Starry Night (5 page)

Still shaking with cold and shock, Carrie removed her wool coat and unwound the newly purchased scarf from her neck. Next she attempted to unzip her boots, but her frozen fingers refused to cooperate. Finn walked over to where she sat, got down on one knee, and undid them for her. Pulling off her boots, he set them by the stove to thaw and then disappeared behind a fabric door, only to return a couple of moments later with a pair of thick wool socks. Still shivering, Carrie managed to pull them on.

Without asking permission, Finn opened her suitcase and sifted through its contents, shook his head, and slammed it shut. She had a couple of thick sweaters, but little else suitable for the harsh Alaskan elements. Once again he disappeared into the other room and returned with a wool shirt, which she slipped on even though it was far too large for her.

Not a word was exchanged between them. She watched him move, wanting to remember everything she could about him for her article. Right away she noticed that while he was a large man, he moved with a grace and ease that defied his size. His hair was as dark as her own, and shoulder length. Unfortunately, his full beard hid his face. Even without seeing him clean shaven, she doubted that he would be considered traditionally handsome. His nose was a bit too large and his mouth a tad too thin. While he didn’t appear to be hunk-calendar material, she found the raw vitality surrounding him strongly appealing.

Although they hadn’t spoken, she sensed his irritation and his curiosity. He had probably already guessed she was a reporter, which was why he hadn’t pursued his questions. One look told her he was determined not to give her any information she could publish.

When the water was thoroughly heated, Finn brewed coffee and without a word set a mug on the table in front of her. Carrie took it and held on to it with both hands. The first sip scalded her lips, but it was so deliciously hot that she barely minded. Finn remained on the far side of the room, close to the hot stove, as if to keep as much distance between them as possible.

Taking careful note of what she saw, Carrie realized that most everything inside the cabin had been made by hand. The space was compact but utilized beautifully. The kitchen
area, complete with sink and countertop, a few open-faced cupboards, the cast-iron stove, and a table with four chairs, flowed naturally into a cozy sitting area. Hennessey lay on an oval-shaped braided rug close to the warmth of the stove. Two rocking chairs rested on either side, with dry wood stacked close by, and a sofa rested against another wall. The windows, of which there were two—one in the kitchen and another in the living area—had coverings that were pulled tightly closed. The cabin had lights, which she assumed were powered by a generator. What she found encouraging were the bookcases built against the walls, which were jam-packed. From what she could see, Finn Dalton was a reader. When possible, she’d check out the titles, which were sure to give her insight into this man.

“My name is Carrie,” she offered, hoping that by being open and friendly he’d be willing to chat. “Carrie Slayton.”

Finn ignored her and sat down with his back facing her.

Fully capable of moving now, Carrie stood and, taking the coffee with her, claimed the second chair. The heat from the stove felt glorious. “I apologize for arriving unannounced.”

“Who brought you?” The question was clipped, angry.

“Sawyer. He tried to reach you, but you didn’t pick up and—”

“How much did you pay him?” he asked, cutting her off.

“Well, nothing yet. I told him I’d square up with him in the morning when he returns to pick me up.”

Finn snickered.

Carrie wasn’t sure what that meant. “We discussed terms, and I found his price reasonable.”

“What did he charge? Thirty pieces of silver?”

“No, no, it was nothing like that.”

For the first time she noticed a small nook on the other side of the room. He had another table set up there, with a lone chair. On the table was a computer and what she assumed was a radio. If she’d had his email address, she might have been able to convince him to give her the interview. Then again, probably not.

“Your cabin is amazing … all the conveniences. You actually have a computer, but then I shouldn’t be surprised, right? I know that you worked with your publisher via email.”

Nothing. This one-sided conversation wasn’t going the least bit well.

“I read your book,” she said, trying again. “It was wonderful. The stories are detailed and rich. You make the reader feel part of the story as well. That’s a rare gift. My dad read your book, too, long before me. In fact, Mom mentioned that he purchased two additional copies as gifts this Christmas.
Alone
is still on the bestseller lists and has been
for months, but then you probably already know that.” She realized she was chattering away and stopped.

