
He'd come to her rescue...
Max was clearly prepared to fight off whatever might have hurt her in the dark woods. Check off number two on her sexy he-man list. She quickly looked straight into his eyes. "I'm so glad you're here."
His face was unreadable. He had a grease smear on his left temple. But his gaze, it gave away his true feelings.
She rose up on her toes and kissed his lips.
He pulled away, his eyes flared in surprise. Then, with a hoarse groan, he swept her up into his arms again and headed double time for the shelter of the airplane. She kissed his neck, behind his ear, along his jaw and finally covered his mouth.
The ferocity of his lips as he took control of the kiss stunned her, but only for a split second. There was a frantic tangling of arms and clothes and mouths as he yanked his parka from his shoulders. She gripped the sides of his face and matched his passion with her own.
Dear Reader,
I've always loved to travel. My bucket list of places to see is longer than my arm, and I can't resist watching travel shows. What a job to have---visiting gorgeous architecture and historic sites. Thus, my travel-show hostess, Serena, was born. And, though I've never been to Alaska, it's definitely on my list.
Most places in Alaska are only accessible by plane. And only a few commercial airlines fly into the larger cities, so people rely on bush pilots for their travel. Guys like my handsome yet grouchy bush pilot Max.
Add a number of quirky characters, and the town of Barrow, United States' northernmost city, 300 miles above the Arctic Circle, on the edge of the arctic sea, and I had the beginnings of Primal Calling!
I hope Serena and Max's romance takes you away to a more primal place, like it did for me. I love to hear from readers. Please write to me and check out the details of upcoming releases at my website, www.jillianburns.com.
Jillian Burns
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jillian Burns has always read romance, and spent her teens immersed in the worlds of Jane Eyre and Elizabeth Bennett. She lives in Texas with her husband of twenty years and their three active kids. Jillian likes to think her emotional nature---sometimes referred to as moodiness---has found the perfect outlet in writing stories filled with passion and romance. She believes romance novels have the power to change lives with their message of eternal love and hope.
There are so many people without whom this book would never have been possible. First, I wouldn't have had a plot without my wonderful Uncle Les---pilot extraordinaire, who's given me rides in his Cessnas throughout my life and inspired my romance with the concept of the lone bush pilot. His information about flying a prop plane in Alaska, how to make it stall, how to land on a frozen lake and all about the Anchorage airport was invaluable. Thank you also to my brother-in-law, Gary---plane mechanic extraordinaire, who late one night patiently explained all about landing-gear repair. And to Rebecca Lees and Jerry Lees (a real Alaskan bush pilot) and Jenny Bernard for their unwavering aid in answering my questions regarding all things Alaska, especially Barrow. Any mistakes are entirely my own.
As always, huge thanks to my critique partners, Pam and Linda. I don't know how you put up with me.
And to my superlative editor Kathryn, for her encouragement and support.
Contents
"FOR THREE WEEKS we've followed the intrepid mushers of the Iditarod as they raced their sled dogs over a thousand miles of the most unforgiving yet awe-inspiring terrain on earth. The same perilous journey one brave man and his dogs made to deliver medicine to the sick townspeople of Nome eighty-five years ago."
Serena turned, following the camera's movement to pan the landscape behind her. "Now we've returned once again to Anchorage, where we say goodbye to the Land of the Midnight Sun, and take with us unforgettable memories of the thrill and danger of the 'Last Great Race on Earth,' and of the friendly people of Alaska.
"This is Serena Sandstone, with no reservations about making reservations. Join us next week when we travel to sunny Buenos Aires. And remember, no matter where you go, you can always Travel in Style!" Serena held her TV-personality smile while the camera lens zoomed out to the spectacular view of the Chugach Mountains.
"And cut!" Roberta, her producer, yelled. "Okay, Serena, that's a wrap." Roberta turned and headed back into the Seaside Hotel from the outdoor pavilion. "God, I can't wait to get back to L.A. It's freakin' cold here!"
Roberta had a gift for stating the obvious. It was the last week of March. It was Alaska.
"Come on, people. Let's get this equipment loaded. I don't want to miss the one flight out of here tonight," Roberta called behind her.
Serena took a determined breath and then hurried to catch up to her producer while the camera and sound crew packed their equipment. "Roberta, I wanted to talk to you about that piece I gave you last month."
"What piece?" Roberta continued her brisk pace toward the elevators. "Oh. The genocide investigation? Yeah, yeah, I sent that up to the network execs."
A tiny jolt of excitement hit Serena's stomach. Maybe her dream was about to come true. "And?"
Roberta barked orders to her assistant about the arrangements in South America, and then focused on Serena with an impatient sigh. "Let's get a drink."
Nervous, Serena followed her into the hotel bar.
They slid into a booth and Roberta ordered two glasses of Chardonnay and cleared her throat. "Serena, I've told you before, you're too valuable at Travel TV. We can't let you put yourself in a risky situation. Even if they had the budget for an investigative piece, they'd send someone else."
"But, it was my idea. My research. When I signed on to do Travel in Style five years ago, they promised---"
"Serena, your show has the highest ratings on this cable network. Why not stick to what you do best? Let someone else get their hands dirty."
Serena looked up as the waitress set their wine down, then back at Roberta. "But, I can do both. I can---"
"But why should you?" Roberta took a long gulp of wine and stood. "Now, I'll be in postproduction on this show, but you've got a couple of weeks until we leave for Argentina. Please try to rest."
"But---"
"The camera is never forgiving of dark circles under those gorgeous eyes of yours." Roberta patted Serena's shoulder and strode off.
Serena wanted to pound her fist on the table, or better yet, pitch her wineglass at the back of Roberta's head. The network execs at TRTV were never going to give her the chance they'd promised her. She'd pitched three serious story ideas and every time, they sent someone else to investigate. They were never going to consider her as anything but a pretty face.
Hosting this travel show was always meant to be a foot in the door to a career in meaningful investigative reporting. But her foot had been permanently forced into an expensive and purely ornamental high-heeled Prada. She appreciated that her looks had gotten her this far, but now they were holding her back.
She'd decided when she gave Roberta this piece, if the execs didn't give her a chance, when her contract was up in July, she wasn't renewing. It was a great gig, but anyone with a pretty smile could do this job. She needed something more. Something that would make a difference in the world.
The investigation of the genocide she'd heard rumors of was probably lost to her now. Even if she could afford to pay a crew to go with her, the execs had probably already sent someone from their cable news division to cover it.
Doing the story would have made those fat cats sit up and take notice of her. Too bad she'd played by the rules. She wouldn't make that mistake again.
As her limo pulled up, the manager of the Seaside Hotel appeared at her side.
"Ms. Sandstone, may I say once more how honored we are to have you stay with us and recommend our humble establishment on your show." He took Serena's hand between both of his. "If there's ever anything I can do for you, don't hesitate to ask."
"Thank you, Mr. Bancroft." Serena smiled warmly. His concierge, Eric, had been a fount of information and gossip during her stay, introducing her to insiders and officials of the Iditarod race, and arranging her accommodations when she visited Nome to film the race's winner. "Your staff has been the absolute best."
He beamed and she hugged him, having to bend over a bit. With a last wave, she sank into the limo.
On the way to the airport, she considered taking a trip to investigate the genocide story on her own. Maybe she could scoop the cable news guys. She'd take her own video camera and hire a guide once she got there.
Her father would've done that. How many times had she heard the stories about the threats to his life while he investigated the largest industrial waste scandal of the twentieth century?
It wasn't easy living in the shadow of a reporter with a Pulitzer.
Dad's snide remark from Thanksgiving three years ago still stung. Maybe if she pulled this off she could finally convince him she had something to offer the world besides travel tips.
Before she knew it, the limo rolled up to the North Terminal of Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport and she was standing in front of a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows staring out at the runway.
The Anchorage airport was relatively small, and air traffic included almost as many small planes as it did commercial jets. She probably wouldn't have paid attention to the bright yellow prop plane that taxied up to the General Aviation Hangar across the landing strip, except that when the pilot's door opened, a large dog bounded out.
He was huge, more wolf than dog. Part black, part tan with white legs and tail, he turned and sat, waiting for the pilot to climb down from the plane. Long, jean-clad legs emerged, followed by, incongruously, a traditional Inuit parka. The hood was down to reveal a long-haired, bearded man. After tying down the plane, he crawled back in and began unloading boxes and hauling them into the hangar.
Serena was instantly intrigued, already making up stories about the man, his dog and the plane. Perhaps like the first mushers along the Iditarod trail, he was transporting lifesaving medicine to his people, who lived in a remote little town. Or maybe he was---
A woman's gasp cut off Serena's thoughts. Serena glanced over at the ticket agent's desk.
"It's the White Wolf," the woman whispered to her fellow airline employee. She was staring out the window at the mountain man, who was striding into the hangar, his dog loping beside him.
"Mmm, too bad I'm working all night," the other woman murmured.
"Janice! I can't believe you aren't scared to be alone with him," the first woman said. "They say he left two men for dead."
"Oh, Bren, come on. You don't believe all those rumors, do you?"
Serena was totally intrigued now. Pretending not to notice the two women, she pulled out her cell phone, held it to her ear and moved behind a post.
"Where there's smoke, there's fire, girl."
"Yeah, well, he can stoke my flames anytime. Mmm, what a man."
Interesting information for gossip, maybe, but Serena wanted to hear more about the two men left for dead. What had the first woman called him? The White Wolf. She had to get Bren alone.
Serena thought for a moment and then approached Jake, her cameraman, sitting in their gate's waiting area. "Hey, Jake."
"Hey, what's going on?" He put down his PSP.
"See the taller, dark-haired ticket agent?"
"Yeah?"
"Think you could distract her? I need to talk to the other one."
Jake raised a brow. "What's in it for me?"
"What do you want?"
"A hundred ought to do."
Serena stared at Jake. He'd been the show's cameraman for five years and was constantly in need of cash. But then, everything in this business was all about the bottom line. "Tell you what, I won't tell Christine you slept with Caitlin and we'll call it even."
Serena kept her poker face, praying Jake wouldn't call her bluff. If her hairdresser and her makeup lady ever discovered the other had slept with Jake, she'd probably lose both of them. Or worse, they'd make working together miserable.
"Okay, okay." Jake stood. "The taller one?"
Serena smiled. "Yes, give me ten minutes."
Jake sauntered over, his smooth dark skin making his smile even brighter. Soon, Janice dimpled and Jake pointed to the coffee shop down the way.
Serena wasted no time moving in. "Hi."
Brenda smiled, and within five minutes Serena knew everything Brenda did about the "White Wolf."
He'd been in all the Alaskan papers a few years ago after appearing in a Nome emergency room pulling a rigged-up sled---made from pieces of a plane---carrying a badly injured man. The hospital staff had told the newspaper reporter that in all the rush to care for the injured man, the mysterious man---who was bleeding and limping---had disappeared.
Serena pulled out her laptop and searched for "Nome + plane crash." She found several articles in the Juneau, Fairbanks and Anchorage papers. Some were dated three years ago, a couple dated about two years ago.
The injured man had survived and eventually regained consciousness, but all he could tell them was the pilot, Mr. Taggert, had been transporting him and his buddies to Nome for a fishing trip when the plane crashed. He didn't know any more.
Authorities had sent out search-and-rescue teams as far as twenty miles around Nome. Parts of the plane had turned up a year later over twenty-five miles away, and the two other passengers' remains had been... Serena gulped. Eaten.
Investigators had hunted down Mr. Taggert at his home in Barrow and questioned him, but no cause for the plane crash had been determined yet. The investigation was still "ongoing."
Taggert had stayed holed up in his small cabin for months refusing to speak to reporters. The follow-up article dated two years ago stated that while the investigation was still open, Mr. Taggert had never been charged with a crime. But he remained a suspect. And the families of the missing men were pursuing legal action.
That's all there was.
Serena closed her laptop. My God. What a story.
Maybe now that three years had passed he'd be willing to talk about the crash. Surely he wanted to clear his name. Maybe he could even lead her to the crash site. She could get an exclusive. Maybe she could convince Roberta---no. She'd showed her hand on all her previous ideas and look what had happened.
She'd have to do this alone. Unless she could convince Jake to come with her and film the interview... But the camera might scare Mr. Taggert off. She'd do some reconnaissance first, and then perhaps she could hire Jake to come back and---
"Serena, they're boarding our flight."
Serena looked up from her laptop to find Roberta standing in front of her. "At the layover in Seattle---"
"I'm not going, Roberta. I've decided to stay a while to try to see the Northern Lights."
MAX TAGGERT TOOK his room key from the desk clerk. The old motel where he stayed every month was outdated by a half century, but he didn't choose it for the ambience. The motel was cheap, close to the airport and they let him keep Mickey in the room with him. It also, conveniently, sat next door to a bar.
Rubbing his hands together against the chilly temperature, Max got to his room, threw his duffel on the sagging bed and headed straight for the run-down joint. He instructed Mickey to wait outside and then found his favorite stool. Dark and smoky, with a jukebox quietly playing some Merle, this place met all his requirements.
He ordered his usual, scanning the booths along the wall as he sipped his Jameson. Other than the toothless native elder in the back, he had the place to himself.
Good.
He shrugged out of his coat, ordered what passed for a burger and fries and then took the same out to Mickey along with a bowl of water. Over the next hour a few more patrons straggled in as he stared at the soundless television behind the bar and downed three more tumblers of Jameson whiskey. Almost enough to ease the emptiness inside.
At a lull in the music, he heard Mickey whining. What the... He slipped off his stool and stepped outside.
"Yes, you are. What a beautiful boy." A woman was stooped over cooing and rubbing her hands in Mickey's thick fur. And the normally standoffish malamute was lapping up the attention.
Max glanced down at the woman's sleek, bare legs. The sun was just setting and the temperature had to be no warmer than mid-twenties. No native Alaskan wore such a skirt in March. And she seemed oblivious that her fine clothes were amassing a thick coat of dog hair. She looked up and smiled and Max almost pinched himself to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. She was gorgeous.
"Is this your dog?" She straightened, tucking a long strand of glossy brunette hair behind her ear. She was tall. With the heels, she almost matched his height of six feet.
Max swallowed. "Uh, yeah." His brain finally kicked into gear. Fancy suit. Expensive ski jacket. Stylish heels. And she had a huge purse on one shoulder, and a laptop case slung over the other. What was someone like her doing at a dive like this? And why was she smiling at him when he probably looked as if he'd just lurched out of a cave dragging his knuckles? Damn, he wished now he'd shaved and maybe bothered to get a haircut.
"What's his name?" Her berry-red lips seemed to move in slow motion.
"Miki Nanuq."
Her eyes were the deepest cobalt blue. "What does it mean?"
"Little polar bear."
Her eyebrows rose and she flashed those perfect white teeth again. "How fitting." With a tiny shiver, she rubbed her arms and glanced at the door to the bar and then back at him. "Join me for a drink?"
Warning bells pealed in his head, but Max ignored them. He shrugged and swung his arm toward the door. "After you." He'd discover what she wanted soon enough. And in the meantime, why not enjoy the view?
And what a view it was. He and the bartender, even the native elder, stared at her very fine butt and swaying hips as her heels clicked on the dirty linoleum. She hopped onto a stool, crossed her legs and planted her forearms on the bar. "A beer, please. Anything light."
Max slid in next to her and reached for his empty tumbler.
While the bartender popped the cap off a brown bottle and set it in front of the lady, she unzipped her jacket. It was a decent enough winter coat---if she were skiing in Aspen, maybe.
When she pulled it off, Max's jaw went slack. He fumbled his glass. She had the figure of a swimsuit model. His body reacted, hot and pulsing. She picked up her beer and turned to him, clearing her throat.
Returning his attention to her face, he caught her smirk.
Busted. All he lacked was his tongue hanging out and he'd be slobbering over her like Mickey. Maybe he should roll over on his back and let her rub his belly.
Down, boy.
She extended her right hand. "I'm Serena."
"Max." He shook her hand.
"Ooh, your hands are so warm." She held on when he would have let go, set down her beer and cupped her other hand over his. "Brr, I don't know how you keep your hands so warm in weather like this."
Her hands were like two elegant blocks of very soft ice with long, polished nails. "You're not from Alaska, I take it."
She shook her head. "L.A."
If she didn't stop rubbing his hand between hers he might be tempted to do something stupid like bring her fingertips to his mouth. "Oh!" She snatched her hands away. "Sorry."
"I'm not." He gave her a pointed look, staring right into her dark blue eyes. Not a gold fleck to be found, but pure cobalt, like the Arctic Sea in the summer. Her lashes were thick, but not overly long. And she had a few freckles across the bridge of her nose.
She licked her lips and a sharp ache hit him hard and low. He pictured himself scooping her up and carrying her to his room.
Then she blinked and retrieved her beer, sipping it as she looked straight ahead at nothing. Amazing. She'd been staring back. There'd been something between them for a second, but his suspicious mind severed the thought. What was she doing here? Just slumming? And what was her business in Anchorage?
"So, what do you do, Max?"
He grabbed his tumbler, knocked back the last drops of his whiskey and signaled for another. "I fly cargo."
"Oh? Where to?"
"Barrow." He turned to face her. "I'm only here for tonight."
Her beer halted halfway to her mouth for a brief instant and then continued. "Me, too. I was here for the Iditarod."
Oh yeah, it was that time of year. But she sure as hell hadn't been a contestant. "Got a man who entered?"
"No." She started picking at the label on the beer bottle with a ringless left hand.
"Don't tell me you're a musher."
She grinned and shook her head. "No." She glanced at him and then back down to peeling her bottle label.
"So, what do you do in L.A.?"
Deep concentration on the label peeling. "I don't really live there, actually. I mean, I own a condo there, but I travel all over the world for business and I'm hardly ever home."
Interesting. She hadn't actually answered the question. Something didn't add up, but he let it go. Who cared what she did for a living? Or why she was slumming tonight. It wasn't any of his business. Live and let live. For whatever reason, he had a beautiful woman sitting next to him sharing a drink.
He cleared his throat. "Have you eaten dinner?"
She looked surprised at the change of subject. "No, I---no."
"Well, don't eat here, whatever you do."
A feminine chuckle accompanied the flash of perfect white teeth as she turned to him. "Shall we go eat somewhere else?"
We? He scrutinized the sincerity in her eyes. Maybe she'd made a bet with a girlfriend to sleep with a native on her last night in Alaska. Would a half-breed count? Glancing around the bar, he spied his only competition: the old native in the last booth. He swung back to face her. "Sure, why not?"
"Anywhere specific you recommend?" She took her ski jacket and pushed her arms through the sleeves.
It was on the tip of his tongue to say, Your hotel, but he refrained. "Nowhere you'd care to go," he answered, taking a last swig of his drink.
Her eyebrows drew together and her eyes sparked. "The restaurant in my hotel is good."
He choked as he swallowed. She must have to do the deed in front of witnesses to win the bet.
"Fine." What did he care what her motives were? He grabbed his parka and slipped it on. "We can catch a cab a few blocks from here. But let me leave Mickey in my room."
In the middle of zipping up her parka, she froze. "Uh..."
She didn't trust him. If she only knew... "You can wait here." He pulled a few bills from his wallet and tossed them on the bar.
She waved a dismissive hand. "No, that's okay."
Interesting. There was definitely something unusual about this woman. He shrugged and held the door open for her.
It was less than twenty steps to his room. Her heels clicked fast, keeping up with him as he led Mickey around the corner. He unlocked his door and let Mick inside with instructions to be good. When he turned back to her, she was shivering. "Here, I have some gloves." He stepped inside and dug into his duffel, grabbing the thick leather pair he rarely wore.
"Oh, uh." She hesitated inside the doorway, and then stepped inside, closing the door. "Thank you." She took them from him and then drew a deep breath. "I should tell you, I'm---"
"It doesn't matter." She'd be gone tomorrow and so would he. He was close enough to smell her light flowery scent. He closed his eyes briefly and inhaled.
"It doesn't?" She was gazing up at him, her eyes wide and her lips parted. Then her attention dropped to his mouth.
His blood heated and he could feel it pulsing in other parts of his body. The bed was only a few feet away. It'd been so damn long since he'd been with someone. "I'm the last person to pass judgment."
She tilted her head and gave him a quizzical look like Mickey did sometimes. He leaned in and ran his knuckles down her cheek, then touched his lips to hers.
At first she stilled as if she hadn't expected it, then with a sigh she opened to him and cupped his cheek with her palm.
It was as if the Northern Lights exploded in his head as her soft mouth moved over his. When her tongue dipped in he groaned and angled his head to deepen the kiss.
With a small cry, she pushed away. He gritted his teeth. He'd known this was too good to be true. "You're free to go," he told her.
"No!" Her eyes wide, she seemed alarmed at the thought.
"Look, Serena, or whatever your real name is. It's okay. I know what this is about."
Her gaze darted to him, a panicked look in her eyes. "You do?"
He nodded. He didn't belong with a woman like her, but he didn't really belong anywhere, with anyone. "You made a bet with someone. Or thought you had something to prove. But now you can't go through with it. It's okay."
She let out a quick laugh and then covered her mouth. "No, I---" She worried her bottom lip. "I want to do a story on you. I want to know about you rescuing that man when your plane crashed. And what happened to the other passengers."
He blinked at her, not comprehending at first. She was a reporter? Anger boiled up from his core and spewed into a rage that shook his whole body. He took her arm and yanked open his door. "I don't give interviews. Not even for sex."
"Wait!" Bracing her palm against the door frame, she held her ground when he would have shoved her out. "Don't you want a chance to tell---"
"I thought I'd seen every trick you reporters had. But this is a new low. Now, if you don't get out of my room, I might decide you really do want to screw me."
Bile rose in his throat. He'd humiliated himself. For a pretty piece of ass.
"I know I should have---"
Propelling her outside, he slammed the door in her face.
HE THOUGHT she wanted to use sex to buy his story?
Serena ran to the cabstand, clutching her coat tightly around her throat. The fury that had glittered in Max's eyes stalked her. Her arm still stung where he'd gripped it. And yet, she hadn't really been afraid.
Hailing a cab, she got in, banged her head against the backseat and ran her hands through her hair. She should've told Max who she was and what she wanted right from the start.
The cabdriver watched her warily in his rearview mirror.
"The Seaside Hotel, please."
And what had happened to her professionalism? Had she completely lost her mind? Letting him kiss her? No, wanting him to kiss her. And enjoying it. Way to stay objective, Sandstone.
But there'd been something about him that drew her in. And it wasn't just his wide shoulders beneath that thick, cable-knit sweater. There'd been a primal look in his coffee-colored eyes. A hunger...
Oh, good grief. In a minute she'd be waxing poetic about sexy loners. Obviously she needed to get laid more often than every year or so if this was how she reacted to being alone with a guy.
What was she going to do now? She'd missed her flight for nothing. It'd been an impulsive decision. One made more out of desperation than rational thinking. If the bush pilot had refused to be interviewed all these years, why had she thought he'd talk to her? But isn't that why it would've been such a scoop? To get the ungettable interview? Now, more than ever, she wanted to know what he was covering up.
By the time she trudged into the Seaside's lobby she still didn't have a plan.
"Ms. Sandstone, welcome back," said one of the concierges, heading her off before she could reach the reservations desk.
"Thank you. I don't have a reservation for tonight, but I was hoping---"
"Absolutely no problem," he interrupted. "Right this way."
While the concierge checked her in and programmed her card key, she compared the luxurious lobby around her to the run-down motel where Max was staying. He obviously earned some sort of living flying supplies. So, was he a bad businessman, or did he choose to live like a derelict with that scruffy beard?
Funny how his appearance hadn't turned her off at all.
"Shall I have a steward bring up your luggage, Ms. Sandstone?" The concierge handed her the room key.
"Er, no. Thank you." It'd been too late to retrieve it from the plane. But she was nothing if not a veteran traveler. She kept everything from Anbesol to Zantac---including an emergency outfit and toiletries---in her huge purse. She'd used a portion of her emergency cash bribing the clerks for information on how to find the White Wolf, but she should have enough to last her a week, give or take, plus her charge cards.
She took the key. "Is Eric here this evening?"
"I believe he's just leaving. I'll try to catch him, if you'd like to wait?" He gestured toward the plush sofas around the piano bar.
"Thank you." She settled into a club chair, pulled out her laptop and found the next flight to L.A. via Seattle. Then on impulse she checked flights into Barrow. There was one tomorrow morning with a layover in Fairbanks. She closed her laptop without booking either.
What if her father had given up at the first roadblock to his investigation?
"Ms. Sandstone?" Eric, her favorite concierge, strode up, a grin on his face. He was younger than Serena's twenty-eight years, tall and lean, and if there were any rumors flying around, he heard them.
"How can I help this time?" He sat in the chair next to hers, folded his hands and crossed his legs.
Serena leaned forward. "What can you tell me about a mysterious plane crash a few years ago, where the man came into the emergency room pulling the other man on a sled?"
"Ah, the White Wolf. He's practically become an urban legend."
"Really?"
Eric nodded, leaning forward as well. "They say he runs drugs."
"Drugs?" Serena's stomach dropped in disappointment. "Why would people say that?"
Eric shrugged casually. "Too many things don't add up. First, the day of the crash, the weather was clear. And, the missing men were said to be, not fishermen, but drug runners. Also, how is it that he has a new plane now? Even though the insurance has refused to pay out as long as he's under investigation. And how was he able to retain his pilot's license? What other answer is there?"
She hadn't thought of that. How could he afford a new plane? "The newspaper called him Taggert. And he introduced himself to me as Max. Why is he called White Wolf?"
Eyes wide, Eric sat forward. "You've met him?"
"I asked him for an interview, but he, um...turned me down."
"Serena." Eric placed his hand over hers. "You should be really careful. He could be dangerous."
Yes. She'd seen a taste of that tonight. But he'd also seemed...lonely.
"White Wolf is his native name," Eric continued. "He's half Iñupiat. Some say he's a powerful shaman." Eric laughed. "Maybe he used Inuit witchcraft to get his new plane." He stood and buttoned his suit coat. "But, really, be careful." He extended his hand and she shook it.
"Thank you."
He nodded and strode off.
"Eric, one more thing," she called after him.
He stopped and spun back to her. "Anything."
"Do you know any other bush pilots that fly into Anchorage International I could speak with?"
Eric smiled. "If I don't, I'll find someone who does."
Serena's mind whirled as she made her way to the bank of elevators. Drug running? Inuit shamans? Native witchcraft? This could be a story of international intrigue.
Grabbing a notepad and pen from her purse, she started making a list. There must be a way to prove the identity of his passengers that day. If he'd been transporting drug lords, or anyone else, there had to be records of that.
The clear weather was another mystery. If the plane hadn't really crashed, wouldn't the sole surviving passenger's injuries have revealed that? And why fake a plane crash to kill drug lords, and then drag one with him all the way to the hospital in Nome? She jotted a note to look up the exact date of the crash again and check the weather history.
But one thing she knew for fact. He did have a plane. And there was one thing she couldn't do from a computer.
Taggert had said he was only here for one night. So, if someone wanted to search his plane's cargo before he left, the window of opportunity was quickly closing.
Not giving herself time to rethink her decision, she took a cab to a discount department store and bought black jeans, a black turtleneck and some black boots. Just what all the trendiest spies were wearing this spring. Hopefully she could hide in Taggert's plane until he loaded it.
When she returned, Eric had the name and number of a pilot who flew a small one-propeller plane into the Anchorage airport all the time. Once in her room, Serena pulled out her cell and called him. Using her show as an excuse for research, she asked the pilot if he could arrange for temporary clearance as his guest. She winced when he readily agreed, feeling guilty for using him to snoop. But she wasn't going to harm or steal anything. And real investigative reporters sometimes had to use unconventional ways to gain access to information. Didn't they?
Since she hadn't eaten, she ordered room service and tried soaking in the tub to calm her stomach. Failing miserably, she got into her pj's, laid out the new outfit and then sat down to send an email to Roberta. Then she went over the plan in her head one more time.
Could she really sneak onto someone's plane and search through their stuff? If she was caught, she could be facing jail time.
She remembered the story her father told of getting dragged into a black Caddy by some goons. It was 1972 and the EPA had been established a couple years earlier. Simon Sandstone had just published his first exposé on a major company dumping toxic waste. The corrupt corporation had tried intimidating him into giving up his secret informant.
