She's the One (6 page)

“Looking awfully guilty there.”

“And you read people too well,” she said with a sad laugh. “I
am
guilty.”

“Of?”

“I had a fight with my best friend before I left. She’s married to my brother, which gets sticky because I promised I wouldn’t let it affect our friendship.”

“Hard promise to keep.”

That it was. But somehow she’d manage it. “Anyway, I was just thinking of a time when I would’ve rushed home and showed her the picture and gone on and on, you know, about Dylan’s reaction.”

“Can’t do that now?”

“We haven’t spoken since the argument.” She grimaced. “I slammed out of her house and I haven’t seen her since.”

Hopefully by now Shelby and Luke had worked things out. They loved each other but they were both too stubborn for their own good.

“I’m sure you’ll make up when you get home. Sometimes you have to let time pass and emotions fade until they’re not so raw anymore. Same with Dylan. He worries about Colt being up here alone and we can’t blame him, can we?”

“No, not at all.”

“Hand me that bowl?”

She did as ordered, thinking Dylan’s father had a way about him that declared he was one of those guys who was everyone’s friend. She’d have to add a note in her review about hanging out and cooking with Zeke. Bartenders always got credit for being good listeners but she’d discovered hanging out in kitchens was even better. Some cooks seemed to have a way of finding all the right things to say—Zeke included. “May I take your picture? You look awfully cute in that apron. I’ll even delete the photo of Dylan.”

“Sure, go ahead. But make sure you get my good side,” he said, holding his head cocked slightly to the left. “It hides my double chin.”

Alex took Zeke’s photo, chuckling at his many comments and antics and thinking how well he and her grandmother would get along. They had the same quirky sense of humor and way of putting people at ease.

Wasn’t it funny the way you could travel halfway around the world and still find reminders of home?

D
YLAN ENTERED THE LODGE
via the narrow utility room door off the kitchen and washed up, keeping his ears tuned to the conversation drifting to him from the dining room table. Zeke was telling that story again, the one where he’d stepped in as a double on a Hollywood movie set for a horseback riding scene and wound up kissing the starlet.

“So you trained horses for movies?” Alexandra asked, sounding every bit as impressed as Zeke liked people to be.

“Not just me, Dylan, too. He helped me until he went to college. I eventually retired and sold out. It’s not easy hauling a horse trailer to sets or studios.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Ansel said. “Truth is he left because he got old and those starlets stopped kissing him.”

Laughter filled the air, Walter’s deep, booming chuckle louder than the rest.

“Oh, I’ll bet there were plenty of starlets out there willing to kiss Zeke. Finding a man who can ride a horse and look good in his boots and hat isn’t easy,” Alexandra countered.

Dylan heard the playful, flirtatious nature of her tone and frowned at the irritation that appeared because of it.
He’d spent the day second-guessing himself and feeling like a jerk for yelling at her the way he had. He’d worried she’d sequestered herself in her room, wounded and upset.

Yet here she was, just fine. Better than fine, she was enjoying herself.

He swore softly and scrubbed his scarred hands harder, the sound of her laughter teasing his ears.

“Dylan, you’re late!” Zeke called. “Come in and sit down with our guests.”

Having dragged his feet as long as he could, Dylan dried his hands and walked through the kitchen to the dining table. The unease rolling in his stomach since this afternoon gurgled even more when he saw Alexandra. She wore a dark sweater, her lips an attention-getting red against her soft-looking skin and jet-black hair.

“Sit across from Alex. No need to stay down there on the end.”

Leave it to Zeke to put him on the spot. Dylan had planned to keep his distance from her, not spend the meal staring directly at her. But he did as ordered to not make more of a scene than he already had.

“So,” Alexandra drawled, fiddling with her spoon, “do you think I have a shot at seeing one?”

Dylan settled at the table and forced himself to be sociable. “One what?”

“A wolf. She’d like to photograph them,” Zeke informed him, his gaze narrowed on Dylan’s.

“I bet they’d take one look at her and come out of hiding to pose,” Ansel teased.

Alexandra gave the man a smile, tilting her head to one side in a way that reminded Dylan of a Southern belle.

Once again an image popped into his head out of
nowhere. Like the scene of a movie, he saw a packed-dirt floor, lazy trails of tobacco smoke curling into the light cast by the lanterns hanging from rafters, and townsfolk gathered in their Sunday best. Dylan could almost hear the rustle of skirts and stiff leather boots. And see a dark-haired woman in lavender silk who stood out amongst the checked and flowered cotton and gingham.

While the women whispered snidely, men raised glasses in appreciation as she passed, hoping to be the one to lead her outside and proposition the woman brave enough—or stupid enough—to be traveling West alone.

