by Kay Lyons
He’d always found the process of writing fun, very much like a puzzle that had to be put together. The scene was a piece, one of many that might eventually make up a story.
“I told Alex you two should get a good idea of tours and prices and such. The loft is free and quiet.”
Dylan ran a hand over his face in an attempt to banish the scene from his mind. He hadn’t written a word in a very long time. Writing, like his life in California, belonged to his past.
Alexandra studied him, a frown furrowing her brow. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? We can do it tomorrow if you’d like.”
And give up part of the short time he had to spend with her? Dylan tilted his head toward the stairs, grateful for once that Zeke had interfered. “First door at the top of the stairs.”
Chapter 11
DYLAN WATCHED THE TANTALIZING sway of Alexandra’s backside as she walked to the double windows fronting the miniscule room. No auroras tonight.
He perched himself on the edge of the desk. “What did you have lined up to see?”
Alexandra shot him a look over her shoulder, her eyes full of questions.
“I’m fine,” he said in response. “I didn’t sleep much after what happened on the dock because I felt I needed to talk to you. It’s catching up to me. Now tell me what you want to see.”
She gave him a sweet smile. “Everything? I realize now I was overly optimistic in how much I had planned. When I travel I like to see as much of the area as possible because I usually never visit the same place—”
It wasn’t hard to finish her sentence. “You never visit the same place twice?”
“Yeah.”
It was a reminder that she wasn’t staying, a reminder of where they stood with each other.
“So, anyway, I’d like to see the glaciers. I’ve heard they’re awesome. And Mount Redoubt and Spur up close. I’d love to photograph one of the abandoned mining towns you and Zeke have told us about, Owen Foxx’s, of course, and wolves if possible but I know that’s a stretch. Oh, and the hot springs and the Kenai Peninsula. I thought my last two days could be spent touring Anchorage,” she continued in a nervous rush. “It probably comes as a surprise, but I like to shop.”
“Really?” He didn’t think he’d ever met a woman who didn’t like to shop. But her words made him leery. Did she want him to show her around Anchorage? Taxiing up to the small airport gate to pick up Zeke’s passengers was one thing. But spending days walking amongst crowds of tourists, people in general, wasn’t his idea of fun.
“Yeah. There were some nice-looking galleries and shops online. I’d like to visit them in person.”
A flight plan began to form in his head as well as a calendar of things he already had scheduled. “I can fly you to Anchorage at the end of your stay but I may not be able to show you around it or the peninsula. You’ll be able to rent a car and drive, though. No problem.”
“Oh.”
Was she disappointed? Hadn’t she just reminded him she couldn’t stay? “How about I put together an itinerary based on what you’ve said and we go from there? Some of the areas you’ve named are on the route for supply drops. I’ve been filling in for Zeke since his heart attack but if you can handle a few extra takeoffs and landings, you could go with me.”
She made a face at the mention of flying but then her shoulders squared. “I can do that. I knew I had to fly small when I booked but I swear the planes looked so much bigger on the Internet. I’ll be fine, though, really. Just don’t get mad and toss me out of the plane if I hurl.”
“It’s happened before.”
A burst of laughter escaped her and she sent him a wary glance. “The hurling? Or throwing the hurler out of the plane?”
He smiled at her joke, liked that she felt comfortable with him. “Guess we’ll have to find out.”
Hearing voices, Dylan glanced toward the open door as Ansel and Walter drifted by. Both men glanced inside, their hopeful expressions easy to read.
Dylan glanced at his watch. He’d put Colt to bed at eight. Zeke had probably gone to his room, too, and now the house was quiet, the generator on for only a few more minutes. He should let her go so she could get ready for bed while they still had lights.
“Dylan, about today.”
Unease flooded him. She’d had time to think over his confession. Were doubts kicking in? Was she reconsidering the attraction between them? “I can fly you and keep my hands to myself.” It wouldn’t be easy. Now that he’d tasted her he wanted more, but he’d do it.
