Alaska Home

by Debbie Macomber

  “You’d think Christian would be pleased. He’s been looking for a way to be rid of her from the moment I met him,” Bethany recalled.

  “Apparently he’s had a change of heart.”

  “Isn’t that just a like a man?” Bethany muttered, shaking her head. “They don’t know what they want.”

  * * *

  Christian had never been this eager to get back to Hard Luck. In the past several days he’d talked to Sawyer half-a-dozen times. And every time, he’d hung up frustrated—and confused.

  As far as he could grasp, Sawyer had released Mariah from serving out her full two-week notice, and the woman his brother had referred to as “the best secretary they’d ever had” was gone.

  Scott and Susan were just as eager to be home. Christian had collected them from his mother’s, and Ralph Ferris flew into Fairbanks to meet their commercial flight. The short hop between Fairbanks and Hard Luck felt longer than the flight from Vancouver to Anchorage.

  By the time the plane touched down in Hard Luck, Christian had his conversation with Mariah all figured out.

  Sawyer and Abbey were at the airfield waiting for Scott and Susan. The kids leaped out of the plane and raced toward their parents, full of talk about their visit with Grandma Ellen and Grandpa Robert.

  Christian waited impatiently for a moment alone with Sawyer. “Where is she?” he asked abruptly.

  Sawyer blinked at him, wearing a baffled expression. “Oh, you mean Mariah.”

  Who else would he have been referring to? “Yes, I mean Mariah.”

  “Ben’s, I’d guess. She spends every day there, now that she no longer works for us.” Judging by the edge in Sawyer’s voice, he still seemed to place the blame squarely on Christian’s shoulders. He’d settle the issue with his brother later, Christian decided.

  “Who’s minding the office?” Surely Sawyer wasn’t so irresponsible as to leave it unattended. The flight service had grown by thirty percent in the past year, thanks partly to the boom in population. An answering machine no longer met their needs, and Sawyer knew that.

  “Lanni’s agreed to step in for now, but she’s got her own work, you know. I told her it wouldn’t take you long to find Mariah’s replacement.”

  “Me?” he exploded. He’d left for a few measly days, and meanwhile his brother let all hell break loose, then calmly announced it was his responsibility to set everything right.

  “Yeah, you,” Sawyer returned, eyes snapping. “If you’ll recall, you spent the better part of a month interviewing job applicants. I don’t even know where you filed the résumés.”

  “I didn’t file them. Mariah did.”

  “Ask her, then. All I can say is we need to hire someone and quick. It isn’t fair to Lanni to keep her tied up at the office. She’s got better things to do with her time than answer our phones.”

  “You might have discussed it with me first,” he argued.

  “I would’ve if you’d been here,” Sawyer said in a disgusted voice.

  Christian didn’t deign to respond. It was clear that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Sawyer when his brother was in this cantankerous frame of mind. Sawyer unfairly blamed him for Mariah’s sudden need to become a waitress. Well, he wasn’t going to accept the blame!

  As soon as Christian had dropped off his suitcase at home, he headed over to the Hard Luck Café. First thing he noticed when he walked in the door were the tablecloths—not plastic, either. A vase of wildflowers on each table added a touch of color and warmth. On the chalkboard, where Ben wrote the daily dinner special, someone had drawn yellow daisies.

  Ralph Ferris sat at one of the tables, reading the menu, which also looked new. They acknowledged each other with a brief nod.

  Christian stepped up to the counter the way he always did and pulled out a stool. He nearly slid onto the floor—the stools had been newly padded and recovered in shiny black vinyl.

  It certainly hadn’t taken Mariah long to leave her mark on the café.

  She was busy making coffee, and apparently didn’t hear him come in.

  “Did you want coffee?” she called to Ralph over her shoulder.

  “Please,” Ralph called back.

  Mariah turned with a full pot in her hand—and saw Christian sitting at the counter. She gave a start, and the glass carafe slipped from her fingers. It shattered, and hot coffee splashed across the polished floor.

  “Oh, no!” Luckily Mariah had jumped back in time to avoid getting burned.

  It took a determined effort on Christian’s part not to call attention to the accident. He merely shook his head. Poor Ben. He didn’t have a clue what he was letting himself in for when he’d hired Mariah.

  “What happened?” Ben stuck his head out from the kitchen.

  “I—I broke the coffeepot.”

  Christian waited for the cook to start bellowing. Ben wasn’t known for his patience, and if ever a woman was born to try men’s souls, it was Mariah Douglas.

  He’d give Ben a week; then he’d be begging Christian and Sawyer to take her off his hands.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Ben said, reaching for the mop. “I’ve got plenty of pots. You weren’t burned, were you?”

  “No. I’m fine.” Her eyes flew to Christian, narrowing as if she blamed him for the accident. He hadn’t done a thing, yet everyone in Hard Luck was ready to go for his jugular.

  “Your coffee’ll be just a minute,” Mariah told Ralph.

  “No problem,” the bush pilot assured her. He unfolded the Fairbanks newspaper and disappeared behind it.

