Читать книгу Chinook, Wine and Sink Her - Morgan Q O'Reilly - Страница 7

Chapter 2

On her way back to the cabin, after washing her dishes in the tiny clear-water creek that ran into the river, Linnet heard his singing before she saw him.

“Where the Northern Lights, they shine, she rubs her nose to mine, she cuddles close and I can hear her say... Ooga-ooga mooska, which means that I love you. If you'll be my baby, I'll ooga-ooga mooska you. Then I take her hand in mine and set her on my knee, the squaws along the Yukon are good enough for me…”

He finished up the chorus as he strolled into the clearing. “Hey there,” he said in greeting.

Linnet stopped by the picnic table under the deep gable overhang of the sod roof. “Hi,” she grunted. Then rolled her eyes as he hummed the tune. “Please. Don’t you know any other song? That is if you absolutely must sing.”

She felt the need to harden her defenses. This one was a charmer. The worst kind of man. The kind who could slip into a girl’s bed before she could pull back the covers and invite him. Exactly the kind she didn’t want to be near.

“What? Don’t you like my voice? I was almost the lead singer in a rock band in college. I returned to Alaska instead.” The wide easy grin only convinced Linnet she had him sorted out properly.

“You have a fine voice. It’s the song I object to.” A mosquito buzzed her ear and she waved her hand to whoosh it away.

“Ah, now see, you just don’t have an appreciation for fine music.” He dropped his tackle box on the bench and flopped a large plastic food bag down on the table. It was stuffed with deep pink salmon fillets. “That song is a Hank Thompson classic. Was real popular forty—fifty years ago.”

Ah, Neanderthal days. Better to let that subject drop. “Didn’t catch the big guy?” A nod at his catch neatly changed the subject.

“Nah. Too early in the trip. I want to catch one like him just as I’m heading back into town. This is just right for dinner tonight and lunch tomorrow. Hope you’ll join me.”

“Thanks, but I just finished washing up my dishes. Manley had his yummy kibble and I had a nice bowl of pasta.” She clanked her metal plate down into the pot she’d just washed.

“Don’t tell me you’re a vegetarian.” He gasped, and she had a hard time not laughing at the horror on his face.

“Those radical liberals,” she scoffed. “I’m a vegan.”

“A what?”

This time she did laugh at the blank look on his face. “Just kidding. Actually, I’m worse than vegan. I hate salmon.” And the bugs loved her. Fanning them away with her hand didn’t work for long.

“No! How can you live in Alaska and hate salmon?” Hand over his heart, he staggered back a step.

She shrugged. “Easy. I don’t keep what I catch, so I don’t have to clean it or eat it. Just measure it. Now if you want to talk halibut or shellfish…”

“You must be from California.”

The teasing look on his face shored up her resolve to hold him at arm’s length. “And that has to do with what?” Too many digs about Californians over the past year had her hackles rising. Why did everyone on the West Coast pick on Californians as a whole?

“Hey, no offense meant.” In a silent gesture pleading for peace, he held up his hands and gave her a smile most women probably found irresistible. “I’ve just noticed people from California, the Bay Area in particular, love their shellfish. East Coasters too, but the accent is West Coast.”

“Right. Well, I have some things to do, so I’ll leave you to your dinner.” She turned toward the cabin door only to stop cold at his touch.

The warmth from his big hand gently holding her upper arm burned through her shirt as if it didn’t exist. The first instinctive fight-or-flight adrenalin rush hit her then faded into something else.

This man didn’t want to hurt her, she knew it on a deep, inexplicable level, but she’d been fooled before. Because of that one exception, where a nice guy had turned out to be a beast, her body stiffened, preparing…waiting… Panic held at bay for the moment, she stared down at his hand, willing him to release her. Instead he tugged her back around to face him.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It was a joke. I’m sorry.”

With no netting to shadow her face now, she reluctantly looked up at him. Serious with his apology, his brown eyes shimmered as he stared at her. Their gazes locked. She watched his soften and a smile lit up his whole face.

“Don’t worry about it.” Could she sound any more insipid or dead? “I’m used to the slams.”

Creed shook his head slowly. “Not a slam. Just an observation, meant to be friendly teasing.”

“Fine. Now, if you’ll release me, I do have some work I want to finish up tonight. I hope you won’t object to the sound of my generator for an hour.” Speaking civilly was damn near impossible and the tiny quaver in her voice didn’t help. Torn between wanting to hit him with her best karate chop and wanting to wrap her arms around him, Linnet was desperate to put sanity-restoring distance between them.

