaints. Alexandra was similar enough to his deceased wife in her manner of dress that he felt safe making comparisons, and Lauren had hated simplicity with a passion, believing camping, hiking or the like too backwoods and hokey for her refined tastes.

  “Okay,” Alexandra said with a patient if somewhat put-out sigh, “I admit I’m not here to hunt but I’d like to try fly-fishing, and I’ve always wanted to photograph Alaska. I hope to go home with enough shots to round out my portfolio, and if I’m willing to rough it like the brochure says, what’s the problem?”

  A photographer? A string of curses paired themselves together in his head as leeriness surged like a tidal wave. His experiences with photographers were a nightmare only Hollywood could create. With another of his books in movie production, a book tour in progress and rumors running rampant, paparazzi had stalked him in and out of the police station, stretching the truth, altering fact and making up stories and lies that added a new level of torment.

  He’d left California over eighteen months ago, more than ready to leave what used to be his life behind, and carried nothing with him but his luggage and his traumatized son. He wanted anonymity, obscurity.

  He wanted to be left alone. Did she know who he was? Was that why she was here and insisted on staying? “What kind of photographer?”

  Alexandra blinked at the question. “Nature, wildlife. Mostly scenic stuff. I sell my photos online to businesses and advertising agencies for promotional materials. Have you seen the photos used for Roo Insurance or the Western States Tourism campaign? Those are mine,” she said with a proud smile. “And I’m also gathering photos for a gallery showing in Tennessee.”

  Not tabloid paparazzi. That was definitely good news. “Sounds like you’re doing well,” he murmured.

  Zeke often told him how paranoid he’d become since his arrest, but how could he not be? That experience, like all the others surrounding Lauren’s death, had changed him and not for the better. “But I believe you’d enjoy one of the other resorts or inns along the peninsula more. I’d be happy to give you a refund and help you rebook with another company. We ca
n go do it right now.”

  “Wait a minute,” she said before he could take a step, her gaze searching his intently. “Let me get this straight. In this economy, you want to give my business away?”

  He heard the challenge in her tone, the incredulous curiosity and disbelief. Protesting the way he was, he was raising her suspicions to a degree that couldn’t be shrugged off. “It’s not because we don’t want your business,” he quickly corrected. “You’re welcome to stay at Deadwood Mountain but most women wouldn’t want to stay with us. That’s the point I’m trying to make. We’re very remote. We’ve been trying to hire a housekeeper for months and can’t get any takers.”

  It was a spin on the reality of the problem but the truth all the same. He blamed the power of the Internet. Unless they were fans of his work most people wouldn’t recognize him or associate his given name with anything of importance. But type his name into a search engine and his bestselling author pen name of Dylan MacGregor appeared—and immediately pulled up pages and pages of listings regarding his arrest and the sensationalism caused by a coincidence in one of his novels.

  Two years ago his life had played out like a soap opera on news and scandal sheets all over the world depicting the ruins of his burned home, his books and career, and his arrest and release. Regardless of the investigation’s final report listing the cause of the fire as accidental, he’d been painted a cold-blooded murderer who had taken a revenge scene from one of his novels and performed it in real life, seeking retribution by setting his wife and her lover on fire and letting the house burn down to cover the evidence. “I’m just trying to warn you that the lodge might not be your type of place.”

  “I see. Well, I appreciate the warning,” she said, a slight bite to her tone, “but I’m sure it will be fine. I might look soft but I like camping, and roughing it inside a lodge will be perfectly acceptable.”

  The tilt of her chin told him he wasn’t going to be able to change her mind without making her suspicious of why he persisted. And until she gave him a reason to believe she was there under false pretenses, he couldn’t turn her away without potentially opening the door he’d worked so hard to close, for his son’s sake if not his own.