Midnight Sons Volume 2

by Debbie Macomber

  “There is no us,” she reminded him in a whisper.

  “But there should be! If last night proved anything, it’s that we belong together. We always have. Come back to me, Karen. You want promises? I’ll give you promises. You want reassurances? Fine, you’ve got them. Everything will be different. We’ll start over again—”

  Tears rolled down her face as Karen leaned forward and brought her fingers to his mouth, silencing him. “Don’t. Please, don’t.” She pressed her lips tightly together and swiped at the tears, then continued. “You want me to quit my job and come back here, right?”

  He nodded. Of course he wanted her back here—as his wife. He wanted them to work together to build their marriage and their business. He needed her, wanted her, loved her. That had never changed.

  “I’ve heard all this before. My mother heard it from my father, too. She loved him. She believed him every time, and he led her down one garden path after another.”

  “Karen, I’m not your father.”

  She looked away. “I’m not my mother, either. I can’t—I won’t do what you’re asking. My future is with Paragon. My home isn’t in Alaska anymore, it’s in Oakland. Don’t you realize how many times you’ve said almost those identical words to me? Six months from now, you’ll be bored again and you’ll have some other wonderful dream to follow. I can’t live that way. I tried. I honestly tried.”

  “But—”

  “Matt, stop, please. The bottom line is that I’m not willing to throw my career down the drain for another one of your reckless schemes, no matter how promising it sounds.”

  Matt stood, his mind racing frantically as he tried to find a reason that would convince her to stay.

  “I have my own life now,” she said. “I won’t give up everything I’ve worked to achieve. Not for your dreams. Because for the first time in years, Matt, I have dreams of my own.”

  He was fighting a losing battle and he knew it.

  “I’m going to find a man with a steady job and a savings account. I’m going to settle down in a house with a white picket fence and raise a bunch of children.” A sob shook her shoulders. “And I’m going to do everything I can to put our marriage behind me.” Having said that, she reached for her suitcase and rushed out the door.

  “Mom!” Ten-year-old Scott O’Halloran burst in the front door with Eagle Catcher, his husky, trotting behind him.

  Abbey looked up from the magazine she was reading.

  “Sawyer—I mean Dad—let me fly his plane this afternoon,” her son announced proudly.

  Abbey’s gaze instantly connected with that of her husband as he followed her son into the house.

  “I didn’t actually fly the plane,” Scott quickly amended, “but Sawyer let me hold the control stick, and he told me all about the different instruments on the panel.”

  “It’s time, honey,” Sawyer said, kissing her on the cheek.

  Abbey wasn’t so sure of that. “But, Sawyer, he’s only ten.”

  “Aw, Mom, you gotta stop treating me like a little kid.”

  Abbey swallowed a laugh. She recalled the day she’d arrived in Hard Luck with her two children in tow. She’d been one of the first women lured to town with the promise of a job, a house and land. She’d come hoping to make a new life for herself and her children.

  Neither she nor Sawyer had been looking for love. But they’d found it, with each other. They must’ve had the fastest courtship in Hard Luck’s history, Abbey mused. In retrospect, she wouldn’t change a thing. Not only was she deeply in love with her husband, but Sawyer had legally adopted Scott and Susan, and he worked hard at being a good father.

  “My dad was teaching me the basic elements of flying when I was ten,” he assured her. “Trust me, I’m not going to do anything to put either of us in danger.”

  Abbey knew that went without saying; nevertheless, she couldn’t help worrying.

  “I’m gonna find Ronny Gold,” Scott told them. “I’ll be back before dinner.” He was out the door with another burst of speed. The silver-eyed husky raced along at his side.

  “I wonder what Charles and Lanni are up to about now,” Sawyer said with a grin.

  “They’re probably lying on a sandy beach soaking up the sunshine.”

  Sawyer sat next to her on the sofa. “Remember our honeymoon?”

  Abbey smiled. They hadn’t seen too much of Hawaii.

