Against the Wild (6 page)

 

 

Lane spent the afternoon working, laying out color boards, looking at fabric samples, and going over measurements. They broke for supper at eight, then went back to work for a while.

It was after ten when Dylan walked her upstairs to her room.

“I really enjoyed the day,” she said, turning to look up at him in front of her door. “And even with the trip to town, I got a ton of work done.”

“I don't expect you to work this late every day.”

“I don't mind. I get pretty wound up when I'm on a new project. I prefer to be tired enough to sleep.”

He caught her chin, tilted it up so she was staring into his face. “Come to bed with me and I promise you'll sleep like a baby.”

Her pulse shot up a notch. She told herself to back away, but when he bent his head and very gently kissed her, she couldn't resist. Those hard male lips were softer than she had imagined, and they fit perfectly with hers. He smelled like the forest, and hard work, and man.

A soft sigh escaped. She didn't remember sliding her arms up around his neck or opening to take the kiss from a slow, leisurely exploration to deep, hot, and wet. She only knew she didn't want to stop. Ever.

Dylan groaned. His hands slid into her hair, fisted, holding her immobile as he deepened the kiss. Lane's insides were quaking, her knees weak. It took all her will to end the kiss and back away.

She looked up at him, tried to even her breathing.
Just a little more time
, she told herself.
Just a few more days.
Why she needed them, she was no longer sure. “I'd better go in. I've got a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

“Are you sure that's the way you want it?”

She wanted to drag him into her room, wanted to tear off his clothes and ravish him. “For now,” she said.

He kissed her softly one last time, waited for her to disappear inside her bedroom and close the door. She could hear his heavy footsteps as he padded down the hall and went into his own room.

Lane released an unsteady breath. Every part of her body tingled. She could still taste him on her lips. Her skin felt hot and tight and her breasts ached.

But she was two thousand miles from home, in the middle of a job she was committed to finishing. If the sex was disappointing, if for some reason it didn't work out between them, it would be a disaster.

She thought of Maggie Ridell. Dylan had said they were only friends. But she wasn't completely sure she could trust him. He had lied about Emily—or at least lied by omission. And the Ridell woman definitely had more than a casual interest in him.

She had to be certain she was making the right decision, but she had wanted Dylan since the moment she had met him. She had to wait, but God, it seemed like she had been waiting forever.

Determined to think of something else, she stripped off her clothes and slid naked between the covers. Even though the sheets were cold, she enjoyed the freedom.

Finn was already in the room, asleep on his bed in the corner. Lane turned off the lamp on the nightstand, exhaled an exhausted breath, lay back, and closed her eyes.

She wasn't sure how long she slept before the faint sound slowly reached her. It stirred images in the back of her mind that eventually nudged her awake, and for several seconds she stared up at the ceiling trying to figure out what it was.

Then she knew.
Crying.
It sounded like a child.
Emily.
Grabbing her robe off the foot of the bed, Lane tugged it on, grabbed the flashlight off the nightstand, and hurried out the door.

There was no one in the hallway, but the crying grew louder as she moved along the corridor and opened the door to Emily's bedroom. Careful not to frighten her, Lane shined the flashlight into the room, spotted Emily lying on the bed, and stepped quietly inside.

The crying stopped as Lane approached. She saw that the little girl's eyes were open and staring up at her, and it didn't appear she had been crying at all.

“Are you all right, sweetheart?” Lane perched on the chair next to the nightstand. Emily surprised her by nodding.

“Were you crying?”

She shook her head.

“Did you hear it?”

Emily nodded.

“Do you know who it was?”

Emily shook her head, closed her eyes, and snuggled back down in the bed.

Lane listened, but heard only silence. Surely it had been Emily. There was no doubt it had been a child and she was the only child in the house. Or was she?

Lane gazed back down at the little girl, who was already fast asleep.

A chill slipped through her. Charlie Jensen had said there were ghosts in the house. He had implied they had driven past owners away. It was ridiculous. It must have been Emily. Probably she just didn't want Lane to know.

Still, Lane intended to talk to Caleb, see if he knew more than he had told her.

Making her way back to her room, Lane went in and closed the door. But she wasn't able to fall asleep.

Dylan checked his watch: 8:00
AM
. In the mornings, they started at six, worked for a couple of hours, then took a break for breakfast. Winnie was setting food on the table, but Lane still hadn't appeared. She was usually downstairs by seven. Dylan was beginning to worry when he looked up and saw her walking into the kitchen.

“Sorry I'm late,” she said, taking her usual seat beside him at the table. He wished it didn't feel so good to have her there. “I woke up in the middle of the night and didn't get back to sleep until almost dawn. I should have set the alarm.”

“It's all right, we just sat down.” Dylan did his best to ignore the jean-clad thigh brushing his, tried not to think of the scorching kiss they'd shared in the hallway last night.

Lane spread her paper napkin over her lap and glanced over at Emily, who was sitting across the table next to Caleb. Emily's eyes swung to Lane's, and for a moment neither of them looked away. Dylan wondered what his little girl was thinking, wished she were able to tell him. Knew that she could if she wanted. The thought made his chest feel tight.

