by Kay Lyons
From his awkward position beneath the sink he heard her digging through the box. Soon a ray of light filled the cabinet. Dylan focused on loosening the fitting on the pipe, putting all his energy and frustration with Zeke and Colt and the whole lodge business and life in general into the act to keep from looking at Alexandra.
“So,” she said, drawing out the word, “why are you fixing the sink if you’re Deadwood’s pilot?”
He yanked on the grips. “My father had a heart attack not long ago and can’t. Do it. Himself.” The stupid thing was tight.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I looked for him this morning before I left the lodge but didn’t see him. I wanted to introduce myself. Is he okay?”
Dylan tried the wrench again but couldn’t get it angled properly. “He’s insane.”
“Excuse me?”
Swearing, Dylan began to scoot himself out from beneath the sink. “He’s not really crazy. He’s just bound and determined to drive me there,” he said, leaning against the cabinet and taking a break to rethink the complications of plumbing repair. When she looked at him with an inquisitive expression that bordered on amusement, he took a deep breath and sighed. “My father only recently purchased these cabins. The owner sold them right before winter which means he got the summer profits but Zeke took on the work of winterizing them. Then he had the heart attack.”
“Ah. Now you get to do it and the piloting,” she drawled. “The lodge hasn’t been a lodge for long?”
“No. Zeke won a cabin in a bet about ten years ago when it was a barely inhabitable shed.”
She looked impressed. “It’s way more than a shed now.”
That it was. It was two stories of hard work, sweat and a lot of cash. And it was their home, not that Zeke seemed to care. “Only the stone structure in front is original. He added on all the rest and fixed it up. Over the years, Zeke’s rented the place out to his buddies from time to time but for the past year he’s been working it as a fishing and bear viewing lodge. He bought the cabins because he had the crazy idea of expanding even more.”
“And you don’t want him to do that? I’ve always had the impression lodges could be profitable.”
“It’s not all about money.” But to someone like her with her designer clothes and perfect nails, it probably was.
Dylan grunted at the thought, amazed that he was even discussing this with her. Then he ordered himself to cut her some slack because she’d been nice to him. “No offense, but I don’t want to live in a tourist trap with a revolving door.”
“None taken. I can understand that sentiment. A lot of beautiful places have been ruined that way. But your father also has to be able to survive, right? Make a living? Isn’t there a way you and your father can compromise?”
Compromise wasn’t a word in his father’s vocabulary. And even though most guests wouldn’t recognize Dylan or put two and two together, it wasn’t a risk he was willing to take. He wanted Zeke to leave well enough alone. “It’s doubtful.”
“I hate to hear that. What if your father succeeds with his plans for expanding his business? What are you going to do then?”
What was he going to do? Sometimes he felt as if Zeke was deliberately trying to shove him and Colt out the door. How could Zeke treat his grandson that way after everything Colt had already been through?
Dylan thought of the advertisement he’d seen posted at the airport by a local. The land was fly-in only and farther north, deeper into Alaska’s interior on the edge of the windswept tundra. “Zeke can do as he pleases,” he grudgingly admitted. “I’m thinking of buying a place far enough away to not be bothered by Zeke’s guests. But until he hires help I’m pitching in because if I don’t, he’ll have another heart attack trying to do it all himself.”
She made another soft sound of empathy. “That’s rough. Pitching in when you obviously don’t agree with his business plan is no small thing. But I think it’s nice. And I understand. He’s your father and you love him, but you need your space,” she murmured, her head lowered as she fiddled with the string attached to the end of the flashlight. “Boy, can I ever relate to that. I feel the same way about my family.”
Since he’d rather she talk about herself than ask him questions he said, “Why’s that?”
“Oh, because everyone thinks they know what’s best for me.” She lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “My best friend says it’s why I travel every chance I get, because I want to escape them,” she said with a laugh.
She wanted to escape, huh? Maybe they did have something in common. He definitely wanted to escape Zeke’s plans for Deadwood. “Do you?” he asked, intrigued by whatever it was that put the expression on her face she now wore.
“Travel or escape?” she asked, not so subtly sidestepping the question. “I love to travel. There is such a big world out there and I want to see as much of it as possible. Do you travel? Go somewhere on someone else’s plane?” she asked in a teasing tone.
“No.” Not since coming to Alaska. He used to like to travel and tour the places he wrote about but now he liked the security and safety of his home. If only Zeke wouldn’t screw it up. “What about escaping?” he asked, shifting the focus back on her.
“Who doesn’t want to escape every now and again?” She made a face and wrinkled her nose. “Listen to me go on and on. I’ve probably bored you to tears.” She handed over the flashlight and got to her feet in a graceful movement. “It would be a shame for anything to ruin the beauty of this place but I understand him wanting to share it. And you for wanting to keep it the way it is. I hope you find a compromise because it’s gorgeous here.” She flashed him a bright smile. “So gorgeous it makes me glad I ignored your warnings and braved the plane.”
“Where are you headed now?”
“I want to look around some more before lunch.”
Dylan rolled the flashlight in his palms, not looking forward to crawling back under the sink when he was actually enjoying the conversation. “Stick to the paths.”
