Primal Calling (13 page)

M
AX LOOKED DOWN
at the beautiful woman lying naked in his arms and watched her sleep. So feminine and fragile. So beautiful. Her lashes lay thick and long against her exquisite cheekbones. Her hair waved in soft curls across his arm. He'd probably never sit on this sofa again without breathing in a whiff of her intoxicating scent.

If he didn't get up right now, he might never leave her.

And he had to.

He slid his arm out from under her head slowly and eased off the couch, then reached up and pulled the afghan down off the back of the couch and covered her, tucking it around her feet.

If Serena was the Searching One, wouldn't he feel different inside? Wouldn't his heart feel free to love her without worrying about her leaving him, or dying? Instead, he was still terrified that something bad might happen to her.

He cleaned up and dressed, not bothering to shave.

Even if his soul had returned, how would this thing between them work? Was Serena going to quit her job and come live in Barrow with him? His California girl would be miserable here. She needed sunlight and shopping malls, and a career that made a difference in people's lives. And he needed to be here for his grandmother.

He supposed he could fly a plane anywhere, but he wouldn't leave his grandmother. She depended on him, and she had always been there for him.

Hauling his duffel from the closet, he stuffed a few shirts and underwear in, and almost packed his shaving kit. But even in the summer, Barrow was cold enough to need a beard. And the only person who wanted him shaved would be back in L.A. by tomorrow.

At the kitchen table he wrote her a quick note, and then, on impulse, grabbed up the papers still spread out on the counter and tucked them in Serena's purse. Let her do whatever she wanted with them. He didn't care anymore.

He allowed himself one last long look at Serena, but before his chest could tighten too painfully, he grabbed his duffel, softly called to Mickey and headed for the airport.

Once he climbed in his Cessna, he plucked his sunglasses off the visor and shoved them on. If he had to wipe his eyes once or twice, he just kept reminding himself this was for the best as he banked his plane toward the southeast.

“S
ERENA
, they're ready for you.” Roberta's assistant hovered beside Serena, clipboard in hand, ready to lead Serena over to the picturesque spot where Jake waited with his camera.

Ah, sunny Buenos Aires. The tip of Argentina was almost as close to earth's South Pole as she'd been to earth's North Pole in Barrow. Which meant it was autumn here.

So much for getting away from the cold.

No, that wasn't fair. It'd been sunny all week and mostly in the mid-sixties during the day. Serena probably would've complained no matter what. Having one's lover blow one off tended to make one cranky.

Christine gave Serena's hair one last spray against the humidity and Caitlin dabbed her nose with powder, and then yanked the tissues off from around her blouse's neckline.

Serena hopped off her makeup chair and followed
Roberta's assistant to the center of the beautifully landscaped gardens of Luján.

“You have your notes for the prompter?” Roberta asked.

Serena handed them over and, after a brief read-through, Roberta handed them off to her assistant who began typing them in.

“I want to go over this schedule. Are you sure you want to include La Boca? And what about the soccer game?”

“Football,” Serena corrected.

“What?”

“It's called football here, Roberta.”

“Right. When is it?”

“That's Saturday, after the helicopter tour on Friday.”

“And why the helicopter?” Roberta squinted.

“For an aerial view of the city. You can edit that into the promos and the opening shots.”

Roberta scoffed. “I
realize
we need an aerial view, but why are
you
going?”

“Did you know this time of year blue and humpback whales can be seen migrating south off the coast of Argentina?” Serena tried to smile normally.

She'd never forget seeing the whales with Max, and that moment that had seemed so magical. Time had seemed suspended and they'd shared a sense of reverence. She knew Max had felt it too. She was pretty sure that's when she'd fallen in love with Max Taggert.

Roberta was staring at her with one eye narrowed. “All right. I'll authorize it.”

The helicopter. She'd almost forgotten what she'd asked for. “Thank you, Roberta.”

Serena took her spot in the plaza in front of the French neo-Gothic cathedral.

She wished she could enjoy this beautiful city, but even the shopping in Puerto Madero hadn't thrilled her. It was crazy, but she missed the snow, and the whalebone arch, and the blanket toss, and all the friendly Iñupiat people she'd met. Since when did she prefer moose stew to an exquisite meal in a five-star restaurant?

In the mornings when she woke up here, it was as if her time in Barrow had been nothing but a weird dream. A weird dream that made one's heart ache.

A week ago Serena had woken up to a nightmare. An empty cabin with a cold note.

At least he'd had the decency not to leave cab fare on the dresser. She fought to control her eyes watering.