“I saw an old friend of yours yesterday,” he said to Caleb as he passed the bacon and scrambled eggs, then filled his plate as the pancakes went by.

Caleb slid a load of bacon onto his plate. “Oh, yeah? Who was it?”

“Holly Kaplan.”

Caleb grunted. “I heard she'd moved to town. Got her nursing degree.”

“She's working part-time at the Grizzly. Said to tell you hello.”

“Like she thinks I care?”

“So you don't?”

“Not anymore. Not since she decided she'd rather be with Eddie McGuiness than me.”

“That was awhile back, if I recall. When we were still living in Juneau.” Where he and Caleb had first met and become good friends.

“What difference does it make where we lived? Doesn't change what happened.”

Lane set her coffee mug down on the table. “She seemed like a nice girl. Maybe you should give her another chance.”

“I will. When hell freezes over.” Caleb turned to Winnie, who sat at the end of the table. “Would you pass me some more of those blueberry pancakes, Mrs. Henry? They're really delicious.”

Winnie passed the platter, always pleased when the guys cleaned up all of her cooking. “I'm glad you like them.”

They finished the meal in easy conversation and everyone headed off in different directions. “I'll see you later,” Dylan said to Lane, who'd been unusually quiet through the meal.

He hoped she wasn't regretting that kiss.

He sure as hell wasn't.

 

 

Lane caught up with Caleb in the hall outside the kitchen. “Could I talk to you a minute?”

“Sure.” He wore his usual long black braids, as glossy as the feathers of the raven they had talked about. “What's up?”

“Yesterday when we were in town, Charlie Jensen at the mercantile said this place was haunted. He said that was the reason people kept selling and moving away.”

Caleb just smiled. “Charlie's a busybody. Worse than a woman.” He grinned. “No offense.”

She smiled back. “None taken. I was just wondering . . . he said something about a murder. You mentioned people had died here. Do you know what happened?”

“Not really. I heard some of the guys from the village talking. One of them said the last owner sold the place because he kept hearing footsteps in the hall and no one was there. Stuff like that.”

“By ‘the village' you mean Yeil?”

“Yeah. About a hundred people live there. Lots of them are Tlingits, probably more than half.”

“Have you ever heard them?”

“What?”

“The footsteps.”

Caleb shook his head. “But I live in one of the cabins. Far as I know, nothing like that has happened since we've been here.”

Lane hesitated. No way could she mention the crying she had heard to Dylan. He'd be sure it was Emily, and Lane didn't want to lose the little girl's trust. Still, she needed to know if something odd was going on.

“Last night I heard a child crying. When I went into Emily's room, she was awake, but she said it wasn't her.”

His obsidian eyes widened. “She talked to you?”

“No, but when I asked her about it, she shook her head. I asked her if she heard the crying and she nodded.”

He shrugged. “Probably just the wind. It makes some pretty weird noises.”

“I suppose. But it might be interesting to know the history of the lodge. Got any idea how we might find out?”

“It was built in the early thirties, or somewhere thereabouts. There are some elders in the village who might know something about it.”

“Maybe you could take me to see them.”

Caleb shook his head. “No way. Not without Dylan. He's my friend, and I'm not about to go behind his back. If he wants to go, I'll take you.”

“He won't want to go. He's convinced there's nothing to the rumors.”

“He's probably right.”

“Probably.”

Caleb sauntered off down the hall, headed for the guest wing, where the crew was hard at work. Lane went to work in the office, trying to decide on the bathroom fixtures, which would have to be ordered and shipped to Waterside. She wanted something with a hint of Art Deco but not too expensive.

Most people thought of that period as Erté-style sculptures and drawings of sleekly beautiful women, but there had also been great usage of geometric lines and angles, giving the style what looked like an Indian flare. That was the look she wanted.

Sitting down, she started sifting through catalogs.

 

 

Dylan walked into the office before supper to find Lane on the Internet. He came up behind her, looked over her shoulder.

“You're on Facebook?”

She nodded. “I don't go on that often. But being so far from home, it helps me feel connected.”

He studied the monitor. “You posted the photos you took from the plane.”

“Some of them. And some pictures of the lodge. It's just so beautiful.”

He read the posts, which said how amazing the scenery was, how much she was enjoying working on the project, and how glad she was she had come.

Dylan pulled her up from the chair and into his arms. “I'm glad you came, too.” He kissed her briefly, lightly, felt her tense, and backed away. “You ready for supper?”

“I'm going to check on Finn first, then I'll be in.”

“I'll go with you.”

She didn't protest when he walked her down the hall, through the mudroom, and out into the side yard. Finn was in the far corner, sniffing something beneath a bush next to the fence.

“Oh, crap.” Dylan started running, but it was too late. Finn made a shrieking sound and leaped straight up in the air.

“Finn!” Lane started running. Dylan caught her before she got too close. “What happened? What's the matter with him?”

“Porcupine. Finn!” Dylan called. “Come here, boy.”

“Finn, come here, baby.” The big dog slowly crossed the yard, head down, tail tucked between his legs. Porcupine quills stuck out of his muzzle and all around his face.

