Mountain Fire (9 page)

“I should probably ask Richard about my schedule first, but I can’t see why he would mind. I’ll let you know.”

“June?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for taking my call.”

****

June dropped her phone back in her bag. The hard knot that had taken up residence in her stomach after last evening dissolved as she’d listened to Alex’s apology. She’d been so afraid she’d put an end to their relationship practically before it began.

Richard re-entered the office.

“All set?” White teeth flashed in the dark, neat beard.

“I guess so.” She hesitated, then plunged in. “I’ve got to ask, Richard. What exactly do you want me to do while I’m here? Thomas seems to have everything wrapped up.”

“I’ve given Thomas a project that will keep him very busy over the next few weeks. He’s going to be redesigning the RiverForce website. I managed to get a grant for that, as well, so he’ll be paid for his work.”

That was great news. She’d wondered whether Thomas would be breathing down her neck every day.

Richard continued. “You’ll keep up with the correspondence, update the newsletter, send out emails, you know, the regular things Thomas was doing.”

“All right then. Do you expect me to be in the office every day?”

“No, no, of course not. I trust you to adjust your schedule as needed. Some days will be busier than others, I’m sure.”

“I would imagine so.” Although busy might be stretching it. “Should I let you know if I’m not coming in one day?”

Richard chuckled. “Planning time off with your friend, the CO, already?”

His obvious amusement nettled her, and she answered brusquely. “Not necessarily. He’s actually scheduled to work the next couple of days.” It was none of Richard’s business, after all.

“If you are going to miss a day or so, an email would be great. My schedule is posted on the university server, or you can always check with my office, if you need to get a hold of me. Now, about the next meeting...” He went on to cover a few points of business regarding the agenda she’d sent him. “Obviously, there’s no hurry, so if you make those changes before the end of the week that will be fine.” He nodded at the wall clock. “And I see you’ve been here a couple of hours, so your first day is done.”

“I guess so.” She smiled at him. “Thanks, Richard. I really do appreciate the opportunity.”

“No problem at all.” Once again she felt the force of his charm as he smiled back at her. “I always like to keep my eye on my RiverForce members.”

****

June’s plans were virtuous as she left the campus. A free afternoon and evening would give her the chance to catch up on chores around the house. But the weather was brilliantly sunny, with a hint of a refreshing breeze. It was much too nice a day to waste on laundry and sweeping floors.

Minutes after parking her pickup behind her house, she headed out the front door, dressed in running gear.

Turning right on the sidewalk, she walked past neatly trimmed lawns and charmingly tended houses, and into one of the city’s largest green spaces. Set above the muddy brown rush of the Fraser River, Fort George Park was the original location of the Hudson Bay Company’s fur trading post.

She broke into a jog, cutting straight across a wide open grassy expanse, heading for the trail along the riverbank. The muscles in her legs stretched and flexed, and she embraced the sensation of a well-tuned body. Soon the rhythm took over, and her consciousness was free to float.

Inevitably, Alex filled her mind. Hearing him talk about his childhood had helped her understand his attitude, but it was her own reaction that worried her most.

She had never had to deal with feelings and desires like those Alex stirred up inside her. If she had to decide between sleeping with him to keep him, or losing him altogether, she was no longer sure what she might choose.

She flowed smoothly along, breathing regular and even, muscles loose and limber. She stayed with the trail as it crossed under the big four lane bridge that carried the highway east and the old railway drawbridge.

Now it curved left and travelled beside the Nechako River, a smaller tributary which entered the Fraser from the west. Her feet padded on the wood chip path as it twisted through tall cottonwoods.

She reached the halfway mark of her run, a little rocky open space right down on the river’s edge underneath yet another bridge. There she took a breather, making sure to drink water and check her time. Then she turned around and headed back.

The first thing she noticed when she walked in the house was the blinking light on her phone. She punched in the code.

Her mother’s voice filled the room. “We’re back, June. Got in about half an hour ago. Had a good time visiting Jake. We’d love to see you. Give us a call.”

She dialed her parent’s number and her dad answered. “How was the drive?” she asked.

“Good, good. No trouble at all. I’ll get your mother.”

She grinned. Not one for small talk, her dad.

She made noncommittal noises as her mother chattered about their week in Vancouver, which they’d spent visiting their son, who was taking his law degree at the University of British Columbia, and a number of old friends.

She juggled the phone between chin and shoulder as she pulled off her sweaty running clothes and tossed them in the hamper. Walking in her underwear from bedroom to bathroom, she managed to catch a break in the conversation.

“Mom, why don’t I drive out tonight and you can tell me all about it?” She pulled the phone away from her ear to check the time on its display. “Or, better yet, why don’t I come for dinner? I just got in from a run, so I have to shower, and I desperately need to throw in a load of laundry, but I can come by in a couple of hours. Do you need me to bring anything?”

“We stopped at the grocery store on our way through town, so we should be good. See you in a bit then.”

Chapter Eight

Alex was leaving Iain’s office, where they had been preparing for the meeting later that day, when his cell rang. He did his best to suppress the hope it was June. He’d spoken to her a few hours ago, for Pete’s sake. Surely he was able to survive longer than that before needing to talk to her again?

His heart sank when he read the display. He closed his office door and blew out a deep breath before making the connection.

“Hello, Dad.” He dropped into his chair.

“I’ve got great news, son.” Dylan Weaver had the educated, buttery tones of a national radio announcer, the confidence of a self-made man, and the morals of an alley cat. He’d been married three times, and, Alex believed, had been monogamous for extremely short periods during each. He seemed to find it impossible to say no to any woman who fluttered her eyelashes at him. And even though he was well into his fifties, his refined good looks and well-stocked financial portfolio continued to attract females. “Sondra and I are getting married.”