Her expression softened. “Dylan.” She stepped in front of him, resting her hands on his arms. “It’s not that. I don’t want to send you mixed signals, that’s all.”
Mixed signals? “What do you mean?”
She pulled one of his hands off the edge of the desk where he gripped it, and carried it to her mouth. She’d said his scars didn’t bother her but they bothered him. His hands were bare and the sight of his mottled skin was wrong against the smoothness of her face and lips. His chest seized when she kissed his knuckles and opened his palm to hold it to her cheek.
“I’m glad you were honest with me today and you told me what happened. And I haven’t changed my mind. I can see who you are. But I am feeling a little freaked out by how fast things are moving and I thought if I’m feeling this way, maybe you are, too?”
He managed a nod, not sure what to say. Not sure what he felt besides humbled and turned on and in over his head because he’d never thought he’d feel this way again.
“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me,” she said. “I’m decisive and independent, and I love my freedom. But those kisses were…” She shook her head, as if at a loss to express what she meant.
Mind-blowing? Seductive? “Powerful?” he suggested.
“Yes.” She closed her eyes briefly. “And after kissing you and agreeing to spend the next two weeks with you, even though I want to explore what’s happening between us, I need time. You might think I’m a tease for saying this now, but when you kiss me I forget common sense and morals and time frames and… I don’t want to make a mistake.”
“What are you saying, sweetheart?”
A visible battle took place across the angles and planes of her face. “I’m saying,” she whispered, her voice firm, “that no matter how powerful those kisses are, I’m not making any promises to sleep with you because I haven’t even known you a week. That’s not me. So bottom line—” she took a deep breath “—no pressure, no promises when it comes to whatever happens between us. Okay?”
Sometimes he wondered if she could read his mind.
Dylan used his hold on her to tug her to him and brush his lips over her mouth. She shivered.
Seeing her physical response, the way her eyes darkened to a smoky-blue, his hands shook when he gathered her closer.
When their bodies made full contact Dylan kissed her again, softly, keeping the kiss light and tasting her warmth, lingering over the caress because he knew it was all he’d get, all either of them could handle. For now.
As he ended the kiss he noted the way the pulse at her throat raced. “Whatever you want.”
* * *
THE NEXT DAY ALEX MEANDERED into the quiet lodge, her thoughts on Dylan and their agreement.
Ansel and Walter were fishing. She’d chatted with them briefly and taken pictures of a bear with her long range zoom lens as it drank across the lake, but she had no desire to stand in the cold water. Hiking didn’t appeal, either.
After Dylan had kissed her good-night in the loft, she’d descended the stairs on wobbly legs.
Her grandmother was a firm believer that things happened for a reason and that troubles, heartache and even good times played out in life as they were meant to. Gram believed that all things work for good to those who believed. Now Alex had to find that faith and shove her insecurities aside. What else could she do?
Pausing in front of one of the windows, she looked out at the sound of a plane approa
ching, slowing to make that terrifying water landing. Experiencing it from the air had been horrible but watching the smooth, easy glide of the plane as the floats connected with the water wasn’t bad at all. From this angle, there was a grace to the motion, a mechanical version of the ducks she’d seen earlier.
So maybe to get through her future landings, she needed to focus on the positive. Picture the successful landing in her mind.
Couldn’t hurt.
The green truck appeared from the road leading to the cabins and she saw Dylan making his way down the slope to the dock. Dylan arrived before the plane floated into position and when he got out he said something to Ansel and Walter that had all three of them laughing.
Dylan leaned against the truck in a casual pose, and she narrowed her gaze to take in his handsome profile, the way the breeze ruffled his hair and the collar of his coat. She’d kissed that neck. She could taste him now if she closed her eyes and—
“Awfully pretty day to be holed up in here,” Zeke said from behind her.
Alex jumped, heat filling her cheeks because of her thoughts. How long had he been watching her? And with that peculiar gleam in his eyes? She forced a smile to her lips and hoped he didn’t notice her heightened color. “I’ve been out for a walk.”