He'd come home bloodied and bruised, but he hadn't revealed his source. If Serena's mother hadn't had friends in high places he might not have come home at all.
Her dad had risked his life to help save the environment. Surely she could risk arrest to get the scoop on a drug running operation in Alaska.
If Max was a drug runner.
But if he had nothing to hide, why refuse to give interviews?
Still, he hadn't seemed the type. Way to be objective, Sandstone. What exactly was the type? Street-corner thugs? Mafia hit men? Slick, rich kids? Just because the guy had a dog and wore a traditional Inuit coat with his jeans didn't mean he couldn't have been meeting his supplier tonight.
She bolted up from the bed. Had he thought she was his drug contact? Or had she interrupted his meeting when she'd had that drink in the bar with him? If that were the case, would he have taken her to his room and loaned her his gloves? And kissed her so deliciously?
Running a finger over her lips, she sat back down and closed her eyes. His beard had been soft and his lips had moved over hers with the perfect combination of tenderness and purpose. If she'd met him at some boring celeb party in L.A. would she have still felt that overwhelming attraction?
She didn't remember falling asleep, but the harsh blare of the alarm jerked her awake. Bleary-eyed, she slammed the snooze button---5:00 a.m.
Within thirty minutes she was dressed and in a cab headed for Anchorage International. She instructed the cabbie to drop her off at the General Aviation Hangar.
Once in the office, there was a desk with a security guard. He looked up as she approached. Through the office window she could see the hangar with a couple of planes inside.
"I'm Serena Sandstone. There should be a clearance badge waiting for me?"
The guard checked a clipboard of papers, then nodded and stood to unlock the door to the hangar for her. "You want to know about a particular plane?"
"Uh, no. I wanted to look at all the different types of prop planes, if that's okay. Just to get a feel for their size and how they land and take off."
He stared at her as if she were a ditzy airhead, but he waved her through the door.
"Thanks." Releasing her pent up breath, she smiled and took her badge. "Is it okay if I look at the planes outside, too?"
The guard shrugged. "Be my guest."
Faking an air of confidence, she strolled through the door into the hangar, then checking through the window that the guard had returned to his desk and wasn't looking, she slipped out the door to the tie-down ramp.
Outside, it was still dark and freezing cold. Only one lone light overhead cast shadows around the small aircrafts. And the wind made an eerie sound as it blew over and under their wings and turned propellers. She shivered and hugged her arms.
She spied the weathered white Cessna she'd seen Max Taggert jump out of yesterday and made straight for it. It sat higher than it looked from far away. With one last glance around, she grabbed hold of the pole running between the body of the plane and wing, climbed up onto the foothold and tugged on the door.
It opened.
Jeez, her heart was thudding so hard she could feel it pounding against her rib cage. She hadn't even considered what she'd do if the door had been locked. Which she should have. What kind of drug runner left his plane unlocked?
She took in a fortifying breath of Arctic air. Just do it.
She climbed in and crawled behind the pilot's seat into the cargo space. Digging out a flashlight from her purse, she shone the light around and spied a large toolbox, a slatted crate next to it and a wadded-up tarp in the very back. Other than that, the interior was empty.
She rifled through the crate and found a butane lantern, some canned goods and other camping type items. Only tools in the toolbox. Nothing under the tarp. That left hidden compartments in the walls.
She'd finished feeling one side when she heard men's voices carried on the wind. Someone was out there. The door. She'd left it open. On her hands and knees she scrambled to the pilot's seat and saw two men talking just outside the hangar entrance. One of them was Max Taggert.
Thankfully, neither man was facing the plane. She slowly closed the door, then crawled back to the cargo area and hid under the tarp, curling into a tight ball.
She didn't hear anything else until the plane's door opened. Serena held her breath.
"---talked to the tower and visibility is four miles," Max said to someone. She'd recognize that deep, smooth voice anywhere. There was a soft thud as the plane bounced under the weight of whatever was being loaded.
"Need to sign your flight plan and you're ready to go," the other guy said, and she heard metal clanking on the ground. They were untying it.
Another thud and the plane bounced again. The first item was shoved farther back into the cargo area. Two more heavy items were loaded and Serena feared she might be blocked in.
Finally she heard the plane's door close and there was silence. Sounded as if she only had a few minutes. She threw off the tarp and turned on her flashlight. Two duct-taped coolers and a couple cardboard boxes sat ominously around her. Before she could rethink her actions, she stuck the flashlight between her teeth, slowly peeled the duct tape off one cooler, and peeked inside.
Meat?
She dug underneath the top layer. Frozen packages of steaks, chicken, pork chops, roast beef, ground round.
No drugs.
Unless they were hidden in the meat. And how could she tell?
She closed the cooler and replaced the tape, then pried open one of the cardboard boxes. Gourmet food. Fancy soaps. Egyptian cotton bed linens?
If this guy was transporting drugs, would they be hid den inside soaps and jars of truffles? If so, she couldn't see them.
Time to go.
Breathing heavily, she picked her way around the coolers and boxes, squeezing between while trying to move them as little as possible. Grasping the door handle, she turned it slowly and lifted outward.
"Woof!" The dog was sitting on the asphalt outside the plane. He leaped up and scratched his paws on the pilot's door.
Serena barely suppressed a scream with her hand over her mouth and jumped backward, knocking into the passenger seat. She couldn't breathe. Her whole body shook. The hangar door opened. She grabbed the plane's door and clicked it shut, and then scrambled back behind the two tall coolers just as the door opened.
"What is it, Mick?" Max sounded as if he stood just outside.
The dog whined and then barked again.
"Are you hungry, boy? I know. You want that steak, don't you?"
Mick continued barking and scratching, pawing at the plane.
"No, Mick. Come on. Get in."
Serena would have laughed if it hadn't been so disastrous. Outwitted by a dog. The one thing she hadn't thought of. All he had to do was shift a cooler or reach back here for something and he'd see her.
Before she realized it, Max shouted something and started the engine. With a jolt, the plane began rolling back. Maybe she should just surrender and give him the returning the gloves story. But that felt too much like giving up.
And if he was dangerous, he could do worse than press charges for trespassing.
Just stay calm. She had two choices: reveal herself now and risk jail. Or ride to Barrow. She could sneak off after he unloaded his plane, and then catch a commercial flight back.
She'd never been to Barrow. If he was selling drugs there, maybe the local police force would have some information. Or she could tail him and see if he met anyone.
The plane turned and picked up a little speed, taxiing down the runway. Then the engine roared louder and the plane sped up and her stomach dipped as it lifted off.
Too late now.
Afraid to move for fear he'd hear her, she laid her head on her arm and resigned herself to a long ride.
She must have slept some, but she woke up shivering. The temperature had dropped substantially. How long was the flight to Barrow? Fear curled around her throat. Could she freeze to death back here? She zipped up her parka and slowly scooted to the back of the plane to fish out Max's gloves from her purse and slip them on.
The tarp! She lifted it, crawled under, and then curled up and tried to get back to sleep. Then the engine sputtered.
That wasn't good.
It sputtered again, and then the front of the plane lowered and leveled out. Oh God, what was going on?
The engine sputtered again and, again, the plane's nose lowered, and then leveled.
Then the engine stopped completely. And there was nothing but silence.
"SONUVABITCH!" Max checked his instruments. Everything was normal. His fuel was good. He lowered the nose again and restarted the engine.
Somehow the center of gravity had shifted to the rear of the plane. He hadn't noticed any of the cargo sliding backward. But that's the only thing it could be. If he didn't keep his nose down, the engine stalled. Which meant losing altitude. Which meant landing. And fast.
He scanned the ground below for a decent place to set down. The middle of freakin' nowhere. Again. Memories flashed through his mind's eye and panic settled in his gut. No. He shook his head, pushed it down. Concentrate, dammit.
He was about forty miles outside Nome. Not much here but tundra. And he wouldn't be able to take off from tundra.
There. At two o'clock. A frozen lake. He banked to the right and fought to keep the nose down and the flaps steady.
He turned to Mickey, who was strapped in better than Max was. "Brace for impact, buddy. Here goes."
The wheels touched down and he braked and immediately started to spin over the ice. It took every bit of strength in his left arm to hold the wheel while working the rudder with his right to minimize the spin and keep both wheels down so the plane wouldn't flip. It was a small lake. He'd run out of ice soon. After three spins, the plane skidded into the embankment and he heard metal snap as the pilot's side collapsed. Dammit!
Shutting down the engine, he opened the door and climbed out to inspect the damage. The long string of curse words he yelled would have made his grandmother cover her ears and offer up prayers to the spirits. The damn wheel strut was bent. He wasn't sure he could repair it.
Flashbacks of the crash three years ago hammered his psyche and his vision got jittery. The sound of his friends screaming in pain. The blood. The death. The days-long walk in frigid temperatures. He couldn't survive another ordeal like that.
Suck it up, Taggert. This was nothing like last time. The plane was mostly intact, including the radio. He glanced at his watch. Ten forty-seven. He was due in Nome for refueling right about now.
Hoisting himself back in, he got on the radio and contacted Nome, giving them his situation and coordinates. He'd have a better idea of his expected arrival time after he tried to make the repairs. He flipped the pilot's seat forward and jerked his sunglasses off to check the cargo.
As if possessed, the tarp in the tail of the fuselage moved and then a head poked out from under it.
"You!"
The woman from last night flinched and bit her lip.
He truly was cursed.
So that's what Mickey had been barking at. He looked over at his faithful companion and unbuckled the malamute's seat belt. "Sorry I didn't pay attention, boy."
"Um, I can expla---"
"What the hell is wrong with you? Do you know what you've done? We'll be lucky if we make it back to civilization alive." Okay, so he might be exaggerating slightly.
Her face paled and there was fear in her wide eyes.
"We're out in the middle of nowhere and my damn landing gear is busted thanks to you! Are you insane? Even if I can fix it, I ought to make you walk back to Anchorage, you conniving little---"
"How is your plane breaking down my fault?"
Max ground his teeth. "Your extra weight in the back of the plane made the engine stall."
"Oh." She bit her lip again.
"Oh?" he roared. "I should sue you! By the time I'm through with you, you'll be looking at federal charges."
"If you'll stop yelling I'll explain."
"Just get out." He needed to pound something, but he settled for grabbing the closest box and hauling it up to the snowy embankment. Even with the worn leather on the soles of his caribou-skinned boots, his footing slipped on the ice.
He whistled for Mickey. "Come on, boy. Take care of business and keep an eye out for wolves."
Mickey barked his answer and leaped out, loping across the ice and out into the snow. There was a line of trees about a hundred yards to the north, mountains to the west, and nothing but tundra to the south and east.
He went back for another box as the woman was climbing out.
She slipped as she set her high-heeled boot down on the ice. "Did you say wolves?" She glanced around nervously.
"Yeah, there're probably several packs close by." He stopped beside her and leaned into her face. "And they get real hungry in the winter." He brushed past and grabbed the other box. "Aren't you more afraid of being out in the middle of nowhere with an alleged murderer?"
"I don't think you killed anyone." But she didn't sound quite sure.
He set the box down at the edge of the lake and turned to face her. "Yeah. I did."
Her eyes widened and she blinked a couple times. "Who?"
"Hoping to get information for your story?"
"I get it. You could tell me, but then you'd have to kill me?" She spun on her heel and scrambled back into the plane.
What the hell did she think she was going to do in there? He hurried over the ice toward his plane.
A minute later she came out the pilot's door tugging on one of the coolers.
"Here." He pushed on her shoulder. "Let me get it before you break something else."
"I can do it." She tugged again and lifted the cooler into her arms. She turned to give him a triumphant look and for the first time he saw her up close in sunlight. Her deep blue eyes sparked defiantly, but her full red lips trembled. The sun turned her brunette hair a deep rich mahogany. Something about her beauty made him want to drag her into his arms and claim possession.
What was he doing? Going all soft---or hard---over a pretty face? He grabbed the cooler from her and snarled, "You want a medal?"
By the time he'd set the cooler down in the snow and headed back, she had the last one in her arms. He took it from her. "Get my toolbox."
"Isn't someone sending out help?"
"No." He walked cautiously over the ice and then set the cooler down.
"But, I heard you on the radio."
"You want me to leave you here, just keep arguing."
Her eyes widened and she dashed inside the plane.
He approached the Cessna just as she was climbing out with his toolbox in hand.
"I'm not calling for help over a damned bent strut." Not unless he was forced to. He took the toolbox from her and recognized the gloves she wore as his. The ones he'd given her last night. Just before he'd kissed her. He glanced up, meeting her gaze.
The woman cleared her throat. "Here are your gloves back." She held them out in front of him.
He spun and hunkered down to take a closer look at the broken gear. Dammit, she'd almost sucked him in again. Concentrate, you moron. Landing gear.
"Keep 'em." He looked up at her, one eye closed against the bright sun. "For now." He couldn't really work with them on anyway. And he still had a traditional sealskin pair his grandmother had made him if he needed them. For now it wasn't that cold.
He returned his attention to the job at hand. The wheel was sitting at an angle, the steel bar connecting it, bent. He could probably bend it back, but there was no guarantee it would hold through takeoff, much less another landing. He needed a new strut, and they probably didn't even carry landing gear for a C-206 this old. Well, if he could get it good enough for now, he could probably find one at a junk sale online once he made it home to Barrow. If he couldn't fix this, he'd be forced to radio to Nome for rescue.
"What can I do to help?"
"You mean besides never coming into my life to begin with?" He reached into his toolbox and pulled out a hammer.
"Yes." From the corner of his eye he saw her cross her arms. "Besides that."
"Nothing."
"Fine." She turned and walked away.
"Careful of the---"
She screamed and went down on her butt.
Max chuckled. "The ice." His chuckle turned into a full out laugh as she tried to get up and rubbed her behind.
"Very funny."
"Yeah, it is." He hadn't laughed out loud like that in...he didn't know how long. "Maybe you could cut a hole in the ice with that glare of yours and catch us a fish for dinner."
"Dinner? Are we going to be here that long?"
"Maybe longer. I don't know." He examined the busted gear. Might be able to use the oxyacetylene torch to heat the strut enough to hammer it straight. But he needed a way to keep the wheel elevated.
"Where are we?"
"About forty miles southeast of Nome. If you're going to bug me asking a million questions, make yourself useful and grab that crate from the plane."
"You ever heard of please?" But she was already moving.
He concentrated on how he was going to jack up the fuselage. "And you can bring me my sunglasses from the visor when you're done with that."
"Yes, Your Majesty," she quipped from inside the plane. He tried not to smile. Didn't she know killers don't appreciate sarcasm?
He didn't have a jack. He could forage for wood, but, what if...
She climbed out and set the crate beside him, then pulled his sunglasses off the top of her head and handed them to him.
"Ahem, your sunglasses, my liege." She was bent over at the waist, holding his Ray-Bans in her palms with her arms extended. She had guts, he had to give her that. He took the glasses and she straightened and plunked her hands on her hips. "Will that be all, master?"
She had one brow raised and her ski jacket was unzipped, revealing a tight sweater beneath. It was cold enough her nipples were two tight little points through the sweater. Her bra must be thin. Or she wasn't wearing one. The thought got him all riled up below the belt.
Her lips tightened into a thin line again and she zipped up her coat.
Dammit. His face heated and he brought his gaze to hers. "Nothing I haven't seen before."
For the first time he wondered why she was here. Sneaking into his plane, hiding out. Chasing after a years-old story. She must be desperate. Surely there were hundreds of other more important things happening in the world she could be reporting on.
"So, can you fix it?"
He pulled the oxyacetylene torch kit out of the crate and prayed he had enough propane. Then he unloaded the rest of the stuff, turned the crate upside down and sat on it. At least one of them would have a dry butt.
"How much do you weigh?"
She sputtered. "Excuse me?"
"Enough to unbalance the center of gravity in my plane and stall the engine? Say, one-twenty? One twenty-five?"
"Gee, you sure know how to charm a girl."
He just raised a brow.
She pursed her lips. "That's close enough."
"Here's what we're going to do." He stood and went to retrieve one of the coolers. "I'm going to tip the plane over."
"What?"
"Just listen." He set the cooler next to the wing opposite the bent strut and went back for the second cooler. "When I tip the plane, you're going to climb onto the wing over there with a cooler on either side of you."
When he turned with the other cooler in his arms she'd narrowed her eyes at him. "And when you yank down the other wing I go flying off, never to be seen again?"
Never to be seen again. Like his friends.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Bad joke."
He came back to the present, the heavy cooler straining the muscles in his arms. He carried it around to join the other, and the woman followed him.
"Is your name really Serena?"
She nodded. "Serena Sandstone. Named after my paternal grandmother."
"If this doesn't work, I'll have to go into the forest and cut some timber to act as a jack. That could take hours."
"Well, let's get started then." She dusted her hands together.
SERENA BIT her lip and clenched her hands into fists as soon as Max turned away from her. She wasn't sure how long she could keep up the pretense of undaunted confidence. She had a feeling she wasn't fooling anyone but herself, anyway.
Max went around, squatted beside the bent wheel and positioned his hands under the fuselage. "Ready?" he shouted.
"Ready," she shouted back.
As he pushed up, Serena looked her fill of bulging thigh muscles beneath his jeans. His teeth shone as he gritted them, grunting as he strained to lift the side of the plane. Was it antifeminist to be totally impressed with his he-man strength?
The passenger side wing lowered and she lifted first one cooler on and then the other, doing a bit of straining herself. Then she searched for a handhold, found a raised steel bar under the fiberglass, hoisted herself up and twisted to sit on her already wet butt.
"I think that's going to work," he called.
"Good," she yelled back.
She heard a click and a whoosh and assumed he was lighting that welder-looking thing attached to the two tiny fuel tanks. He didn't speak and every so often she'd hear him hammering on the metal. She drew her knees up, pulled her hood over her head and stuck her gloved hands under her armpits. It seemed as if hours passed.
She wished she had her purse up here. There was a candy bar in there, for sure, and a package of peanut butter crackers. Her mouth started watering.
Max never spoke except for an occasional curse.
She didn't remember when she started shivering, but the sun had traveled way to the other side of noon. Daylight lasted about as long as the night this time of year. Her stomach had been growling since he'd mentioned dinner, and she'd swear her butt was frozen to the wing. He'd probably have to bring that welder over here and melt her ass just to detach it.
Her eyelids felt heavy, and she laid her head on her knees.
"Okay. I think it's good." Was that Max? Serena raised her head. He came around the nose of the plane, his stride sure and his gaze steady, a tall handsome Inuit in his fur parka and boots come to rescue her from the cold.
"Hold on." He pulled one cooler down, then the other. His hands were red and raw. The wing started rising and he reached up to catch her as she slid off.
But her legs wouldn't hold her and she would have fallen to her knees except he caught her against him, his arms a powerful vise around her. Their lips were almost touching and despite her shivering she felt something stir inside her, in her chest and between her thighs. The heat from his body surrounded her and the heat in his eyes scorched her.
For a moment she thought he would kiss her again.
"Mags." Why was she slurring her words?
He pulled back and scowled. "Your lips are blue. Why didn't you say something?" He swung her up into his arms, carried her to the passenger door and opened it. "Get inside." He set her down in the seat, then tugged his parka off over his head. "Put this on." He tossed it at her and marched away.
"But---"
"Just put it on and crawl into the back, get on the tarp." As she slid the warm parka on, he loaded the toolbox and crate through the driver's side door. From the crate he pulled a lantern, lit it and handed it to her. "This should heat you up. You have hypothermia."
The coolers and boxes got shoved back into the plane. Max whistled and Mickey barked and came running. Then man and dog both jumped into the plane. But the man crawled into the back with her.
"Look at me," he commanded as he held her chin between his thumb and fingers. His stare was intense as he examined her face. He pulled a large knife from his boot.
Her eyes widened on the knife and then on him.
Catching her look, he snarled. "It's to open a can." He twisted around, dug into the crate and pulled out a big can of stew. "You need to eat." He punctured a hole in the metal and began cutting it open.
Now she felt like an idiot for doubting him. Why was he being so nice? Taking care of her, after what she'd done? This was all her fault. "I'll d-do it." Her voice, her whole body, was shaking uncontrollably. "You g-go ahead and f-fly the plane."
He grunted. "We'll leave in the morning."
"We c-can't leave now? I thought you s-said it was fixed?"
"The sun's almost down. If the gear doesn't hold during takeoff we could break something else. Something I really can't repair."
Resolved to spending the night here, she nodded. She was shivering less now. She was so hungry she'd eat the stew cold. But Max replaced the top of the lantern with a flat attachment and set the can on top of that to heat. Then he reached into the crate and pulled out a silver flask.
"Drink." He shoved the flask into her hands.
"What is it?" She unscrewed the lid and sniffed.
"Whiskey." He stirred the stew with his knife and raised an eyebrow at her.
Giving him a fake smile, she took a swig. And gasped. She wasn't used to the hard stuff. White wine was her idea of booze. But she felt it travel all the way down and heat curled in her belly. She took another swig and tried not to make a face while she swallowed it this time.
"Thanks." She handed the flask to him and he took a long swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing just above the collar of his faded sweatshirt. "Texas State Technical College?" She gestured to the words on his shirt. "That's a long way from Alaska."
Glancing down at his shirt, he shrugged. "My father lives there."
"So, you stayed with him while you got your degree?"
"Stew's hot." Using a grease rag as an oven mitt, he lifted the can off the lantern top and poured three helpings onto metal plates from the crate. He produced two metal spoons, handed her one and then gave the third plate to Mickey, who wolfed it down.
Wolfing it down would be a fair description of how she ate it, as well. It was good and filling. "Delicious. Thank you again."
He nodded, gathering up the plates and giving them to Mickey, who licked theirs clean too.
"What kind of dog is Mickey?"
"Part malamute, part something else. A mixed breed. Like me." He drank from the flask again.
"Your mother's Iñupiat?"
"You need to know that for your story?" He glared at her.
Whoa. Touchy subject. "I was just making conversation."
"What the hell'd you think you were going to learn sneaking aboard my plane?"
"I was---" she focused on her hands and gripped the soft fur of his parka, ashamed to look him in the eyes "---following up on a rumor." It seemed ludicrous now, wearing his parka, eating his food, to accuse him of drug trafficking. She just wasn't capable of being objective when it came to him. Or maybe she wouldn't ever be capable.
"Which one? The drugs? The murders, or the Russian spy?"
"Oh, I hadn't heard the Russian spy one."
He snorted. "Some reporter you are."
If he only knew. "I'm not."
"What?"
"I'm not a reporter. I'm the hostess of a cable show called Travel in Style. I was filming a show on the Iditarod."
He blinked. "You're a...TV personality?"
"Yes. You could call me that."
"Huh." He rubbed a palm across his beard. "So, what? You're doing a piece on how not to travel?"
"No." She cringed. "Not at all. I wanted to do this piece on genocide, but the network execs won't let me and every time I try to do a real investigative report they give it to someone else and I need to find a way to make them take me serious---" realizing she'd been rambling, she looked up at him "---ly."
He was staring at her as if she were a three-headed walrus.
"I really am sorry about all this." She reached a hand out to cover his white-knuckled fist. "But wouldn't you like a chance to prove all those rumors false?"
"No." He jerked his hand from hers, took the lantern and turned to crawl into the front of the plane and open the door.
"Wait."
He paused but didn't look back.
"I, um, I need to..."
His gaze cut to hers. "Come on then." Mumbling to himself something about troublesome females, he swung down to the ground and then as she tried to follow him out the door, he handed her the lantern, grabbed her around her back and under her legs and lifted her out. And didn't put her down.
"I can walk now."
"The hypothermia can make you weak and lethargic."
But truth be told, she didn't mind being snuggled like this in his arms. It was full dark out now and here in the middle of nowhere the blackness seemed to cut them off from everyone. As if they were on their own planet. But she wasn't scared at all. In fact she felt safer here, with Max, than in her condo in L.A. No way he was a cold-blooded killer. The man might be cranky, but there was grief in his dark eyes.
There was a story here. She'd just pursue it later.
His faded sweatshirt was soft and hugged his firm chest. He smelled clean and crisp, slightly of oil, but with just the right amount of musky man sweat. With a sigh, she laid her head down on his shoulder and nuzzled her cold nose into his warm neck.
He stopped midstride. "Don't."
No doubt he intended to sound threatening. But right now all she heard was the hunger in his voice, and the promise in his tone. And her body answered with its own primal need. She raised her head.
He started walking again.
Well. That put her in her place.
He set her gently on her feet behind a short shrub, walked a few paces away and turned his back.
Mortification filled her. She just couldn't. "I have some tissues and wet wipes in my purse. Would you mind?"
"What about the wolves?"
She had to think about that. Which was worse? No contest. "I'll take my chances with the wolves."
Before trudging off to find her purse, he grunted, but it sounded more like a covered-up laugh.
If her fans could see her now. Serena of the "make no apologies for requiring five-star accommodations" fame. Who never stayed anywhere without a spa and a pillow-top mattress. Now her nails were chipped and broken, her hair was a rat's nest of tangles and she'd just peed out in the open wilderness. And she had the hots for a scruffy-faced mountain man who'd just as soon she dropped dead.
A long, lonesome wolf's howl sounded way too close. "Max?"
Nothing.
Great. Here she was with her backside hanging out in the wind. She reached to pull her pants up and---something big rustled in the shrub right next to her then bumped into her leg. She jumped back and screamed, scrambling to pull up her jeans.
Max came pouncing into the bush, brandishing his knife in one hand and her purse in the other. "What is it?"
She threw herself against him and pressed her nose into his chest. "Something scuttled past me down there."
Dropping her purse, he grabbed up the lantern and searched the shrubs. "Probably just a marmot or a woodchuck."
He'd come to her rescue prepared to fight off whatever might have hurt her. Check off number two on the sexy he-man list. She jerked her head up to look into his eyes. "I'm so glad you're here."
His face was unreadable. He had a grease smear on his left temple. But his eyes, they gave away his true feelings.
She rose up on her toes and kissed his lips.
He pulled away, his eyes flared in surprise. Then, with a hoarse groan, he swept her up into his arms again and headed double-time for the airplane. She kissed his neck, behind his ear, along his jaw and finally covered his mouth.
The ferocity of his lips as he took control of the kiss stunned her, but only for a split second. She gripped the sides of his face and matched his passion with her own. Lips, teeth, tongue all met their equal in giving pleasure.
There was fumbling behind her and then she was set into the pilot's seat. His mouth not letting her go, he followed her in. She crawled into the back, reaching for the zipper on her coat, and he followed her.
There was a frantic tangling of arms and clothes and mouths as he yanked his parka over her head and pulled her coat off her shoulders. She reached for him, but he slapped her hands away as he lifted her sweater, tugged it off over her head and set his lips on her breast, kissing down to the edge of her bra and following the lace across the middle and over to her other breast. His hands squeezed her waist and he groaned, his breath hot against her skin.
Serena squirmed as if on fire, needing more. She ran her palms beneath his sweatshirt, caressing his pecs and reveling in the light dusting of hair. With her other hand she reached down and cupped the erection straining against his jeans.
He groaned again and pushed her hand away, panting to catch his breath. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. "Are you this desperate for a story?"
Her hungry mouth dropped open. "I...this isn't for a story."
His expression hardened. "Right." He rose off of her and jumped out of the plane into the dark.
Heart hammering, Serena stared after him. He didn't believe her. Ironically, she'd been telling the truth. She hadn't thought about the story at all. How could she have let herself get so carried away? How could she investigate him if she slept with him? Very professional, there, Sandstone. Her first real chance to make the grade as an investigative reporter and she'd almost blown it for a quick romp in the back of a plane with a coarse mountain man.
So why did she wish he hadn't stopped?
MAX STALKED away from the plane, slipping on the ice, and then trudged through the knee-deep snow into the blackness. Mickey barked and he yelled at the dog to stay. He had to get away from that woman before he lost whatever shred of pride he had left.
If he didn't know how dangerous it was, he'd yank off his sweatshirt and let the frigid air cool his heated body. He wanted to accuse her of being a tease, but she was doing them both a favor. Now that he could think straight again, he could admit what a mistake he'd almost made. To make it with someone like her in the fuselage of his plane? He didn't even carry a condom in his wallet.
But he still wanted her.
How the hell was he going to spend the whole night with her in that plane? Alone. With Ms. Long-silky-legs.
