by Alix West
Her eyes prickled at the idea of the four of them leaving the cabin and returning to civilization. She’d come to love the cabin and their day-to-day life, but almost getting killed by a wolf had shown her the reality of their situation.
Their safety was precarious. Even Charlie was in danger out here in the wild. Threats lurked everywhere. They had two children with them, two children whose parents were probably dying a little more each day. No, the cabin was both a blessing and step back in time. Their time here had changed each of them, but they needed to get home.
All of them. Soon.
Chapter Sixteen
Clay
Over the next two days, Clay worked outside, cutting pine saplings and dragging them out of the forest. He worked alone, not even taking Charlie with him. He didn’t want to expose the dog to a possible wolf attack, and the snow was too deep for the dog. Clay piled the saplings in the snow between the cabin and the frozen sheet of ice covering the sea.
Each day, it seemed the sun hung lower in the southern sky. The days were getting shorter, too. In another six weeks, there would be no sun at all and they would live their days in complete darkness.
He arranged the saplings in the shape of an arrow pointing to the cabin. The work was arduous. The deep snow meant he had to wear snowshoes. The memory of the wolf attack, still fresh in his mind, compelled him to always carry his rifle. He didn’t so much fear for his life as worry about how Victoria and the children would make it through the winter if something happened to him.
But the wolves didn’t return. The only animals who ventured past were rabbits, martens and a few foxes. They scurried through the trees, eyeing him with a mixture of fear and curiosity. He shook his head at them as they paused to watch him work. They probably didn’t see many people, and even fewer dragging trees out of the forest to pile them in the shape of an arrow.
The “Help” sign was completely covered in snow now. He hoped the bright green of the freshly-cut spruce would show up better.
In the distance, contrasted against the last rays of sunset, he saw the contrails of a jet, probably heading to Anchorage. Or not. Maybe Fairbanks. He had no idea where he and Victoria and the children were. They might have flown hundreds of miles off course, so it was possible the aircraft headed someplace else entirely. The idea filled him with icy dread.
As darkness gathered, he turned back to the cabin. The sight made him stop in his tracks, the snow shoes creaking beneath his weight as he paused. The little cabin looked small and vulnerable against the rugged back-drop of the Alaskan wilderness. The house sat beneath towering pines and snowdrifts that were almost as high as the roofline. It looked desolate. Yet, the cabin beckoned him and maybe because he’d lived alone so long, the sight gave him a fleeting moment of contentment.
Victoria waited for him and he’d never had anyone waiting for him. He’d never wanted that until he first saw her.
The darkening sky held the first stars of the night and a small crescent moon. Smoke curled from the chimney drifting up into the failing light. The glow of candlelight lit the interior. Someone, Sydney he’d guess, passed in front of a window. He could almost hear her laughter and some sassy reply to Ross or Victoria.
One day, they’d all walk out the cabin’s door and leave it behind. They’d carry on with their lives somewhere far from here. It was what he hoped for and what needed to happen, of course. After the wolf attack, he felt a sense of urgency to return to civilization. And yet there were moments where he knew he’d miss everything about the cabin and the surroundings.
He watched a moment longer, trying his best to sear the image into his memory, an image of the cabin in the twilight. Their cabin.
Their cabin…
Trekking back, he realized with surprise, that he hardly ever thought of the actual owners anymore. The four of them had made it their own. They’d been thrown together and forged a makeshift family in a borrowed cabin, somewhere in the heart of Alaska. Their existence might be precarious but it was peaceful.
When he opened the door and stepped inside, Charlie got up from his spot in front of the fireplace. The dog yawned and ambled over to sniff Clay’s boots and coat as he took them off.
The smell of Victoria’s baking made Clay’s mouth water. She worked at the stove but turned to smile at him. Since she was alone, Clay moved closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and nuzzling her neck. She yelped and squirmed in his grasp, trying to escape his cold skin but he held her tightly, pinning her against him.
“If we had this cabin to ourselves, I’d carry you off to bed,” he whispered.
