by Nancy Warren
Max sat at the small desk in his small house and connected with Dylan and Adam. Both were lounging on Dylan’s couch, beer in hand.
“You didn’t make practice this week,” Dylan complained. “In fact, you haven’t made practice at all.”
“I know. And I’m sorry about that. But things are crazy up here.”
“She’s just a girl,” Adam said, and took a punch to the shoulder from Dylan.
“Shut up! If he’s in luuuv, I win the bet.” Dylan took a swig of beer. “You in luuuv, bro?”
The thing with Dylan and Adam, Max mused, was that there were no boundaries. At least, not between the three of them. Maybe they’d known each other too long. And with these two, he didn’t even think about hedging. “Yes,” he said. “I am.”
At least he had the pleasure of watching Dylan choke on his beer and start coughing. Adam even lost his never-show-emotion cop face for a second as his eyes widened in surprise. “Seriously?” Adam asked, recovering first. “You’re in love.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“But—but, you’re a legendary commitment phobe. You date swimsuit models and women guys like Dyl and me could only dream about.”
“Speak for yourself,” Dylan said, recovering.
“Is it the hockey-playing bush pilot?” Adam couldn’t have sounded more astonished.
“It is. And she is the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”
“Don’t want to spoil your party, but don’t forget you’re in Alaska. Lot o’ guys. Not many women. Maybe your judgment’s skewed.”
A picture of Claire flashed through his mind and he realized she’d have wowed him anywhere on earth. “She saved my life,” he said.
Dylan straightened. “Well, that doesn’t mean you have to marry her.”
Adam ignored his friend. “What do you mean, she saved your life?”
As briefly as he could, Max told them both about Frank Carmondy, the crash, his suspicions. Carmondy’s death. He didn’t tell them that he and Claire had spent two nights in the bush, alone. Some things, he knew he’d never share.
“That’s some serious stuff you got going on up there,” Adam said. His eyes had narrowed and Max knew that meant he was considering the facts the way he would if this was one of his cases. “There will be an investigation, of course.”
“Yeah. I think it will show that the plane was tampered with. That crash wasn’t an accident. It was sabotage. I’m sure of it. And then the attention will turn to Carmondy.”
“Are you sure it was him?”
“Oh, yeah. Nobody else would want to hurt Claire or the business. It had to be him.”
“You want me to call a contact in Alaska? Find out what they know?”
Did he? He couldn’t think of any benefit to finding out sooner when his gut told him the truth would come out at an inquiry.
“No. Let’s let justice take its course. And, believe me, it will.”
“But he’s already dead. Why do you care so much?”
“Because I want Claire and Polar Air’s reputations cleared. She’s a hell of a pilot and the company’s a good one.”
“I guess you’ve considered that if the company’s reputation is tarnished by the crash and whatever was going on, then you’ll be able to get a better deal on buying the airline.”
“I don’t want a better deal. Damn it, I want to save the company. For Claire.”
For long seconds no one spoke. Then Max asked the question that had been nagging at him all day. “Have I become arrogant?” He knew there weren’t many people in the world who would give him an honest answer. These were two of them. Probably the only two. “I flew in thinking this would be fun. Relieve some of my boredom from spending too much time in the corporate world. I could fly a plane, get to know this company and see whether it was a turnaround candidate. See whether I wanted to buy it. I didn’t think how my actions might affect the people here on the ground.” He took a sip of soda water. “How they would affect Claire.”
“Are you arrogant?” Adam repeated the initial question. “Sure. You can be. But if it was a problem you know we’d tell you. I don’t know how you could be as successful as you are, as freakin’ genius as you are, and not get arrogant sometimes. It must be tough to always be the smartest person in the room.”
This wasn’t the answer Max had hoped to hear.
Adam continued, “But maybe the real question you’re trying to ask is, should you tell Claire who you really are? And I gotta tell you, in my opinion, the answer is yes.”
Max stared out the window, saw the small fleet of planes that made up Polar Air. “You know, Adam, sometimes you are the smartest person in the room.”
“And I’m the best-looking,” Dylan said. “So what? You’d be crazy to tell her. Copping to why you’re really there is a one-way ticket to the doghouse and you know it.” He took another pull of beer. Then he suddenly sat forward and upright, like a wasp had stung him in the ass. “You know what this is like? Like that reality show, Undercover Boss.”
“Undercover Boss?” Max said, imagining he sounded as revolted as he felt.
“You watch reality shows?” Adam asked at the same time, sounding equally revolted.
“You should watch this show. Every episode follows a boss who goes undercover and goes on the factory floor or whatever, pretending to be a grunt, and gets his hands dirty with the working people. Then, at the end, when he’s learned about their lives and their problems there’s a big reveal. And maybe he gives the guy whose mom needs an operation a fat check to pay for it. Something like that.”
Max really wished he didn’t see the parallel.
“How do the employees react when they find out the big boss has been working with them undercover?”
