Sleigh Bell Sweethearts

by Teri Wilson

  “You’re coming with me, right?”

  “Where?” He narrowed his gaze at her.

  “To get the hay.” She waved a hand around the empty barn. “You said things were under control here, didn’t you? So you can come along. You can be my copilot.”

  He paled a little.

  And to Zoey’s complete and utter astonishment, he looked somewhat squeamish.

  “You’re not scared, are you?” she asked, relishing the moment far more than she should have.

  “Of course not,” he snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “My mistake.” She winked at him and earned nothing more than a scowl in return.

  And she knew without a doubt she’d hit the nail right on the head. “I’ll make some calls and see what I can arrange. With any luck we’ll be wheels up by noon.”

  “Can’t wait,” he said through a smile as fake as the beard on a department-store Santa.

  Zoey had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud as she walked back toward the house. For the first time since she’d met Alec, she had the upper hand.

  At last. It was about time. Because he could deny it all he wanted, but she’d seen that look of trepidation on the faces of enough passengers to know exactly what it meant.

  Alec Wynn—Mr. Tough Guy, the same man who’d ridden a Harley from Washington State to Alaska in the dead of winter—was afraid of flying.

  * * *

  The plane that Zoey somehow managed to procure was a Cessna 185, which meant nothing to Alec. But Zoey assured him it was good news. As far as bush planes in Alaska went, it was one of the roomier models.

  Alec began to suspect she was pulling his leg when he was forced to fold himself in half to fit in the seat beside hers. “If this is one of the more comfortable planes, I’d hate to see the alternative.”

  “Quit complaining. You have oodles of room.” Zoey flipped a page on the clipboard in her lap, turning to what appeared to be some sort of checklist.

  “Oodles? Is that a technical term?”

  “Yes. All the pilots use it.” She turned to face him. On any given day, Zoey’s skin had a radiant quality that was difficult, if not impossible, to overlook. But sitting at the controls of that airplane, her cheeks glowed, pinker and more lovely than Alec had ever seen them. Clearly, she was in her element. “Are you all buckled in?”

  Too bad her element felt like a near-death experience to Alec. And they’d yet to leave the ground. “Yes, captain.”

  She reached over and gave his seat belt a yank.

  His pulse kicked up a notch at her touch. He told himself it was merely a product of the adrenaline rushing through his system, and he almost believed it. “Ouch.”

  “Sorry. I had to make sure. It’s on the list.” She motioned toward her preflight checklist anchored on the clipboard in her lap as she pulled away.

  Not far enough.

  That was the trouble with this tin can of a plane. There was no personal space. His plan to stay far away from Zoey was a literal impossibility.

  Her enthusiasm, that irrepressible spirit that was so uniquely Zoey, rolled off her in waves. He couldn’t help but get caught up in it. Despite the nerves skittering through him, he was anxious to get airborne and see the world the way she preferred to see it. Even worse, he could smell her perfume. Something warm and sweet...sandalwood, maybe? No. Vanilla. Definitely vanilla.

  He’d known this was a bad idea.

  “Alec,” she said as the plane’s engine roared to life. “Try to relax, for once in your life.”

  Relax.

  He was a little too relaxed for his liking. Zoey already had the greater population of Aurora wrapped around her finger, and if he wasn’t careful, he wouldn’t be too far behind.

  “Put these on.” She handed him a pair of headphones similar to the ones she was already wearing.

  He did as she said, and in an instant the roar of the engine dulled to a soft purr.

  “Better?” Her voice was crisp and clear. It vibrated through his chest.

  “Yes.” He’d never thought of flying with someone as a particularly intimate experience, but this felt like it.

  He fixed his gaze on the horizon. Easy, because they were surrounded by windows on all sides. The heavy snowfall of the morning had slowed, leaving just a hint of flurries swirling through the air. The Chugach Mountains rose before them, jagged and white, like something carved out of ivory. Anchorage, and a few bales of hay, lay on the other side.

  So did the afternoon mail delivery for Aurora, apparently. In exchange for the use of his plane, Zoey had agreed to make the mail run for the local pilot who contracted with the postal service. Since his wife was in the hospital, he’d readily agreed. Zoey knew all about the situation—and now Alec did, too—because people in Aurora obviously knew everything there was to know about everyone else.

  Zoey said some things to the tower, and the plane crawled forward. Alec probably would have gripped the armrests, if there had been any.

  They gained speed more slowly than he would have expected. He felt the plane’s skis skid a fraction on the ice-covered lake. Zoey didn’t appear concerned, though. She made some small adjustments to the yoke, and the wings on either side of them evened out. Before it felt as if they were going fast enough to pull onto a state highway, Alec felt the ground fall from beneath them.

  And then they were floating, like one of the snowflakes.

  The plane lifted higher and higher until they were soaring far above the ring of evergreens that surrounded the lake and heading into the blue mist of the distance. Alec’s breath caught in his throat. It was incredible. Like riding his motorcycle, only better. No wonder she loved it so much.