She turned in his arms and lifted to kiss him, a soft, gentle kiss. When she broke the kiss, she looked up at him, a soft light in her eyes. “If we had this cabin to ourselves, I’d already be there.”
He laughed, drew her into a bear hug and lifted her off her feet.
“Oh, gross,” came Sydney’s voice from behind him. “Please.”
Clay set Victoria down. He felt a flush of warmth spread over his face, embarrassment at being caught kissing Victoria. The children weren’t his but he still wanted to set a good example. Which to his thinking meant no displays of affection. Sydney stood in the hallway leading to her bedroom, her hand on her hip and a look on her face that was mix of bemusement and disgust.
“I’m going to get cleaned up for dinner,” Clay muttered. He went to their bedroom and lit a candle. On the bed was a pile of his laundry and he realized with a small degree of surprise that Victoria had washed for him. Sometime in the last six weeks they’d settled into husband and wife roles from the last century. He took care of the outside chores that required brute strength. She took care of the home and hearth. He lifted one of his folded shirts and sniffed the lemony scent and the freshness only found with line-dried clothes.
He dressed in a pair of khakis and a buttoned-down shirt, blew out the candle and returned to the kitchen. Half way down the hallway, he stopped. Victoria, Ross and Sydney stood by the fireplace with Sydney holding a cake. All three began to sing “Happy Birthday” to him.
“Well shit.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I totally forgot.”
“Congratulations,” Sydney said. “And happy hundred-and-twenty-fifth birthday.” She grinned. Nothing made her happier than to land a well-planned diss.
Victoria shook her head. “Thirty-four.”
When he looked down at the candles, he said a silent prayer and drew a deep breath to blow them out. They flickered but each went out. Victoria and Ross clapped and Sydney whooped. They ate dinner and after the children cleared the dishes, Victoria served the cake.
Ross gave him a small carving of a dog, an image he’d whittled from a piece of firewood. Sydney gave him a card, emblazoned with Happy Birthday, Major Pain. Inside were several coupons for chores. Porches Swept. Firewood Loaded in the Fire Place. A Day without Complaining.
Later when the children went to bed, Clay followed Victoria to the bedroom and asked what that meant. “A day without her complaining? I’ll see it when I believe it.”
He drew the bolt across the door and was about to say more about Sydney’s smart mouth when he turned to find Victoria slipping out of her shirt to reveal a whisper thin negligee. She smiled and pushed her jeans down. He followed the motion with his gaze, until his attention was arrested by her panties. A wisp of raspberry-red fabric barely covering her. He was moving across the room before he even realized.
“Victoria,” he muttered, lifting her to the bed and falling on top of her. “What are you trying to do to me?”
She looped her arms around his neck. “Trying to wish the birthday boy a happy birthday.”
“Does that include birthday sex?”
“If that’s what the birthday boy wants,” she said softly.
He smiled in answer to her implied question and kissed her. They’d made love two nights ago, but last night, he hadn’t wanted to make love again. He didn’t want her to be sore. Tonight he couldn’t stop himself. Ang
ling his head, he stroked her with his tongue, taking the kiss from gentle to indecent. Victoria did that to him, turned him into a wild beast with an uncontrolled and endless appetite for her. Threading his fingers in her hair, he held her captive as he claimed her mouth with his.
He rolled off her and tugged her negligee over her head. Kneeling on the bed, towering over her, he let his gaze wander over her beautiful body. Her breasts, lush and firm, were the perfect fit for his hand. He wanted to tease and kiss her tight nipples and use his teeth to tear the flimsy strip of fabric she wore as panties.
But it was only their second time. She might be sore and tentative. This was not the time to let himself go full-on beast-mode. Instead he hooked his thumbs under the delicate fabric and tugged the panties down her legs, tossing them aside.
Settling on the floor beside the bed, he hauled her across the bed to the edge of the mattress. She drew a sharp breath as he eased her legs over his shoulders. Propped on her elbows, she stared at him wide-eyed. He shook his head.
