Wild Women of Alaska Collection

by Tiffinie Helmer

Neither had he.

  He sure as hell hadn't liked how cozy she'd seemed with the red-headed want-to-be lumberjack. Faye had informed him that the giant's name was Miles Strangefellow—Strangefellow, huh?—and that he worked on the slope, apparently making good money as some bigwig platform guy.

  Strangefellow didn't dress like he was loaded, but this was Alaska and no one dressed for their station. All that mattered was staying warm.

  Had his intel been wrong? Strangefellow was gone two weeks of every month. So his sources could have been misinformed as it seemed like they didn't spend a lot of time together.

  Knowing that neither one of them had moved on, had given him hope that maybe she still carried a torch for him. He wasn't leaving tonight until he found out.

  He was past running all over the world looking for something—someone—who had been here all along. He'd known when he had left that he would regret it, but he couldn’t stay and she'd refused to leave with him. That still burned. She'd loved this town, this state, these people, more than she had loved him.

  They'd been young and foolish. They were older now. There had to be a way for them to work it out now that they were wiser and hopefully less selfish.

  God, he hoped so. He'd missed her. She'd been more than the woman he'd loved. She'd been his best friend, his partner in crime. His first.

  Just being in the same room with her and not touching her was a special kind of hell. But it sure beat gazing at her picture from ten thousand miles away. At least he could see her, hear her, breathe in that intoxicating scent of caramelized sugar and cranberries that was uniquely hers. One he'd missed more than he thought possible. Catching a whiff each time she'd turned away from him had almost sent him to his knees.

  He had a lot to make up for, and he hoped to God that she'd give him a chance. By her actions, and what he'd witnessed with Strangefellow tonight, he was screwed.

  The waitress Pamela refilled his ginger ale again, her attitude friendly if not a little cool. She was much more open with the other patrons.

  The crowd was winding down. Only a few were left around the bar, Miles being one of them. Faye had taken her leave hours ago as she was opening Icing's Bakery early in the morning. He'd always thought Faye was better suited for sweets than spirits. She made the best sugar cookies in the world.

  Faye had happily informed him that the new additions and improvements to the block were Trixie's brain child. Trixie had provided his mother with an opportunity to make her dream become a reality and had turned into quite the business mogul herself.

  So why was she tending bar?

  It wasn't long before the music shut off and the last of the stragglers headed out into the cold.

  He didn't move.

  She'd have to talk to him to get him to leave, and he wasn't going anywhere until she did.

  A few more goodbyes were said from a waitress he'd heard referred to as Willa, and a man called Ruben, surfaced from behind the bar, presumably the cook who had supplied the baskets of fries, wings, and sliders he'd seen delivered to the tables throughout the evening. The only people left were Miles, Pamela, and Trixie.

  "Want me to get rid of him for you?" Miles asked, the deep timbre of his voice carrying to Logan.

  "I can help," Pamela piped up.

  "I appreciate the offer," Trixie said, "but I can handle him."

  She could handle him?

  "Miles," Trixie continued, "would you see Pamela safely home for me? The temperature has turned even colder, and I don't want her walking even if it isn't far."

  "Not a problem. I can return afterward, if you need me." Miles's tone clearly said he'd very much like her to need him.

  Logan bristled.

  "Thanks," Trixie said. "But no, that's okay."

  "We still on for tomorrow?" Miles asked.

  "Of course."

  "Good." He leaned down from his considerable height and kissed the side of Trixie's neck just under her ear where Logan knew she liked to be nuzzled.

  Just how intimate were they if Strangefellow already knew her sensitive spots?

  "See you tomorrow, sweetness," he murmured loud enough for Logan to hear and understand.

  Sweetness?

  Logan wanted to tear him apart.

  Strangefellow held out his arm to Pamela who flustered a bit over the romantic gesture. "Shall we?"

  "Why, yes, thank you." Her smile faltered for a second, and she regarded Trixie with concern. "That is if you're sure you don't need me to stay."

