“Here.” Roy slaps a twenty-dollar bill onto the counter. His weathered hands are a mess—his cuticles torn, his skin wrinkled, his knuckles cracked. “For mine and hers.”
“Uh … Thanks.” I steal a quick glance at Toby, who flashes a surprised look before heading to the till. I thought Roy didn’t give or do anything out of kindness?
Roy stares hard at the bottle in his hand. “How’s that old goat doin’?”
Are we attempting small talk? “Still alive.”
Roy smirks. “Have you trimmed his hooves yet?”
“We’re supposed to do that?” I cringe as I imagine touching those dirty things.
He rolls the bottle in his grip but doesn’t take a drink. “You need to keep goats’ hooves trimmed, otherwise they could end up infected. Bacteria and all that.”
“Oh. Great. I’ll let Jonah know.” I may tolerate Zeke following me around, but I draw the line at goat grooming.
Roy’s gaze wanders over all the pictures pinned to the back wall with thumbtacks, seemingly engrossed.
Did he have a wife, as Muriel claims? I can’t imagine Roy having another softer side that could lend itself to a loving relationship. Then again, I couldn’t fathom what anyone found appealing about Jonah when I first met the angry yeti.
“Had anything sniffin’ around your pen lately?” he asks suddenly.
“You mean like your malamute?”
His eyes narrow on me, and for a second I wonder if I’ve expended any goodwill I’ve earned. “Nah. He’s chained up for the time bein’ so he can heal. Besides, he won’t do nothin’ to that old goat.” He peers over his shoulders at the people and sneers. “All these campers comin’ up here, not storin’ their food and trash properly, causin’ problems for the rest of us. You two better be keepin’ your trash indoors,” he warns.
“Jonah grew up in Alaska. He knows what to do.” And I grew up in Toronto, with Tim and Sid rooting through our garbage cans at every chance, so I’m not entirely inept when it comes to wildlife. “We keep it in the workshop.”
“Calla!” Muriel’s husky voice carries over the noise. She waves an apron in the air before her gaze veers to Roy and thins.
“Did my mom happen to mention she was gonna put you to work tonight?” Toby asks with a grin.
“Uh … no. Seriously?”
“If there’s one thing she doesn’t joke about, it’s workin’.”
I groan as I ease off my chair. Maybe Muriel’s doing this to give me an out for having to deal with my neighbor. A “kindness” as she calls it—ending the suffering of wretched creatures. “Thanks for the beer,” I offer, because, unlike Roy, I won’t be outright rude.
His head bobs slowly, his focus on the bottle within his grasp.
I assume that’s all the response I’m getting from him and so I make to turn away.
“I know I can be a real SOB,” he says. “But thank you, for what you did for Oscar.” His gaze flashes to mine briefly, long enough to show me the sincerity in his words before he turns back to his bottle.
It looks like I got the right side of the coin toss today.
“Hope you like chili,” Toby hollers after me, his laughter following me as I cut through the crowd.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“What the hell, Jonah? You promised you’d wait!”
In the time it took me to exchange my clothes for my robe, scrub the taste of six different chilies off my tongue—that Muriel badgered me to taste despite my assertions that I’m not a fan—collect two towels, and head back down to the porch, Jonah stripped out of his clothes, climbed into the hot tub, and made himself at home.
“Did I?” His muscular arms stretch out on either side of him along the frame. His head rests back, showing off the sharp jut of his throat. The steam from the hot water mixing with the cool air creates an ethereal mist around him. “Sorry. You took too long.”
“I was, like, ten minutes.” I set the towels on a small side table and, before leaving my phone there as well, take a stealthy picture of this view—a bare, broad-chested Jonah in the steamy foreground, the sawtooth, snowcapped mountain range in the back.
With a smile of satisfaction—this one will rival the infamous wood-chopping snap, both in sexiness and in the power to irritate him—I move toward the edge of the tub, my hands gripping the lapel of my robe.
Jonah lifts his head to scan me from head to toe, his gaze flashing with mischief. And anticipation.