“Must not have gone too far if you’re back already. You feeling okay? You missed breakfast and you’re looking a little flushed.”
So much for not noticing. “I’m fine. Too many layers,” she said, plucking at her turtleneck. Going one step further to prove her point, she shrugged off her thermal-insulated vest. “And I wasn’t hungry this morning, so I worked for a while.” She’d made another pass through her review and added a few things, removed a few sentences. And dropped the rating to three and a half stars. She felt bad about that but beauty didn’t make up for the lack of amenities and readers of Traveling Single expected certain things from a four star rating.
“You work too much. You’re on vacation, remember? Something happen last night with Dylan that you’re staying in here to avoid him?”
Alex stilled. Gentle, well-intended matchmaking was one thing, but everyone in the house offering advice and psychoanalysis? That was uncomfortable to say the least. “I don’t know what you mean. Nothing happened. We just talked about my tours.”
Zeke turned and muttered something under his breath. Something like…stupid boy?
Sensing her chance to ask questions and get answers without putting Dylan on the spot and making him relive a nightmare, Alex followed Zeke into the kitchen and made her way to the counter where the coffeepot sat. “Zeke, are you sure you’re okay with Dylan taking me on those tours?”
“Absolutely,” Zeke said. “Dylan needs a few days away from here to relax and think about things. Showing you the sights would be just the thing.”
To relax and think about what things?
Does it matter? You can’t expect him to reveal his life history in one big gush.
Besides, did she want him to do that? “Maybe I can help. Is something wrong?”
Zeke’s gaze shifted and settled on his grandson. Colt played on the far side of the living room but was visible through the opening between the two rooms. She’d walked right in, over to the window and hadn’t even known Colt was there.
As before, Dylan’s son played with his carved wooden set. He was in the process of setting up the toys that included fencing, several cows, horses, dogs and even a few cowboys.
Her gaze on Colt, her mind blanked when she saw Colt’s mouth move as though the cowboy in his hand talked to his horse. But unlike her nephew Matt, who made all sorts of play sounds and character voices, Colt made no sound at all.
Wait a minute. Had she ever heard him speak?
That first day when she’d taken Colt’s photograph, Dylan had said Colt suffered emotional issues from his mother’s death. Could his silence be one of them? “Zeke, can I ask you something?”
“Suppose that depends on what it is.”
“It’s not about the stash of cigars I found in the pantry when I was looking for the coffee filters.”
Zeke shot her a look that questioned whether or not she’d keep his secret. “I’m doing everything else the docs have said. A man’s gotta have some fun.”
Alex smiled at his words but tilted her head toward Colt. “I don’t mean to pry, but it just dawned on me that I’ve never heard Colt speak, and I’ve never heard him respond when spoken to. Is something wrong?” she asked, careful to keep her voice from carrying to where the child played.
Zeke’s expression—a mix of wariness and sadness—razored into her soul. “Might be best if you ask Dylan.”
So there was something wrong. Dylan had told her about his wife, the fire. Why not tell her about Colt? Did he not feel that he could? “He’s told me Colt has emotional issues from the fire, but didn’t explain what.”
“He told you that?” Zeke looked pleased by the news, as though Dylan talking about his son was unusual.
So maybe Zeke would fill in the blanks?
“Surely you know me well enough by now to know I would never do anything to hurt Colt. To hurt anyone,” she clarified. “I’m only asking because I’m concerned.”
“We’re all concerned.”
“Colt’s problems are serious?” She blinked in confusion. “But I don’t understand. If Colt was that traumatized by the fire, why does Dylan have him here? No offense, but why not live somewhere where Colt could receive help and whatever therapy he needs?”
“Like I said, you need to ask Dylan that.”
