Against the Wild (11 page)

Dylan whacked a couple more logs, splitting them. Then he picked up the pieces and tossed them into the pile. He was glad for the exercise. He needed to get his head on straight. He needed to find a way to mend things with Lane.

“She's convinced she's right,” he said.

“What if she is?” Caleb asked.

Dylan looked up. “You think that's possible?”

“I'm half Tlingit. To us, ghosts are no big deal.”

Dylan set the ax aside. He was beginning to perspire and it felt good. “I don't believe it. In a way, I wish I did. Might make things easier.”

“I guess you could pretend.”

He chuckled. “I'm not a good liar.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Talk to Lane. Maybe we can agree to disagree. We still have to work together.”

“And there's the matter of how hot she is and how bad you want her.”

“That, too.” The sound of an engine on the road had Dylan glancing in that direction. A battered old white pickup rolled toward them down the gravel road. “Looks like we've got company.”

He wasn't sure who it was, but as the truck got closer, he could see a petite woman with long, coal-black hair behind the wheel. Holly Kaplan. “I've got a hunch she's here to see you.”

Caleb swore softly and began walking toward the truck.

Dylan put another log on the stump, picked up the ax, and started swinging.

Caleb watched the old truck pull up under a pine tree. As the engine went still, he walked up to the driver's side window.

Holly rolled it down. “Hey, Caleb.”

“Hey, Holly.” She looked as pretty as ever, her long hair gleaming like black silk around her shoulders, the swell of her breasts faintly visible at the top of her scoop-necked sweater, her lips full and pink. “Didn't expect to see you out here.”

She smiled and he felt a little jolt of the old desire. But he knew where sex with Holly would lead, and he wasn't going down that road again.

“We didn't really get a chance to talk the other day. Today's my day off.” She glanced toward the lodge. “I've never been out here, but I've heard about it. I thought maybe you could show me around.”

Considering how long it had taken her to get there, it didn't look like he had much choice. “I'm . . . uhh . . . pretty busy, but I guess I can spare a few minutes.”

Holly frowned.

Caleb opened her door and stepped back as she climbed down from the truck. “Mrs. Henry keeps a pot of coffee brewing in the kitchen. Let's grab a cup and I'll give you a quick tour.”

“Sounds good.”

The kitchen was empty, though there were books and papers spread out on the long pine breakfast table. Through the window, Caleb saw Emily out in the side yard throwing a stick for Finn.

He grabbed a couple of heavy china mugs out of the cupboard and filled them from the pot Mrs. Henry kept on the counter. “There's cream and sugar next to the pot if you need it.”

Holly took the cup from his hand. “I'm good.”

Caleb led her out of the kitchen, through the formal dining area with its view of the bay on into the great hall.

“The lodge was built over eighty years ago,” he said. “Must have been a helluva job.”

“It's beautiful.” She looked up at the heavy iron chandelier above the entry, down at the wide-plank floors. “You can see the care that went into it, even if it does need work.”

“We're getting it back in shape, little by little. It's going to be spectacular when we're finished.”

Holly continued across the room to the big plate-glass windows, but she didn't seem interested in the view. Instead, she turned and looked up at him.

“I came out here, Caleb, because I wanted to talk to you. I've been thinking about us ever since you came into the café. I think we should spend some time together, see where it leads.”

“I told you I'm seeing someone. And even if I weren't, there's too much water under the bridge.”

Holly moved closer, set her palms on his chest. She was almost a foot shorter than he was. “We're older now, completely different people. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

Caleb looked down at her and thought how much he had loved her. Maybe it would be different this time. Maybe she had changed as much as he had. He thought of Jenny Larsen, the cute little blond schoolteacher he had only taken out a couple of times. He really liked Jenny.

“I don't know, Holly.”

“When are you coming to town again?”

“I'm not sure. I may bring the boat up sometime over the weekend, or maybe I'll make the drive.”

“Call me. We'll just go out for something to eat, no expectations, no big deal. Just a little time to talk.”

A noise caught his attention. He glanced up as one of the workmen came thumping down the stairs for another load of material. “I need to get back to work,” he said.