Something of her inner battle must have showed in her eyes because his regard turned curious as his hand slowly uncurled from her bicep. “No, that’s fine. As long as it doesn’t run all night.” The white teeth flashed at her and the return of his easy smile nearly melted her.

As much to clear her mind as to agree with him, she shook her head. “I enjoy the peace and quiet too much, but I do need the power tonight. I don’t run it every day.” Besides, the generator blocked out sounds she wanted to hear at night. Sounds of bears or other beasts trying to break into the cabin.

“By the way, you’re very pretty without the hat and netting.”

Rolling her eyes helped cover the jump of her already thundering pulse. “Most people look better without it. Speaking of,” she batted at the gathering of buzzing insects, “time for me to get this chore done and then get myself inside before they eat me alive. Good night.”

* * * *

Dismissed. Again. Twice in one evening. If a guy were emotionally invested it could be a blow to his ego. Had her eyes showed the slightest hint of disgust he probably would have felt offended. Instead he felt challenged. Interest was there, without the netting over her face it had been as clear as the pulse beating at the base of her throat and her faint blush.

What confused him was the other emotion he’d seen deep in her eyes. Fear? If he wanted to get anywhere with her, it would be best to move slowly. Like he had time to move slowly with not quite two weeks until he was gone again.

Hands working automatically to start a cooking fire in the concrete fire pit a half dozen yards away and downhill from the slight rise the cabin sat on, he let his mind sort through the fresh memory of her. Like an Alaskan strip tease, she’d removed the hip waders and vest along with the netting to reveal more of the luscious curves he’d guessed were there. The oversized long-sleeved shirt had to go. He wanted to see under it.

In a face worthy of a super model, she had big, clear, pale green eyes framed by thick lashes and delicately arched brows. Sun had glinted off red highlights in the rich brown hair pulled back into a thick ponytail. Let loose, her hair probably fell to the middle of her back. He’d wanted to pull off the tie holding it back and see.

The flush of heat across her cheeks had enhanced the high cheekbones, rounded like small apples. And her lips. A man could wax poetic about those lips. Perfectly proportioned and naturally red.

He’d love to see her smile without restraint, though the little crooked quirk was down-right adorable. Each feature in itself perfect as if sculpted by a master artist.

But no artist could have captured the beauty of her skin. Marred only by a few mosquito bites, her flesh was lightly tanned. Was the tan limited to her face and hands? Her top hadn’t been unbuttoned enough for him to see. His fingers still itched to pop the buttons on her deep green shirt just as she’d popped open her life vest earlier.

Satisfied the fire burned properly, Creed laid the cooking grate over the flames, placed the frying pan on it and turned to his food box. Practiced hands quickly seasoned the fillets with a dry rub made up of his own blend of herbs and spices. That task completed, he moved to the next while the pan heated. Finding a flat spot to the side of the cabin, he erected and secured his tent in a matter of a few minutes, sleeping bag and gear just as quickly organized inside. The simple life. After dinner he’d secure the food box in the cabin and then set about getting to know Linnet better.

From the corner of his eye, he watched her exit the cabin and walk around behind it. The unfamiliar slap of a screen door snapping shut made him do a double take. When had the screen door been installed? The wooden frame looked as if it had been there as long as the log cabin. A bit of curved antler formed a handle and a simple spring pulled it closed. A few minutes later the purr of a generator rumbled in the quiet, not as loud as he’d expected. Not bad. Almost soothing. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, so maybe she had it stashed in the trees or in the back of her truck. She’d need a couple extra-long extension cords if that was the case.

Setting his dinner into the hot pan, he kept half an eye on the cabin. What did she need the power for? A laptop? City girl for sure. He added a freshly sliced onion to the fillets in the large, well-seasoned cast-iron frying pan. Bet she didn’t have a cast-iron fry pan, not one with the years of history behind his.

Rumor, and family legend, said his great-great grandfather had carried this very frying pan up and over the Chilkoot Trail alongside Jack London. Creed’s father had once bragged his sourdough starter dated back equally as far. His mother had later told Creed she’d had to restart a fresh batch in the seventies. Still respectably old, but certainly not any more special than most Alaskan starters.

The whine of a power tool broke into his thoughts and he looked up. She was still out of his view so he couldn’t identify the tool immediately. Not a circular saw, yet it didn’t sound like a drill either. Unable to resist, he turned the salmon in the pan and pulled it off to the very edge of the grate. He stepped to the side far enough to see her concentrating on the side of the cabin with a tool held about eye level. A reciprocating saw?

Wagging under the force of his tail, Manley left Linnet and came over to Creed.