  “See?” Zoey cast him a sideways glance. She had a smile on her face as big as the one gathering inside him. “I told you this wasn’t so different from flying in a big jet.”

  “I wouldn’t actually know,” he said quietly into his headset.

  Zoey’s head snapped in his direction. “What?”

  “I’ve never flown before...big jet, ski plane or otherwise.” He wasn’t sure what prompted him to say it. He could have just nodded in agreement rather than letting go of any personal information.

  But it didn’t seem right. Not here, not now.

  They were a world away from Aurora. He could barely see the sleepy town below them anymore.

  Zoey reached out and touched his arm, dragging his attention away from the view and back toward her. He found her looking at him with a painful mixture of curiosity and hurt on her face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He swallowed. “It didn’t seem important.”

  “You know an awful lot about me, Alec. And I know nothing about you.”

  And that was just the way he preferred it. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.” She grinned. “Tell me everything.”

  His expression hardened. She had no idea what she was asking. “We don’t have that kind of time. Isn’t Anchorage less than an hour away?”

  “True. Then tell me one thing about yourself, mystery man. Not something silly, like your favorite color, because I’m pretty sure it’s black.” She rolled her eyes.

  “One thing?”

  “Yes. Something real.” She turned to him again with a look of hopeful expectation shining in her eyes that reached right toward Alec and grabbed him by the throat.

  And he couldn’t just ignore it...that look. He tried. He really did. He kept his gaze fixed on the front window of the plane, staring out at the mountains, the clouds, the elusive rays of the sun hiding behind the gray. And still all he could see was that look. She wanted something from him. Nothing huge, just a tiny piece of him.

  And despite himself, he wanted to give it to her. As the plane’s wings seem
ed to graze an endless cluster of evergreens, he said, “I’ve never had a Christmas tree. I didn’t have what you’d call a traditional upbringing.”

  The words slid right out of him, as if he’d been waiting to tell someone since the day he’d first set foot in Alaska. Not just someone...

  Her.

  “Normal things, like vacations, flying, Christmas trees, weren’t exactly part of the picture,” he added.

  “I see,” she said.

  But she didn’t. Not really. Because he hadn’t actually told her anything. Not yet.

  “I come from a bad place. My parents were...are...addicts.” He released a long-overdue breath. “So, there. That’s your one thing.”

  She said nothing at first, not that Alec could blame her. He’d probably given her a lot more than she’d bargained for. But at least it was out in the open. She might not know all the details, but she knew more than he’d ever shared with anyone else.

  Zoey’s voice went quiet. Soft. “How long has it been since you’ve seen your family?”

  “Not since I was a teenager. A very long time.” But that wasn’t altogether true, was it? “My dad turned up out of the blue recently, asking for money. That’s why I left Washington. I want all that behind me, once and for all.”

  As if such a thing were remotely possible.

  “I’m glad you did.” She slid her gaze toward him, her eyes greener and more vibrant than an entire field of evergreen trees.

  Looking into that sea of green, Alec thought all the aching memories of his past seemed far away. Further than the ground that swirled beneath them now, little more than misty hints of snow-covered peaks, barely discernible through the heavy layer of soft white clouds. The time he’d spent thus far with Zoey stood out from all the pain he’d experienced as something else entirely. Something sweet and pure. As exasperating as he sometimes found her, she had a lightness about her that drew him in. Soothed him.

  “I have another question,” she said.

  There was that exasperating quality again.

  Alec sighed. “You asked me to tell you one thing. Mission accomplished.”

  “This question is related, so it really doesn’t count.”

  He felt a grin sneak its way to his lips. Why on earth was he smiling? “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “You said you’ve never had a Christmas tree. Given your childhood, I understand. But what about since you’ve been an adult? Have you really never had a tree? Never ever?” She sounded flabbergasted, as if he’d told her the moon was made of cheese. Or that reindeer could really fly.

  “Never ever,” he echoed. The words sounded far less whimsical coming from his own mouth.

  “Why not?”

  She’d moved so far beyond a single question that he’d lost count. “I almost had a Christmas tree. Once.”

  “What happened?” She turned those big doe eyes on him again, and he knew there was no denying her.

  He may as well just say it—just spill his guts and get it over with. “A few Christmases ago, I was engaged to be married. I went out and bought a Christmas tree, our first. The first of many, or so I thought. It turned out to be the end. She broke things off before I could even take it off the roof of the car.”

  There was a prolonged pause, then Zoey whispered, “Why?”

  Alec would have liked to think it was a complicated question with a complicated answer, that engagements didn’t just end. But they did. His had, hadn’t it? In an instant, his future had become just as bleak as his past. “She realized that, given where I’d come from, I could never be the kind of man she needed. She was probably right. It was for the best. There, now you know as much about me as I know about you. I think that makes us even.”

  Even—with the minor exception of the thousand dollars she still owed him. Funny, he’d begun to think about that less and less.

  The silence in his headphones was deafening. About the time that Alec began to wonder if they were still turned on, if Zoey had actually heard anything he’d said, she responded with two simple words. “Thank you.”

  Then her right hand released its hold on the yoke and found his, her petal-soft skin sliding against his rough, calloused fingers as their hands intertwined.

