Starry Night: A Christmas Novel

by Debbie Macomber

  “That’s what I thought.” Turning his back on her, he walked completely around the outside of his plane, running his hand over the structure as though checking for something, although Carrie couldn’t imagine what.

  She wasn’t giving up. “Can you tell me if Mr. Sawyer is in the area now, or when I can expect to find him?”

  “Ah, so it’s Mr. Sawyer now?”

  Carrie ignored his tone and the question.

  “I have something to give Finn Dalton.”

  “Do you, now? And what might that be? A headache?”

  Very funny. She ignored that comment, although her patience was wearing thin. “It’s something from his mother.”

  “And his mother’s name is?” he asked, whirling around unexpectedly and almost colliding with her.

  “Joan,” she said quickly. “Joan Finnegan Dalton Reese.”

  The mechanic regarded her for several moments, studying her, his eyes boring into hers. “I’m Sawyer O’Halloran.”

  “You’re Sawyer?”

  “In the flesh.”

  After a long flight, Carrie was tired and hungry and anxious. “I want to hire you to take me to Finn Dalton.”

  Shaking his head, Sawyer muttered something indecipherable and walked away. “You and every other reporter who has been nosing around here.”

  Carrie hurried after him. “I’m serious, and I’ll pay you anything reasonable if you’ll take me to him. You can wait while I talk to Finn. I won’t be long, I promise.”

  “Just as I thought. When will you people give it up? Although I have to admit you’re cleverer than most, bringing up his mother.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. I have something to give him from her.”

  “Sure you do,” Sawyer commented, continuing to walk away from her.

  Carrie chased after him, dragging her suitcase. She had to duck her head in order to walk beneath the Cessna’s wing. “It’s his father’s wedding band. Joan asked me to deliver it to Finn.” She hated the desperate pleading quality to her voice, but she had to convince Sawyer she was legitimate.

  Sawyer hesitated. “Show me the ring.”

  “Okay.” She slid the purse strap off her shoulder and dug inside for the ring, which was wrapped in a tissue inside a plastic bag. Once it was free, she handed it to Sawyer. “His name, Paul Dalton, is engraved on the inside, along with Joan’s name and the date of their wedding.”

  Sawyer carefully examined the gold band, and then Carrie, before returning the ring. “There’s a storm due. I’m heading back to Hard Luck in fifteen minutes. I’ll land on the lake outside Finn’s cabin and return in the morning or whenever, depending on this storm. Is that agreeable?”

  “Yes, perfect.” At this point, Carrie would have agreed to practically anything.

  “Finn isn’t going to like this, so I’ll radio him you’re coming.”

  “I don’t expect he’ll have the welcome mat out.”

  “You’ve got two things against you.”

  “Is that all?”

  “First, you’re a woman, and second, you’re a reporter. Make that three things.”

  “Three?”

  “Yes. You’re bringing him something from his mother. He doesn’t want any reminders of her.”

  “So she said.” Curiosity got the best of her. “Not that I want you to change your mind, but can you tell me why you’re helping me?”

  The bush pilot shrugged. “I’ll probably regret it. Finn’s a good friend, but it’s time he broadened his horizons some, and you, pretty lady, might be just the ticket.”

  “Whatever the reason, I’m grateful.”

  “Finn will probably stop speaking to me, but he’ll get over it eventually,” Sawyer continued. “I feel I should warn you, though; he’s bound to be as inviting as a wolverine.”

  “Got it. Any other advice?”

  Sawyer scratched the side of his head. “I wouldn’t start off mentioning the ring and his mother.” He gave her the once-over a second time. “You pack anything practical for the weather?”

  “I live in Chicago. It freezes there.”

  He snorted as if to cover a laugh. “You’ve got fifteen minutes. Make use of them.” He pointed in the direction of the airport, and Carrie took off running. She wasn’t sure what she’d need, but with the help of the clerk picked up a couple of pieces of gear, including a hat and thick scarf. It seemed extravagant to purchase anything else, seeing that she intended to be in Alaska only a short while.

