Jake's Biggest Risk (Those Hollister Boys)

by Julianna Morris

  “No call for envy. I’ll probably do macaroni and cheese. It’s easy, Danny likes it and Barbi isn’t coming until after dinner.”

  After they said goodbye, Hannah sat at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee. The sun was fully up now and she gazed out, loving the changing view. Honestly, she didn’t think there was anything more beautiful than the Cascade Mountains.

  Finally she opened one of the adult-study manuals she’d gotten from the school district office. She taught elementary-age children, and it had been years since she’d looked at the high school curriculum. It wouldn’t bolster Barbi’s confidence about taking the GED test if her tutor wasn’t familiar with the material.

  * * *

  BRENDAN WENT BACK to work at his desk, disappointed that his great plan to sweep Hannah off for the evening had failed. He would have thought that in a quiet place like Mahalaton Lake, with only a few thousand people and her parents available for babysitting, they wouldn’t have trouble getting together, but she was so busy it was a challenge.

  Yet as he dealt with his email, he formulated a plan—if Hannah didn’t have enough time to go to dinner, he would take dinner to her. He’d surprise her by bringing something from Luigi’s, and leave when Barbi arrived.

  Hmm.

  He frowned thoughtfully.

  Barbi Paulson and Hannah?

  The two women couldn’t be more different. Luigi’s was the only restaurant in town that delivered, and he ordered regularly from them on weekends. While Barbi didn’t mouth off when she brought his pizza, she wore garish, low-cut outfits that were always a little too tight and a little too short. She even managed to be eye-popping in the winter when she wore things like hot pink ski pants and equally colorful parkas.

  With a shake of his head, Brendan reviewed his appointment schedule. It was far less full than when he’d practiced law in Seattle. Relocating to Mahalaton Lake the previous year might be the only impulsive decision he’d made in his entire life, but it had seemed right at the time.

  Yet even as he thought about it, he felt a pang of sorrow, remembering the woman he’d once hoped to marry.

  Maria had been an associate in his high-pressure Seattle law firm, but she’d died suddenly of a brain aneurism. The other partners hadn’t appeared troubled by the loss; they’d simply divvied up Maria’s client list between them. Yet Brendan had been devastated. For the first time he’d questioned the sanity of working more than a hundred hours a week. Maria had been having headaches and dizzy spells, but she wouldn’t even take time off to see a doctor—success came before marriage, before kids, before everything.

  What sort of life was that? Hell, it wasn’t a life. She was gone at thirty-one.

  At first he’d tried to cut back his hours—much to the displeasure of the head of the firm, who’d “suggested” resuming his original schedule or finding other options for practicing law. About the same time Maria’s father had told him he was trying to sell his law firm in Mahalaton Lake. Brendan had visited the town a couple of times with Maria, and the idea of completely changing his scenery had caught his imagination. He’d quickly purchased David Walther’s shabby practice and moved.

  Of course, in Seattle, he’d also dreamed about Maria every night, hearing her voice urging him over and over to go to Mahalaton Lake. Moving to a small town might seem unusual, but moving because of dreams? He’d never dared tell anyone about that.

  Brendan glanced around the office, no longer shabby now that he’d had it redone. The only thing left from David Walther’s days was a carved wood plaque saying, “Work to live, don’t live to work.” He’d kept it as a reminder of the reasons he’d made such a huge change in his life. Maria hadn’t learned the lesson from her father, but maybe he could.

  A career here wasn’t going to make Brendan rich, but it wasn’t a bad life, at least for a while. No matter what the reasons, moving to Mahalaton Lake had been a good decision. It was in his professional capacity that he’d met Hannah—she’d asked him to review her rental paperwork for the lodge.

  All at once Brendan straightened his tie and checked his cuff links. Life was more casual in Mahalaton Lake than in the city, but he came from a long line of attorneys and had been raised to do things in a certain way. He’d rebelled to a certain extent, but there were some things he couldn’t abandon.