Long silky legs wrapped around his waist, her ankles locked at his back. He groaned. Stop it, Taggert.
If only she weren't so damn sexy, or if it hadn't been longer than he could remember since he'd felt a woman's body beneath him, he could ignore the hunger.
The farther he clomped through the snow, the cooler his lust got and the saner his thoughts became. What he should be worried about was the curse. He still had to get her safely to Nome. He avoided being responsible for anyone but himself nowadays. And that meant no passengers on his plane whenever possible.
But tomorrow he'd have no choice.
He came up on the edge of the tree line. Without a moon, he could barely see a few feet in front of him. He should go back. A low growl and a bark came from the forest. Snapping on his flashlight, he scanned the brush and then went completely still as his gaze landed on two round eyes glowing intently at him.
He'd been half kidding about wolves being in the area, mostly trying to scare his annoying stowaway. But he'd heard the howl and, sure enough, those were a wolf's eyes getting closer. The big animal moved toward him, silently padding his way out of the dense thicket of trees.
Max remained still, the weight of the knife in his boot a reassurance. The wolf was huge, bigger than Mickey. And completely white.
An owl hooted in the darkness. Max jumped and looked up at the sound of flapping wings as a large white bird flew out of the woods. The hairs on his neck stood up. It was a snowy owl.
As a boy, his grandmother had told him stories of a white wolf lost in the wilderness and the snowy owl that would someday come to lead it home. She'd called the white owl his spirit guide. As Max stared at the gleaming eyes, now only a yard away, the wolf suddenly sat. His tongue lolled out in a shallow pant.
Frowning, Max dropped to his haunches, his forearms balanced on his knees. Where was this wolf's pack? Were they waiting for him in the forest just beyond Max's sight? Or was this guy a loner, like him? Separated from his pack for some reason. As he stared at the animal, all sense of time faded and something washed over him, filling him with unease. Change was coming. He didn't like change.
The wolf stood, turned and trotted off, back into the woods.
Max realized he was shivering violently and would have to return to the plane before he became hypothermic.
Using the light shining from the plane's window as a beacon, he made his way back and climbed inside the cargo hold. He stopped, holding his position on one knee just behind the pilot's seat. Mickey, the traitor, was curled up next to the woman. At least he raised his head and whined his happiness at Max's return. The woman wasn't quite so enthused.
She was scowling, huddled inside the tarp, her hands extended to the butane lantern, palms out. "Where were you? I didn't know if you'd left me to d---"
"To die? Like I did the others?"
She had the decency to appear ashamed.
He crouched closer to the lantern and rummaged for his parka.
"You're shivering. Here." She drew his parka out from inside the tarp and tossed it at him. While he slipped it over his head, he spied her raising his flask to her mouth. She knocked back several swallows.
"Go easy on that," he said, hoping she'd left some for him. But no such luck. "You drank it all?"
"I was scared. And cold." She pouted.
Mumbling his favorite curse words under his breath, he pulled his knife from his boot.
She scooted away. "Hey, I'm sorry."
"Dammit, lady, if I was going to kill you I'd have done it this morning and spent the day in peace and quiet." He took the knife and cut open one of the boxes nearest him. Ah, Ireland's finest. A prime bottle of Jameson. He'd take the price out of his fee. Arnaaluk wouldn't mind. These were extreme circumstances.
He twisted off the cap and took a long, sweet pull. The whiskey burned all the way down and warmed his insides. He was beginning to get some feeling back into his fingers and cheeks.
"Can I have some?" She sounded so dejected he took pity on her and held out the bottle.
As she accepted it from him, their fingers touched. Their gazes met and he knew she was remembering where his hands had been. He was remembering the feel of her palm pressing against his zipper.
Glancing away, she matched his long pull on the bottle and then some. "Mmm." She took another long sip. "I don't usually drink hard liquor, but this stuff is delissous---delishust." She closed her eyes. "It's good."
"That's enough for you." He tried to take it from her but she held it behind her, out of reach.
"No!" She scowled at him again, then took another sip.
He snatched the bottle from her grasp.
"Hey!"
"I don't need you puking your guts up in my plane."
Her face assumed a haughty expression. "I'll have you know I've flown around the world and I've never---" she hiccupped "---puked."
"Is that so?" Max settled against the side of the plane, rested his arm across his raised knee and took a long swallow from the bottle.
She hiccupped again and covered her mouth with her hand. "I've really made a mess of things, haven't I?"
He shrugged. "You'll be back in the lower forty-eight this time tomorrow."
She frowned and her bottom lip stuck out. "That's not what I meant. I don't want to go back. I can't."
Despite a few slurred words, she seemed to have sobered remarkably. "Why not?"
"I'm quitting."
Max blinked. "You've got this cushy job in television and you quit just so you can investigate me? You're not as bright as you look."
She raised her chin defiantly. "Anybody with an attractive face could do what I was doing. I want to make a difference. I want to expose atrocities, illuminate corruption and hold tyrants accountable for their crimes against humanity."
He raised his eyebrows. "Good luck with that."
"Mock me if you want, but that's a journalist's job." She jabbed her finger at the air in front of him. "To bring stories to the public that can change the world. Make it better."
He'd never met such a naive Pollyanna. "Why?"
"What?"
"Why would you put yourself out there for people you don't even know?"
"What does knowing them have to do with anything?"
"Haven't you ever heard the expression no good deed goes unpunished? Live and let live."
"That's your philosophy? You leave the world alone and the world leaves you alone, is that it?"
"It's worked so far." He gave her a pointed look. "Until today."
"Imagine if everyone believed as you do. After Katrina hit New Orleans, there were thousands of us volunteers helping with the cleanup effort. All it takes for evil to win is for good men to do nothing."
"Right. So, you've trapped a murderer in the middle of nowhere. The world is safer already."
"You're not a murderer. But you are hiding something."
"Just because I don't want to spill my guts to a stranger, I'm hiding something? Maybe there's a reason you're only a travel guide."
She flinched as if he'd slapped her. Hellfire, his barb had done more than sting. She looked as if he'd crushed her spirit. He started to apologize but her expression hardened and she tipped her chin up. "If there's no story here, why don't you simply tell me what happened three years ago?"
He clenched his fists, his teeth grinding. Anything was better than the expression of defeat returning to her face. He chose his words with care. "The plane crashed. People...died." He raised the bottle of Jameson to his lips and gulped down the whiskey. Damn. His hand was shaking. "It happens."
She was blessedly silent. But of course that didn't last. "It must have been awful," she whispered. "I'm sorry."
The searing pain, his friends' bloody faces, flashed through his mind, but he shoved the visions away and cleared his throat. "Can you get your job back?"
It was her turn to shrug. "My contract's not up until July. But if I don't show up in Buenos Aires in two weeks, I'll be in breach."
"If all goes well, we'll be in Nome by lunchtime."
"I told you, I'm not going back." She lowered her gaze to the lantern. "Not yet anyway."
"Do what you want. As long as you're off my hands."
"Couldn't I ride with you to Barrow? I'll pay you."
"I don't carry people. Only cargo."
"Anymore."
"What?"
"You mean you don't carry people anymore. But you used to."
"I'm going to get some sleep. I suggest you do the same." After taking one more swig of the whiskey, he screwed the lid on, pulled up his hood and dropped his head back, eyes closed.
As if he was really going to get any sleep with her this close to him. The cargo area was so small, he could reach out his arm and touch her. Every breath brought her sultry scent teasing his senses. He could hear her shivery breathing, imagine her chest rising and falling. Before he knew it, he was picturing her breasts naked and in his hands, imagining himself pulling off her jeans and panties...
Damn.
"Max?"
"What?" He refused to open his eyes. He'd only be tempted by deep blue orbs and sensuous red lips.
"Good night."
He grunted, and heard the tarp rustling until she settled down. Between the lantern and the heat from Mickey and the woman, he was warm enough. But a cold chill ran up his spine at the thought of flying with her in his plane to Nome tomorrow.
He could only hope seeing the snowy owl meant the curse on him had been lifted. Maybe his wandering soul would return now.
SERENA SNUGGLED closer to the heat. The lantern had gone out sometime ago and her back was freezing. But her front was toasty warm, her cheek rubbing against something soft. The dog? She ran her hand down its side. No. It wasn't anything long haired. More smooth and supple. Like suede. Her hand came to the fur-lined edge and moved farther down, over denim and metal. Mmm. Long, hot, hard.
Her sleeping self wanted it. She cupped its length and caressed it. From under her ear a groan rumbled in its chest and a large warm hand covered hers and gripped it as he pushed into her palm.
She lifted her head and gasped. Max.
In the darkness his mouth found hers and kissed her with desperate intent. Before she could protest, he'd rolled her to her back and nudged a knee between her legs. But why would she protest? She wanted this. Wanted him. To communicate her need she clutched his head and combed her fingers through his long hair. And when he fumbled with the button on her jeans, she pushed his hand away and took over.
"Serena," he moaned.
"Yes, oh yes," she whispered as she helped him tug his parka over his head. Then she went to work on his jeans. His breath felt hot on her neck as he nuzzled in, nipping and kissing down the column of her throat to the edge of her sweater. But she wanted more of his hungry kisses, so she abandoned the zipper on his jeans and grasped his head again, using her grip on his hair to tug his lips back to hers.
Impatient to feel his skin against hers, she helped him tug down his jeans and hers. His callused hand stroked her stomach, and slowly his fingers slid under her panties. A needy moan escaped her as he cupped her shaved folds. She parted her thighs and lifted her hips to encourage his exploration, but he didn't seem to need encouragement. His fingers moved in unison to caress her until one long digit slipped inside. Plunging deep and pulling back out while the heel of his hand rubbed her clit. It was a concert where all the instruments collaborated to send her soaring into an exquisite crescendo.
As she caught her breath, he began round two. Switching his weight to his other elbow, he ran a hand under her sweater and cupped her breast over her bra. He thumbed her nipple until she whimpered and reached down to yank both sweater and bra off over her head. She left her arms in the sleeves and kept them raised above her, begging him, "Lick them."
With a raspy groan he obeyed. She felt his soft lips surround one nipple and suckle, and then his tongue teased just the tip. She moaned and wiggled beneath him, squeezing her eyes shut against the sharp aching sensation that traveled straight from her nipples to the inner passage between her thighs. His hand cupped her other breast and played with its tight nipple, gently pinching and rolling it.
She was panting.
Dragging off his sweatshirt, he slid his arm around her back to lift her, and spread the soft cotton beneath her shoulders. She couldn't help the little hum of delight. His warmth and woodsy scent surrounded her.
Lying there in only her panties, she should have been freezing, but Max's muscular body heated her blood. Their passion seemed to warm the entire plane. Needing more of that heat, she reached for the band of his briefs.
He stayed her hand. "Say you want me. And say my name again."
Cupping his cheek in her palm, she pulled his lips down to hers. "I want you, Max."
Before she'd finished the sentence, he shucked his underwear and came over her. She opened for him and he fitted himself to her, teasing and rubbing her entrance before plunging in to the hilt. Her breath whooshed out with a guttural sound deep in her throat.
He groaned and stilled, and a little muscle in his jaw ticked. Maybe it was just that it'd been too much time between lovers, but she could feel every long inch of him inside her, filling her. His skin against hers felt on fire. Sensuous, intimate. She wanted to feel more and ran her hands along the tensed muscles of his arms, his chest and abdomen. Over his straining shoulders and down the slopes and planes of his back to his clenched butt.
He trailed kisses down her jaw to the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder. "Serena." And then he started to move.
Slowly at first, as if savoring the feeling, he pulled out and then slid back in. With each thrust his pace in creased, his mouth still pressing kisses to her shoulder and lower. He cupped a breast and brought the tip to his mouth.
The myriad of sensations carried her to an inner zone of heightened awareness. Of the friction of his cock moving inside her, of his lips suckling on her nipple. Of his hand caressing her waist, her hip, behind her knee. Yet at the same time, blinding, primal emotions burst to the surface of her consciousness. Her body spasmed, her hips lifted to meet him, or to stop him, she wasn't sure. She could've sworn she saw lights dance in her vision, blurred by tears.
He cried out and pushed hard into her one last time, and then stilled.
Her body had turned so weak she couldn't even raise an arm to push off his heavy weight. She was breathing hard and her damp skin was cooling in the freezing temperature. He must have noticed her trying to draw a deep breath because he slid off to her side, tucked her against him and pulled their coats and the tarp over them.
Mmm, now she was snuggly warm. Max started snoring lightly behind her, his arm heavy on her waist. After the early morning spy mission, the harrowing plane landing, and the tense emotions she'd experienced all day, she should have sunk into unconsciousness. But her body hummed with energy, and her mind raced with...with what? Excitement? Happiness? She hadn't felt that way about her job---or her life, for that matter---in years.
But her mind also raced with plans for getting to Barrow tomorrow, somehow. And with following this intriguing man to his hometown and seeing what she could discover about him and his life. She'd charter a plane if she had to.
She shouldn't feel this way. It made no sense. But she wasn't done with Max Taggert, the White Wolf. Not nearly.
THE SUN WAS STREAMING into the plane when Max awoke snuggled against a warm, soft body. And he was mostly naked.
Aw, hell.
He was stiff, and when he tried to slide his numb arm out from under Serena's head, she jerked awake and sat up.
"Ooh," she moaned, and grabbed her head, then cast a horrified stare his way.
The feeling was mutual.
He checked his watch. After eight already.
As he slipped on his jeans and shirt, Ms. Sandstone disappeared under the tarp and pulled her clothes underneath with her.
Grabbing his parka, he took Mickey outside to take care of business. They needed to get going. But could he risk flying to Nome with Serena in his plane? He couldn't be responsible for one more person's death.
He could still radio for a rescue plane. But how would he explain that to Serena? She'd suspect something fishy. And if he told her the truth, she'd snicker at his beliefs and tell him there was no such thing as a curse. That his soul had not gone wandering. And that the deaths in his life were just awful coincidences.
Damn Jameson whiskey. Damn her. And damn superstitions.
When he returned to the plane, he radioed his flight plan to Nome and fed Mickey while Serena went outside without a word. Within half an hour they were in the air. The strut held on takeoff, and they made it to Nome safe and sound. In total silence.
Wiping his temple on his sleeve, he released a long breath of relief as he left Serena in the hands of an airport ticket agent. By noon, he'd refueled his Cessna and was headed for Barrow without looking back.
The fact that he had to force himself not to was irrelevant. As was the fact that he couldn't seem to stop thinking about her as he loaded the cargo into his truck and drove into town.
Good riddance.
Serena Sandstone was someone else's problem now.
"Max. We were worried." Arna greeted him from behind the registration desk of the North Slope Inn in Barrow. "You were supposed to be here yesterday."
"Yeah, uh..." Max set the box of Jameson whiskey on the nearest table in the small lobby and rubbed the back of his neck. "I was delayed. Can Chris make me a grilled cheese while I bring in your order?"
"Of course."
Christopher appeared in the kitchen doorway behind the bar wiping his hands on a towel. "Glad to see you're all right, man." The North Slope Inn was part hotel, part diner and part tavern and a local hangout in Barrow.
Max nodded at him. "And how about an extra one for my grandma while you're at it?"
Chris gave a lazy salute. "You got it, two GCs to go. And I've got a bone I've been saving for Mickey." He headed back into the kitchen.
Max returned to his truck and unloaded the other box of supplies and the two coolers of meat. As he carried each into the hotel, he remembered Serena wiggling her very fine ass as she hauled one of the coolers out of the plane. And how she'd staunchly sat between the two coolers on his plane's wing all afternoon without complaint.
Dammit, he was thinking about her again.
He deposited the last box of his delivery in the kitchen, grabbed a soft drink from the fridge along with his brown sack of sandwiches and Mickey's bone and headed out to the lobby.
He froze in his tracks.
"Max." Serena stood at the registration desk, pen poised over the guest book. She clutched the strap of her humongous purse tighter and hitched it higher on her shoulder.
Aw, dammit. He was cursed.
"You two know each other?" From behind the registration desk, Arna switched her gaze between Serena and him.
"We met in Anchorage." The bane of Max's existence smiled at Arna. "In fact, Mr. Taggert is the reason I decided to visit Barrow." She turned her beautiful smile on him. In the smug curve of her lips was the triumph of a cat licking the last drop of cream. "This trip was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Perhaps you can recommend a clothing store close by?"
"Of course," Arna answered. "How long are you staying, Ms. Sandstone?"
"Oh, call me Serena. And, I'm not sure. I'm hoping to see the Northern Lights. I've been in Anchorage and Nome the past three weeks and still haven't witnessed the phenomenon."
Max ground his teeth and glared at the woman. What a load of moose droppings. Pretending to be a tourist? He ought to throw her over his shoulder and dump her at the Wiley Post-Will Rogers Memorial Airport with an order to go away and not come back. Yeah, as if she'd meekly obey him.
"Spring is a good time of year to see the aurora borealis," Arna spoke hesitantly, catching Max's eye with raised brows.
"Would you like to join me for dinner tonight, Mr. Taggert?" Serena threw the invitation over her shoulder as she inspected the rack of brochures by the door.
Max blinked. Dinner? Like a date? Arna better have a padded room upstairs, because this lady was certifiable if she thought he'd have anything else to do with her. What the Iñupiat called pokreitok---a fool.
But for the first time, he wondered about her reasons for last night. Had it just been the booze and the cold and fear? Would any warm male have done? He could chalk up the earth-shattering sex to years' worth of abstinence. But what about her? With her looks and career? Staying in hotels all over the world. Always moving on to the next assignment. She had the perfect job for anonymous one-night stands. Last night had probably been just one more foreign experience to her.
"Perhaps your friends could join us," Serena urged. "You can tell me all about life in the northernmost city in the United States."
Now she was involving Arna and Chris? She'd try to make him talk about himself and pump acquaintances for info? No way in hell he'd be a party to that.
"Mickey's waiting for me." He strode out the door, swung into his truck and tore off down the street.
"WELL." For the second time in five minutes Serena kept her television smile pasted on, but she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. She hadn't been prepared to run into Max here. Not now. Not yet. She needed a shower first. And a fresh change of clothes. And a time machine.
If she could, she'd kick herself for being such an idiot last night. Why on earth had she had sex with that knuckle-dragging Neanderthal? Of course, he hadn't made love like a Neanderthal... Or was it just the circumstances of the moment that had made her come apart in his arms?
"I'm afraid I upset his schedule yesterday." She shrugged and gave the hotel owner a sheepish smile.
The Iñupiat woman, Arna, shrugged. "Don't mind Max. He's always like that." Arna---short for Arnaaluk, she'd said, which meant Sea Woman---was unsmiling but not unfriendly.
"She's right," the tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed young man chimed in from behind the bar. "Max keeps to himself mostly. He only speaks to us when he has to." The guy moved out from behind the bar and approached the desk, extending his right hand. "I'm Chris, Arna's husband."
Serena didn't hide her surprise very well. Chris was visibly younger than his wife, Serena would guess in his mid-twenties to her late-thirties. And where Chris was tall, with twinkling blue eyes, Arna was slightly chubby, with a long, black braid hanging down her back.
He moved behind the desk to put his arm around his wife. "We can still have a celebration tonight. How about we invite some friends over and welcome you to Barrow in style."
She smiled at his little pun on her television show's name.
Arna kept a straight face, but rolled her eyes and nudged her husband with her elbow. "Chris." But then a look passed between the couple that proclaimed their love for each other louder than words. So much that Serena felt like a third wheel standing there.
Nevertheless, she said, "That would be wonderful. I'm looking forward to it. But first, I need something to wear."
Arna handed her a map and marked the clothing store with an X.
"And be careful," Chris called to her as she headed for the door. "The wind is ferocious, and the sun sets around eight this time of year---be sure you're back before dark. And watch out for ice fog."
Serena nodded, grateful for the map and the advice, and headed out to her rented SUV.
Hard to believe she was staying in a hotel named the North Slope Inn. Not exactly five-star. If her viewers could see her now. But the room was...serviceable. As was the rest of the hotel. Lots of faux wood paneling and a decor her mother would've kindly described as early poverty. A mishmash of furnishings that seemed to have been collected from Goodwill. But it was comfortable, boasted cable TV and internet service and most importantly, it was warm. These last couple days in March the temperature here was barely above zero degrees. And that was during the day. She'd definitely need some extreme winter clothes.
The past two days had finally caught up with her. She was desperate for a hot shower and a real bed. But she wanted clean clothes to change into. And maybe while she shopped, she could do a little snooping.
As she reached to open her car door a hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist. "You're wasting your time here."
Serena twisted her wrist out of his grasp and spun to face Max. "It's my time to waste."
"This can be a dangerous village for people who aren't used to this kind of climate."
"Are you threatening me?"
He stepped closer, invading her personal space. "Would you leave if I were?"
"No." She raised her chin and folded her arms for good measure.
"Serena, I promise you there's nothing to investigate. There's no wrong to be righted here. Just go back to L.A. and find some other poor schmuck to harass." The muscle in his jaw ticked and she wanted to smooth her palm down his cheek.
Maybe he was right. Maybe she was making a moron of herself for nothing. But her gut told her she shouldn't leave just yet. And her father had always listened to his gut.
"If there's nothing to investigate, then I won't find anything to dig up. And you don't have any reason to worry."
His scowl darkened and he leaned in, whispering, "Go. Home."
He was so close his nose almost touched hers. His cheeks were rough and reddened, and ice crystals dotted his beard. Memories of last night rushed over her. Her panic after he'd been gone for so long, and the relief when he'd come back. Her respect. And attraction. With a shiver, she remembered the feel of Max's callused hands running over her skin. His mouth on her nipple. She'd had the most powerful sex of her life in the cargo space of a prop plane.
Shake it off, Serena.
"I'll leave when I'm ready."
With a snarl and a growl, he spun on his heel and stalked off.
Serena shivered again, and not from the cold. Max's nearness had heated her body faster than an electric blanket. Only after she watched him get into a battered, rusty pickup did she open her door, climb into her SUV and study the map.
The pilot she'd chartered in Nome this morning was a retired U.S. Coast Guard and his Cessna 130 was a newer and roomier plane than Max's. Still, a town three hundred miles north of the Arctic Circle was not on her list of top one hundred must visit places.
As they had banked over the city of Barrow, she'd caught her first glimpse of the triangular-shaped town perched on the edge of the Arctic Ocean. The snow was still so high and ice so packed against the coastline, it'd been hard to distinguish sea from land.
Now that she was down on the ground, it didn't look much different. The land was barren. No vegetation in sight except tundra and even that was covered in snow right now. Only the main roads were plowed. Serena passed a large supermarket, a hospital with new wings under construction and a few office buildings.
Clustered among all these were small wooden homes built on pilings to keep them from melting the permafrost and sinking. Parked in the front yards of the houses were a hodgepodge of trucks, four-wheel ATVs, snowmobiles and small boats. The overcast weather and the void of people outdoors gave the town a ghostly quality, eerily silent except for the snow crunching under her tires.
She finally found the clothing shop Arna had told her about and purchased a couple pairs of blue jeans, a few heavy sweaters and, on the shop lady's recommendation, a pair of long underwear and some Sorel boots.
"Have you had this shop a long time?" Serena casually asked.
"Almost thirty years now," the lady replied.
"I ran into a pilot from here while I was in Anchorage, a Max Taggert. Do you know him?"
The shop lady frowned. "Remember him always fighting in school. Used to get my son in trouble all the time."
"Really?" Serena's bull meter went on alert. "Do you know why he was so violent as a kid?"
The white lady's expression flattened. "Seems to me he had a chip on his shoulder about his parents."
Serena blinked, thanked the lady and carried her purchases to her car. Sounded to her like Max had been the target of racism in his childhood. But that was just one person's experience. She needed to question a lot more people before she assumed.
Hooking into her seat belt, she started the car and took in her surroundings. The sun was low on the horizon and the wind had whipped up the snowdrifts. The temperature had dropped considerably and visibility was going to make it a challenge finding her way back to the hotel.
After twenty minutes, her fears were realized. She must have made a wrong turn somewhere. The ice fog was so dense, she was afraid to go any farther without knowing exactly how to get there. She pulled the car over and grabbed her cell from her purse, but she hadn't charged it in days. Damn. The streets were empty, the ice fog thickened and she started to panic.
What was she doing in this place? She could be sitting by the pool with dinner reservations tonight. Going to a movie, meeting her friends at a bar. She'd been crazy to think she could do anything like this on her own.
Calm down, Serena. You can do this. She closed her eyes and tried to picture the way she'd come in her mind.
A horn honked, and she jumped, her heart pounding. The window of the truck beside her came down and she caught a glimpse of Mickey in the seat beside the driver. It was Max. He stuck his arm out, motioned her to follow him and then pulled ahead.
She followed him back to the hotel and expected him to get out, but he drove off once she pulled into a parking space. How had he known where she was? He had to have followed her. So, he was spying on her?
If he was into some sort of criminal activity, why had he bothered to save her just now? Most of the stores had already closed, but she could've knocked on someone's door and borrowed a phone. This made it the second time he'd come to her rescue.
And it was difficult to be objective about a hero.
A FEW HOURS LATER, after a shower and a nap, she came down the stairs to the loud murmur of voices. The lobby, which looked more like her grandmother's living room, was full of people.
"Serena, everyone's so excited to meet you," Arna greeted her as she stepped into the throng. "And when they heard you were without luggage, they brought gifts."
An old Inuit with long gray hair stepped forward and offered her a large foil-wrapped package. "Welcome to Barrow, Ms. Sandstone."
"Serena, this is Mayor Chuka, mayor of the North Slope Borough. He's also our whaling captain."
Serena took the packet, which felt like fish meat. "Thank you so much, Mayor Chuka. Please call me Serena."
"I'll get that whale meat on the grill, Mayor." Chris took her gift and---wait. Did he say "whale" meat? Serena glanced warily back at the foil-wrapped food disappearing into the kitchen as Arna tugged her to the next person.
She met a scientist from the old naval-base-turned-research-lab who was studying climate change and a Korean schoolteacher. There was a Tonkin grocery store owner and a Latino nurse who'd just arrived to work at the hospital. Each brought her a gift. A pair of snow pants, some sealskin mitts, a traditional, fur-lined parka and some moose meat. Serena was overwhelmed by their generosity.
"Dinner is served, folks," Chris called from the kitchen.
"You won't find a better home-cooked meal anywhere in the Arctic," Arna bragged. Everyone filed in to the buffet-style dinner.
The food was simple but good. Wine and coffee were poured and, after everyone had eaten, Serena stood and raised her plastic cup. "To the people of Barrow, the most welcoming and generous folks I've met in all my travels." As they clinked their glasses to the toast, Serena wondered about Max. Wasn't he part of this community? Even if he hid away from reporters, surely he had friends here in town.
"My compliments to the chef," she told Chris when he came by to take her plate. "This meal was as good as any five-star restaurant I've been in."
Chris beamed. "Thank you."
"Wouldn't Max normally come to a gathering like this? Would he have come if I wasn't here?"
Chris was shaking his head before she finished the sentence. "No way. He's our resident hermit. He's my business partner, but he won't even come to dinner when it's just me and Arna. Even before the crash, he---"
"Chris." Arna shut him down with a stern frown.
An uncomfortable moment passed and her husband bowed out, gathering plates from the other guests. Arna held Serena's gaze, her scowl replaced with a placid expression.
"Is there something you don't want me to know about Max Taggert?"
The hotel owner shook her head. "He may keep to himself, but whenever we have needed him, he has been there. As for the rest, it is his story to tell." She turned and walked away.
His story? Did that mean the rumors about him were not just rumors? But Chris had started to say something about before the plane crash. It sounded as if there might be more secrets in Max Taggert's life.
"How long are you staying, Serena?" the mayor asked.
"I'm not sure yet. I'm supposed to be in Buenos Aires in a couple of weeks."
"This weekend we celebrate the Piuraagiaqta, the Spring Festival. There are games for the children and people dressed in costumes. I hope you will attend?"
"The pee-ur-ahg-ee-ahk-tah?" A perfect excuse to get out and meet more people and question them about Max. Surely there was someone else in this town who knew what had happened to him. She just had to ask around. Isn't that what investigative journalists did?