On the plane ride from Anchorage to Seattle she'd found Max's papers in her purse. Serena had burst into tears when she saw them. The passengers beside her and across the aisle had stared at her, but she didn't
care. Those papers in her purse were a symbol that Max trusted her to do whatever she thought best with them.

“We're ready, people,” Roberta yelled, then counted down with her fingers, three, two, one, and pointed at Serena.

Serena snapped back to the present and stared blankly at the camera. The teleprompter's words might as well have been in Greek.

“Serena?”

“Sorry, Roberta. Can we start again?”

“Okay, everyone. Take two.” Roberta silently counted down again.

“The cathedral you see behind me is called the Basílica Nuestra Señora de Luján. Construction began on the church in eighteen eighty-seven and took forty-eight years to complete. The basilica attracts millions of pilgrims every year who honor the Virgin of Luján and marvel at the stunning architecture.

“And what would a trip to the ‘gateway to Argentina' be without some authentic tango dancing? Tonight we watch a special performance of the most romantic of the Latin dances. And ladies, watch out. Only make eye contact with a man if you wish to dance the tango with him.

“Tune in all week while we
Travel in Style
in sunny Buenos Aires.” Serena flashed a smile and hoped no one could tell it was fake.

“Cut!” Roberta yelled, and rushed to the monitor to watch the playback. Serena dropped her smile.

Christine and Caitlin swooped in to dab and spray in
case a retake was needed. People swarmed around her. Locals, tourists, lighting techs, the sound crew. A sob caught in Serena's throat. Unclipping and pulling off her mike pack, she shoved past Christine and Caitlin and raced for the cathedral, losing herself in the crowd of pilgrims. Once inside, she found an empty alcove and leaned her cheek against the cool tiles.

She covered her mouth and pushed back the tears. The crying had to stop. She'd fallen in love. It hadn't worked out. She would get over it.

Max was just too damaged to love anyone.

Drawing a deep, calming breath, she lifted her gaze to the astoundingly gorgeous stained glass windows. Sunlight seemed to glow through the glass and burst into a rainbow of color. Even with hundreds of worshippers, the cathedral was cool and quiet. Peaceful.

If nothing else, the investigative and romantic failures in Barrow had taught her one thing. She didn't feel driven to change the world anymore. She couldn't be her dad. She could only be herself. Whatever she contributed to the world would have to be good enough. If her dad didn't approve, that was his problem. The only person she needed to please was herself.

Maybe she did only give the world travel tips. But while she was traveling, maybe she could look for opportunities to shed light on disadvantaged areas, or ways her viewers could contribute to local charities. She'd discussed it with Roberta and her producer had presented the idea to the network execs. And rather than have her not renew her contract, they had agreed. And she'd
started with editing in a clip about Shishmaref into the Alaska show.

Her makeup was ruined, but Serena lifted her chin and exited the cathedral, determined to face life with a smile.

 

T
HE SUN WAS RISING
earlier and setting later every day. Soon, it would be daylight for twenty-two hours out of twenty-four. But that wasn't the reason Max couldn't sleep.

The night he'd left Serena in his cabin, he'd flown to Fairbanks, picked up supplies, picked up more in Anchorage the next day, and delivered them back to Barrow and the entire time he was in the air, he'd thought of nothing but Serena.

He'd picture her the way he first saw her, in that tight skirt showing off her long, bare legs. Or peeking out from under the tarp, hiding in the back of his plane. That memory always made him smile. The woman had guts.

Or sometimes he pictured her dressed like a native in her parka and boots with the sunlight turning her brunette hair to red.

Even once he got home, he'd lie awake and think of her. Think of her instead of paying bills. Or even now, as he replaced shingles on his grandmother's roof.

Damn! Max cursed long and loud. He'd just smashed his thumb. Thinking of her instead of paying attention.

“Are you all right, grandson?” His grandmother stood
below, looking up at him, shading her eyes from the cloud-covered sunlight.

“I'm all right,
Aanaga
.” He picked up another shingle, laid it in place and swung the hammer.

“You are a liar, Maximilian White Wolf Taggert.”

He jerked his gaze to his grandmother just as he swung down and hit his thumb again. This time his string of curse words were cut off and then he murmured under his breath. “How am I a liar?”

“You are not ‘all right,'” his grandmother called up to him.

Max squinted down at her. “I've hit my thumb before. It'll heal.”

“It is not your thumb I am worried about healing, grandson.”

He looked away and shoved his hair out of his face. He did not want to have this conversation.

“Please come down so we can talk.”

