Two Captains, One Chair: An Alaskan Romantic Comedy (7 page)

After the covered bridge, the woods opened up onto a yard.  A gorgeous yard.  Ed had a lush green lawn, and a pond with clumps of irises growing in the far end.  A couple big, beautiful, flowering lilacs.  Apple trees.

And amongst all of the wonderful greenery?  The most amazing sculptures I’d ever seen.  A giant crane stood next to the path.  Over by the pond was a life-sized metal moose with twin calves frolicking on the grass.

I stopped to examine the crane.  Old parts, I realized.  Ed’s sculptures were made out of rusted metal welded together.  Car parts, nuts and bolts.  I recognized a spark plug and some gears.

“Did you make these?” I asked, touching the detail in the wing.  Old butter knives had been welded in as feathers.  They shone in the sun.

“Yeah.”

His voice sounded strange, so I looked up at him.  He was doing his bashful thing. 
Ed is shy
, I was reminded.

“They’re amazing,” I said.  “This is what you do with all those old parts, isn’t it?”

He nodded.  “Come on, I’ll show you to the bathroom.”

Bemused, I followed him to his cabin, which sat kitty-corner in front of a huge shop.  The amazing details, and sheer character, didn’t stop at his yard.  He had a hand-made iron door handle, and the railing on the stairs was welded out of scrap metal in winding, swirling patterns.  The interior of the house had a lot of bare wood, including the flooring, which looked to be polished birch.   He had a bar stool with diamond willow legs, and a coffee table made out of half a spruce burl.

“You, also?” I asked him, running my fingertips over the stool. 
Wow.

His beard twitched.  “Yeah.  Bathroom’s down and to the left,” he said.  “I’ll go look at the generator.”  Then he was gone.

I really hadn’t thought he was going to make this easy for me.  I watched through one of his charming, multi-paned windows as he disappeared down the trail.

Then I began to search.

I got through all of the downstairs, but couldn’t quite bring myself to go up and search his bedroom.  I was already invading his privacy, but that would have been taking it a little further than I was ready to go.  I learned he liked country music, chocolate (unless the reason he had such a big stash was because he
didn’t
like it), his shoe size was 11, his jackets smelled like a combination of sawdust and engine grease, and he had all of the trimmings of a really accomplished cook.  I couldn’t decide whether the fact that he appeared well-off—despite what I’d seen of him never actually accepting money—made him more or less suspicious.

The most suspicious thing I found—and it was damning—were several books about gold.  Finding it, mining it, gold panning, valuing.  But my gold nugget wasn’t hiding in any of his cupboards, as far as I could tell.

I was half a breath from checking upstairs when I kicked myself out the door instead.  I had to have taken 10 minutes already, and I knew he had to be wondering what I was up to.  I took a few steps toward the covered bridge.

But then I looked to my right, and saw that huge shop.  I hesitated, but finally figured,
Hey, I’m a girl, and girls take a long time in the bathroom.
 
If he challenges me on it, I was fixing my makeup. 
Or dropping a difficult deuce;
that
would shut him up.

Chuckling, I ran to the shop and let myself inside.  I couldn’t search it extremely well, as there were just too many boxes and shelves and racks and cabinets and drawers.  But I did the best I could.  Ed was organized, I found, and seemed to have every tool imaginable.

I paused at his workbench, looking over the work-in-progress there.  This sculpture was smaller in scale than the others, and it wasn’t entirely done, but it looked like a man.  A boxer, maybe, his hands in ball-bearing mitts, held up in guard position.  The attention to detail on the muscles, the way he was communicating determination and fierce action potential, even in his half-finished state, made me smile.

Finished with my search, I ran down the trail, slowing to a walk as I came out of the trees.  “Sorry I took so long,” I said, trying to keep my breathing under control.  “I had to look at what you’d done with the bannisters on the stairs.  They’re gorgeous.”  He’d incorporated flat, colored glass marbles, so that the whole thing sparkled as it caught the light.

