by JoAnn Ross
Even more terrifying, in a way, than when he’d been forced to eject to avoid getting turned to toast by that SAM over Afghanistan. At least he’d been well trained to handle that situation.
During that night with Tori, as he’d felt the fissures cracking in that wall of ice he’d spent a lifetime building around his heart, he’d entered unknown territory. It had been like falling into a black hole. The same as the spatial disorientation, the conflict between what the eyes see and the body feels that pilots could experience and what caused a majority of crashes.
He’d definitely lost all connection with his horizon that night. And he’d feared, as he’d drifted off to sleep, uncharacteristically contented with her dark head on his chest, he’d also lost his vigilantly guarded heart.
Then the next morning, through slitted eyes, he’d watched her take off. Proving what he’d already known.
Everyone leaves.
“My parents died when I was young,” she volunteered into the silence that had settled over them.
“Really?” Their conversation that night hadn’t ventured into anything that serious. “Both of them? How old were you?”
“Eleven. They died in a car accident in Hawaii. A tourist drank too many mai tais at a Maui resort luau and crossed the center line on a mountain curve.”
As Finn knew well from attending too many boots-and-helmet memorial services, death was always out there, stalking even the bravest and toughest. Friends he’d lost in war, his mom he barely remembered, and more recently, his dad he’d hardly known.
“That must’ve been tough. Were you with them?”
“No. They’d flown down there from L.A. to open up a house in Kapalua for the family they worked for. They’d only expected to stay there a few days and I was in school.”
Since his own family had a vacation home, which they seldom ever went to, in that area, Finn knew that homes there could easily go into the double-digit millions. Which, because the Covingtons had a place on the bay, gave him an uneasy feeling about who her parents might have been working for.
The last time he’d been to the Brannigan gated Maui estate had been over New Year’s during his plebe year at the Academy. He’d spent three days surfing on nearby Honolulu Bay and regretting that Knox, who’d taught him to surf on that beach, hadn’t been there to tackle those fifteen-foot swells.
“Do you have brothers? Sisters?” Although his might not be the closest of families—okay, they could occasionally verge on dysfunctional—he knew that any of his brothers would always have his six.
“No, I was an only child.”
Finn had always felt like the Brannigan afterthought, treated like a cub in a pack where bonds had been formed and roles claimed before he’d been born. But he’d never been as alone as he imagined an eleven-year-old orphan must have been.
“But you did have other family?”
“No. My parents married late, so my grandparents had already passed on. And they were only children, too, so…”
Her voice trailed off. She sounded a little lost. Memories, he knew all too well, could come barreling back to roll over you when you least expected them. Like your plane falling off a flight deck, or ejecting from your cockpit into terrorists’ no-man’s land.
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
She shook her head. “No. It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Eighteen years, actually. And, as you can see, I’m doing just fine. But to answer your question, I have no idea what happens after we die, but I do like imagining my parents watching over me. Which is why I try so hard to make them proud.”
Bolting her wedding suggested that she wasn’t exactly doing just fine, but Finn wasn’t going to quibble. “I’m sure, if they are watching, they’re damn proud. And from where I’m sitting, you’re a helluva lot better than fine.” He lowered his voice to a low, sexy drawl.
“You’re hitting on me again.”
“Hard not to,” he said truthfully.
Finn wondered what had happened to Tori Cassidy, where, without any immediate family to count on, she’d spent the seven years between her parents’ deaths, and when she would’ve reached legal age and gone out into the world all alone. But that conversation could wait for another time. After all, the cabin was paid up for two weeks.
Which brought up another question. Would Covington come after her? Finn hadn’t when she’d left him. He’d also regretted that lapse more than once.
“You’re definitely going to shake things up in Caribou,” he predicted, deciding he didn’t want to waste time alone with a beautiful woman thinking about death. “Women are in the minority in this state, especially up where we’re headed, so expect to get hit on a lot.”
She shrugged. “I can handle myself. You’ve no idea how many guys figure a girl who stands up on stage in the spotlight every night is just looking for a good time.” She flashed that smile he’d been waiting for. “Though women don’t tend to get groupies like guys. Especially drummers.”
“I thought women went for bass players.”
“Bass players may get more shirts lifted their way when they’re onstage, but drummers have more time to sit in the back, make eye contact, and flirt like crazy. I knew one drummer in Tulsa who swore he always went home with tens because true band groupies all know that drummers love to bang and know the best spots to hit.”
It was Finn’s turn to laugh. Which had him remembering that she’d made him laugh in bed, too. Which had been unusual, since he’d never really understood the need for conversation while having sex. They’d made a connection that night. In more ways than one. More ways than it was safe to think about, he reminded himself.
“Maybe I chose the wrong occupation.”
“I seriously doubt you’ve ever had to leave a bar alone.”
Because she could have been describing his early years, first in the Academy, then later as an aviator, that hit a little too close to home. There’d even been periods of overindulgence when he’d wondered if he took after his dad more than he’d thought.