She smiled at the mayor. "I wouldn't miss it for anything." Besides, she enjoyed learning the traditions and customs of the people she visited. The stories and legends that were passed down from generation to generation. She would miss that after she quit. She ought to buy a video camera while she was here and record the festival.
But mostly, it gave her a reason to stay in town, to seek out Max. She wanted to find out what his story was, learn everything about him. She couldn't explain her fascination with the man. All she knew was that she was here now, and she didn't want to go until she'd discovered what had really happened out there in the aftermath of his plane crash, and what had put such sorrow in his eyes.
The fact that she wanted to soothe his anguish was completely beside the point.
"I'M SO GLAD you could attend our Piuraagiaqta this weekend, Ms. Sandstone." Mayor Chuka appeared by Serena's side as she stood along the main road waiting for the parade to start.
"Me, too, and please, call me Serena." Considering the size of the town, there was a fairly large crowd gathered here this morning. The sun was shining, which was nice. It'd been cloudy since she got here.
The gloomy weather hadn't bothered her too much because she'd spent the past two days mostly in her room researching any and everything to do with the plane crash.
Turned out investigative journalism could be kind of boring. But she had managed to learn a few interesting facts.
The weather recorded for the day of the crash was clear and sunny. No storms, no ice, no weather-related reason for the crash. She'd also learned---via a not-quite-above-board interview with a really nice guy at the Barrow Savings and Loan---that Max had bought his new plane with funds that had appeared in his account from a bank in Dallas, Texas.
And Max's father lived in Texas. So, maybe his father had loaned him the money. Nothing underhanded about that.
But she'd also learned that the man whose life Max had saved was Beau Ramsey, COO of a company called NRT Transport. NRT Transport also had an office in Dallas.
The other two, who had died in Max's plane crash were also executives at NRT Transport, and, most interestingly, Max was listed as co-owner of the company. Those men weren't just paying customers. They were Max's business partners.
Maybe Max had something to gain by killing his partners. Maybe some sort of insurance payout? But a plane crash seemed a dangerous way to do it. How could he be sure he wouldn't die too? And what about Ramsey? Was he meant to live? Or had Max had a change of heart? If he were trying to cover up a murder, why would Max have dragged the only witness to his crime twenty miles to save his life?
None of the men, including Max, had any ties to drugs or previous arrests that she could discover. She'd even called a friend of a friend in the U.S. Customs and Immigration department to see if he could dig up anything. Nada.
She'd also put a call in to the FAA, but they hadn't been able to answer her questions about the findings from the crash. Someone was supposed to get back to her.
In the meantime, she was going to enjoy the festival and inquire about Max from his fellow Barrowans.
Despite the sunshine, the air was crisp, the temperature not much above freezing. Serena wore her new traditional Inuit parka and sealskin mittens. "Do you mind if I record your town's festivities, Mayor?" Serena held up the convenient palm-size video camera she'd purchased yesterday after her trip to the savings and loan.
"Not at all," the mayor replied. "And you must call me Edgar."
She smiled, aimed the camera at him and pushed the record button. After she got him to introduce himself and pronounce the name of the spring festival, she panned the camera out to film the people lining the other side of the street. Everyone on her viewfinder screen was looking directly at her and waving, and she could hear the buzz of murmurs all around her. She overheard the words "famous star" and "her own cable show" and "be on TV."
Evidently word had spread fast from the party her first night here. They thought she was here for her TV show. Not a bad cover. And, actually, it might be possible to have some of this footage edited into the Iditarod piece. But if she ended up with a good story on Max, she'd be able to use what she filmed here for that.
She kept filming the crowd and stopped, went back. It was Max, with a tiny, gray-haired Iñupiat woman's hand clinging to the crook in his elbow. The old woman smiled at her and waved and drew Max's attention to Serena. He scowled.
Serena paused the recording, dropped the camera to her side and waved back to the old woman.
She hadn't seen or heard from Max since he'd rescued her from getting lost in the ice fog the other day. She tried to tell her brain to be objective, but just looking at him made her breathing shallow and her heart race. Even hidden behind the shaggy hair and beard he was a handsome man. But there was something more. Something in the depth of his dark brown eyes that called to her. In the way he looked at her. As if he wanted to shove everyone out of his way, grab her by the hair and yank her back to his cave.
The old woman said something to him and Max leaned down to hear her, then shook his head and replied. His face softened as he spoke to her and when he straightened, he stared down the street.
Well. She'd been dismissed.
She lifted the camera and recorded the parade.
After the parade wound down, the children dragged their sleds to the Middle Lagoon. A boy of about ten or eleven stood with his mother next to Serena. The Iñupiat boy tugged on Serena's coat. "Am I going to be on television?"
Serena bent down to talk to the boy. "Maybe. Do you want to be?" She glanced up just then and caught Max staring at the boy. His face revealed little, there was something about the intensity in his stare.
Her camera down by her side, she saw Max's gaze follow the boy as he raced his sled. Then, as if Max sensed her eyes on him, he glanced back at her. She looked away. He wouldn't appreciate that she was watching him.
Turning her attention to the children and their sleds, Serena cheered them on and recorded the last few minutes of the race. She wandered to the crafts tables in the gym and bought a beautiful whalebone carving of a white owl for her collection and a woven blanket in beautiful muted colors of the Arctic Sea. Dozens of townspeople approached her, asking who she was, and all seemed eager to be recorded.
She asked as many as she could, without being too obvious, about Max and the plane crash. Some repeated the rumors about drugs and foul play, but admitted they only knew what they'd heard and had no proof or reason to believe it was true. A few tried to convince her he was an ex-con, but again, they had no proof. Several people told her to ask the shaman. The shaman could tell her everything she wanted to know.
She made a mental note to ask Chris about making an appointment with the town's shaman.
Even more revealing to Serena was the way people treated Max. And how he reacted. Though all would nod respectfully to the old woman, they seemed to give him a wide berth, and some openly ignored him. And the way he froze people out with his cold, menacing glares it was no wonder people feared him.
A few times throughout the day she felt a quiver of awareness. She'd look up to find his gaze on her and her stomach would jump. Once, it was the old woman with him who was staring at her.
At the potluck dinner in the high school gym, she filled her plate with goose soup, cooked fruit and fry bread. She found the traditional Iñupiat cooking delicious. The couple of times she glanced his way, Max was pulling out a chair for the elderly lady and bringing her a plate of food. Her heart squeezed.
Just when she'd convinced herself she could stay objective.
When everyone moved outside for the blanket toss, she moved into position to film it with the crimson sky of the setting sun behind the circle of adults holding on to the edges of the patchwork of sealskins. The whaling captains and their wives climbed on first and the crowd pulled out on the blanket and tossed them high into the air. Once airborne, the wives threw candy to the surrounding children.
Beyond the focus of the blanket toss, Max stood in the shadows, away from the crowd, his arms crossed over his chest. The Lone Wolf.
His eyes met hers with a raised brow, staring her down. Daring her to approach him and say something.
It was time to speak to him one more time about an interview.
MAX SAW Serena drop the camera into her purse and move toward him. Her white teeth flashed as she smiled and nodded to the people along the way. The setting sun seemed to form a golden lining around her, casting her into silhouette for a moment.
Her face was unreadable, but her eyes seemed to burn into his. The wind blew her long brunette hair across her face and she reached up to gather the strands and tuck them behind her ear. But her gaze never left his.
His body responded. His muscles tensed, and his breathing sped up. He felt the same pull of attraction he'd felt every time he saw her. What was it about her? Her figure and legs were covered today with a bulky coat that fell halfway to her knees.
But he knew her body beneath the coat. Knew her soft skin. He'd been inside her. His erection pulsed at the thought. He closed his eyes and then turned to make his escape.
She followed him and placed her hand on his arm. "Max?"
At her touch and nearness the tingle of awareness grew into full-scale desire. He stopped but didn't face her.
"You've been avoiding me," Serena accused, and moved in front of him.
"Don't take it personally." The noise level rose as the people called out for the newlyweds being tossed on the blanket to kiss.
"Why? Because you avoid everyone?" Serena raised her voice over the volume of blanket-tossers. "I can't help but take it personally."
Max shook his head. "How do you figure that?"
"Because..." She hesitated. "That night when we...you know---in the plane. I wondered if we could just start over."
As Serena spoke, the door of the gym opened and his grandmother's head poked out.
Seeing Serena, she smiled her toothless smile and clapped her hands. "I knew it."
Serena's eyes widened as she swiveled to face his grandmother.
Max closed his eyes. "No, Aanaga. There's nothing to know."
"Ii." She nodded, joyfully cackling. "I felt it as soon as I saw her."
"Felt what?" Serena asked.
"Nothing." He had to get his grandmother out of here.
With a smug grin, she pointed a wrinkled finger at Serena just as Max rushed to put his arm around his grandmother's shoulders and guide her away. "She is the one." His grandmother spoke loudly. "No, Aanaga. It's not what you think. We need to get home now."
But his grandmother dug in her heels and twisted in his arm. "I'm so glad you are finally here. I've been waiting a long time for you." She smiled and nodded her head, then looked back at him. "We can go now." Shuffling away, she left with him, a smug smile playing on her lips.
And Serena stared after them as if she'd just clicked another piece of the puzzle into the right spot.
SERENA WOKE UP disoriented. She'd been dreaming she was back in L.A. in her condo, and she was making love to Max on a chaise lounge out on her balcony. Then she became aware as they made love that the old Iñupiat lady was watching them. Smiling and clapping her hands.
Nooo...
Rolling to her side, she curled into a fetal position, pulled the pillow over her face and moaned. Didn't take Freud to analyze that dream.
But it shouldn't be that big of a deal. This wasn't seventeenth century New England. She didn't have to wear a scarlet letter on her clothes. It was just embarrassing for anyone to know her private business, that's all.
For the first time, she understood Max not wanting to talk with her about his past.
She jumped as someone pounded on her door.
"Serena. I want to talk to you."
Max? He sounded furious. Okay, more furious than usual. She scrambled out of bed and looked down at her thin cami and thong. But she had no robe, only her coat.
Max pounded again. "Serena. Open the damn door."
"All right. I'm coming." Jeez. On her way to the door, she grabbed her ski jacket and shoved her arms in the sleeves.
The pounding started again just as she threw open the door.
Max pushed past her and stalked into the room. "What the hell were you doing yesterday?" He shoved a newspaper under her nose.
She blinked, took the paper from him, and scanned the front page.
North Slope NewsSaturday, April 2
Schedule for the Piuraagiaqta
The weather prediction looks acceptable, with highs from 15 to 25F today, with possibly some snow, and winds rather normal at 10 to 15 MPH from the east. The schedule of festival events for today is as follows:
1:00 p.m. Middle Lagoon; Harpoon throwing contest
2:00 p.m Middle Lagoon; Whaling Crew Races
3:00 p.m igloo building
4:00 p.m snow machine races
5:00 p.m Nigliq (Goose) calling contest
6:00 p.m Barrow Dancers (Traditional Iñupiat Dancing)
"I don't get it." She extended the paper back to him. "Is the schedule wrong because of me?"
His scowl grew even more ominous. "Read below the fold."
TV Personality Visits Barrow---Investigates Plane Crash Mystery.
By Tonya Sweeny
Many who attended the Spring Festival yesterday may have noticed a celebrity in our midst. Serena Sandstone, star of the hit travel show Travel in Style, was seen around Barrow enjoying the celebrations. But, was she also here to look into a local man's past? Our sources say she repeatedly solicited local citizens for information about Mr. Taggert's plane crash three years ago. Speculation about a possible documentary ran wild.
Mr. Taggert's crash remains in litigation and he gave no comment when asked.
Oh no. She'd been scooped by another journalist. Serena tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. Cautiously, she looked up from the newspaper to face Max.
But his gaze wasn't on her face. As his stare moved back up from her legs to her breasts, her nipples tightened under his intense scrutiny. And the sharp ache between her thighs made her breath catch. She grabbed the edges of her ski jacket and closed them around herself.
His nostrils flared and his jaw stiffened. Finally he met her gaze. "That reporter followed me home last night. She even hounded my grandmother."
"I'm so sorry."
He moved a step closer to her. "Sorry enough to go back to L.A. tomorrow and leave me alone?"
Holding her ground, she folded her arms over her chest. "No." Her gaze traveled down past his faded sweatshirt to the bulge behind the zipper of his jeans.
His eyes flared in anger and his fists clenched as he closed the distance between them. "What's it going to take to get you to leave?"
She raised her chin to keep eye contact. Damned if she'd be the first to look away. But she had to bite her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. "Are you trying to bribe me?"
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "I'll do whatever I have to do."
"I---I just want to know what happened. I want the truth."
"Do you? Or do you want the sensationalized version of the truth? Or maybe you just want this." He swooped down and kissed her hard on the mouth. She brought her hands up to shove him away but clutched the front of his shirt instead. His lips should have been punishing, but for all his strength he didn't hurt her. His powerful intensity made her weak and shivery.
She wrenched her mouth away. "We should talk."
"No." Moving a hand from her shoulder to the back of her head, he took her mouth again, deep and hungry, sweeping his tongue in. With his free hand he dragged her coat off her shoulders and down her arms, and flung it behind him.
"Max," she moaned and stumbled back, and he followed her, crushing her against the door.
His body melded with hers from chest to pelvis and his rough hands gripped her butt while he pushed his erection against her stomach. With a low growl he ripped off her thong, and fumbled with his button and zipper.
Serena clasped her hands around his neck and wrapped her thighs around his hips. He held her with one arm under her butt while he positioned his cock and surged inside her with a rough gasp.
His eyes were squeezed closed as he pumped into her again and again, then he opened them and looked deep into hers. In his dark eyes she saw raw need, yet at the same time, resentment for that need.
With the next thrust, he reached up and tugged the thin strap off her shoulder. It broke in his hand and her cami slid down, stopping at the tip of her nipple. He yanked it down the rest of the way, breaking the other strap until the cami settled around her waist. A rough groan escaped as he took her nipple into his mouth, suckled deep then laved it with his tongue.
Digging her fingers into the hair at his nape, she whimpered and moaned her pleasure. Just like the last time with him, her inhibitions were hijacked and her responses seemed supercharged, her clit so primed it wouldn't take much more to set her off. The combination of his masculine scent, the friction of his cock thrusting into her and his teeth tugging at her nipple...
"Faster."
Capturing her other nipple in his mouth, he obeyed and that was all it took. Her back arched away from him as she came in a spectacular blast of color and light. With a final thrust, he stiffened and mumbled something in Iñupiaq and then buried his nose in her throat. For a moment, she rubbed his back through his flannel shirt.
Sinking into a satisfied lethargy, her legs dropped to the floor and her knees gave way. Max scooped her into his arms, carried her to the bed and laid her down. Limp and exhausted she couldn't move.
He stumbled into the bathroom and she heard the water running. When he returned, his jeans were zipped. He'd finger-combed his hair and wouldn't meet her gaze.
Finally he faced her. "I don't carry condoms. I didn't plan---I don't...sleep around."
"Like I do, you mean?"
He shrugged. "You travel, you meet people..."
She shot up to a sitting position and pulled the sheet over her breasts. "Get out."
"I didn't use protection. What if---"
"Don't worry. I'm on the pill. Now get out."
His mouth set tight, he tugged open the door and disappeared.
Serena blinked in shock. And then blinked back tears. She must have lost her mind to have had sex with that brute---again. But when she was around him, his strength and passion stirred something primal inside her. That man could work his way to the core of her without even trying. He could also take her core from passionate to furious in a matter of seconds.
And if he treated others that way who else would have a grudge against him?
Now, more than ever, she was determined to get to the truth.
AFTER SHOWERING and taking special care with her hair and makeup, Serena set out to face down the gossip that must be flying around after the article in the North Slope News. But when she came down the stairs, Arna was waiting at the bottom with her usual blank expression.
Serena felt her face heat. How soundproof was her room? "I'm so sorry if Ma---Mr. Taggert's pounding, uh, on the door, disturbed everyone this morning."
Arna just blinked. "I have a message for you."
"Oh, okay." Serena waited for Arna to hand her a note, but Arna didn't move. "What is it?"
"Evelyn invited you to lunch."
"Oh, how nice." She hesitated, wondering if she was supposed to remember Evelyn. "Um, who is Evelyn, again?"
"Evelyn is tupilek. Shaman."
The shaman? Yes! Serena did a mental fist jab in the air. Now she wouldn't have to find out who it was and make an appointment. But...why did the shaman want to see her?
"Am I...in trouble? Have I done something wrong?"
Arna frowned, looking puzzled. "No."
Again Serena waited for Arna to elaborate. But all Serena got was a blank look. "Chris will take you, so you don't get lost this time," Arna said, then turned and headed for the registration desk, her long braid swinging against her back like a pendulum as she walked.
"How did---" Serena called after her. "Never mind," she muttered to herself. It didn't matter how Arna knew about her getting lost. Serena wasn't anxious to try her luck at driving in this overcast, foggy, weather. Yesterday's sunshine had been a rare occasion, according to several townspeople she'd talked with at the festival. Today, Barrow was again under thick clouds and high wind advisories.
She moved to the lobby, sank into one of the plaid wing chairs and picked up a magazine from the pine coffee table. So, she was going to meet an Iñupiat shaman. According to Arna, she hadn't offended anyone, so perhaps this Evelyn person just wanted to meet a quasi-celebrity? Several people yesterday had mentioned liking her show. Or maybe Evelyn was simply giving her an official welcome.
But Serena didn't think so.
Even shamans read the paper, right? She'd bet a paycheck this upcoming meeting had something to do with Max. Hadn't one of the rumors about him had to do with a shaman? Maybe he had appealed to her and she was going to ask Serena to leave. Maybe the shaman had already warned people in Barrow to shun her.
Within ten minutes Chris came striding out from the kitchen carrying a box with several meals in foil pans. He stopped in front of Serena. "You ready to go?" His winning smile took her mind off her fears.
Nodding, Serena stood and donned her parka while Chris glanced back at his wife and they exchanged another of those looks. Arna's face transformed as he blew her a kiss.
She "caught it" in her hand like a lovesick teen and pressed it to her cheek.
Averting her gaze, Serena followed Chris out to his SUV.
"You make a lot of home deliveries?" she asked once they settled in and seat belts clicked.
Chris shook his head. "Only to Evelyn. She's a special lady."
"How does someone become a shaman?"
Lips pursed, Chris closed one eye and cocked his head. "I'm not exactly sure, but I don't think one 'becomes' a shaman so much as one just is. You could probably ask Evelyn."
Good suggestion. Serena thought of a couple other questions about Max she'd ask if she got the chance.
Chris drove them toward the sea, past the downtown area. Through the fog, she thought she saw a whale jawbone standing on its end to form an arch on the shoreline. That wasn't something one saw on the beach in Malibu.
"So, you and Max, huh?" Chris asked.
"Oh, uh...we, we're not---" She hadn't stammered like this since her first public speaking assignment in junior high speech class. She took a deep breath and started over. "We're not together."
"You seemed to be this morning." Chris wiggled his blond eyebrows.
She closed her eyes and her face burned again. "I admit, we---"
"Don't get me wrong. Arna and I are glad you two are doing the mattress mambo."
"What?" Her eyes flew open and she twisted in her seat to face him. "You are? I mean---"
"Sure. We think you're just what Max needs." He took his attention off the road to smile at her.
Serena couldn't quite manage a reciprocal smile. Actually, they hadn't used a mattress yet. Wait a minute. Had she just thought "yet"? No. They hadn't and they weren't going to, either. A professional journalist certainly couldn't sleep with her subject.
A bit late for that, wasn't it?
"You have to admit you're interested in more than just the aurora borealis." He grinned.
Serena couldn't believe she was having this conversation with her hotel proprietor. A virtual stranger. But then, everything about Arna and Chris was...to put it nicely, eccentric. What kind of hotel owner got mixed up in his guest's personal business? There were plenty of quirky people in L.A., but it was an L.A. kind of weirdness. Being in Barrow was like staying in some sort of alternate universe. Maybe it was the constant cloudiness. Maybe, after one lived here for a while one developed that seasonal affective disorder and it made one just slightly off.
Still, she wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or alienate a potential source of information. "So, why does Max need someone like me?"
"Max has been alone a long time." Chris looked as if he wanted to say more.
Serena leaned toward him, her interest riveted. "Because of the plane crash?" she prodded.
He shook his head. "Arna warned me about my motormouth."
"Anything you could tell me off the record?"
"Ah, we're here." Chris pulled into a gravel driveway and shifted the gear into Park. "Can you take these in for me?" He reached into the backseat, grabbed the box of food and handed it to Serena. "Tell Evelyn I'll come in next time. Gotta get back for the lunch rush."
Serena took the box and got out. "Thank you for the ride." She closed the door and he reversed out onto the road. At the last minute, a thought occurred to her. "Wait." She waved a hand and scrambled after him. "How am I going to---" but he drove off without seeing her "---get back?"
Turning around to face the tiny, wood-framed house, she drew in a fortifying breath, headed up the walkway and knocked. Before her knuckles had hit the door the third time, the door swung open.
Serena blinked. It was the lady she'd seen yesterday with Max.
The old woman stood there, scrutinizing Serena with an unfathomable expression. "Come. Come." She waved her hand and stepped inside. "Max took me away before we could be introduced last night. I'm his grandmother, Evelyn." Her gray hair fell past her waist in two braids on either side of her head, and her dark-skinned complexion held the lines of many, many years.
"I'm Serena."
"I'm so glad you have finally come." With that cryptic remark, the old woman ushered Serena into a tidy kitchen decorated with brightly colored ceramic teapots of all sizes and shapes. Wearing modern slacks and a sweater, Evelyn shuffled to the stove and lifted a teakettle off the burner. "Tea? It's my own special blend."
"Sounds wonderful." At Evelyn's direction, Serena settled into a chair at the kitchen table as the older lady poured tea into a mug, then handed it to Serena, along with a plastic bear filled with honey.
As Serena sipped the special brew, Evelyn poured herself a cup and sat next to her. "Now we talk." She smiled and the creases around her eyes deepened. "I shall answer all your questions." She leaned forward and patted Serena's hand. "And you shall answer mine."
"You have questions for me?"
"Ii." The old lady nodded.
Serena suddenly recalled his words this morning. That the reporter had bothered his grandmother with questions about Serena. Oh, no. "I'm sorry I caused you trouble."
"No trouble. I wanted to talk with you. You have been asking questions about Max? Why are you so interested?" She sipped her tea, watching Serena over the rim of her teacup.
Serena drew in a deep breath. "I want to be a reporter and I heard a lot of rumors about him in Anchorage. I figured if even one of them was true, he'd be a fascinating man to write about."
"So, you are not a reporter now?"
Serena shook her head. "No."
The old lady pursed her lips and nodded in that cryptic way she had. "Now you may ask me a question."
A dozen questions fought for supremacy in her mind, but what popped out was, "How did you become a shaman?"
Evelyn's brows lowered. She hesitated, and then drew in a deep breath. "I do not usually talk of this, but..."
She sat in silence, sipped her tea and then got up to refill their cups. "I had my first vision when I was fifteen. It was a time of great change for our people. During the war, the U.S. Navy built their arctic research lab here and many white men came. Not all were as accepting of different cultures as young people are today. The Iñupiat were sometimes belittled or discriminated against." The old lady smiled, her eyes closed as she recalled events from long ago. "But I loved to dance the jitterbug." She opened her eyes and found Serena's gaze on her. "I was too young to know I should not dance with a white man. I was...attacked, then left out on the tundra to freeze. I wandered for two days. Then a tornaq appeared to me."
"A tornaq?" Serena had forgotten her tea.
"A spirit," Evelyn said. "He foretold my safe return to my family, and I've had visions ever since. I had a vision of you last night."
"Of me?"
"Ii. Yes. In my vision you are the snowy owl, hunted by Iñupiat, yet despite the danger, you fly out every night, calling out, searching for your mate."
The hairs on the back of Serena's neck stood up and her skin chilled with goose bumps.
An owl? What were the odds?
"This vision means something to you?"
Serena focused on the old woman again. "No, not at all. I collect owls, though." She forced a smile. "Isn't that a coincidence?"
The shaman stared at Serena. "No coincidence." Her lips pursed. "You are as stubborn as my grandson. When Maximilian closed himself off from everyone I must pretend a heart attack to make him come to me."
Serena's mouth dropped open. "You didn't."
"Ii." Her eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint.
"I bet he was furious when he got here." Serena could easily imagine his wrath.
Evelyn shrugged. "I did what I must. Just as I do now."
Finally, here was someone who would tell her about Max's plane crash. "What happened to him after that crash? Why did he stay holed up in his cabin all that time?"
Just as Evelyn opened her mouth to speak Serena held up her hand. "I should warn you I'd like to do a story on this crash, but I won't print a word without your permission." Much as it pained her to promise that, her information had to be acquired legitimately.
One side of Evelyn's mouth crooked up in a perceptive smile. "I know, dear. But nothing is what you think it is. The owl and the wolf must each choose their path."
What? That kind of thing wasn't going to be very helpful. Maybe the old woman wasn't quite as reliable a source for information as she thought. But it wouldn't hurt to ask the questions.
"So, can you tell me what happened? Does Max know what caused the plane to crash? And what happened afterward that made him a recluse?"
With a troubled look, Evelyn drew another deep breath. "The trouble was in the air---"
The front door opened. "Aanaga?" Seconds later Max strode through the kitchen doorway carrying a brown paper sack full of groceries, Mickey at his side. Max stopped short, stared at her and blinked. Mickey had no such compunction. The dog barked, raced to Serena and lifted his two front paws onto her lap to lick her face.
Max's expression quickly changed to confusion. "What are you doing here? Down, Mickey!"
The dog whined and slinked between Serena's feet as she tried to explain. "I was---"
"This is low, even for you." He tossed the groceries onto the counter, closed the distance between them and seized her arm. "I won't have you harassing my grandmother. If I have to haul you bodily onto a plane, I'll---"
"Ernetuar!" The shaman got slowly to her feet and shuffled over to place a palm on Max's chest. "Grandson. I invited her."
"You what?" His attention on his grandmother now, he released Serena's arm.
"Max, she is ivabiaqtuq uumifa!" Max's grandmother glanced back at Serena, her face full of joy, her smile glowing.
All color drained from Max's face at his grandmother's words. He looked over at Serena, his mouth set. "No."
"Ii."
"I'm what?" Whatever Evelyn had called her didn't sound good. "What is iva-bee-ak-tuke ooh-mee-fah?"
"No, Grandmother, you're wrong."
Evelyn shook her head. "I am not wrong."
She might as well have asked a wall for all the notice Max and his grandmother were taking of her. "Can someone please tell me what's going on?"
They both turned their attention to her, Evelyn grinning, Max glowering.
"My grandmother says you are the Searching One. The one whom her spirit guides foretold."
The old shaman nodded and laughed. It was more of a cackle, really, like one of Macbeth's witches stirring toil and trouble.
And Serena still had no idea what they were talking about.
MAX SHOVED his shaking hands in his pockets and stepped back to lean against the counter. He wasn't sure his knees would have held much longer. The Searching One. Serena? No way.
But his grandmother was not usually wrong.
Still, there had to be some mistake.
"What does that mean?" Serena switched her inquiring gaze from him to his grandmother, and back to him. "Is it because I search for the truth?"
"Ha." Max bit off a mocking laugh. "You wouldn't know the truth if---"
"Max!" his grandmother admonished him.
"I'm sorry, Aanaga, but you have to be mistaken. And you," he said as he glared at Serena, "need to leave."
"No," his grandmother protested. "She is my guest."
"He's right, Evelyn." Yanking her purse off the back of the chair, Serena slung it over her shoulder and bustled toward the front door. When she got to the entryway, she spun back and held her hand out to his grandmother. "Thank you for inviting me."
But his grandmother shook her head. "You have no way home except for Max. And I need him to fix my chimney before he leaves. You will stay for lunch. Max, too."
Max bit back a groan and clenched his fists. Now he had to give the meddling busybody a ride? True, he hadn't seen Serena's rental out front. How had she gotten here? Whoever drove her was going to hear about it. Probably Chris. The kid was barely legal to drink and he'd tried to give Max advice on women before.
"I don't want to be any trouble." Serena hesitated by the door, staring at him.
Max scoffed. "Lady, you've been trouble since the moment I laid eyes on you."
Her lips tightened and she raised her arrogant little chin.