“Hey, boy, what’s she doing, eh?” Creed scratched Manley’s neck and accepted the animal’s need for human comfort. “Making a lot of noise, isn’t she?” The dog pressed against his legs and Creed patted him. “Did George give her permission to make improvements?” Why the hell hadn’t George called him?

Manley, having no answers, merely wagged his tail and tried to knock Creed over.

Torn between his sizzling dinner and curiosity over her actions, he hovered until she put down the saw and reached up. “Stay,” he told Manley. One could only hope the dog wouldn’t try to steal the salmon.

“Need a hand?” he offered. Had he surprised her? The flinch took him by surprise as much as the fact his question seemed to have startled her.

“Nope. Got it,” she grunted out the words and carefully lifted down the ancient rectangle of glass with gloved hands. He was impressed she wore safety glasses. A good-sized tool box lay open at her feet. That sucker had to be heavy and her truck was easily a couple dozen yards away, down the backside of the rise.

“What are you doing?”

She shot him a mildly irritated glance before answering. “Modifying the windows so they open. It gets stuffy inside the cabin, but since the mosquitoes love me, I want to cover them with screening.”

“Wow, we’re going high class now.” The lines of her body stretched to reach over her head distracted him for a moment. He could see her in a clinging evening gown, or better yet, a clinging negligee.

When she struggled with a bit of wood stubbornly stuck to the upper frame, he reached over her head and pulled it down.

“Thanks,” she mumbled and stepped to the side, barely missing the pane of glass. “I seem to use that word with you a lot.”

Yeah, and he liked it. “Come sit with me while I eat and then I’ll help you. Two will make it go faster.” Waving his hand toward the fire, he felt like a teenager asking a girl out for the first time. Odd.

“I like doing this. Besides, now the window is open I don’t want to leave it that way any longer than necessary,” she gave him the brush off. “Too hard to flush the blood suckers out, even using the smoke coils.”

Fair enough, he could see that. It took away some of the sting from her rejection.

“Honest, I can do this myself. I already did the window on the other side. Go take a look and see, if you don’t think I’m competent.” She used a wide-bladed chisel to clean the surfaces of the window frame set into the log structure.

“I have no doubt you’re competent, I’m just looking for an excuse to talk to you.” Maybe a sheepish admission would win her over. He gave her his best attempt at a boyish smile.

“You’d better stick close to your dinner or Manley might forget he’s a well-trained dog.” She smirked over her shoulder. “Go on. Eat your hard-won fish. Maybe you can hold the frame when I’m ready to put the hinges on and reinstall it.”

He stared at her for a moment, waiting for her to turn and look up at him. Standing this close, he got a better sense of her height. He wouldn’t have to bend far to kiss her. No neck strain. Moving without a conscious thought from him, his hand reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Promise?”

Why did she flinch and why did she refuse to turn toward him? He wanted her to turn and smile at him in the worst way. Instead her shoulders stiffened.

“Yes.”

He barely heard her husky response and trailed the back of his fingers down the side of her neck. The sensation made her swallow deeply. There was that pretty flush again.

“Linnet…”

Abruptly she cleared her throat and dropped to a crouch. “Smells like your dinner might be burning.”

Shit. He didn’t care about his dinner. What he wanted was a kiss… and a whole lot more. Didn’t look like he’d get it right now.

Linnet breathed a sigh of relief when he finally turned away. Another minute and she would have leaped into his arms or slammed an elbow into his midsection. Conflicted, trying to determine if he were friend or foe, chances were she’d probably try to do both at the same time. Complications out here weren’t needed.

There was work to be done and she was the new kid. A Cheechako. An Alaskan greenhorn. Proving herself was number one on her list. Using her forearm, she wiped away the sweat gathering on her brow. The day’s heat didn’t seem to be dissipating and the long sleeves she wore to protect against bugs didn’t help.

Fitting the glass into the frame she’d built last night, she carefully tacked it into place with strips of wood molding. Not properly glazed, it would allow for the expansion and contraction of the wood as the seasons cycled. The cabin only had three windows; one on the east and one on the west, both set high in the walls, the last next to the north-facing door.

The ones in the walls were two feet wide by one foot high. Just barely large enough to let in light. The window by the door was larger, four panes of glass, each two feet square, providing a good view to the river. Simple shutters were made from plywood covers that dropped down over the outside of the windows when the cabin was unoccupied.

Using the same principal as the shutters, she’d designed a frame that could be pushed open from the inside to let air in. A stick pushed the window out and held it open. Fiberglass screening tacked in place with a staple gun would keep the winged ravening hoards out. One window on each side in addition to the screen door would provide ample cross breeze to keep the cabin cool when the summer temps outside reached an unbelievable one-hundred degrees. A hundred degrees in Alaska. Who’d a thunk?