  By the time she returned, Sawyer had moved the plane out of the hangar and had the engine running. “You ready?” he asked.

  Because she was winded and excited, she only nodded.

  “Okay, climb inside. We need to get going.”

  “Right now?” She’d hoped to have a few moments to gather herself.

  “Yes, now,” he snapped. “There’s limited light, and with the coming storm, that window is closing. Ready or not, I’m leaving.”

  “I’m ready.” Carrie had never flown in a private plane, but that one small detail wasn’t about to stop her. She eyed the Cessna, sucked in a deep breath, and loaded her suitcase. It wasn’t easy climbing inside and locking the passenger door. Carrie was relieved she’d worn her jeans, and thankfully her boots had only a moderate heel.

  Within a few minutes they were airborne, circling the airport and heading due north. Carrie clung to her purse as if that would save her from imminent danger and held her breath several times when the plane rocked after encountering moderate turbulence. Sawyer had handed her a pair of headphones, but he wasn’t much for conversation, preoccupied as he was with flying the plane. He radioed Finn twice but wasn’t able to reach him. Although Sawyer didn’t say so, Carrie had the feeling he already regretted agreeing to this. Fearing anything she said might do more harm than good, she remained silent until it was clear that he was preparing to land.

  “Where’s the airstrip?” she asked, studying the landscape below. In the dim light, all she could see were snow and trees.

  “Airstrip?” Sawyer repeated incredulously. “I’m not landing on any strip. Didn’t I already mention I’d be landing on a lake?”

  Set on convincing him to fly her to Finn, Carrie didn’t remember that part of their conversation. A lake? A frozen lake? Peering through the window, she couldn’t make out anything but snow. She gasped out loud when the plane’s wheels bounced against the ice and skidded sideways out of control.

  Sawyer didn’t cut the engine but guided the Cessna to the lake’s center and turned toward her.

  “Under normal conditions, I’d escort you to Finn’s cabin. Unfortunately, I’m headed directly into that storm, and I don’t have the time to spare. You can see his cabin over there,” he said, pointing in the distance.

  Carrie squinted in the fading light. “Is it far?”

  “You’ll happen upon it soon enough. If Finn isn’t there, make yourself at home, and have him contact me.” He snickered. “Actually, no need, he’ll be in touch, I’m sure. You going to be okay?”

  Carrie nodded, swallowed hard, and put on a good front. “I was a Girl Scout. I’ll be fine.” She could see the outline of the cabin through the thick, fat flakes that had already started to fall. Sawyer needed to get back in the air as quickly as possible.

  “Good luck,” he said, and it sounded as if he meant it.

  “We’ll square up with what I owe you when you return tomorrow.”

  “Sure, whatever. But like I said, with the weather, it might be a day or two.”

  Carrie bit into the soft flesh of her inner lip. “Okay.” She was grateful he had brought her this far and would count her blessings.

  He hit the throttle, which was her signal to get going. Carrie opened the plane’s door and climbed out, but not with a lot of grace. She retrieved her small suitcase and the bag of gear she’d bought and stood back as the plane immediately accelerated across the frozen lake. The wind and snow whipped across Carrie’s face with such ferocity that it felt
as if she were being stuck with needles.

  Other than her brief time in the hangar when she’d first met Sawyer, she hadn’t been exposed to the Alaskan elements, and they were as brutal as the bush pilot had warned. Her coat, which had been all the protection she needed in Chicago, felt useless. Already she was so cold she had started to shake. Within moments her toes had lost all feeling. Wrapping her new scarf around her head and face, she started walking in the direction of the cabin.

  With the plane airborne now, the thin layer of snow settled down on the thick ice, and in the distance Carrie saw a twisting tail of smoke. That had to be coming from Finn’s cabin.

  Carrie hunched her shoulders as close to her head as she could manage, and even through the protection of her gloves, it felt as if her hands were exposed to the raw elements. The ice was uneven, and dragging her suitcase wasn’t an easy task. With her hands numb, she twice dropped the suitcase handle and had to stop and pick it back up.