“It’s my birthday,” he growled. “Lie back. Wait, no… watch me.”
She blinked in surprise at his wicked demand. He traced his tongue along her folds, groaning as he inhaled her scent. She was wet. Swollen. And so fucking sexy. She wasn’t innocent. Not anymore, but she was inexperienced. He teased her. Licked and sucked her soft core and watched as her expression shifted from surprise to arousal.
His cock, already painfully hard, pulsed with a jolt of pleasure as he drove her to the edge of an orgasm. He wanted to see her come, but his hunger was too much. He needed to be inside her and watch her come.
He rose to his feet, shed his clothes and lay back on the bed, beckoning her with a motion of his hand. She drew close and gasped when he lifted her and set her down so she straddled him. She glanced down at his cock and then up to him with a questioning look in her eyes.
“Go on,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re on top tonight.”
Her lips curved into a slow smile as she wrapped her fingers around his shaft. Her soft touch drew a groan from him and when she rubbed the head of his cock against her wet pussy, he thought he might lose self-control. He curled his hands into fists to keep from wrapping them around her waist. If he gripped her waist now, it would wreck any remaining restraint.
She lowered, impaling herself on his cock, keeping her gaze fixed on him. Leaning forward, she rested on her hands and slowly rocked, each time driving him deeper inside her. Her hair fell from her shoulders and formed a veil around them. The strands that reached his chest tickled his heated skin.
“So fucking beautiful, Victoria.”
“You make me feel beautiful.”
Her breasts moved seductively, drawing his eye as she rocked back and forth, and unable to resist, he cupped them. A jolt went through her body and she bit her lip, nodded and moaned softly. A flare of alarm played across her features and she glanced furtively toward the locked door.
“S’okay, beauty,” he whispered. “Give me your little sounds. I want everything. All of it.”
She leaned down, inch by inch, and kissed him. He moved his hands slowly to her waist and gripped her. Guiding her firmly he moved her along the length of his cock. She twisted in his grip. His movements weren’t enough for her and she sought more, needing to come, but he wouldn’t allow it. He’d keep her suspended, somewhere between need and pleasure, loving every cry and every small shudder that rolled through her body. He’d make her promise him anything and he’d demand she give herself over to him, both her body and heart.
“Who do you belong to, Victoria?” he ground out.
“I’m yours,” she offered without hesitation. “Clay, I’m yours.”
She dropped down, collapsing so that her forehead rested on his shoulder. “I’m yours, completely.”
He rolled her to the bed until he lay on top of her. Lacing his fingers through hers, he drove hard, watching her in the candlelight as she looked up at him with a mixture of arousal and surprise. A small, throaty whimper came from her lips and she arched beneath him. He snarled and thrust hard and deep, each stroke tearing a feverish cry from her lips as he came along with her.
He lay beside her, too overcome for words and tucked her next to him. When he looked down at her, she moaned softly. He wanted nothing more than to hold her and drift off to sleep, but the idea of an unattended candle made him snap out of his daze. He got up, blew out the candle and returned to the warmth of the bed. She moved closer as if drawn by a magnetic force and he sighed as she settled next to him.
Chapter Seventeen
Victoria
Maybe it was because they’d become lovers, but over the next few days, Clay spoiled her with small gestures like bringing her coffee in bed. He’d leave their bed, never making a sound that she noticed, and shut the door gently. First, he’d build up the fire to warm the house. Then he’d let Charlie outside and after that, he’d make coffee, returning to the bedroom with two steaming mugs. The bed would shift as he got back in and pulled her into his arms.
One morning, he came back when it was still dark. The aroma of the coffee drew her from sleep, but when he didn’t return to the bed, she sat up. He stood at the side of the bed, holding a candle, his face grim.
“What’s wrong.” She gripped the sheets and clutched them to her chest.
“Ross is sick.”
She was on her feet and dressing in the next instant. “Why didn’t you wake me? What’s the matter? Does he have a fever?”
