It was Bethany in his dream, like moonlight made flesh. She cupped both her hands around his face and held his gaze. Her face was a plump triangle, like a cat’s but with rounded cheeks, with straight, serious eyebrows and eyes made of amber light. “Let it go,” she whispered. “Trust me, it’s okay. You can let it go.”
What is this, Frozen? he wanted to joke. But he couldn’t because her eyes held him spellbound and the words stayed clogged in his throat.
A gush of wind flung Bethany away, except she was no longer Bethany, she was a snow devil, as they called it—a mini-tornado made of snowflakes, whirling away into the night.
“Hey,” he called after her. “Be careful out there, there’s bears and squirrels and random candy wrappers from strangers and—”
He woke with a start. A sound had awoken him, he knew immediately. He was very attuned to the sounds of the firehouse, and this one didn’t belong. Leaning forward, he peered into the dim equipment bay, where the two rigs shared space with lockers, turnout gear, oxygen tanks, and other equipment. He didn’t see any movement at all.
Quiet as a cat, he slid out the door and padded across the concrete floor, picking his way around the familiar diesel stains. He pushed open the door that let onto the corridor. At the end was the common room, and before that, the dorm room, and the bathroom.
One of those doors was ajar. The bathroom.
Bingo.
He walked on silent feet down the corridor. He sniffed, but didn’t smell the expected stench of a grizzled mountain man. Maybe the intruder had taken enough showers over the past few days to thoroughly cleanse himself.
He reached the door and paused, listening. He didn’t hear anything from behind the door. What was the right way to do this? He didn’t particularly want to surprise some dude in the shower. Should he wait outside like an angry hall monitor? Knock and demand he come outside and face the law?
Eh, screw it. It was a bathroom, and the door wasn’t even entirely closed. What if he was just a random passing fireman who had to take a piss? He wouldn’t be angsting around in the hallway. He’d just push open the door, like so, and—
“Oh shit!” he said out loud, then backed away from the door.
A girl. The person on the other side was a girl. Maybe twelve or thirteen.
“I didn’t see anything!” he called to her. True—she’d wrapped a towel around herself too quickly for that. “Sorry, but you’re not supposed to be here. I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
A sound like a growl came from behind the door, along with some banging. She was no longer making any effort to be quiet.
“My name’s Nate,” he called over the noise she was making. “Nate Prudhoe, I’m one of the firefighters here.” Sometimes, in emergency situations, the sound of a human voice could be soothing, so he often kept up a regular patter. He decided to take that same approach with this strange girl. “What’s your name? Where do you come from? You know there’s a shelter for teens who don’t feel safe where they live. Not that I’m saying you need a shelter, but you obviously need a shower. I mean, I’m not saying you’re dirty, just that you appear to be using the shower, and maybe the blankets too. It makes me think that maybe you’re homeless, so now I feel like a jerk because I staked you out. I’m fine if you stay here, just so you know that. I thought, well, I didn’t know you were a kid, that’s all—”
He broke off as the door flung open.
The girl—now dressed in thick wool pants and a fur-lined coat—burst out of the bathroom. She had something in her hand…
Crap, it was a hunting knife.
She slashed it across his right forearm and raced down the hall toward the kitchen.
In a flash, she was gone.
He didn’t bother to chase her. She had too much of a head start.
Besides, she’d fucking stabbed him. In the arm. A thick line of blood welled through his shirt.
Damn. Apparently he was going to the hospital after all.
Chapter Seven
“Nate Prudhoe?”
In the midst of hurrying through the emergency room on her way to the parking lot, Bethany skidded to a stop in front of the lanky figure sprawled in one of the chairs. With his long legs crossed at the ankle, and a towel wrapped around one arm, his butternut hair a tousled mess, Nate looked as if he’d had a hard night.
“Dr. Morrison,” he said, almost formally, slurring the words a bit. Shock, if she had to guess, rather than alcohol. “How are you this fine eve?”
“Are you hurt? What happened?”
