Читать книгу Chinook, Wine and Sink Her - Morgan Q O'Reilly - Страница 10

Chapter 5

Linnet cleared the rise in time to see a raft with four men push away from the small gravel shingle she called a beach. Creed waved as they paddled for the gravel bar downstream. Good. She didn’t want to deal with travelers this late at night. All she wanted was to dry her hair and fall into her bunk. Morning came early with the sun rising at four-thirty. Wouldn’t it be something to be here the two weeks the sun didn’t set at all?

Manley trotted at her heels and she opened the door to let him into the cabin. Spying her laptop as the door shut, she paused for a moment and realized the generator was silent. Had Creed shut it off or had it run out of gas? One more chore to complete before bed.

Cups still sat on the table and her towel needed to be hung. She kicked off her shoes and slid her feet into warm sheepskin slippers. The sound of the screen door opening made her tense, but she forced herself to go about her business and started by hanging up her wet towel.

“Linnet, I’m sorry,” Creed said and stopped by the door. “I don’t know how to explain myself. You’re not just the first pretty woman I’ve seen in a long time. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

Shaking hands dropped the clothes pin she’d been trying to attach to the line. Before she could move, he was there, crouching at her feet to pick it up. He stood slowly and she stared at the wooden clip in his hand. It was easier than looking him in the eye.

“Thank you,” she said, then grimaced. Were they doomed to politeness?

When she didn’t take the pin, didn’t move at all, he secured the towel on the line for her.

“You’ve done a great job here. The cabin and the area around it look so much better.”

Determined not to thank him again, she shrugged and turned away to put the rest of her things away. “Just something to keep my hands busy.”

“George fishes to keep busy. But you don’t like fish.”

“I don’t like salmon. No point in torturing the poor things just to amuse myself. People who don’t eat fish shouldn’t catch them for fun.”

“Do you want more tea? Yours is probably cold by now.”

“No. Did you shut off the generator?”

“Yes, and filled it with gas, too. It’s ready to go the next time you need it. I also locked up the back of your truck.”

He walked over to her and his hand slid into view, holding her keys.

“Appreciate it,” she said, took them and dropped them on top of her duffel. “Anyhow, it’s been a long day and I need to get some sleep. The sun always wakes me up.” The body heat he radiated so close to her wouldn’t let her go to sleep anyway.

“Do you want me to light the woodstove for you?”

She shook her head. “Don’t need it.”

“It’s supposed to rain tomorrow. I’ll lay it out so all you have to do is touch a match to it.”

“I’m quite capable of building a fire.” She glared up at him.

“I’m sure you are. I’m trying to find little excuses to stay nearby longer.” His unrepentant grin reminded her of her fantasy in the tub and she felt a flush burn away any lingering chill from her damp hair. Would probably help if she put on a sweatshirt over the tank top and workout pants she wore to bed.

“I’m hoping to ingratiate myself with you by doing little chores so as to become indispensable in your life,” he added.

There was something warm behind the laughter in his eyes that made her want to shiver. She clamped down on the urge but couldn’t control her nipples perking up into tight peaks.

The way he stared at her chest for a long moment told her he noticed the tank and pants were the only things she wore. To put on a shirt now would make it obvious she was covering up from him.

“You’ll catch a chill if you go to bed with all that wet hair. Let me stay and keep you company while it dries.” His touch was slow and gentle when he reached out to finger a lock of hair. “I won’t kiss you until you come to me. Fair enough?”

“Then you won’t be touching me again, because I won’t come to you looking for kisses. Or anything else.” She stepped away from him and walked to the table. Sitting on the side closest to the door, she debated for a long moment before standing again.

Linnet picked up her tea and carried it to the sink area. Staring at it for a long time, she continued the internal debate of whether or not he might have tampered with it. A distrust she carried to this day and never let anyone hand her a beverage without a sealed lid. It was tiresome to always be on guard, which made being alone so much easier. Two weeks? Would he really stay for two whole weeks?

“I don’t think you hate men, not the way you kiss, but it isn’t just me who makes you jumpy, is it?”

She turned from the sink to watch him select kindling and logs from the woodpile. “I don’t want to talk about my personality quirks. I asked you earlier about your family story.”

It was like watching a moving piece of art as he arranged the wood, carefully stacking it over a fire starter. The satisfaction from her fantasy evaporated and she wanted to live the moment live. Unable to tear her eyes away, she watched until he stood, then she focused on the cold tea in her hands. Using great self control, she chose to keep the tea and returned to her seat to drink it.