  “If you recall, we didn’t spend a lot of time on any of those beaches. As far as I was concerned, all we needed was a bed and a little privacy.”

  “Sawyer!”

  “I’m crazy about you, Abbey.”

  “Good thing, because I’m crazy about you, too.” She turned, sliding her arms around his waist. The happiness she’d found with him continued to astound her. When she’d least expected it, Sawyer had given her back her heart, given her a second chance at love.

  “Don’t worry about cooking tonight,” he said. “I thought I’d treat us all to dinner.”

  “On a Monday night?”

  “Sure.” He grinned. “Ben’s started a frequent-eater plan, and—”

  “A what?”

  “You know, like the airlines’ frequent-flyer programs.”

  “Oh. Of course.”

  “He’s trying to drum up a little business, and I figured we should support his creativity.”

  Abbey gave Sawyer a quick kiss. “And have some of Ben’s apple pie into the bargain.”

  “Then, later,” Sawyer said, cozying up to her, “I thought you and I could relive some of those wonderful moments from our own honeymoon.”

  Abbey suspected he wasn’t talking about lazing around on a beach, either.

  May 1996

  Karen had never felt worse, emotionally or physically. Bad enough to make a doctor’s appointment.

  Spring was one of her favorite times of year. The changes in the California weather weren’t as dramatic as those in Alaska, but the heavy Oakland air seemed to hold less smog.

  Even though she’d been living in California for a while now, she wondered if she’d ever grow accustomed to seeing nothing but a brownish haze on the horizon.

  She’d hoped to adjust more quickly to life here, but so far she hadn’t. True, there were compensations—a staggering variety of stores and restaurants, lots of TV channels, consistently moderate weather. But daylight in the winter months had taken some getting used to. Freeways continued to unnerve her. Traffic intimidated her. And so many people! The contrast between California and Alaska was never more striking than on the freeways.

  Karen had made friends. All female. It might’ve helped if she’d been able to get involved in another relationship. But she wasn’t ready, and she didn’t know how long it would be before she was.

  Still, no matter how many months or years it took, she was determined to forget Matt.

  First, though, she had to get over this strange malady of hers. A friend in her office had recommended Dr. Perry, and if the patients filling his waiting room were any indication, he must be good.

  She flipped through a women’s magazine as she waited for the nurse to call her name. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was already twenty minutes past her appointment time. Actually Karen didn’t mind the wait because she didn’t know what she’d say once she saw him. She didn’t have any real symptoms. She just felt…bad. She slept more than she should. Her appetite was nonexistent. And she cried at the drop of a hat. The other night she’d found herself weeping over a television advertisement for a camera. A camera, for heaven’s sake!

  Her real fear was that Dr. Perry would say she had all the symptoms of someone who was chronically depressed and tell her she should make an appointment with a mental-health professional. She was prepared to do that if he suggested it.

  When her name was finally called, she followed the nurse to the cubicle and sat on a molded plastic chair. Considering what this appointment cost, she’d think Dr. Perry could at least afford a decent chair.

  The
nurse, Mrs. Webster, according to her nameplate, read over the questionnaire Karen had completed earlier. “It says here you haven’t been feeling well.”

  “Yes,” Karen responded crisply. “I think it might be the smog.”

  “The smog.” Mrs. Webster made a notation on the chart.

  “You see, I’m from Alaska. I’ve never been exposed to smog before. My lungs don’t like it.”

  “I don’t imagine they do.”

  “I believe it’s affecting my general health. I just feel crummy.” Although she felt fine at the moment, Karen found herself battling back tears. “And I—I seem to have developed the ability to weep at nothing.”

  Mrs. Webster’s eyes searched out hers. “Oh?”

  Karen fumbled in her purse for a tissue and blew her nose. “I tear up at the most ludicrous things. I can’t tell you how embarrassing it is.”

  “You miss Alaska?”

