by JoAnn Ross
“People like parades.”
“I guess so.” Finn definitely wasn’t looking forward to the upcoming one. “Osprey Air always has a float.” One Mary had waited to spring on him until a week ago, when it was too late to back out without pissing off both her and Barbara Ann.
“Good for them.”
“And, since I’m the new guy, I have to ride on it.” Something he hadn’t realized when he’d made the decision to keep his ownership a secret, which kept him from appointing someone else. Or nixing the damn float in the first place.
“Yay you.”
“I thought maybe you’d like to ride on it with me.”
“Me?” Her slanted gypsy eyes widened. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to have to be up there alone.”
“What about the other pilots?”
“They’ve already done their turn. It’s like new guy hazing.”
Her tasty lips quirked a bit at the corners. It wasn’t a full-blown smile, but it had him hopeful. “I’m sorry. But I don’t do floats.”
“How can you know unless you try?”
“Believe me, I know.”
Yet more backstory he wasn’t getting. Not that he needed to know, since he was going to keep his distance.
And how’s that working for you?
“Why can’t you just say no?” she asked. “Pull out that alpha male ’tude you do so well.”
Were it only that easy. He blew out a long breath and realized he was going to have to share something to get something. “Okay. It’s personal. I owe Mary Muldoon, who runs Osprey.”
“Why?”
“I told you I grew up in a big family.”
“Yes, and I envy you that.”
“Don’t. Because we definitely weren’t the Waltons. My older brothers all have different memories of that time, but for all of us, our entire lives were divided into Before Mom Died and After Mom Died.”
“For you, having been four, it would be mostly after,” Tori said.
Finn hated the sympathy he viewed in her gaze. “I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel sorry for me.”
“I didn’t think you were. But I am having trouble connecting the dots between that and the woman who runs the airline who’s coercing you to ride on a parade float.”
“My dad apparently changed after Mom died. I don’t remember him being any other way, but he threw himself into work, and we kids were pretty much left to fend for ourselves.”
He paused, realizing that talking about nannies would take the conversation in a direction that wouldn’t help his cause, given what she’d said about never getting involved with another rich guy.
“We had sitters.” That was simply a nuanced word, he assured himself.
It’s more than that, given your intent to mislead, Finn Brannigan, Sister Bartholomew piped up yet again. Damn annoying nun.
“James, being the oldest, became a surrogate father. He’d give Dad daily reports on all our grades, sports, accidents, like running an ATV into the fishing pond and Gabe falling out of the tree house. And, since we were boys, fights.
“Dad would come up with a response, which, if positive, James would pass on. Or, just as likely, it would be left up to him to dole out punishments like grounding or taking away the car keys. Not that I was old enough to drive during that time.
“The rest of us muttered and complained a lot about him being on the top of the pedestal and receiving what we viewed as special attention. I was only ten when he went off to college, but even I could see how things fell apart even more without his hands on the reins.
“Anyway, when I was thirteen, Dad surprised the hell out of me by inviting me to go with him on his annual fishing trip up here to Alaska. I didn’t have a clue why. I can’t remember any of my brothers ever going off on a vacation with him, but I jumped at the chance.”
“You came here?”
“Yeah. I got to see a side of him I’m not sure many people did. He acted like a regular guy.”
“As opposed to…”
Once again Finn was skating on thin ice. “It’s hard to explain.” And wasn’t that the damn truth? “I guess the best way to put it is that he mellowed out from his usual workaholic, type A personality. He seemed to actually care about me, not as one of a noisy, rowdy gang of kids he’d been left with but as an individual.”
“That must have been nice.”
“It was great. I liked the fishing okay, and hanging out with the other guys around the campfire at night was cool, too.”
Remembering how amazed he’d been at how well his father got along with everyone, Finn understood why he’d chosen that fake name. If those various carpenters, insurance salesmen, and motorcycle mechanics had realized they were fishing with a billionaire, the entire dynamics would’ve changed. That thought also had him realizing that he and his dad had something in common after all. Both of them wanted to be accepted for themselves. Not as an extension of the world-famous Brannigan brand.
“But it was Mary’s husband, Mike, taking us flying that made the trip for me. He let me handle the stick, which was amazing at the time. But more, it was the way they each welcomed me like I was one of their own kids. Looking back, I think Mary must have sensed how lonely I was, because she went out of her way to make me feel special. The way other kids with moms probably felt every day.”
“I’m so sorry.” She put a hand on his arm.
“I didn’t tell you that story to get sympathy,” he said. “Just so you’d understand why I can’t just say no.” He sighed. Heavily, and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Did I mention she wants me to wear my Navy fight suit?”
Despite the seriousness of the topic, Tori laughed. “So, you’re going to be a not-very-subtle human billboard telling potential customers that Osprey Air is the best commercial airline up here because they have an actual Navy hero fighter pilot at the controls.”
“Take out the hero part, and that’s pretty much it,” he agreed glumly.
