She's the One (3 page)

“Okay,” Alexandra said with a patient if somewhat put-out sigh, “I admit I’m not here to hunt but I’d like to try fly-fishing, and I’ve always wanted to photograph Alaska. I hope to go home with enough shots to round out my portfolio, and if
I’m
willing to
rough it
like the brochure says, what’s the problem?”

A photographer? A string of curses paired themselves together in his head as leeriness surged like a tidal wave. His experiences with photographers were a nightmare only Hollywood could create. With another of his books in movie production, a book tour in progress and rumors running rampant, paparazzi had stalked him in and out of the police station, stretching the truth, altering fact and making up stories and lies that added a new level of torment to his living hell.

He’d left California over eighteen months ago, more than ready to leave what used to be his life behind, and carried nothing with him but his luggage and his traumatized son. He wanted anonymity, obscurity.

He wanted to be left the hell alone. Did she know who he was? Was that why she was here and insisted on staying? “What kind of photographer?”

Alexandra blinked at the question. “Nature, wildlife. Mostly scenic stuff. I sell my photos online to businesses and advertising agencies for promotional materials. Have you seen the photos used for Roo Insurance or the Western States Tourism campaign? Those are mine,” she said with a proud smile. “And I’m also gathering photos for a gallery showing in Tennessee.”

Not tabloid paparazzi. That was definitely good news. “Sounds like you’re doing well,” he murmured.

Zeke often told him how paranoid he’d become since his arrest, but how could he not be? That experience, like all the others surrounding Lauren’s death, had changed him and not for the better. “But I believe you’d enjoy one of the other resorts or inns along the peninsula more. I’d be happy to give you a refund and help you rebook with another company. We can go do it right now.”

“Wait a minute,” she said before he could take a step, her gaze searching his intently. “Let me get this straight. In this economy, you want to
give
my business away?”

He heard the challenge in her tone, the incredulous curiosity and disbelief. Protesting the way he was, he was raising her suspicions to a degree that couldn’t be shrugged off. “It’s not because we don’t want your business,” he quickly corrected. “You’re welcome to stay at Deadwood Mountain but most women wouldn’t
want
to stay with us. That’s the point I’m trying to make. We’re very remote. We’ve been trying to hire a housekeeper for months and can’t get any takers.”

It was a spin on the reality of the problem but the truth all the same. He blamed the power of the Internet. Unless they were fans of his work most people wouldn’t recognize him or associate his given name with anything of importance. But type his name into a search engine and his bestselling author pen name of Dylan MacGregor appeared—and immediately pulled up pages and pages of listings regarding his arrest and the sensationalism caused by a coincidence in one of his novels.

Two years ago his life had played out like a soap opera on news and scandal sheets all over the world depicting the ruins of his burned home, his books and career, and his arrest and release. Regardless of the investigation’s final report listing the cause of the fire as accidental, he’d been painted a cold-blooded murderer who had taken a revenge scene from one of his novels and performed it in real life, seeking retribution by setting his wife and her lover on fire and letting the house burn down to cover the evidence. “I’m just trying to warn you that the lodge might not be your type of place.”

“I see. Well, I appreciate the warning,” she said, a slight bite to her tone, “but I’m sure it will be fine. I might look
soft
but I like camping, and roughing it
inside
a lodge will be perfectly acceptable.”

The tilt of her chin told him he wasn’t going to be able to change her mind without making her suspicious of why he persisted. And until she gave him a reason to believe she was there under false pretenses, he couldn’t
turn her away without potentially opening the door he’d worked so hard to close, for his son’s sake if not his own.

Dylan’s gaze shifted to the floor behind her and he bit back a sigh. If he needed more proof that she didn’t belong on Deadwood Mountain, right there it was. Air restrictions required duffel bag type luggage only, but Alexandra Tulane’s luggage wasn’t the typical black or blue or gray. No, even her luggage was feminine, a bold red and
quilted
. And instead of rifle bags and preferred fishing gear, she carried what he assumed to be large camera bags and a computer case. Just the sight of them made him cringe.

“So…it’s settled then?”

Her drawl rolled over his senses like cotton even though her tone was lined with steel. And out of the blue Dylan visualized Alexandra dressed in a bell-shaped ball gown made of purple silk that matched the color of her eyes, her hair mussed and her white gloves smudged with oil from the pistol she hid in her skirts.

Dylan had to blink a few times before the image in his mind faded away.

He couldn’t move. How long had it been since he’d had a story scene come to him? Even before Lauren’s death the words—the images that ran through his head like a movie—had dried up.

“Oh, for pity’s sake, will you relax already?” Alexandra’s face was scrunched into a sardonic frown. “I won’t sue you if I break a nail, okay? You’ve warned me. I’ve read the brochure, and I’m not looking for a spa or five-star restaurants. So long as I have my own room and some privacy, I’ll be fine.” She held out her hand and waggled her fingers. “The papers?”