  "I got this. I'll see you both tomorrow." Trixie followed them to the door and then locked it behind them. She turned without saying a word and walked right by Logan, going behind the bar, where she grabbed a bottle of Jameson along with two glasses. She moved to a table, pulling off the chairs that had been stacked on the top, and filled her glass before setting the bottle down.

  "You going to join me or just stand there and stare?" she asked without looking at him.

  "You're easy to stare at." Logan stood, stretching a little, and worked out the stiffness of sitting for so long on the barstool.

  "Well, stop it. I feel like I have a target painted on my back with all the gawking you've done tonight." She sat with a bone-deep sigh. "Since you seem determined to make your presence known, we need to hash out a few things."

  He didn't think he was going to like this conversation, but at least she was finally talking to him. Taking a seat across from her, he waited. He knew what she'd been doing all night, rehearsing what she wanted to say to him over and over in her head. Giving herself time to get the words right so they'd deliver the most impact.

  "This is how it's going to be," she started.

  Yep, he'd called that one.

  "I don't want you here."

  "Too bad. I'm not leaving."

  "Why are you so adamant about that? I know you, Logan. You leave, remember? It's what you're good at."

  "Once. I left once. I'm not leaving again."

  "Your 'once' was eight years long."

  "I know. It took me a while to understand what I really wanted. You are what I want."

  "Well, you can't have me. I'm not available."

  A chill slid over him. She'd better not say she was sleeping with Strangefellow. He didn't know what he'd do if she did. He had no right to be jealous, or to explain this overwhelming need to stake his claim. He hadn't treated her right and had a lot to make up for. There was no rationality to his feelings, but they iced his blood just the same. "You married to someone else? You know bigamy is illegal in Alaska."

  "I don't have to be with someone to be unavailable. I can't force you out of town, but I can keep you from squatting in my bar. This is a place of business, and I won't have you disrupting it or my customers. The best thing you could do is leave town." She took a large swallow of whiskey, resulting in a slight wince and shake of her head.

  "Since we're laying it all out there on the table, here is where I stand. I'm not leaving and you will have a tough time keeping me—your husband—from 'squatting' as you so nicely put it, in this bar. You are aware of the laws in Alaska regarding property and married couples?"

  "You are not my husband."

  "Yes I am. Try and disprove it."

  "Never going to happen. You had your chance, and you threw it away."

  "I didn't throw it away. I didn't throw you away. I wanted you to come with me."

  "Right. After what you did, manipulating me like that?"

  "I'll admit, what I did at the time wasn't right. I should have talked with you before, but...I was young. Irrational. We both were. We needed time. Time to grow up and figure out what was really important to us."

  "And you think you've grown up? Forcing yourself on me, telling me that you want me as your wife. Now?"

  Huh, she might have a point there. "I thought you'd appreciate knowing my intentions."

  "Want to hear what you can do with your intentions?"

  "I think I have a pretty good idea," he murmured.


  She was mad, really worked up, and he knew that under all the bluster and venom was pain. Pain he'd caused her. Pain he somehow had to erase and make up for.

  "Why now, Logan? Why not just sign the annulment papers that I sent you? Get it over with so that we can both move on with other people."

  "No." He rubbed at his chest, trying to assuage the pressure clamping around his heart. "Nice touch, having the papers show around our anniversary."

  "We've never consummated that...that, whatever that ceremony was so there really is no anniversary."

  "Wedding, Trix, it was a wedding in front of a judge at the courthouse. You don't get much more legal than that."

  "Doesn't matter. We are no more married than—than Miles and Pamela."

  He sat back in his chair and considered her. At least she hadn't said Miles and her.

  Color flooded her face, icy temper gleamed in her eyes, and her nostrils flared as she dragged in breath after breath. Stunning. She was purely stunning. He'd been an ass for doing what he'd done all those years ago. Now it was time to take responsibility and resolve the matter.