Zeke’s tone made her wonder if the subject was a touchy one. She would ask Dylan. In the meantime, she could only imagine the worry Zeke felt for both his son and grandson. She was a stranger and she worried about them. Colt was a shadow instead of the light he should be. How much did he remember about the fire? Hadn’t scientists learned fear imprinted images in memory?
Zeke released a heavy sigh and resumed his task of folding dish towels. “I can practically hear the cranks in your head turnin’. So listen ’cause I’ll only say this once since Dylan will probably be madder than a goat that I told you. Colt shows no sign of brain damage. He’s not autistic and he isn’t shy,” Zeke informed her softly. “But the truth is, he hasn’t spoken a word since his mama died.”
Zeke put the towels away, then began pulling out pots and pans and ingredients for lunch. “The docs and shrinks say he’ll come out of it in time but so far he hasn’t.” He started crushing cornflakes he’d put in a plastic bag.
Poor little guy. Her heart broke for Colt. For Dylan and Zeke, too. No wonder Dylan seemed to carry so much guilt. He’d lost more than his home and marriage, troubled though it was. He’d lost the sound of his son’s voice. Colt hadn’t spoken in years?
“Dylan doesn’t want people to know Colt doesn’t talk. Part of why he’s so upset with me for turning this place into a lodge is that he’s afraid for Colt’s safety with me advertising it and such. So when people come, we just let them think what they like. Dylan believes it’s safer for Colt if guests don’t know.”
It probably was safer. But she couldn’t help but be hurt Dylan hadn’t told her.
Zeke dumped the crushed flakes into a mixing bowl as the door opened and the three hunters who’d flown to the spike camp stepped in carrying their gear. Colt’s head jerked up at the sight of the newcomers and he got to his feet and ran to the kitchen.
Zeke ruffled Colt’s hair and hugged him close to his legs when Colt wrapped one arm around Zeke’s thigh.
“That cold air get’cha?” Zeke chuckled. “Say, I need to go talk to those fellas for a second. Shouldn’t take me more’n five minutes. Would you mind keeping an eye on Colt while I do that?”
She blinked at the request. Dylan had warned her away from his son after she’d taken Colt’s picture but surely that didn’t apply now? “Sure.”
“Colt, you stay with Alex, okay? I’ll just be in the other room but I need to talk to those gents.�
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Colt looked up at her with his big brown eyes and Alex smiled, uncomfortable with the child’s stare. “What do you say, Colt? Would you like to help me?”
Chapter 12
ZEKE LEFT THE KITCHEN and Alex tried to come up with something funny to say to draw a smile from Colt. Her mind went blank. Would it make Colt uncomfortable if she talked to him? Should she keep working? Why talk if he won’t answer?
She was out of her element when it came to kids. Playing with her infant niece and nephews on trips home wasn’t enough to clue her in to this situation. “That’s a nice cowboy setup you have in there. Do you like horses?”
Colt made eye contact with her briefly but didn’t respond, not even a nod or a shrug.
Alex forced another smile. Okay, then. “I have a horse. She’s in Tennessee at my parents’ house. They take care of her for me.”
Again, no answer, though he did seem to be listening and the expression that flickered across his handsome little face said he liked hearing about her horse. So, horses it was.
“Her name is Bandit. She’s an Appaloosa and nearly all white, but she has black socks on all four hooves, black spots on her hindquarters and a black stripe over her eyes and ears like a hat a bandit would wear.” She pointed to the cornflakes. “Your grandpa left the recipe here for baked fried chicken but it looks like we need a lot more of those. Would you mind crushing them like your grandpa was? Like this,” she said, showing him. “Yeah, perfect.”
Colt started crushing the cereal with little-boy fascination and single-minded purposefulness, and more questions about Colt’s disability piled up in her head as she told Colt about riding Bandit, grooming her and other things she hadn’t thought of in quite a while.
Home. Bandit. Her family. Was she going to wake up one day sad that she’d missed out on what was going on there because she was always traveling? She didn’t think so. Especially when it kept her under the radar so her mother’s focus was on her brothers rather than her.