  * * *

  THE DAY PASSED slowly for Jake. Part of the time he slept, and part of the time he did the exercises the physical therapist in Seattle had taught him. He was starting to understand why the specialists had recommended a couple of weeks in a rehab center, but inactivity wasn’t something he handled well. Freedom had beckoned, even the freedom of a small American town.

  Anyway, he had arranged for a therapist from a nearby community to come to Huckleberry Lodge twice a week. It was well worth the expense of having them come to him rather than dragging himself to the clinic.

  Jake finally loaded up his computer and began looking through the shots from northern Alaska. It was time to confront his memories of the crash. The photos taken on days before the accident didn’t bother him...a lone male polar bear hunting for seals, one climbing from the frigid sea with water streaming from its fur, another moving with long, purposeful strides. And still more of daily life in the Inupiat village where they’d stayed part of the time.

  Then a shot of Gordon popped up and took Jake off guard.

  The pilot’s weathered features were creased in a smile and he was lifting a cup of coffee to his mouth. Jake stared for several minutes before clicking on the next image. Several dozen photos later there were more of Gordon, playing with Inupiat children, and others of him talking with the elder members of the community.

  Jake had almost forgotten that he’d taken these pictures. He didn’t often take photos of people, but the magazine had suggested it would be nice if his Arctic photographic study could include some of the tools used by the Inupiat for hunting. As a kind of lazy exercise, he’d wandered around, interested by the juxtaposition of modern and age-old technology in use. Pictures of people had inevitably crept in.

  His nerves tightened further as he pulled up the images from the day of the crash. The doctors had asked about the accident and he’d refused to answer. Assuming it was because he couldn’t remember, they’d said not to worry, that it was common to block everything out after a trauma. Yet it wasn’t that at all.

  Jake’s memories of that day were crystal clear—he sometimes wished he couldn’t remember. He still could feel the purity of the air and hear the sound of ice cracking, along with the noises from the bears and the crunch of their boots as they returned to the plane. And he could see Gordon’s gray face, his bluish fingernails, the snow getting closer, the painful impact...and the realization that the old bush pilot hadn’t survived.

  It wasn’t the first time Jake had seen death. When he was a boy, half of his mother’s climbing party had died when they’d tried to climb Sagarmatha—Mount Everest to most people outside Nepal, except the Tibetans, who called it Chomolungma. At eight, he’d been too young to do anything except stay in base camp, but he would never forget the blanket-draped stretchers waiting for transport and Josie’s silence as she sat with a cup of coffee and gazed into the distance.

  Two of the bodies hadn’t been recovered. The climbers had died on the upper slopes where the air was so thin that anyone making the attempt would be risking their own lives.

  Pushing darker thoughts away, Jake mentally evaluated the collection of photos. Since the magazine still wanted him to complete his assignment, returning to Alaska would be his first real effort once he was back to full strength. He didn’t count the picture book on the northern Cascades as genuine work—it was mostly to keep himself from going crazy until things were normal again.

  Late in the afternoon Jake was working in the bright, airy room off the kitchen when a car pulling into the dri
veway caught his attention. The expensive, late-model sedan was out of place in the natural setting, and the same was also true of the man who climbed out with a bouquet of red roses in one hand and two white sacks in the other.

  Uptight, Jake decided. Obviously conventional, wearing a suit and tie and sporting a short, conservative haircut.

  Hannah Nolan came down the stairs, her long chestnut hair shining with red glints in the afternoon sun, and Jake leaned forward to get a better look.

  Nice.

  While he hadn’t been able to distinguish much about her figure in their previous encounters, right now she was wearing snug jeans and a T-shirt that nicely displayed her feminine curves.

  The sight reminded him that he hadn’t died in the airplane crash. Sex was fundamental to the survival instinct, and Hannah Nolan was a very sexy woman.

  Jake grinned. His apology and attempt at small talk had gone badly that morning, but he’d enjoyed his landlady’s response. She hadn’t humored him the way everyone else had been doing since the accident, saying what they thought he wanted to hear. She’d gotten mad and let him know she was pissed.