  A wedding would be easy enough to make right.

  "You have a point," he said. "I robbed you of a white wedding in front of our family and friends." He'd robbed them both. "Let's do it up right this time. Let's hold a reception and invite everyone in town. I want everyone to witness you taking me as your husband and me taking you as my wife. I want everything."

  "I already gave you everything and you threw it away. I don't have anything else to give you, Logan."

  "If you had given me everything you would have left with me instead of choosing this quirky town over me. Trix, I've waited a long time for you, and I'm through waiting. I've come to collect my wife."

  Chapter Four

  This conversation was getting her nowhere.

  Logan hadn't changed. He was just as headstrong and obstinate as Trixie remembered. The military had probably taken those faults and developed them into razor-sharp weapons.

  "Logan," she warned. "I have a reputation in town, businesses to run, responsibilities to take care of. I can't have you here messing with that."

  "I don't plan to upset your businesses or ruin your reputation, but I'm not going anywhere either. You will have to talk to me. We have things to iron out and a marriage to work on."

  "The hell we do! You're not listening to me. We are not married." He went to argue with her and she rushed on. "Okay, so we are married, but no one knows and it had better stay that way. Promise me that you won't tell anyone." He hadn't yet. In eight years, he hadn't told his mother. No one in this town could keep their mouth shut, especially Janet and Aunt Faye, and news like that would travel the "candy cane chain" faster than any sugar rush. It was one of the reasons why they had eloped to Anchorage rather than marry closer to home in Fairbanks. Someone would talk.

  "The only promise I'm willing to make you right now is that I won't leave you again."

  Her heartbeat stuttered. He looked at her with those smoky eyes, and she had to keep herself from thawing a little bit under the heated stare. "I don't want you here," she repeated hoping he would finally hear her.

  His eyes shifted as though her words had pierced his tough skin.

  How did he get off looking injured? She was the injured party. He had left her. Lied to her. Tricked her and then left her within twenty-four hours of pledging his life to hers. How could she ever trust him again? For the last eight years she'd been trying to erase the mistake she'd made in promising to love, honor, cherish, and all that crap. She wouldn't be fooled again regardless how good he looked.

  She kept her mouth shut, which was really hard for her. She liked to hammer a point home, but every now and then, she listened to that voice inside her that told her to button up and let the silence work for her. She tried to do that now.

  Logan glanced away and studied the bar. She could see his need to stand and pace. He'd always been in motion when he was younger. Couldn't sit still to save his life. Must be killing him to sit there like that. Maybe he'd learned some discipline in the military.

  She had to admit, the years that had passed looked good on him. His features were sharper, more refined. Sexier. Logan had always been a good looking man. She could still remember how her stomach felt that first time he looked at her the way a man looked at a woman he wanted.

  He was more dangerous now, and her stomach had been doing flip-flops since he'd entered the bar earlier this evening.

  What would it feel like to kiss him now? Have his hands on her?

  It had been so long since anyone had touched her in a romantic way. Miles had attempted, but she hadn't let him get very far. Not when it felt like she was cheating on Logan. She was too busy for relationships. Once Logan had left and the time for his basic training had passed, when he could've come home for a spell, she'd thrown herself into work and school. She hadn't graduated yet, had pretty much given up on ever graduating. Turned out she was more of a career student in that regard as she loved to learn. She took classes at the University of Alaska Fairbanks—UAF—every semester. Whatever interested her. None of it had added up to a degree, yet. Maybe it would have if she could ever get through a language credit. But she wasn't interested in that. Instead, she'd applied what she'd learned to growing her businesses, and she was happy with the results.

  Wait a minute. Was Logan here to collect?

  Could he walk in here and take half of what was hers? What she'd built with hours and hours of work and sweat, going without an income herself so that she could provide a good life for Faye and her employees. No way in hell would she'd let that happen.