I’ve undressed for Jonah countless times. He knows every freckle, dimple, and hint of a scar, and yet every time I’m about to, that same eruption of nerves and excitement stirs in the pit of my stomach, like it did the first time. It’s clear why he was so eager to break his promise to me. “Close your eyes, you brat. You don’t deserve a show.”
The wicked laugh that carries from deep within his chest and echoes over the calm, quiet lake sends shivers down my spine. “I probably don’t, but not a chance in hell.”
With a quick scan around the property for privacy, which earns a scoff from Jonah, because “look where we live!”—I turn around and make a point of ever-so-slowly sliding the robe off my shoulders, inch by inch down my biceps, uncovering my shoulder blades, my back, that curve above my tailbone, stalling there as the cool night air skates over my naked skin. Stripping outdoors, out in the open like this, with the still lake and the quiet forest and the looming Denali, the last rays of sun touching its westernmost side at ten thirty p.m., certainly adds a certain edge to the moment.
“Get in here already, Calla.” Jonah’s gruff voice drops an octave.
I let the robe drop to the porch floor next to his pile of clothes and then take a step back to perch on the edge of the tub. I swing my legs over as gracefully as possible and slip into the hot, inviting water. I groan. “This feels so good.”
“I’ll admit …” Jonah begins, reaching for me, pulling me across to fit tidily beneath his outstretched arm, my legs pulled over his lap. He curls his body inward, giving him the perfect angle to trace my collarbone with his lips. “This might have been worth all that money.”
“Wait a minute. Did I hear that right? Did you say that I am the smartest person alive and you are so sorry for ever questioning— Ah!” I squeal as Jonah playfully nips at my skin, then licks the spot with his tongue. “Look at them all.” I point at the screen and the horde of sizeable, bloodsucking insects perched on the outside, foiled in their attempts to find a way in. There isn’t one. The carpenter was meticulous with his work. Not one crack remains, affording us refuge from their nuisance.
“I know. I’m glad I insisted on you hiring that guy to do the screens.”
“Hmm … Yes, that’s exactly how I remember it going.”
He pulls my body up to perch on the inside of his bent leg. My breasts float just above the waterline. “Yeah, definitely a fucking brilliant idea, getting this hot tub.” Jonah’s beard tickles my skin as his mouth clamps over a pebbled nipple. Beneath the water, his hand brazenly slides up the inside of my thigh.
There’s no question what Jonah’s intentions are, and normally I’m more than willing to pander to his physical needs—and my own—but tonight, we need to have an actual conversation first so my focus won’t be divided.
I clamp my hand over his, stalling it. “You seemed to have a good time at the Ale House.”
As did I, surprisingly. While Jonah was talking to Jack Thomas, Muriel made a point of introducing me to every person who came through the chili line, who in turn asked me about The Yeti, prominently displayed on my chest. I made sure to let them all know how dependable and skilled Jonah is, in case they’re ever in need of a pilot. Several people seemed keenly interested.
He groans, finally getting the hint. We shift again, and I shimmy off his leg to immerse myself in the hot water. Jonah leans back against the side of the tub, the hand that was between my thighs settling to a more neutral spot on my knee. “Is this about that woman? Because I didn’t encourage that.”
&n
bsp; “No. I don’t care about Jessie Winslow.” Though she did nearly end up with Crock-Pot Number Four chili over her head. I wasn’t surprised when she took one look at Jonah and eagerly pulled up a chair to their table, touching him at every opportunity. According to Muriel, who must’ve seen the way my fist curled around the ladle when Jessie pawed Jonah’s thigh, the woman has “issues with the drink.”
Luckily for her—and for Jonah—he made a point of excusing himself from the table and coming over to sample the food.
And I made a point of sampling his mouth for her to see.
“What’d Roy say to you?”
“That he knows he’s an SOB and thanks for saving his dog.”
“No shit.” Jonah’s eyebrows pop with astonishment. “What’d he want with Muriel?”
“I don’t know.” Roy sat at the bar, staring at his bottle and not speaking to anyone, until Muriel headed over to question him. It was a short conversation and seemed civilized, and then he collected his hat and ducked out of the Ale House without so much as a glance around. According to Toby, his beer was still full.