  Alec knew it was wrong. He might have told her about his family, his fiancée, but that didn’t mean he was the man for her. He wasn’t. She’d been through enough in her brief, painful life. He wasn’t about to add his staggering levels of dysfunction into the mix.

  Let go.

  He didn’t.

  What was wrong with him? If he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—let go, he needed to do something to bring some levity to the situation. To get things back to a state that vaguely resembled normal. As normal as things could be, given that they were soaring high above the mountains. The scenery out the window was growing hazy, as if Aurora were nothing more than an afterthought.

  But it wasn’t. Alec knew better.

  The world was spread out below them in a swirl of greens, blues and snowy white. It was as painfully real as ever. He’d never been able to outrun the real world before. Why would now be any different?

  He glanced over at Zoey sitting beside him. Her eyes glowed like the brightest of Christmas lights, and her hair tumbled over her shoulders in thick, golden waves from a simple, worn plaid hat perched on her head. It was a flat cap. Flannel. And it looked like something an old man would have worn—twenty or thirty years ago, if the fraying flannel on the edges was any indication.

  Except there was no denying the fact that Zoey was no old man.

  “Nice hat,” he said, tongue planted firmly in cheek.

  She slid him a dubious glance. “Are you making fun of my hat?”

  “Not at all.” He bit back a smile. “You look like a ninety-year-old man. That’s the look you’re going for, right?”

  “Absolutely.” She beamed at him as if he’d told her she was the most beautiful girl in the world.

  The old has gone, the new has come.

  Those remembered words of promise hit him hard, straight in the chest.

  Alec had difficulty swallowing, or even breathing, for a moment. When he managed to get himself together, he dropped his gaze to the fir trees dotting the landscape below. He focused all his concentration on the snow blowing across the tundra like a sandstorm and the massive chunks of ice breaking free from Alaska’s shore and floating out to sea. Those things were real. Those things he could see and touch. Not like whatever fleeting moment of infatuation he was currently experiencing.

  Not like any of God’s promises he’d believed in so long ago.

  And ever so slowly, he loosened his fingers and released Zoey’s hand.

  Chapter Eight

  Alec paused from dishing out reindeer pellets the next morning and glanced at the display of his ringing cell phone. The number was unfamiliar but bore the Alaskan area code. “Hello?”

  “I think I’ve found something.”

  Alec took a wild guess. “Brock?”

  “Yeah, it’s me,” he said. Alec could hear dogs barking in the background. Lots of dogs, from the sound of things. “I think I’ve found you a dog.”

  “You’re kidding.” Alec tossed a final scoopful of pellets into the feed bin and watched as the reindeer made short work of their breakfast.

  It had been only two days since he’d mentioned the dog idea to Brock. He couldn’t have already located one, could he?

  “Nope. I’m dead serious. Some of the search-and-rescue breeders I work with pointed me in the right direction. And believe it or not, the dog is here in Alaska.” There was more barking in the background. Alec hoped all that racket wasn’t coming from the reindeer dog. “We can go pick her up today if you’re free.”

  Alec glanced across the pasture toward the ho
use. He was pretty sure Zoey had left sometime during the early-morning hours. The windows were dark, and the driveway was empty. He had no clue where she’d gone, which was fine. He wasn’t her keeper.

  And she wasn’t his. He’d give her a call and let her know he was stepping out for a while, just out of courtesy. Or better yet, leave a note.

  “Sounds good,” he said. “I could probably get away in about an hour or so.”

  “The dog is in Knik, about an hour’s drive from here. The breeder’s been training her to herd muskoxen. Hopefully, the reindeer will be an easy transition. We can head on up there in my truck.” That solved the problem of how to give a dog a ride on Alec’s motorcycle. “Can you meet me at the Northern Lights Inn coffee bar?”

  “Sure. See you there.”

  Alec shoved his cell phone back in his pocket. Coffee sounded good. Very good. He hadn’t exactly gotten a good night’s rest the night before. The exchange with Zoey in the airplane had left him edgy and unable to sleep. Even though the rest of the day had been perfectly ordinary and uneventful, that brief moment they’d shared nagged at him. There was certainly nothing dreamy or romantic about riding back from Anchorage with half a dozen bales of hay pressed into his back. But the ride up there had been extraordinary. He wasn’t sure whether to blame the scenery or the company, but for a minute there he’d remembered what it felt like to hope. To believe in the possibility that things could be different.

  He didn’t want to remember what that was like. He’d been doing just fine on his own. So it was probably a good thing he’d be gone for a large part of the day. Just in case. A little time and space couldn’t hurt.

  He finished up around the ranch, scrawled a note for Zoey and made it to the coffee bar with a minute or two to spare. Brock hadn’t arrived yet, so Alec unwound his scarf and shrugged out of his parka. He’d just sat down when his gaze snagged on a jar on the counter stuffed with dollar bills.

  The jar was decorated with plastic googly eyes, twig antlers and a red, fuzzy pompom nose.

  “Rudolph?” Alec groaned. “Really?”