The thermometer had been stuck in the high eighties since mid-morning and the bugs’ usually frantic drone seemed slow and lazy because of the warmth. The ventilation would also be great with the RV style three burner propane stove and oven someone had been clever enough to salvage and install.

The work required enough of her attention to keep her from thinking about Creed sitting on a log by the fire. Carefully keeping half an eye on him didn’t help much. If her mind wandered even a tiny bit she felt his gaze on her. Manley—the traitor—lay by his feet, gazing up at him with utter doggy adoration. Probably hoping for handouts.

Using her cordless power screwdriver, she’d just set the last screw in the hinges on the frame when she felt man and dog approach. Easing the cramps out of her legs, she stood.

“Good timing,” she said without looking around.

“Are you sure about that?”

How did he get so close, so fast? She felt the warmth of his breath against her neck stirring a few loose hairs at the nape. A shiver of undetermined meaning coursed through her and he chuckled.

“Do you want the inside or outside?” she asked. One step to the side put a little distance between them.

“How did you do it before?”

“Very carefully. Here, you hold the frame while I put in the screws. After that it’s a simple matter to put up the screening.”

“You can do it from here.” Even though he made sense, the suggestion almost didn’t stop her from running away into the cabin.

Not really wanting to run, she gave in and felt his chest brush against her back while she reached over her head to position the window and secure the hinges. Fortunately it only took six screws. The way her hands shook made the job take twice as long as it should have. Dropping one of the screws didn’t help either.

“Wait,” he said as she prepared to squat and look for the screw. “You hold the window, I think I see where it landed.”

The way he had her trapped against the wall, she could just see her butt pushing into his groin if she bent over to find the screw. It was that, or find her face at his groin level if she crouched. “Sure.”

Okay, so his face was level with her butt, his hand resting on her waist to steady himself as he crouched. She looked down to watch his long fingers reach into the decaying leaves piled up against the base of the wall. His fingers plucked the screw from the ground and there was a heartbeat of hesitation before he stood again.

Had he been staring at her butt? Had he been thinking about biting it or something? Oh God, she was so not prepared to deal with this. A moment before she considered hip checking him to his ass, he stood and held the screw under her nose. His arm under hers, his arm against the side of her breast.

“You’re pushing your luck, buddy,” she growled. Too bad the waver in her voice ruined the effect.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude so deeply into your personal space.” Damn if she couldn’t hear the amusement in his voice. At least, thank goodness, he returned to holding the window and stepped back a few inches.

“Did you make the screen door as well?” he asked when the final screw was secure.

A finger of smoke curled out of the window. The back of a hand pressed to her nose suppressed the need to sneeze. She nodded.

“Great idea.”

“I still need to attach the push stick.” That would mean turning around, facing him. Trapped between him and the wall of the cabin. With her hands up over her head. Oh, God. Let him continue to be a gentleman.

He moved back half a step and she escaped long enough to get the pieces. Sure enough, he left only two inches of air space between them again while she attached the part with two screws.

“Okay, let’s double check the fit,” she was able to say at last.

Without stepping away, he gently lowered the window and slid it into place. “Very clever idea, Linnet. Perfect fit.” Somehow he’d managed to step close enough to erase the slight distance without her personal space alarms going off.

The way he said her name and stared down into her eyes lit a smoldering fire deep inside. His chest rumbled against hers so she could feel his voice as much as she heard it. The slight friction made her nipples tighten and ignited a tenuous heat deep in her core. Was he talking about the window or how their bodies fit together? Squeezing her legs together didn’t help much and a suspicious dampness grew while the tiny voice in her head screamed out, no no no!

“Glad you approve,” she managed to say, though how she couldn’t imagine. “I need to get the screen in place.”

He sure seemed to be in place, his hands resting on the wall beside her head, his body touching hers from chest to thigh. Dizziness assaulted her and once more fight or flight fought with the need to wrap her arms around his neck. Incredibly, the latter seemed to be winning.

“Is it ready to go up?”

He was certainly already up if the presence against her stomach meant anything. Or was he asking if her fireworks were ready to go up? The answer was yes… but to what question? Oh, the screen. Right.

He smelled good. Wood smoke from the campfire, and mint. No salmon? Come to think of it, he’d eaten dinner rather fast. Gum? Or did he travel with breath freshener in the woods? What would he taste like to kiss? Certainly there was a scent of pure male about him. Soap and fresh air. No! She didn’t need to be thinking these thoughts. Remember…

Answer. He’s waiting for one. Where in the hell had her brain gone?