  "Why didn't you sign the annulment papers?" she asked, needing that question answered immediately.

  He turned back to her almost as though he'd forgotten she was there, so deep in thought. "For one, I liked knowing we were still married and I didn't want to lose that connection to you."

  She poured herself another shot of whiskey and tried to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. "The other reason?" she asked when the burn of the liquor had subsided.

  "If I was killed, I wanted you to have my military benefits."

  She set down her glass, then picked it back up, and drank the rest of the contents. Well, criminy.

  "Trixie, I know I haven't done right by you, and I'd like a chance to change that. Now, don't shake your head. Hear me out."

  "I don't want to hear it, Logan. There is nothing to work out other than dissolving a mistake that two young, stupid kids made before they knew what they were doing. That's all I want from you."

  "Well, then, I'm about to disappoint you again. I will never sign those papers, and you of all people should understand why." His jaw set in a stern, unmovable line.

  "You want to be tied to me all your life? What about children, a woman of your own?"

  "You are my woman. You're the only woman I want to be with or the mother of my children."

  Something very akin to hunger ached in her belly. Once she'd imagined having Logan's children, how they would have his dark hair and her eyes. They'd run her ragged with their antics, cuddle up with her when they were tired, bring her artwork to hang on the fridge, grab her hand and drag her to see whatever they found interesting. She'd longed for a family of her own until it became apparent it was never going to happen. That was a dream she'd given up on and she didn't like the stab of pain that came with him expressing his wishes.

  "That isn't going to happen, Logan."

  "It could. I don't expect this to be easy, but we can fix this."

  "I don't love you anymore." It hurt to say, but it was true. She might desire him in her twisted mind, but she wasn't in love with him.

  "The love we had isn't gone. It's just buried under a lot of hurt and anger. We can find it again and make it stronger this time."

  "I don't want to love you." I don't want you to leave me again, she almost said before clamming up. "I think it's time you went home. It's been a long day
, and I'd like to get to bed."

  "I'll drive you." He indicated the bottle and her empty glass. "You've had a bit to drink."

  Not nearly enough. "Who can drink who under the table?" she pointed out.

  "Regardless, I don't want you driving."

  "I am home. I built an apartment over the bar." Well, over the bar, bakery, and bookstore. Her place took up the second story of three storefronts with another apartment for Faye over the ice cream shop and fabric store.

  "That was a smart move."

  "I thought so." She stood to indicate it was time for him to leave. Way past time. He followed suit, and they walked toward the front door. She unlocked it to let him out, but before she could swing it open, he grabbed the back of her neck and turned her toward him.

  "I've needed to do this all night." He swooped in and kissed her before she could ward him off. His hand anchored behind her head, keeping her in place as his arm wrapped around her back and pulled her in close to his body.

  Damn, he was as hard as he looked. It was like being pressed against heated steel. Her fingers curled into fists to keep from searching out and feeling those taut muscles. He stole her breath as his tongue breached her lips, taking full advantage of her surprise at having his mouth on hers again.

  The taste and scent of nutmeg, ginger, and cinnamon exploded in her senses. He tasted so sharp and hot and yet comforting, too, as if she'd finally come home. She couldn’t rationalize it, didn't even want to try as he overwhelmed her. She should be pushing him away, stomping on his feet, kicking his shins, or at the very least, kneeing him in the groin and dropping him to the floor.

  She didn't do anything, but let him kiss her. Let him transport her to another time when they knew each other like they knew themselves. When she didn't do anything without talking to him about if first. All the planning, the dreams, the pleasure. All of that had died when he'd left.

  How could she let him kiss her like it had never happened?

  "God, Trix, please, kiss me back," he begged. Tangling his hand around her ponytail, he pulled her head back, his mouth returning to feast, deeper and harder this time. Desperate. His tongue stroked alongside hers, intimating the act of sex. Heat flooded her. He was hard and thick, pressing into her, his body holding hers captive against the door.