WILD MEN OF ALASKA
Four Alaska Novellas by
Tiffinie Helmer
DEDICATION
For my amazing children: Mikelynn, Tayt, Montgomery, and Tess. Dare to dream and laugh in the face of anyone who tells you that you can’t achieve your dreams.
Contents
Wild Men Of Alaska
Impact
Moosed-Up
Dreamweaver
Bearing All
Edge Preview
IMPACT
CHAPTER ONE
Damn, he looked good.
Why couldn’t he show his age like the rest of them? Was it too much to hope for that he’d let himself go? Sported a beer belly? Lost his hair?
Five years had passed since Wren Terni’s last encounter with Skip Ozhuwan. Five years since he’d arrested her.
Not her finest hour.
It was official. Whatever puny luck the gods had deemed to give her had run out.
The only thing going her way was that he hadn’t seen her yet. Taking a couple of steps back, she stood off to the side behind a pillar in the small airport in King Salmon, Alaska. She wasn’t hiding, really. She just needed a moment to prepare herself before walking up to him and pretending he didn’t mean squat to her.
She’d known they were bound to see each other this weekend. It was his sister’s wedding, after all. But what trick of fate had her sharing the same puddle jumper to Egegik with him?
This weekend needed to hurry up and be over with. The sooner she returned to her life the better for everyone. So far she’d done a pretty bang up job of not dealing with her past. She was the type who moved on.
Past was past.
She’d hoped she could’ve put off seeing Skip until the actual wedding. Her plan was to suffer through the reception and then dart out of there like a wily fox with no words exchanged between them.
There was nothing to say to the man she’d loved—the man who’d incarcerated her—other than cursing his manhood and future offspring.
She schooled her features to try and appear bored instead of revealing the panic and yearning bubbling to the surface. Skip looked better than she’d remembered, more mature, more muscular. His hair was blacker than the deep winter nights on the Bering Sea of Alaska. His mouth set in the same smile that used to infuriate and arouse her at the same time. Broad shoulders V’ed into a trim waist, and his thighs were roped with muscle. Muscle that was defined through his unzipped jacket, t-shirt and jeans. She’d never felt safer in any man’s arms than when she’d been held by Skip Ozhuwan.
While he was only five ten, he seemed to tower over men much taller than him. His commanding presence left no question of who was in charge when he was in the room. She’d heard he now worked for the AWT, Alaska Wildlife Troopers and wondered what the small fishing village of Egegik thought about one of their own now working as a fish cop. How did he cope with that?
If she could have stayed away from the wedding, she would have. She’d given her best excuse, but when one is commanded—threatened—by her best friend since infancy and given the title of maid of honor, you go.
Fortunately, Skip hadn’t seen her yet, giving her time to compose herself, though she’d spent too much time on that already. None of it seemed to have done any good. She was torn with whether she wanted to kiss him or kill him. He’d sent her up the river, but worse than that, he’d broken her heart. Had he even written her? No. Sent a Christmas card or a care package? Cigarettes for barter? No. Nothing in all those years.
Yeah, she pretty much hated him.
She’d done her time, gotten clean and had a pretty quiet existence since being sprung from the joint.
And still not one word from him.
He must have felt her stare from across the small terminal for he suddenly turned, and his piercing umber eyes met hers.
She gulped.
You hate him, remember?
Then why did her mouth suddenly feel like the cold, barren arctic desert of Anwar while that other place further south—the one she didn’t want to acknowledge—feel just the opposite?
Skip started toward her, his stride sure and confident in his Timberline boots, eating up the distance between them. He obviously hadn’t had to prepare to meet her like she had.
“Wren,” he said.
She couldn’t tell by his voice if he was happy to see her or not. Convinced, he probably looked on this as an obligatory chore, she wished she could run and find an alternate way to Egegik. But there was no other, expedient, way to the isolated village.
Their thirty minute flight was going to drag out like a winter squall. Hopefully the flight would cool down parts of her that had unexpectedly come to life. She was too young for hot flashes, wasn’t she?
No way in hell did she still find him attractive.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, his voice a deep rumble that sent vibrations over her exposed skin, raising goose bumps.
His eyes traveled down her body in a slow inspection and then back up again.
Did he like what he saw? Why hadn’t she checked her make up? She should’ve worn something more becoming than old jeans and a SeaHawks Sweatshirt. This was Alaska. It would have been insane to wear a skirt and heels. But then why did she care? She wished she could read his mind to know what he was thinking.
He reached for her carryon. “Let me take that.”
“I’ve got it.” She tightened her grip when he tried to take it from her. A childish tug of war ensued until he finally let go.
“Suit yourself. This way.” Was that a smile teasing the corners of his lips before he turned away? If he was laughing at her, well she’d...She’d what?
Get a grip, Wren. The man hasn’t given you a thought in the last five years. Get over him already.
