Wild Heat (Northern Fire) (2 page)

“Kitty said that’s why she’d had so many broken bones over the last couple of years. They’d gotten brittle she said.” Miss Elspeth frowned. “Grant bones don’t go brittle. We’re hardy stock. My grandfather lived to be ninety and Gran another twelve years after that. Neither had a single bone break in all those years.”

“Kitty broke something?” Tack asked in disbelief.

She’d gotten into more scrapes as a kid, always taking risks. He could remember the tumble she’d taken when they’d been hiking on Resurrection Pass when they were twelve. It had about stopped his heart, but she hadn’t so much as gotten a hairline fracture.

“More than one something. She didn’t break her wrist, crack two of her ribs, and break her clavicle bumping into walls, no matter how brittle her bones.”

Bile rose in Tack’s throat. “Nevin Barston beat her?”

That son of a bitch! The primal urge to protect rose in Tack. Images of beating Barston until Tack had broken every bone that Miss Elspeth had listed, plus a few more, flashed through the red haze in his mind.

Elspeth’s lips thinned in a sad line. “Kitty never said so, but that man destroyed our girl.”

“She’s coming home now, though.” Tack just didn’t understand why, if it had been that bad, Kitty hadn’t come back a long time ago.

Or at the very least last spring when a pretty subdued Miz Moya had returned to Cailkirn. She’d stayed in California another full year by his reckoning.

Was her dislike for their small-town life so strong she’d rather live with a monster than come back to it?

Miss Elspeth reached out and patted Tack’s hand, her smile belied by the tears sparkling in her faded blue eyes. “You’re right. She
is
moving home. And it’s going to be all right.”

Tack rose from the table and gave the older woman a gentle but firm hug. “Of course it will.”

Tack had more doubts on that front than he’d had since bringing his broken heart home to Cailkirn seven years ago, but he wouldn’t voice them.

Keyed up by the idea of returning to Cailkirn for the first time in almost a decade, Caitlin walked behind Joey and his mother toward baggage claim.

When they arrived, a huge man stepped forward, stopping the mother and son’s progress. Like a lot of Alaskan men, particularly those who lived outside of the major cities, he had facial hair. Before she could stop it, an image of the close-cropped beard and mustache Tack MacKinnon wore popped into her head. It was the perfect, perpetual five o’clock shadow and the only beard Caitlin had ever found appealing.

It didn’t bode well that she’d been on Alaskan soil for less than an hour and she’d already started thinking about Tack. Moisture slicked her palms at the prospect of seeing the man again, nerves superseding the anticipation she shouldn’t be feeling. She’d callously jettisoned him from her life, betraying years of friendship. She doubted Tack would have the time of day for her anymore, much less be interested in renewing their acquaintance.

There would be no healing of that particular self-inflicted wound in her heart. Considering how stomped on and shredded that organ had been over the past years, Caitlin was surprised at the level of regret that thought elicited in her.

She’d pretty much decided her heart was beyond fixing. She’d erected a steel wall around her emotions a long time ago, and it had been tempered in the fire of pain that burned through her life. There should be no room for regret at a loss that had already happened. The last thing she needed was the vulnerability of any kind of relationship, even friendship.

Pushing aside her own disturbed thoughts, Caitlin couldn’t help noticing the way Joey and his mother reacted to the man who was so clearly there to meet them. Joey was staring up at the man in rapt fascination, but his mother appeared as nauseated as she had on the plane, her gaze shadowed by trepidation.

“Is this my new daddy?” Joey asked with the keen interest and innocence of a small boy.

Shock coursed through Caitlin at the question and her brain spun with explanations of where it could come from.
Daddy?
They were a family of strangers, or a family in the making?

The man had the looks of a modern-day Cossack, the mother had the accent and delicate pale features of a Southern belle, and the little boy had short nappy hair and skin the color of coffee with just a dash of cream—they embodied the diversity so much a part of her home state.

The man stared down at the boy for several seconds of tense silence. Then he addressed the woman. “Savannah Marie?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t say you had a child.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Caitlin recognized Savannah’s tense stance all too well. The Southern woman didn’t know how her Cossack was going to react to her words, but she wasn’t dissolving into apologetic explanations either and Caitlin couldn’t help admiring that strength.

The tall Alaskan man turned abruptly and started walking away.

Savannah’s shoulders slumped, the defeat in her posture too familiar for Caitlin to ignore.