She’d taken a step but turned her head at his warning, her eyebrows high. “Afraid I’ll get lost and you’ll have to come find me?”
“Yes.”
She tossed her dark head with a laugh and spun on her heel, presenting him with a decidedly nice view of her backside.
“Good thing I have a compass and know how to read it.”
At her boast, a jolt of sexual attraction shot through him like lightning. Hot, sexy—and she knew how to read a compass.
Alexandra Tulane was an interesting woman.
All the more reason to know he’d be better off with her gone.
Chapter 5
AN HOUR LATER ALEX HAD MADE her way to the lodge and had just lowered her camera to hang at her side when she turned around to find a small boy watching her, his brown eyes unblinking and steady on her. “Hi, there.”
She waited for a response, a smile on her face as she studied the handsome little boy. About four or five, he was all eyes and thick, black curly hair sticking out from beneath his cap, sturdy-looking but thin. “You must be Colt. I’ve been looking for your grandpa. Is he around?”
The boy stared at her, silent and grim-faced.
Alex walked over to sit on a split log that had been made into a bench. His gaze dropped to her camera and she lifted it for his perusal. “I’m taking pictures,” she explained, growing uncomfortable when the kid said nothing. “My name’s Alex. You know, you’re a lucky kid to get to see this every day. What a view!”
She hadn’t known what to expect from Deadwood Mountain Lodge since the poorly designed brochure had focused almost entirely on grainy pictures of former guests’ hunting and fishing prizes, but the exterior was a combination of rough wood faded to a silvery-gray, and the chunky, mottled stone scattered about this part of the lake.
If Dylan’s father wanted to make his lodge a success, why did he have such a low-key brochure instead of one that showcased the beauty and richness of the surroundings? This place deserv
ed much more attention. Especially since three generations were running it—or at least lived here—however reluctantly. That in itself was its own marketing when so many people favored family-based establishments over corporate chains.
Alex worried her inner lower lip with her teeth, aware of the little boy’s scrutiny. “What are you playing this morning?”
Ansel and Walter were at the lake, but she saw no signs of Dylan or Colt’s grandfather. When she’d walked by the cabin a second time, the green truck was gone. Were Zeke and Dylan in the house? Should Colt be outside by himself?
You played outside alone all the time growing up.
Yeah, but while both Alaska and Tennessee had their share of bears and snakes and animals to watch out for, she’d had her older brothers to keep her out of harm’s way. Weren’t Dylan and his father worried about predatory animals? Colt falling into the lake? Getting lost? Hurt? Surely he needed to be supervised.
She gave the kid a smile and stood. “I’d like to take some more pictures. You can hang out with me if you like.” It was almost lunchtime so she wasn’t going far. Why not keep an eye on him? Colt wasn’t her responsibility but wasn’t that what any caring adult would do? It takes a village and all that? “Maybe you could show me your favorite places to play and what you like to do. Sound like fun?”
She could look around some more, too, maybe get some behind-the-scenes details for her review. Helping to keep the boy occupied was the perfect way to get what she needed without being too obvious.
Alex pulled out her toboggan cap. Unlike the flirty little number she’d worn yesterday, this hat was thick and wooly and ugly as all get out but warm enough to toast her head in a blizzard. “Oh, I know what else we could do. How about I take your picture for your dad? For a surprise?”
Standing where he was, Colt was framed by a fat pine and the lodge behind him. The image was eye-catching, but toss in the mountain towering above all of them and the photo was awesome, one she could present to her hosts as a small thank-you before she left. Walking around the interior of the lodge she’d noticed photographs were in short supply.
“Come on, smile. Smile,” she repeated, drawing out the word in a singsong voice and backing up to get the perfect angle. She snapped away, saying silly things in an attempt to get the dreadfully solemn boy to grin. It didn’t work. He simply stood there. “Colt? Honey, is something wrong?”
She waited for him to say something, do something, but when Colt’s eyes widened and he took off running for the lodge, Alex straightened from her crouched position and whirled around, expecting to find a bear or moose charging at her. Instead she saw Dylan closing the distance at a near run, his face a dark mask of fury.
“What are you doing? Who said you could take pictures of my son?”
Alex gasped and stared into Dylan’s face, her heart hammering out an unsteady beat because he was so flipping mad. “No one said—”
“Exactly. No one said you could photograph him. Give me the camera.”
“What? No.” She gripped the straps in her fist and twisted so that he couldn’t reach it.
“Give me the camera.”
“Go jump in the lake!” Alex glared Dylan down. What on earth? When she’d left Dylan at the cabin earlier he’d been friendly, even teasing. Nice. How could a few pictures cause this type of reaction? “This is a four thousand dollar piece of equipment and I’m not handing it over to someone who looks like he’ll throw it the moment he touches it.”
Fire practically shot from his eyes. “I want those pictures deleted.”
“Fine! But I’ll do it. Keep your hands off.” She held the camera up so he could see the screen and cycled through the shots she’d taken of Colt, sending the digital images into the little trash bin one by one. “There. Happy?”
Oh, if looks could kill. Dylan definitely was not happy.
“Why were you photographing him?”