“Sometimes it’s great,” Dylan said. “There’s hugs and tears and everybody goes home happy.” He glanced at Adam, then turned his face fully toward Max. “And sometimes they wind up and punch him in the face.” He shrugged. “Any idea which way Claire’s going to go?”
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his face. “I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
14
CLAIRE FLEW THE replacement part up to the mine and then had to transport two mining executives to Anchorage on the return trip. She’d just said goodbye to the two suits when she received a text message. Her heart did a foolish little skip when she saw that it was from Max.
Her heart skipped even more foolishly when she read the text. Will you go on a date with me Thursday night?
A date. She hadn’t had a date with a man who excited her as much as Max Varo in—well, she ruefully suspected it might be forever. She’d dated plenty of guys, spent too long with a couple of them and had grown extremely selective in the past couple of years.
You’re cooking me dinner?
No. This is a going-out date.
Which made her wonder about wardrobe choices. Will I need a dress? she texted back.
Wear whatever you like. You always look good.
Hardly helpful, but then, in her experience, men never understood the intricacies of choosing what to wear. She tried again:
Where are we going?
He texted back: Secret.
What time?
I’ll pick you up at six.
Pick her up? They were living on the same property. Sometimes his obsessively good manners made her shake her head. Still, she liked the idea of going out on a date with Max. He’d surprised her in so many ways already, she wondered what Thursday night would bring. Passion, for sure, that was a given. She decided not to press him.
I’ll be ready.
She could take off right now and be home in a couple of hours. Or...
She called the Spruce Bay Inn and asked for Laurel. Her friend sounded distracted when she answered.
“Busy day?”
“A bear got into the garbage. Terrified a couple of tourists. Made a mess everywhere. Timmy, the newest kitchen helper, didn’t show up for work. Again. And I broke the heel off my favorite
pair of shoes.”
“Not the purple Ferragamos?”
“Yes!”
“Oh, no. Tragedy.”
“But that’s not why you’re calling.”
“No. I’m on a sleuthing mission. Did Max by any chance make a reservation for dinner on Thursday?”
“Hardly anyone makes reservations except on Fridays or Saturdays.”
“Max would. Believe me. He’s the kind of man who leaves nothing to chance.”
“Sounds kind of dull.”
She chuckled, thinking of the days they’d spent in the bush and all the ways he’d surprised her. “He’s anything but.”
“Okay. Hang on. I’ll check.”
Laurel was back in a couple of minutes. “No. No reservations for Max. Or Varo. In fact, there aren’t any reservations at all for Thursday dinner. At least, not yet.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. I’ve got trash-eating bears, freaked-out tourists, a major wardrobe malfunction and that bear was hibernating last time I had a date. You owe me. Details.”
Claire felt the silly girlish rush of emotion as she said, “I seriously like him.”
“You were trapped in the wilderness with this guy for days and you still like him?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“I think my day just improved.”
“But if he’s not taking me to the Inn for our date, where’s he taking me?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“I did. He says it’s a secret.”
“Men! How are you supposed to know what to wear?”
“Exactly,” she said, delighted that Laurel understood her predicament.
“Wear a dress.”
“Why?”
“Because you have great legs and after spending days in the bush with the guy, he should see you in a dress.”
When she thought back to how grubby she’d been during their hike to civilization, she had to agree with Laurel. “And if he’s taking me to Micki’s Pizzeria and Tavern?” Micki’s was the only other place in town where you could sit down and eat.
“Then you’ll be the one person in Micki’s wearing a dress.” She laughed. “He’s not taking you to Micki’s. He’ll bring you here. I think we’re getting some amazing scallops fresh in on Thursday. Just so you know.”
“I am partial to scallops.”
“Shall I reserve you one of my best rooms? Just in case?”
The thought of her and Max in a real hotel bed had her stomach clenching with sudden lust. But she didn’t want to seem too eager. “No. I’ll wing it.”
* * *
SHE SPENT A couple of minutes trying to recall what was in her wardrobe and ended up calling Lynette and telling her she’d be a couple of hours later than planned. “I’m going shopping. I’ll pick up your black stockings.”
Then, shaking her head at her own foolishness, Claire grabbed a cab and went shopping.
She found herself feeling whimsical and romantic as she flipped through racks of dresses. Maybe the days in the bush and the near-death experience had affected her more than she’d realized, she thought. She was drawn to silks and soft colors, to a rack of lingerie as flimsy as it was expensive. The stuff was handmade, of silk and lace. She imagined Max’s eyes on her as he undressed her, imagined his hands on her as he peeled off the wisps of fabric.
“This is very popular with brides,” a saleswoman said, the slightest hint of a question in her tone.
She opened her mouth to say, “I’m not getting married,” and instead found herself saying, “I can’t decide between the ivory and the ice-blue.”
The woman came closer. “With your coloring, and your beautiful eyes, I’d go with the ice-blue. It’s gorgeous against your skin.”
She would never normally have spent so much money on lingerie, she thought later. Maybe when you almost died, you worried less about paying bills and putting money aside for a rainy day. At this point, she was simply happy to know she was going to see some more rainy days.
