by K. A. Tucker
I relay the details of Delyla’s letter.
“So, you’re telling me you snooped through a highly private man’s personal mail?”
“It was right there.”
“That’s something Muriel would do.”
“It’s not the same!”
“Okay, Mini Muriel.”
I swat his stomach playfully and his muscles tense. “She would have stormed back out to the barn and badgered him with questions. I didn’t do that.”
“Because he’d probably threaten you with his gun.”
“Whatever. Anyway, none of this is the point.”
Jonah smiles, as if humoring me. “Okay. What’s the point?”
“He’s not going to contact her.”
“And that’s his choice. It’s his business. We don’t know what happened between him and his family all those years ago. Maybe he doesn’t want anything to do with them.”
I bite my tongue against the urge to say that, actually, we do know. I know, because Roy told me, that dreaded night back in August when Jonah’s plane crashed in the valley. I’ve never repeated what Roy shared to anyone but Simon, and I did that because Simon doesn’t judge.
Jonah would judge. Harshly.
Roy has already done an adequate job of punishing himself, isolated in his cabin in the woods for the past thirty-three years, relying on barn animals and feral dogs for companionship.
“What about forgiving past crimes and letting go? Aren’t you the one who pushed me to give my father another chance?” And Jonah did that because he didn’t give his father another chance until it was too late.
“Yeah, but Roy’s not dying. Besides, Wren was a decent guy. Roy is … Roy.”
“Roy’s decent.”
Jonah snorts. “Last week, when he came by to trim Zeke’s hooves, he was wearing that goddamn raccoon-fur hat again. Bandit wouldn’t come out.”
“He’s decent in his own way,” I amend. “And, you know, I was thinking, if Agnes hadn’t taken it upon herself to call me, I never would have come to Alaska. I never would have gotten to know my dad before he died. We never would have met.”
“So?” Jonah’s voice has taken on a wary edge.
“So … I took a picture of Delyla’s contact info.”
He rolls, shifting me onto my back. “What kind of crazy plan is going on in that pretty head of yours?”
“I don’t know yet.”
His fingers stroke my hair off my face before he peers down at me. “He’s not like Wren was, though. He’s more like a wild animal. One that finally trusts you. That can all be erased in a blink if you do something to break his trust, and you’ll be back to square one with him.”
“I know. That’s what I’m worried about.” Roy has come so far since that first visit back in March, the day we moved in and found out we were proud owners of a goat we didn’t want.
“Enough about Roy.” Jonah leans in, his lips grazing my jawline, shifting to the sensitive spot below my ear. He knows that’s a weak spot of mine. “It’s our second-to-last night alone until January second.”
“Oh my God, you’re right!”
“That’s a long time to have your mother and Simon on the other side of our bedroom wall.”
“They both wear earplugs to sleep.” Simon is a light sleeper, and the sound of him breathing irritates my mother.
“Earplugs won’t drown you out.”
“Oh, shut up.” Jonah loves to tease me about how loud I can get, but it’s—usually—not true. “I guess you better get to work, then.”
He gives me a questioning look. “Get to work with what, exactly?”
“You owe me.” I waggle my eyebrows. “For yesterday, in the office.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up as his fingers deftly unfasten the buttons of my pajama top, until he’s casting the sides open, uncovering my breasts to the cool air. “Have I ever told you how much I love all these sexy, oversized flannel pajamas you keep buying for yourself? Especially the ones with the candy canes?”
My laughter carries from deep in my belly as he shifts his broad body down, his tongue leaving a wet trail along my skin, from my collarbone all the way to my belly button, pausing for a few swirls around my peaked nipples. “Good, because I bought two more pairs.” I pause, and then add in a playfully seductive voice, “Vennen.”
He freezes. “Can you not call me that? Especially not when I’m doing this?”
“Okay, vennen,” I echo, stifling my giggle.
“Seriously.”
“What does it mean?”
“It’s a term of endearment. For a little boy.” He tugs my bottoms off in one fell swoop of his hand and then tosses them away. Shifting over to fit his shoulders between my thighs, he pauses to stare steadily into my eyes. “Do I look like a little boy to you, Calla?” His voice has grown husky.
I swallow my amusement away. “No.” He looks like the most masculine, beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
I inhale sharply at the first swipe of his tongue.
“What the hell are you talking about? Mom? What is he talking about!”
I blink the sleep from my eyes and check the clock to see that it’s only eight a.m. It’s still dark out, but Björn and Astrid have probably been up for hours, given the time difference.
With a groan, I slide out of bed, shuddering against the morning chill. I hastily clean myself up in the bathroom and then rush downstairs.
“Why am I finding out now? From him?” Jonah is glaring at Björn from across the kitchen island, but he’s clearly talking to his mother, perched on a kitchen stool.
“I didn’t want to worry you for something so minor,” Astrid responds calmly, flipping through an urban bridal magazine Diana subscribed me to as soon as Jonah and I got engaged. Her face is freshly made with mascara and a hint of lipstick, her short, platinum-blonde hair styled for the day, yet the expression she wears is heavy with exhaustion. Whether it’s from her long travels or this ongoing strife between her son and husband, only she can tell.
