by Alix West
Clay
Clay lit a match, letting the flame spark, flare and subside before stepping into the cabin’s pantry. He searched the shelves for flashlights, but only found boxes of candles.
The shelves lined the length of the room and were stocked with jars of preserved fruit, sacks of flour and sugar and tinned meat. From the looks of things in the pantry and the rest of the cabin, the place belonged to a prepper.
Victoria had already scoped out the pantry and taken a few cans of stew so she could make dinner for the four of them. From the looks of it, they could have stew every day for a decade.
The shelves were tidy with no signs of mice droppings. Whoever owned the cabin had sealed it up properly and planned everything methodically. A corner closet held guns and ammo. The shelves by the rafters held woolen blankets. Neatly folded linens tucked beside shampoo and soap filled the space behind the door.
Several bottles of vodka and bourbon stood along the top shelf. Clay smiled. Maybe he should get Miss Jitters liquored up so she could relax a little around him. Not that he’d take advantage, of course.
There had been a few moments on the plane when they’d shared a conversation and he wanted more of that. They might have a day or so together and maybe he could show her that he wasn’t so bad after all.
He looked around, wondering who owned all this. They might never know. The four of them were trespassing, but what choice did they have? The match burned out and he was left alone in the darkness. Wondering. After a moment, he shook off the doubts and concerns. The cabin was theirs for the time being. This was a mission and he’d have to commandeer the building and that was the end of it. The door squeaked on its hinges as he left the pantry.
He returned to the kitchen. Victoria stood by the stove, stirring a pot, the aroma of a fragrant stew wafting in the air.
“It’s a little different than cooking on a Viking range,” she said. “If I turn my back for just a moment, the stew will scorch.”
She looked so different than she had at the Lodge. There she’d hurried around, with hotel staff following, carrying out her instructions for new couches or different colored carpeting. Here in the cabin, she looked almost like a sweet little homemaker, standing at the stove, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, an apron tied around her waist.
He had the sudden urge to cross the kitchen and wrap his arms around her. But he couldn’t touch her unless it was in a non-threatening way, like rubbing her cold feet. She was bare-footed now, something he’d have to talk to her about, but for the moment, he allowed himself to admire her. He loved the way a few tendrils of her hair clung to the delicate skin of her neck. If he could hold her the way he hungered to hold her, he’d kiss her there and linger to savor her scent. But now was not the right time, obviously. The place was fine, a secluded cabin in the Alaskan wilderness, but the time was wrong, after just surviving a crash landing, and a dead man freezing in a plane two hundred yards away. No, now was not the right time.
Ross set the table. “It smells great. I’m starved.”
Sydney kept vigil at the window, her drawn expression bathed in the fading rays of the sunset. She’d spent the afternoon looking around the cabin, staking her claim on the bottom bunk in one of the two bedrooms. Every so often she announced she had no plans to sleep in the bed, but just in case they needed to spend the night, she was taking the lower bunk.
“Do you think they’ll send people to look for us at night?” she asked.
“No,” Clay said. “But by daybreak the National Guard will be in the air. They’ll search the path of the flight plan Henry left. Assuming he left a flight plan.”
Her eyes widened. “What if he didn’t?”
Clay shrugged, not wanting to alarm the girl any more than she already was. “It will take a little longer.”
Ross returned to the kitchen and opened cupboard doors till he found water glasses. He paused, his hand on the handle. It was made of a tip of a deer’s antlers. “Look at these tricked-out handles.”
Clay moved closer. Ross dropped his hand to show him. The horn shone in the soft afternoon light.
“It’s smooth,” Clay marveled. “Worn down by years of use.”
“How old do you think this place is?” Ross asked.
“Maybe fifty years old. Maybe older. Probably someone’s hunting or fishing cabin.”
“This place creeps me out,” Sydney muttered. “It’s musty and it doesn’t help that your dog, Fart, keeps farting.”