“Yes. I have it cut already.”

“I suppose getting it means one of us moving.”

Sounded like a horrible idea to her. “Right. I need to get the screen. It’s inside. I’ll get it.” Babbling! Stop babbling!

“Would you like me to staple it on out here?”

“Sure. While you do that I can check on the coils already lit inside.” That was her opening to escape, but did she take it? Oh no.

His gaze left her face and traveled down her neck. “You also need a touch of calamine on those bites. You have some new ones.”

The minute he said it she had the overwhelming urge to scratch. Releasing the wall, he grabbed the hand flying toward her face.

“Don’t scratch. If you want, I can help apply the lotion. You do have calamine, right?”

Yeah, she had antihistamine cream, but it wouldn’t do anything about the heat of his hand on her wrist. Gently gripping her arm, he applied just enough strength to hold her nails away from her face. Ragged nails on rough hands. She curled her fingers into her palm. Filing her nails was already on her list for the night.

“Benadryl, but it works the same. Okay, let me go, I’ll go take care of the bites and hand the screening out the window. I’ll also prop it open from inside. The staple gun is already loaded and in the tool box.”

Creed let out a sigh of regret when she moved away. She’d fit him. Perfectly. Her lips had only been a few inches away and as tempting as ripe strawberries, her breath as sweet. Why hadn’t he kissed her? The fact she alternated between tensing and softening might have something to do with it. That, and the salmon he’d just eaten.

He’d tossed the onions and most of the meal into the river, eating just enough with a piece of bread to kill the growling of his stomach. Good thing fresh fish didn’t have the over-powering aroma of most seafood. Still, even chewing on wild mint while he cleaned up in record time hadn’t completely cut the taste in his mouth.

Hyper aware of her, he listened to her movements inside the cabin. He was able to look through the window, and saw her press a hand to her flushed cheek before she reached for the section of screening.

“Duct tape?” He laughed when she opened the window and slid the material through. She’d edged it with the all-purpose, fix-everything solution most favored by Alaskans living in the Bush. Pilots had been known to repair wings well enough to make it home using this stuff. Hundred-mile-an-hour tape they called it. The only thing missing was the blue tarp. Give an Alaskan a blue tarp and a roll of duct tape and they could fashion everything from a tent to an apron out of the materials.

“It’ll keep the edges from fraying and make it last a little longer. Hopefully longer than one winter.”

“Brilliant. One more use for the books.” He smiled wide to let her know he approved. Holding the screen in place he attached the first staple with a truly satisfying snap. “Is it straight?”

She nodded and he set another staple.

“I might get my name in the Book of Sourdoughs yet, eh?”

Her sarcastic bite made him laugh. “How long have you lived up here?”

“You tell me first.” The challenge came back at him without hesitation. “I want to know who I’m talking to.”

“Oh, well, I guess you could just say I’m Alaskan through and through.”

“Native?” An arched brow rose nearly to her hairline. “Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t look…”

“Eskimo? Indian? Ah well, must be the Russian, Swede and Irish getting in the way. And yet, there is that tiny bit of blood, one-sixteenth to be exact, which holds me to the land.”

“There’s a family story there I’m dying to hear.”

“Oh, now that would take hours, days, weeks, nay years to tell.” He tacked the last staple in place. “What do you think? Tight enough to protect your fair hide?”

He watched her face as she tested the screen from inside. “Should catch all but the most determined ones. You know, the ones that can squeeze through a hole half that size.”

Most people didn’t believe it, but Creed had sat once and watched a hungry mosquito do exactly that. Voracious buggers when sweet blood was around. Even now they began to swarm on the screen. By morning it would be black with the greedy little things. Just like her back had been at the river this afternoon.

“So, which flavor of native are you?” Her question drew his attention back.

“Aleut.” Ah, that surprised her. Cute the way she raised her brow. “All right, I’ll give you my lineage, but you have to tell me your story too.”

“Fair enough I suppose.”

Decidedly reluctant to part with her past. What little secret did she hide? Everyone had secrets. Some were just more interesting than others.

“I want to clean up first.” She moved away from the window.

“I’ll get the gear outside. Is the back of your truck open?”

“Yes. You’ll need the keys to lock it up again.” She paused and turned to look at him through the window, her lips curled up on one side in her quirky half smile. “Thanks.”

Would she thank him after a long night of loving? Just turning that smoldering gaze on him was almost thanks enough. Ms. Linnet Greenbriar was going to make a most interesting companion for the next several days. A small part of Creed was very glad good old George had broken his leg. He’d have to thank his cousin later.