Meanwhile, Jonah looks like he’s been slapped across the face as he shakes his head at his mother. “Minor? You call that minor?”
Astrid’s gaze stalls on an image of wedding dresses as she says something to Björn in Norwegian. Again, that musical lilt masks what I’m assuming are unpleasant words.
“Because I’m not keeping your secrets anymore!” he snaps in English, likely for Jonah’s benefit.
“Watch your tone with her!” Jonah snaps back.
My body stiffens with the rising voices. If this continues, there will be nuclear war–level tension by Christmas Day.
I take the last two steps and holler, “Good morning,” hoping my presence might defuse the impending explosion. “How did everyone sleep?”
Astrid answers with a warm, albeit embarrassed smile. “Not bad. We’re still on Oslo time. It’ll probably take us a full week to adapt.” She adds a moment later, “But the cabin is quite comfortable. Right, Björn?” Her eyebrows arch as she looks to her husband.
“Yes. Comfortable.” Whether he’s been schooled on the appropriate answer or not, I appreciate it.
“Morning.” I stretch on my tiptoes to reach Jonah’s lips for a morning kiss before flashing a three-second warning look at him. When I see the glimmer of recognition there—that he needs to calm down—I continue to the barista machine for a much-needed caffeine jolt.
“I have a run up near Talkeetna this morning that I need to get ready for, but then I can help you guys move your things over here,” Jonah offers, his tone adjusted accordingly. “You can have the room we set up for Agnes and Mabel.”
I frown at his back. What is going on? Didn’t Astrid just say they were comfortable in the cabin?
“There’s no need—”
“I’ll be back around one.” Jonah rounds the counter and leans in to kiss his mother on the forehead. “Have everything packed if you can, okay?”
She sighs but then reaches up to graze her
son’s cheek. “Okay, vennen.”
Despite the curious change of plans, I stifle the urge to giggle.
Without so much as a glance at Björn, Jonah marches out the side door, stalling only long enough to grab his winter hat and gloves from the hook. Seconds later, the snowmachine’s engine purrs, cutting into the awkward silence in the kitchen.
What secret did Björn divulge? What has Astrid been keeping from her son?
“That is quite the contraption,” Astrid murmurs through a sip of her coffee, her attention on the barista machine. “I think I will need to read the manual to figure it out.”
“Would you like me to make you something? Latte, cappuccino, espresso …”
She waves the offer away. “We’re fine with our black coffee.”
“Are you hungry? I have homemade banana loaf.” I pull it out of the fridge and set it on the counter, along with plates. I spent the last week stocking the house with enough food to feed twenty people with twenty different eating habits. “Or I could make you some eggs and bacon. Or, we have fruit salad and yogurt, if you’d rather—”
“This is fine.” She reaches for the knife to cut Björn a slice of bread. She slides the plate to him without a word and he settles down on the stool without so much as a thank-you. “Jonah said you have a Christmas party to attend tonight?”
“Yeah. I got roped into helping with the big annual charity dinner at the community center. I’m sorry, I couldn’t get out of it—”
“Why would you need to get out of it?” She cuts me off abruptly with a frown. “It sounds like an important night.”
“Well, it is, but you guys just got here and I feel bad about leaving you all alone.”
“If you keep fussing over us, you’ll be exhausted and counting down the days until we leave.” She softens her admonishment with a smile. “So, what do you have to do for this dinner?”
“I don’t know, actually. Probably a lot of grunt work. Muriel told me to be there at ten.”
“Is that the bossy neighbor?”
“Yeah. She’s in charge of planning the night. She asked for my help.” More like told me I was helping, after recognizing that my marketing plans might have had a hand in the smashing success of the Winter Carnival—with record attendance and its highest earnings in fifty years. “Teddy dresses up as Santa.”
She quietly admonishes Björn as she picks at wayward banana-bread crumbs on the counter around his plate. “Is that the grouchy neighbor?”
“No. That’s Roy.” I laugh at the thought of Roy donning a red suit and white beard. He’d be Billy Bob Thornton’s version of Santa. He’d be a child’s worst nightmare. “Teddy is Muriel’s husband, and he’s probably the happiest man I’ve ever met—oh, crap! He forgot his thermos.” I spy the tall navy-blue cylinder sitting by the coffee pot. Jonah has taken to filling it on his way out the door in the morning, without fail. Whatever they were fighting over before I came down distracted him.
“Go, go …” Astrid ushers me away. “Bring it to him, before he flies off. We can talk more when you come back. Maybe about setting a wedding date?” She reaches for the magazine. “So perhaps those who are traveling twenty hours to see their only son get married have sufficient time to prepare?” It sounds like a suggestion, but the cutting glance she follows it up with tells me she doesn’t plan on boarding that plane home without arrangements etched into her calendar.
Björn mutters something in Norwegian to Astrid. It doesn’t sound nearly as musical in his gruff voice.
She collects his plate and puts it in the sink.
And I fill Jonah’s thermos with black coffee, thankful for an excuse to track him down and find out what’s going on.