"Be ready to leave in half an hour." He wouldn't disrespect his grandmother by refusing her guest a ride home. But that didn't mean he had to join them for lunch. "In the meantime, I'll be on the roof." He strode to the front door and then turned back. "Come on, Mick. You can keep me company."
Mickey raised his head and thumped his tail, but he stayed by Serena's side.
"Mick. Let's go."
The malamute whined, but he still didn't move.
"Fine. Stay there." He slammed out the front door.
MAX SANK ankle deep into the snow on the roof. That woman had some nerve being here.
Of course, he'd been the one to seek her out this morning. What a mistake that had been. What had he been thinking, pushing his way into her hotel room with a bed not three feet away? Not that they'd needed a bed. Damn, all he had to do was get near her and he wanted her.
Nah, that wasn't true. He wanted her even when he wasn't near her. Even when he was frustrated with her he wanted to strip her and take her.
The chimney pipe was fine, but once the snow melted he'd probably need to replace some shingles on the roof. He made a note to bring his hammer, some nails and a few new shingles next time he came. His stomach growled and his nose was frozen. Still, he wouldn't give that woman the---damn. Realizing his tactical error, he climbed down the ladder, brushed the ice off his parka and hurried into the cabin. He shouldn't have left her alone with his grandmother. No telling what she would reveal to Serena.
At the entry to the kitchen, he slowed, hearing his grandmother tell an old Iñupiat story---the one she used to tell him as a child about the crow that brought daylight to the Inuit people. He leaned against the door frame, closed his eyes and listened to his grandmother's voice.
"The crow shook his beak and said, 'I could only carry one small ball of daylight, and it will need to regain its strength every so often. So you'll only have daylight for half the year.'
"The people said, 'But we are happy to have daylight for half the year! Before you brought the ball to us it was dark all the time!' And so, that is why, in the land of the Inuit in the far north, it is dark for one-half of the year and light the other. The people never forgot it was Crow who brought them the gift of daylight and they take care never to hurt him---in case he decides to take it back."
Max peeked around the corner. Serena had her head resting in one hand, enthralled with his grandmother's story. "I love that." Gone was the sophisticated television personality he'd met in Anchorage. The woman sitting with his grandmother wearing an oversize cable-knit sweater and sealskin snow boots looked as if she'd lived in Barrow all her life.
His grandmother smiled so wide that her whole face beamed.
"Did she tell you the one about the woman who carried the lamp?" Max strode in, grabbed a bowl from the cabinet, filled it with soup and sat at the table.
Serena met his gaze. "And about Sedna, the goddess of the sea."
"Did you find the problem, grandson?"
"It's smoking just fine, Aanaga. I'll bring in more firewood before I go." He took a bite of the soup, barely registering that it was his favorite, moose stew.
His grandmother turned the page on an old photo album on the table before her. One he'd never seen. "This is my wedding picture." She smiled fondly down at the old black-and-white photo, and then turned the book so he could see. The couple standing in front of a small wood-and-mud shelter looked barely old enough to date, much less marry. They were just kids.
But the Iñupiat boy beamed at the camera as he held his bride tightly around the waist.
"How old were you there, Aanaga?"
"I was fifteen. Your grandfather seventeen."
"So young!" Serena said. "Didn't you say you were fifteen when you---"
"Ii. For a long time I thought I could not have children."
Max turned to his grandmother. "You've never told me that."
"You never asked my story, boy." His grandmother's tone didn't accuse. Only stated fact. There was love in her eyes as she looked at him, but something else also. As if she was urging him to...to ask?
He took her hand in both of his and kissed it gently. "I'm sorry, I've been so selfish, Aanaga."
She smiled. "Already she helps your soul find its way home."
Max blinked. Damn. Caught like a minnow in a net.
"Your grandfather found me when I could walk no farther. He cared for me. We were married a few months later." She rubbed a wrinkled finger over his picture. "He was so handsome. Always my hero."
"You miss him still," Serena said quietly, awe in her voice.
"Ii." His grandmother drew in a shaky breath.
It was as if he were seeing his grandmother for the first time. Although he'd heard stories about his grandfather, Max had never known him. He had died hunting whale.
His grandmother turned the page and there was his mother as a baby and a toddler. She seemed a happy child, smiling, being thrown in the air by her father. "How old was my mother when grandfather died?"
His grandmother raised her gaze to him. "Fifteen."
"And I was born when she was sixteen?"
"Ii." She nodded. "Holly grieved deeply for her father. And she loved to dance like her mother before her. She met your father when he was stationed here with the air force and ran off to Anchorage with him."
"What happened to Holly?" Serena asked the question he used to ask often as a little boy. Where is Mama?
A STRAINED SILENCE followed Serena's question. She'd put her foot in it again. Why couldn't she control her big mouth? "I'm sorry. That was thoughtless of me."
"No." Evelyn squeezed Max's hand and kept her sorrowful gaze on him. "She lives in Anchorage. Max---"
"I have to go." Max shoved back in his chair and stood.
"Max." Serena couldn't walk away from the plea in Evelyn's eyes. "Couldn't I---"
"Let's go."
Serena sat a second longer, then got to her feet and impulsively hugged Evelyn goodbye. With Max eyeing her, she grabbed her purse and parka and headed out to his truck.
A couple minutes later, Max strode out the door, motioned for Mickey to jump into the truck bed and dropped behind the wheel, slamming his door. "If you print or publish any of the information you just heard, I'll sue you."
Serena felt her jaw drop. "Since nothing I learned here today is the tiniest bit newsworthy, I don't see why I would."
Hands tight on the steering wheel, he swung around to glare at her. "Don't come here again."
Could a body actually seethe? She clenched her fist around her purse strap. No one had ever made her so furious. "If I'm invited again, I'll come." It was better than You're not the boss of me. Just barely.
His glare turned into a scowl. Then he faced forward, jammed the key in the ignition and started the engine.
Despite his temper he drove cautiously, slowing way ahead of stop signs and making turns at a snail's pace. It wasn't dusk yet, or foggy. Windy, as usual, but other than a little blowing snow, visibility seemed good.
"And you better not use anything you recorded yesterday either," Max said.
"If I get permission, I will. I can always edit you out."
His mouth tightened as he threw her a sidelong glance. "What would you want it for, anyway?"
"I'm thinking of making a documentary about Barrow." Boy, talk about making stuff up off the top of one's head.
"Yeah, right. How does that fit in with your 'save the world' crusade?"
"I've been doing some research." She'd read as much as she could about Alaska before she'd left L.A. for the Iditarod assignment. But did when really matter? "There's a climate change lab here."
"Oh, here we go."
"You've heard of the village of Shishmaref? Where houses are falling into the sea from the eroding coast line? And the thinner ice makes hunting walrus and seal more difficult."
"You think if you film some cute kids racing sleds suddenly the politicians will fall all over themselves to pass new clean energy legislation?"
Serena gritted her teeth. "I'm not an idiot. But it can sometimes make a difference to juxtapose a personal story over a global problem." Just keep shoveling it on, Serena.
"And you'd have to appear on all the big talk shows to tout your humanitarianism, right? Maybe even win a Nobel, huh? Meanwhile the people in Shishmaref are still trying to move their houses long after you and your cameras have exploited them."
She opened her mouth to deny it, but she couldn't. She'd never considered shining a light on a problem as exploitation. But was motivation a factor? If she were truthful, she'd admit part of her goal was to have something tangible to show her father. Max saw through her right down to the self-serving core.
She studied her fingernails. They'd gone from manicured, fake-tipped and polished, to broken and unvarnished, with a bit of dirt underneath. A metaphor for her life.
"You're right," she admitted quietly. "My motives are somewhat selfish."
His mouth fell open. She couldn't quite believe she was admitting it either. Not to him, at least.
"When I was a little girl I used to crawl up in my daddy's lap while he sat in his study pecking away at his typewriter. He'd tell me stories about the corruption and lies he was exposing, and I wanted to be just like him. The great Simon Sandstone. I'd see his Pulitzer gleaming on the shelf behind his desk and I'd think, 'Someday, I'm going to have one of those. I'm going to make a difference too.'"
"Your dad won a Pulitzer?"
"He single-handedly stopped a chemical company from dumping toxic waste into a nearby river. He was almost killed breaking that story. Even his editor wanted him to stop. We had police living with us after Dad received death threats. But he never revealed his informant's identity."
Max gave a low whistle. "Not easy to live up to."
"You know what he said to me once?"
Max glanced at her. "What?"
"After I landed the Travel in Style show, he said if my only contribution to the world was going to be travel tips, he'd wasted his money sending me to Berkeley."
She pushed down the knot in her throat and squeezed her eyes closed. Dang it, why was she crying now? She hadn't cried when he first said it. She'd felt ambushed and shocked, and then pissed as hell. But she hadn't let herself feel how much it had hurt.
She turned her face away and concentrated on staring out the window at the snow and ice. A tear slid down her cheek. She swiped at it and wiped it on her jeans. Risking a glance at Max, she was glad to see he was still watching the road, bouncing along in his truck, turning onto Main Street.
"You mentioned volunteering in New Orleans after Katrina?" Max murmured.
She sniffed. "Yeah."
"Well, it's not always about the Pulitzer, then, is it?" he asked.
Serena's heart swelled. Just when she thought maybe she should give up and go home. "Thank you for saying that."
He shrugged and there was companionable silence for a moment.
"So, what did you and my grandmother talk about?"
She tightened her lips to keep from smiling. "She told me about her people---your people, the Iñupiat."
"Did she talk about me?"
Serena hesitated. "She said that you were brilliant at math in school and that, to this day, your favorite meal is her moose stew."
He glanced at her again and she grinned. "I told her I wanted the recipe. I like to collect recipes from every place I visit."
He pulled to a stop in front of the hotel, turned to her with raised eyebrows and laid his arm along the back of the bench seat. "You cook?"
"Well." She thought of the five-star restaurants she'd eaten in all over the world. "I love to eat."
"That's what I thought." His expression changed from dubious to serious, his stare intense. Desire glittered in his dark brown eyes. What would he look like without the long hair and beard?
She yearned to scoot over the couple of feet between them and kiss him senseless. To feel his hands and mouth on her aching flesh again, to hear his breath shudder and his low moan.
"You better go." His voice had turned raspy.
He was right. She'd had enough insults from the man, and a rejection would ruin whatever meager truce they'd gained just now. "Thanks for the ride." She shoved open the rusty door, jumped out and raced into the North Slope Inn before she changed her mind.
THE WIND PICKED UP as Max drove home, loosening snowdrifts into flurries across his path and whistling eerily through the doors of his battered pickup. The clouds thickened and by the time he pulled under his carport, it might as well have been sundown, it was so dark.
Mickey jumped out and whined at the cabin door.
The half of him that believed in such things would say the earth was angry. But what did the earth have to complain about? He'd only been trying to protect his grandmother from a predatory would-be journalist.
Yeah, she'd looked real dangerous, sitting there sipping tea and listening to Aanaga tell old stories.
He slammed into his cabin and pitched his keys onto the kitchen table. Mickey barked by his food bowl.
"All right, I'm coming." He fed Mick and then grabbed a beer from the fridge and dropped onto the sofa. There was probably a game on. He sipped his beer, contemplating turning on the TV.
Instead of cold glass touching his lips he could have a soft, fiery female beneath them. Damn, she'd looked good sitting beside him in his truck. With her Iñupiat parka and sealskin boots, she'd looked as if she belonged there more than he did.
Between that and the sob story she'd given him about her dad. Okay, so it had gotten to him. And she'd deployed the ultimate weapon. What man could resist that lone tear she'd wiped off her cheek?
But he didn't want to soften toward her. And he sure as hell didn't intend to let her go near his grandmother again.
The phone rang and he snatched it off the base. His phone seldom rang unless Chris or his grandmother needed something. "Taggert."
"Max, you forgot to bring in more firewood before you left."
"Aanaga?" He leaned forward and set his beer on the table. "I'm sorry for storming out today. I'll be right over."
"No, I have enough for tonight. But if you come in the morning, I'll make you breakfast like I used to when you were a boy."
"I'll be there at first light. But you don't have to cook."
"Yes, I do. I have a guest coming. By the way, could you pick up Serena on the way? That woman is no good with directions."
Max leaned back on the sofa, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, Aanaga. I don't want her there. She only wants to use you for a story about me."
"Max, do you trust me?"
"I trust that you mean well. But---"
"I know what I've seen. I know what is right. In my heart. In my soul."
"But, Aanaga, you don't understand."
"And besides. I have already called to invite her. I'll ask Chris to bring her."
"No, Aanaga." But she'd already hung up. Punching the off button, he tossed the phone onto the cushion beside him.
Dammit.
He sat up, snatched his beer off the table and took a long swig. As much as he did not want to see Serena again, he couldn't stop thinking of her, the way she'd looked in her hotel room this morning, her silky top torn and bunched around her waist, stubborn as hell and defying him one minute and then admitting he was right the next. And baring those full, rose-tipped breasts, her long hair tousled from being taken against the wall---he'd never had a woman that way before. So wild and abandoned. He groaned and finished his beer.
It was going to be a long night.
MAX WAS UP before dawn, restless, agitated. He almost called Chris to ask him not to drive Serena, but Max wouldn't put the poor guy in the middle of this mess. Best to take care of this himself.
After updating his business accounts and paying a few bills, he headed to his grandmother's to bring in firewood and intercept Serena.
When he pulled his truck into the driveway, Mickey barked and scratched to get out as Serena got out of Chris's SUV and waved him off. She was dressed in her traditional parka and snow boots. The hood was pulled up and her purse hung off one shoulder.
Max climbed out of the truck as she walked by, and Mickey almost knocked him over to jump on her. She stooped to scratch behind his ears and comb her fingers through his thick fur, talking to him in a high, sweet voice. It was disgusting how Mickey lolled his tongue out and drank in the attention.
Max watched her fingers massaging Mick and wanted them tangling through his hair, dammit. Awareness of her was a constant irritant, like fleas biting at him. Breathing in her tantalizing scent didn't help. He'd already spent most of the night in this tortured condition.
"I told you to stay away from my grandmother."
She glanced up. "And I told you if she invited me, I'd come." Her eyes were narrowed and her lips tightened in defiance.
"We'll see about that." He headed for the door, opened it without knocking and stepped in, slamming it shut behind him just as she reached it. He heard her huff of anger and smiled to himself.
A loud knock sounded on the door along with Mickey's bark. Let the traitor dog stay out there with Ms. Stubborn. He strode into the kitchen, where the aroma of sizzling bacon made his stomach growl. "Aanaga?"
His grandmother spun from the stove just as another knock sounded at the door. "You break my heart, grandson." She pressed a hand to her chest.
"Aanaga, you are too trusting."
"And you are not trusting enough." She shuffled close to him and cupped his face in her gnarled hands. "Tell me I did not raise a man to be so rude."
Max closed his eyes against the pleading in hers. But it was no use. He could never withstand her censure.
With an aggravated growl, he went to open the front door. Serena had her hand raised to knock again. She glared at him. "In case you hadn't noticed, it's freezing out here."
He stepped back and gestured for her to come in. "I'll be here the whole time, in case you try to trick her into giving you information again."
Sparks of fury lit her eyes as her glare turned fiercer still. Her cheeks flushed pink, her lips compressed.
Feigning indifference, he folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.
She crossed her arms too. "Since you hate me being here so much, you want to fly me to Shishmaref tomorrow?"
"No."
"I'd pay you, of course."
"I told you before. I don't fly passengers."
"Then I guess I'll be spending a lot of time with your grandmother." She sailed past him and turned into the kitchen with a smile. "Evelyn." She took his grandmother's hand. "Mmm, it smells wonderful in here. Once you get past the stench by the door," she threw over her shoulder at him.
"Serena. Chris said you saw our dancers last night?" She pulled out a chair and sat, gesturing for Serena to join her.
Serena nodded. "Arna and Chris took me. I loved the beating drums and watching the intricate traditional movements."
"I remember the year Max danced with them."
"Aanaga." Max leaned against the fridge, his arms still folded over his chest.
"Max dances?" Serena smirked at him. "I can't picture it."
"My grandmother taught me when I was a kid," he offered.
"Oh, I wish I could have seen that." She was grinning at him, her white teeth flashing, her beautiful blue eyes twinkling.
"Why? What do you care about me as a kid?"
She lifted a shoulder. "I can't explain why, but you fascinate me." The curve of her face was framed by the soft sweep of her long brunette curls falling past her shoulders. When she smiled and turned on the charm, her extraordinary beauty hit his psyche like an arrow to his chest. Throw in her unusual interest... He better watch himself around her. She shouldn't have that kind of power over him.
"I'm going to bring in the firewood." He turned and stalked off.
MAX'S GRANDMOTHER WAS a wonderful cook. Hot coffee, cinnamon rolls, bacon, eggs. Serena sat and stared into her creamy coffee. Did she really even care about Shishmaref? Its story had been told, or she wouldn't have read about it in her research. An update might be interesting, but she still burned to know what had happened to Max the day of the crash. And flying with him somewhere would have given her a chance to ask some questions with a captive interviewee.
She still wanted to know why he blamed himself so much that he'd holed up in his cabin for months. Was it just the horrific experience of almost dying? Or survivor's guilt? Or had something else happened that fateful day?
She'd decided she wouldn't use his grandmother as a source. Not that she would willingly hurt Max with the story, but she was after the truth, whatever it turned out to be. And if the facts turned up something bad, she'd hate herself for using Max's sweet grandmother.
Not that the woman seemed prone to tell Serena anything useful.
"That should be enough firewood to last you the week, Aanaga." Max dusted off his hands on his jeans as he stood from a crouch where he'd dropped the last armload of logs next to the fireplace.
Evelyn's house was basically a two-room cabin. The large front room was kitchen and dining on one side and a living room on the other, with a bedroom and bathroom in the back.
"You are a good man, grandson." Evelyn patted his bearded cheek as he sat next to her.
"Only you think so, Aanaga." He slid a glance at Serena.
When Max called his grandmother Aanaga, his voice softened. His whole demeanor changed when he spoke to her. "Maybe if you didn't work so hard to make everyone believe you were bad..." Serena challenged him.
"He has always been that way," Evelyn said. "He set himself apart from the other children, never making friends. Always so angry."
"You want more coffee, Aanaga?" Max interrupted her.
The carafe was closest to Serena, so she refilled Evelyn's mug.
"He would come home with a bloody nose or a black eye from fighting with bullies who called him half-breed, and I could do nothing."
Suddenly feeling intrusive, Serena tried to change the subject. "I was hoping you would give me that recipe for moose stew."
Evelyn pinned her with a sharp-eyed look. "You must not fight your destiny, Serena. The Searching One will find Max's wandering soul."
"Aanaga, enough." Max stood. "If you're going to keep talking like that, I'll take Serena home." His face was stone hard, and he glared at her as if this was somehow her fault, which was ridiculous---she was on his side on this. Even if she believed in destiny, she believed one made one's own fortune.
But, Serena had chosen to come here.
"Very well." Evelyn bowed her head, as if in defeat. "I will be quiet."
"Aanaga." Max drew her name out like a warning and his lips curved slightly in the semblance of a smile. "You don't fool me with that meek and humbled act."
She raised her head and smiled at her grandson. "If I promise not to speak of the Searching One, will you repair my dripping bathroom faucet?"
Max crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes at his grandmother. "I'll take a look. But I mean it." He pointed an index finger at her, and then gave one last glare directed at them both. Muttering something about his toolbox in the truck, he strode out the front door.
Evelyn turned back to Serena. "Now that he's gone we can talk freely."
"Um, maybe we shouldn't---"
The old lady waved a hand. "We only say what we must, ii?"
Serena hesitated. But she longed to hear more about Max. And not for any story. Surely he couldn't object if the information was for her ears alone.
Max slammed back in carrying a battered toolbox and walked down the hall.
"So, tell me how Max came to be a pilot." Serena refilled her own mug with coffee and settled in to hear about Max's father, the air force pilot down in Texas. Seems when Max contacted him after never hearing from the man for eighteen years, his dad paid for Max's college and flying lessons. "It was the hardest thing I ever did. Letting him go to Texas all alone." Evelyn got to her feet and began stacking recently washed plates and utensils. Serena rose to help.
"But Max had to start a new life after his wife---"
"Aanaga!"
Serena jumped as if she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
Max stood at the entry to the kitchen scowling.
His grandmother turned an innocent look on him. "I only promised not to speak of the Searching One. And I have not."
He grunted. "I fixed the leak, Aanaga. Now it's time for me and Serena to leave."
Despite feeling guilty, only one thing reverberated in Serena's brain. Max had a wife. Or at least, he'd had one at some point. She desperately wanted to know what had happened. But she sure couldn't ask him right now.
Evelyn held her hand. "Will you come back tomorrow?"
Serena looked to Max for an answer, but his face seemed to be frozen in a perpetual scowl. She turned back to Evelyn. "If I can." Giving the old lady a quick hug and kiss on her weathered cheek, Serena picked up her purse and headed out to the truck.
Mickey followed on her heels, and Max behind him. He motioned for the dog to jump into the truck bed, and then joined her in the cab. But instead of starting the engine, he sat a few seconds, then wiped a hand down his beard and scratched under his jaw. What was going on?
"You still want to get to Shishmaref, right?"
Serena had to switch gears in her mind. "Uh...sure."
"I'll fly you there and back, no charge, if you leave Barrow after that."
Talk about being blindsided. Wow, did that hurt. Her chest actually ached. It shouldn't feel personal, but it did.
"My grandmother has gotten the wrong idea about us. I don't want her hurt."
"I think your grandmother is smarter than you give her credit for."
"But you'll still go behind my back and squeeze information from her."
"Squeeze? I tried to discourage her."
"Yeah, right."
Why did every conversation with this man end with her wanting to slug him? "Okay, let's say you're right and I'm a slimeball reporter sneakily gathering information on you for a story."
He slanted her a look and she crossed her arms. "Okay, okay. I did do that in the beginning. My point is, I did some investigating and I've found no evidence of drug running, or murder, or even spying for Russia. And I just flat don't believe you've done any of those things. So, it seems to me, telling your story would only exonerate you."
"So, you are still trying to do a story on me." His eyes glittered with anger.
"No. That's not what I meant. I was just making a point. You know what? Never mind. Fly me to Shishmaref tomorrow and then I'll leave Alaska forever, okay?"
"Good."
"Good!" She crossed her arms and faced the window.
"Fine."
"Fine." It was so cold in the truck she could see her breath when she talked.
He drove her to the hotel in silence and then just before she got out, he said, "We'll leave for the airport at seven."
She finally looked at him. "Fine." And she slammed the door.
MAX CHECKED with the tower, and then taxied down the runway, preparing for takeoff. He'd flown supplies into Shishmaref on his way from Nome often enough to be familiar with the airport and the ground crew there.
Serena sat beside him, cold and silent. She hadn't spoken to him all morning.
After takeoff and banking to head south, he glanced her way.
She was leaning toward the window on her side, staring out, with her video camera in her lap. Guess she wasn't planning on speaking at all. Now, why the hell did that bother him? He set his jaw and concentrated on his instruments and the weather. At least Mickey seemed to have returned as his ally.
Serena gasped. "Are those moose? Oh, there are so many." She lifted her camera and started filming.
So, now she was speaking to him? Max checked outside his window. "Caribou."
"Oh." She finally looked at him. "Is there any way you could fly lower and follow the herd for a sec?"
He almost snapped that he wasn't a tour guide, but, what the hell. He'd let her have this last day. Then he'd be rid of her. He radioed the Barrow tower and then reduced his altitude a couple hundred feet.
"Oh, they're magnificent." She continued filming for a few minutes, then put down her camera and turned to him. "Thank you."
He gave her a quick nod, uncomfortable with the warm gratitude in her voice. Why'd she have to make him feel like a heel all of a sudden? He had every right to want her gone.
"Oh, wow, are those seals?"
Sure enough, a large seal population was lying out along the rocky coastline. The plane was too high up to tell if they were the spotted or bearded variety.
This gave Max an idea. April in the Chukchi Sea... If she liked the caribou and seals, she'd love this. He took a minute to calculate his fuel consumption and figured he could just make it.
"You ever seen a pod of whales?"
She quickly faced him, her eyes alight with excitement. "No. Is it possible to see them from here?"
"Yep. 'Bout this time of year the bowhead are swimming north to their summer feeding grounds around Barrow. Mostly alone, but sometimes you can catch them in a pod."
"Oh, Max, that would be so cool." Her smile hit him right in the chest, just like when he'd first seen her in Anchorage. It was enough to bring most men to their knees and he wasn't immune.
Turning the steering wheel, he banked to the west, heading out over the Chukchi to look for any signs of a bowhead. Visibility was good, with the sun struggling through the clouds every once in a while. If there were any around here, chances were good they'd see them.
After a few miles with no sighting, he banked just a bit farther west and got lucky. He heard Serena gasp about the same time he spotted them.
"Oh, Max."
Three bowheads surfaced and then slipped back into the sea, their tails flipping into the dark water.
"Oh, they're so beautiful. I don't even care that I didn't get them recorded. That was amazing." She put her hand on his forearm. "Thank you, Max."
He shrugged. "Keep your camera ready. We might see more."
Her enthusiasm was so infectious he couldn't help but feel the thrill of seeing the huge creatures himself. Searching the still icy waters below for more bowhead, he was eventually rewarded. Two large heads breached the water and splashed back down, as if showing off for Serena's camera.
After they disappeared back into the depths of the sea, he watched Serena lower her camera to her lap and meet his gaze. She didn't say a word, but this time her silence didn't bother him. Everything she felt was right there on her face, and in her eyes. Amazement. Gratitude. Awe. And something more. Something he'd acknowledged as fact but never felt in his heart.
It was spring in the Arctic. He'd lived most of his thirty-two years here. He'd seen polar bear cubs emerge from their dens, the arctic fox raise her pups and wild-flowers bloom on the tundra. He'd seen the majesty of mountains, and the glory of the northern lights. But just now, on a deep, visceral level, he felt something he'd never appreciated. The earth's capacity for rebirth.
And a human's, too?
A lump formed in his throat and he fought hard to push down the emotion. Good thing he wore his sunglasses.
For the rest of the trip he concentrated on making it to Shishmaref and landing safely. When he was feeling this good, usually something in life came along and knocked him down. But not today, if he had anything to say about it.
Landing was tricky. The only runway was located on part of the island that wasn't much wider than the landing strip itself.
After he touched down smooth as glass, he taxied to the only hangar and then got out to tie down the plane and see about refueling.
Serena disappeared inside. She didn't even say goodbye.
What did he care? But for some reason, he felt...alone. Which was stupid. He was always alone. Alone worked for him.
She reappeared, walking toward him, smiling, her hair blowing behind her. The sun came out from behind the clouds at that moment and turned her hair into burnished copper.
A foot away from him, she stopped. "I have an appointment to speak with someone from the village council, but not until one. Want to get some lunch?"
The emotions he'd managed to push down earlier came back. Damn. If he wasn't careful she'd have him believing a beautiful, intelligent woman could be interested in him. Next thing you know he'd be sucked into her fantasy world where wrongs could be righted and guys like him got a second chance. Then as soon he started believing in the dream, she'd move on to her next assignment.
"No, you go ahead." He tipped his head toward the gas pump. "I need to get more fuel."
"You need to eat, too." She smiled at him expectantly.
"I've got Mickey. I'll grab something out of the vending machine."
Her smile faded. She pulled up her hood, spun on her heel and walked away.
Max gritted his teeth and swallowed. Tore his gaze away and called to his dog. While the plane refueled he ate some crackers and drank a stale cup of coffee, then fed Mickey some beef jerky.
The rest of the day passed slowly. He played checkers with an old air force vet in the hangar's office, tried to nap a little in an ancient metal chair, watched a couple planes take off and land. The village of three hundred wasn't a bustling metropolis.
He wondered what Serena was doing and whether she had learned anything new to write about or found anyone who would talk to her about relocating an entire village before it slipped into the sea forever. Max could see high waves crashing over the eroding land from where he stood. But unless you were the one losing a community that had been around hundreds of years, who cared?
Evidently Serena did.
About half an hour before they were supposed to leave, he checked all the weather reports and ran a preflight check on his plane. There were a couple of storms predicted on route for later this evening, but they should be past them before they hit, and even if they caught the tail end of one, it was nothing he hadn't flown in before. He sure as hell didn't want to stay here tonight.
