by Noelle Fox
“Stop. I do not need that image.” Grace shuddered and sank back onto the bed, wishing her mother understood the concept of boundaries. “As for this offer, if I go, and it’s really all-expenses paid, I could give a good try at burning through his estate.”
Her mom made a choking sound that if she hadn’t been flattened by misery would probably have been outright laughter.
Ten minutes later, Grace had calmed her enough to get off the phone, but she couldn’t make herself move. She was numb. Out of emotion. Her own disaster plus her mother’s equaled overload on their own. Now she had to cope with the fact that even though her dad sounded like a mess worth missing, she should have been able to make the choice of whether or not to have him in her life. Her mother had robbed her of that.
Who had her father been? Mom hadn’t ever even told her his name. In fact…
She peered at the letter again. His name wasn’t mentioned. Just “your father.” That was weird. Suspiciously weird.
Ten minutes on the Internet confirmed that James Whittaker was indeed a lawyer in Alaska, and that there were no complaints or criminal charges pending against him. There was a picture, too, and yum was all she would say about that. So he seemed legit at least.
She spent ten more minutes googling the Northern Lights Retreat. Set in the stunning Alaskan wilderness…in the Wakefield family for generations…exercise your body, your senses, your soul…your every need seen to…
Every need? That would be good.
Ten more minutes looking up reviews, all four or five-star. A fabulous vacation…whales up close…spectacular views…lounging in the library…came back rested and recharged.
Mmmm, rested and recharged.
She’d call Mr. Whittaker and sound him out. No harm in that.
He answered on the first ring, his deep voice making her a bit shivery. “Hi, Mr. Whittaker. This is Grace Cooper.”
“Yes! Ms. Cooper. Hello. Nice to hear from you.”
That was good. He knew who she was. If he’d spammed out a thousand of those letters, her name wouldn’t be familiar. “I’m calling about this letter you sent me? The one about the father I never met, out of the blue wanting to give me an Alaskan vacation?”
He made an odd sound, like he was laughing but wasn’t quite sure how it worked. “I’m sure you have questions.”
“Yes, like how do I know this isn’t on par with the Nigerian prince who wants my bank account number?”
“I understand your skepticism. This is a pretty unusual situation, to put it mildly. All I can tell you is that the offer is indeed your father’s wish…uh, was your father’s wish. And… I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“It’s not much of a loss, given that I didn’t know him.”
“I, uh…” He cleared his throat nervously. “Right.”
Grace rolled her eyes. She wasn’t going to fake grief she didn’t feel, even if it made him uncomfortable. If he wanted real anguish, she could tell him about her restaurant. “You’re not going to try to sell me a condo while I’m there, are you?”
“There are no condos on Polaris Island.”
That was good. “And if I decide to come, I really pay nothing?”
“Not a cent. Travel, including taxi, ferry to the island, meals, whether in the resort or at area restaurants, any excursions you’d like to take when you’re here, all included. No strings.”
She sighed rapturously. “I keep thinking about the line I saw in Dear Abby, ‘If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.’”
“I understand your concern. All I can do is tell you that this is an entirely legitimate offer, exactly as it seems to be. I knew your father and can vouch for his integrity in this matter. But ultimately of course it’s your decision.”
“Thanks.” She decided he didn’t sound that attractive after all. Kind of dorky. “How long do I have?”
“As long as you want. The offer stands.”
“Hmm.” She held out her arm, then let it smack down. No idea how she was going to decide this one. “Thanks for your—wait, one more thing. Mom never told me my father’s name, and your letter doesn’t mention it either.”
“Oh…really?”
“Yes. Really.” She made an incredulous face at the phone. Would she lie about that? And why wasn’t he saying anything? “So…?”
“I’m sorry. So?”
“So what’s his name?”
“Ah. His name is…Dick…Wiggins.”
Dick Wiggins? That was a terrible name; Grace was ridiculously disappointed. She’d been imagining a more masculine, heroic name, like Jake Caldor or Brad Rockwell or Trent Clarkson. Silly girl. Even stupider she’d expected the name to have some meaning, some long-buried familiarity that would surface and ignite her memory.
Dick Wiggins did less than nothing.
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Glad to help. If you have any more questions or decide to accept the offer, let me know and we’ll get the details arranged for you. This place, this town, this island—they’re all very special. You’d really enjoy your time here.”
“I’m sure. Thanks.” She hung up and stood in her cramped bedroom, nose wrinkled, excitement thrumming through her veins. Now what? There was no way she could know if this was a front for kidnapping or a scam unless she went and got kidnapped or scammed. But James seemed real, and he said the offer was an honest one. Mom knew the place and confirmed that her father had loved it. Grace sure as hell needed a break from her life right about now.
She’d give it some time, think it over, decide when the solution presented itself as obvious.
A week later that still hadn’t happened. Meanwhile, she was suffering from an early June heat wave and no employment prospects.
Sweaty, discouraged and extremely cranky, Grace read the letter from James Whittaker again. Alaska, huh.
A vacation in a cool uncrowded place would be really, really nice.