“When I'm finished.” Concentrating on the nail he'd missed twice already, he swung the hammer and drove it in clean this time, then reached for another shingle.

“The last two times you were here, you do not give me time. You work. You leave.”

“I'm busy this time of year.”

She laughed and swatted the air with her hand. “You do not come down. I will go up.” His grandmother grabbed the rails of the ladder and lifted a foot onto the bottom rung.

“
Aanaga,
I'm not falling for your tricks this time.” He pretended to ignore her but watched from the corner
of his eye. She lifted her other foot and climbed to the next rung.

“Aanaga…”
He drew out her name like a warning.

She lifted another foot.

“All right! I'm coming down.” He left the shingles and nails, determined to keep the discussion short, and climbed down the ladder, complaining the whole way. “You are the most stubborn, meddling, blackmailing—” He jumped down the last two rungs and twisted as he landed to see her grinning at him, mischief twinkling in her eyes.

“A grandmother does what is best for her grandson, even when he curses her.”

Frowning, he gripped her shoulders. “I would never curse you,
Aanaga
.”

Her smile dropped. “When you curse yourself, you curse me.”

Max lifted his hands to his hips and sighed. “No one is cursing anybody.”

“You do not let the Searching One heal you.”

“
Aanaga,
please. I can't talk about her.”

“Just like you would not talk about Shelley. Or the accident.”

He opened his mouth to explain, but what could he say?

“Yet you spoke of Shelley, and your baby boy. And the accident with Serena. And you are not ashes.”

True. Telling Serena about his wife and the accident had made him relive every unbearable second, but the
pain hadn't crippled him as it had just thinking about it in the past.

His grandmother placed a tender hand on his arm. “After I was attacked, I could not look at any man, nor let him touch me.”

Max put his arm around her. “Who could blame you?”

“Then I met your grandfather. And if I had not sent my heartbreak to fly off with the white owl, my tragedy would have become your grandfather's tragedy too.” She moved her hand to cover his heart. “And yours.”

Something shifted inside him. “What about my mother?”

“
Ii
. Your father broke her heart. She could not let her heartbreak fly away with the white owl. That is her tragedy. But it does not have to be yours, loved one.”

Max's vision blurred. A lump formed in his throat he couldn't swallow past. What
Aanaga
said made sense in this moment. But living it every day was different. Could he let go of the past? And more importantly, could he risk the pain of heartbreak again?

“Serena is
the Searching One,
Max.” His grandmother thumped his chest, hard. “She will bring your wandering soul home.”

“Yeah, well.” Even if he wanted to take such a chance, there was still the logistics of managing the relationship. He cleared his throat and stepped away from his grandmother. Pretending to wipe his temple, he swept his sleeve over his eyes. “I need to finish your roof.” He swung up to the second rung of the ladder.

“One more thing, grandson.”

Max stopped and looked back. “What?”

“I've been thinking of moving south. Perhaps to Fairbanks or even San Francisco.” Her lined face broke into a smile and she clapped her hands, threw back her head and cackled.

 

S
ERENA HAD
a couple hours siesta time before she had to dress to record tonight's segment. She pulled out the papers Max had put in her purse and read over them again, looking for inspiration for the closing paragraph of her article.

The main paper was a report from the FAA dated a couple of months ago. They'd ruled that Max's plane crash was not due to pilot error and he'd been cleared of all charges.

Behind those papers were two letters written on stationery from the survivor, Beau Ramsey, the first dated almost nine months after the crash. He thanked Max for saving his life, and told him he'd taken care of Max's legal bills and secured his loan for a new plane. And another, more recent letter, telling Max that he'd given a deposition to Max's defense attorney in the civil suit brought by Kevin's and Mike's wives and parents and the suit was being dropped.

He might not have been capable of relinquishing all his demons, but at least he didn't have to worry about a lawsuit taking away his livelihood.

She fired up her laptop and opened the file:
An Unsung Hero.

The article was about a certain man from Barrow—a hero who'd been falsely accused but ultimately exonerated. But she was stuck on the perfect ending.

She planned on submitting it to several Alaskan papers and magazines as a freelance writer.

It might not get published. And even if it did, Max might never see it or know about it, but she hoped if he did, he would have no doubt how she felt about him.

She saved the file, closed her laptop and went to shower. She was going to learn to dance the tango tonight.

 

A
WEEK AFTER FIXING
his grandmother's roof, Max made his monthly supply run to Anchorage. One of the things he'd always loved about his job, besides being his own boss, was the hours spent alone. No dealing with other people's crap. But a six-hour commute also gave a man a lot of time to think.