The scene faded, the details hovering in the corners of his mind. After two years of nothing, suddenly the images return? In the past the scenes would have indicated the beginnings of a novel, one of many pieces that would slowly form into words and pages and chapters.

“Posing wolves,” Alexandra murmured. “Now that would be a picture. But I’d have to have you along to charm them, Ansel. I saw you carrying in your catch. You certainly had the fish coming out of hiding today.”

Dylan wiped his hand over his mouth and got busy filling his bowl with stew.

That part of his life was long over. The words had dried up years ago and he was fine with that. Even if more scenes materialized in the future, they were only a reminder of what he couldn’t have, not without risking everything he’d tried so hard to protect.

He’d chosen to set his popular character-driven suspense novels in the Old West because of the complications writing in that era brought. But he couldn’t write
as Dylan MacGregor and reopen the past to more scrutiny and speculation.

His agent would say he could publish under a different name or holding company, but the reality of today’s information age was that there were
always
ways of revealing the identities behind pseudonyms and anonymous copyright. Secrets never stayed buried, and there were certainly no secrets in the publishing world.

Dylan searched the room for Colt and found his son coloring a picture on the floor in front of the couch. As though sensing his father’s stare, Colt looked up at Dylan but quickly glanced away.

Damn
. He shouldn’t have lost his temper like that. He’d have to talk to Colt, but how could he get Colt to understand the importance of keeping his distance from the guests without making him afraid of his own shadow?

Finishing off his stew in a minimum of bites, Dylan helped himself to some of the dried pineapple pieces Zeke kept on hand for a sweet treat after lunch. Fresh fruit was expensive to have shipped and the canned fruit was usually served after dinner.

Dylan watched Alexandra banter with the men seated around the table, looking for any clue to indicate subterfuge.

Maybe the scene between Alexandra and Colt
had
been innocent. But if it wasn’t innocent, if she had ulterior motives for being here, it would take time to ferret them out.

“Dylan knows all the right spots for you to get some great pictures. Right, son?”

Drawn into the conversation in a way he couldn’t ignore, Dylan shrugged. “Alaska is full of pretty
pictures. Catching sight of a wolf isn’t easy, though. They’re elusive on a good day. Some of the bears haven’t gone into hibernation.” He poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. “A few still come to feed on the far side of the lake.”

“These are the Neacola Mountains,” Zeke added. “We’re at the base of the range and the streams flow down from the ice caps and empty into this lake. Makes for good fishing, bear viewing. Moose seem to prefer the opposite bank, so you might get a shot of one of them. It’s not a matter of seeing wildlife here, it’s just a matter of when.”

“That sounds awesome,” Alexandra said. “I’d like to try my hand at fly-fishing while I’m here, too. The brochure said you have equipment to loan if needed?”

“That we do,” Zeke said. “I’m not supposed to be out in the weather much yet but Dylan will be happy to show you what to do. Won’t you, son?”

Dylan shoved a piece of the fruit into his mouth and chewed, unable to say no since keeping an eye on her might be a good idea.

T
HAT AFTERNOON
A
LEX BRACED
her feet farther apart on the bottom of the lake and cast again. And again. She might be able to see the enjoyment in this in the heat of summer but now?

Didn’t think about freezing to death while you fished, did you?

The insulated waders offered some protection, but combined with the cold air she was at the icicle stage despite her thick layers of clothing. But she couldn’t quit, not until she caught
some
thing because Ansel,
Walter and Dylan were all watching her, waiting for her to give in or complain.

Not gonna do it, boys
.

Ten more minutes passed before she heard someone coming up behind her. Alex turned to find Dylan approaching, resignation on his face.

“I have to hand it to you,” he said quietly once he was in range. “You lasted a lot longer than I ever thought you would.”

Was that a note of admiration she heard in his voice? She didn’t respond, not sure she could without revealing the fact that her teeth chattered.

“Look, I’m sorry I went off on you earlier about Colt.”

Ah, a
real
apology? Willing to compromise for the sake of peace, she said, “I should’ve asked for permission first.”

Seconds passed and they stood there, surrounded by water and the not-so silent silence of nature. There was a rush from the stream pouring into the lake from their left, an eagle screeching overhead and a moose calling out in the woods around them.

Alex glanced at Dylan from beneath her lashes, aware of it all but totally caught up in Dylan’s presence.

Okay, someone needs to lighten up.
“Are you
sure
there are fish in this lake?”

A low chuckle emerged from him at her sardonic tone. She was drawn to the sight of his smile, and startled by the flutter of warmth it gave her.

Dylan wore his smile—and his waders—well. That was saying something, too, because
no one
wore waders well. But dressed as he was in a green-and-brown flannel shirt and a thick coat, Dylan looked ready to take
on the elements—not to mention quite warm—while she felt like a duck with ice stuck to its tail.