And if she spent some of those rainy days inside, with Max, wearing the most expensive lingerie she’d ever owned, then that was fine with her.
The dress she chose was also blue and did indeed show off her legs.
Maybe her bank account was lighter, but so was her mood as she stashed her bags and headed up into the clouds toward home.
* * *
IT WAS THE time of year when days were long, nights were short and it was easy to forget that winter would soon be back demanding constant vigilance. Nights would seem to last forever, days would end in midafternoon and the snow and cold would be relentless. Many a Southerner had run screaming from an Alaskan winter, never to return. It was that first winter that showed a person what they were made of and if they could ever be at home in Alaska.
Would Max make it through his first winter? she wondered idly.
And did she want him to?
She not only liked and respected Polar Air’s newest pilot, but to her surprise she’d discovered that under those pressed white shirts and ironed jeans was a man who finally made her understand what the term Latin lover could really mean.
Hot, hot sex, as inventive as it was raw. He was a man of contrasts, Max. A true gentleman, polite and reserved, but to her amazement and delight, he left all his reserved politeness at the bedroom door.
Or in their case, outside the confines of the forest.
She suspected he’d be exactly as wild and certainly more inventive when he had all the comforts of civilization. It wasn’t that he stopped being a gentleman in bed. He was giving and generous, making sure her pleasure came before his own. Sometimes, she recalled with a tilting of her lips, making sure her pleasure came again and again before his own. She wondered if they’d wait for their date on Thursday before getting naked again, and realized she hoped it wouldn’t be that long.
She banked, radioed her route to Lynette and wondered again if Max would make it through a winter.
Her credit card balance mocked her. The bags in the back of the plane mocked her. A woman who purchased pricey lingerie for a man was not planning a short-term fling.
She really hoped his South American blood could figure out how to handle a winter in Alaska.
But today the sun was shining and she had a date she was looking forward to. For now, that was enough.
15
WHEN CLAIRE RAN into the Spruce Bay Inn Thursday after she knew the lunch crowd would be gone, she sought out Laurel in her office. When she walked in, she found her friend staring at her computer screen with an expression of loathing on her face. “Bears get into the trash again?”
Her friend gave a crow of delight, jumped out of her chair and hugged Claire.
“I haven’t seen you since you came back from the dead. How are you?”
“Good enough that I went shopping.”
Laurel put a perfectly manicured hand to her chest. “You took my advice. Did you get a dress?”
“And underwear. And shoes.”
“Oh, be still my heart.” She spied the bags Claire had brought in. “Let me see.”
Claire first gestured to the computer screen. “Looked like you were dealing with something nasty. Do you want me to wait?”
“Oh, no. Just the wheat-belly diet.” She made a face. “Have you seen that thing?” She shook her head. “I cannot live without bread.”
“Nor should you.”
“Gimme,” she said, grabbing at a bag.
When she saw the dress, she nodded enthusiastically. “Perfect. It’s feminine, classic, will accentuate the hell out of your figure.”
Claire pulled out the lingerie and watched her friend’s eyes bug out of her head. She held the barely-there bra over her chest and said, “What do you think?”
“Oh, oh. I’m not even gay and I want to have sex with you. Max will be lost.” They both spent a quiet moment in lust with the lingerie. Then Laurel said, “Okay. Shoes. Must. See. The. Shoes.”
Since both
women agreed that you have to see shoes on to appreciate them, Claire pulled off her leather boots and socks and lifted the lid of the shoe box. Inside were nestled a pair of Stuart Weitzmans that looked like they had been created to go with that dress. And that underwear.
They were strappy, silvery blue, and had heels that were high but not nosebleed high. Claire thought she might actually be able to walk in them. At least fifty feet or so.
“No!” Laurel cried when Claire pulled up her jean legs to show off the shoes.
“No?” Some of her pleasure leaked out. She loved those shoes, had been sure Laurel would, too.
“Oh, the shoes are great. But you cannot insult Stuart by putting his gorgeous sandals on those feet.” She shook her head. “Pedicure. Now.”
“But Max is coming at six. I have paperwork.”
“This is an emergency. You can do your paperwork tomorrow. Believe me, it will wait.” She grabbed one of Claire’s hands and said, “These nails can’t. Good thing I hire and fire the spa people here. I bet they can fit you in.”
While Laurel called down to the hotel spa, Claire checked out her feet. They had gripped the rudder and fought strong currents and a broken elevator, they had hiked miles and miles through bush. She’d clipped her toenails when she’d returned home, so they were straight and utilitarian. And colorless. Her feet were callused and the skin rough. How had she forgotten, in all her preparations, to pretty up her hardworking feet?
“You can go right on down,” Laurel said. “They’ll take care of you. Ask for Ginny.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, and it’s my treat.”
When Claire protested, her friend said, “Hey, I’m just glad to see you back safe and sound. We were worried about you.”
“It’s good to be home.”
“I’ve told the waitstaff to reserve the best table for you. You know, the one in the alcove with the view.” Claire knew that tourists and locals alike fought over that table. She was genuinely touched.