“I’m not taking that part out. I’ve seen carrier landings on NCIS. Which looking amazingly difficult to do and, quite honestly, one of the only reasons I was willing to go up in that flying boxcar with you. But I’m still not going to sit on a float and wave like some parade queen.” She paused a beat. “However, if you and Mary agree, I’d be willing to sing.”
It would be so much easier to keep his distance if the woman wasn’t so damn nice. “Mary would be over the moon. And I’d seriously owe you.”
After walking her to the door, Finn caught her arms, drew her to him, and gave her what he’d intended to be a short, quick kiss but quickly escalated into a long, deep kiss that had his body humming with need.
“We have to stop doing this,” she complained after they’d come up for air.
“Nothing’s going to happen unless you want it to.”
“I’m not sure that’s all that reassuring,” she admitted.
“You probably realized, when you agreed to cook at the café, that you’re going to have to leave this cabin at the end of two weeks.”
“Because it’s tourist season,” she said. “And yes, I did realize that, but I figured I’d burn that bridge when I came to it.”
“I can probably help you out with that.”
She narrowed her eyes. She didn’t trust easily. Then again, however long she’d spent with the Covingtons had probably taught her a lot of lessons. Which brought him back to how the hell a smart, accomplished woman like her would have gotten herself mixed up with a weasel like Covington IV.
“How?”
“I’m staying down the lake.”
“I’m not moving in with you.”
“You wouldn’t have to. There’s a guest cabin next to the house I’m renting. It’s empty, so you could move into it anytime you wanted.”
“Why isn’t it already rented?”
“It came with mine as sort of a package deal.”
He was standing on the slippery slope of another of those damn l
ies of omission, not telling her that his father had built both the larger cabin and guesthouse he’d never used, to Finn’s knowledge. Perhaps he’d been someday planning to get the entire family together up here. Maybe he was even looking forward to taking grandkids fishing. Yet another thing about the illusive Colin Brannigan Finn would never know.
His father was starting to remind him of Laura, in that old ’40s film noir mystery where the detective investigating a socialite’s murder fell in love with her from her portrait, letters, and diaries. Only to discover that she hadn’t actually died. Which wasn’t the situation in this case. Although, at the old man’s demand, there hadn’t been any funeral or even memorial service, he was real and truly dead.
“I’d want to pay rent.”
“Says the woman so financially in the red she’s willing to literally sing for her supper. And before you can argue, I’m not paying anything.”
Which was true.
“Why not?”
“Because it comes with the job.”
Still true. Since he’d inherited the airline and the house just happened to be part of the airline’s assets, due to some sort of complex one-percenter business tax deal his father had created.
“I’ll think about it,” she said.
“Why don’t you do that?”
He gave her another quick, hot kiss and, although it was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, walked away.
15
Tori had headed home from the Caribou Café, intending to get started planning dishes to run by Barbara Ann, but instead, some lyrics began running through her head. Since she’d learned long ago that not listening to her muse, which could be a PMS-irritated bitch if ignored, was a mistake, she picked up her Taylor, retrieved a legal pad from her suitcase, settled down in one of the leather chairs, and began plucking the strings.
Love is not an easy game,
I always lose the final round.
Home has never been a stable place,
It always moves around.
Close, she thought as she wrote the lyrics down. But not quite there. She crossed out the is not and changed it to has never been to better fit the third line. And stable wasn’t quite what she was looking for.
After trying a few more synonyms, she settled on certain. Which was definitely true. There’d been nothing certain about her life since the day her parents had been killed on that narrow Maui road.
Shaking off memories that were painful, even now, she moved on to the second verse.
I have sailed to every distant sea,
I leave love before love can leave me.
It’s so much easier to lose than keep,
These dreams of home.
“Feels,” she murmured, crossing out three words. Sometimes what looked good on paper didn’t quite work when sung. “It feels much easier to lose than keep.”
Better. It was funny, she thought, how her feelings, which she worked so hard to keep locked up tight inside the box that was her heart, would come pouring out in her music. Also, she couldn’t help noting that she hadn’t written a line since agreeing to marry Carter. Somehow, this wild, beautiful place, and, although she hated to admit it, Finn, had unlocked that box, allowing her carefully held emotions to escape.
Carry me home,
Carry me home.
Home hadn’t been a certain place for a very long time. Yet as Finn had flown them over the rivers and mountains, Tori had thought she’d heard a distant click. As if, perhaps, Denali, which she’d read in her tour guide was a sacred place to natives, had somehow struck a chord deep inside her.
She shook off the strange feeling. “This isn’t the time for introspection. You have work to do. Menus to plan.” It had merely been a momentary response to Finn’s kiss, along with those lyrics that had risen from somewhere deep inside her, and the almost mystical mountain whose top was becoming draped in a cape of fluffy clouds.
Putting down the guitar, she turned a page on the pad and got to work.
* * *
The day after having left Tori at the cabin, Finn had just landed in Anchorage and sent his passengers on the way back to their cruise ship when his phone vibrated. Pulling it from the pocket of his jeans, he read the name on the caller screen and braced himself for bad news.
