Wild Heat (Northern Fire) (6 page)

Certainly not like the smog-hazed sunny days in Los Angeles.

Which meant if Caitlin didn’t want to spend the day shivering until she cracked a tooth clacking them together, she had to layer. Like yesterday. Too bad her layers weren’t any more small-town Alaska than what she’d worn yesterday.

Caitlin had thought that with all the tourists off the cruise ships, her California style wouldn’t stand out so much. She’d been more concerned about how few clothes she had than how they were going to look. She’d sold most of her wardrobe through consignment shops to help pay for her schooling, keeping only the ones two years old or older.

They were also the only ones that still fit now that she’d brought her weight up to non-dangerous levels. Her doctor had suggested she gain another ten pounds minimum, fifteen ideally.

Caitlin was trying, but then she wasn’t sure what she’d do about clothes. None of the ones she’d brought with her would fit her then. At least she had a job and personal income to look forward to now.

But the ships weren’t in port yet and Caitlin wasn’t sure which of her clothes would garner Tack’s approval.

That thought pulled her up short.

She was falling back on old behaviors, worrying about what someone else would think of her appearance to the point of paralysis. Seriously, so what if Tack thought her clothes “too fancy”? If she was comfortable and warm, that was all that mattered, right?

She’d been working very hard for more than a year to convince herself of this.

Caitlin
liked
to dress fashionably; she always had. She
didn’t
like being told she’d fallen short in some way. That was too reminiscent of Nevin.

No way was she putting Tack in that role, though. He wasn’t Nevin, wasn’t even remotely like her ex-husband in any of the ways that counted.

If he was still anything like the boy she’d grown up with, Taqukaq MacKinnon would be appalled to think Caitlin was using his opinion as the yardstick to measure her clothing choices by. He might well make another comment today, but he wouldn’t expect it to result in Caitlin modifying the way she dressed.

Frustrated with herself, especially allowing her morning routine to suffer, Caitlin pulled on a snug white T-shirt for an added layer of warmth. Her body didn’t hold heat as well as it had when she’d lived in Cailkirn before.

Hopefully that would get better with time. Mindful of the time, she slipped into a form-fitting white button-down top with long sleeves and then pulled her favorite Carolina Herrera sweater over it.

The shade of the thin blue cotton was almost an exact match for her eyes. She left the shirt untucked so the tails hung below the hem of the sweater.

She donned the same quilted silk Chanel vest she’d been wearing the day before and grabbed the old ski jacket Gran had put away with Caitlin’s hiking boots.

Tack wouldn’t accuse her of being too stylish in the nearly ten-year-old jacket, but chances were she wouldn’t need the coat today.

It was best to be prepared, though. Weather was unpredictable on the Kenai Peninsula.

She found Tack drinking coffee and eating one of Aunt Elspeth’s cinnamon rolls in the kitchen. Thankful that it looked like she’d get a chance to eat, Caitlin pulled cereal from the cupboard.

She’d discovered that skipping meals wreaked havoc with her hard-won healthier eating habits. It was too easy to just keep on skipping until she’d gone a couple of days without actually eating anything.

Never again.

Her therapist said relapses happened, but Caitlin had promised herself one thing: she wasn’t
ever
going to reach the point where she fainted from lack of nutrition again.

“You’re not going to eat that for breakfast are you, Kitty-love?” Aunt Elspeth asked in that gentle way she had. “I’ve made fresh cinnamon rolls. So much nicer than dry cereal.”

Caitlin eyed the gooey pastries, oozing with melted butter, cinnamon, and caramelized sugar and tried not to let the nausea building inside her show. “My stomach doesn’t do well with heavy food first thing in the morning.”

Or ever really, but she wasn’t going to mention that. Like a lot of anorexics, Caitlin had spiraled into bulimia as well. And not always by choice. A stomach that didn’t get fed very often had a hard time digesting rich foods, no matter her intentions when she ate it.

She was much better about fueling her body at regular intervals now, but she still struggled with high-fat foods, and too much sugar might as well be tequila shots.

“But—” Aunt Elspeth started.

“I packed snacks and a lunch. She’ll be fine,” Tack interrupted.

Which sort of shocked Caitlin. He was far too polite to interrupt her aunt, but it was almost as if he realized how difficult the simple conversation was for Caitlin.

Aunt Elspeth looked as gobsmacked as Caitlin felt, but after a look between them that Caitlin couldn’t decipher, her great-aunt subsided.

“Eat your cereal,” Tack told her.