Besides, she didn’t need to follow him. She knew the way. It wasn’t like King Salmon was a huge airport. It was a dinky one-room building that saw most of its traffic in the summer months from fishermen passing through on their way to Bristol Bay. The richest salmon fishing grounds in the world was just thirty miles west of King Salmon. King Salmon also had the closest airport to freedom from Egegik. Thanks to the government who’d set up an Air Force base during World War II, because of the strategic position this area held to Russia and Japan.
Wren fell into step behind Skip and refused to admire his firm, muscular backside. She wiped the lie off her brow along with the fine sheen of sweat that had gathered there.
“Jim, she’s here,” Skip informed the tall man in Carhartt overalls. He was well over six feet with a buzz cut of salt and pepper hair and a closely cropped beard. How he folded himself into the cockpit of the small plane that would fly them across the miles of spongy tundra pock marked with lakes was beyond her?
“All right. Let’s get this bird in the air,” Jim said. He looked Wren up and down. “You’re what, a hundred and thirty-five, hundred and forty pounds?”
Holy Mother of Pearl.
A fiery blush heated her face. She’d forgotten that when flying in small bush planes, pilots required actual weight in order to help distribute everything evenly in the plane. Having that number out there in front of Skip was one more indignity to add to the list.
“One-thirty-eight,” she said through gritted teeth. How she wanted to lie and tell them both that she carried a trim one hundred and twenty pounds on her small five foot three inch frame. It was heading into winter and she’d need those few extra pounds as insulation. Sounded good in her head. Not so much in practice. So she was hippy and had generous breasts. Breasts like hers didn’t happen naturally without a little bit of weight to fill them out.
“Skip?” Jim didn’t bat an eye
as he consulted his clipboard. “Need your weight.”
“Two-ten.”
And all of it muscle.
“Okay, let’s load up.” Jim turned and headed out the door to the tarmac. Skip grabbed his backpack and hitched it onto his shoulders—along with her carryon.
“I can get that,” she sputtered, reaching for her stuff. The whole idea of Skip anywhere near her personal items wigged her out. She had a tough enough time dealing with him this close to her person.
“So can I,” Skip said, walking out into the dreary afternoon.
Rain had started to spit. No surprise there. The only time it didn’t rain in King Salmon was when it was snowing and blowing and you were thankful because if the weather was stagnant the mosquitoes ate you alive.
“I’ll help Jim load the plane,” Skip said. “You climb in.”
Even though she wanted to ignore anything that Skip told her to do, there was no way to refute what had to be done. She had to get to Egegik. In order to do that, she needed to board the plane. Her luggage also had to reach the small village, and Skip and Jim were more apt at loading than she was. She’d only be in the way. Besides, she wanted to get as far away from Skip as she possibly could, as fast as she could. She buttoned up and climbed into the Cessna 206, taking the backseat, buckling in and praying that Skip wouldn’t sit next to her.
The plane dipped with weight as first Jim and then Skip climbed in and buckled into the front seats of the tiny aircraft. Thank God she had the backseat to herself.
Maybe she’d survive this flight after all.
Skip tried not to stare when Wren climbed into the back of the plane. Damn, she still got his blood pumping. An ass like that was a piece of art. It was damn hard not to admire it, reach out and cup it in his hands, lift and press it against him.
There wasn’t a woman alive who could make him madder or hornier.
Jim punched him in the arm. “Gawk later. Storm’s coming in.”
Skip lurched forward toward the plane. He knew seeing Wren again would be a strain and not just to the zipper on his pants. His heart beat fast enough that he had to practice some deep breathing exercises to settle it down. He climbed into the cockpit, turned, and without thinking asked, “You okay back there? Buckled in safely?”
She narrowed those big sooty eyes until they were mere slits. “Not my first plane ride.”
At least she’d spoken a few words to him before staring out the small window, telling him loud and clear that she didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Would the woman ever get over him arresting her? Talk about holding a grudge.
“All right, folks,” Jim said. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand before we’re stuck here. There’s a winter front coming in from Siberia, and I want to be held up somewhere warm when it hits.” He started the engine, while securing his headphone and talking into the headset. Covering the microphone with his hand, he addressed Skip and Wren, “Survival kit in the tail, fire extinguisher under my seat and behind yours. Any questions?”
They both shook their heads, having heard it all before. Living out here on the edge of the world made traveling in small planes as common place as catching a bus for those who lived in the big cities.
Skip glanced back at Wren, wishing he could sit beside her. How would he get a moment to talk with her before they landed? He’d purposely planned flying to Egegik with her before the wedding. Once they landed, the village would swallow her up, and he wouldn’t get within a few feet of her. He cursed himself for not thinking far enough ahead to how he would get her alone for any length of time.
She looked good. Strong and healthy.
He knew from the network of tabs he had in law enforcement that she’d completed her court appointed rehab and her drug tests had been clean for the last three years. She was thriving in Anchorage as a glass artist and had started seeing some contractor on a regular basis.
Had he waited too long? God, he hoped not.
It would be hard enough breaking through her crabby shell with another man in the picture. He’d given her time and space. No more.
Jim engaged the engine, and they taxied down the runway.