“You’ve changed your mind,” he guessed.
“About what?” Tori asked.
“The parade thing tomorrow.”
“Oh. I haven’t even thought about that. But I’ll be there.”
“Great.” Though he wasn’t all that psyched to learn that she hadn’t been thinking about him as he had her.
“I’m in town. At the Trading Post.”
“Okay.”
“Shopping.”
“That’s a good place for it,” he agreed.
“I’m sourcing the menu for Barbara Ann’s test dinners, and they don’t have everything I need.”
“She said you could go as far as Anchorage,” he reminded her. Then realized why she was calling. “You need me to pick up some groceries.”
“Only if you have time.” Although like every other male he knew, Finn had never been one to pick up on female conversational nuances. But he could hear what sounded close to panic in her voice. “And wouldn’t mind.”
“Sure. Give me just a minute.” Not having any scrap paper, he turned the flight manifest over to the back and took out a pen. “Shoot.”
“Thank you!” She exhaled a breath. Then rattled off a short list of ingredients that even he could recognize. Except one he’d vaguely heard of but never tasted.
“Port?”
“It’s a fortified wine from Portugal. From the Douro Valley. It comes in a range of styles and qualities and is typically a medium-dry dessert wine. But for cooking I don’t need an expensive vintage. Ruby port’s the least expensive, but it’ll work fine for what I’m planning.”
“Which would be?”
“Braised beef short ribs on a bed of garlic mashed potatoes and sautéed kale.”
“Sounds manly.” And really great. Though he could do without the green stuff. “Need a taste tester?”
She paused for a moment. He could hear her thinking. “That could be a help, since you’re right about it being a manly dinner. And you are, after all, a man.”
“I’m glad you noticed.”
She laughed that musical laugh again. When he laughed with her, a curvy redhead, dressed in the white uniform of a cruise ship captain, passed by him. She stopped long enough to give him a slow once-over. There’d been a time when he probably would have jumped on the invitation in her smile, but that had been before Tori. He gave her his best apologetic grin and shrugged as he held up the phone as proof that he was already committed.
She shrugged shoulders topped with gold-braid epaulets, gave him another, slightly regretful smile, then walked away. Because he was male, and not dead yet, he allowed himself a moment to enjoy the view of her hips sashaying down the dock, then returned to the woman who, he’d begun to fear, had slipped beneath his private barricades a long time ago.
“I’m meeting some passengers in a couple hours,” he said. “That’ll give me time to pick your stuff up.”
“Thank you,” she said again. “I know it’s foolish, but I almost had an anxiety attack in the store when I realized they didn’t have everything I needed. I mean, I know how to cook, and while I’m grateful to Barbara Ann for the opportunity, the Caribou Café isn’t exactly the French Laundry. Which is a famous restaurant in Napa Valley, not actually a laundry.”
“Then why the name?”
“The stone building was originally built as a saloon in nineteen hundred, not far from a veteran’s home. But then a prohibition was passed to make selling alcohol near a veteran’s home illegal, so it was sold to another couple who turned it into a steam laundry and named it the French Laundry. Then World War I, prohibition, the depression, and World War II caused the collapse of the Napa Valley wine business. Then in the seventies it was turned
into a restaurant and why is any of this relevant?”
“It isn’t,” he admitted. “I just like listening to you talk.”
Her voice dropped off like a stone tumbling off the mountain into the lake.
“You still there?” he asked finally.
“Yes… You confuse me,” she said.
“Ditto, babe. And as much as I’ve enjoyed this, I’d better go get your port and stuff if I want to get back here to pick up my passengers.”
“I owe you.”
“No, you don’t. But if you need any help coming up with a way you’d like to repay me, I’m more than willing to offer a few suggestions.” Her smothered laugh had his heart doing a weird clutching thing. “I should be back by four. Is that enough time?”
“Plenty. Do you think you’ll be able to find port there? I could change—”
“Ruby port, not the expensive stuff. Six short ribs. Leafy green stuff. No problem. Anything else?”
“If they don’t have kale, Swiss chard will do. The Trading Post turned out to be surprisingly well equipped for basics.”
“I’m told a lot of people save money by cooking after a day on the mountain.”
“That explains the two walls of frozen dinners,” she said, spicing her words with an extra spoonful of derision.
“Hey, you just happen to be talking about my staff of life.”
“Breakfast at the café, frozen dinners. You’re going to be easy to please.”
“You’ve already proven that,” he said.
Then hit end, leaving her to think about him. And, maybe, start planning more than just those short ribs.
16
After arriving back at Caribou with his passengers, whom he’d driven over to Barbara Ann’s B and B, Finn returned to the office with his flight log. He’d already called from Anchorage to have his schedule changed. Knowing that July was going to be a busy month and having already invited himself to sample Tori’s dinner, he’d decided to take some of his required weekly thirty consecutive hours off duty time tonight. He’d drop the port, ribs, and green stuff by the cabin and take a few more flights, then just let the evening unfold.