Finn might not worship at the altar of dollars like Colin Brannigan had, but the old man had definitely gone through his share of women. His aunt Claire and James, who’d been old enough to remember when their mom died, said their dad had always treated Kathleen Brannigan like a queen. His aunt had even insisted that Colin hadn’t always been an asshat. That he’d changed into one because his love for his wife had been so strong losing her had broken his heart in a way that had never healed.
Finn wasn’t sure he believed that. But, just in case it was true, he’d decided early on that while he was willing to risk his life, there was no way he’d put his heart on the line. While he admittedly had his faults, no way did he intend to end up broken like his father.
“You weren’t a pickup,” he said. It was important that she understood that.
“Of course I was,” she said mildly.
They were nearing Caribou, and this conversation had him feeling as if he were suddenly flying through flack like those old B-52 bombers in the World War II black-and-white flying movies he’d always loved to watch.
But there was one thing he wanted to get straight before they landed. “You were different,” he said. “We were different together. Which is why you ran out. Because you felt it, too.”
He found it interesting that she didn’t even try to argue that point. Instead, she merely shut the conversation down by turning toward the window to watch the scenery.
5
Tori had been to forty-nine (now fifty) states and a dozen foreign countries. Although she wasn’t one to boast, she’d topped the country Billboard list in Germany for one memorable week. She’d always been popular in that country, which could have been because she sang about emotions Germans typically didn’t reveal out loud. Or, she admitted, it could’ve been the ubiquitous steins of beer served at all the venues she’d played.
The conversation had gotten a little uncomfortable when they’d drifted
into her parents’ deaths. Which, in turn, had kept her from asking Finn more about his life. To do so could’ve caused the conversational focus to return to hers, and she wasn’t prepared to share her years Carter’s evil, manipulative, lying mother, who made the wicked witch of Oz look like a pussycat.
Which would then bring up why the hell she’d have even considered Carter’s proposal. Temporary insanity was her only defense. That and a ticking biological clock that had drowned out the voices of common sense trying to be heard from the back of her mind. It might not seem to outsiders to go along with the independent way she lived, but the simple fact was that she wanted a family.
She’d given up on the idea of love. But Carter hadn’t offered that. His proposal had resembled a business partnership. He needed a wife to be a helpmate when he took over his father’s business empire; she wanted a husband; they both wanted children. Also, he’d reminded her that there’d been a connection between them once, years ago. One that they’d never been able to test to see if it could have become serious.
Perhaps, he’d suggested slyly, once they were a couple, they could recover that. And if not, well, with fifty percent of marriages ending in divorce, what was wrong with going into a marriage with their eyes wide open?
It had all sounded so logical. Reasonable. And, as he’d said, there had been a connection. At least on her part. She’d crushed on him for years. Then, just when he’d finally noticed her…
No. Tori shook her head. That was in the past. If there was one thing she excelled at, it was never looking in the rearview mirror. She’d moved on, and yes, she was still using Carter’s money, but after what he’d done, she figured she damn well deserved it. She also didn’t feel guilty about taking that hundred dollars from his wallet he’d left on the dresser before he’d gone out onto the balcony to make that phone call she’d overheard.
After all, she’d paid for the white wedding dress she’d gotten from the online rental boutique where she’d found that over-the-top sequin number she’d worn the night she’d met Finn. It now occurred to her that the fact that it had been listed as “never worn” wasn’t the most propitious of omens.
Although it was only going to be the two of them eloping to Vegas, she’d also snagged a bouquet from a Sunset Drive funeral home. Again, not the most positive move. However, she’d sung at enough memorial services at the funeral home’s chapel that the owner had offered her some white lilies that had not only gotten yellow pollen on the dress but given her a migraine even before she’d overheard that life-changing phone call.
She’d already been feeling guilty about stealing the money and had been returning it to his wallet when he’d come back into the condo. And dared ask her what she’d been doing. Shockingly, when she’d confronted him with what she’d overheard, he hadn’t even tried to deny it. But had simply pointed out, in a cool, unemotional tone, that while he regretted her learning that way, if she stopped to think about it, the idea was still a win/win for both of them. Because if she went along, she’d have enough funds to outbid whoever might try to buy her songs during the bankruptcy auction.
That was when she’d done something she’d never, ever done before. She’d slapped his smug face. When he slapped her back, although he’d never before laid a hand on her, Tori hadn’t been surprised. Because she’d known, deep down, that when you supped with the devil, you needed a very long spoon.
And that’s exactly what she’d been about to do.
In that way, she thought, it had all turned out for the best. Better to know the truth before taking vows to love and cherish, until death she did part, than being run down by the locomotive racing her way.
Once she’d accepted the truth, she’d moved swiftly from shocked to furious, then had already landed on optimistic about starting a new chapter in her life by the time she’d reached Anchorage.
Until she’d walked into that baggage area to find the man whom she’d tried so hard to forget, the very same one who had sent her into Carter’s arms, waiting for her.