When Serena didn't show up at their agreed-upon time, he started pacing the hangar.
He was about to call out a search party when she showed up at the hangar forty-five minutes late. "I said to be back by five." He held up his left wrist with his cheapo watch on it.
"I know, I'm sorry." She jogged through the hangar to the plane. "I totally got caught up in filming this house that's falling off a cliff, and then the mayor invited me to dinner."
Making sure she heard his disgusted sigh as he climbed into his Cessna 206 behind Mickey, he shoved his Ray-Bans on and started the engine. "If the runway had gotten icy, we'd have had a hell of a time taking off."
"You could do it. You took off from a frozen lake, remember?" She smiled at him.
"I bet you were a cheerleader in school, weren't you?"
She pulled a face. "And you were probably voted most likely to pronounce the glass half-empty."
Ignoring her gibe, he taxied the plane down the run way, talking to the tower and, once he got cleared, took off.
For the first half hour, he listened while she talked about the village of Shishmaref and the people there. When he spotted dark clouds ahead he radioed the tower in Wainwright and decided to try to go around the storm front. The amount of fuel limited how far they could go, but he banked to the east and, though it cost them half an hour, they got around it and were back on route. His shoulders relaxed and he drew a relieved breath.
He checked the wings. No ice.
They had flown another ten minutes in a companionable silence when a huge front of dark clouds rolled in off the Chukchi Sea directly in their path.
The second front. But it was much bigger.
He pushed down the beginnings of panic and checked his fuel.
A potent gust of wind lifted and bounced the plane around like a child playing with a toy. Serena looked over at him with a worried expression. "Are we going to go around this storm too?"
He shook his head. "Not enough fuel." He shoved his sunglasses on top of his head as they entered a dark, thick cloud. "There's going to be some turbulence, and it's important you stay calm."
She frowned at him. "I'm not scared, Max. I trust you."
He blinked, realizing he'd expected her to panic like his buddy had that day of the crash.
The plane continued to bounce around and she didn't move or say a word. In fact, when Mickey whined, Serena reached down and rubbed his head and ears and made soothing noises.
Then sleet hit the windshield. For the next forty minutes, it took every ounce of attention and control Max had to keep the plane steady through the storm. The Cessna was jolted and buffeted every which way so badly, Serena would have been thrown out of her seat if she hadn't been strapped in. But, though she may have gone a little white around the mouth, she never succumbed to hysteria, or cried, or even complained.
Max watched in awe as she comforted Mickey, and once, she touched his arm and asked if he was getting tired.
"I wish I could be more help," she said, and bit her bottom lip. As if this was somehow her fault. Most people would be blaming him for getting them into this.
Finally he was able to radio Wiley Post-Will Rogers Memorial Airport and get his bearings. As he lowered altitude to get out of the clouds, their ride smoothed somewhat and the Barrow runway lights came into sight. The landing was rough, but considering it was still sleeting, he was lucky he didn't slide off the runway and crash. When he finally taxied into the hangar and shut off the engine, his hands ached from gripping the yoke so tight.
"You did it!" Serena reached across the seat and threw her arms around him, smiling as if he'd won a gold medal. She kissed him on the cheek, then pulled back and planted one on his mouth. When she would have stopped, he gripped her shoulders and took control, slanting his mouth over hers with possessive intent.
"Max." She whispered against his lips. "Take me to your house. I want to be with you tonight."
She didn't have to ask him twice. He threw open his door, called to Mickey, then went around to help her out. When she would have jumped down on her own, he gripped her waist with both hands and lifted her down and into his arms, kissing her again so she wouldn't change her mind. She trembled in his arms, making soft encouraging noises as he kissed down her throat.
He could barely breathe, couldn't think. He only knew he had to have her now.
Once in his truck she slid over so Mick could ride in the cab, then pressed herself as close to him as she could and kissed along his neck, unbuttoning his shirt and kissing down to his collarbone. Her hands played with his hair and caressed his nape. He could barely watch the road with her practically climbing in his lap.
And he soaked it up like a starving mongrel.
Wrapped in each other's arms, they stumbled into his house and back to his bedroom, shutting the door and leaving Mickey to fend for himself. Max silently vowed he'd make it up to his faithful companion later. But right now he was busy pulling off Serena's sweater, and yanking off her boots and jeans until all she wore was a black lacy bra and thong.
She fumbled with his zipper and once she had it down she sank to her knees, pulled out his cock and took him into her mouth.
Biting back a curse word, he gripped the sides of her head, plunging his fingers into her hair as she sucked him hard and swirled her tongue around the tip. "Serena," he groaned.
She sat back on her heels and looked up at him. "I got so turned-on watching you fly that plane. So in control, so strong."
Emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He grasped her shoulders, pulled her to her feet and poured what he couldn't say into his kiss. You're beautiful, and brave, and generous. You make me see the world differently. Better.
Still kissing her, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her down gently. He pulled off his boots and socks and she started to unhook her bra.
"No." He stopped her. He wanted to remember her lying here in her tiny scraps of black lace. He'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life, and he probably never would again. Her lips wet and swollen, her breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath, and her flat stomach quivering.
"What are you thinking when you look at me like that?" she asked.
"I'm thinking...I want to remember you like this forever."
She smiled. "Oh, Max."
He shucked his jeans and underwear, and then crawled onto the bed to lie beside her. Lifting a hand, he ran the back of a finger under the lacy edge of her bra and sprinkled kisses wherever his finger went, then traced the finger up and slowly pulled a strap down and kissed her shoulder and the side of her neck.
Her skin was so supple, so soft. The fragrant scent of her expensive cologne, mixed with the tang of her feminine desire, sent an ache to his chest.
While he nibbled her earlobe, he could hear her breathing speed up, felt her breath against his temple. His hand traveled down her arm to her waist, gripped her hip then flattened his palm on her stomach. She bent her knee and rolled her pelvis up, encouraging him to slide his fingers beneath the lacy triangle covering her. It was soaking wet.
He made a pleased noise at discovering she was so eager for him and teased her opening with featherlight strokes until her squirming protest drove him to plunge a finger deep inside her. She gasped in his ear and he covered her mouth with his, his lips playing with hers. His tongue entered her mouth and matched the rhythm of his finger thrusting inside her.
She whimpered into his mouth and writhed beneath him. Unable to wait any longer, he left her mouth and suckled her stiff nipple until the lacy bra was soaked through. "Yes, more," she begged. He suckled harder, stroked her faster, and rubbed her swollen clit with his thumb until she cried out and her hips lifted off the mattress. Her arms hugged him tight, one hand on the back of his head as she yelled out her pleasure.
Her arms fell to her sides as she gulped in air, and he smoothed his hands over her body as she slowly came back to him. He could feel her ribs beneath his lips as he nibbled her alabaster skin, grasped behind her knee to roll her toward him and bent to kiss the back of her thigh.
"Mmm," she moaned, her eyes closed. A smile curved her lips.
The tiny string of her thong ran between her taut butt cheeks and he tugged it out of the way and fondled her butt with both hands, parting the cheeks to run a lone finger between her thighs from behind.
She twisted under his arm and took his cock between her lips again, sucking him deep into her mouth while he continued to play with her. He could barely think beyond the feel of her heat and suction and tongue surrounding his erection. He could feel the tension building in his balls as he traced her spine with one finger, feeling every delicate vertebra and then followed the path with his mouth, sweeping her long dark hair out of the way. Then he froze.
"How long have you had this?" He touched the tattoo on the back of her shoulder.
She came up for air, but still encircled his twitching cock in her palm and played with him mercilessly. "My owl? I got it done in college. Total nerd head, huh?"
"Why did you choose an owl?"
She shrugged. "I've always collected owls. Since I saw one in the woods when I was a little girl camping with my family."
Before he could fully absorb the information, she continued her assault on his cock. He couldn't contain his groan. "Don't know how long I'll last with you doing that."
"You're one to complain." She wiggled her bottom where his fingers still played with her damp folds. Then her mouth consumed him again, sucking hard as she moved up and down his length.
"Okay, enough." He cupped her face and pulled her lips to his. He moved over her, parting her thighs with his knees. Both bra straps hung down her arms and something about her having it on made his blood race even faster. But he wanted to see her. Gripping the edges of the bra, he pulled it down until her breasts popped out above it. With a soft groan of appreciation he cupped them and caressed them, rolling the nipples between his thumbs and fingers.
"Having a good time?" She smirked at him but her breathing had sped up again---she was enjoying it as much as he.
"I think I could play with these for days, maybe weeks." He grinned, and she lost her smile and cupped his face.
"This is the first time I've seen you smile."
He stopped smiling and took her nipple into his mouth, running his tongue around the tip and nibbling with his lips.
Between gasps, she said, "Come inside me, Max."
Letting her nipple pop out of his mouth, he reached for a packet in his bedside drawer and rolled on protection. Gripping her hip in one hand, he pulled her thong down and off one leg. She giggled as they struggled getting it off and he thought he'd remember that sound forever.
He fitted himself to her and thrust in, gritting his teeth not to come right then and there. A rough moan escaped as he pulled out and plunged back in. "Serena." His eyes closed as he pressed soft kisses on her breasts.
Every time he pushed in she voiced her encouragement, gripping his hips with her thighs. He loved that she wasn't shy about expressing her satisfaction. She was right there with him, clutching his butt, digging her nails into his back as he pushed inside her.
Fire burned in his veins, his heart pounded and his balls tightened. He raised his head to look into her cobalt-blue eyes, wrapped an arm beneath her hips and thrust hard and deep one last time. The room spun. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. Behind his closed eyes he saw a vision. He was wandering in a dark fog, lost---had been lost for years. A white owl appeared on a branch and he knew he was supposed to follow it home.
"Max?"
He couldn't lift his head. His lids were so heavy.
"Max, are you okay?" She shook his shoulders, then finger-combed his hair off his forehead and caressed his scalp.
Gulping in air, he opened his eyes and was back in his bedroom. He must be suffocating her. Feeling weak as a newborn pup, he pushed up and rolled to his side. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"I think you passed out."
"Well, that's impressive." He wiped a hand down his face and finally met her gaze. She was smiling at him. That was a good sign. "Did you...?"
"Oh, yes. I'm good. Or, you're good." She turned on her side to face him. "We're both good." Her bright smile reassured him and he closed his eyes again. Exhaustion washed over him. But something inside him felt different. Lighter. In both senses of the word. Not as heavy. And not as dark.
The last thing he remembered was Serena snuggling in next to him.
SERENA WOKE UP just as Max came out of the bathroom wearing only jeans.
"Morning, sleepyhead."
She smiled, admiring his long, lean body in the jeans. They rode low on his narrow hips and his chest was just muscular enough to tell his brawn came from hard work, not a fancy gym membership meant to impress. "Good morning," she mumbled.
"How about pancakes?"
"Mmm, sounds good." She stretched and rolled to get out of bed.
"I'll get them started." But he didn't move. His gaze followed her as she padded naked to the bathroom. "Good thing you wore me out an hour ago or you'd have to wait on breakfast."
Once she got to the kitchen, wearing only his sweatshirt, he already had a pancake cooking in the skillet. It smelled wonderful. "I need to learn how to do this."
"Here you go." He handed her the spatula. "It's ready to turn over."
"Oh man. Okay. Here goes nothing." She slid the utensil under the pancake, or she thought she did. She ended up folding the thing in half.
"Hmm...you weren't kidding. Let's try it again." He slid behind her, wrapped his arms around her and took her hand in his. "It's all in the wrist." He poured more batter in, and then started nibbling on her neck.
She pressed her bottom back against his erection and he growled as he slid a hand under her---his---sweatshirt and cupped her breast. Serena twisted to kiss him, languid and leisurely, exploring his mouth with her tongue.
Then she smelled the odor of something burning. She spun back to see smoke rising from the skillet. "No," she wailed.
Max grabbed the skillet, tossed it into the sink and ran the cold water. He rubbed his eyes, and then dropped his hands to his hips. "You really weren't kidding when you said you couldn't cook."
"That was so not my fault. And I didn't say I couldn't cook." Unable to hold her mock glare, she grinned. "I just said I liked to eat."
He stepped close and folded her in his arms. "I noticed that last night."
She giggled and the grin on his face was just too cute.
"How about oatmeal?" he offered. "Can you boil water?"
"Ooh!" She snapped the towel at him, but he dodged it easily enough.
The way he looked up at her, his eyes twinkling, smiling so relaxed, it was hard to believe only yesterday he'd been trying to get rid of her.
He kissed her, long and deep. She kissed him back, and it was either go back to bed or get some clothes on. And not because she was freezing.
Mickey stuck his cold nose on her thigh, and she flinched, breaking the kiss. "My feet are freezing." She searched the den for her socks, and then hopped on one foot as she put them on.
Even smaller than Evelyn's, Max's cabin was sparse compared to his grandmother's. No artwork or knick knacks, only a floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelf lining most of one wall.
The shelves were crammed with both hardbacks and paperbacks. Hopelessly curious, she perused his selections and found them unexpectedly fascinating. History of the Klondike, The Notebooks of Leonardo Da Vinci, Twain's Life on the Mississippi and Propagation of Intensive Laser Radiation in Clouds. Plus several shelves full of mysteries and thrillers. And lying across the top of some paperbacks was a photo that looked like it'd been crumpled up and then straightened out.
She glanced at the kitchen doorway. Max was still in there making their oatmeal. Serena picked it up and turned it to the light. It was of Max when he was young and beardless. He couldn't have been much more than eighteen, standing with his arm around the waist of an even younger, obviously pregnant Iñupiat girl.
His wife.
Max had a child? Where was the child now? What had happened to his wife and baby?
The man had layers to him she longed to peel away. She could take months getting to know him. But she had to be in Buenos Aires next week. Plus she'd made a deal with Max to leave after he took her to Shishmaref. Would he still hold her to that?
"Oatmeal's ready."
Serena jumped and put the photo back.
He followed her action and then looked back at her, his eyes wary.
Maybe it was just her guilty conscience. But it wasn't as if she'd gone rummaging around in a desk or something. Which he didn't have.
"You have an eclectic mix of books," she said as she went to join him in the kitchen.
"What do you like to read?" He moved his laptop off the table and set the two bowls and spoons down.
"I like all kinds of fiction, and some nonfiction. Biographies are my favorite. And history. I wouldn't mind getting my hands on a copy of that Notebooks of Da Vinci." She nodded her head in the direction of the bookshelf.
"You can take that one."
"Oh, I didn't mean---I can find it---" He was offering her something of his. The offer seemed to mean more than the loaning of a book. "I suppose I can mail it back to you when I'm done."
And there it was. The elephant in the room. She still wanted an interview, and he still wanted her to leave Barrow tomorrow.
He stared at her, his frown returned. "How about I take you out on the snowmobile today. Show you something I think you'll like."
"I've been skiing lots of times, but I've never ridden a snowmobile."
"Dress warm. The place I want to take you is almost an hour away."
MAX MADE SURE Serena bundled up before letting her outside. He handed her the spare helmet, then got on while she clicked the strap under her chin and threw her leg over the seat, settling in behind him.
"Ready?" he asked.
She gave him a thumbs-up and then wrapped her arms around his waist.
He liked having her arms around him as he sped across the snow. He could feel her at his back and every so often he would hear her sigh or gasp with appreciation for the beauty of this stark land.
Following the coastline still packed with ice, he headed east and finally reached the icy peninsula they called seal island.
"Oh, Max." He loved hearing the awe in her voice. It was a large spotted seal community, lying around on the outcrop of rocky land.
He was lucky the seals were here. They moved around to different places. "We can't get too close. There might be polar bears around, plus, you could scare them into the sea."
"They're magnificent." Pulling off her helmet, she left the snowmobile and lifted her camera, filming as she moved closer.
Max followed her, checking the snow for bear prints. None here today, so far.
As she recorded the seals through her viewfinder, Serena wasn't watching where she walked, and he grabbed her elbow to keep her off the slippery ice. Finally she turned the camera off, stuck it back inside her parka and just watched the seals.
Dropping back, Max turned to watch for polar bears. He didn't intend to get caught between a bear and the sea.
Without warning a snowball hit him hard on his right shoulder. He spun to see Serena bent over packing more snow into a tight ball. She looked up and grinned. The game was on.
As she sent her next missile flying, Max dove for the snowmobile as cover, scooped up a second handful and pitched it straight at her torso.
Bull's-eye!
Shrieking, she threw her snowball and only missed him because he ducked. While she threw another and missed, he built up an arsenal and pitched them one after the other as she screamed and darted, dodging most of his volleys until one caught her in her long, brown hair hanging below her snow cap.
"All right." She stopped and gave him a faux glare. "This means war." She ran straight at him, scooping up a double handful of snow as she approached. Max kept pounding her with snowballs, trying to avoid her face. She reached him and jumped on him, rubbing the snow in his beard. He fell backward, taking her with him until they were rolling around in the snow laughing, each trying to stuff snow down the other's snowsuit.
Max stopped. She lay on him, smiling, her hair falling forward, so beautiful. He couldn't remember the last time he'd played like this. Maybe not ever. But it felt good to play with Serena, hear her laughter.
She brought her head down to his and kissed him, smoothing his hair out of his face with her gloves.
If he hadn't been lying down, her kiss would've brought him to his knees. She tasted of oats and wholesomeness. Sweet and feminine one minute, naughty and pulling his bottom lip between her teeth the next. He could lie here forever and kiss her and think he'd done enough with his life.
She was crazy to think she could save the world with her journalistic ambitions, but suddenly he wanted her to be right. He wanted her to succeed. He couldn't bear to see her hopes crushed. Someone with her noble intentions should win.
"Mmm, I love it when you kiss me like that." Her lips curved up in a small smile.
"Like what?" The woman held nothing back.
"You started kissing me like this was your last moment on earth, and everything you are was in that kiss." She dipped down and pressed small kisses to each corner of his mouth, to his temple and behind his ear.
What did he say to that? He grasped the back of her head and took her mouth, trying to put truth to her words. Rolling her to her back, he kissed her until she whimpered. Even wrapped completely in a thick snowsuit she turned him on.
"Do you have hot chocolate?"
Max lifted his head and blinked. "Uh, I have instant."
"Perfect." She grinned. "I can boil water."
He rolled to his side, sat up and raised a brow. "This is what you're thinking of when I kiss you?"
She giggled. "Only because I'm freezing." Getting to her feet, she raced for the snowmobile, calling behind her, "We can continue what we were doing in a warmer place."
SOMEHOW THE HOT CHOCOLATE got put off until after a shared hot shower. By the time they were dried and dressed again, she was starving. Max opened a can of tomato soup and made the best grilled cheese sandwiches she'd ever eaten.
After lunch they took Mickey out for a romp in the snow, and this time after they returned, Max hauled in some large logs and built a roaring fire.
Serena curled up on the sofa with the Da Vinci book, wearing another set of his sweats, and Max seemed content to lean back beside her with his hands clasped behind his head and his feet crossed on the coffee table.
After reading the same page three times she slid a glance his way.
He returned the glance. "What?"
"So, besides reading, and seal watching, and snowball fights, what else do you do in Barrow in your leisure time?"
"What? Those aren't exciting enough for you?"
"That's not what I meant. I'm just...asking about you."
"Well, we've got exciting festivals every few months, with parades and sledding and dancing. We have---"
She gave up on the book and sat forward. "But I want to know about you, Max. What do you like to do?"
He shrugged. "I'm a pretty simple guy. I watch hockey. I read. I visit my grandmother."
"And you fly cargo all over Alaska?"
"Yeah." He nodded. "And do the accounts for the North Slope Inn."
"That's right. Chris said you were business partners. How'd that happen?"
Dropping his feet off the table, he unclasped his hands and leaned forward. "I met Chris in Texas. Went down there to visit my dad when he realized he wasn't going to last much longer."
"Your dad has passed?" She leaned her back against the arm of the sofa and brought her knees to her chest.
"Lung cancer. Got sick right after I moved back to Barrow."
"And he was a pilot also?"
Max nodded. "Career air force. When I first wrote to him about going to college down there, he welcomed me with open arms. Or, his new wife did anyway. They had three kids, and still let me stay there while I got my degree and my pilot's license." He paused and stared off into space. "Anyway, Chris needed an investor, and Dad left me some money when he died. I told him about this old hotel Arnaaluk wanted to restore and the rest is history."
"So, you brought them together?"
He grimaced. "And they never let me forget it." He turned on the couch to face her. "What about you? What do you like to do in L.A.?"
"Everything. Dinner with friends, movies, concerts, clubs." She stretched out her legs and put her feet in his lap.
"Barrow must seem pretty dull to you."
"Oh, I don't know." She rubbed the ball of her foot against his zipper. "I've managed to stay fairly occupied." She looked at him from under her lashes and gave him a sultry smile.
His eyes flared, and she read the hunger in them. "Well, we try our best to entertain around here." Leaning over, he cupped her face in his palms and kissed her, so tender, yet she sensed the desperate need beneath his restraint.
He grew harder and longer beneath her toes. "Feels like you're entertained, too."
Before she could make her next move, he pushed her feet off and pulled her into his lap for a deeper kiss. She pressed against him, breast to hip and tangled her fingers in his hair.
Wrapping her tight in his arms, he lifted her as he stood and set her on her feet, then walked her toward the bedroom, shedding shoes and clothes along the way.
Yes, she wanted him inside her again.
They fell on the bed. The lovemaking was frantic at first, then tender and slow as he waited for her passion to build again. And only then, when she was ready, did he allow himself a faster rhythm. Their gazes met and held as she tumbled over the edge and watched as he let himself fall with her, and then drop to her side and relax into sleep.
She lay there a moment, rubbing her hands over the firm muscles of his chest and down his stomach. Breathing in, she inhaled his masculine scent. A mixture of old leather and sweat, with a hint of whatever soap he used. She rolled him to his back, but he mumbled something and didn't open his eyes.
She studied his long, lean body. His skin was darker than white, and lighter than Iñupiat, with dark hair scattered lightly across his chest and swirling into a narrow line down his stomach. His abs were well defined and his thighs well muscled. And his biceps bulged just the right amount for his strong, wide shoulders.
If only she could see what his face looked like without that beard. What would it be like to kiss his clean-shaven cheek instead of bristle?
She tapped his shoulder. "Max?" Tapped harder. "Ma---aax?" She grabbed both shoulders and shook. "Max!"
"Hmm?" He opened one eye.
"Can I shave you?"
"Um..." He closed the eye and ran a hand over his beard. "Now?"
"Mmm-hmm. But only if you want me to."
She had to drag him out of bed, the lazy lummox, but once they got into the bathroom, he let her place him under the hot spray and lather him up. Max gathered up his shaving cream and razor and stood in front of his sink.
Serena "helped" by standing behind his gloriously naked body and running her hands all over his chest and stomach and...lower. She cupped his balls and he spread his legs to accommodate her while he angled his jaw to shave up his neck and still watch her hands in the mirror. "It's sort of hard to concentrate while you're doing that."
"You're right." She stroked his penis. "It's sort of hard."
"Keep that up for a few minutes and I'll see what I can do."
She obeyed, gladly.
"Serena." He closed his eyes. "Give me strength."
"Not a multitasker, huh?" she teased, placing kisses down his back, over his shoulder blades and along his spine.
"I could nick an artery here."
"All right." She pouted, and made do with hugging him around his waist while he finished shaving.
Slowly but surely, his skin emerged from beneath the beard, smooth and clean. "Better?" He toweled off his face.
"Mmm." She moved in front of him, cupped his cheeks and ran her hands down his chiseled jaw. "Love it." He looked ten years younger.
"I'm twenty-eight. How old are you?"
"Thirty-two."
"You have a dimple in your chin!" She reached up to put her finger in it but he caught her hand.
"Now it's payback time." She squealed as he caught her up in his arms and took her back to bed.
Who'd have thought Max would be a playful lover? She already knew his body fit hers perfectly, but she'd never have suspected the brooding man she'd first met could melt her heart with one smile.
Melt her heart? Is that what was happening?
No, it had started before his smile. In his plane, after he'd flown off course to show her the whales. And the way he'd seemed to look right into her soul when she thanked him.
Something eternal had passed between them then. And it had changed everything.
"Where'd you go?" Max curled a finger under her chin and turned her face to him.
She got caught in his dark brown eyes. "I---I think I have feelings for you."
The curve in his lips flattened and his eyes turned serious. Resting his weight on one elbow, he slid his hand from her chin down her throat, between her breasts and then cupped one, twirled a finger around her nipple until it tightened to a sharp point. "This kind of feeling?"
She closed her eyes and arched into his touch, aching for more. "You know what I mean." She covered his hand with her own and waited for him to meet her gaze.
Finally, he lifted his eyes to hers. "All I know is---" his voice was raspy "---I haven't had a woman is this house since my wife died." His gaze traveled down her body and his hand followed the same path, and then his gaze came back up to lock with hers. "And I don't shave, not for anybody."
A profound longing surged to the surface and she reached up to pull his head down to hers. Her body pliant against his, she kissed him hard and deeply. "Make love to me again."
His answer was to take control of the kiss, move over her and begin a trail of kisses down her body. His smooth jaw was much nicer on her skin. She didn't miss the bristly feel of his beard at all.
She came twice with his head between her thighs, her fingers tangled in his hair. And before he entered her this time, she rolled to her stomach and pulled her knees up. She concentrated on the feel of his long hard cock taking her from behind, and his warm body surrounding hers. His chest to her back, his mouth on her neck, his hands cupping her breasts. And when he came, his breathing stuttered and he gave a rough cry from deep in his throat, then fell asleep spooned against her back.
She was starving. But she didn't have the heart to wake him again. Surely she could find something to munch on. Tugging his sweatshirt down over her head and her arms in the sleeves, she padded barefoot down the short hall.
Her stomach growled as she made her way to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Ah, bread. Peanut butter. That would do. Mickey wound himself around her feet and whined, so she opened a few cabinets searching for dog food.
He seemed to use his kitchen cabinets as storage for everything from linens to office supplies.
On a middle shelf she spied a stack of papers on top of a manila envelope with a thick rubber band around them. Her fingers itched to see what they were. She reached up, pulled them out and spied an FAA seal on the letterhead.
She stopped.
She couldn't do it. He would tell her about the crash when he was ready. Until then, she didn't need to know. She knew in her heart he wasn't into anything bad or illegal. The rest didn't matter.
She reached up to replace the stack.
"So, all this was just for a story after all." Max's menacing tone sent chills racing down her spine.
SERENA DROPPED the papers and spun to face him.
He stood at the entry to the kitchen wearing jeans and nothing else. Except a look of pure fury.
"Max." She scooped the bundle off the floor. God, her pulse was skittery. "I was hungry."
"Right." His expression went blank, but his eyes still glittered with disgust. He folded his arms, leaned against the wall and crossed a foot over the other. "I always eat paper when I'm really hungry."
"I was looking for dog food." She closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. Tried again. "I was hungry, so I came to the kitchen. But Mickey started whining when I got out the bread and peanut butter." There. The food sat on the counter as evidence. She pointed to it. "So, I started looking for dog food."
"I see you had your story all worked out."
She frowned. "It's not a story. It's the truth."
He pushed off the wall and closed the distance between them. She suppressed the urge to back away. "So, did you learn everything you needed to know?" He gestured at the papers still in her hand.
"I was putting them back when you came in." Dammit. That didn't sound good. "I mean, I was putting them back without looking at them."
"Now why would you do that when you went to all this trouble to find them?"
She flinched, but she wouldn't dignify the accusation with a response. "I admit I was curious when I saw them. I got them down. But I didn't read them."
"Well, hell. Go ahead." He took them from her and tugged off the rubber band. "You paid for the information, so you can't leave here without reading them. Let's see," he said, and leafed through several papers. "Which one would be the juiciest bit of information for your 'investigative piece'?" He sneered the last two words.
"Max, don't do this."
A stack of postcards fell to the floor while he was still rifling through the papers. "Oh, here you go." He bent over and scooped them up. "Postcards from my alcoholic mother. That should be worth something." He pitched them on the counter. "And how about this?" He held up a note. "A letter from the family of one of the men I killed calling me a murderer, and vowing to prosecute me to the full extent of the law. I'm sure if you contact them they'll be glad to give you a quote."