  Was she as frankly honest with her visitor? She appeared surprised to see the newcomer, but it obviously wasn’t her ex-husband, who Jake suspected fell into the deadbeat-father category.

  The stuffed shirt handed Hannah the flowers and bent down for a kiss that landed awkwardly when she turned her head at the last moment. Courting customs varied around the world, but it was a good guess they hadn’t arrived at the lover stage. After another few words, they went up the steps into the guesthouse.

  Though he was getting hungry again, Jake decided to stay in the sunroom to see if anything else happened. Aside from Hannah’s undeniable visual appeal, the whole exchange hadn’t been particularly interesting, but after spending so much time confined to a hospital, his standards for entertainment weren’t high these days.

  CHAPTER THREE

  IN THE GUESTHOUSE kitchen Hannah tried not to react as she took out the three entrées Brendan had brought with him. Eggplant parmigiana. Her favorite dish, but not the sort of thing Danny liked. Okay, so Brendan didn’t understand kids; that wasn’t the end of the world. He could learn. The baby greens in the salad were even worse for a little boy than the eggplant, but the cheesy breadsticks would be popular—when Luigi called something “cheesy” it was an understatement.

  “This place is really nice,” Brendan said with approval as he gazed around the kitchen. “I never asked, did you do a remodel when you moved in here?”

  “Uh, no,” Hannah murmured, thinking of the fortune it would have taken for her to update the property. Her father was both an architect and contractor and had insisted on doing the work for Great-Aunt Elkie at cost when she’d renovated a few years before, but the materials alone had been hideously expensive. “My great-aunt kept things fixed up. She was quite particular.”

  “I’m impressed. A lot of older people seem to want their homes to stay the same, out of sentiment I suppose.”

  “Not Elkie, at least not about Huckleberry Lodge. Before he died, Great-Uncle Larry made her promise she wouldn’t be maudlin and leave everything the same.”

  “You must have been very close.”

  “I was crazy about them both.” Hannah smiled at the memories. “I used to spend weekends here. We’d make banana splits and watch old films like Key Largo and The Big Sleep. My great-aunt was a big Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall fan. There was a line she loved from an old pop song...‘we had it all, just like Bogie and Bacall.’ I think that’s how she saw her marriage to Great-Uncle Larry, but instead of Key Largo, they had Mahalaton Lake.”

  “Oh...right.”

  It was just a guess, but Hannah had the feeling he wasn’t entirely sure who Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall actually were.

  She checked the clock as she arranged the flowers he’d given her in a vase. Barbi wasn’t due for a couple of hours, so there was time to eat and visit. Nevertheless, it was exasperating that Brendan had come, even though she’d told him that she had plans. Between taking care of Danny and work and community activities, she didn’t have as much time to socialize as he wanted. Of course, maybe he’d never dated a single mother before and didn’t realize how much a child changed things.

  Still, if she ever wanted to fall in love and get married again, she needed to remember how it felt to be a woman, not just a mother.

  She set the table and called Danny from his room. He greeted their guest politely, only to scrunch up his face when he saw his plate; he loved Italian food...as long as it was cheese pizza or spaghetti.

  “Wasn’t it nice of Brendan to bring us dinner?” Hannah said before he could complain.

  “Uh-huh.” He sighed heavily and picked up his fork.

  Hannah ate a bite of salad, savoring the garlic-balsamic dressing. It was just right to set off the eggplant parmigiana, and her frustration with Brendan faded—this was much better than macaroni and cheese.

  “Isn’t Danny eating salad?” Brendan asked.

  “Not tonight.”

  She hadn’t given Danny a serving, knowing he’d balk at eating the mildly bitter baby greens in addition to eggplant. And she couldn’t blame him—children experienced flavors differently from adults, so foods that she loved didn’t necessarily taste good to Danny. Normally she wanted him to try a bite of everything, but it was easier to keep things lower key in front of company.

