Alaska Home

by Debbie Macomber

  Duke had to give all due credit: His wife was a marvel. She’d gone into this marriage convinced she could do it all and have it all. She’d claimed she could maintain her career as an attorney and keep up with the ever-increasing demands of being a wife and mother. And for the most part, she had. They’d planned the first pregnancy and she’d managed, even with twins. It wasn’t until Sarah Lynn was born that Tracy took a leave of absence from the law firm. With infinite wisdom—and with advancing age—she’d declared that yes, she could have it all, just not at the same time. When Sarah Lynn started kindergarten, Tracy put on her attorney’s suit again. Chrissie Harris had joined the law office, after working there during her summer vacations from law school, and had become a valuable addition.

  Within ten minutes, all three girls had eaten and vanished. Duke and Tracy lingered over their coffee.

  “So... Scott and Chrissie are stuck up at Lake Abbey,” Tracy said.

  “Bring back any memories?” Duke teased.

  She smiled. Years earlier Duke and Tracy had been involved in a fairly serious airplane crash. Tracy had been living in Seattle at the time, and she’d flown up to Hard Luck to attend Mariah’s wedding. Duke had been scheduled to fly her into Fairbanks for her connecting flight to Seattle. The two of them had clashed from the moment they’d met. Tracy Santiago was everything Duke disliked in a woman; he found her bossy, independent and headstrong. He’d derived pleasure from baiting her and soon discovered that she could more than hold her own. Tracy had viewed him as an unreasonable male chauvinist pig—one of the few men who really fit that now-dated expression. Their arguments and dislike of each other had been legendary.

  Then the plane had gone down, and Duke was badly hurt. He’d broken his arm and sustained internal injuries. During the long hours before the rescue team arrived, Tracy had shown herself to be both capable and compassionate. While she confidently dealt with the crisis at hand, caring for him and guiding the rescue party to the downed plane, Duke realized he’d done something very foolish. He’d fallen in love with her.

  Tracy loved him, too, and had the wisdom to recognize that although they were vastly different, they had everything necessary to make a good life together. Duke had just needed some time and distance to figure out what Tracy already knew.

  He’d claimed, in the days before Tracy, that he wanted a conventional wife. One who’d stay home with the children, bake cookies and do other wifely things. None of that interested Tracy. He’d married her, assuming he’d survive on frozen dinners the rest of his life, but by then he’d loved her too much to care. Over the years there’d been some bad meals, but many more fabulous ones. Some of the inedible dinners he’d cooked himself. Tracy wasn’t the only one who’d changed; he’d done his fair share, too.

  “Are you remembering the crash?” Tracy asked.

  Duke nodded. “I think it’s poetic justice that Scott and Chrissie are stranded up there together. He loves her, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know about Scott,” Tracy said with a thoughtful look, “but I certainly know how Chrissie feels.”

  So the two women had talked about Chrissie’s relationship with Scott. It shouldn’t surprise him; after all, they worked together. “When did Chrissie mention Scott? What did she have to say?”

  “Actually she didn’t say a word,” his wife told him, standing. “We don’t generally discuss our personal lives at the office.”

  “But you just said...” Duke trailed her into the kitchen. “How do you know what Chrissie’s feelings are if she didn’t mention Scott?”

  “The way I always know,” Tracy said casually, putting the butter dish back in the refrigerator. “It’s what people don’t say that’s more informative.”

  “Girls!” Duke shouted to his three daughters. “Dishes.”

  His order was followed by a chorus of protesting groans, all coming from different parts of the house. Duke ignored them, as did Tracy.

  They both retired to the living room and Tracy reached for the mystery novel she was reading. Normally Duke would turn on the television, but he left it off this evening.

  “I hope Scott and Chrissie can work it out,” he said.

  Tracy glanced up. “So do I.”

  “Anything interesting on television tonight?”

  Tracy continued to read. “There’s a documentary on Discovery I was hoping to catch. About Australia.”

  “It’s not on too late, is it?”

  “Why?” She raised her eyes to meet his.

  “I was thinking of making an early night of it.”

  “Oh?” Tracy returned to her book. “Any particular reason?”

  “Yes.” It was a test of his determination not to laugh. Tracy knew full well what he had in mind. After being married to him all these years, how could she not know?

  “You coming to bed early or not?” he asked.

  “Oh, I’ll be there,” she said, the corner of her mouth quivering. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  * * *

  The cabin had been quiet for more than a hour, and Chrissie was sure Scott had gone to sleep. His breathing was regular and even. She wished the sound of it would lull her to sleep, too, but so far it hadn’t. She envied his ability to drift off like this, especially after their heated discussion.

  Scott had claimed he loved her—and she’d laughed at him. That probably wasn’t the most tactful response, but she couldn’t help herself. He didn’t expect her to believe him, did he?

  No man who loved a woman treated her the way Scott O’Halloran had treated her. They’d both said some things tonight that would’ve been better left unsaid, and then he’d stalked away, climbed into the loft and promptly fallen asleep.