She brightened suddenly. Her friend Jennifer had the perfect solution for situations like this: flip a coin. Then, rather than blindly obey the result, see how you felt about the outcome. If you felt uncomfortable, then it wasn’t right. If you were excited, then it was a clear signal that was the result your subconscious wanted you to choose.
Three strides to her bedside table where she’d put a penny that had turned up in a pocket of her jeans.
Heads, she’d go. Tails, she’d stay.
Balancing the coin on her thumb, she tossed it into the air, caught it, turned it over and peeked.
Tails.
Grace smiled. She felt absolutely sick with disappointment.
Chapter 2
Liz Mayer looked up from her desk in astonishment. A blur had just gone past the open door of her office in Aurora’s Municipal Building. Unless she was wrong, that blur had consisted of Derek Wakefield and James Whittaker. James, she was used to seeing in a hurry, rushing to and from in his blinders-on way. But Derek? Mr. Amble-around, I’ll-get-to-it-when-I’m-in-the-mood?
Something big was up. And as Village President and curious person, she needed to know what. Derek, her favorite crabby pain in the ass, was fully capable of getting deeply into situations she should have known about way before they happened. Invariably Derek knew she should be informed, but had an infuriating habit of “forgetting” to keep her in the loop until he presented her with a fait accompli, and she was left scrambling for paperwork, money and justification.
Most recently he’d had contractors start an addition on the resort before the necessary permits had even been applied for. Then there was the time the resort’s kitchen caught fire, and he convinced the volunteer fire department with a few rounds of drinks that the blaze was better left unreported. Or the time a straggling guest was left behind in one of the caves. If Liz hadn’t been at the lodge when he was brought in, dehydrated and freaked out but otherwise unharmed, she wouldn’t have known about that either.
Not this time.
She caught up with the two men just a
s the elevator doors were closing. Neither of them saw her.
Perfect. Liz sprinted for the stairs and made it in time to stand nonchalantly in front of the elevator as if she’d just come in from outside and was waiting to head up to her office.
“Oh, hi, Derek. James. How’s it go—”
“Fine.” They brushed past her, headed for the building’s front door.
Well.
“Where’s the fire?” She cringed. God forbid there was one. “Where are you going?”
“We’re meeting someone on the ferry,” James said.
She ran up behind them. “Who?”
Derek threw her a look over his shoulder. “None of your—”
“A guest,” James said, and suffered a glare from Derek.
“A guest?” She stopped walking in astonishment, then had to run to catch up again. Since when did Derek meet arriving guests in person? “Who is it, a celebrity? The President? I swear, Derek, if some big shot is here and you didn’t tell me in time to get the town ready to welcome—”
“Not a big shot,” James said.
“Then who?” She had to half-run to keep up with the men’s long strides.
“Stop being nosy and go back to work.”
“No.” She didn’t mind throwing a good old childish fit once in a while. Derek certainly threw his fair share. In spite of being annoyed at him—when was she not?—she was really pleased to see him looking healthy again. Thinner, but not gaunt anymore, with good color in his cheeks and a spark back in his dark eyes. He wasn’t what you’d call gorgeous, but he was intensely masculine, tall and solidly built. And he had this way of looking at people that was so penetrating, if Liz wasn’t prepared for it, or got too busy fighting with him and then stopped to notice, she got goosebumps. That look, and her reaction to it, had led to a fabulous night of foolishness many years back.
More foolish than fabulous. End of story.
“She’s going to think it’s weird if Liz is there, too.” Derek spoke to James as if Liz was deaf and invisible. “It’s weird enough that you’re coming.”
“She who?”
Derek threw her another look. “She someone-I-want-to-get-to-know.”
Oh. Liz stopped again. No wonder he was dressed carefully, well groomed, full of suppressed excitement. He was meeting a woman.
This time when she fell behind she didn’t run to catch up. Derek noticed and swung around. “What?”
“If she’s not a celebrity or a political big shot then I’m going back to work.”
“Since when do you do anything I want you to do?”
“Since about…” Liz made a big show of checking her phone. “Just now.”
She turned and walked quickly back to her building, took the stairs two at a time and strode into her office where she closed the door and leaned against it, lips pressed together, breath coming fast.
Damn it. She thought she had her emotions under strict quarantine where Derek Wakefield was concerned. All it took was the mention of a woman—and Liz’s immediate assumption that he was interested in her—to prove that wasn’t yet true.
His illness had caused her to let her guard down. Leukemia was no joke, and she’d been under zero illusions that his battle would be an easy one, or that he’d ultimately win it at all, though he was in the clear now. Before then, she’d been lulled into the status quo of their prickly, spark-filled friendship, apparently unconsciously believing that someday they’d pick up where they left off. His cancer had changed that. What had begun as concern had little by little melted into tenderness without her realizing.
If this woman showing up today meant Derek was embarking on a new romance, then the rules would change again.
Fine. She pushed back her hair, which she’d had shortened into a bob so recently that the gesture felt unfinished. Regaining her equilibrium where Derek Wakefield was concerned would take a little more work. A little more effort. She was patient and persistent, and almost as stubborn as he was.
Sooner or later he’d be completely and finally out of her system.
Or at least, like his cancer, back in remission.