Muriel offered me nothing more than a tight smile when I asked what Roy had said.
I don’t want to talk about lonely, crop-top-wearing alcoholics, or crusty old men, though. I need to talk about something that’s been gnawing on my conscience all night.
I drag my fingernail across Jonah’s beard, reveling in the scratching sound. “Jack seemed nice.” I met the man briefly. He was quiet, soft-spoken. Not at all what I imagined the big game hunter to be.
“He’s a good guy,” Jonah agrees. “Smart. I’ve heard he’s a helluva hunter.”
“Did he mention working for him?”
He hesitates. “Yeah.”
“And?”
“And … nothing. It doesn’t work for me.” Jonah studies his hand as he skims the surface of the water with his palm.
“What’s the job?”
“He wants me for three weeks in September. Seven days a week, doing runs every day and being available on call for game pickups. I’d basically be catering to rich politician assholes from the Lower Forty-Eight.”
“And you’d get paid really well doing it.”
Jonah nods somberly.
“But you’d have to stay in McGrath.”
“Sounds like you already know all about this.” He frowns. “Muriel tell you?”
“No. Surprisingly, that is one thing she didn’t mention.” She told me everything about everyone else, though—births, deaths, marriages, divorces, scandals, bankruptcies, windfalls. “Toby told me.”
“Yeah, well …” Jonah sighs. “Stationing out of McGrath is the only way to do it. It’s too far to fly back and forth every day, and he can’t risk bad weather through the mountains keeping his pilot from being there. The hunters are paying a ton of money to have one on call.”
I take a deep breath and say what I’ve been preparing to say all night. “If you want to take the job, then you should take it.”
His head’s already shaking. “I promised you I wouldn’t leave you out here alone like that.”
“I’ll be fine.” I hope I sound more confident than I feel. “I’m sure Muriel will be here every day, anyway, whether I want her here or not. And I can always fly home.”
“This is your home.” He glowers.
“You know what I mean. I can fly back to Toronto for a couple weeks.”
He seems to consider this. “What about Bandit and Zeke?”
“I don’t know? I’ll ask Toby or Muriel to help.” I can’t believe I have to consider a raccoon and a goat in my plans. I barely even see Bandit, now that the weather’s warmer and he’s off climbing trees. “We’d make it work.”
Jonah slides the elastic from my ponytail. My hair tumbles down over my shoulders, the ends dipping into the water. “If Jack’s impressed, he’ll want to lock me in every September going forward.” Which would lessen some of the pressure to earn money through the long, dark, unpredictable winter months—something I know weighs on Jonah.
“Of course, he’ll be impressed.” I hear what Jonah’s really saying, though—that this isn’t just for this year. I’ll have to be ready to spend every September without him.
He chews his bottom lip. “It’s not like you’ll be stuck here, anyway. You’ll be able to drive whenever and wherever you want, to visit people.”
I nod and smile; meanwhile I’m wondering, what people? I don’t know anyone. Agnes and Mabel are all the way on the other side of the state, and I can’t get to them by car.
I was right, though. Jonah wants to take this job.
He seizes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing my gaze to his. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? Because once I commit, it’s a done deal. For this year, at least.”
I smooth my hand over his chest. That’s twenty-one days and twenty-one nights, unable to touch him like this. Out here alone, possibly. I look out over the vast, quiet space.
This is what Jonah does, though. Off-airport landings are his specialty and he enjoys it. It doesn’t feel right, holding him back. I couldn’t live with him resenting me for it down the road. “It’s only three weeks.” Muriel introduced me to a man tonight who’s gone for months in winter, up to the North Slope building ice roads for the oil rigs, leaving his wife and kids at home to fend for themselves. When I hear stories like that, it makes me feel silly and weak to fret over three weeks.
Beneath the water, he runs his palm back and forth over my thigh. “Maybe I don’t wanna be without you for that long. Ever thought of that?”