Not that she’d ever let her own sense of despondency show, but Caitlin had felt it too long and too deeply not to recognize it in another human being. She might have learned to stifle concern for herself, but Caitlin had never been able to turn it off completely in regard to others. Since marrying Nevin, she’d done her best to protect her grandmother and aunts from the sharp edges of Caitlin’s life, but this overwhelming need to react to a stranger’s situation wasn’t something she’d experienced in a long time.

Caitlin wasn’t looking for a friend, or complications to her barely pulled together life, but her feet moved of their own volition, drawing her nearer the other woman.

She reached out to touch Savannah’s shoulder and offer help, though heaven knew Caitlin wasn’t anyone’s idea of a hero.

However, before her hand connected, the man turned back with a brusque, “Aren’t you coming? You’ll need to point out your bags for me. We’ve got to get on the road. The drive to Cailkirn from here isn’t short.”

The Southern woman’s sigh of relief and whispered, “Thank God,” got to Caitlin in a way that nothing else had in a long time.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she let her hand fall on Savannah’s shoulder, causing the other woman to stop and turn to face Caitlin. “Pardon?”

“You’re going to Cailkirn?” Caitlin forced herself to ask.

The woman’s gray gaze reflected the mix of emotions Caitlin had heard in her voice a moment ago as well as confusion. “I think so?”

Caitlin nodded. “Come on, then. Let’s get our bags. We’re going to the same place and I’m going to talk your…friend”—she was uncertain what the relationship was at this point—“into giving me a ride.”

Her original intention had been to rent a car and make the drive herself. Her brain was telling her that’s exactly what Caitlin should do. But she couldn’t help remembering all the times in the last few years she’d wished someone else had stepped in as a buffer between her and Nevin. She wasn’t sure Savannah needed one, not really, but Caitlin wasn’t walking away until she was sure the other woman didn’t.

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“Don’t worry. I won’t take up a lot of room.” Caitlin winked, proud of herself for making the comment without feeling the shame that still sometimes accompanied any reference to her body.

“But—”

“He won’t mind. It’s an Alaskan thing. Neighbors help neighbors. Especially in the small towns, but nowhere more than in Cailkirn.”

They reached the luggage carousel and the bearded man.

“Caitlin Grant.” She put her hand out to him. “I’m headed to the Knit and Pearl B and B. I would really appreciate a ride if you’ve got room.”

“Nikolai Vasov.” He shook Caitlin’s hand. “I know the Grant sisters.”

Caitlin gave Nikolai the polite expression that she’d perfected in her years with Nevin. “I’m not surprised. Most people in Cailkirn do. Moya is my grandmother.”

Her grandmother and great-aunts had lived in the small town on the Kenai Peninsula their entire lives. With her grandfather and great-uncle Teddy gone, the three elderly ladies shared the spacious Victorian house that had been built on the original Grant homestead more than a hundred years before.

As far as Caitlin knew, her aunt Elspeth had never lived anywhere else and her grandmother had lived in the Grant home since her marriage to Grandfather Ardal forty years ago. Aunt Alma had moved back into the big house after Teddy Winter’s death a few years after the turn of the century.

It was a couple of years after the oldest Grant sister moved in that the sisters decided to turn the house into a bed-and-breakfast. Caitlin had been preparing to go away to college and her grandmother and aunts claimed they needed something to keep them busy.

Caitlin realized Nikolai looked more than a little like the Vasov boy who had been a couple of years ahead of her and Tack in school. “Are you related to Alexi Vasov?”

“He’s my cousin.”

She nodded, vaguely remembering talk about Alexi’s uncle. Peder Vasov had left Cailkirn right after high school just like Caitlin’s parents. Somehow, both their children had ended up back in the town settled by Scots and Russians, integrating a small Inuit village along the way to incorporated town status.

Nikolai nodded his head abruptly. “We’ll make room for you.”

He didn’t ask how much luggage she had. It wasn’t the Cailkirn way.

Caitlin turned to Savannah and her son. “I should introduce myself to you too. I’m Caitlin Grant and you can find me at the Knit and Pearl Bed-and-Breakfast. You and your son will always be welcome.”

Though she was probably the last woman who should be trying to offer hope and help to someone else, Caitlin couldn’t seem to stop herself.

“I’m Joseph, but everybody calls me Joey,” the little dark-haired boy offered while his mother stood in apparent shock.

Caitlin shook his hand and didn’t tell him she’d heard his name on the plane. “It’s very nice to meet you, Joseph. I’ll call you Joey if you like.”

“Yes.” He stared at his mom, clearly waiting for her to say something.

The other woman offered her hand. “My name is Savannah…” She cast a sidelong glance at Nikolai.

He gazed back, his expression impenetrable.