  She hadn’t even met Finn and already she’d started to feel as if this was a terrible mistake. Everything had happened so quickly, and when she did meet him she wasn’t sure what she would say to convince him to give her an interview.

  Suddenly it started to snow with such ferocity that she couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her. The wind drove it sideways, and with her head bowed she struggled against the elements until she heard what sounded like a wild beast. Looking up, Carrie squinted, and what she saw caused her heart to shoot up to her throat. It was an animal, a wolf, and he was racing toward her at an alarming pace.

  Dropping her suitcase, Carrie did the only thing she could think to do. She started running. The wind made it nearly impossible to make headway as she strained against the force of it.

  Then it happened. She stumbled and fell face-first onto the ice.

  Before she could right herself, the wolf was nearly on top of her.

  Screaming, she twisted around and bunched her fists, determined to do what she could to save her life.

  Chapter Three

  “Hennessey, sit.”

  Carrie felt the animal’s warm breath against her neck and then didn’t. Struggling to sit upright, she turned to see a man walking toward her across the ice. The wind swirled the snow around him, obliterating his features, but his strides were long and powerful. The animal she’d assumed was a wolf appeared now to be a large dog. Hennessey sat on his haunches, awaiting his master.

  His master.

  This could only be Finn Dalton.

  When he reached her, the hulk of a man loomed over her like a beast in his own right. His face was nearly obscured by protective weather gear and a full beard, but his eyes, deep and dark, cut through her the way a diamond slices through rock. As Carrie gazed up at him, in those first few breathless moments, he seemed more intimidating than the wolf/dog had been.

  “Who are you?” he shouted, but his voice was carried away by the wind. Leaning down, he reached for her arm, pulling her to her feet. Upright now, her boots slipped against the freshly fallen snow, and she would have toppled a second time if he hadn’t held her in place. Shaking his head in what could be described only as disgust, he grabbed her about the waist and tucked her under his arm as if she were no bigger than a rag doll. Before she could protest, he started walking toward the cabin, eating up the distance with angry strides. Carrie was perpendicular to the ground, so all she could see was the snow on the lake. By now, the hair that had escaped her hat was frozen tendrils that slapped against the tender skin of her cheeks. Hennessey obediently followed. Carrie thought to protest and demand that he put her down, but she knew it would do no good. He probably wouldn’t be able to hear her.

  “M-y, m-y suitcase,” she shouted, or tried. Then she noticed that he had that and her shopping bag in his other hand. His strength astonished her. He carried her with one arm as if she weighed next to nothing. Hennessey trailed behind them, keeping a careful watch on her. Carrie had the impression that if Finn were to mutter one word, Hennessey would happily make a meal out of her.

  By the time they reached the cabin, Carrie was shaking from head to foot. Finn kicked the door closed and set her down, but she found it impossible to stand upright. Gripping her by the waist, he promptly placed her in a chair in the kitchen area.

  Then he faced her with his feet apart and his hands braced against his hips. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?”

  Carrie did her best to answer, but her teeth chattered so hard that speaking coherently was a lost cause. In the cozy warmth of the cabin her frozen hair started to thaw, dripping cold water against her shoulders as tight ringlets formed about her head. Thankfully, the huge wood-burning stove warmed the cabin. The log cabin was a marvel, and she did her best to take in as much of it as she could. From the outside Finn’s rustic home didn’t look like much, and she was pleasantly surprised by the interior, with plenty of bookshelves, braided rugs, and large furniture.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded a second time.

  “A … well, my name is …”

  “I don’t care what your name is.”

  As though he couldn’t bear to look at her a moment longer, he filled a pot with water and then placed it atop the old-fashioned cast-iron cookstove. She continued to shiver, bracing her glove-covered hands across her body. In some ways, Carrie felt as if she were actually holding herself together.

  Finn studied her as if he’d never seen anyone more pathetic in his life. “Get out of those wet clothes,” he told her gruffly.