It took a special type of person to enjoy this part of the country. Skip understood the desire to escape it, either with drugs or planes. Both created distance. But to him it was stunning. He relaxed in his seat as the plane lifted off and focused on the wild, untouched beauty outside his window. The threatening storm gave the surrounding landscape a misty, magical feel. The spider web of creeks and rivers reflected the grayish-purple of the clouds, highlighting the golden-red of the tundra falling below them.
The plane bounced along with the wind as they gained altitude and banked southwest. The greenish-gray waters of Bristol Bay chopped with whitecaps and ate at thirty foot high banks.
Wren couldn’t wait to leave this place. He wondered how she was feeling now that she’d returned. Did she find any joy in the wild openness below them? Or was she counting down the hours until she was back in the big city?
Away from him?
Wren’s breath caught as the plane jerked again. She hated these damn flying coffins. She was the only one in the family who got carsick, plane sick, and seasick, but bush planes were a necessity of living in Alaska’s Bush. Didn’t mean she had to like it, though. Exhaling slowly, she focused on the horizon. The last thing she needed was to throw up.
Why hadn’t she taken a Dramamine?
Deep breaths, concentrate. In out. In out. Shit. No way was she going to be sick in front of Skip. Bad enough the last time he’d seen her she’d been strung out on coke. She’d puked on his shoes when he’d cuffed her. What she wouldn’t give to be anywhere but here right now. She could feel him glancing at her every few minutes.
Face forward, buddy. Nothing to see here.
So she wasn’t the underweight druggie, he’d last seen. Now she was overweight and sober.
Hell.
The plane pitched and so did her stomach. Were the clouds outside her window getting darker? Meaner? Nearer?
She looked at Skip and then Jim to see if either had noticed. Skip’s jaw seemed tighter, the skin stretched taut. It was harder to see the pilot, but his hands seemed busy as they pushed and pulled knobs.
The plane suddenly dropped fast, and the seatbelt clinched tight around her waist. A pathetic squeal escaped her, and her hands flew out to grab the cold wall and low ceiling of the plane. It banked right then left. There was some fast scrambling up front. Skip’s hands were on the wheel thingy, and he seemed anxious.
What the hell was going on?
Jim’s hands slumped lifeless at his sides, and his head lulled forward.
“Skip?” she yelled his name but knew he couldn’t hear her over the roar of the engine and static of the wind. The plane leaped and fell, the tundra suddenly too close as the nose dipped. Over the noise and panic, she heard Skip swear followed by his shout, “Brace for impact!”
“What?” He didn’t just say that. “Oh God, no.” She reached out and grabbed Jim’s shoulders and shook them. He slumped farther forward in his seat.
Skip didn’t spare her a glance. One handed, he grabbed the headphones from Jim and slammed them onto his head. Next she heard, “Mayday, mayday, mayday!”
The plane seesawed back and forth with the wind, trying to find some sort of balance, or perch, but the wind seemed to laugh as it blew them down toward the rapidly rising ground. They touched—a brush really—then a slam that knocked the wind out of her, followed quickly by the nose digging into the tundra and the plane somersaulting.
Then nothing.
CHAPTER TWO
Wren moaned and wiped at her face. Her head hurt like a son of a bitch. And why was she wet? She winced as her fingers bumped a tender area on her forehead, and she opened her eyes a slit. Blood painted her hand.
Why was she bleeding?
What kind of partying had she done this time? Oh please, no. Not again. She hadn’t relapsed, had she?
The place was a mess, like it had been tossed. Why was she hanging upside down in her seat? Wind whistled like a sick siren, chilling her further. She needed a blanket, a warm wash cloth, and some thick band aids.
Suddenly everything came rushing back. The plane, the threatening weather front. They’d crash landed.
They?
Oh, God. “Skip?” His name screamed in her mind but only came out as a whisper. “Skip,” she said louder. The wind stole her words. She couldn’t see him or the pilot and wiped at her face with her sleeve again. She wouldn’t panic. They always say head wounds bleed a lot. Who the hell were they anyway? Her head hurt, she was bleeding, and it was really cold.
This was Alaska.
It was September, which by anyone else’s standards meant winter. They needed help, and they needed it fast or they were as good as dead.
Crap, they were in more trouble if she was the only help.
Wren struggled to release the seatbelt with one hand, the other on the ceiling—er, now the floor—of the plane, helping to brace her weight. She still fell with an oomph when the belt released. She scrambled to her knees, her shoulders bumping into the seats as she crawled forward, wiping at more blood as it smeared her vision now that she wasn’t hanging upside down.
“Skip? Jim?” No one answered. A coldness traveled up her spine that had nothing to do with the wind leeching through the cracks and broken window of the plane.
Both men hung upside down in their seatbelts just as she had. They looked somewhat like bats, which had her stifling a hysterical giggle. With trembling fingers, she checked Skip’s neck for a pulse.
“Please, God, please.” She felt nothing, and a whimper of dread escaped her. She pushed harder. In the cramped space, her knees dug into whatever the hell the manufacturer had placed in the ceiling. Probably never took into account anyone having to kneel on them.
Wild Men of Alaska Collection Page 1