"Max, please." No matter how many times she blinked, she couldn't stop the tears. "I need you to believe me. I didn't come here for this. I care about you. I've never felt like this bef---"
"Stop. Just stop the act, Serena." He pitched the rest of the papers on the counter and stared at the cabinets be hind her. "Get dressed. I want you out of this house."
Drawing a deep breath, she gripped his arm. "I'm not leaving until you believe me. Making love with you was not a ploy to get information. And I may have thought about reading those papers for a split second, but I didn't do it. I don't need to because I know in here---" she pointed to her gut "---that whatever happened that day was not your fault."
His jaw muscle ticked---she could see it so clearly on his clean-shaven face---but he wouldn't look at her. "If you don't get dressed, I'll carry you out to the truck and take you back just as you are."
Staring at him, she bit her lip to keep it from trembling and swiped at a tear. If he'd only look her in the eyes, he would see that she was telling the truth. "How could you believe that I was acting after what we did tonight?" She reached up to touch his cheek.
He recoiled from her touch. "If you don't want to be dropped off at the hotel looking like that, you better get some clothes on."
She couldn't stop the tears, but she sure as hell knew when to give up. Through blurry eyes she darted down the hall to his bedroom, snatched her clothes and underwear off the floor and went into the bathroom.
When she came out, Max was fully dressed, even had his parka on, and was waiting by the door. He drove her back to the North Slope Inn in silence and she got out on her own. Before she closed the door, he said, "The deal was, you leave tomorrow."
"Don't worry. I'll catch the first flight out going anywhere." She slammed the door and didn't look back as she marched into the hotel.
Thank goodness the lobby was empty. Serena couldn't have faced any questions or innuendo from Chris about where she'd been tonight. As soon as she got to her room, she pulled out her laptop and looked up departing flights from Barrow. The first flight was to Fairbanks at 9:05 a.m. She purchased a one-way ticket.
She checked the time on her cell. Just after 3:00 a.m. She never had purchased a suitcase, which was just as well. She didn't want to take anything with her except what she came with. If she could leave the memories of Max here, she'd do that too. His hurtful words kept repeating in her mind.
After the finality of buying the ticket, the pain hit her full force. She sobbed in the shower until she couldn't cry anymore. Drained of emotion, she stood in the bathroom combing her wet hair. Pain turned to resentment. How could he believe she'd only had sex with him to gain access to his personal papers? Couldn't he tell what they shared was real?
By the time she'd dried her hair and applied her makeup, she was numb. She pulled the curling iron and nail polish out of her purse, fixed her hair, did her nails. If she was going to be run out of town she'd do it looking gorgeous.
One thing she couldn't face was Chris and Arna over breakfast. It may have been cowardly, but she left a note for the couple, explaining that she had to get back to L.A. for work. She slid her arms in her ski jacket, gathered up her laptop and purse, and went out to her rented car.
It took her over thirty minutes to melt and scrape the ice off the windshield, but at least the sleet had stopped.
Telling herself she could follow the signs to the airport, she set off with three hours to spare. She'd sit in the airport and have some coffee. And she wouldn't have to risk Arna and Chris asking her about the trip to Shishmaref, or giving each other a look about where she'd been all night.
The road was slick with ice. It was pitch dark and the fog was so thick she could barely see five feet in front of her. Even streetlights couldn't penetrate the gloom.
Somewhere, she must have made a wrong turn. She tried to turn the car around at an intersection, but it slid out of control. It spun around, plunged off the side of the road and landed with the back end in a ditch and the headlights pointing up toward the street. Steam fumed from under the hood and the engine wouldn't restart. Dammit. She felt the loss of the heater instantly.
Her door wasn't blocked, but what would she do if she got out---walk? Not in this temperature. Fear set in. It was ten below out there. No one knew where she was. It could be hours before someone got to her. People died of exposure. What else could she screw up? Was she such a failure that she couldn't even get herself to the airport? Telling herself it was just lack of sleep didn't help.
Get a hold of yourself, Sandstone. Think.
She dug in her purse for her cell phone. There was a signal! But she was too humiliated to call Chris and Arna and wake them up. What could they do that she couldn't do for herself? Surely there was a garage with a tow truck. She tried information, got the name of a repair garage and let it dial. Got a machine. Not that she could tell them where she was even if she spoke to them.
Don't be stupid, Serena. Call the police.
She dialed 911 and described her surroundings to the dispatch operator. Unfortunately, her surroundings were a street she didn't know the name of, and fog. She couldn't even see a street sign.
Leaving her headlights on, she turned on her emergency blinkers and waited. The long day, the emotional upheaval of the evening and a night with no sleep finally caught up with her. She leaned the seat back and closed her eyes, listening to sleet begin to hit the windshield.
MAX JERKED open the fridge, grabbed a beer with shaking hands and tossed back half of it before he hit the couch. How stupid could a grown man be? He'd brought her here when she'd asked. To his home. And he'd shaved his freakin' beard! For her!
He finished the brew and threw the emptied glass bottle into the fireplace, enjoying the sound of it breaking into shards.
He'd let her into his cabin. Into his life. And almost---thankfully he hadn't---almost into his heart. She'd really had him going there for a while with her "I think I have feelings for you." But she'd come closer to winning an Emmy than a Pulitzer with that act.
By the time he'd finished off the third and last beer in his fridge, his anger had dissipated to bitter regret. He stretched out on the couch. No way he could go into his bedroom right now.
It had started to sleet again an hour or so ago. He should try to get some sleep. He'd need to check in on his grandmother once the sun rose. Make sure she had enough firewood and food.
The phone rang, startling him wide awake as he grabbed it up. "Taggert."
"She is in danger, grandson."
"Aanaga?" He sat up on the couch. "Are you all right?"
"It's Serena. I saw her in a vision. She's in danger."
"No. She's fine. We...had a disagreement. What you probably sensed was our fight."
"No, grandson. It's more. She's lost."
Like his mother was lost? "I dropped her off at her hotel."
"I called there. Arna says she checked out and her rental car is gone."
"Then she's gone to the airport to catch a flight." The roads would be icy, but she had her cell phone if anything happened. She was a grown woman. She could take care of herself.
"Please. You must find her. Make sure she is safe."
He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I'll call her cell. Okay?"
"Ii. Find her." She hung up.
She'd forced her business card into his pocket before he'd left her in Nome, but he'd trashed it once he got home. Now, he dug through the wastebasket by his dresser. Come on...there it was.
He dialed her cell number and it went straight to voice. He thought about his grandmother's vision and worry kicked into high gear.
Two quick calls. One to a friend at the airport to check if anyone matching Serena's description was waiting around for any of the morning flights leaving Barrow. And the second, to the only car rental in town, to see if Serena had returned her car yet. Both answers were no.
Dammit. She could be anywhere. But nowhere warm unless she'd gone to the twenty-four hour store. He called there, but he knew the answer he would hear. No one fitting that description. He called the police. They'd already received her 911 call and had issued a "be on the lookout" for her. But they didn't have the manpower to send out any more than the two squad cars already patrolling.
He thought of his curse and felt the truth of his grandmother's vision deep in his gut. Another person he'd come into contact with was going to die.
Tamping down his dread, he yanked on his boots, grabbed his parka and gloves and the keys to his truck and whistled for Mickey. "Come on, boy." He opened the truck door and the dog leaped into the passenger's seat. Max decided to try the route from the North Slope Inn to the airport first.
Between the sleet and the fog, searching was slow and tedious. She'd been driving a light gold SUV. Not a color that stood out. With every minute that passed, Max's chest tightened a little more. How long had she been missing? How could he live with himself if something happened to her?
He'd driven every street in Barrow twice when he made one last turn onto a dead-end street no one ever used except to get to the lake. The lake! It should be frozen solid, but the ice was melting sooner every year. What if she'd driven onto it? Would it hold that SUV? His heart pummeled his chest. His stomach roiled. He sped up, and almost missed the slowly flashing emergency lights on the SUV.
Slamming on his brakes, he skidded on the icy road and the truck spun 360 degrees. Max jumped out and ran to the rental car half on its side in the ditch.
How long had she been sitting out here? What if she'd hit her head and bled out? Or hypothermia had already set in?
He hadn't gotten to her in time. It would be just like Shelley all over again. He hadn't gotten her to the hospital in time either. Memories of that night flashed through his mind. Shelley screaming in pain. The blood. So much blood. Then he was back in the plane, covered in blood and the man screaming in pain. No matter how much he told himself he didn't believe in such a thing, he knew this was because of his curse.
Eventually, everyone he cared about left him, or died.
Gulping in air, he saw the SUV as if through a tunnel. He doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees. Get it under control, Taggert. He was no good to Serena if he panicked. He drew in a deep breath. And then another.
He got to the car door and opened it. Serena was unconscious, but there was no blood. He felt her head for injuries and found none. A knot formed in his throat and he couldn't speak for a second. "Serena!" Her skin was cold to the touch, and her heartbeat was slow. Not good. Much longer without warming her up and it would be too late. "Serena, wake up." He rubbed her cheek. "Serena!"
She wasn't waking up. He had to raise her body temperature. Now.
He unclipped her seat belt, scooped her up into his arms and got her into his truck with the heater running full blast. "Keep her warm, Mickey." The dog laid his chest on Serena's lap, his front paws hanging over the other side.
Max didn't remember the drive to the hospital. She still hadn't woken up. He skidded the truck to a stop at the emergency room doors, and carried her up to the checkin desk. "She's been exposed to the cold a couple hours at least. I think she's hypothermic."
Medics guided him to a curtained-off bed and before he'd slipped his arms out from under her, one of them took her temperature. "Eighty-nine-point-three," she announced.
Another nurse started an IV and the one who'd taken her temperature placed a heated blanket over her, and then asked him to leave.
He wandered back to the waiting area, and the reception nurse called him up to fill out paperwork.
His hand was shaking as he took the clipboard and sat in the world's most uncomfortable plastic chair. As much time as he'd spent in this hospital's waiting room, he should know.
He closed his eyes and willed Serena to pull through. Come on, Serena, wake up. He wanted to be in there, holding her.
This was just like last time. Fourteen years ago. Same emergency room. Same helpless feeling...
Too many memories, too many images had tumbled around in his brain lately. Things he hadn't let himself think of in a long time.
Shelley hadn't deserved to die so young. She'd been the sweetest girl. So shy and gentle.
He wiped a hand over his mouth and realized his cheeks were wet. Clearing his throat, he stood, returned the clipboard to the desk with the forms incomplete and walked out.
SOMEONE WAS CALLING her name. Serena's mind cleared from the dream, and she woke up.
"Serena. Can you hear me?"
She opened her eyes, or at least she thought she did. But they closed again. "I'm awake," she tried to say. But it came out as gibberish. What was wrong with her? She felt so groggy. She forced her eyes open again and saw white ceiling tiles. Where was she? She turned her head and tried to ask the voice.
"Serena, you're in the hospital."
Max? What was Max doing here? Wasn't he mad at her?
Max's callused hand swept her hair out of her face and lifted her chin until she was looking into his eyes. He wasn't mad. He was...scared.
She was shaking uncontrollably. She questioned him with her eyes. "Mags?"
"It's all right." He held her hand while her teeth chattered so hard she thought she'd crack a tooth. What was wrong with her?
"You have hypothermia, Serena. But you're going to be all right." He kept holding her hand, stroking her arm and murmuring soothing things to her.
Once her shaking had lessened, needles pricked her skin, painful and sharp. Max called a nurse and they gave her something to help.
"Better?" Max asked after the nurse left, leaning over her with worried eyes.
She smiled and nodded, clinging to his hand. So glad he was there.
The last thing she remembered was Max stroking her hair and smiling.
SERENA DREW in a deep breath and snuggled deeper under the warm covers. She opened her eyes from a really great dream and saw Max, slumped in a chair beside her bed. His eyes were closed in sleep, his head fallen back, but his hand still held hers.
Lines creased his face. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his once clean shaven jaw sported a thick five-o'clock shadow. He must have been here a long time.
Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away and pulled off her oxygen mask. She didn't remember getting to the hospital. Had the police found her and called Max?
What was she going to do about him? Did this mean he believed she hadn't been going to snoop? Or merely that he forgave her?
A nurse bustled in to check her vitals and Max straightened in his chair. He rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his shaggy black hair, then his gaze found hers.
"Your heart rate is normal, Ms. Sandstone. Everything else looks good. You should be able to go home today." She smiled and left.
Serena smiled at Max. "Hi."
He didn't return her smile this time. "You scared the hell out of me."
"What happened? I remember calling the police and then being so sleepy."
"You almost died, Serena. What were you thinking driving in the dark and not telling anyone you were leaving?"
What, he could only be nice when she was dying? She glared at him. "Why are you here, anyway? Who called you?"
"He's the one who found you and brought you in," Arna spoke from the doorway.
Chris smiled and waved from behind his wife. "Is this a good time to visit?"
Max had found her? Her anger evaporated. She looked back at him. He'd stood and paced to the window, staring out at another cloudy day.
"Sure, come on in." She smiled at the couple who had been so nice to her. Guilt assailed her for not having had the guts to tell them goodbye. "I'm sorry for the way I left. I---I wasn't thinking clearly, obviously."
"We're just glad you are well now." This from Arna, who cracked a half smile for a minuscule second.
"We brought you these." Chris swung a small bouquet of silk flowers from behind his back.
"Aw, Chris, how sweet." She smiled at him and at Arna. "Thank you."
"Max," Chris said. "I took Mickey for a walk like you asked."
Max swung around to face Chris. "Thanks."
Chris turned back to Serena. "Max hasn't left your side since he took care of having your rental towed yesterday morning."
Serena caught Max's impenetrable gaze. "Really?"
"I'll leave you guys to visit." Max nodded solemnly to the couple and headed for the door.
"You don't have to go," Serena protested, and Chris repeated her sentiments, even if his statement didn't have the same desperate quality to it.
Max just waved a hand and left.
The room seemed colder, emptier. Serena forced a smile and invited Arna to have a seat. "So, how did Max know to come looking for me?"
"Evelyn had a vision," Arna said as she took the chair Max had been sitting in. Chris moved to stand beside her, draping his arm around her shoulders.
"Oh." Serena wasn't sure how she felt about these so-called visions. She still didn't understand the whole shaman thing and that weird stuff Evelyn had said. Something about Serena being the Searching One, and her spirit guides?
"Max has been like a man obsessed." Chris shook his head. "I've never seen him like that before."
"I have," Arna said.
"When?" Serena asked.
"I was a candy striper here the day his wife died." Arna's expression was blank, but there was purpose in her eyes.
"Arna, you said we shouldn't talk about Max's past." Chris frowned at his wife.
She glanced up at her husband. "I was there. That's not rumor or gossip."
Chris blinked at his wife's distinction. "Okay." He shrugged. "Back then, I was only ten and still living in Seattle with my parents." He gave her a rueful grin.
"Um, do you know what happened to his wife?" If Chris had been ten that meant it had happened around fifteen years ago. Max had to have still been in high school. And his wife, too.
"Yes," Arna answered.
Serena waited, expecting her to elaborate. Arna didn't. When Serena looked to Chris, he just shrugged and stared down at his wife.
"So, you want me to ask Max?"
"Yes." Arna grinned and Serena wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't seen it.
"We will go now." Arna stood.
"Oh, by the way," Chris said, and stepped toward her bed. "Max has your things at his place. He didn't want to leave your purse and laptop here."
Serena thanked them for visiting, getting a hug from Chris and a wave from Arna before they left.
Soon after, the doctor came by, signed her release papers and she was free to go. But go where? And how? She could call a cab and head for the airport, but she couldn't pay for the ride without her purse. And what about this hospital bill?
After finding her clothes in a tiny closet, she got dressed and then inquired at the nurse's station and was told her insurance would be billed. Guess Max had gone through her purse for her insurance card.
What was she going to do now? A volunteer was waiting in her room with a wheelchair and she reluctantly sat, folding her ski jacket in her lap. There were always cabs waiting outside hospitals. Maybe she'd go back to the North Slope Inn and ask Chris to loan her the money for the cab and retrieve her things from Max. But she hated to impose on him after skulking away from them in the middle of the night.
Argh. Maybe she'd just ask the volunteer to wheel her up to the psychiatric ward.
But when she got to the exit doors, there was Max, standing outside, leaning against his battered old truck with his arms folded over his chest. The wind blew the fur on his parka, and, though it was undoubtedly cloudy and cold, at least it wasn't sleeting.
Max saw her, pushed off his truck and opened the passenger door. Retrieving the Iñupiat parka she'd left at the North Slope Inn, he met her just inside the automatic glass doors.
"Where to?"
MAX COULDN'T take his eyes off Serena as she rose from the wheelchair. She cocked her head in that way she had with her eyebrows drawn together in a frown.
"You didn't leave."
He pointed his chin in the direction of the hospital's cafeteria. "Got some coffee."
Maybe it was the black sweater she wore, but she looked paler, more vulnerable.
She had almost died.
Yet she was looking at him as if he'd just driven his dogsled a thousand miles to deliver lifesaving medicine. As if he was some kind of hero. She wouldn't have been out in that car at that time of night if he hadn't lost his temper. Or if he'd trusted her. "So, where to?" He repeated his question.
"Why are you here?"
He lifted a shoulder. "You don't have a car anymore. And even if you did, it's not like I'd let you drive yourself."
She didn't smile. "I can take a cab." She pointed at the two cabs parked nearby.
Max clenched his teeth. "Serena, just get in the truck, okay?" He held the thick parka out to her.
Her eyes sparked and she set her chin. Just as he was ready to walk away, she said, "Okay," grabbed the coat and brushed past him out the door.
He probably should've let her take the cab. He still wasn't convinced she'd been telling the truth. He didn't know what the hell to think anymore. He only knew he wasn't ready to take her to the airport and put her on a plane.
He climbed into his truck and slammed the rusty door. Before he could start the engine, she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. "Thank you for rescuing me."
Reluctantly, he pulled back, took a deep breath. "I...shouldn't have lost my temper." Without waiting for a response, he put the truck in gear.
Dammit. He tried to stare straight ahead but she cupped his cheek, turned him to face her and touched her lips to his. "I didn't read your papers, Max. Please believe me."
Her dark blue eyes, so earnest, begging him to believe her. She shouldn't have to. He knew deep down she'd told the truth. He'd just been so damn angry he hadn't wanted to see it.
He'd never been more vulnerable to a woman than that night. Letting her in, to his home and his heart. Like Samson to her Delilah, he'd shaved himself of all shields. And to see her standing there holding those papers had thrown his powerlessness in his face.
He gripped the back of her head and took her sweet mouth, kissing her so he wouldn't have to say the words. I believe you. I just lost my temper. I'm sorry.
"Max." She sighed into his mouth, kissing him back, swirling her tongue with his. "Take me home." A mumble against his lips.
Reluctantly, he pulled back, took a deep breath and put the truck in gear.
As he drove he snuck a glance at her now and then. What did she think would happen now? What was going on in that beautiful head of hers? With Serena he never knew what she'd do next. What was that old saying? Never a dull moment? Or was it an old curse? May you never be bored?
At the cabin, Mickey greeted Serena with obvious joy. They were a pair. Openly affectionate, no reservations when it came to her feelings.
He cleared his throat. "How about some lunch?"
Her eyes lit up. "That sounds wonderful. I'm starving."
Pulling out his wallet, he ordered a large pizza with the works. Serena went to take a shower, and Max threw some logs on the grate and got a fire going.
Thirty minutes later they were chowing down in his kitchen. Serena made the barest attempt at small talk until she finished her second slice and declared herself stuffed.
Was she waiting for him to ask her to stay? She'd wait forever. "Serena, what are we doing here?"
She set her glass of water down and met his gaze with a determined look. "Arna says I should ask you what happened to your wife and child."
Max stopped chewing. What the--- He shoved away from the table and paced without seeing where he ended up. The woman was determined to strip him bare. He didn't want to talk about it.
Serena followed him into the den, took the photo from the bookshelf and studied it. "You were both so young."
They had been. In some ways it seemed a lifetime ago. And sometimes it felt as fresh as yesterday.
"She looks like she was a sweet girl. Happy."
He faced Serena. "She was." Sighing, he moved to the sofa and sank down. Serena wasn't going to let this go. "We were high school sweethearts." He'd had a crush on her since sixth grade, but didn't think she even knew he was alive. Most of the girls didn't want anything to do with him because he was always getting into fights. He was taller than most of the boys, and didn't go out of his way to smile or be nice to anyone.
"What was her name?" Serena asked.
He looked up. "Shelley."
She'd lent him a piece of notebook paper one day in eighth grade and braved a sweet smile at him. That was all it took. She'd become the center of his existence.
"I got her pregnant our senior year and we got married." His gaze drifted, seeing the past. He hadn't been upset when she told him she was pregnant. He'd been thrilled. He'd wanted a child. Someone he could be a good dad to.
Her dad hadn't been thrilled, and who could blame him? But Aanaga had persuaded the man to give them his blessing and come to the wedding.
Max had gotten work on a fishing crew right after graduation and he and Shelley moved into this little house by the sea.
He took the photo from Serena and stared into Shelley's smiling face. "We were happy." He'd finally felt he belonged. They were going to have such a good life. She used to blush and shush him whenever he'd rub her pregnant stomach and call it Shelley's belly. But her dad had been right to worry. If it hadn't been for Max, Shelley would be alive.
Serena sat beside him and covered his hand with hers. "What happened?"
He drew in a deep breath. "They called it placental abruption. By the time I got her to the hospital she'd lost too much blood." He shook his head. "So much blood."
"Oh, Max." She squeezed his hand. "I'm so sorry."
"It was my fault."
She shook her head. "There was nothing you could have done."
"I was away fishing. I left her alone."
"You couldn't have known that would happen."
"I should have." He stood abruptly and returned the photo to the bookshelf. Was he really going to tell her everything? "Because of my curse."
Max waited for Serena to scoff.
"What are you talking about?"
Fingering a book's spine, he decided she might as well know. "Everyone I've been close to has died or left me. My soul has gone wandering, and I'm cursed until it returns." He glanced at her. "It sounds crazy, doesn't it? Half the time I don't believe it myself. Tell myself it's just foolish superstition. But look what happened to you, after being with me. I won't be responsible for anyone else's death." He stepped to the fireplace and took up the fire poker. "That's why my parents abandoned me. Why my wife and baby died. Why my friends died in the crash."
"Friends?"
He stared at his hands. Hands that had buried Kevin and Mike as best he could in frozen ground. Hands that had bound a gash in Beau's leg and pulled him twenty miles. "We were college buddies. Good friends. The only friends I had."
"Was it pilot error that caused your crash? Could you have done something differently?"
He finally met her gaze. "I don't know. I've gone over and over it in my head. Best I can figure we hit a wind sheer. Even then, I might have gotten things under control, but Mike... He never was good with heights. When we started going down, he lost it. Grabbed the yoke and started messing with the instrument panel."
"But you saved one of them. Dragged him all the way to Nome."
He hunkered down and jabbed at the burning logs. "I would have given my life for any of them. Or Shelley and our baby..."
SERENA COULD FEEL the despair in his words. The guilt he carried over the death of his family and friends was eating away at him.
It did seem postrational to believe in things like curses. But even if she accepted it as truth, there was one thing he couldn't dispute.
"But Max." She stood and took his hand in hers. "I didn't die."
He shook his head. "This time."
She put her hand on his chest. "I've ridden in your plane. You got us through a really bad storm. I got lost. You found me. I was hypothermic, and you saved me. I don't know, but maybe---" She shrugged. "Maybe saving me lifted the curse."
He stilled.
"Max?"
"The Searching One," he whispered.
Chill bumps rose on Serena's arm. "That's what your grandmother called me." She thought back to what Evelyn had said. "Something about her spirit guides and---" Her heart raced, and she shuddered. "Max." She gripped his shoulders and shook him, but his muscles were stiff beneath her fingers. He wouldn't look her in the eye. "She said the Searching One would find your wandering soul."
His eyes flat, he turned away. "Or you almost dying was a warning. And next time you won't be so lucky. I can't take a chance something else might happen. Something I can't fix. Or be there for."
"So, if I leave here and we never see each other again, I won't ever die, or be in a bad accident? But if you and I continue our...affair, then you think I will die? You're prepared to be alone the rest of your life because you might be cursed?"
"What if it's true? Are you willing to take that risk? I'm not."
"And what if your grandmother is right? And I am the Searching One who can bring your wandering soul home? And you send me away? Are you willing to take that chance?"
"Serena. No matter how you argue it, it's not worth your life."
No way she was giving up without a fight. Maybe that was the reason she'd come here. Maybe she couldn't save the environment, like her dad, or oppressed peoples, but maybe she could help someone---love someone---and that was all the difference she needed to make.
"Max. I love you."
He shook his head. "Let me take you back to the hotel."
"I'm not going anywhere." She reached down and pulled her sweater off over her head and dropped it to the floor. His gaze shot down to her red bra and she heard him make a sound deep in his throat.
Yanking off her boots and tossing them away, she unzipped her jeans and pulled them off.
"Serena." As his gaze lowered to her matching red thong, he licked his lips and took a step back.
"Do you want to know what I think?" She stalked him, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. "I think I saw you in that airport for a reason." One button undone.
He took another step back and she moved a step forward. "If you can believe in a curse, I can believe in fate." Another button loose.
His legs hit the sofa and he fell back. She jumped on him, straddling his waist. Max helped her finish the rest of the buttons. As soon as he pushed the last button through, she spread his shirt wide and ran her hands over his hard chest.
His jaw set, he grabbed her wrists. Emotion had finally filled his dark eyes. "I'll still want you to leave."
She leaned down and kissed his lips, her hair falling forward. One step at a time. "Just kiss me, Max."
At first his lips remained still beneath hers. But they softened as she kept pressing her mouth to his, nibbling on his lower lip until he opened and let her in.
Taking over the kiss, his tongue played with hers. He released her wrists, reached around and unhooked her bra. His arms encircled her and one hand cupped her butt.
Running her hands over his shoulders, she pushed his shirt off, and then fumbled with his jeans until she got him unzipped and pulled out his hard cock. He was busy spreading kisses around her breasts and down her stomach.
"Your skin is so soft," he mumbled against the side of her breast. His hands cupped her breasts then slid down to her waist. "You're so beautiful." He lifted her off him and flipped her to her back. Slowly he kissed down her body, moving between her thighs to suckle her clit through her thong.
More. As he moved to find his wallet and pull out a packet, she pulled off her panties. She didn't want anything between them. Then he was back, stroking her with his tongue, worshipping her with his mouth.
His eyes were so full of passion, his voice so tinged with emotion as he mumbled her name. His intensity sent her over the edge and he entered her before she could recover her breath.
He pumped hard and swift, a driving rhythm, as if he were purging all his demons by making love to her. Maybe he was.
Maybe they both were.
He pushed in one last time and tensed, his eyes squeezed closed, his back and arm muscles straining. "Serena." He laid his head beside her while she caressed his back.
"What if I had lost you?" His voice was low in her ear.
"You didn't. You won't."
"I can't go through it again."
He still lay between her thighs, still inside her. She'd never felt so close to someone. She hugged her arms around him as if she could keep him with her always. "It's not going to happen. I've found you. I won't let you go."
He released a shuddering breath and moved to her side. But he gathered her up in his arms and nuzzled into her neck. "Serena."
She loved hearing her name on his lips. Everything would work out. Things were going to be all right. Snuggling against him, she closed her eyes, so tired.
MAX LOOKED DOWN at the beautiful woman lying naked in his arms and watched her sleep. So feminine and fragile. So beautiful. Her lashes lay thick and long against her exquisite cheekbones. Her hair waved in soft curls across his arm. He'd probably never sit on this sofa again without breathing in a whiff of her intoxicating scent.
If he didn't get up right now, he might never leave her.
And he had to.
He slid his arm out from under her head slowly and eased off the couch, then reached up and pulled the afghan down off the back of the couch and covered her, tucking it around her feet.
If Serena was the Searching One, wouldn't he feel different inside? Wouldn't his heart feel free to love her without worrying about her leaving him, or dying? Instead, he was still terrified that something bad might happen to her.
He cleaned up and dressed, not bothering to shave.