“At least think about it.”

He'd think about it, but his instincts were screaming for him to stay the hell away. “Come on. I'll walk you out.”

Caleb took her hand and led her out of the great hall, dropped their coffee mugs off in the kitchen, then led her outside to her truck. He opened the door and helped her climb up in the cab. “Be careful driving back. The roads are still slick.”

“I'll be careful.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a piece of paper, pressed it into his hand. He looked down to see her address and phone number scrolled in familiar letters. Holly leaned out the window, pressed a soft kiss on his mouth. “Call me.”

She tasted like strawberries, got his heart beating a little too fast. She was a beautiful woman and he knew what she was offering, remembered how good it had been.

But Holly was right about one thing. He was a different man now. Smarter. Less naïve. Happier.

He stuffed the paper into the pocket of his jeans. Caleb wanted to stay that way.

Unable to concentrate on the fabric she was trying to choose for the sofas in the great hall, Lane finally gave up and left the office.

She and Dylan were barely speaking. He didn't believe she had seen a ghost and he had gone as far as to call some woman psychiatrist, clearly a female he knew extremely well. He had even admitted to a former relationship. Or maybe not so former.

A fresh rush of anger moved through her. Dammit, she shouldn't have slept with him. She didn't know enough about him. She blew out a frustrated breath. At the very least, she deserved to know the truth about him and
Amelia.

Or maybe she just wanted to see him.

Lane searched the house. Earlier, Emily had been outside playing, but now she was back in the kitchen with Mrs. Henry, working on addition and subtraction.

“How's she doing?” Lane asked the gray-haired woman as she walked over to where Emily sat at the breakfast table.

“She's gotten every problem right so far,” Mrs. Henry said proudly. “I told her if she got the next ten examples correct, she could go back out and play with Finn.”

Lane squeezed the little girl's shoulder. “I bet you'll get them all.” Emily looked up at her and grinned. Bending her dark head over the numbers, she started adding the columns again.

“She loves that dog,” Mrs. Henry said.

“I think he loves her, too.” Lane felt a pang at the thought of taking Finn away from the little girl when they went back to L.A.

Still looking for Dylan, she wandered outside, spotted him working on a pile of logs next to the wood bin. He was shirtless, all those glorious muscles gleaming in the sun, bunching as he swung his heavy ax in an arc above his head.

Her stomach contracted just watching him. Lane found herself walking toward him as if drawn by some invisible cord. Dylan spotted her and set the ax aside. He grabbed his T-shirt, used it to wipe the sweat off his face and chest, and tossed it on the stump.

“Looks like hard work,” she said.

“I brought this load down from the mountain last week, haven't had time to split it. The smaller pieces are easier to handle and they burn a lot better.” He leaned the ax against a stump and walked toward her, stopped in front of where she stood. “Lane, I'm sorry about what happened.”

“You mean about calling Amelia?”

He nodded. “I just . . . I thought maybe she could help me find some rational answer for what you thought you saw.”

“I can't believe you called your ex-girlfriend and talked to her about me.”

Dylan shrugged his wide shoulders, drawing her attention to all that bare skin. “We're friends. I haven't slept with her in years. Like I said, I was hoping she could give me some answers.”

“The answer is the house is haunted.”

Intense blue eyes bored into her. “Are you really that sure?”

Was she? “I saw him. As clearly as I'm seeing you now. What other explanation is there?”

“You saw a person—except he was blue.”

She glanced down, embarrassed though she shouldn't be. “Yes. Kind of blue, anyway.”

Dylan just shook his head. “I'm sorry, but I can't buy any of it. Is there any chance we could give it a little more time, see what happens next?”

Her anger was fading. He didn't believe she'd seen a ghost, but was it really fair to ask him to?

“All right, I guess I can agree to that.” A faint smile touched her lips. “But I hope to God the next time some blue Indian is loitering in the hall, he scares the hell out of you and not me.”

Dylan laughed, easing the last of the tension. Leaning over, he kissed her softly on the mouth. “If I wasn't so sweaty, I'd drag you off somewhere and ravish your beautiful body.”