Chapter Four
Toby’s burgundy pickup truck is parked outside the hangar when I sail in on the green snowmachine that has unofficially become mine. Now that the regular fishing season is closed and Trapper’s Crossing Resort is without guests, he’s been able to dedicate more time to working on Phil’s old plane, coming here early in the day, before the mechanics shop where he services small engines gets busy.
Toby and Jonah are standing beside the 1959 Beaver when I stroll through the side door. They turn in unison at the intrusion.
“You forgot this.” I wave the thermos in the air.
“Yeah. I realized halfway here, but there was no way I was goin’ back to deal with them again.”
By “them,” I know he means Björn. Still, I shoot him a disapproving look before turning my attention to the burly thirty-five-year-old. Toby was my first friend when we moved to Trapper’s Crossing this past March, back when I was still struggling with acclimating to this isolated place. “Didn’t think I’d see you here today, with the Christmas dinner happening later.”
“Yeah.” He scratches the brown scruff on his chin. Come May, he’ll be clean-shaven again, but until then, he’ll let it grow all winter. “I just stopped by to double-check on a part I’ve been trying to find.”
“How long is the task list Muriel has for you?”
His face splits into that wide grin that instantly softens his features. “Two pages, front and back.”
And yet I’m sure he didn’t utter a word of complaint, even when his mother would deserve it. The man is as kindhearted as his father and always willing to offer a hand. I laugh. “Good luck.”
His grin grows wider. “She’s got one for you, too, and it’s longer.”
“Don’t tell me that,” I groan.
“Sorry. Figured you should be prepared.”
“So, you’re thinking you’ll have it by Monday?” Jonah asks, steering the conversation back to plane talk.
“They said they’d try to get it here before the storm. Once I get it, I can start putting this baby back together.” He gives the loose engine a pat.
“When do you think we’ll have it in the air again?”
Toby shrugs. “Hard to say. Last I heard, seats will be back by late January, but that’s more an estimate. I should have everything else ready by then, barring any more surprises.”
“Perfect.” Jonah’s blue gaze drags over the carcass of the plane. It’s in pieces and looking like it belongs in a scrapyard. “And then all it needs is a fresh coat of paint.”
“You want to paint it?” Toby studies the plane’s body, which I’ll admit is already in decent condition.
“Canary yellow,” Jonah answers without a moment’s hesitation. “That was Wren’s favorite color, and that’s this guy’s name.”
And if Jonah is anything, it’s sentimental. Surprisingly so.
I close the distance to rope my arms around his waist. “He would love it.”
He returns the affection, pulling me tight against his chest.
Toby’s phone chirps in his pocket. He checks the message and, by the soft grunt that escapes, I can tell it’s Muriel, beckoning. “Well, I better head out now. See you in a few, Calla?”
“With bells on. Literally.” Volunteers are required to wear elf costumes. I haven’t seen mine but Emily warned me to be ready for a lot of jingling.
Toby’s chuckle follows him out the door.
“Thanks for this.” Jonah slips the thermos from my hand and kisses me in one smooth motion before peeling away. “I should get going.”
I hook my hand around his arm, stalling his escape. “Not before you tell me what that was back there. Why are they staying in Agnes and Mabel’s room, if the cabin is okay?”
Jonah pauses to pinch the bridge of his nose as if in pain. “My mom had a pulmonary embolism last year, in August.”
“Oh, wow. That’s … bad, right?” I stumble over my words. I don’t actually know what that is, but I’m doing the math—last August was just before my father died. “That’s something to do with her lungs?”
“A blockage, yeah. She started having chest pain, so they rushed her to the hospital and ran all the tests. They found a blood clot. A pretty big one.”
“Did she have to have surgery?”
“Is she doing okay now?”
“She says she is, but who the fuck really knows. She didn’t tell me about this, so what else isn’t she telling me about?” Jonah is scowling. “Björn should have called me.”
“It sounds like she told him not to.”
“I don’t care. He should have told me, anyway.” He paces around the plane engine. “I’m her son.”
“You’re right. Someone should have told you. But why do you think she might not have? What would you have done?”
“I would have gone to Oslo!”
“Right.”
He seems to consider that for a long moment. “I would have flown back the second she told me, and then I might have not been there for Wren when he died. Or you.”
I’m not sure what to say to ease Jonah’s frustration. If that had been my mother or Simon, I would be just as furious to find out more than a year after the fact.
“And then fucking Björn”—he spits his name out like a curse—“he has the nerve to lay a guilt trip on me for making her fly all the way here to see me when I had no clue this was going on in the first place! Like, of course I would never have agreed to this, had I known! She shouldn’t be flying halfway across the world! Long plane rides are a risk for people with her condition. What if the thinners stop working and she’s out there, in the middle of the night, with a huge blood clot working through her veins? And she can’t even get a signal to call for help.”
“That’s why you want them staying at our house.” The pieces are beginning to fit together.
“At least if she’s in our house and something goes wrong, I’m there.”
Whether that’s a legitimate concern, I’m not sure. What I do know is that Jonah won’t sleep a wink with her across the lake.