Caitlin nodded and set about measuring an exact portion of the cereal and adding a level half cup of unsweetened almond milk and exactly twelve berries.

She joined Tack at the table and began to eat, jealous of his cup of coffee.

It had been years since she’d been able to have the true Colombian gold with impunity.

Tack smiled, one eyebrow quirked. “No coffee?”

Caitlin gave a negative jerk of her head, not wanting to explain how at twenty-eight, she couldn’t handle the high acid content in her favorite beverage.

Aunt Elspeth put a mug of steaming yellow-tinted liquid in front of Caitlin. “I’ve made you some chamomile tea, dear.”

“Thank you, Aunt Elspeth. You’re so thoughtful.”

“Think nothing of it.” The older woman patted Caitlin’s arm.

Guilt that her aunt had to make special efforts on her behalf washed over Caitlin. Just as quickly, she tried to let it go.

Her therapist would have reminded Caitlin that she hadn’t asked for the tea. Aunt Elspeth had offered.

“Where are you two off today, then?” Gran asked, coming into the kitchen, her bright blue eyes lit with curiosity.

Aunt Alma never joined them for breakfast. She’d come down early for coffee and toast, which she’d take back to her bedroom for what she called her
quiet time
.

“We’re going hiking,” Tack offered.

“Yes, so our Kitty said.”

Tack didn’t take the silent invitation to expand on his plans and Caitlin didn’t know them.

Gran nodded, seemingly unperturbed by Tack’s reticence to share. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.”

“Don’t forget a warm coat,” Aunt Elspeth admonished.

“She’s a grown woman, Elspeth,” Gran said with a shake of her head. “She isn’t going to forget her coat.”

Aunt Elspeth didn’t look convinced of Caitlin’s skills at self-preservation.

Considering she was spending the day with the first man to flip her switch of sexual desire in years, Caitlin had to wonder if the older woman wasn’t right to doubt her.

T
hey been heading north on Sterling Highway for about twenty minutes when Caitlin said, “Thank you for running interference for me in the kitchen.”

She’d spent the drive thinking about the exchange and decided that was exactly what Tack had done.

“No problem. Miss Elspeth wants to help.”

“Her intentions are the best.” Which made it that much harder to tell the elder woman no.

“They are, but she doesn’t understand just how delicate your digestive system has become.”

“And you do?”

“I read up on it.”

“On…” She still had a difficult time saying the word aloud.

He said it for her. “Anorexia.”

“How did you know?”

“Your aunt told me you’d dropped down to just over ninety pounds. I couldn’t figure another reason for that.” He sighed, his expression reflecting something she didn’t understand. Guilt? “You always stopped eating when you were stressed.”

“That was how it started.”

“But it turned into something else.”

“I couldn’t always control what food was placed before me, but I controlled how much of it I took into my body.”

“Or kept there,” he guessed.

“Yes.”

“How is that now?”

She decided he meant the bulimia. “Better.”

“Good.”

“You’re not disgusted by me, by my weakness?”

His brows drew together as he flicked her a quick glance before putting his full attention back onto the road. “Why would you ask that?”

“I spent enough time repulsed by myself,” she admitted. Some days she still was, but she fought the feelings now. “I wouldn’t blame you if you were too.”

Tack swore and then yanked the steering wheel to the right and pulled the truck to the side of the highway. He turned off the engine and took several breaths in silence, not looking at her.

“Are we here?” She looked around but didn’t see the start of a trail anywhere nearby.

She knew he liked to explore on his own but didn’t think he’d take her on that kind of hike first thing back. Tack wasn’t like Nevin. He didn’t revel in showing up other people.

Finally, Tack shook his head and unbuckled his seat belt so he could slide his body toward her on the bench seat, shifting so he faced her. “Listen very carefully to me, Kitty. I want you to really hear what I’m saying, okay?”

She nodded slowly, not understanding what was happening but knowing it was important to him from the expression on the face she’d missed more than any other in the last eight years.

“You do not disgust me. I’m proud of you. Overcoming the need to starve yourself is as hard as breaking any other addiction, worse than a lot of them.”

Her therapist and the doctors had all said that, too, but Nevin had always insisted the problem was her weakness.

Part of her still agreed with him.

“But I started it.” No one, not even Nevin, had held a gun to her head and told her to stop eating.

Tack’s hand twitched, like he was going to reach for her, but then he didn’t. “And you stopped it. One in two who suffer from the disease can’t completely.”

“You really did read up on it.”

He nodded, his dark eyes demanding she believe him. He reached out to cup her face with both his hands, shrinking her awareness of everything down to the inches between them. “You are a fighter, Kitty. You won’t let this disease take your life.”