  “Yes…no. I don’t want to go back…I mean I do, I really do, but I can’t. You see, I accepted this promotion, and Paragon, the company I work for, moved me here.” She stopped and blew her nose a second time. “Sorry.”

  “Let’s go back to the part about not feeling well. Do you have any other symptoms the doctor should know about?”

  She shrugged. “Not really.”

  Mrs. Webster walked over to the drawer and took out some medical instruments. “I’m sure Dr. Perry’s going to want a blood sample.”

  “Fine.” She held out her arm for the nurse. “I feel sluggish. That’s one of my symptoms,” she clarified. “I wake up in the morning and I don’t want to get out of bed.”

  “I’ll mention that to the doctor.”

  “Do you think it might be the smog?” she asked hopefully, watching the older woman.

  “I don’t know. I’ll let the doctor decide. But we’ve recently seen several people with low-grade flu symptoms.”

  That was reassuring. Maybe all she had was a simple case of the flu.

  Ten minutes later, after the nurse had taken some blood and Karen had changed out of her clothes and into a flimsy paper gown, she met Dr. Perry. He was much younger than she’d expected. Early thirties, if that.

  “Hello, Karen,” he said. His voice was kindly.

  “Hi.” She felt more than a little ridiculous in her blue paper outfit.

  While she tucked the gown more securely under her thighs, Dr. Perry read her chart. “I understand you haven’t been feeling like your usual self lately.”

  “No. As I told your nurse, I think it must be the smog.”

  “Tired. Sluggish. Weepy.”

  “Yes, all those things.”

  He glanced up from the chart and held her gaze.

  “Mrs. Webster said there’s a low-grade flu going around,” she suggested.

  “Yes,” Dr. Perry agreed, “but this sounds like something else. Tell me, Karen, is there any possibility you could be pregnant?”

  Chapter

  3

  June 1996

  Matt stood in the main room of the lodge and handed Lanni the glossy brochure he’d produced. He studied her closely, eager for his sister’s response. Since Lanni was a writer, he’d gone to her for advice about the text and even the design. Now the brochure was ready to mail out.

  “Matt, this is really great!”

  “Yeah, it looks good, but does it make you want to spend several thousand dollars to fly to northern Alaska?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  Matt remained unconvinced. “What about the section on dogsledding?”

  “I think it’s a good idea.” But her enthusiasm sounded forced, and when she hesitated, Matt wondered if she was going to be honest or just tell him what she thought he wanted to hear.

  “Do you really believe people want to learn how to run a dog team?” she asked after an awkward moment.

  “Positive. It’s becoming very popular. Men, and plenty of women, too, are looking for more than relaxation when they take their vacations.” He strived to keep his voice calm and matter-of-fact. “They want adventure. Sure, lounging on a beach might sound good, but after two or three days most folks with A-type personalities are bored to tears. The people who can afford this kind of vacation are generally professional people who’re driven to succeed. Always looking for new challenges. I’m offering them something unique.”

  Lanni grinned. “I’ll say. But city folks aren’t going to know how to harness dogs or hitch them to a sled.”

  “That’s where the mushers come in, and I’ve got the real McCoy.” Matt was thrilled with the response he’d gotten from the professional mushers. “Anyone who signs on is going to learn it all. That’s part of the thrill.”

  “I hope this works.” But it was plain Lanni remained skeptical.

  “My gut instinct tells me this is going to catch on big.”

  Matt sincerely hoped he was right. The survival of the business depended on his ability to convince travel agents across North America—and beyond—to book their clients into Hard Luck Lodge. His vacation packages included guided fishing tours during the summer months and dogsledding in the winter.

  “Imagine taking a hundred-mile trek above the Arctic Circle, driving your own team of dogs,” Matt said excitedly. He figured if he could convince his sister, then he could sell this package to just about anyone. “I’ve got everything spelled out right here.” He pointed to the listing of six-and eight-day trips between February and April.