What were the odds?
Having never been that much of a gambler, Tori didn’t want to think about that. Instead, she looked out the plexiglass window at the landscape that was the most magnificent she’d ever seen.
Once they’d left the slight fog of Anchorage, the air had cleared, revealing snowy mountains thrusting into a clear, robin’s-egg-blue sky. A river wound its way over boulders through a mountain meadow ablaze with flowers. What looked to be goats clung to the sides of the mountains, and as he flew through a gap, she saw a herd of deer and a flash of red she thought might be a fox. But she didn’t see any sign of human habitation.
“There’s certainly no urban sprawl here,” she murmured. What type of place had she run off to this time?
“The population density of the state is around one-point-three people per mile, which makes most of the state even less than that, since the majority live in Anchorage,” he said. “I’m told lots of people get freaked out by the isolation and go back to the lower forty-eight.”
“But not you,” she guessed.
“I’ve only been here a little over a month, but after growing up in L.A. and spending so much of my naval career crowded onto a noisy, floating city that never sleeps, this feels right to me. Also, when you’re out to sea, often all the scenery you get is miles of water and other ships in the fleet. This place beats the hell out of that.”
“I’ve never stayed in a small town more than a night.”
The occasional pickup bar gigs along the way to larger venues didn’t lend themselves to a sustainable income.
“Have you ever played in Texas?”
“Sure.” She’d done well in Austin, Houston, Dallas, San Antonio, and Odessa down in the oil patch. Along with countless of those tiny towns between stops whose names she could no longer remember.
“Well, you’re now in a state the size of Texas, California, and Montana combined. Alaska’s one-fifth the size of the lower forty-eight states, but it has six hundred and forty square acres for every mile of paved roads. Which is why it also claims over a hundred seaplane bases.”
“Which is good for your business.”
“We’re not Delta, or even Alaska, but Osprey does okay. And it’s good for the people because more fly than drive to doctors or dentists or for shopping. I’ve got to admit, sometimes I feel kinda like St. Nick on Christmas Eve when I show up at a village with mail and packages.”
“This isn’t where I’d have expected you to be headed.”
“It’s a daily surprise to me, too,” he admitted. “Which bring up the question of how you did think of me.”
“I thought you might end up an astronaut.”
“Really?” He sounded surprised. “Why?”
“Because it was obvious, from the way that commander and others with all that fruit salad on their uniforms acted around you, that you were on a fast climb up the Navy ladder. But I couldn’t see you stuck in some office in the Pentagon.”
“That makes two of us,” he agreed.
“So, I figured the ultimate goal would be to go into space.”
“Which would be way cool. But they don’t go into space all that often. It’s not like doing multiple missions a day. It’s also a long shot because there are over four thousand applications for about twenty astronaut positions every two years.”
Tori decided that it would be risky stroking his ego by stating that she didn’t think the competition would be a problem.
“But even if I passed that hurdle, I’d want to be a pilot. Which sounds really appealing, but I wouldn’t want that job because commanders and pilots aren’t allowed to do spacewalks. Which would be the coolest thing ever.”
“Why not?”
“NASA can’t afford to have them stuck outside during a possible emergency.” He blew out a breath and began switching dials again. “So, I landed here.”
“Where you belong?”
The grin was back. More lethal than ever. “Being Cal
ifornia born and bred, I may wait until spring to clarify that. But meanwhile, I’m in a good place… And speaking of being in a good place, we’re coming up on Caribou.”
She glanced down at the town that looked like a model train set. For a very small model train. Located between a startlingly blue lake and a dark green conifer forest that rose seemingly straight up the mountains hovering over the town, it appeared to consist of a downtown area of seven streets. Three running parallel from what the plane’s dashboard compass declared to be north and south, three running east and west, and one cutting kitty-corner through the center.
Most of the buildings appeared to be in toward the center of the crossroads, with the distance between the houses and cabins growing as the roads spread farther out from town. One road ended at the banks of the lake; the other appeared to run directly into the base of Mount Denali.
The town seemed to rise up as the plane lowered, allowing her to catch a glimpse of one stoplight in the center of town. It was flashing yellow.
Reminding herself that she hadn’t come here to socialize, or for a vibrant arts and music scene or active nightlight like the one she’d left behind in L.A., Tori assured herself that this was just the place to refresh and reboot.
“It looks charming,” she said.
“From the air. At ground level, it’s decidedly more rustic. More so the farther you get from downtown, so if you’re expecting Cabot Cove, you’ll be disappointed.”
“You did not watch Cabot Cove.” Next he’d be admitting to having binge-watched Gilmore Girls.
“I’m the wrong demographic,” he confirmed. “But I’ve seen the village at Universal Studio’s Jaws lake attraction. And speaking of lakes, there’s a resort on this one. That’s where you’ll be staying.”
“I thought I’d be in a cabin.” It would be difficult to write her songs with people from the next-door rooms knocking on the walls and complaining about noise.