“That’s almost exactly what I told my therapist.” Caitlin hadn’t necessarily believed her own words, but she’d desperately wanted them to be true.

“Good girl. That’s my wildcat.”

She knew the possessive
my
had been unconscious and didn’t believe for a second he meant it the way it had sounded. Still, it made her heart skip a beat and she couldn’t be sure if it was from fear or joy.

“I don’t think I’m her anymore.”

“So you’ve said, but I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

“What?” she asked in a near whisper, her eyes focused on his lips.

“I think you are and I plan to prove it to you.”

“I’ll disappoint you.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You don’t know me anymore, Tack.”

“I know you better than you think I do.” He dropped his hands but did not move back. “That whole size zero culture down there in LA, it fed the disease. We aren’t going to do that here in Cailkirn.”

She missed the warmth of his fingers immediately, wanting nothing more than to have them against her cheeks again. Caitlin was starting to see how dangerous Tack touching her could be for her peace of mind. She could learn to need it and that scared her.

She couldn’t afford to need anything from another person, not touch, not approval, and most especially not love. Needing gave others leverage over her and she was determined never to be in that place again.

Caitlin forced herself to ignore the craving for more of his touch and focus on their discussion.

She wasn’t actually entirely sure
why
they were having it, though, why her disease mattered to Tack. “Trying to encourage me to eat too much or the wrong food can be just as bad as the subtle suggestions to eat less.”

Nevin had been excellent at those, but he’d refused to take any responsibility for how difficult it had become for her to make herself eat at all.

“I know. You need to tell your family that. It’s natural for them to try to feed you.”

“Yeah, food is the language of love for the Grant sisters.”

“If you tell your gran and aunts how physically challenging it is for you to eat rich foods, they’ll channel that love into providing for your needs.”

“I’m sure they would.” Not only did she find it nearly impossible to talk about her disease and its effects on her, but she also didn’t want people making special efforts on her behalf.

Partly because putting them out made her uncomfortable and partly because allowing it put her in their debt.

“That doesn’t sound like you plan to talk to them.” And
he
didn’t sound like he approved of that.

She shrugged.

“I’m learning to really dislike when you shrug.”

“Why?”

“Because it implies you don’t care and I know you do, Kitty.”

“You’re so sure. I’m not the same woman you left behind in California.”

“No, you’re stronger. That Kitty gave up her best friend on the say-so of her boyfriend. She wanted approval too much maybe and she wouldn’t have been able to fight back from anorexia and bulimia. That Kitty chose an MRS over her degree. You’re winning against the eating disorder
and
you managed to finish your degree.”

Maybe he was right and he
did
know her better than she thought he did, both in the past and today. “You make me sound like someone to respect.”

“That’s because I do respect you.” He sounded so sincere.

“How can you? After I betrayed our friendship the way I did.” He still had to be bothered by it, or he wouldn’t have mentioned it.

“You were just twenty, still a baby. Clearly too young to choose a good husband,” he said with a wink, taking the sting from the words. “So, you were just as bad at choosing what friends to keep and the ones to let go of.”

“I never got to choose them.”

“You said that.”

She nodded, pain at her own weakness filling her. “I hate looking back at how much control I gave him over me and my life. I mean, I just handed it away, convinced I loved him and that love offered that kind of loyalty.”

“If you’re going to hate something, hate what that son of a bitch did to you. I do.”

Laughter rolled out of her and it felt good as much as it surprised her. “His mother would not like being called a bitch.”

“Are they peas in a pod, or did he drop and roll far from the tree?”

“She never let me forget that I wasn’t good enough for her son. I never once called her by her first name. It was either Mrs. Barston or ma’am.”

“Bitch.”

“Yeah.”

He smiled and something she hadn’t felt in a long time stirred inside of Caitlin. A warm tendril of real friendship.

“I took way too long choosing my clothes today,” she admitted, wondering if she could tell him all of it.

Tack’s ultra-masculine features, a perfect mix of Inuit and Scots, creased in confusion. “Why?”

“You told me I looked too fancy yesterday. I didn’t want you to disapprove of my outfit today.”

“Why the hell would you care what I think of how you dress?”

Man, Tack was just so self-possessed, he really couldn’t imagine worrying about what someone else thought.

“I don’t. At least I don’t want to. I made myself get dressed in what
I
wanted to wear.”

“Good.” He frowned. “Do you need me to measure what I say to you?”