Dylan practically spit the words. What was going on? Why was he so freaked out?
Watching him, she realized Dylan was more than angry. He looked almost…scared? Panicked? But why?
Because maybe he has something to be scared of?
A fist knotted in her stomach. “I took his picture because it made a nice shot. What is your problem?” she asked, unable to curb her straightforwardness.
Dylan’s gaze tracked Colt’s figure as the little boy crossed the porch and ran into the house before his full attention shifted back to her. “I don’t want my son’s picture floating around on the Internet.”
“I wouldn’t put them on the Internet.” She wasn’t clueless. She knew there were weirdos out there and she could certainly see parents not wanting their children’s photos online for anyone to view. But why did it seem as though Dylan’s upset was so much more than a simple precaution?
Her instincts were going haywire and the last time that had happened, she’d stepped out of a gelato shop in Italy just before a guy had finished his raspberry cone and pulled out a gun to rob the place. Something was off here, but what?
Then it hit her… What better place for a man to hide than in the middle of nowhere? And if that person was a father on the run with his son?
Dylan didn’t want Zeke bringing guests to the lodge, wanted to live somewhere else. Didn’t want pictures posted on the Internet. Was it because someone would see them? Recognize Colt?
She thought of all the signs she’d seen on bulletin boards and on milk cartons, and her lungs seized. Could Colt be one of the missing children? “I was photographing Colt so I could give the pictures to you and your father as a thank-you at the end of my stay. It’s a gesture the families at the inns and B and B’s I’ve visited in the past seem to appreciate. Some people like having a professional photographer give them something for free.”
Her response clearly stumped Dylan. His expression changing from one of anger and total disbelief to wary suspicion to thorough consideration as he mulled over her words, and finally grudging acceptance.
“I…might have overreacted.”
Whoa. A man who could apologize? Not that that was an apology, but still. Even though doubts remained, she asked, “Has that sort of thing happened in the past with other guests? Colt’s photos posted on the Internet?”
Call her crazy for pressing the matter but her journalistic curiosity was getting the best of her. There had to be a good reason for Dylan to react this way, right?
Dylan’s chest rose and fell with his breathing but whether it was from his run up the incline to the lodge or his continued upset over what she’d done, she wasn’t sure.
“Yeah, it has. Which is why I don’t like strangers taking pictures when I don’t know where they’ll wind up.”
Her anxiety eased. He was concerned. Dylan was a protective, proactive father, nothing else. She couldn’t hold that against him. “I sell my photos of landscapes and wildlife, not private photos,” she assured him. “I thought you and your father, maybe Colt’s mother, might appreciate a professional shot of him.”
“Colt’s mother is dead.”
Dylan uttered the words without an ounce of emotion. He made the statement the way people recited facts—it’s sunny today, the sky is blue—Colt’s mother is dead.
Which was why she knew the words held more pain than Dylan was able to express, so much pain he held his body taut as though braced for the onslaught of her response—or the reality of the fact. She wasn’t sure which. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
He looked away, his expression frighteningly grim. “Alexandra, Colt is struggling with some emotional issues because of his mother’s death. My father and I steer the guests clear of Colt because of it. I’d appreciate it if you keep your distance from Colt, as well.”
Keep her distance? Wasn’t that overreacting? “What kind of issues? What happened to his mother?”
Can’t you see that he doesn’t want to talk about it? Take your mama’s advice already and shut. Up.
“Dylan, I realize it’s none of my
business but—”
“Just stay away from him.”
Excuse me?
Dylan started to stalk away but Alex stepped in front of him, reaching out to snag his rock hard arm. “Wait a minute. He followed me. What do I do if Colt follows me again? You were busy and your father was nowhere to be seen. I was doing you a favor by keeping an eye on him.”
Frustration rolled off Dylan in waves. “I’ll talk to Colt. From now on avoid him and keep that thing pointed away from him.”
Yessir, Commandant. Right now she wished she hadn’t made it off his stupid matchbox plane before hurling. “Fine. Whatever.”
Without another word Dylan brushed by her, striding toward the shed and the bit of green peeking out from the other side.
Alex watched him go, tempted to lift the camera and set the lens in motion for spite. She heard the sound of a squeaky door opening then the truck’s exhaust chugged out a puff of smoke as the engine roared to life.
Dylan had said she couldn’t photograph Colt, but he’d said nothing about not photographing him. When she went home to Tennessee and told her BFF about her trip, she wanted Shelby to see who she referred to.
And, yeah, there was the fact she really hated being ordered around. After nearly thirty years of being told what to do by her brothers and parents and pretty much everyone else in her family because she was “the baby,” Dylan Bower snapping orders at her pricked her temper.
Dylan drove down the path and was almost out of sight when she lifted her camera, the expensive lens doing its thing and focusing in on Dylan’s face in a split second.
She smiled in satisfaction.
Gotcha.
* * *
DON’T WORRY ABOUT DYLAN NONE. His bark is worse than his bite.”
Alex was about to step over the threshold into the lodge when the man’s voice drew her attention. She looked up and saw an older, grayer version of Dylan watching her from the interior. “Zeke Bower?”