Forgetting to keep her teeth gritted, she inhaled and thought she heard Dylan swear softly but couldn’t tell over her clacking teeth. He moved closer, his voice lowering as if he was about to share a secret.

“Cast toward the left and you might get lucky.”

Her mind went all kinds of crazy at that. Brooding, moody or not, she stared into his very handsome face and knew exactly how she’d like to get lucky.

Bad girl! Bad, bad, bad!

She didn’t mean it. Not really. But she couldn’t hold his boorish behavior against him when he’d apologized and she really should have asked for permission, so…they were back to square one, right? Even footing?

“A little more that way. Yeah. I’ve seen some doozies come from there. Just cast it low, and be patient. You’ll get it.”

She’d always liked guys who built a woman up rather than those who persisted in tearing her down. Despite his anger and earlier upset, Dylan was a big enough man to say sorry and acknowledge his faults, and it added to her belief that he was a nice guy stressed to the gills about a lot of things. His son, his father, the lodge and expansion and having to work at the success of something he didn’t support.

She understood family stress and pressure and the games it played with the mind, the impact it had. “Thanks.”

Dylan stood by while she cast again, and again, commenting on her “natural skill.” The lure arched low and long over the top of the lake before dropping beneath the surface. She felt a sharp tug. “Oh!”

It did it again.

“Don’t just stand there, start reeling. You’ve got it hooked.” Dylan walked deeper into the water. As she reeled her line in, he gave her a smile over his shoulder that positively made her excitement-jittery knees weak. The man might wear flannel and rubber waders and a scruffy beard that was so Don Johnson circa the ’80s, but in that second the fish wasn’t the only thing dangling by a hook.

“What’s she got, Dylan?” Ansel gave her a thumbs-up from his position thirty feet away.

One hand on the line, Dylan dipped into the water. Seconds later he lifted her fish.

Alex couldn’t contain her shriek. “It’s
huge
! What is that?”

“Looks to be about a twenty-pound arctic char,” Dylan said, grinning and shaking his head at her excitement. “And if you’re not interested in processing it to ship home, I say it’s dinner.”

A
FTER GIVING
A
LEXANDRA
a promise that he wouldn’t drop her camera into the lake, Dylan took a picture of her holding her prize. She should have looked ridiculous in her waders, her hair plastered to her head beneath an ugly cap and her nose red and running from the cold. Instead he found himself admiring her irrepressible spirit. It showed through her eyes and her expression was reminiscent of a kid who’d scored a five-scoop ice-cream cone. “Proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” she said.

“That mean you’re ready to get back in there?”

Alexandra looked at the lake where Ansel and Walter remained then turned to stare at the mountains
behind them. “Is there a way to climb up to that boulder over there?”

He looked in the direction she pointed and nodded. “Along the back.”

“I’m going to go get some shots from there.”

“Want some company?”

She seemed as surprised by his question as he was. But he didn’t take the words back. If nothing else, he told himself, going with her ensured she didn’t zoom in on him.

“Sure. But I left my compass at the lodge so if you get us lost, it’s all on you.”

Smiling at her sassy response because
no one
could get lost between the lake and that boulder, Dylan told the other men where they were going while Alexandra retrieved her camera and equipment. He shouldered the weighty backpack for her and led the way along the path, keeping lookout for bears and other animals along the way.

He and Alexandra were mostly silent, concentrating on their footing as they made their way up the incline. Along the way Dylan realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone for a walk with a woman and not planned on sneaking a kiss in the woods.

Finally they reached the boulder three times the size of the lodge and circled around to the back.

Alexandra stared at the mass in awe. “Can you imagine the force it took to shoot this all the way here?”

So she’d done her research. “Mount Redoubt is the closest volcano and most recently active, but Mount Spur isn’t far. Truth is since the 1760s fifty of Alaska’s volcanoes have had some activity.”

“Don’t tell my mother. It’ll give her something else to worry about.”

Dylan helped her climb to the top of the pitted boulder and watched as Alexandra quickly set to work, aiming the lens, shifting her posture to change the angle. Fifteen minutes passed, twenty. He’d lost track by the time she was finished and lowered herself to sit next to him.

Alexandra cycled through the images on the camera screen and showed him her favorites. She had talent. The photos really captured the feel of their location.

“It’s no wonder you want to keep it from becoming crowded with tourists. It’s a good thing it’s cold and it takes a while to get here, otherwise it would be overrun. It’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” She turned from gazing at the lake to looking at him. “My granddad would have said it was only a taste of what’s waiting. I mean,
look
at it. There’s something about the air and the smells and the views that make you appreciate every pebble. The mountains…they’re almost like a big hug. Am I right?”