Against the Wild (2 page)

Not since Jason had died had a man attracted her the way Dylan did. She had dated a couple of other good-looking men, but those few dates had ended in disaster. Maybe it would happen again, but there was something about Dylan Brodie that had convinced her to take the risk.

Aside from his irresistibly challenging project, she was determined to explore the attraction between them. She would take things slowly, keep her emotions in check and make sure she was doing the right thing, but if the feeling was mutual and as strong as it had been before, she would act on it.

She was a woman, after all. She had needs, desires, just like any other woman. After three long years of grieving, she deserved a little physical contact with an amazingly attractive man.

Or at least that was what she had told herself.

Unfortunately, as the plane began to rush through the water, throwing up a frothy wake, traveling faster and farther toward some unknown destination, all her earlier doubts rose into her head.

She didn't have to be psychic to know she was completely out of her league with a man like Brodie. Good Lord, she didn't even know him!

She hadn't been sure what Dylan expected of her when she'd agreed to take the job, but she wasn't going to let him push her into making a mistake. She hadn't had sex in three years. She simply wasn't ready to rush into a relationship, she told herself, as brief as this one would be.

Dear God
, she thought in near panic as the engine roared and the plane began to lift out of the sea,
what on earth have I done?

Dylan eased the plane into a slow climb, then flattened out and settled at a comfortable altitude above the ocean and deep green forests below.

He flicked a glance at the woman beside him, sitting rigidly in the copilot's seat. She was wearing beige slacks, a peach-colored sweater, and low-heeled shoes. Gold earrings sparkled in her ears, and pale orange fingernail polish gleamed on her slender hands. Not exactly outdoor wear, but he liked it.

He wondered if the tension she was feeling came from the plane ride or just sitting next to him.

He was pretty sure it was the latter.

She'd been wary of him since the moment he had introduced himself one sunny afternoon in California. Over the next few days, she had dodged every effort he had made to get her to go out with him, told him in no uncertain terms she just wasn't interested.

Not in him, or the job he offered.

She owned an interior design firm in Beverly Hills, she'd told him, adding when he'd baited her that she was a damn good designer. Having checked her résumé and the references he found on the Internet, having done all the necessary homework, he knew she hadn't been unjustly boasting. The woman knew interior design, and her credentials said she could handle the job.

Still, she'd said no when he'd tried to get her to come north and take on the project. She'd said no half a dozen times, and it should have been enough.

For reasons he had yet to fathom, he had called her again when he got back home and asked her one last time, offered her way more money than the job was worth.

He'd called himself an idiot a hundred times, been thinking it right up to the moment he'd seen her standing in the terminal and felt that same punch in the gut he'd felt in L.A.

Taller than average, about five-eight, she was twenty-seven years old, slender yet curvy in all the right places. She had wavy, just-below-the-shoulder red hair and eyes greener than a high meadow pine. She had bold yet feminine features, and her skin had a golden cast he didn't think came from the sun. Just looking at her made him hard. God, she was a beauty.

He reminded himself he had fallen for a beautiful woman before and it had ended in disaster. Marrying Mariah Douglas was the worst mistake he'd ever made. But he wasn't interested in marrying Lane. And she sure as hell wasn't interested in tying up with him.

Not for any length of time, at least.

Lane was a sensible woman, a businesswoman sophisticated enough to enjoy a brief, intense relationship and walk away unfazed when it was over.

From the moment he had seen her, he had wanted her. More than wanted her. And though she was skittish and unsure of her feelings, he knew damn well she wanted
him
.

He wouldn't rush her. It wasn't his way. If it worked, it worked. If it didn't, it didn't. But he was a man who went after what he wanted, and he wanted Lane Bishop in his bed.

He thought of his daughter and wondered what Emily would think when he brought another woman into the house. He hadn't told Lane about her. But then what was there to tell? Em lived in a world of her own. She never bothered anyone. And Lane was there to do a job. The two would rarely see each other.

“You were right,” Lane said, flashing him a grin, apparently forgetting her nervousness, at least for the moment. “It's spectacular.” She went back to looking at the view of deep pine forests stretching endlessly beneath the plane, the landscape interspersed with blue ocean, quiet lakes, and rocky peaks. “It's better than any picture I've ever seen.”

He relaxed a little. “I hoped you'd like it.” But he hadn't been completely sure. These days, a lot of people were more interested in texting or playing a game on their iPhones than looking at the scenery.