  He didn’t need to remind her that her outfit wasn’t suited to the frigid weather. Everything had happened so quickly. Just the day before, she’d met his mother, and then there were the last-minute flight arrangements to Fairbanks. She’d arrived mid-morning, and then there was the roller-coaster ride in the bush plane. Although it was still afternoon, the sun had already gone down.

  Still shaking with cold and shock, Carrie removed her wool coat and unwound the newly purchased scarf from her neck. Next she attempted to unzip her boots, but her frozen fingers refused to cooperate. Finn walked over to where she sat, got down on one knee, and undid them for her. Pulling off her boots, he set them by the stove to thaw and then disappeared behind a fabric door, only to return a couple of moments later with a pair of thick wool socks. Still shivering, Carrie managed to pull them on.

  Without asking permission, Finn opened her suitcase and sifted through its contents, shook his head, and slammed it shut. She had a couple of thick sweaters, but little else suitable for the harsh Alaskan elements. Once again he disappeared into the other room and returned with a wool shirt, which she slipped on even though it was far too large for her.

  Not a word was exchanged between them. She watched him move, wanting to remember everything she could about him for her article. Right away she noticed that while he was a large man, he moved with a grace and ease that defied his size. His hair was as dark as her own, and shoulder length. Unfortunately, his full beard hid his face. Even without seeing him clean shaven, she doubted that he would be considered traditionally handsome. His nose was a bit too large and his mouth a tad too thin. While he didn’t appear to be hunk-calendar material, she found the raw vitality surrounding him strongly appealing.

  Although they hadn’t spoken, she sensed his irritation and his curiosity. He had probably already guessed she was a reporter, which was why he hadn’t pursued his questions. One look told her he was determined not to give her any information she could publish.

  When the water was thoroughly heated, Finn brewed coffee and without a word set a mug on the table in front of her. Carrie took it and held on to it with both hands. The first sip scalded her lips, but it was so deliciously hot that she barely minded. Finn remained on the far side of the room, close to the hot stove, as if to keep as much distance between them as possible.

  Taking careful note of what she saw, Carrie realized that most everything inside the cabin had been made by hand. The space was compact but
utilized beautifully. The kitchen area, complete with sink and countertop, a few open-faced cupboards, the cast-iron stove, and a table with four chairs, flowed naturally into a cozy sitting area. Hennessey lay on an oval-shaped braided rug close to the warmth of the stove. Two rocking chairs rested on either side, with dry wood stacked close by, and a sofa rested against another wall. The windows, of which there were two—one in the kitchen and another in the living area—had coverings that were pulled tightly closed. The cabin had lights, which she assumed were powered by a generator. What she found encouraging were the bookcases built against the walls, which were jam-packed. From what she could see, Finn Dalton was a reader. When possible, she’d check out the titles, which were sure to give her insight into this man.

  “My name is Carrie,” she offered, hoping that by being open and friendly he’d be willing to chat. “Carrie Slayton.”

  Finn ignored her and sat down with his back facing her.

  Fully capable of moving now, Carrie stood and, taking the coffee with her, claimed the second chair. The heat from the stove felt glorious. “I apologize for arriving unannounced.”

  “Who brought you?” The question was clipped, angry.

  “Sawyer. He tried to reach you, but you didn’t pick up and—”

  “How much did you pay him?” he asked, cutting her off.

  “Well, nothing yet. I told him I’d square up with him in the morning when he returns to pick me up.”

  Finn snickered.

  Carrie wasn’t sure what that meant. “We discussed terms, and I found his price reasonable.”

  “What did he charge? Thirty pieces of silver?”

  “No, no, it was nothing like that.”

  For the first time she noticed a small nook on the other side of the room. He had another table set up there, with a lone chair. On the table was a computer and what she assumed was a radio. If she’d had his email address, she might have been able to convince him to give her the interview. Then again, probably not.

  “Your cabin is amazing … all the conveniences. You actually have a computer, but then I shouldn’t be surprised, right? I know that you worked with your publisher via email.”