Charlie slept by the fire, unaware that he was being insulted. Sydney stood a few feet away and stared at him, her lip curled with dismay. She jerked her head back as if struck by something and waved her hand in front of her face. “Uh, Fart. How could you?”
Ross gave him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. She gives lots of people insulting nicknames.”
Clay narrowed his eyes at the girl, who’d gone back to staring out the window. If Charlie hadn’t growled in the airplane, Clay might not have gotten to the controls in time. He wouldn’t mention that just yet, since the girl was still pretty shaken up. And if Charlie hadn’t found this cabin, they might have all frozen to death out her. At some time he’d tell her what a hero Charlie was, even if he did have a slight emission problem.
The four of them ate at the dining table. The setting sun cast a gloom across the desolate landscape, but the cabin, lit by candles and the fire in the fireplace, felt warm. Cozy even. Charlie, who had worn himself out running and exploring, lay by the fire, dozing.
Clay watched Victoria eat her stew and wondered what a woman like her, so used to elegance and wealth, thought of the humble cabin. Sydney had worn a frown since first stepping into the cabin, but Ross had barely stopped smiling.
Ross rubbed the surface of the wooden table. “Someone carved their initials. I’m going to carve mine before we leave.”
“Absolutely not,” Clay snapped.
Everyone stopped eating. Ross stared at Clay and then turned his gaze to Victoria as if hoping she’d say something to defend him. Victoria’s expression was of bland disinterest.
She shrugged a shoulder. “We’re borrowing this cabin. Using someone else’s things. We’re lucky we found it and we’ll try to leave it the way we found it.”
Sydney opened her mouth, but when she saw Clay’s expression, she closed it.
Ross scoffed. “You’re not the boss of me, dude.”
“I am.” Clay’s tone was soft, “I’m the boss of everyone.”
Victoria set down her spoon. Sydney’s gaze darted from her brother to Clay. The room grew quiet with nothing more than the crackle and hiss of the fire burning in the fireplace. So far, they’d all cooperated, but now Ross looked like he wanted to start something. Clay needed to establish himself as the leader of the group.
“Just do what he says, Ross,” Sydney finally said. “You don’t need to carve your stupid initials anywhere. What are you? Four?”
“Why don’t you mind your own business, Syd?”
“Both of you, stop.” Clay said. “We are stranded. In the middle of nowhere. One of our group is already dead. Until the rescue team arrives, I’m in charge of everyone’s safety.”
“Why you?” Ross demanded.
“Because you and your sister are children.” He jerked his thumb at Victoria. “She’s an interior decorator. And I spent four years as a Para-Rescuer in the Air Force. I’ve led over a hundred missions. I’ve never lost a single man and saved hundreds of lives.”
The room grew quiet again. He glanced at Victoria, hoping his words might have had an impression. He never bragged, but he liked the idea of impressing her.
“I didn’t know that about you,” she said.
“That’s amazing,” Sydney murmured.
He shrugged. “Not really.”
“It’s totally amazing,” she countered, turning to face Victoria. “All my life I’ve wanted to meet an interior decorator.”
Sydney’s lips twitched. “That ought to come in handy here
in the wilds of nowhere.”
Unable to hold back her laughter, she giggled and Ross joined her. Victoria covered her mouth, to hide her smile.
Clay shook his head, got to his feet and served himself more stew. “If you think I’m kidding, you’re in for a surprise. There’s bad shit out here. Ross and I went back and forth to the plane today without a gun. The last trip I saw wolf tracks.”
He returned to the table. “The owner of the cabin left guns and ammo. Which brings up the first rule. No one goes outside without me.”
“That sucks,” Ross muttered.
Sydney shrugged, “I don’t want to go outside. I hate nature.”
“You hate nature?” Clay asked in disbelief. “How can you hate nature?”
Sydney rolled her eyes and shook her head as if the question wasn’t worth answering. He growled softly and considered telling her how he didn’t really care for children. But he didn’t. He didn’t like when families visited The Lodge and brought their bickering kids with them.