“Do you always blush so much?” He chuckled and sat on the other side of the table from her.

Determined to get their earlier conversation back on track, she ignored the question. “So, Russian and Aleut? I guess I can understand that, but how did you get to the Interior?”

“Well.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed an ankle over a knee. “My great-great grandmother was the product of a Russian sailor and an Aleut woman. Being half-blood anything in those days wasn’t a good thing, especially since the sailor didn’t stick around.” He held up a hand and used his fingers to keep track of his ancestors.

“So, she signed on as a cook aboard a fishing vessel where she met a hopeful Swede. When they reached the Yukon Delta, they jumped ship and hiked up the river hoping to gather up handfuls of gold. They staked a claim here and later gathered up claims as they were abandoned, turning them into homestead land until we own from basically here back to what is now the highway. They had a daughter who grew up to marry another Swede. She and her husband moved into Fairbanks and homesteaded there. They had two daughters—one who grew up to marry an Irishman by the name of Willis and the other who married back into the Native world. That aunt is George’s grandmother. His father married another Athabascan, so he’s not anywhere near as handsome as I am.”

She watched him wink as he ticked off the generations on his long fingers.

“So those were your grandparents, right?”

“Right. They homesteaded as well, right alongside her parents and had my dad, the first male child. He married my mother, a good girl of Swedish descent as well, and here I am. I have a younger sister who’s living in Anchorage and trying to forget she was raised in Fairbanks. She has a seven-year-old boy the size of a yearling moose, or a large King salmon, take your pick.”

The sparkle of affection in his eye eased her nervousness a little. He seemed to have good relations with his family. “And George, the one I’m replacing, is your cousin?”

“Couple times removed and such, but yeah. We’re family and that’s all that counts. What about you? Where’s your family?”

“California,” she said with a grimace and stuck out her tongue when he laughed. “Sierras, more or less. Lake Tahoe to be exact.”

“Brothers? Sisters? Parents?”

“One brother, two parents.”

“Names?” he coaxed.

“I didn’t ask you for names.”

“I need to know who to contact in the event you get eaten out here.” His gaze drifted down her body again before reluctantly returning to her face.

She gave him a narrowed eye glare. “Eaten by what?”

He merely grinned at her and waved for her to continue. “Come on. Tell me about your family. You have an interesting name. It’s a sure bet they do as well.”

Linnet heaved a sigh and sipped her tea. “My brother’s name is Hawk.” She snuck a glance to see him biting his lip. “Good, don’t laugh. He makes you look small.”

Creed glanced around. “Is big brother nearby, waiting to pound me into bear bait?”

“No, little brother is in the Persian Gulf playing SEAL. He may be twice my size, but he’s fourteen months younger. People thought we were twins growing up.”

“Navy SEAL? I’m impressed.”

Satisfied he was sincere, she nodded. “I’m proud of him too. He’s been gone a long time and should be home soon. I… I really miss him.” A sip of tea hid the act of swallowing the lump in her throat.

It had been all she could do not to tell Hawk what had happened with Billy and the following ugliness in general. Hawk had just left, and he would have come home if he’d known. She didn’t want him distracted and worried, so she’d made her mother swear on a stack of Bibles and Farmer’s Almanacs to not tell either Dad or Hawk. Linnet may have wanted to hurt Billy, but she didn’t want him dead. He wasn’t worth anyone going to prison over.

“What about Mom and Dad?”

“Dad is retired Navy. A helicopter pilot. These days he flies fire crews in the summers and does the occasional Flight for Life. There’s always a chance he could get called up here if the fire season is bad enough. In the winter, he putters with Mom. He does handyman stuff for elderly neighbors and such. They live simply.”

“So that explains the proficiency in firearms. And Mom?” Creed prompted. “What does she do?”

“She was a nurse at the local VA hospital when they met. The old injured hero and the nurse story.” The grin came naturally. “Dad swore it was love the moment he heard her voice and when she told him her name it was merely Fate confirming it. Now she performs as domestic diva, goddess of all things pertaining to garden, hearth, and home.”

“Oh? And what is her name?”

“She goes by Missy to the rest of the world, but her real name is White Dove Who Sings in the Nettles. Dad calls her Dove or Dovie.” Linnet couldn’t help the smile. “Those who call us a bird-brained family don’t live long enough to regret it,” she laughed.

“So you have a touch of Native American in you as well?”

“A faint whiff of Cherokee. One-thirty-second or some such. Way back. The rest is good old stubborn German and English.”