And that wasn’t all.  The whole house was beautiful.  The kitchen floor was some sort of real, sparkly stone.  The furniture was overstuffed and leather and comfortable.  And the bathroom made me wish I actually had to go.  Custom tile work, a big tub, fixtures that looked like art.

How did the man afford it?  It’s not like he could have taken off with my gold nugget, just a couple days ago, and bought and installed everything in that short amount of time.  He didn’t have a job, that I could tell.  He seemed to spend all of his time wandering around fixing things for people, but not getting paid for any of his work.

He grunted, still bent over my generator.

I grabbed a metal folding chair, set it down across the generator from him, and plopped onto it.  As I watched him work, my naughty, wandering mind erased the generator from between us.  He looked really good on his knees like that before me, his head bent like a supplicant.  I knew he had grapes in that big, stainless steel fridge of his (Yes, I’d looked in the fridge.  I
always
looked in the fridge.), and I imagined him feeding them to me as I reclined in a velvet-lined sedan chair.  Him, using those capable hands to rub fragrant oils into my skin.  Him, sliding those dexterous fingers between my legs…

I sat straight up so fast he glanced up at me.

Could it be?
  Considering I was staring at what I could see of his mouth, and wondering what it would feel like on my breast, yeah, it could.  His beard had been scratchy but soft against my hand when I’d grabbed him, and it had prickled—but not unpleasantly—against my face.  What would it feel like rubbing over the soft flesh between my breasts?

Holy crap, I’m attracted to Ed! 
And he was still looking at me, probably wondering if he was going to have to administer CPR.

I remembered to breathe.  “So what have you been up to lately?” I asked, my voice an octave too high.

“Nothing much,” he said.

I felt like throwing my hands in the air.  What
was
it with the men around here?  Or was it just men in general?

“Well, you helped me out on the barge yesterday,” I said.  “What do you do with yourself besides that?  Do you guide?” 
How do you make your money, you secretive bastard?

His expression seemed caught somewhere between a grimace and a wry smile.  “No.”  He was fiddling with a black hose, getting it reconnected, and didn’t seem at all interested in elaborating.

My eyes narrowed on him.  I could get anybody to talk.  Anybody.

With that thought in mind, I stripped out of the long-sleeved shirt I was wearing over my tank-top, and went to my cooler in the back.  “Beer?” I offered, snagging one for myself.

“Sure.”

I brought him a can, then plopped back on my chair.  I tipped my face up, shaking my hair down my back, and rolled the chilly aluminum over my chest.  “It’s so hot out,” I moaned.  Cool droplets from the sweating can rolled down my cleavage, and my nipples shot hard.

I looked at him from under my lashes.  Oh yeah, I had his attention.  Ed was staring at me, his own drink forgotten in his hand.  His eyes were glued to my chest, and I was
very
interested to note the fire in them.

Ed is
interested
, I realized.

I found myself suddenly intrigued.  Word was, the shy ones were absolutely
nasty
in bed.  Did Ed have it in him, to growl dirty words in my ear, rip me out of my clothes, and do unspeakable things to my body?

His gaze slid up to mine, and tingles shivered through me.  That look in his eyes said he did.

Then he glanced away, popped his own can, and took several long swallows.  He set the beer down, picked his wrench back up, and went back to the generator.

Dammit.  The man was a tough nut to crack.  I would have never pegged Ed—cheerful, helpful, nice Ed—as a tough nut, but there it was.

“You help people a lot,” I said.  I knew there was one thing I could say that would probably get his attention.

“I guess.” 
Wrench.  Wrench.  Wrench.
  It made his shoulders flex in an interesting way, but I still kinda, sorta wanted to throttle him.

“So were you actually pursuing Helly last year, or were you just being your usual nice, helpful self and she took it the wrong way?” I asked.

He paused.  I thought for sure he was going to say something—but then he just shrugged.  I took that to mean a little bit of both. His reticence was definitely suspicious, but I didn’t want to push him too far and have him clam up entirely.

I sighed and settled into my chair, content to enjoy the lovely afternoon, the heat of the summer sun tempered by the cool river flowing by.  Maybe I could outwait him, get him to speak, get information that way.