“Nah, all good. You know how it is in a small town. Not much going on, so you might as well hang out in the ER and people-watch.”
She laughed. It figured that Nate would have the “joke while you bleed to death” attitude common among medical personnel. “Are you waiting for a doctor?”
“Yes.” He admitted it almost shamefacedly. “I can do your basic EMT stuff, but giving myself thirty stitches ain’t happening.”
“Come on.” She beckoned to him, after giving the room a quick, surreptitious scan. If anyone’s case looked even more dire, she’d feel guilty about giving him priority. “I’ll take a look.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind waiting. I took about six Advil, I’m fine, man. Groovy.”
“You’re loopy, that’s what you are. Doctor’s orders, stand up and follow me.”
Sketching a salute, he struggled to his feet. She reached out to help him. The way his hand closed around hers gave her a quick flash of warmth. She felt it in her cheeks too, a kind of glow of self-consciousness.
She signaled to the charge nurse, who waved her on. Nate followed her into an exam room and dropped with relief onto the hospital bed.
“Can I just take a nap? There’s a chance this was all a dream.”
“No naps, not yet. Let’s take a look. What happened?” She snapped on some nitrile gloves and unwound the towel to reveal a clean gash, about four inches long, running diagonally across his muscled forearm.
“I got stabbed.”
“What?”
“Yup. It’s a knife wound. High risk of infection. Slather on the antibiotics, please. Hook me up with some pills too.”
“Who knifed you?” She tossed the bloody towel in the trash and set to work cleaning the wound. “Whoever they are, they seem to keep a clean blade.”
“Good to know.” He hid a wince as she dabbed at the gash.
“Let me guess, bar brawl? Did you flirt with the wrong woman?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You know me so well.”
She gentled her touch. “Does this hurt?”
“It’s okay. Get it all out. Did I ever tell you about the time I tumbled down a gravel slope in Lost Souls Wilderness? I scraped up my knee, bad, it was packed with dirt and pebbles. I had to clean it with my toothbrush.”
She gave a shudder. “That must hurt like a—”
“Mo-fo. Yes. This is child’s play compared to that. You’re so dainty, like Glinda the good witch with her sparkly fairy wand.”
“I think we can get away with just a bandage, by the way. The wound isn’t as deep as it looks. How many Advil did you say you had?”
He chuckled long and deep, with that contagious warm joy that made it impossible not to smile. “Maybe it was more like ten. I don’t know. So you think I’ll live, Doctor Glinda?”
“Not if you keep calling me that,” she shot back.
His grin flashed and his eyes gleamed with laughter. “You’re funny when I’m on Advil. You’re funny other times, too. Sneaky funny.”
“You said that before. I don’t think I’m sneaky. Or funny, really.” She squirted the wound with an antiseptic and cut a length of gauze for a bandage.
“Right. Because you’re a very serious doctor.” He pulled a frowny face.
“Are you making fun of me? Strange thing to do to the person standing between you and an infection.”
“I am definitely not making fun of you. That would be rude and ina—
ina-pproprote.” He stumbled over that word, then finally gave up on it. “Stupid. You might stab me.”
“I wouldn’t stab you. Someone got there first,” she muttered.
“I heard that.”
“You had ten Advil. You can probably hear the angels right about now.”
“Might have been more like twelve.” He gave a massive yawn. “How’s it looking, not-Glinda?”
She finished bandaging the wound and sorted through a drawer with some antibiotic handouts. “Just about done. I’m going to give you a dose of amoxycillin. That should be enough to fend off an infection. Keep an eye on it and come back if you see any signs of festering. Get some good sleep, that’ll help. I’d offer a prescription for more painkillers, but—”
“I think I’m set for that.” He gave another massive yawn. “Thanks, Dr. Morrison. I hope I didn’t offend you with anything I said. That Advil…”
She waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. I am serious. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Nothing at all. Especially because there’s something just…” He stood up and wavered on his feet for a moment. “Just…so adorable about a serious person when they let themselves have fun.”