“So we have Linnet, a sweet little finch-like bird, fierce brother Hawk, nurturing mother White Dove… where does Father Greenbriar fit in?”

Linnet sipped from her tea again. There was no escape. “Perry.”

A confused look clouded his eyes for a moment and then it cleared. “Peregrine. As in the falcon.”

She nodded. “But no-one uses that name. Perry. Or Falcon from his military days.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t get upset at being called Mr. Greenbriar the first time I meet him.”

“Who says you’ll get to meet him?” She cocked an eyebrow at him. Damned presumptuous of him. “And that would be Captain. In the Navy, that’s the same as an Army Colonel.”

Caught unawares, she was claimed completely by a yawn. Her chest expanded and her mouth stretched open as she drew in a deep breath. Tears filled her eyes and tired muscles clenched from head to toe. Able to snap her mouth shut, she was still caught in the exquisite stretch and extended her arms. Blood rushed into her head and a red haze gathered under tightly closed eyelids. With a final exhale, she released the pent-up air and sagged in her chair. That ought to impress him. Real lady-like.

“Well. I guess that’s my cue to bed down,” Creed chuckled. “Give me your cup and I’ll wash it out in the creek while I clean up.”

Relaxed, Linnet stared at him through hooded eyes still filled with water. Slowly she blinked them clear and another yawn, less intense, followed. “You win. I’ll let you do the dishes.” She sighed and pushed to her feet. Unconsciously she reached to scratch an itch on the back of her neck.

“Where’s the calamine?”

“Hmmm?” She looked up to see Creed standing close to her. “Oh, it’s over there on the counter.” She pointed toward the kitchen.

A moment later he stood behind her gently dotting soothing antihistamine cream on her bug bites.

“Any on your back?” he asked.

“I… I don’t…”

“I won’t attack you, so lift the back of your top. I promise, only the finger with lotion will touch you.”

She hesitated then felt a familiar skin irritation—right where she couldn’t reach and knew it would bug her all night. With a sigh she lifted the back of the top, careful to keep her breasts covered.

“Jesus,” he swore softly. “You have a least ten in various stages of infection back here. You can’t scratch them.”

“They itch, I scratch.” She let him hear her annoyance. Only because the cream felt good, she didn’t step away.

“I just appointed myself your caretaker. I’ll check them again in the morning. If they don’t look better we’ll need to dose each spot with antiseptic.”

Even though he couldn’t see, she rolled her eyes. He was right about not scratching, but it was hard.

Continuing his gentle work, he tsked. “You wear bug dope, I smelled it on you earlier. Doesn’t it work?”

“It helps, but no, it doesn’t really work. I’ve never had such a problem before and I grew up camping. There’s something different about Alaskan mosquitoes. They don’t react the same way. I’ve tried everything. That bath oil people rave about, pure deet, citronella—you name it, I’ve tried it. The coils in the cabin help.” She nodded toward one on a little metal stand with a paper plate under it to catch the ash. “I wear the colors everyone says they ignore. I’ve changed my shampoo and my soap. I’ve even tried adding more garlic to my diet. It hasn’t helped.”

“There,” he said and tugged on the back of her shirt. “That part’s done. There’s a couple on your arms and then I’ll get the ones on your face.”

He worked in silence and it felt comfortable enough that she relaxed—until he turned her around. With great care he touched a dot of the cream to the bites on her cheeks, neck and above the neckline of her top. Then with ever-slowing touches, he rubbed the cream into each red mark. The cream was cool, but his touch was hot. By the time he’d rubbed the last bite, her breathing was labored, but no less than his. Reluctance was clear in each movement as he stepped back and attached the cap to the tube.

“That should help tonight. I’ll check again in the morning.”

Because of the dry spot in her throat, she nodded to avoid speaking. “Good night,” she finally managed to whisper. “I’ll try not to make too much noise when I get up. I’m sure you’d appreciate a chance to sleep in.”

“Sleep? In the summer? That’s what winter is for,” he chuckled. “I wouldn’t be adverse to a cup of coffee in the morning.” A hopeful note added to his half smile.

“I usually only make a cup for myself, but I’ll put a pot on if you knock on the wall to let me know when you’re moving.”

“Thanks.”

They shared a smile, his wide and friendly, hers faint and somewhat shy, and then he turned.

“Do you usually bar the door at night?” He pointed to the two-by-four near the door.

“Yes. When I’m alone. Should I tonight?”

He turned back to look at her and gave her a self-conscious smile. “Oh yeah. Definitely.”

Mouth dry again she just nodded and watched him close the wooden door behind him.