  His ability to put their discussion behind him so quickly only went to prove that she was right. Otherwise how could he possibly sleep now? It made no sense. Not when she was lying there, reliving their argument, the anger and resentment churning inside her. If he did love her as he’d said, then he should be upset, too; he should care. Clearly he didn’t.

  Their argument, however, was only part of what was keeping Chrissie awake. Hunger contributed its own pangs to her sleepless state. She and Joelle had eaten a late breakfast, but that was almost twelve hours ago. If she read her watch correctly, it was now 10:00 p.m. She squinted down at her wrist, trying to make out the miniature numbers on her uselessly elegant watch. Maybe it was only nine, she thought; nevertheless, she was famished.

  The way she figured it, she had two options. She could stay up, seethe with resentment toward Scott and listen to her stomach growl, or she could be angry with Scott and quietly investigate the canned goods in the kitchen.

  The second option held more appeal. As silently as possible, she threw aside the quilts and tiptoed toward the kitchen. The latch on the cupboard door was tricky and she couldn’t see to get it open, no matter what she tried. She felt so frustrated she wanted to slam her fist against it.

  “You have to be smarter than the average bear,” Scott said from behind her.

  Chrissie whirled around. “I thought you were asleep!”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Oh.” She sighed heavily, wanting to avoid another confrontation with him—although she wouldn’t back down if he started one. Gone was the shy teenage girl he’d jilted and the young college graduate whose heart he’d broken. She was a woman now, and perfectly able to deal with the likes of him.

  “You’re hungry.”

  Chrissie’s nod was stiff, distrustful.

  “Breakfast in bed, was it?” he asked in a sarcastic tone.

  At first Chrissie was going to disabuse him of that idea, then decided she should let him believe what he wanted. He didn’t know her, and time had proved he never had known her. Not really. “Something like that.” She said the words flippantly.r />
  He reached behind her, his hand grazing her ear, and twisted the cupboard knob. The door instantly sprang open. The top of her ear, where his finger had inadvertently touched, burned hotly. She didn’t want his touch to affect her like this.

  “You can leave now, thank you very much,” she muttered fiercely.

  “I’m hungry, too,” he said. Leaning forward, he grabbed a can from the shelf. Wanting to avoid any chance of further contact with him, Chrissie stepped to one side, but all she managed to do was position herself more securely in his arms.

  His ability to fluster her just irritated her more. She stiffened, and Scott’s brows arched when he noticed her reaction.

  “I’ll get out of your way,” she offered, eager to escape.

  He didn’t respond, nor did he move.

  She watched as his eyes narrowed. Wondering how much he could see in the firelight, she prayed that not a hint of what she really felt was reflected on her face. Her heartbeat was out of control, and her mouth had gone completely dry.

  “Scott...let me go.” She waited for him to release her.

  He did so with obvious reluctance, dropping his arms to his sides. He stepped away, and she saw his eyes harden—and then he did something so unexpected, so underhanded, that for one shocking moment, Chrissie couldn’t believe it.

  He kissed her.

  Not in the sweet gentle way she remembered. Not the cherished kisses of their youth, the memory of which she’d carried with her all these years. Instead, his mouth was hard on hers, the kiss wild and dangerous, stealing the very breath from her lungs.

  Chrissie gasped and would have protested further if Scott had allowed it. Pinned against the cupboard, Chrissie had no means of escape. She tried to break it off, tried not to enjoy the familiar taste of him. It’d been so long since he’d kissed her.... She shouldn’t remember, shouldn’t savor his touch. She was strong and capable. Yes, she was. But one kiss, and she could feel herself weakening. He’d hurt her deeply, but she found herself thinking there was probably a legitimate reason for the things he’d done. Already she was making excuses for him!

  “No!” She wrenched away.

  He hesitated, eyes puzzled. “Why did you...?”

  Oh, what the heck. But if he was going to kiss her, it would be on her terms, not his. Clutching his shirt collar, she jerked his face toward hers. If he wanted to kiss, then it would be a kiss he wouldn’t soon forget.

  Scott gave a deep growl and half lifted her from the floor. Her feet dangled several inches off the ground, but by this point a little thing like suspended animation wasn’t going to distract her. The kiss was unrestrained, intense, and Chrissie let it continue, wanting to make sure he knew she hadn’t been lying home at night wondering about him.

  When he ended it, his breathing was ragged. Hers, too. Chrissie pressed the back of her hand to her lips and boldly met his look.

  “I hope that answers your questions,” she said as pleasantly as she could.

  “Well...not really.”

  He reached for her, but she was quick enough to sidestep him. “No, that was a mistake, and one that won’t happen again.”

  “Or what?” he demanded. “You’ll take me to court?” Scott returned to the main part of the cabin, dropped into the chair, then leaned forward and ran his fingers through his hair. “Tell me about him,” he said.

  “Who?”

  “Joel.”

  Chrissie could hardly believe her ears. “Joel! You want to hear about Joel?”

  His response was to glare at her from across the room.

  Outraged, Chrissie glared right back. “Is that why you kissed me, because you couldn’t bear the thought of me being with another man?” Whatever appetite she’d experienced earlier faded away, and she merely felt hollow, not hungry. Her legs weren’t all that steady, either. Shocked and a little disoriented, she sank onto the far end of the sofa.