Though his ex-wife had been raised in Wyoming and should have been used to the climate and surroundings, she had hated Alaska the minute she'd set foot on the loamy soil.

Next to him, Lane was still smiling. “I love the mountains,” she said. “I grew up in Illinois farm country, but my mother came from Vermont. She always missed it. The snow on the mountains at Christmas, the scent of pine trees. I guess I must have inherited a little of that love.”

Of course it was easy to love Alaska in the late spring and summer. The tourist season. It was the rest of the year most people couldn't handle.

“Your folks still around?” he asked.

He caught a flash of sadness in her face. “Dad took a job in L.A. and died of a heart attack right after the move. Mom got breast cancer a few months later. I was in college in Chicago. I quit school and moved out to California to take care of her.”

“That had to be rough.”

“It was worth it. Over those last few months, Mom and I really got to know each other. I wouldn't trade the time we spent together for anything.”

Interesting.
He had her pegged as a cooler, less emotional kind of woman. He wondered if that would pose a problem later on. Then again, why should it? Lane was from L.A. No-strings sex was perfectly acceptable there.

She turned back to the window. “Oh, look at those snow-covered peaks! They seem tall enough to touch the sky.” She grabbed her handbag and started digging frantically around in the bottom. Behind them, Finn moved a little in his seat, then put his head back down and went back to sleep.

Lane retrieved her digital camera and started snapping away. For the next few minutes she took photo after photo of the incredible view outside the window.

“How far away is the lodge?”

“It's about a hundred miles from Ketchikan to Eagle Bay.”

She started snapping pictures again as if she wouldn't have time to get enough. He didn't tell her the view she was looking at went on for thousands of miles.

There was only so much a city girl could take.

 

 

Lane enjoyed the flight to Eagle Bay far more than she had expected. She'd been completely caught up in the incredible scenery, the snow-capped ranges that stretched as far as the eye could see, the islands, one after another in the Inland Passage below the plane. She had even spotted a whale, and Dylan had dipped down so she could get a closer look.

For a while she'd even been able to forget the unsettling man beside her. Now they were descending, losing altitude, preparing for a water landing in the bay.

“I'll make a pass over the lodge so you can get a look at what you'll be dealing with.”

“That'd be great.”

The plane dipped, continued its descent, then began to circle over a structure sitting along the shoreline of the bay. The lodge was larger than she had imagined, big and sprawling, a U-shaped building two stories high, one side a little longer than the other.

“There are two separate wings,” Dylan said. “The smaller one's for family, the bigger one's for guests.”

“How many rooms?”

“Four bedrooms and a master suite on the residential side, ten rooms in the guest wing. We're knocking out some walls so we'll end up with two suites and six bedrooms with baths in that wing. There's a garage underneath. The center of the lodge is the great hall and dining room, a few miscellaneous spaces.”

“It looks a lot bigger than I imagined when I saw the photos.” She looked down. “Are those cabins?”

“That's right. Four outside cabins plus the main lodge, and a few outbuildings: sheds, covered wood bins, that kind of thing.” One of his dark eyebrows went up. “You can handle it, right?”

A shot of irritation trickled through her. “Of course.” She was damn good at what she did. And she had done far bigger projects. She wouldn't have taken the job if she couldn't do it right. She flicked him a sideways glance. “I can handle it. That's why you're paying me the big bucks.”

Dylan laughed, a husky, masculine sound that sent a ripple of heat sliding through her, reminding her of the underlying reason she had come.

Dylan circled the plane one more time and some of her unease returned as she realized that as far as she could see there was nothing but forest, miles and miles of deep green woods broken only by blue mountain lakes and long stretches of ocean.

“I thought there'd be a town,” she said.

“Not to worry.” The engine buzzed as he swung the plane a little to the right and she spotted what looked like structures in the distance, a few scattered homes and businesses. “That's a settlement called Yeil. It means ‘raven' in Tlingit.”

“Klink-it?”

“That's the way you pronounce it. It's the name of the Indians in this area. There's a small school, a grocery store with a one-pump gas station, and a community center. It's where we get our power, and the cell tower is there. Some of the people who live there work for me.”

“I see.”

“Waterside is fifteen minutes further north by air. The ferry docks there. That's where we get supplies, pick up guests. There are businesses there, even a movie theater.”

“So you can drive there?”

“You can. Or you can go by boat.”