Savannah took a deep breath. “Vasov. I’m Savannah Vasov.”

Caitlin schooled her features not to show her shock. She hadn’t heard of a proxy marriage since she was a teenager, but what else could this be?

In a state where the male population outnumbered females of marriageable age, long-distance relationships were not uncommon. Marriages brought about through a third party weren’t unheard of either.

Heck, they happened in the Lower 48 too. The dot-com matchmaking entities were an ingrained part of American life now. Entire reality shows were dedicated to the concept of matchmaking and selective pool dating with the endgame being a marriage.

Proxy marriages were a lot less common, though, to the point of being almost unheard of. Oh, they happened, but most commonly among active duty military.

They were legal in only six states, California being one of them—which explained how Savannah and Nik had managed to marry by proxy. It wasn’t a legal practice for an Alaskan-based marriage ceremony.

Though foreign brides marrying American men by proxy was still an active practice. Caitlin had known more than one beautiful Eastern European or Asian woman back in LA who had married her wealthy but otherwise unremarkable middle-aged husband, by proxy. It had worked out beautifully for some and not so well for others.

Not that Caitlin was in a position to pass judgment on anyone else’s marriage, hers having been its own horror story.

They retrieved their luggage and headed out to Nikolai’s truck, where the big man let Savannah, her son, and Caitlin into the vehicle before stowing the suitcases in the back. Anticipation born of loss and growth filled Caitlin as they headed back to her hometown, the one place she’d been so sure she never wanted to live again and the only place she could now imagine trying to rebuild her life.

T
ack closed the browser on his tablet, the images of women suffering from anorexia leaving his stomach tight and hollow.

He couldn’t imagine Kitty’s body so emaciated. Didn’t want to imagine it. Even more horrific was the possibility that in that physically and, according to what he’d read about the disease, emotionally vulnerable state, Nevin Barston had been physically abusive to Kitty.

Tack had spent nine years resenting Kitty’s rejection of their friendship, even after he’d overcome the hurt of unrequited love. He’d pushed every happy memory of her deep into the darkest recesses of his psyche and had only allowed himself to remember the Kitty who was so intent on making a life for herself in California, she’d been willing to dump her best friend to do it.

He’d spent a dozen years as Kitty’s staunchest friend. Then she’d cut him off and he’d let her. It had hurt less not having to see her in love with another man.

He’d written off the more brittle personality of the LA Kitty he witnessed from a distance his final weeks at university in California. No way had he suspected it was the beginning of a self-destructive eating spiral that would land her in the hospital weighing thirty percent less than her ideal weight.

All the regret in the world at not looking closer, not being more determined to maintain their friendship, couldn’t change the past, but that didn’t mean Tack didn’t feel it. It would take an asshole of mammoth proportions not to be moved by what Kitty had gone through in her marriage and what she’d done to herself in reaction to it.

Kitty had been funny about food sometimes when they were kids. Like when she obsessed over tests in school, she’d stop eating and start drinking coffee so she could stay up late studying. Miz Moya would have been livid if she’d known, but Tack had covered for Kitty.

He’d thought it was no big deal. And maybe it never would have been, if she hadn’t married that bastard in California.

Tack had transferred to Idaho State without a single pang of conscience. He didn’t regret that decision now either. Kitty
had
dumped their friendship and he had hated LA, but that didn’t mean he felt
nothing
at the knowledge Kitty’s life over the past years hadn’t been nearly as tranquil as his.

Shit.

Tack recognized the feeling welling up inside him as inexorable as a hot spring geyser. Protectiveness toward a girl who had repaid his friendship with unswerving loyalty, honesty, and warmth for twelve years. Right up until she withdrew every bit of it, right down to the honesty, apparently.

She’d made out like everything was perfect with her Prince Charming, only maybe Nevin had been more of a demon. He’d certainly done his best to suck the soul out of Kitty.

Tension hung thick in the extended cab of Nikolai’s four-by-four. Caitlin sat in the back with Joey, who had bounced and chattered nonstop for the first thirty minutes before falling asleep midsentence.

Slumped against the side panel, he slept on while the adults maintained an uncomfortable silence.

Savannah sat in front, her body as close to the door as she could get and still stay on the seat. There’d been no question she would rather have sat where Caitlin was for the drive, but Nikolai had loaded his passengers with unmistakable intent. He didn’t talk a lot, but the words he used left no doubt what he expected to happen.

Caitlin had observed quietly as Savannah had tried to engage in conversation with Nikolai a couple of times, but his monosyllabic answers had not encouraged further attempts.