“Maybe, but I
don’t
want you to. I really don’t. I’m not sure I could stand it if you of all people got all stiff with me.”

“Not going to happen.”

She felt a rare genuine smile curve her lips. “I’m not sure I can see it either. You’re not a walking-on-eggshells kind of guy.”

“No.”

“I was.”

He just looked at her.

“I spent years tiptoeing on eggshells, terrified of every crack and break I could hear under my feet.”

“Tell me.”

“Not all of it.”

“Eventually.”

“You’re pushier than you were when we were kids.”

It was his turn to shrug.

“Because you don’t adore me like you did back then,” she teased. Though for her, that affection wasn’t really something she laughed about.

Not deep down inside where it mattered.

She’d taken his adoration for granted once, but now memories of their childhood and young adult lives glowed golden in her mind, helping to wash away the pain of the past eight years in its light.

“Yeah. You got away with way too much back then.”

“Like you didn’t get your way at all.”

“We were friends,” he said, like that said it all.

“I don’t have friends now.”

He looked at her, his face set in implacable lines. “Yes, Kitty, you do.”

“Are you saying you still want to be my friend?”

“Why do you think we’re out here?”

“I didn’t really know.”

“You need real friends, Kitty. I am your friend.”

“I don’t like that word.”

“Friend?” he asked, looking more confused than angry.

“
Need
. It’s not safe to need people or things.”

“Maybe it wasn’t back in LA, but you’re safe enough needing me, needing your gran and aunts. We’re good Alaskan stock. We won’t let you down.”

“What if I let you down?”

“I won’t let you.”

And she almost believed him.

“In the first year or so, I convinced myself that Nevin didn’t
really
intend to dictate my personal choices. Not about clothes, or any of the other things he’d expressed what I
thought
was mild displeasure in regard to my selections.”

“But controlling you was exactly what he wanted.”

“Oh yes. He got off on control, especially when that control made it possible to hurt me.” That was probably the worst thing she’d had to come to terms with: the man she’d married was an emotional and physical sadist. “He demanded full and complete dictatorship without ever once in our marriage coming out and saying so in words I could point to.”

“Manipulative.”

“He defined the word. Refusing to acknowledge his true nature was a huge mistake on my part.” Hiding hadn’t protected her; it had just made it possible for her torment to go on longer.

“I’ll say.”

She almost laughed, though it would probably have been more a gallows sound. Tack didn’t even have a passing acquaintance with tact. There was something not just refreshing, but also safe in the pure honesty that prompted knee-jerk comments like that.

“The longer I took to learn that those seemingly throwaway comments were more in the order of commands, the worse things got.” Her throat tightened as if trying to hold the words in, but she pressed on. “The harsher Nevin’s criticisms, the more frequent his gestures carefully calculated to humiliate me.”

“And then he got physical.”

She turned away, looking out the window to the snow-covered mountains in the distance. “I never told anyone about that, not even the therapist.”

“But it did happen. He hurt you physically. He broke your bones.”

Caitlin had insisted to every emergency room doctor and nurse that she was just clumsy. She’d even refused to admit to her gran and therapist how her injuries had occurred, but she couldn’t lie to Tack. “Yes.”

“Shit.”

“It could have been worse. A lot worse.” She’d met women in the support group her lawyer had insisted Caitlin attend in exchange for a reduction in her fees. Some of them had permanent injuries or disfigurement. Some couldn’t talk without a stutter; others weren’t able to meet anyone’s eyes.

“By some standards, I got off pretty easy.”

He gritted out another expletive, bursting into movement. Suddenly Tack had her seat belt unbuckled and Caitlin pulled into his arms, right into his lap. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to be held this intimately by someone she wanted to touch her.

Glorious heat surrounded her, his muscles solid against her, his thighs hard and strong under hers, his scent achingly familiar and subtly different at the same time. He rubbed her back, crooning something above her head. The words didn’t register, but the tone did.

Only then did she realize tears were tracking silently down her cheeks. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. It hadn’t been safe to cry for so long.

It was safe now. He made her feel that way. Really, truly safe for the first time since she’d ejected this man from her life.

She didn’t deserve the friendship he offered, but oh she didn’t have the strength to reject it, not even for his own good.

Tack didn’t need someone like her in his life, a woman who’d stayed in an abusive relationship until it almost killed her. She’d believed every threat Nevin made. Why shouldn’t she? He’d already proven hurting her was something he enjoyed.

But she’d also believed him when he told her it was her fault, that she was stupid, useless, that no one would want her, that even her gran would be disgusted by the walking skeleton she’d become.