“I have fun,” she said, stung. She handed him a plastic cup of water to take his pills with. “I have plenty of fun.”
“Good. Glad to hear it.” He tried to tear open the package of pills, but failed.
She took it from him and ripped it open, then spilled the capsules into his open palm. Looking up, still fuming slightly, she caught a gleam of appreciation in his gray eyes.
“See that? Adorable. Seriously adorable.”
It wasn’t until later that Bethany realized that Nate had never told her exactly how he got that knife wound. That was how distracting he was.
He’d even distracted her from Ian Finnegan. She’d been lingering after the end of her shift, hoping that Ian would emerge from the office he took over when he was in town.
Instead, she’d run into Nate and experienced another of those disorienting encounters with him. He always left her feeling out of control—which was a weird thing for her. As a doctor, intellectually she knew that most things were outside her control. So many factors contributed to a good or a poor outcome. But the need to feel in control was real. It enabled her to function with confidence.
With Nate, she always felt just a little behind the eight-ball. Or to use a Lost Harbor reference, unmoored. As if her little rowboat had come untied and was being drawn by a current leading her somewhere unfamiliar. And exciting.
No one got her blood buzzing like Nate did. No one made her laugh the way he did. No one made her drop her guard like he did.
Except for one person.
The same person who was waiting at her front door when she got home.
Her sister Gretel.
Her younger sister sat with her back against the wall, her arms wrapped around her bent knees. She wore a fur-lined parka in hot pink and zebra-print high-heeled boots. Her hair was several shades of blue, from turquoise to teal to indigo.
She and Gretel had both been born with dishwater-blond hair, but only one of them had accepted that reality.
As soon as she saw Bethany’s car pull up, Gretel scrambled to her feet and bounded toward her with wide-open arms.
“Bethany, my God, I was starting to worry that you’d checked in to the hospital! Your shift ended an hour ago.”
Bethany allowed herself to be wrapped in her half-sister’s arms. The scent of rosewater and sandalwood, with an undertone of sweat, wafted from her clothes. “How long have you been waiting here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“That would have ruined everything!” Gretel exclaimed in her typically exaggerated way. She lived for drama and adventure. “But Daddy said he was going to tell you I might show up. They told me your schedule.”
“Oh, that’s what they were about to tell me on the phone.” Bethany released her sister and gave her a quick scan. “You look…colorful.”
“Is that one of those insult-compliments? Compli-sults?”
“Sorry.” She still couldn’t quite believe Gretel was here. “I mean, you look great. But what are you doing in Alaska?”
“Dude. It’s Alaska. I’ve always wanted to come here and now I have the perfect excuse.” She spread her hands wide in a “voila” gesture. “I just didn’t know it would take so long. I left three weeks ago.”
“Did you walk?”
“Ha. Practically. I hitchhiked.” She waved off Bethany’s appalled reaction. “Don’t worry, I started the trip with a friend. Somewhere in the Yukon, he became a boyfriend. By the time we reached Haines, things weren’t going so well, and we broke up in Anchorage.”
“So, about the length of your average relationship,” Bethany teased as she fumbled for her house key.
“About that, yes.” Gretel grinned widely. She had no shame about her carefree ways. “Just be glad you didn’t have to meet him and deliver your usual big-sister lecture.”
“Thanks for sparing me, but I really try not to lecture.”
“And sometimes you even succeed.” Gretel threaded her arm though Bethany’s. “But you know I don’t mind. You’re the bee’s knees of big sisters, the tippy top, the cream of the crop.”
Her sister loved old-school song lyrics—and had a pretty good voice, too. In her wanderings, she often picked up singing gigs at jazz clubs and always raked in the tips.
“So…can I come in or is your new house a no-sister zone?”
“You still hold that against me? I was ten!”
“That sign scarred me for life,” said Gretel cheerfully. “Why do you think I have commitment issues?”
“Not touching that one,” Bethany muttered as she led the way into her house. “Though it’s possibly genetic, judging by Daddy’s four marriages.”