“I got up about twenty minutes ago to make coffee. I heard him moaning and went to check on him. Sydney was just waking up so I don’t think he’s been sick long.”
Victoria took the candle and hurried through the cabin, down the hallway to the children’s room. An odor greeted her as she entered the room. In the semi-darkness, she moved cautiously towards the top bunk and touched the boy’s shoulder. He cried out. When she rested her palm on his forehead, his skin burned with fever.
He shifted in his bed and turned to face her. His skin was ashen and covered with a sheen of sweat. His expression taut with obvious pain. Inside, her emotions twisted at the sight of the boy. She’d never seen anyone in such clear agony. She was overcome with helplessness. His languid gaze made her feel sick and weak and useless.
“He’s probably going to start throwing up soon,” Sydney said from her bed. Her voice was a forlorn shadow of her usual happy tone. “Clay got him a metal bucket just in case.”
A metal bucket? She lifted the candle and glimpsed the bucket in the corner of the bed. The boy had a bucket… like something from a barn. Her stomach clenched. A silent prayer came to her lips.
Dear God, please help us return this boy to his mother and father…
Victoria whispered. “You want some tea, Ross?”
“No.” he rasped, his throat sounding parched.
“He won’t want to drink,” Sydney said. “He’ll just throw it up.”
Victoria didn’t know much about children’s illnesses, but she knew, it was common sense that Ross would need to drink something. She’d have to push fluids. That much she understood.
“Poor Ross,” she murmured, stroking his forehead. “Poor baby.”
Returning to the kitchen, she put the kettle on and piled more wood inside the stove. They had tea in the pantry and honey too. The honey would sooth his throat. When she returned to the kitchen, she found Clay standing by the fireplace, slipping his heavy coat on.
“You’re going out? Now? It’s still dark.”
“Did you talk to Sydney?”
“She said he’s probably going to vomit.”
Clay moved to the counter and she noticed a loaf of bread wrapped in a tea towel, some tinned ham and a canteen. One by one he packed the items into a backpack.
Sydney appeared in the hallway, her face lit by the glow of the fireplace, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Ross might have appendicitis,” Clay said. “He has all the symptoms.”
&nb
sp; Victoria’s blood ran cold. God only knew how far they were from a hospital. Or even another human being. Her mind refused to accept the possibility of appendicitis, or the implications.
“It could be anything,” she said. “We don’t know why he’s sick.”
“His pain is specific,” Clay said.
“My whole family had to get their appendix out at about his same age,” Sydney said. “I did. My parents did. All my cousins.”
Clay zipped the back pack.
“What’s happening?” Victoria whispered.
“I’m leaving. I’m going for help. I found a map when we first got here that showed something at the end of the lake. A town, or someone’s home, maybe. Someone drew the map and labeled a spot, Otis.”
“Otis?” she said.
“I don’t know what it means, but I have to find out.”
He tightened his hold on the backpack and for a long moment, no one spoke. The cabin was quiet until Ross muttered something incoherent from the bedroom.
Victoria’s eyes stung, tears spilled down her cheeks as she shook her head. “It can’t be. Appendicitis?”
Sydney lifted the hem of her pajama shirt to show a scar on her side. “I was eleven when I had my surgery.”
Victoria swayed and reached for the counter to steady herself.
Clay turned to Sydney. “You two are in charge. I’m leaving Charlie with you. Don’t go outside except to fill the wood box.”
Victoria nodded, crossed the kitchen and wrapped her arms around him. He smiled down at her and stroked her head. “I’ll be back. Soon.”
Sydney joined them in a hug. They stood together, locked in an embrace. Ross called her name.
Clay clasped her head and gave her a solemn look. “Try to help your brother.”
Sydney pressed her lips together and nodded. Her eyes shone as she gazed up at him until she turned away and hurried down the hall.
Clay looked at Victoria, his eyes burning with an intensity she’d never seen. Cupping her shoulders, he spoke softly. “It’s going to be all right, sweetheart.”