Even if his soul had returned, how would this thing between them work? Was Serena going to quit her job and come live in Barrow with him? His California girl would be miserable here. She needed sunlight and shopping malls, and a career that made a difference in people's lives. And he needed to be here for his grandmother.
He supposed he could fly a plane anywhere, but he wouldn't leave his grandmother. She depended on him, and she had always been there for him.
Hauling his duffel from the closet, he stuffed a few shirts and underwear in, and almost packed his shaving kit. But even in the summer, Barrow was cold enough to need a beard. And the only person who wanted him shaved would be back in L.A. by tomorrow.
At the kitchen table he wrote her a quick note, and then, on impulse, grabbed up the papers still spread out on the counter and tucked them in Serena's purse. Let her do whatever she wanted with them. He didn't care anymore.
He allowed himself one last long look at Serena, but before his chest could tighten too painfully, he grabbed his duffel, softly called to Mickey and headed for the airport.
Once he climbed in his Cessna, he plucked his sunglasses off the visor and shoved them on. If he had to wipe his eyes once or twice, he just kept reminding himself this was for the best as he banked his plane toward the southeast.
"SERENA, they're ready for you." Roberta's assistant hovered beside Serena, clipboard in hand, ready to lead Serena over to the picturesque spot where Jake waited with his camera.
Ah, sunny Buenos Aires. The tip of Argentina was almost as close to earth's South Pole as she'd been to earth's North Pole in Barrow. Which meant it was autumn here.
So much for getting away from the cold.
No, that wasn't fair. It'd been sunny all week and mostly in the mid-sixties during the day. Serena probably would've complained no matter what. Having one's lover blow one off tended to make one cranky.
Christine gave Serena's hair one last spray against the humidity and Caitlin dabbed her nose with powder, and then yanked the tissues off from around her blouse's neckline.
Serena hopped off her makeup chair and followed Roberta's assistant to the center of the beautifully landscaped gardens of Luján.
"You have your notes for the prompter?" Roberta asked.
Serena handed them over and, after a brief read-through, Roberta handed them off to her assistant who began typing them in.
"I want to go over this schedule. Are you sure you want to include La Boca? And what about the soccer game?"
"Football," Serena corrected.
"What?"
"It's called football here, Roberta."
"Right. When is it?"
"That's Saturday, after the helicopter tour on Friday."
"And why the helicopter?" Roberta squinted.
"For an aerial view of the city. You can edit that into the promos and the opening shots."
Roberta scoffed. "I realize we need an aerial view, but why are you going?"
"Did you know this time of year blue and humpback whales can be seen migrating south off the coast of Argentina?" Serena tried to smile normally.
She'd never forget seeing the whales with Max, and that moment that had seemed so magical. Time had seemed suspended and they'd shared a sense of reverence. She knew Max had felt it too. She was pretty sure that's when she'd fallen in love with Max Taggert.
Roberta was staring at her with one eye narrowed. "All right. I'll authorize it."
The helicopter. She'd almost forgotten what she'd asked for. "Thank you, Roberta."
Serena took her spot in the plaza in front of the French neo-Gothic cathedral.
She wished she could enjoy this beautiful city, but even the shopping in Puerto Madero hadn't thrilled her. It was crazy, but she missed the snow, and the whalebone arch, and the blanket toss, and all the friendly Iñupiat people she'd met. Since when did she prefer moose stew to an exquisite meal in a five-star restaurant?
In the mornings when she woke up here, it was as if her time in Barrow had been nothing but a weird dream. A weird dream that made one's heart ache.
A week ago Serena had woken up to a nightmare. An empty cabin with a cold note.
Had supply run to Fairbanks.
It's better this way.
Call Arctic Cab Co. 555-1224
Max
At least he'd had the decency not to leave cab fare on the dresser. She fought to control her eyes watering.
On the plane ride from Anchorage to Seattle she'd found Max's papers in her purse. Serena had burst into tears when she saw them. The passengers beside her and across the aisle had stared at her, but she didn't care. Those papers in her purse were a symbol that Max trusted her to do whatever she thought best with them.
"We're ready, people," Roberta yelled, then counted down with her fingers, three, two, one, and pointed at Serena.
Serena snapped back to the present and stared blankly at the camera. The teleprompter's words might as well have been in Greek.
"Serena?"
"Sorry, Roberta. Can we start again?"
"Okay, everyone. Take two." Roberta silently counted down again.
"The cathedral you see behind me is called the Basílica Nuestra Señora de Luján. Construction began on the church in eighteen eighty-seven and took forty-eight years to complete. The basilica attracts millions of pilgrims every year who honor the Virgin of Luján and marvel at the stunning architecture.
"And what would a trip to the 'gateway to Argentina' be without some authentic tango dancing? Tonight we watch a special performance of the most romantic of the Latin dances. And ladies, watch out. Only make eye contact with a man if you wish to dance the tango with him.
"Tune in all week while we Travel in Style in sunny Buenos Aires." Serena flashed a smile and hoped no one could tell it was fake.
"Cut!" Roberta yelled, and rushed to the monitor to watch the playback. Serena dropped her smile.
Christine and Caitlin swooped in to dab and spray in case a retake was needed. People swarmed around her. Locals, tourists, lighting techs, the sound crew. A sob caught in Serena's throat. Unclipping and pulling off her mike pack, she shoved past Christine and Caitlin and raced for the cathedral, losing herself in the crowd of pilgrims. Once inside, she found an empty alcove and leaned her cheek against the cool tiles.
She covered her mouth and pushed back the tears. The crying had to stop. She'd fallen in love. It hadn't worked out. She would get over it.
Max was just too damaged to love anyone.
Drawing a deep, calming breath, she lifted her gaze to the astoundingly gorgeous stained glass windows. Sunlight seemed to glow through the glass and burst into a rainbow of color. Even with hundreds of worshippers, the cathedral was cool and quiet. Peaceful.
If nothing else, the investigative and romantic failures in Barrow had taught her one thing. She didn't feel driven to change the world anymore. She couldn't be her dad. She could only be herself. Whatever she contributed to the world would have to be good enough. If her dad didn't approve, that was his problem. The only person she needed to please was herself.
Maybe she did only give the world travel tips. But while she was traveling, maybe she could look for opportunities to shed light on disadvantaged areas, or ways her viewers could contribute to local charities. She'd discussed it with Roberta and her producer had presented the idea to the network execs. And rather than have her not renew her contract, they had agreed. And she'd started with editing in a clip about Shishmaref into the Alaska show.
Her makeup was ruined, but Serena lifted her chin and exited the cathedral, determined to face life with a smile.
THE SUN WAS RISING earlier and setting later every day. Soon, it would be daylight for twenty-two hours out of twenty-four. But that wasn't the reason Max couldn't sleep.
The night he'd left Serena in his cabin, he'd flown to Fairbanks, picked up supplies, picked up more in Anchorage the next day, and delivered them back to Barrow and the entire time he was in the air, he'd thought of nothing but Serena.
He'd picture her the way he first saw her, in that tight skirt showing off her long, bare legs. Or peeking out from under the tarp, hiding in the back of his plane. That memory always made him smile. The woman had guts.
Or sometimes he pictured her dressed like a native in her parka and boots with the sunlight turning her brunette hair to red.
Even once he got home, he'd lie awake and think of her. Think of her instead of paying bills. Or even now, as he replaced shingles on his grandmother's roof.
Damn! Max cursed long and loud. He'd just smashed his thumb. Thinking of her instead of paying attention.
"Are you all right, grandson?" His grandmother stood below, looking up at him, shading her eyes from the cloud-covered sunlight.
"I'm all right, Aanaga." He picked up another shingle, laid it in place and swung the hammer.
"You are a liar, Maximilian White Wolf Taggert."
He jerked his gaze to his grandmother just as he swung down and hit his thumb again. This time his string of curse words were cut off and then he murmured under his breath. "How am I a liar?"
"You are not 'all right,'" his grandmother called up to him.
Max squinted down at her. "I've hit my thumb before. It'll heal."
"It is not your thumb I am worried about healing, grandson."
He looked away and shoved his hair out of his face. He did not want to have this conversation.
"Please come down so we can talk."
"When I'm finished." Concentrating on the nail he'd missed twice already, he swung the hammer and drove it in clean this time, then reached for another shingle.
"The last two times you were here, you do not give me time. You work. You leave."
"I'm busy this time of year."
She laughed and swatted the air with her hand. "You do not come down. I will go up." His grandmother grabbed the rails of the ladder and lifted a foot onto the bottom rung.
"Aanaga, I'm not falling for your tricks this time." He pretended to ignore her but watched from the corner of his eye. She lifted her other foot and climbed to the next rung.
"Aanaga..." He drew out her name like a warning.
She lifted another foot.
"All right! I'm coming down." He left the shingles and nails, determined to keep the discussion short, and climbed down the ladder, complaining the whole way. "You are the most stubborn, meddling, blackmailing---" He jumped down the last two rungs and twisted as he landed to see her grinning at him, mischief twinkling in her eyes.
"A grandmother does what is best for her grandson, even when he curses her."
Frowning, he gripped her shoulders. "I would never curse you, Aanaga."
Her smile dropped. "When you curse yourself, you curse me."
Max lifted his hands to his hips and sighed. "No one is cursing anybody."
"You do not let the Searching One heal you."
"Aanaga, please. I can't talk about her."
"Just like you would not talk about Shelley. Or the accident."
He opened his mouth to explain, but what could he say?
"Yet you spoke of Shelley, and your baby boy. And the accident with Serena. And you are not ashes."
True. Telling Serena about his wife and the accident had made him relive every unbearable second, but the pain hadn't crippled him as it had just thinking about it in the past.
His grandmother placed a tender hand on his arm. "After I was attacked, I could not look at any man, nor let him touch me."
Max put his arm around her. "Who could blame you?"
"Then I met your grandfather. And if I had not sent my heartbreak to fly off with the white owl, my tragedy would have become your grandfather's tragedy too." She moved her hand to cover his heart. "And yours."
Something shifted inside him. "What about my mother?"
"Ii. Your father broke her heart. She could not let her heartbreak fly away with the white owl. That is her tragedy. But it does not have to be yours, loved one."
Max's vision blurred. A lump formed in his throat he couldn't swallow past. What Aanaga said made sense in this moment. But living it every day was different. Could he let go of the past? And more importantly, could he risk the pain of heartbreak again?
"Serena is the Searching One, Max." His grandmother thumped his chest, hard. "She will bring your wandering soul home."
"Yeah, well." Even if he wanted to take such a chance, there was still the logistics of managing the relationship. He cleared his throat and stepped away from his grandmother. Pretending to wipe his temple, he swept his sleeve over his eyes. "I need to finish your roof." He swung up to the second rung of the ladder.
"One more thing, grandson."
Max stopped and looked back. "What?"
"I've been thinking of moving south. Perhaps to Fairbanks or even San Francisco." Her lined face broke into a smile and she clapped her hands, threw back her head and cackled.
SERENA HAD a couple hours siesta time before she had to dress to record tonight's segment. She pulled out the papers Max had put in her purse and read over them again, looking for inspiration for the closing paragraph of her article.
The main paper was a report from the FAA dated a couple of months ago. They'd ruled that Max's plane crash was not due to pilot error and he'd been cleared of all charges.
Behind those papers were two letters written on stationery from the survivor, Beau Ramsey, the first dated almost nine months after the crash. He thanked Max for saving his life, and told him he'd taken care of Max's legal bills and secured his loan for a new plane. And another, more recent letter, telling Max that he'd given a deposition to Max's defense attorney in the civil suit brought by Kevin's and Mike's wives and parents and the suit was being dropped.
He might not have been capable of relinquishing all his demons, but at least he didn't have to worry about a lawsuit taking away his livelihood.
She fired up her laptop and opened the file: An Unsung Hero.
The article was about a certain man from Barrow---a hero who'd been falsely accused but ultimately exonerated. But she was stuck on the perfect ending.
She planned on submitting it to several Alaskan papers and magazines as a freelance writer.
It might not get published. And even if it did, Max might never see it or know about it, but she hoped if he did, he would have no doubt how she felt about him.
She saved the file, closed her laptop and went to shower. She was going to learn to dance the tango tonight.
A WEEK AFTER FIXING his grandmother's roof, Max made his monthly supply run to Anchorage. One of the things he'd always loved about his job, besides being his own boss, was the hours spent alone. No dealing with other people's crap. But a six-hour commute also gave a man a lot of time to think.
Which wasn't always a good thing.
Refueling in Nome reminded him of when he'd left Serena here. Checking into the crappy little motel by the Anchorage airport reminded him of that first kiss. And ordering a hamburger next door reminded him of how uncomplicated his life had been before meeting her.
Eating his crappy hamburger and drinking his very good Jameson whiskey only made his thoughts more morose. He thought about what his grandmother had said about moving. San Francisco? Was she finally getting feebleminded? She'd never expressed an interest in living anywhere else but Barrow. Did she think he didn't know what she was getting at? Both were major cities with international airports, where a person who traveled on business might be able to make her home base?
He couldn't care less where he lived, but he couldn't believe his grandmother would want to leave Barrow. Still, it's not like she had any family left there. Except him, of course. And she didn't have any close friends she visited every day. But what about her role as shaman to the Iñupiat of Barrow?
It was crazy to even wonder about any of it. He'd ruined whatever opportunity he might have had with Serena---if he'd wanted one, which he didn't.
He drank more than usual, and for the first time, thought about the elder native sitting in the back booth. He pictured himself an old man, alone, sitting in that back booth like the elder there now. Drinking his empty nights away...like his mother.
The thought made his stomach roil with disgust. He slid off the stool with half a tumbler left of his drink and headed outside. Once he got to his room, he left Mickey inside and then hailed a taxi. "Spenard and First," he instructed as he got in.
The closer the taxi got to the address, the grungier the neighborhoods became. Prostitutes, pimps and drug dealers were out in plain sight around here. Max had come here twice before. He'd sat in the cab wondering if she was home. Imagining what she would say if he knocked and she answered.
This time he got out. He paid the cab, then walked up to the third-floor apartment on the right.
All he had of his mother were a few vague memories. A stuffed whale toy. His mother's voice singing an Iñupiat lullaby to him.
For a long time after she left him with his grandmother, he used to ask her about his mother. She would shake her head and say, "She is lost right now, Max. Her soul has gone wandering."
As a child, he'd had nightmares about his mother being lost at sea and he would take a boat to try to find her. But he never could save her. Every once in a while they would receive a letter or postcard from her saying she hoped he was okay and always apologizing. She was always so sorry.
But not sorry enough to come back for him.
After he got older, he quit asking about her. Hate filled him. If she didn't want him, he didn't want her either. But after he came back to Barrow with his pilot's license and got his business going, he grew curious and started looking for her on his trips to Anchorage.
Until he'd finally found her a few years ago.
Twice he'd watched her leave this apartment and come back, usually with a man. But he'd never spoken to her.
He raised a hand to knock, his fist suspended in midair, his knuckles an inch from the door. Did he really want to do this? Then he saw himself sitting in that back booth getting drunk every night. And he knocked.
After a long minute, he turned away. Guess she was---
The door opened and he swiveled back to face...his mother.
She looked older than her forty-nine years. Her hair was disheveled and graying at the temples, her skin was sallow, and she wore a ratty robe that she tightened around her and clutched at her throat when she recognized him. "Max?"
"So, you know me?"
Her dark, tired eyes narrowed and she whispered, "You look just like him."
"My dad?"
She nodded. "What are you doing here?"
"I need to ask you something."
Shaking her head, she looked down. "I did what was best for you. There's nothing else to say."
"It's not that. Can I come in?"
Her eyes flared wide and she hesitated, then stepped back and opened the door.
The apartment was tiny, but neat and clean. Max wandered in and glanced around while she shut the door behind him. The television was turned on to some black-and-white movie. A gray cat lay across the back of the couch. And on one wall hung a collage of photos. Of him. As a baby. As a boy. As a teen. When he graduated high school. One with Shelley. Another in front of his first plane. His grandmother must have sent them.
He spun to her. Her eyes were filled with tears. She wiped her nose with the back of hand and he noticed her hand trembled before she folded her arms across her chest.
"No pictures of Dad?"
She frowned. "Not anymore."
"Aanaga says your soul went wandering."
She raised her brows. "Mom's always been old school."
"And you never were?"
"No." She studied the floor. "Maybe if I had believed..."
"Before he died, Dad told me you were both just too young and couldn't handle a baby."
Heaving a sigh, she grabbed a remote, turned off the television, then sat on a dilapidated couch. "I was only seventeen."
"And that's when you started drinking? Because you were heartbroken over Dad? When he left us?"
"Me. When he left me."
"And you couldn't ever get over him? And be happy without him?" Be happy with just me?
She hunched her shoulders and closed her eyes. "It's not that simple. I was mad at the world. And by the time I realized I wasn't anymore, I'd already made a mess of my life. Made you hate me. Then it was too late."
"Aanaga says it's never too late for a wandering soul to return."
She grabbed a soda can off the side table and began wiggling the tab. "Return to what? You're both better off without me in your lives." Her voice wavered. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Something about the way she wouldn't look at him and kept messing with the tab reminded him of Serena peeling the label off her beer bottle the night he met her. She'd been hedging then. Maybe his mother was too.
"If you're still drinking, that's true. If you're not..." He turned to look back at the photos of him framed and hung on the wall. "Maybe we could...see each other sometimes."
"I'm not drinking anymore." Her voice was tinged with hope. He met her gaze. So were her eyes. "You can check with my sponsor."
"Okay." He nodded. "I fly into Anchorage every month."
"I know. A pilot. Like your dad. I---I'm glad he finally did right by you." She rose from the couch and stepped over to him. "Tell your grandmother..." She bit her trembling lip and took a deep breath. "Thank you. For raising such a good man."
He hadn't expected this. Wasn't sure if he wanted it. He nodded and reached for the doorknob, but she grabbed his arm.
"Maybe if I had known I had the power. To choose hate or love. I would have chosen love. Not hate. Yes, I wished I'd known that."
He stared at her briefly, then left the apartment before he got all mushy and hugged her. He wasn't ready for that.
Setting off on foot for his motel, he strode faster and faster until he was jogging. What had he done? Did he really want to see her again? Had he gotten the answer he was looking for?
Hell, he didn't even know why he'd gone, now. What difference did any of it make? How could he choose love when he had lived and not his wife and baby? Or his buddies?
He finally got to a part of town where he caught a cab back to his motel. Exhausted and shaking, he was putting the key in the lock of his room when he heard a soft thudding sound above him.
Max hesitated, then stepped back and looked up.
Hairs rose over his neck and arms.
Sitting on the roof just above his room was a snowy white owl.
It seemed as if the owl was staring straight at him with his huge golden eyes.
Max shivered. He remembered the owl and the wolf in the woods that night. Now this.
His body started quaking as he stared back at the owl. His vision blurred and the world seemed to swirl around him. What was happening?
In that instant, a sense of surrender beckoned to him. He closed his eyes, dropped his head back and opened his arms.
All right. I give in. I send my heartache away with you, Owl. I let it go.
Peace filled his soul. The world all around him calmed. Shelley, the baby, his buddies. All were at peace.
And clarity sharpened his mind. He'd always had a choice. To choose love or hate. Even when love is taken away. One can choose. He'd hated himself for a long time now. For not saving his family. For surviving.
His grandmother had chosen love. His mother had not.
But she had given him the secret to finding a wandering soul. It was to choose love.
He blinked as the owl shook out his feathered wings and took off into the night sky.
Aanaga. You knew. His soul wandered no more. It had come home when love returned to his heart. Love for Serena. She was his future.
And he wanted his future to start right now.
"OUR TIME in Buenos Aires has gone by too fast. We've marveled at centuries' old architecture, tasted the outstanding cuisine, taken in the nightlife with sultry tango dancing and immersed ourselves in the exciting and exotic flavor of life in the 'Gateway to Argentina.'"
Serena turned, following the camera's movement to pan the cityscape behind her from the roof of their hotel.
"But now we must say adios, amigos to the friendly people of Buenos Aires. Be sure to join us again next fall when we'll begin a whole new season. This is Serena Sandstone, with no reservations about making reservations. And remember, no matter where you go, you can always Travel in Style!" She held her smile while the camera lens zoomed out to the azure waters of the South Atlantic Ocean.
"And cut!" Roberta yelled. "Okay, Serena, that's a wrap." Roberta turned to speak to her assistant, and the crew began disassembling lighting and sound equipment.
Serena wandered back to her room, grateful to be left alone. If Roberta needed anything she could have her assistant call her cell.
As she packed her bags and checked out, she let out a deep breath, glad to be going home. She would enjoy hanging out in L.A. for the summer.
She still hadn't come up with a decent ending for her article. If only she could finish it, submit it and move on.
Once she was on the plane, she opened her laptop and tried again to write the ending. One lousy paragraph. That's all she needed. She stared at the blinking cursor and bit her lip. She needed something inspiring, or something catchy. Or preferably both.
After a movie and two chapters of a book, she gave up and tried to sleep. She'd just gotten to a light doze when the plane landed.
She dragged herself to her condo and fell onto the sofa.
And stayed there for three days.
Friends called and asked her out to parties she normally would have jumped at the chance to attend. Her mom called and expressed concern that she hadn't let them know when she got home, and was she coming for the Fourth of July barbecue?
Serena let all the calls go to voice mail. She just couldn't deal right now.
She told herself it was jet lag. Then she convinced herself it was a natural depression she always experienced during her summer hiatus from the show. She tried getting back to yoga, but it didn't calm her as it always had in the past. She even thought about going to her Pilates class, but she couldn't muster up the energy.
Her real problem, of course, was that she missed Max. Why on earth she missed that grouchy, sullen man was beyond explanation.
Except that she'd never felt so...challenged. So needed. So in tune with another human being on such a primal level.
Max made every other man she'd dated seem shallow by comparison. What would they know of dragging an injured man through miles of freezing terrain? For most men of her acquaintance, their most hazardous ordeal was bumper-to-bumper traffic.
No television show was good enough to take her mind off Max. No Chinese takeout could feed her hunger for him.
Enough.
After three days of self-pity and an entire box of tissues, Serena rolled off the couch, shut the TV remote in the end table drawer and returned the call to her mother. Yes, she would definitely be there for the family's barbecue on the Fourth. Then she took a long, cleansing shower, fixed her hair and makeup and went out to dinner with friends.
After dinner she made herself go to a club with them, but within half an hour, she was ready to leave. As she parked the BMW in front of her condo and got out, her cell phone rang. She checked the ID, but didn't recognize the number. But the area code was Alaska.
Her throat closed. "This is Serena," she choked out.
"I heard you're looking for a story." Max's deep voice had never sounded so sexy, or so dear.
"Uh, yes. I'm always ready to investigate something newsworthy."
"Well, there's this crazy woman."
Serena swallowed. What did he want? "Yes? Is she dangerous?"
"Only when she hides in the back of your plane."
She smiled. "Oh?"
"Or tries to cook."
"Hmm. I think I know this woman. Kind of pushy? Gets into your business even when you ask her not to?"
"I prefer to think of her as outgoing, and interested in solving mysteries."
"Really?"
"Yeah, and I was wondering if she might be available to interview this secretive man?"
"Well, it depends. Does this man want to be interviewed?"
"I think he's ready to give her an exclusive."
Her heart beat so fast she was short of breath. "In that case, I can be on the next plane to Anchorage. Maybe he could arrange to have a plane pick me up there?"
"Oh, he already has."
"Well, I'll need time to pack and book a flight. When will he be arriving in Anchorage?"
"The same time as you. If we leave Los Angeles tonight we can make it to Barrow by tomorrow night."
"Wha---?"
Max stepped out from behind a thick hedgerow, his teeth flashing as he smiled at her. He dropped the phone from his ear and headed for her car.
Tears blurred her vision as Serena ran into his arms. "Oh Max!"
He held her tight and kissed her, desperate, hungry kisses. His fingers tangled in her hair.
"I can't believe you're here," she whispered against his lips. Her arms snaked around his neck and curled into his nape. He looked so handsome. He'd cut his hair, and was still clean shaven, and was wearing a button-down dress shirt with his jeans. She'd never seen him look so sophisticated.
"Serena." He pressed a tender kiss to her temple. "I've been lost without you."
"Oh, Max. I missed you so much. I---"
"Shh." He put a finger on her lips. "Let me talk first, okay?"
She nodded and he lowered his finger. The muscle in his jaw twitched and he met her gaze with eyes full of intent. "You're my soul." His hand cupped her cheek. "My Searching One. My life. I love you. And I don't care what it takes. I'll move to Los Angeles. Or I can fly down whenever you're home. Or we can find someplace in between. As long as I can be with you. Wherever you are is where I belong."
"Max." She hugged him tight around the neck, kissing him under his ear, down his jaw. "I love you, too." She covered his mouth and poured her heart into the kiss. "You have a business in Alaska. And Evelyn. We can't leave her. And I miss those cold, snowy nights. Besides, Alaska is a part of you. And I love it because it's part of who you are."
"Ah, Serena." He smiled, picked her up and twirled her around. "Alaska, it is."
MAX LANDED smoothly at the Wiley Post-Will Rogers Memorial Airport and taxied down the runway. Next to him, Mickey whined. The malamute knew they were almost home.
Home. It seemed like a dream sometimes. To come home to someone. To fall into Serena's arms and bed and know how right it felt. No longer cursed, but blessed. No longer wandering, he'd found the place where his soul belonged.
The days were growing shorter. The nights longer. Soon they would have only darkness for four months.
"Max, you're early," Chris greeted him as he brought the first cooler of meat into the kitchen of the North Slope Inn. "Did you get the turkey?"
"Yes, and yes," Max continued as Chris opened his mouth. "It's a twenty-five-pounder. You're not feeding the entire town, you know. It's just Serena's parents and my grandmother."
Chris shrugged. "Arna likes leftovers."
"And I am eating for two now." Arna entered the kitchen and moved beside her husband wearing her usual impassive expression.
But Chris was beaming.
"Wow, congratulations!" Max slapped Chris on the back.
"Besides, I like his dressing." Arna glanced up at Chris and her face took on such a look of love. Max understood that feeling now.
"I like his undressing, too."
"Ow." Chris jumped and Max caught Arna's hand moving from behind Chris's backside. Max grinned.
"So." Chris cleared his throat and hid his blush by opening the cooler and bending to unload it into the fridge. "Your first Thanksgiving with the in-laws, huh?"
Max nodded. "I met them in L.A., but it was pretty rushed. You have their room booked, right?"
"They'll have our best accommodations, Max," Arna assured him.
By the time Max finished unloading their supplies, he was so anxious to get home he almost skidded his truck off the road.
Serena had to leave for Switzerland in two weeks and he intended to take advantage of every minute she was here. By which he meant to keep her naked and in bed as much as possible.
He pulled the truck up and jumped out, almost beating Mickey to the door.
As he walked in, he smelled something burning, but he couldn't have cared less. He wasn't hungry for food.
"Serena?" He wandered through their living room and kitchen, and then checked the bedroom and bathroom. No Serena. Worried, he finally noticed the back door ajar.
"Serena?" He stepped outside and spied her sitting in a deck chair with her knees drawn up to her chest. She was wearing her parka with the hood up, and had a huge down comforter wrapped around her. "What is it, sweetheart?" He hunkered down in front of her.
She sniffed. "If God had intended me to cook, he wouldn't have made me such a great judge of restaurants."
Max fought to keep from grinning. "You know I don't care if you cook. Let's go out tonight."
She sniffed again. "It's okay. Aanaga brought your favorite stew earlier today. Just in case, she said." She gave a rueful smile and rolled her eyes. "She knows me too well."
"She knows you're the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. Now, come inside, it's freezing out here." He took her arms and rose, pulling her up as he stood.
"But the stars are so beautiful." She looked up.
She was right. For once it was a cloudless night in Barrow.
At that moment, the northern lights flashed green and purple in the sky. Serena gasped and watched until the lights faded away. "Max. I finally saw them. They're so beautiful. It's like they were waiting until I was with you to show up." She beamed up at him and wound her arms around his neck. "Every time I've seen something magical, I've been with you." She kissed him, but he pulled away, worried she was too cold, and guided her back into the house.
And later, after he'd heated every part of her body, he whispered, "When I'm with you, my life is magical."
ISBN: 978-1-4268-8787-1
PRIMAL CALLING
Copyright © 2011 by Juliet L. Burns
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