I smile with the reminder that I’m not the only one who would struggle with this arrangement—Jonah would miss me, too. “You’re a big boy. You’ll survive. We both will. I mean, come on … Jessie Winslow’s husband leaves her for weeks at a time, and look how well she handles it.”
Jonah snorts. “Yeah, I heard exactly what she tries to handle. You sayin’ I’ll come back to you pounding draft beer and hittin’ on Toby?”
“If you do, go easy on him. He’s probably tried to fend me off.”
“Yeah, doubt that,” he mutters.
I rest my head on his shoulder. “Jonah, take the job. I know you want it, and I don’t want you turning down jobs you want because of me. That doesn’t make me happy.”
He sighs, and I could be mistaken, but I sense his relief. “I’ll call Jack tomorrow. He’d have to accommodate my schedule for those two hunting parties I’ve already committed to, but he said it shouldn’t be a problem.”
That guilty prick that’s been needling me all night begins to fade, because I know pushing him to accept this offer is the right thing to do. Yet, I don’t feel lighter about the decision. But this is what life with Jonah will always be like. I need to learn to take the good with the bad.
I lean in to skate my lips across his neck, ready to pick up where I hindered him earlier.
But his blue eyes are searching the porch’s cedar ceiling in deep thought. He swallows hard. “I had an interesting conversation with Sam tonight.”
“I noticed.” The firefighter pilot is a lot shorter than he looks in his yellow plane. Jonah towered over him. “About what?”
He hesitates. “About flying for him. He’s got four Fire Bosses. Alaska Fire Services contracts his company out to help fight forest fires. He wants to know if I’d work for him this summer.”
“What do you mean? Like, fighting fires?” I ask warily.
“Yeah. Last year was bad and they’re expecting it to be worse this year. It could mean work for me through till August, even until I leave in September. I wouldn’t even have to work all winter, if I don’t want to, with the kind of money I can make.” He peers at me. “I’ve always wanted to try it.”
“Really?” Because he’s never mentioned it to me before.
“Yeah.” He frowns. “What’s that look for?”
“Nothing. I just … is it safe?”
“As safe as anything I do is ever gonna b
e.”
“Yeah, but flying a plane is one thing. Fighting fires is … You’ve never done it before.”
“Which is why he’d train me. I’ve got more than enough experience flying, so that part won’t be hard.”
That doesn’t bring me much comfort, though. What if Jonah has engine problems like we did, while flying over a raging fire? How low will he have to fly? What if the smoke gets too bad and he can’t see? But another, more immediate issue stirs in my mind. “But what about The Yeti?”
“The gig with Sam would be contract only, for the summer.”
“Yeah, but I’m guessing it’s on an as-needed basis?” Forest fires don’t follow a schedule. “How am I supposed to book people if you could be called away to fight fires at any given time?”
“I don’t know. We’ll figure it out.” He drags a fingertip over my bare shoulder, down my arm, my exposed skin covered in gooseflesh. But the look on his face is not carnal. It’s pensive, as if he’s lost in his own thoughts. “I think I’d be good at it.”
“You’d be amazing at it.” There doesn’t seem to be anything Jonah isn’t good at, when it comes to planes. “But this is an entire summer.” The busiest time for any charter pilot in Alaska. “Don’t you think you need to be focusing on building the charter business? At least until you’re established? Tying yourself up for an entire summer for someone else might not be the best move.”
He shrugs. “I’d go out with one of the guys before I commit.”
“Right.” But he will commit because this sounds right up his alley.
“Are you angry?” he asks.
“No, I’m just … I don’t know what I am.” Annoyed, maybe. Here I am, talking the charter company up all night to anyone who would listen, when he might not even be around to fly.
But this also feels like a bit of a reality slap. The Yeti has felt like a joint venture up until now, but have I been fooling myself? Maybe it’s always been Jonah’s, and I’m lingering in the background, giving myself make-work projects to burn the days away, trying to make it into something it’ll never be.
Maybe Agnes was right. Maybe I need to find my own place here, outside of Jonah’s world of planes.
Wild At Heart: A Novel Page 24