“You have a boat?”

“Twenty-five-foot Grady-White. Great for fishing.”

“How long does it take to drive?”

“The town's only twenty-five miles away, but the roads are gravel. They aren't too bad this time of year, but if the snow gets too deep, you have to fly or go by snowmobile.”

Her stomach knotted. Unless Dylan flew her, or took her in his boat, she was stranded miles from the nearest real town. Why hadn't he mentioned how secluded they would be? Why hadn't she asked more questions? She'd been so damned busy she hadn't had time to do her research.

Or maybe she was afraid if she knew too much, she wouldn't come.

When she turned, she saw him watching her.

“You know you read like an open book. We won't be alone out here, if that's what you're worried about. Other people live in Eagle Bay. They aren't that close to the lodge, but they have homes not too far away. With the remodel, I've got contractors working at the lodge all day. I've got a housekeeper. You don't have to be afraid, Lane.”

Her hackles went up, though she had definitely been feeling uneasy. “I'm not afraid. I was just . . . I should have done a little more research.”

“I'll tell you anything you want to know.”

She sat back in her seat. It would have to be enough. She was here now and she had to admit she was captivated by what she had seen so far. Whatever happened, she would remember this wild place. She figured very few people who saw it ever forgot it.

 

 

Dylan made a nice, easy, smooth-water landing, then taxied close to the dock and let the wake nudge him up to the tie-downs. Paddy O'Ryan, the brawny, redheaded Irishman who worked for him, began securing the lines, attaching the plane so it wouldn't float away.

Dylan climbed out, stepping down on one of the pontoons that replaced the wheels, then reached up for Lane and helped her climb out. She caught Finn's leash and tugged, and the dog jumped out of the plane, nearly knocking her into the water as he shot past her and landed on the dock.

Grinning, Dylan caught her waist to steady her and felt her firm, lean muscles. A jolt of heat shot through him. Lane must have felt it, too. She turned, eyes wide, and quickly stepped onto the dock. Collecting Finn's leash, she led the dog up on the shore while Dylan unloaded her bags and followed.

His best friend, a well-built, dark-skinned man, walked up and grabbed the bigger bag. He was half Alaska Native with a mix of something else that refined his features and made him obnoxiously handsome. “I see you found her,” Caleb said.

“Yup, right there at the airport where she was supposed to be.” Dylan turned. “Lane, this is Caleb Wolfe. He helps me run the place.”

Her green eyes ran along the black hair Caleb wore in two long braids, then traveled six feet down to the soles of his heavy leather work boots. At thirty-one, Caleb was two years younger than Dylan, though his occasional spouting of Indian mythology had a tendency to make him seem older and wiser.

Having seen him as drunk as ten Tlingit braves on homemade beer and barely able to talk at all, Dylan knew better.

Lane extended a hand. “It's nice to meet you, Caleb.”

His friend's calloused palm engulfed her slender fingers. “Dylan's said a lot of nice things about you. I can see they were true.”

Dylan inwardly scoffed. He hadn't said squat. Which just went to show that just because a guy wore beads and wove feathers into his hair didn't mean he wasn't full of bullshit.

“This is Finn,” Lane said, rubbing the dog's shaggy head. “He's very gentle.”

Caleb extended his hand, Finn sniffed, and the two got acquainted. “Nice dog,” he said.

“Thanks.”

Caleb gave Finn a little scratch beneath the chin and the dog gave him what looked strangely like a smile. “I'll take the bags in,” Caleb said. “Mrs. Henry's been cooking all day. I can smell the venison roast from here. She baked an apple pie, too.”

“Sounds good.”

“I'll see you at supper.”

“Mrs. Henry?” Lane repeated as Caleb walked away and they headed up the stone path toward the front door of the lodge.

The lodge regally overlooked the bay, with a covered porch in front, two long balconies that wrapped around the upstairs, and amazing views of the ocean. The sight reminded him why he had purchased the place.

“Winifred Henry,” he explained. “The housekeeper I mentioned. She takes care of Emily.”

Lane stopped dead in her tracks, Finn right beside her. “Emily? Who exactly is Emily? And you had better not tell me she's your wife.”

He chuckled. “No wife. Not anymore. Emily's my daughter.”

She didn't move. He could see the temper building, rippling off her in waves. “You didn't bother to mention the lodge was miles away from a real town, down a nearly impassable road and—”