Having some experience with taciturn Alaskan men, Caitlin wasn’t convinced of Nikolai’s lack of interest in Savannah’s conversation. Though it was clear the other woman was.

Her expression dazed, Savannah’s focus was entirely on the passing scenery now. Therefore, she did not see the sidelong glances Nikolai cast her way every few miles.

Caitlin would be content to finish the ride in silence. She had a lot of practice at surviving this kind of tension, but being back in Alaska was calling to her true nature, to the woman she’d buried deep and tried to forget.

The Alaskan girl with a friendly, curious nature her ex had worked hard to suppress if not destroy completely.

Caitlin wasn’t going to let him win. She remembered the final bit of advice from her therapist at their last appointment:
Leaving your husband isn’t going to help you, if you continue to live as if he’s still looking over your shoulder.

Every day might be an effort to reconnect to the world in a meaningful way, but Caitlin was a fighter. No matter how little that had shown in the past years of her life.

“How old is Joey?” she asked Savannah, noticing Nikolai tensing as if waiting for a reply as well.

“He’s six.”

“Does he like school?”

“I’ve…um…been homeschooling him. He’s smart. Really, really smart.” That at least brought some spark to the other woman’s demeanor.

Nikolai barked out, “Why are you homeschooling the boy?”

“The boy has a name.” From Savannah’s tone, her attitude toward Nikolai was sliding from overwhelmed to irritated.

His expression unchanging, his tone showing no overt annoyance at the need to repeat his question, just the same gruff demeanor, Nikolai asked, “Why not put Joey in school?”

Nevin would have been furious if she had ever stood up to him the way Savannah held her own against Nikolai. Strangely, the other woman’s response triggered gratitude in Caitlin for her own freedom. She never had to pretend to be
fine
to placate a dangerously angry husband again.

“I thought homeschooling was common in Alaska?” Savannah asked, rather than answer.

Nikolai grunted. Was he annoyed Savannah hadn’t answered his question?

“In a lot of places, it is, but Cailkirn has always had its own elementary school,” Caitlin hastened to assure her, continuing a patina of babble in hopes of smoothing over the growing tension inside the truck. “It’s small but the community is always ready to pitch in. Once the children reach middle school, they have to bus to one of the bigger schools.”

“How does that work in winter?” Savannah asked, her soft Southern drawl drawing Nikolai’s attention, though she didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s not bad. Sometimes children miss days because of extreme conditions, whether because the carpool from Cailkirn can’t make it to the bus route to drop the kids at their stop or sometimes because the buses aren’t running. It really doesn’t happen as often as you might expect.”

“We’re prepared for the weather,” Nikolai inserted. “Some parents send their teens to college prep boarding schools.”

Muscles that she hadn’t been aware were tightening in Caitlin’s neck and shoulders relaxed as it became apparent there wasn’t going to be a full-blown argument.

“No,” Savannah said with unexpected force and a glare for Nikolai that Caitlin wasn’t sure he’d earned with his simple observation. “I’m not sending my child away to school.”

Nikolai shrugged. “There are some years before we have to consider high school.”

Savannah visibly deflated. Whether from relief at that fact or the man’s dismissal of her concerns, Caitlin could not tell.

“My grandmother didn’t send me away to boarding school and I didn’t have any problems at university coming from the local high school.”

In fact, her college years shone as bright beacons on the map of her life. Not least of which because her best friend, Taqukaq MacKinnon, had opted to attend USC as well. She’d loved life in California those first few years.

Panic welled at memories of Nevin’s reaction when she’d told him she wanted to go to Tack’s graduation a year after she’d married. She’d had some crazy idea of renewing her friendship at least enough that they could send the occasional e-mail or Christmas card. Nevin had made it very clear that was not acceptable.

Ignoring the rise and fall of stilted words coming from the truck’s front seat occupants, Caitlin practiced her calming techniques. It took about twenty miles, but eventually her breathing returned to normal and the band around her chest loosened.

Her therapist said Caitlin had a form of PTSD. She’d survived her own private war, and not without internal wounds. Some of which she wasn’t sure would ever heal.

Caitlin hadn’t spoken to Tack in years and she hadn’t seen him in even longer. But suddenly the desire to talk to her oldest friend was so strong she would have called him if she had his cell phone number.

And wouldn’t that go over well? Not.

He’d probably disconnect the call the second he recognized her voice.

“Caitlin?” Savannah’s expression indicated she might have tried to get Caitlin’s attention more than once.

“Sorry. My mind wanders sometimes.” Caitlin did her best to focus on the other woman. “What were you asking?”