* * *
James pointed to one of the passengers coming off the ferry from Klawock, the town on Prince of Wales Island closest to Polaris, a pretty young blonde. “Is that her?”
Derek turned to James in total irritation, his heart hammering. “How the hell should I know? Last time I saw her she screamed bloody murder and peed on me.”
“She’s your daughter.”
“I know that.” This had been a stupid idea. He still couldn’t believe the plan had worked this far. One, that he’d found her in the first place, thanks to extremely expensive detective work. Two, that he’d gotten the letter to her, and three, that she’d responded by actually showing up. He might even start to hope for the completion of Part One of his Master Plan: that he and Grace would get along great, that she’d forgive him when he told her he was her father, and that she’d move here and take over for Chef Jacques, who’d been churning out mediocre meals at Northern Lights for ten years, and was ready to retire.
After that? Parts Two and Three, Grace’s sisters.
One step at a time.
The blonde hesitated at the bottom of the gangway, looking left and right. She seemed to be the only young woman alone on the ferry. Derek peered at her, hoping for some sign of familiarity, but got nothing. She could be anyone’s daughter.
She could be his.
James fished in his briefcase and came up with a piece of cardboard on which he’d taped a computer-printed sign in an enormous black font. Grace Cooper.
Good God. Sometimes James outdid himself with his own dorkiness. Smart guy, though, loyal and diligent. Could make it in one of the bigger cities, and certainly wanted to, but Derek had snagged him first. Surprising that some woman hadn’t jumped all over him yet.
Some woman not his daughter. If James even so much as looked at her the wrong way…
He snorted. Listen to him. Grace had never been his little girl to protect like that. And she was a grown woman now, and a stranger. Though he’d still punch out whoever tried to mess with her.
The dorky sign worked. The blonde’s face lit up. She waved and started toward them, smiling.
What a smile. Nice teeth, but not creepy white like too many these days. Thick straight blond hair sweeping past her shoulders, glinting in the sun. Nice healthy shape, feminine without being scary skinny. Blue eyes, sweet button nose with freckles that spread to her cheeks. None of that gunky application of raccoon makeup.
She was adorable, actually.
His heart swelled.
“Hi, I’m Grace.” She grinned up at James. “You must be Mr. Whittaker?”
“James.”
“James, nice to meet you.” She turned questioningly to Derek.
Derek’s throat thickened. His daughter’s figure swam. Abruptly, he turned and walked several steps away, trying to get hold of himself.
A stupid idea. The mere sight of her had turned him into a damn waterworks. He didn’t even know her. She could be an appallingly spoiled brat or worse, completely crazy, like her mother. In two weeks he could be dancing-glad to see the back of her, relieved as hell he’d never told her who he was, thrilled he’d never have to see her again. He could have absolutely nothing to be proud about.
The thoughts calmed him.
He turned back.
“Something in your eye?”
Derek glared contemptuously at James. Something in his eye? Who actually said things like that?
The lawyer was standing awkwardly next to Grace, apparently having already run out of things to talk about. What dweeb school did this kid go to anyway? Pretty girl like that, he should be trying to charm her.
Except it was a good thing he wasn’t, or he’d risk Derek’s right hook.
“I’m fine.” He walked straight up to his daughter and shook her hand, trying to pretend she was like any other guest and not the adored baby who
’d vanished from his life. “Hello, Grace. It’s good to have you here.”
“Thank you.” She glanced quickly at James in confusion. “And you are…”
“Derek Wakefield.”
“He owns the place,” James put in. “All of it.”
“Oh.” She raised an eyebrow and looked around at the other disembarking passengers. “Aren’t you greeting everyone? Or am I special?”
Derek faked a chuckle. A stupid, stupid idea.
“I was friends with your father.” He sent James a look. “Good old Dick Wiggins.”
“Oh.” She scowled. “You knew him. I didn’t.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Clearly her mom had done a thorough propaganda job. Not that Derek would have won any husband or father prizes, unless they were giving out awards for mediocrity. “I guess you’ll want to know all about him, then?”
“Yeah, uh…” She twisted her lips. “Maybe.”
Did he say this had been a stupid, stupid idea?
It was stupider than that.
“Well, he…” Derek glared at James again. He was never going to forgive him for coming up with the Wiggins thing. “Dick would have been very happy that you’re here.”
“So what, he stayed here a lot?” She gave the lodge and the mountains a lingering once-over. “Not that I blame him.”
“Pretty often.” Derek reached for her case, absurdly pleased that it was reasonably sized. He’d seen women show up for a weekend stay with suitcases big enough to bury linebackers. “Let me get that for—”
“Grace Cooper? Is that you? I can’t believe it.”
Oh no. Swaggering up behind her, that cocky son of a bitch, Connor Reed, whom Derek had transferred from boat maintenance to hike leader in total desperation because the previous leader quit without notice and he couldn’t find a decent replacement quickly enough. Derek had fully expected to be able to get rid of Connor more or less immediately for any number of reasons—drug use, pregnant guests, drunken brawls—none of which had happened. Connor had taken to the job like a duck to water. Guests loved him. Not one had much more than broken a nail under his care, and by now he’d been doing it for three years.