“I didn’t bring much in the way of cold-weather clothing,” Victoria said. “I’ll stay indoors.”
“Anyway, they’re coming tomorrow, right?” Sydney asked.
“I hope so,” Clay said.
“If they don’t, are we going to try to find a road or something?” Sydney asked.
Clay shook his head. “We’re staying put.”
Sydney arched her brow and mock saluted him. He stared her down until she looked away, averting his gaze.
They finished dinner in near-silence. Wind stirred around the cabin and when Clay took Charlie out later in the evening, snow swirled and danced in the dark. Worried that Charlie might take off into the night, Clay kept him on a leash. He also carried a rifle, loaded and cocked in case a wolf or bear ventured near the cabin.
When he came inside, he drew the bolt across the door, unloaded the gun and put it in the corner of the larger bedroom. Victoria’s suitcase lay on the hardwood floor, contents spilling out onto the wide, worn planks, a single high heel in the midst a pile of cashmere and silk.
The shoe was black with a fire engine red sole and a five-inch fuck-me heel. The heel was as thin as a toothpick. He grasped the stem between his thumb and index finger. How did she manage to walk? To stay upright? He rubbed the thin straps, imagined them winding around her delicate ankles. A growl formed deep in his chest while he pictured her wearing the shoes.
She’d worn them to dinner one night. At the time, he’d imagined every man watched as she crossed the room. The heels and short skirt showed off her gorgeous legs. The way the conversation grew quiet that evening brought back the way he’d been gripped with primitive rage.
Now he was somewhere in the wilderness, under the same roof as her, eating dinner across the table from her, massaging her cold feet. He glanced at the two beds in the room. Each was covered with a patchwork quilt. Tonight, he’d take one bed, and she’d take the other, unless she fled the room to sleep with Charlie by the fireplace. Maybe that would be better.
Behind him, the floorboards squeaked and he dropped the shoe to the luggage.
She stood in the doorway. “What do you think happened to the pilot?”
He saw the alarm etched deeply around her eyes. Civilians, he reminded himself, didn’t regard dead bodies as lightly as he did. The pilot, Henry, lay in the wrecked plane still. Which meant he’d have to do something with the body. First thing in the morning. Preferably zero-dark-thirty.
“Either a heart attack or stroke.”
His own step-dad might have had a heart attack too, for all he knew, and while Clay had thought about him a time or two during the day, now the notion weighed on him more heavily. His sisters were in Anchorage dealing with Paul’s surgery or heart attack or whatever had afflicted him. On top of that they’d probably gotten news of the missing plane. He ran his fingers through his hair.
There wasn’t anything he could do about that now. Victoria’s family would be frantic too, along with Sydney and Ross’s family. Tomorrow, once he’d dealt with the pilot’s remains, he’d take Ross out with him and build a fire, a beacon.
“Do you think he radioed for help?” she whispered. “Maybe when he started feeling badly?”
His gaze wandered from her eyes, to her lips, full, slightly parted. He ached to pull her into his arms and kiss her. They’d barely spoken before today and now they were stranded together. Everything about her made him crazy, but not in the same way she was talking about, he guessed.
“Maybe,” he said quietly. He didn’t really believe that, because if Henry had radioed for help, they would have already been rescued.
“What if we never get home? Like Amelia Earhart.”
He shook his head and smiled. “We need to keep it together, Victoria. I think Sydney might lose her shit if you mention Amelia Earhart.”
The mention of Sydney startled her. Her anxious expression faded. Closing her eyes, she shook her head and rubbed her temples.
“Right. Of course.” She moved to her luggage and after rummaging, turned back to him, a silken gown in her trembling hands. “I’m sorry. I do… that.”
“You do what, exactly?” He eyed the soft material of her gown.
“When I don’t know why something happened, I make up the worst possible case scenario.”
She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. He hated the fragile expression on her face.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I always have. I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “It’s all right. You’ve been through a lot today.”
“You have too.”
“But I’m trained.”
She came to the door, her lips tilting with the hint of a smile. “So am I. In window treatments.”