“I’m grateful you found me when you did,” she said, trying again after several tense moments of silence. “Sawyer wanted to stay, but the storm was fast approaching and he needed to get back to Bad Luck.” What an unusual name for a town.

“Hard Luck,” he corrected.

“Right. Hard Luck.” That wasn’t much better. It was difficult to maintain this cheerful facade with little to no feedback.

“I bet you’d like to know how I found you.” She thought it might work out better if she asked questions.

Nothing. Unfortunately, she’d supposed wrong. Finn Dalton had no interest in speaking to her, no matter how she directed the conversation.

“If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine, I understand,” she said with a labored sigh. “I mean, I’ve intruded on your life and it’s unbelievably rude of me, I know.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, but the tension between them was so strong it felt like overactive bass pounding from a speaker. Carrie was quickly losing patience. She hadn’t come this far and jumped through all these hoops to be thwarted now.

“You wouldn’t believe all the different ways I tried to find you,” she said. It felt like a shallow victory now, seeing
how uncooperative Finn was. But then, this should have been expected. While she was jubilant, he, on the other hand, was hostile.

Hennessey kept his gaze focused directly on her. “Good boy,” she said, and made sure her voice was soft and cajoling. “You’re a friendly dog, aren’t you?”

Like his master, Hennessey gave no indication that he’d heard. The canine’s eyes steadily regarded her, watching her every move. With Finn freezing her out, she looked to his companion for some connection. At this point she was willing to accept whatever Hennessey was willing to give her.

“I hope you know you practically gave me a heart attack, racing up on me like that,” she told the dog. She bent forward and stretched out her hand, making sure he understood that all she wanted was to pet him.

“He bites,” Finn warned, and from the way he clipped out the words, it seemed he would welcome the sight.

Hennessey’s gaze flickered to Finn and then back to Carrie.

“Are you a big, bad wolf?” Carrie asked Hennessey softly.

The dog’s eyes met hers, and then Hennessey moved to rest his chin on his paws. Then, to her utter amazement, he wagged his tail. Just one wag, one single shift to indicate that he no longer considered her a threat. It was enough to make Carrie want to shout with delight.

“I’m friendly, Hennessey, really friendly. Can we be friends?” Once again she extended her hand for the dog to see.

Again, Finn warned her. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Carrie slowly withdrew her hand.

Hennessey lifted his head and looked up at her and then his tail started to move, this time to a full wag, as if to tell her he was willing to trust Carrie if she was willing to trust him.

“Another traitor,” Finn muttered under his breath.

“Sawyer isn’t a traitor,” Carrie insisted. “And Hennessey isn’t, either.”

Finn snorted and then sipped his coffee.

“Finn … Mr. Dalton,” she said, trying again. She didn’t mean to sound so familiar, and at the same time, “Mr. Dalton” came off as much too formal. “As you’ve guessed, I’m a reporter. I write for the
Chicago Herald
. Actually, I cover the society page. It’s not my favorite subject, but I was grateful to get the job. I’m a good reporter, and I wanted an opportunity to prove that I was capable of writing something other than who was seen where and with whom. I am sick to death of writing about meaningless parties and who’s getting married and who’s breaking up. So sick that I was ready to quit, and then my editor, who’s been in the business thirty years, said I could have any assignment I wanted if I could
manage to interview you. Little did I know how difficult finding you would be.”

Once she’d started explaining, she couldn’t seem to stop. Her hope was that once Finn heard her story he’d be willing to cooperate.

Eventually he’d have to give an interview to someone, and it might as well be her. She was the one who’d found a way to reach him; that should prove something. He had to know his book was practically a phenomenon and the public was curious to know more about him.

“If I was able to find you, then others will, too … eventually.”

He glared at her as if to refute her words.

“Your book is amazing, and your readers want to meet the man behind
Alone
. And really, who could blame them? Surely you realized when you submitted the book what it would mean?”