  “Several of my guides have run the Iditarod themselves. They know all there is to know about dogs and sledding. This venture helps them, too. The mushers can use the money, and I’ve been more than fair in giving them a cut.”

  Lanni’s attention returned to the brochure. “I like the way you talk about the history of the Iditarod. ‘In January 1925, Leonhard Seppala, a Norwegian musher,’” she read aloud, “‘rushed diphtheria serum 675 miles from the end of the Alaska Railroad to Nome. The trip took just over five days.’”

  “The Iditarod’s still called the most rugged race on earth.” Matt wasn’t telling Lanni anything she didn’t know. “People dream about this kind of adventure.”

  “Then it’s the thrill-seeking vacationer you’re hoping to attract?”

  “Exactly.” Matt wanted this venture to succeed for more reasons than he cared to contemplate. He had something to prove to himself—and to Karen. “But it’ll appeal to lots of other people, too.

  “I’m listed with the Airline Report Corporation now,” he said, although he suspected his sister didn’t fully understand the significance of this. It meant that Hard Luck Lodge was formally listed with professional travel agents around the country. If a client came in looking for a place to fish, he or she would learn about the lodge.

  “Good.”

  “I’m mailing out thousands of the brochures and offering incentives to agents to book their clients.”

  “Incentives? Like what?”

  “Well, for one thing,” he said, “the first ten agents who call me with reservations will receive a two-night fishing package.”

  “That’s a great idea!”

  “I thought so.” He leaned against the registration counter, crossing his arms, and surveyed the room. A fire flickered in the massive stone fireplace. What the room really needed was those little touches a woman gave a home. He’d wanted to ask Lanni, but she’d already helped with the brochure; besides, she and Charles were newlyweds and he didn’t want to intrude on their lives.

  Karen had always been great at that sort of thing. He’d always been impressed with the way she could turn a dinky apartment into a real home, with the colors she used and plants and the placement of a few carefully chosen things. She had a gift for making a room look inviting.

  “Now tell me about this trip you’re taking,” Lanni said, breaking into his thoughts. Actually he was grateful. He didn’t want to think about Karen. She’d made her position clear—she didn’t want him in her life—and he was determined to accept that.

 
“It’s a ten-city West Coast tour to meet personally with travel agents,” he explained. “I’ll be giving a presentation in each city, along with other lodge owners. That way, the agents can ask me any questions they have.”

  Lanni nudged him playfully. “One thing’s for sure—not too many of the others are going to offer dogsledding.”

  “Probably not,” Matt agreed.

  Lanni glanced over his travel itinerary and slowly raised her eyes to meet his. “You’ll be in Oakland.”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t pretend not to know what that meant. Karen lived in Oakland. Well, he’d made up his mind that he wasn’t going to see her.

  A man had his pride, and she’d trampled his for the last time. Despite their night together, she wasn’t interested in a reconciliation; okay, fine, then that was the way things would be.

  “I mailed Karen one of your brochures.”

  Matt stifled a groan. This was the problem with Lanni and Karen being such good friends. A part of him wanted Karen to see the brochure because he was proud of it. Proud of everything he’d accomplished in less than a year. But at the same time, he didn’t want to hear her tell him that this venture was another—what had she called it?—reckless scheme. Contrary to what his ex-wife might believe, buying the lodge wasn’t a passing fancy.

  “Don’t you want to know what Karen said?” Lanni asked.

  “No,” he lied. “She’s out of my life now.”

  “But you still care about her.”

  Matt wasn’t about to let his sister meddle in his life. “Stay out of it, Lanni. What’s happened between Karen and me is none of your business.”

  “Don’t be so quick to shut me out, big brother,” his sister said, making her eyes wide and innocent. “As I recall, you tried to interfere in my relationship with Charles. You manipulated us into meeting so we’d settle our differences.”

  “As I recall,” he echoed, “you didn’t appreciate my interference. Karen and I won’t, either. I love you, Lanni, but I want you to stay out of this.”