I waited a half hour.  The next sound to split the silence between us was my generator firing up.

“There you go,” he said.  “All fixed.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” he returned, and without meeting my eyes, he packed up his tools.  With a nod and a murmured, “Have a good afternoon,” he disappeared back up the trail to his place.

I stared after him.  There was something distinctly suspicious about that man, and the more I learned about him, the more curious I became.

Chapt
er Six

W
hen I got back home, the brothers hurried out of my cabin and down to the shore.  I shut down the barge’s engines and stepped out of the cab, watching as each of them tied off a bow line.

They were still adhering to the no-shirt rule, and their muscles flexed as they secured the ropes.  They were both pretty fair, but they’d gotten a little color since they’d treed my cabin.

They unfastened the front ramp, lowered it down, and each took hold of an end of the now-functional generator.  “We have dinner ready for you,” Zack called past his brother as they moved my generator along the trail through my yard.  It had a new house, I noted, a little structure with the light patina of fresh lumber.

I followed them slowly, suspicious of their newfound productivity.  They settled the generator in its new home, and bent over it.  Getting it wired back in, I assumed.  I peeked around inside to make sure they hadn’t slapped the little building together, but it looked sturdy.

I turned my head to the left.  And there, in my back yard, sat a new pile of building supplies.  Blue roofing, a couple batts of insulation.  “You got the supplies?” I asked, not believing my eyes.

“Yep, one of my contractor buddies had the stuff on-hand, and a float plane just dropped it off.  We also had him pick up some ribs, some crab and steak to feed you for your dinners,” Rory said.

“And a couple boxes of beer,” said Zack.

Rory looked up from the generator, his blue eyes attentive.  “How was your afternoon?”

My eyes narrowed.  As far as I was aware, the boys didn’t
do
attentive.  “It was very good.”

“Awesome.  We’re hoping to make your evening even better,” Rory said, flashing me a crooked, panty-dropping smile.

“Why don’t you go on up to the cabin, relax, put your feet up,” said Zack.  His eyes were sparkling at me from under a fall of white-blond hair.  One of the tattoos stretched across his flexing chest was a motorcycle shooting flames, ridden by a guy with a laughing skull for a head.

“Dinner’s ready.  Just give us a minute here, and we’ll be in to serve you.”

“Feel free to change into something more comfortable,” Zack suggested.

They were obviously up to something.  But, despite my doubts, I was impressed with what they’d done.  And, it had gotten strangely warm outside.

I went up to the cabin.  The smell of dinner hit me as I walked through the door.  I stopped, and sucked in a deep, savoring breath.  Garlic, seafood, and lemon with the acrid tang of wine.  I swayed.

When I reopened my eyes, I saw that they’d set the table—a place for me, with white wine already poured, and three pretty pillar candles flickering in the middle.  My mouth screwed up with suspicion, but I was drawn farther into the kitchen by that divine smell.

I looked up as they came in the back door.  They were sweaty, and tall, and well-muscled, and there were two of them, and apparently they could
cook
…

“Have a seat,” Zack said.  “Please.  Let us feed you.”

Rory held out a chair for me.

I took it, then stiffened as his hands alighted on my shoulders.  “Relax,” he said, his big, warm hands starting a wonderful massage.  I almost moaned as my tight muscles loosened under the perfect pressure.  Pleasure coursed through me.  It really was too bad these two handsome men had blown their chances with me so spectacularly.

“You’ve got beautiful hair,” Rory said, his voice a low, crooning rumble over my head.  He gathered it in his hands, pulled it to one side, and began gently kneading the tender muscles of my neck.

My eyes had gone to half-mast as I watched his brother move around the kitchen.  The only thing that could have possibly made the view better was a little apron.

The corners of my mouth twitched as, in my mind, the man in the apron became Ed.  Yet another sultry calendar image, I mused.

Zack settled a heaping plate of pasta in front of me with a flourish. 
Oh my god, they’d made me shrimp scampi! 
My eyes nearly bugged out of my head at the amount, but I kept my mouth shut when I saw how proud Zack looked.  Besides, could you ever really have too much shrimp?