“And Aimee’s three marriages.” Gretel’s mother had been their father’s secret mistress until Bethany’s mother died. Then she’d become wife number two. Briefly.
Bethany closed the door behind her and dropped her key in the clamshell dish on the cabinet. “This is it. You came a long way to see a very boring house. I haven’t even completely unpacked yet. It came furnished. Everything’s from the ‘stain-resistant short-term lease’ line.”
In the living room, Gretel dropped her backpack on the floor and turned in a slow circle. “Bland as fuck. Call me crazy, but doesn’t this place look exactly like your apartment in St. Louis? Maybe it’s the boxes.”
A pile of moving boxes filled one corner of the living room. Bethany knew she should finish the process of settling in, but so far hadn’t had the time. She liked things to be orderly, so she preferred to leave everything in boxes until she needed it.
“I’ll get there. I’m still hoping a position will turn up somewhere else. There’s a good chance I’ll never unpack, at this rate.”
“Daddy and Gemma said you like it here. They said you get prickly every time they point out how ridiculous it is that you’re in Alaska.”
Gretel dropped sideways onto the couch and stretched out her legs. Her mother Aimee had been a runway model, and Gretel had inherited all of her stunning looks but none of her height. Her entire body fit onto the two-cushion couch.
Somehow her sister’s posture reminded her of Nate. Those two would probably hit it off. That thought bothered Bethany more than she wanted to admit.
“Don’t put your boots on the couch.”
Her sister didn’t move a muscle. “It’s not even your couch. You said this place came furnished.”
“You see why that’s worse, right? I had to put down a deposit. I won’t get my money back if there’s damage.”
“Dude. You’re a doctor. You’re pulling in the buckaroonies, why are you sweating about a stupid couch? Anyway, this thing has probably been treated with enough toxic chemicals to endanger my nonexistent, unborn fetus.”
Bethany rolled her eyes and gave up. Gretel had a point ab
out the couch. She’d already spilled coffee on it several times, with no stains to be seen.
“Want some coffee? Tea? You’re already on the guest bed, so if you’re wiped out and want to go right to sleep—”
“No way! I want to hear everything about Lost Harbor. Over a glass of wine, if you have it.”
Wine. Of course Gretel would want wine.
“Sorry. All out.”
“No problemo.” Gretel reached into her backpack and pulled out a bottle of red. “Sister to the rescue. Come on.” She moved her legs to the side to make space for Bethany. “I’ll share the booty if you give me the lowdown on this wee little hamlet of yours.”
Bethany decided a glass of wine couldn’t hurt anything. She kicked off her shoes, unpacked two newspaper-wrapped wine glasses from a box, rinsed them out, then curled up on the couch next to Gretel.
“What do you want to know?” she asked as Gretel unscrewed the cap of her wine bottle and filled the two glasses. “Lost Harbor is tiny. The population swells in the summer from all the tourists. Fishing is big here. So is art. Everyone wants to paint the mountains and the sky. The locals are…interesting. Very rugged and independent and quirky. The hospital serves the entire peninsula. The views are incredible, but you probably know that already. They say it’s going to be even more spectacular after snowfall.”
Gretel handed her a glass. “And?”
“And…” Bethany cast around for more stories. “One of my patients is a dog musher. In the winter his road is impassable, so he uses his dog sled team to get back and forth to town.”
Gretel’s eyes widened, reminding Bethany of when she used to tell stories under a blanket-fort with a flashlight. When she’d first learned about Aimee and Gretel’s existence—she’d been six—she’d hated them both. But as soon as the bright little firefly of a girl had curled up next to her and asked for a story, she’d fallen head over heels for her surprise half-sister. They’d been fiercely loyal to each other through all the subsequent stepmothers.
“Another patient was just telling me about how he cleaned his own wound with a toothbrush. People are used to relying on themselves here. Oh, and I met a trapper!”
Seduced by Snowfall Page 5