“How long will you be staying in Cailkirn?”

“Permanently.” Caitlin tasted the word on her tongue and it wasn’t nearly as bitter as she thought it would be. “I’ll be helping my grandmother and great-aunts run the bed-and-breakfast.”

Savannah smiled, making her lovely face almost supernaturally beautiful. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to have your help.”

Nikolai grunted. Again.

The sound carried both agreement with Savannah’s words and disapproval for Caitlin leaving the elderly women to handle things on their own for so long.

Typical Alaskan man.

“I’m looking forward to being back.” And surprisingly, Caitlin found she wasn’t lying.

She’d missed her family and had a new appreciation for the slower pace of life in Cailkirn. She was ready to start life over away from the bright lights and fast living of LA.

Savannah shot Nikolai a sidelong glance and then asked Caitlin, “Do your parents live in Cailkirn as well?”

The old, familiar pain of loss washed over Caitlin, the ache duller but no less physical today than it had been when she was six and was told her mom and dad were never coming home. Some children who have trauma in their early years forget most of it to protect their emotional well-being. But Caitlin remembered everything about her parents, from the way her mom read to her every night before bed, even after she learned to read to herself, to her dad’s preference for kid’s cereal for Sunday breakfast.

“Oh, so where are they now?”

Caitlin shook her head, the loss still poignant after a lifetime. “They died in a car accident.”

“Oh, I am so sorry.” Savannah looked stricken. “You said your grandmother raised you. It didn’t click until just now why that must have been.”

“It’s all right. It was more than two decades ago now.” She ruthlessly tamped down the urge to wrap her arms around her middle like she used to do whenever talking about her parents.

“But that kind of loss never goes away, does it?” Savannah said softly.

Caitlin wondered if the other woman had suffered a similar loss but didn’t ask. She knew how little she liked people probing into her past. If Savannah wanted to tell Caitlin, she’d offer the information.

Rather than waiting for any kind of reply from Caitlin, Savannah said, “Living in Alaska is going to be really different than California.”

Savannah bit her lip, clearly worried about something. Caitlin didn’t blame her.

“The boy will be fine,” Nikolai said.

Savannah sent him a shocked glance, showing he’d pegged her concern just right. “How…”

When Caitlin realized Nikolai was not going to bother answering, she said, “Cailkirn can be a great place to grow up.”

Savannah smiled her gratitude at Caitlin. And right there, an unbreakable bond of understanding and commiseration formed between the women.

Tack was late for dinner.

The Grant sisters served it promptly at seven spring through fall and six in the winter (when the guests were few and far between). It was a quarter past seven, and Tack knew he’d be in for anything from a gentle reprimand to an acerbic tongue-lashing, depending on which of the elderly sisters took him to task.

He didn’t mind. His Inuit mother and grandmother had taught him to respect his elders, especially those of the female gender.

Tack pulled into the B&B’s drive and was surprised to see Nik’s truck parked in front. Tack thought the man had gone into Anchorage to pick up his mail-order bride. He still couldn’t believe his friend had gone ahead with the proxy wedding. He understood the pressure Nik was under from his grandfather but still couldn’t see how this kind of marriage was the solution. Nik deserved a real marriage to a woman he loved. But then maybe Tack was just too traditional.

True love sure hadn’t worked out for him.

As he climbed out of his truck, he realized a woman sat in the front seat of the dusty red extended cab, the top of her blond hair just visible above the back of the seat.

Was this the bride, and what in the hell was she doing in Nik’s truck without Nik?

He looked beyond the truck to the open door of the bed-and-breakfast in time to see Nik coming out the door. Not the most affable of men, Tack’s friend looked even more pissed off with the world than usual.

He stopped when he saw Tack. “What are you doing here?”

“Eating with the Grant sisters. Is that your bride?” Tack tilted his head toward Nik’s truck.

“Yes,” Nik bit off. “And the boy sleeping in the backseat is her son.”

Shock coursed through Tack. “Her son?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting that news either.” With that, Nik yanked his door open and jumped into his truck. “Good luck with the Grant sisters, man. I’ve got my own woman troubles to deal with tonight.”

He slammed it closed and then pulled out of the drive with a spray of gravel.

Well, hell.

He might have advised Nik against the whole mail-order bride thing, but that didn’t mean Tack didn’t want it to work out for the other man.

Shaking his head, Tack climbed the front porch steps. From the way they squeaked, he decided they could use a little maintenance as well. He added that to his to-do list in his head. The sound of all three sisters talking at once led him to the front parlor, but his steps slowed as he heard another voice mixed in.