The tone of her voice, the gentle teasing, brought him back to the conversation in the plane and the way she’d rested her head on his shoulder. He wanted more of that even though being close to her, talking with her, made him feel awkward, clumsy. She was right here with him and yet out of reach.
Pulling his attention from the soft curve of her mouth, he gestured to the hallway. “I had no idea you were such a tough person. If you’ll excuse me, I want to make sure the kids don’t have a candle burning in their room.
“I just checked on them.”
“And? Did they have a lit candle?”
“Yes, but they’re getting into bed. Syd promised she’d blow it out soon.”
“Soon?”
“That’s what she said.”
“Good. Because soon means now.”
She lifted her brows in surprise. Victoria probably would let the children do whatever they liked. Not him. One mishap with an open flame could send the whole cabin up in flames. Then what?
He pushed past her, ignoring her scent, the one that reminded him of flowers and the way her eyes brightened when she was amused. Everything about her left his self-control in tatters.
Charlie lay by the fire and lifted his head when Clay crossed the room.
“Maybe I should come sleep with you,” Clay muttered.
The kids’ heavy wooden door was closed and the flickering candlelight shimmered in the gap below. He knocked.
“Yes.”
Clay pushed the door open. The children’s beds were a pair of bunks, covered in brightly colored quilts. Ross had slung his arm over the top railing and didn’t move. Clay smiled. The boy had worked hard, toting luggage back to the cabin. A soft snore filled the bedroom. Sydney lay in the bottom bunk, a book in her hands, tilted towards the light of the single candle on her bedside table.
He moved to the windows, making sure they were latched and peered outside. He’d been stranded before, but always in the desert of some Middle Eastern country, not in the frozen Arctic. And each time he’d been stuck in some hell-hole, he’d either been alone or with fellow soldiers. Never with a woman and two children.
He glanced at Sydney and she smiled pleasantly at him. He suppressed a growl. The girl was a little smart
ass on top of being a nature-hater. Her brother was a smart ass and insubordinate.
He imagined getting their complaining butts out of bed at dawn and making them do push-ups and chin-ups and then a little five-mile run before breakfast. That would straighten them up quick-like. Victoria, on the other hand, would probably love a five-mile run.
Sydney lifted her book to show him the cover. “I’m reading Little House in the Woods.”
Clay looked around the room. Clearly the room belonged to children. Shelves lined the far wall, housing what had to be hundreds of books. Stuffed animals, polar bears, penguins and walruses filled the top of the built-in bookcase.
“They have the whole collection,” Sydney said. “I’ve never read it before. I love it!”
“Great. You can read some more in the morning. I’m confiscating the candle.”
Her lips parted with what he was sure would be an argument, but he stopped her protest before it got any steam. Lifting the candle, he snuffed the flame by snuffing it with his palm. The room plunged into darkness.
“But…” Sydney said.
“But nothing. Goodnight. I’m down the hallway if you need something from me or Victoria.”
“Like a candle, maybe?” she asked.
“Anything but a candle.”
He shut the door behind him and returned to the den. The fire blazed brightly. The living area was in the middle of the L-shaped cabin. Even if one of the children woke in the hours before dawn, the central part of the house would give enough light for them to make their way down the far hallway. He tossed a few extra logs on the fire and returned to his room with Sydney’s candle.
Victoria sat in the middle of the bigger bed, dressed in her silken pajamas, pulling a pair of his socks on her feet. “I stole a pair of your socks.”
“Yeah?” His voice was gruff, an immediate reaction to the way the soft material clung to her breasts, how it draped over her narrow waist and flared at her hips. He eyed her as she tugged the too-big sock over her delicate foot.
He stared at her foot. Even her arch was sexy. He’d run his hands over her feet that afternoon when he tried to warm them and battled raging lust from the way she’d squirmed beneath his touch. Now he was in the same room with the woman who had been his obsession since he’d first seen her. He wanted to press her back to the soft quilt, to finally taste her lips.