He remained unmoved, so Carrie tried another tactic. Perhaps he would feel sorry for her. “I gave up spending Thanksgiving with my family in order to find you, but it’d be worth every one of my vacation days and a lot more if you were willing to give me an interview.” Studying him, she could tell he wasn’t the least bit concerned.

“Are you looking for sympathy from me?”

“No, of course not … well, maybe, just a little.”

He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said in the same cheerful tone she’d used earlier. “I’ll let you preview the piece, give it your stamp of approval. If you don’t like it, then it won’t get printed.”

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”

“Well, yes, of course. I’m a woman of my word.”

“I’ve yet to meet one who is.” His words dripped with disdain. Snickering softly, he walked over to where the computer and the radio were set up. Pulling out the chair, he sat down, flipped a couple of switches, and put on headphones. It didn’t take Carrie long to figure out his call was to Sawyer.

Although Carrie could hear only one side of the conversation, it was enough. She was the main topic of interest.

“If this is a joke, I’m not laughing. Over.”

From Finn’s reaction, Sawyer was apparently amused.

“You’re way off base,” Finn shouted into the microphone. “Having a woman here, let alone a woman reporter, isn’t my idea of doing me a favor. I don’t care who she is or who she knows. Over.”

Sawyer replied, but Carrie couldn’t make out what he said.

“I don’t want her here, and that’s putting it mildly. Over.”

Silence followed. Finn rubbed his hand over his beard in what she could only assume was frustration.

“You have twenty-four hours to come get her. Over.”

He slapped his hand against the top of the table. “No … 
I don’t care about any damn storm. You brought this on yourself. Over.”

Carrie was worried. She really didn’t want to remain with Finn in this isolated cabin any longer than it took to get what she needed for the article. The sooner Sawyer came for her, the better. She needed to be back to work in Chicago. With the holidays coming up, there were any number of social events she’d been assigned to cover. If worse came to worst and she was stuck in Alaska, Nash would forgive her once she handed him the interview with Finn. Even in the short amount of time she’d been with him, she could relay a number of interesting details about the man.

“Twenty-four hours is my limit. Over.” Finn ended the conversation with what sounded very much like a threat.

Carrie was left to wonder what he would do if Sawyer didn’t return for her in the prescribed amount of time. Surely Finn wouldn’t put her out in the cold to deal with the elements alone. Would he?

When he finished he removed the headphones and turned off the radio.

Carrie remained frozen, hardly knowing what to do or say, so she did nothing.

Finn reached for his mug and drank down the last dregs of his coffee, and then delivered the empty cup to the kitchen sink. Carrie got out of the chair. Her own coffee was finished, so she followed him, the movement of the wool socks
against the cabin floor nearly silent. Unfortunately she was closer behind him than either of them realized, because when he turned, he nearly mowed her down.

With his hands braced against her upper arms, he glared down at her, a deep frown etched into his forehead. “Stay out of my way.” Each word was distinctly spoken, leaving her in no doubt as to the strength of his feelings.

“Sorry … that was an accident.” She stuttered slightly, and while she attempted to figure how best to get his cooperation, Finn grabbed his coat, hat, and gloves, and after getting everything on, promptly walked outside.

Carrie stared at the closed door, too stunned to move. She’d had such high hopes for this interview, but if this “coffee time” was any indication of what was to follow, then she was going down in flames.

Hennessey remained by the stove, seemingly content to stay by the warm fire. Carrie got down on the rug next to him, sitting with her legs folded and her chin braced against her knees.

“He doesn’t like me,” she told the dog.

Hennessey lifted his head to gaze at her.

“I can’t say that I blame him. I barged into his life, and now I’m paying the price.”

To her delight, Hennessey lifted his chin and then rested it on top of her foot. Although Finn had warned her that he might bite, she gently placed her hand on the top of his head.
After giving him a moment to adjust to the feel of her touch, she stroked the length of his spine.

“You’re nothing like the big, bad wolf Finn makes you out to be,” she whispered. “You’re a big puffball.”