  Badger came trotting into the kitchen and stood at Danny’s elbow. Hannah didn’t allow Badger to be fed table scraps, but he remained hopeful...making her suspect that Danny was sneaking him bits when she wasn’t watching.

  “Badger, sit,” she ordered.

  The dog lay down, crossing one paw over the other, a picture of meek innocence.

  “How is your new tenant working out so far?” Brendan asked.

  “It’s too early to say. He was irritable when he arrived, but that was probably from being in pain.”

  Brendan frowned. “I’ve read about the Hollister family—they’re notorious. Let me know if you have any problems. If worse comes to worst, I’ll look for a way to cancel the lease.”

  “I’m sure it won’t get that bad.”

  “All right, but you may change your mind if his party-loving father shows up.”

  She couldn’t change her mind. Having Jake Hollister as a tenant was going to ease some of her financial pressures, and it would be painful to give up the income now that she’d gotten the first check. She’d just have to deal with him as well as possible.

  * * *

  BARBI DROVE OUT of town, both excited and nervous about her first tutoring session. She hadn’t taken a test since she was sixteen, and even when she was a kid she hadn’t done so good on them—she froze when she saw a list of questions and her head wouldn’t work. As for all that proper English and math, those things scared the crap out of her.

  She got to Huckleberry Lodge and groaned when she saw a silver Lexus parked in front of the guesthouse. There weren’t that many fancy cars in Mahalaton Lake. It had to be Brendan Townsend.

  God, what a prig.

  He was conventional about everything—even his pizzas always had the same three toppings. She’d bet that in bed it was missionary position all the way—some action on the breasts, a quick swipe on the thigh and wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. Sex was probably too earthy for him to do it right.

  The first time she’d delivered a pizza to Brendan was on a hot day the previous summer, and she would never forget his expression when she’d arrived. She had been wearing skimpy shorts with a tube top and his eyes had narrowed with cool scorn. After that she’d started chewing gum whenever she brought food to his condo, making sure she snapped it loudly and blew at least two bubbles before he managed to pay her.

  Not that she’d actually get mou
thy while delivering a meal to him, but it was the sort of thing Brendan expected and she had to have a little fun. Besides, she’d grown up as the girl whose drunken father was in and out of jail for disorderly behavior, so there was no point in trying to fit in now. She might as well wear the clothes she liked and let the biddies gossip. And it wasn’t as if she was staying in Mahalaton Lake, as much as she liked it here. She wanted to get away from any reminders of her father, and having her GED would make getting a good job easier.

  Of course, Brendan didn’t try to fit in, either. He wore a suit to everything, including the Founder’s Day picnic and the fire department’s monthly fund-raising dinners. Jeez, he’d been living in Mahalaton Lake for over a year; he should have loosened up by now. But there was one thing she could say for him—he tipped well.

  Barbi debated for a minute before turning off the engine. She’d rather leave, but Hannah was expecting her and it would be rude. Besides, it was a chance to yank Brendan’s chain—she wasn’t delivering a pizza to him now, any more than when she saw him at one of the town’s events.

  Grinning, Barbi got out of her battered Chevy; she undid the buttons on her shirt and snugly tied the tails beneath her breasts for a nice display of cleavage. Let Mr. Big Shot Attorney get a load of this.

  Glancing up, she spotted a man standing at a window of Huckleberry Lodge. She waved to him. He must have gotten an eyeful when her shirt was open, but it wasn’t as if she had anything to be ashamed of—she’d stack her breasts up against any woman in Mahalaton Lake.

  She trotted up the broad steps to Hannah’s porch and knocked. It seemed strange not to be carrying a pizza box; she delivered one to Hannah and Danny practically every week. And when a crowd of weekend skiers were staying at the lodge, she sometimes delivered a stack of giant pies to them three nights in a row—skiing worked up an appetite.

  “Hi,” she said brightly when Brendan opened the door. “Whatcha doing here?”

  “I brought dinner out for Hannah and Danny.”