“Helly said it was your favorite,” he said.

I picked up my fork, and tasted it. 
Oh shit,
it was good.  But it was really hard to keep my mind on the task at hand—eating—when Rory was turning my shoulder muscles to jelly.

“Oh!” Zack said.  He hurried over to the counter and picked up his phone.

Adele’s smoky voice filled my cabin.  I chewed and swallowed.  “Helly told you?” I asked.

“Yep.”  He looked happy as a clam, watching me twist a forkful of linguine.  I tried to ignore how sexy he looked with the corners of his cornflower blue eyes crinkled with a smile.

Rory’s long fingers were nudging farther down.  When they snuck just inside the neckline of my tank top, I finally shrugged him off.  I was enjoying the massage, yes, but these two guys had fucked up my cabin, and I wasn’t going to be won over so easily.  No way.

Rory moved over to my living room.  “We were wondering if you’d like to watch a show with us after dinner,” he said.  “How does
Firefly
sound?”

“We thought maybe you’d like to cuddle on the couch,” Zack said.

I narrowed my eyes at him, then at Rory.  They were trying to get in my pants.  Any idiot would have figured it out by now.  Cooking me dinner was something I’d demanded of them, but cooking my favorite?  And accompanying it by Adele?  And candles?  And
shoulder rubs
?  And now, suggesting my favorite TV series?  And
cuddling
?

They were trying to get in my pants, and I wasn’t a hundred percent sure how I felt about it.  They’d clearly put a lot of effort into this…
But you don’t have sex with someone just because they tried hard!
I told myself.

I was still staring at Rory, my mind buzzing furiously, when Zack set the cake on the table.

I looked at it, and whimpered.  It was thick and rectangular, sinfully dark and rich-looking, and
chocolate
.  I watched Zack cut a slice from the corner, and set it on a plate.  The cake was triple layer, with almost an inch on top, and two bands of thick, fudgy frosting between.  I bit my lip, barely holding in a sound of need.

Then, Zack went one step further.  He pulled a tub of vanilla bean Haagen-Dazs from my freezer and applied two scoops next to the cake.  I pressed my thighs together.

And, before my disbelieving eyes, he dealt the final blow.  He pulled a saucepan from the stove, and ladled hot fudge over the top of that already perfect cake and ice cream.  I stared, my mouth open, any hope I had of resisting them blowing away like a fart in the wind.

“Um,” I said, desperately trying to pull my shit together.  I wiped the drool off my chin and tried to act cool, like I hadn’t just decided they could do anything they wanted to me—as long as they brought cake.  That hot fudge would look even more perfect smeared across Zack’s chest.  I could push him back on the table and lick it off him between sips of wine, as Rory’s hands wandered downward...

No.  No!
  I yelled at myself.  They’re irresponsible.  They broke your cabin.  Smashed your garden.  Your generator shack.

But they fixed it
, my mind whispered. 
And they’ve got muscles.  And tattoos…

And cake.

Shit.

I shot to my feet, rattling the utensils on the table.  “I’ve gotta step outside a minute,” I said, already headed toward the door.  My willpower was dipping to an all-time low.  Given another minute or another topping—God forbid they brought sprinkles!!—I knew I’d do something I would later regret.

I stiff-armed my way out the door and lunged down the steps.  Once outside, I dragged fresh air into my lungs.  I hadn’t realized how the inside of my cabin had been permeated by the heady aroma of sexy man, but now I tried to erase that smell—and the sight of their delectable chests—from my memory.

I was bent over with my hands on my hips, taking big gulps of air, when I heard it.

“Meh-eh-eh-eh,” came the pitiful cry.

I straightened up, scanning my yard with a frown.  Where
was
my goat?  I hadn’t seen her since I got home.  I cocked my head, listening.  Maybe I was just hearing things…

“Meh-eh-eh.”  No, that was her.  That was Mimi.  And it sounded like it was coming from…

I started walking toward the woods.

“Suzy,” Zack called from my door.  “The hot fudge is getting cold!”