Alex rubbed his thumb deep into his eye socket. He’d met his father’s current girlfriend, now fiancée, once, but he wouldn’t soon forget her overtly enhanced hair, teeth and breasts. The three of them had had dinner together last summer when Alex was in Vancouver for a few days. It was seared in his memory as one of the most awkward meals of his life.

“Congratulations,” he said colourlessly.

Ignoring Alex’s lacklustre response, Dylan went on. “Sondra wants me to invite you to our engagement party.” Not “we” want to invite you, Alex noted. “She insisted, in fact. It’s going to be in a couple of weeks.” His father’s tone was not welcoming. Alex was the last person his father wanted near Sondra. He might have suspect taste in women, but he wasn’t stupid.

Dinner had started innocently enough. Alex had plenty of practice meeting the various women who had passed through his father’s life. When he’d been younger, he’d thought of them as possible step-mothers, but after he’d experienced the drama and trials of his father’s second divorce he’d lowered his expectations. Now all he wished for was someone he could stand being in the same room with.

At first he’d thought the contact was accidental. Sondra and his father sat across the table from him, and she appeared to be concentrating entirely on whatever pompous theory his father was spouting. Then her bare toes slipped under the cuff of his trouser leg and brushed sexily up and down his shin. Her dark-rimmed eyes met his boldly, and she slicked the tip of her tongue wetly between her lips.

He’d tucked his legs uncomfortably under his chair, out of her reach. Yet that hadn’t stopped her from making subtle, sensuous motions every time she had his attention. He wasn’t sure when Dylan noticed his girlfriend was flirting with his son, but by the end of the evening a pulse beat thickly in his temple, and he’d rushed Sondra out of the restaurant.

“I don’t know about that, Dad. Things are kind of busy at work.”

“I told Sondra you probably wouldn’t have time.” Alex heard the relief. A familiar but faded sense of failure twisted through him. Like many children of divorced parents, he’d thought if he’d been a better son, worked harder at school, done something, anything differently, he could have kept his family together. He’d stopped blaming himself years ago, but that didn’t mean he didn’t wish, once in a while, life had turned out otherwise.

“I’m sorry I can’t make it. I’ll come to the wedding.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to arrange that. This is Sondra’s first marriage. She wants to make it spectacular.”

“I’m sure it will be.” He should have offered his father best wishes. He couldn’t. “Good luck,” he said. Only after he rang off did he add a truly sincere comment. “You’ll need it.”

****

June hopped into her truck for the short drive to her parent’s home, on a five acre parcel of property a few kilometres east of the city. They had bought the land a couple of years ago, and had built themselves a log house. But not just any log house.

Her little old pickup laboured up the steep hill leading out of the river valley that held the city centre. Traffic was heavy, and while a silver SUV seemed content enough to follow, other vehicles passed her easily as she kept to the outside lane.

When the highway leveled out, June picked up speed. A couple of minutes later, she took the left hand turn leading to her parent’s rural subdivision. The vehicle behind also made the turn. The road narrowed, twisting between tall stands of pale-green-skinned poplar and slender birch. At random intervals driveways cut through the forest, but most of the houses to which they led were hidden.

She checked her mirror again. The SUV was still behind her, now aggressively hugging her bumper. “Why didn’t you pass me on the hill if you’re in such a hurry,” she muttered. Her parent’s driveway came into view, so she flicked on her indicator and tapped her brakes, hoping the other driver would get the message and back off before she turned left. Instead, she heard the roar of acceleration and the SUV dodged into the oncoming lane, racing past her. Heavily tinted windows prevented her from seeing inside, but didn’t stop her from making a furious gesture she hoped the driver would see. “Jerk!” she yelled, adrenalin rushing. “Thanks for nothing!”

She carefully negotiated the narrow driveway. One final turn brought her parent’s home in sight, and the last traces of temper drained away. She wanted to laugh every time she saw the log house, and today was no exception.

Using large trees cleared from the property, her father had cut logs into three foot lengths, then laid them in a circle pattern with the butt ends facing out. Sealing them together, he had raised multiple layers. Then, with the truly enormous trunk of a cedar as the centre pole, he had completed the round structure with a shake roof.

June pulled to a stop, struck as always by the unusual polka dotted exterior. Her parents had been forced to settle for boring rectangular doorways, but the windows were portholes and gave the whole odd structure a nautical feel. Planted in the middle of a grassy lawn, flower beds were beginning to green up all around its circular walls. It seemed to have sprung, fully formed, from the ground.

Hiding behind a thick hedge made from ruthlessly pruned spruce trees was a much more mundane double garage, with one large roll-up door open and a light shining inside. As she walked toward it, her father slammed shut the tailgate and closed the lid of the canopy on his truck.

“Good timing.” He held out an armful of shopping bags. “You can help carry your mother’s stuff in.” No visit to Vancouver was complete unless her mother had at least one good spending spree.

“Hi, Dad.” She gave him a quick peck. “Looks like she did well this trip.”

“You know your mother.”

Although born in Canada, his voice often held the light echo of his parents’ German origin. Karl Brandt had made his living working in one of the pulp and paper mills that were Prince George’s main revenue base. Not quite six feet tall, his lean build hadn’t softened when he took early retirement. He favoured flannel shirts in muted plaids and well-worn jeans, and had enjoyed taking his children on camping trips to remote lakes when they were growing up. She wondered if he was disappointed two of his oldest sons had left for bigger cities, and seemed to be embracing lifestyles so different from the way they had been raised.

She bumped her shoulder into his as they walked companionably across the yard. “How’s Jacob?”

He shrugged. “He’s got a job for the summer clerking in a law office. Not much money, but he seems to like it.”

“It won’t be long before he can get an articling position. Then he’ll make more.”

“It’s not me that’s worried. It’s your mother.”