  “I’ll take a cup when you get around to it,” Christian said, righting the ceramic mug in front of him. He might be risking his life asking her to pour it for him, but it was a risk he’d have to take.

  Mariah refilled another glass pot from the large percolator. He noted that her hand shook slightly as she filled his mug. “When did you get back?” she asked conversationally. Christian wasn’t fooled; she’d been the one to arrange his itinerary. She knew his travel schedule as well as he did.

  “This afternoon.”

  Mariah pulled an order pad from her apron pocket. “What can I get you?”

  “I’ll have a piece of apple pie.”

  Mariah called back the order to Ben, who appeared a couple of minutes later with a large slice of pie. He set it in front of Christian and eyed him warily, as if anticipating a confrontation.

  Christian figured he didn’t need to say a word. Within a week, when Ben was out of coffeepots and patience, he’d recognize that Mariah was never cut out to be a waitress.

  “How’s it going?” Christian asked Ben, tipping his head toward Mariah, who was busy serving Ralph his lunch. He’d apparently ordered the day’s special—meatloaf sandwich, with a bowl of beef-and-barley soup.

  “With Mariah?” Ben grinned. “Great. Just great.” He gestured toward the tables. “Have you ever seen my place look better? Mariah’s responsible for all the fancy touches. I don’t know why I delayed hiring someone for so long. She’s the best thing that’s happened to the café since I got in the soft-ice-cream machine.”

  Christian took a bite of the pie and raised his eyebrows. “Hey, this is great! What’s different?”

  “Mariah baked it.”

  “Mariah?” Ben could’ve knocked him over with a flick of his finger.

  “It’s her grandmother’s recipe. Best apple pie I’ve ever tasted. As far as I’m concerned, she can do all the baking around here, she’s that good.”

  Christian was confused, to put it mildly. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same Mariah?”

  Ben chuckled. “I’m sure.” The cook drifted back to the kitchen, but Christian wasn’t alone for long. Mariah hurried to bring him the small canister of cream.

  “I—I for
got you like your coffee with cream, don’t you?”

  Christian didn’t bother to correct her. “Do you have a minute?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “The dinner crowd will start coming in any time now.”

  It was barely four; a poor excuse. “I’d appreciate it if you could sit down and chat for a few minutes.”

  “All right.” But her reluctance was obvious. She walked around the counter to sit on the stool next to him. Folding her hands on the counter, she waited for Christian to speak.

  “Allison didn’t come with me,” he said, wanting to clear the air about that immediately. He understood her concern and was willing to admit that he’d been sadly remiss in mentioning the other woman in Mariah’s presence. He’d seen the error of his ways; now he wanted her back. They’d just begun to find their footing with each other, and it seemed a shame to end it all so abruptly. And unnecessarily.

  Three months ago—three weeks ago—he would’ve cheered to see her leave Midnight Sons. But not now.

  “Sawyer already told me she wouldn’t be coming.” Her gaze met his straight on.

  “Then why’d you decide to quit?”

  “It never really worked out between you and me.”

  “Things were improving, though, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose. Only you...”

  “Yes?” he pressed.

  “You wanted a different secretary.”

  “I don’t anymore,” he said, growing impatient. It occurred to him to tell her he’d made a mistake, to apologize, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.

  “I’m already committed to working for Ben,” she said, and she did sound mildly regretful. “Do you like the pie?”

  At the moment it was stuck in his throat, but he managed to respond with a quick nod.

  “So your mind’s made up?” he asked, pushing back his plate.

  “Yes.” She eyed him expectantly, and he wondered if she was waiting for him to plead with her. Well, there’d be frost in the Caribbean before he’d grovel! If she didn’t want to work for Midnight Sons, fine. There were stacks of applications from women clamoring for the opportunity to move north. He’d met a number of them a year ago.

  “Fine.” He stood and paid for the pie. “We’re sorry to see you go, but what the hey, right? You were with us for a year and it was fun.”

  “Yes,” she said, but she didn’t sound so sure that it was fun.

  Christian walked back to the mobile office. Their conversation hadn’t gone nearly as well as he’d assumed it would. Perhaps he should’ve waited a day or two. Rushing over to Ben’s the minute the plane landed made him look too eager; that had been a tactical error. Still, he had other options, and he planned to exercise them, starting now.

  Christian opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet and sorted through a sequence of file folders, searching for the one that contained the applications he’d received the summer before. It took a while, but he eventually located what he needed, and without any help from Mariah.

  With the precious folder clutched tightly in his hand, he walked over to his desk and sat down. Reading through the top three applications instantly lifted his spirits. Plenty of women had been interested in this position.

  “Ramona Cummings,” he said aloud, remembering his interview with the dark-haired beauty. Gleefully he punched out the phone number.

  Disconnected.

  Christian flipped to the second application. “Rosey Stone.” A face didn’t immediately come to mind, but he’d probably remember her once he heard her voice. Once again he punched in the number and waited.

  A soft, feminine voice answered.

  “This is Christian O’Halloran from Hard Luck, Alaska. Is Rosey Stone there?”