My steps faltered.

“Meh-eh-eh!”  It was an urgent cry.

I hesitated.

My goat?  Or two half-naked blonds?

Oh, who was I kidding?  There was no contest.  I resumed walking toward the woods, listening carefully for Mimi’s voice.  Now, if it’d been my goat versus Ed—especially in nothing but that apron—the goat might have been in trouble.

My lips were still quirked with that thought when I noticed a nice, fresh sheet of plywood lying flat on the ground.  I approached, thinking it odd.  I stepped right up to its edge, planning to lift it up and maybe lean it against the generator shack.

The earth crumbled out from under me.

Cussing, arms windmilling, I fell backward.  I landed on my butt in the dirt, and nearly screamed when something nudged at my foot.

“What the hell?”  I stared at the dark crack under the plywood, which had nearly sucked me in.

A hairy thing poked out of that narrow hole and lipped at my shoe.  “Meh-eh-eh,” those fuzzy lips said.

I froze, my head tilting with puzzlement.  Was that…? 
Under a piece of plywood? 
What?  How?

Confused beyond belief, I moved to my knees next to the sheet, and lifted it.

Mimi almost slammed her forehead into mine as she burst upward.  She tossed her front legs over the edge and scrambled to get out of the hole she was in.  I lifted the plywood higher, and she surged out.

She stood huffing with what sounded like righteous goat anger.  Her ears flicked, and her hide shivered, shaking off dirt.

I looked at her, looked at the freshly-dug hole, and then at the new sheet of plywood in my hand.  “Those… troll-licking ass-munches,” I spat.  Forget the hot blonds.  They’d crossed the line.  Again.

Putting my goat in a hole?  They would have done better to smash my generator house again.

“Suzy?” Zack called from the doorway.

Mimi’s head whipped around at the sound of his voice.  She snorted, and pawed the earth.

I could see it in her eyes:  Mimi had had enough.

Zack’s eyes widened as they settled on me, and then the incensed goat.  “Oh shit,” he said.  He disappeared back inside.

Mimi took off at a dead run across the yard.  She took the stairs in a running leap, and shot through her dog door.

From inside, I heard a scream.  Panicked shouting.  Through the screen, and my multiple broken windows, I heard clattering.  Glass breaking.  There was heavy thumping as if someone were running up my stairs.  Another shriek.  The plastic taped over my windows billowed.

There was a long, breathless moment of silence.

Then Zack cannonballed through one of my taped windows.  He rolled, scrambled to his hands and knees, and sprinted toward the river.

Mimi vaulted out the window after him, her form champion jumper perfect.  She landed, her nostrils flared, and her head swung around.  She caught sight of Zack, and her legs took her after him.

I watched, amazed, as she caught up with him on the dock.  Her head lowered.  I winced, knowing what came next.

She rammed into his finely-carved gluts at full speed.  He flew off the end of the dock, arms windmilling, and landed with a splash in the icy water.

I thought about going to see if he needed help.  I could toss him one of those little floaty cushions or something.

But no. 
Fuck it.
  He’d gone in close to shore, and if the man didn’t know how to swim by this point in his life, I’d let natural selection take its course.

Not even missing a beat, Mimi spun on her back hoof and galloped back up to the house.  She ducked in through her doggie door.

“No! Nooo!” came the resultant bloodcurdling cry.  “It’s eating meeeee!”

I rolled my eyes.  Helly’s brothers were so damn melodramatic.  It must have been a family trait.

I calmly walked back inside my cabin, sat in my chair, and pulled the chocolate cake in front of me.  Oh god, they
had
added sprinkles.  Pink ones.  I woulda been a goner for sure.  But now the one was probably freezing his more interesting parts off in the river, and the other… I glanced over into the living room.

Mimi had Rory pinned.  He lay somewhere between face-down and the fetal position, his hands laced to protect the back of his neck.  Mimi had one cloven hoof pressed into the small of his back, and was nibbling on anything she could reach.  He squealed as she treated his side like an ear of corn.  He writhed as she tried to eat his hair, his ear, his fingers.  His pants.