  This explained it all. He was jealous. Everything he’d said and done had been prompted by his fear that she was involved with someone else. The minute he learned Joel was really Joelle, his interest would wane. It was all a game to him.

  A game Chrissie refused to play. “For your information, it isn’t Joel I go to see, it’s Joelle.”

  Frowning, he looked up. “Joelle?”

  “She’s twelve, and I’m her mentor.”

  “Are you saying—” he spoke slowly, deliberately “—it isn’t a man you fly out to spend time with every other weekend?”

  “That’s precisely what I’m saying. Not a man. A twelve-year-old girl.”

  “But you said—”

  “I said nothing. All right,” she added, wanting to be as fair as possible, “I might have let you believe it was a man, but you were the one who suggested it in the first place. I don’t know who gave you that impression, but—”

  “Ben,” he muttered, his frown deepening.

  Chrissie closed her eyes and shook her head. She’d mentioned Joelle once to Mary, who must have told Ben. Clearly he’d either misheard or jumped to the wrong conclusion or both.

  “You talked to Ben about me?” she asked suddenly. She didn’t like the idea of Scott discussing her—with Ben or anyone else. That angered her even more. “You have some nerve, I’ll say that for you.”

  “Chrissie—”

  “Don’t Chrissie me! I’m not a naive sixteen-year-old, nor do I have stars in my eyes. I know exactly the kind of man you are.”

  He stared at her. “You don’t know me,” he snapped. “If you did—”

  “I know all I want to know.”

  “Fine.”

  Refusing to give him the last word, she muttered, “Fine with me, too.”

  It seemed a sad way to end their conversation, if indeed it could be called a conversation. Scott returned to the loft with an opened can of beans and a fork; she jerked the blankets over her shoulders. Wordlessly she sat and guarded the fire, trying to forget Scott’s kisses.

  Seven

  “Well?” Mariah O’Halloran glanced up from the secretary’s desk, where she filled in one day a week at the Midnight Sons office. Years earlier she’d been one of the first women to respond to the O’Hallorans’ advertisement; she’d accepted the position of secretary and ended up marrying her boss.

  Christian gently closed the door and slumped into the chair nearest her desk. Her husband had a strange look on his face, and Mariah didn’t know what to think. “Scott and Chrissie are back, aren’t they?”

  “They’re back.”

  “And?” She hated it when Christian made her dig for every little detail. He knew that she and half the residents of Hard Luck were dying to hear what had happened between Scott and Chrissie. Everyone hoped the two of them would mend their differences while they were stranded on Lake Abbey.

  In her eyes the situation was ideal. They were alone together while the storm raged outside. Christian claimed she was an incurable romantic, but if that was true, then so was almost everyone in Hard Luck. “I want to know about Scott and Chrissie.”

  “You and the rest of the town. There must’ve been a hundred people at the airfield this morning when they landed.”

  Mariah leaned forward. “Did it look like everything’s okay with them?” she asked.

  “Hardly,” Christian said with a shake of his head. “The minute the engine stopped, Chrissie had the door open and was scrambling out. Seemed to me she was in an awful rush.”

  “Oh.” This wasn’t encouraging. “What about Scott? Did he go after Chrissie?”

  “No.” Christian frowned. “He took off in the opposite direction. Now that I think about it, he seemed to be in a rush himself.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “It’s too bad, isn’t it?”

  Her husband’s comment surprised
her, since he rarely showed any interest in other people’s romantic problems.

  “I think the world of Scott,” Christian went on to say.

  “I know you do,” Mariah said.

  “He’s a good guy—turned out well. I know he had a few problems as a teenager, but lots of boys do. I certainly don’t hold it against him. Hey—remember when he read Susan’s diary and wrote comments in the margins?”

  “I sure do,” Mariah said, grinning. She agreed that Scott had turned out well. She’d watched him, Susan and Chrissie mature into young adults. From the time Scott and Chrissie were in high school, she’d known they shared a special bond. Like almost everyone in Hard Luck, she’d assumed that one day they’d marry. But she’d apparently assumed wrong, and that saddened her.

  “Years ago,” Christian said, stretching out his legs, “before we got married, Scott and I had a talk...about women.”

  Mariah managed to hold back a smile. She didn’t even want to think what he might’ve had to say on that subject.

  “Scott offered me some advice,” Christian said, grinning broadly, “having to do with romance and the two of us.”

  “Don’t you dare tell me after all these years that you married me on the advice of a fifth-grade boy!”

  Christian’s eyes avoided hers. “It wasn’t exactly advice.”

  “You’d better tell me.”

  “Well, Scott bragged about the help he’d given other guys—like Sawyer and Matt Caldwell and even Mitch Harris—when it came to love and marriage.” Christian shook his head, a half-amused grimace on his face. “He suggested he could help us, too.”

  “Did he, now?”

  “He did, but I would’ve come to the right conclusion—eventually.” He paused. “You’d decided to leave Hard Luck, and I was pretty depressed about it.”