“Oh, my God, my poor baby.”

“I'll get the pliers. You keep him calm.”

“Oh, Finn, it's okay, boy. We're going to fix you.”

When Dylan returned, he was surprised to see Emily sitting on the ground next to Lane and Finn. The little girl was petting poor Finn, who was trembling all over, while Lane talked to him softly.

For the next half hour, he worked over the dog, pulling the quills out one at a time, a painful procedure since they were barbed at one end. All the while, Emily and Lane kept the dog quiet.

“Could have been worse,” he said as he finished.

“Worse? Finn was really hurting.”

“I know. But sometimes the quills get inside the animal's mouth. It's really hard to get them out.” He went back inside the house and brought out some spray antiseptic, gave the dog a good dose.

“He'll be okay. Hopefully, he's smart enough not to go near one of those things again.”

“I don't think he will.”

“Good.” He smiled. “At least we don't have to worry about skunks.”

“Skunks? Oh, my God.”

Dylan laughed at the look of horror on Lane's pretty face. “Take it easy. There aren't any up here. They're all farther south. No snakes, either. Frogs are about it.”

“Except for bears, wolves, and moose.”

“Well, yeah.”

Lane smiled and shook her head. “I think Mrs. Henry is calling us to supper.” She extended a hand to Emily. “Come on, sweetheart. Let's go in and eat.”

Dylan watched the emotion playing across his daughter's face. Uncertainty. Anxiety. Longing. For several seconds, she just stared up at Lane. Dylan's chest squeezed when Emily took hold of the hand Lane offered, and Lane led her into the house.

 

 

It had been another long day and yet Lane felt exhilarated in a way she hadn't in a very long time. Maybe never. As a child in rural Illinois, she had loved the open spaces, the clear skies, the green fields stretching along the highway. She'd been living in L.A. so long, fighting the traffic and smog, she had forgotten how good it felt to breathe fresh, clean air.

At night she was exhausted, but also excited to be working on such an amazing project. And there was Dylan.

Her attraction to him seemed to grow every day, more so perhaps, now that he was giving her the time she needed to know him. He had walked her to her room and given her one of those mind-blowing, world-rocking kisses, but he hadn't pressed for more.

Lane almost wished he would.

Almost.

At the tap of doggie nails on the floor, she glanced over at Finn. Amazingly resilient, he trotted up to her as she got ready for bed. Careful not to brush his injured muzzle, she gave him a few quick back scratches and he headed for his place in the corner.

Tired to the bone, Lane climbed into bed and turned off the lamp, closed her eyes, and slid into a deep, mindless sleep. It wasn't until sometime after midnight she began to toss and turn, her mind flashing with erotic images, her body growing hot and damp.

She was no longer alone in the bed. Dylan was there, kissing her, pressing her down in the mattress, his strong hand fisting in her hair. The muscles in his long, hard body tightened as he moved, as his powerful erection thrust deep inside her. She was on fire for him, moaning, straining toward release.

She was almost there, teetering on the edge of climax, whimpering softly. “Dylan . . .” she whispered. “Dylan, please . . .”

Footsteps sounded in the hall, jerking her from sleep to wide awake in an instant. Eyes wide open, she listened for Dylan's knock at the door.

Embarrassment washed over her. Dear God, had Dylan heard her moaning? Calling his name? Heaven only knew what else she might have said. She waited, wondering if she should invite him in, let him make love to her, give her what her hot, erotic dream had promised.

She heard the heavy thump as the footsteps moved closer to her door, then they stopped, as if the person stood in the corridor just outside. But no knock came at the door.

Surely it was Dylan. But when he didn't knock or didn't move away, a shiver ran through her. Caleb had said the former owner had heard footsteps in the hall but no one had been there. Heart pounding, she grabbed her robe off the foot of the bed, tiptoed to the door, and cautiously pulled it open. No sign of Dylan or anyone else.

Just then, his door swung open and he stepped into the hall. He was barefoot, wearing only his jeans. His magnificent chest was bare, and he held a flashlight in one hand.

“Was that you I heard in the hallway?” he asked.

“I thought it was you.”

He shook his head. “Stay here.” Striding off down the hall, he went into Emily's room, apparently found her asleep, then checked the other bedrooms in the wing, which were empty.

A memory of her erotic dream surfaced as she watched him walking back toward her, and color washed into her cheeks. She hoped it was too dark for him to see.

She still couldn't believe she had almost climaxed in her sleep. It had certainly never happened before. Dylan headed downstairs and Lane waited in the corridor. The only footsteps she heard were Dylan's bare feet on the stairs as he climbed back up to the second floor.

“Must have been the wind,” he said.

“It sounded like footsteps.”

“Weather's coming in. Supposed to rain tomorrow. It was just the wind.”

“I guess.” But Lane was no longer certain the happenings in the house could be explained so easily.

“Will you be able to get back to sleep?” Dylan asked, and even in the dim light in the hall, she could feel those hot blue eyes on her.

Desire slipped through her and she fought not to tremble. “I'll be all right. Good night.”

“Good night, love.” He waited till she was safely inside, the door closed behind her, before he returned to his room.