  “This is Rosey.” She sounded surprised and a little breathless. Good, Christian liked awed and breathless. This was a fine start, a fine start indeed.

  “You applied for the position of secretary last year.”

  “Yes...yes, I remember!” she said excitedly.

  “We currently have a position available, and we’d like to offer it to you.” He felt smug at the thought that it would be so easy to replace Mariah.

  “Are you still offering the same employment package you were a year ago?” Rosey asked.

  “Ah...yes. There’s a cabin you could have. Actually it isn’t much,” he added with a twinge of conscience. “My father built it over thirty years ago, and there’s no electricity and no indoor plumbing.”

  “You’re joking!”

  Christian didn’t know what had possessed him to blurt that out. “The cabin lacks modern conveniences.” He smacked his forehead with one hand.

  “What is this, some kind of sick joke?”

  “No. The job’s available if you still want it.”

  “No, thanks,” she informed him, and slammed the phone in his ear.

  “I didn’t think you would,” he said into the drone of the disconnected line. Sighing, Christian hung up the receiver. He wanted Mariah back.

  Five

  Bright and early Monday morning, Christian settled down at his desk in the Midnight Sons office. Determined to make some headway in replacing Mariah, he reached for the file folder that held the pertinent applications.

  Leaning back in his chair, he read over a number of résumés. Several applicants were vastly overqualified. Others had little or no relevant experience, just an eagerness for adventure. Christian decided they wouldn’t work out, either. Neither he nor Sawyer had time to train a replacement.

  Discouraged, he set the file aside and promised himself he’d read through it again later, when he was ready to deal with the problem. What he wanted of course, what he hoped would happen, was that Mariah would realize she wasn’t cut out for the restaurant business and return to Midnight Sons. Now that she knew Allison Reynolds wouldn’t be coming, there was no reason to be stubborn.

  Sawyer arrived half an hour after Christian, clearly surprised to find his brother at the office so early.

  “I’ve been working on finding a replacement for Mariah,” Christian told Sawyer. What he failed to mention was that he hadn’t found a résumé or application that suited him yet. Nor did he think it was a good idea to admit he was holding out, hoping Mariah would have a change of heart.

  Sawyer nodded.

  “You want to give me some help here?” He supposed they might as well go through the motions. “Perhaps we should try for an older woman this time, someone mature,” he suggested.

  “Sure.” Sawyer didn’t sound as if he particularly cared.

  “Someone methodical,” Christian said next. “I don’t care how fast she types, as long as she’s accurate.” He wrote that down on the pad.

  “Okay with me,” Sawyer murmured while preparing a pot of coffee.

  The coffee had always been made before they arrived at the office—by Mariah. Not that they weren’t capable of making coffee themselves. But it was generous of her to do it without being asked. Christian hadn’t given the matter more than a passing thought until just that moment. In fact, Mariah had willingly taken on a number of small tasks that made their lives easier.

  “She should have a good attitude,” Christian went on.

  “I agree,” Sawyer said with conviction. “I don’t want someone to come in here asking what we can do for her. I’m much more interested in what she can do for us, especially since we’re the ones paying her wages.”

  Christian added “good attitude” to the list, and with Sawyer’s help came up with several other qualities. They found it vital that the new secretary be prompt and professional. Loyal and responsible. Because they did so much of their business over the phone, a pleasant phone manner was essential.

  As Christian read over the qualifications for Mariah’s
replacement, it became obvious that—except for the “older” part—they’d described Mariah herself.

  Christian felt suddenly troubled. How could he have been so...so misguided? The perfect candidate had been there all along, and it had taken him all this time to see it. For twelve months he’d been hoping she’d leave; now that she was gone, he wanted her back. Something was definitely wrong, and he had the feeling that whatever was askew had to do with him.

  “Have you got someone yet?” Sawyer asked ten minutes later.

  “No!” Christian snapped. “How could I?”

  “Well, read through those applications, would you? The sooner we get someone here, the better. We can’t expect Lanni to fill in for long.”

  “I understand that,” Christian returned impatiently.

  “Charles was against Lanni coming to work for us in the first place,” Sawyer went on, “but she insisted—said a few days away from her writing wouldn’t matter. She’ll be in this afternoon.”

  Christian didn’t understand why Sawyer was in such an all-fired hurry. He’d already gone through the file a second time and hadn’t found a suitable applicant. Nor did he share his brother’s sense of urgency. This wasn’t something that needed to be done right that very minute.

  Brother worked amicably with brother for the remainder of the morning. Their staff of pilots wandered in and out of the office, as was their habit, before heading out to the hangar to complete their assignments for the day.

  “Who’s going to make up the flight schedule?” Sawyer asked.

  In the past Mariah had seen to it.

  “You do it this week and I’ll do it next,” Christian suggested in what he felt was a fair compromise.

  “Oh, so you’ll do it next week,” Sawyer muttered sarcastically. “You’d better have hired a replacement long before then.”

  Before next week! Sawyer didn’t actually expect someone to drop her entire life because of a phone call, did he? Christian doubted he’d find a replacement willing to move to the Arctic just like that. These things took time, lots of time.