Lane smiled and moved closer. All that sweat-slick muscle was calling and her body was only too ready to respond. She slid her arms up around his neck and leaned into him, the dampness of his skin soaking through her pink T-shirt. He smelled like hard work and man, and desire curled through her.

“Dylan . . .” she breathed into his mouth, opening to invite his tongue in to tangle with hers.

Dylan pulled her hard against him, kissed her long and deep. Scooping her up in his arms, he started striding off into the woods. Long, jean-clad legs ate up the distance along the forest path, setting giant ferns in motion as he passed, his heavy work boots thudding softly on the damp, loamy soil.

He didn't go far, just out of sight of the lodge and the men who were hard at work inside, stopping in a clearing surrounded by massive, towering trees whose branches cast the area in dappled shadows. There was a fire pit lined with stones in the middle, a picnic table, and benches next to the stones.

Dylan set her down on the end of the table. Beads of dew soaked through the seat of her jeans, but Lane didn't care. Dylan pulled her T-shirt off over her head, unfastened her bra and slipped it off, bent and took a nipple into his mouth. Need and fierce, burning desire washed through her.

He untied the laces on her sneakers and pulled them off, popped the snap on her jeans and lifted her enough to slide them over her hips and down her legs.

In an instant, her panties were gone. Dylan kissed her again, deep and thoroughly, making her insides go hot and damp. She heard the jangle of his belt buckle being unfastened, then the buzz of his zipper sliding down. Dylan lifted her off the table, wrapped her legs around his waist, slid a hand into her heavy red hair. With a single deep thrust, he was inside her.

Both of them stilled. He was thick and hard, and she loved the way he filled her. Dylan kissed her again, slowly, erotically. She loved the way he kissed, loved the control he used to keep them both on the edge. Trailing hot, wet kisses along the side of her neck.

“I can't get enough of you, Lane,” he said, kissing her deeply once more. “All I can think of is having you again. Anyplace, anytime, anywhere.”

Gripping her bottom to hold her in place, Dylan started to move, driving deep, taking what he wanted. Giving her what she wanted, too. Her eyes closed and her head fell back as the pressure built inside her. She came with a shuddering moan that trembled through her body, but Dylan didn't stop, just pounded into her until she came again.

A low groan slipped from his throat. His jaw tightened and his muscles clenched as he reached his own release.

Moments passed, their hearts pounding, the sounds of the forest beginning to reach them.

“You okay?” he asked.

Lane just nodded. With her head against his shoulder and her arms around his neck, she leaned into him as he set her back down on the table, kissed her softly one last time.

Dylan's jeans were unzipped and hanging low on his hips. Lane was completely naked. The chill in the air finally reached her and goose bumps dimpled her skin. Dylan picked up her T-shirt and handed it over, along with a handkerchief out of his back pocket that she used to freshen herself.

He lifted her down from the table, and she went in search of her panties, dragged them on, and located her bra, jeans, and sneakers. With much of the sunlight obscured by the branches, and missing the warmth of Dylan's hard body, she shivered.

“I better get you back,” he said. “You need to get into dry clothes and get warm.”

She nodded. She didn't say anything more about Amelia. They needed to trust each other. And there was something sincere about Dylan Brodie she had noticed from the moment she had met him.

He took her hand as they started back down the path to the lodge. He didn't mention the ghost and neither did she.

 

 

Lane finished choosing the sofas and chairs for the living room. One grouping would be tufted leather, the other overstuffed and trimmed with old-fashioned brass tacks. She had yet to pick the fabric, but her workday was over and she needed a break. Wandering into the kitchen, she found Mrs. Henry hard at work on supper.

“What can I do to help?” Lane asked. “And don't say it isn't my job. I'm done for the day and I could use a little female companionship.”

Mrs. Henry smiled. “In that case, why don't you peel the potatoes? We're having meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and gravy.”

“That sounds great.”

She handed Lane an apron, which she tied around her waist. Lane set to work at the sink, digging into what looked like enough potatoes to feed an army. Mrs. Henry worked efficiently a few feet away, putting the meat loaf together in a big stainless-steel mixing bowl.