Unable to think of more excuses, Dylan reluctantly handed the form over, swearing to himself when he saw her pale. Ah, hell. He could recognize a white-knuckler a mile away and she was definitely one of them. Unless…“It’s standard procedure. You know, next of kin, who to contact if the plane goes down. That a problem?”

He certainly hoped it was. If she didn’t sign, she didn’t step foot on the plane.

Alexandra swallowed audibly. “No. No, of course not. Why would it be? Just…wanted time to read it, that’s all.”

Stifling a curse, Dylan watched as she called his bluff and scribbled her information on the sheet.

Damn, but he hoped she hadn’t had a big lunch.

W
HY WOULD ANYONE NAME A PLANE
after a
water-
loving animal?

Alex’s nerves kicked into overdrive when she stood shivering in the thirty-four-degree cold—this was considered a warm start to winter?—and watched while Dylan and the two older men loaded the luggage into the plane Dylan referred to as a
Beaver
.

Signing those papers without letting Dylan see how badly her hand shook had taken every ounce of determination she possessed but she only had herself to blame. He’d given her the perfect out and she hadn’t taken it, all because of the money required to pay David back—and her pride.

Her brothers’ teasing and torment as a child must have really done a number on her ability to know when to toss in the towel. Like that time when she’d vowed to run away and, wanting privacy, Ethan had dared Alex to actually do it because she kept interrupting him when he was making out with his girlfriend. The oldest of the five kids, Ethan was supposed to be babysitting and playing with her, but after the disturbance he’d said some ugly things only an older brother would say. So she’d decided running away would prove to
Ethan she wasn’t a chicken—
and
get him into trouble with their parents. She’d walked halfway down the mountain in the dark before her father found her, and to this day she couldn’t hear the sound of an owl without shuddering in fear.

Staring at her luggage being placed on board the Beaver? It was like walking down the mountain road all over again.

The muffled sound of Ohio State’s fight song began to play and she searched her pockets for her cell, realized she’d put it in her purse last and began to rummage through it, sensing all three men’s gazes on her when they paused in the act of loading the plane to watch her frantic search when the music droned on.

Finally she found it. “Hi, David.”

“Hi, yourself. I’m glad I caught you. Did you get the call about your vacation tours being canceled?”

She turned her back to the others and walked toward the end of the dock for privacy. “Yes, I got the voice mail when I landed. Not exactly how I wanted to start my trip. I can’t believe my whole itinerary is gone. I should’ve known better than to book the excursions through one company, but it seemed easier. Thank goodness I’d only paid a deposit and not the full amount.”

“Check with your pilot and at the lodge. I’m sure they can give you some suggestions. And before I forget, you’re going to Cabo for three days after Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, nice. Can’t wait.”

“Is that your teeth chattering?”

“Why do you think I can’t wait?” There was a breeze blowing crisply across the dock and it worked its way through the material of her clothes and sent more shivers
through her. “I knew it would be cold but even the air up here is different.”

“Says the Southern girl who has spent the majority of the past six months near the equator.” David’s tone held a highly amused note. “What’s your first impression? You should be about ready to board the flight to the lodge, right?”

Shifting so that her back was to the wind, she found herself staring at Dylan. “Yeah. And it’s…interesting. I was right to take this assignment. The pilot tried to talk me out of going to the lodge. He and one of the older guests agreed to the point that I’m too
soft
, and said it’s too rustic for me. I think a female perspective is exactly what this article needs, something to counter the boys’ club take on things.”

“Well, to take up for my gender, you do have a certain softness about you.”

Figures he’d take their side. “Why do people keep saying that?”

David’s chuckles filled her ear. “First impressions are what they are and yours screams—”

“If you say high maintenance I’ll reach through this phone and smack you.”

David laughed again. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

But, she noted, he also didn’t finish his sentence and because she was wise enough to know the description might be a
little bit
true, she didn’t ask him to.

Alex shoved her hair out of her face and wished her sunglasses weren’t buried in her purse. Cold breeze or no, the sun kept playing peekaboo with the clouds and like most light-eyed people she was sensitive to the brightness. She began the hunt in her bottomless bag
and muttered to herself when the straps slid off her arm. The bag dropped to the ground, spilling some of the contents. “Oh, fudge, I dropped my purse.”

David’s laughter picked up again. “I rest my case.”

Alex glanced up long enough to realize the luggage was loaded and Ansel and Walter were in the process of climbing aboard. She needed to hurry so she wouldn’t hold them up. After her conversation with Dylan, she wouldn’t put it past him to take off without her. “I’ve got to go. I’ll send the review first chance I get and call or text when I can, but remember I won’t always have a signal while I travel here.”

Dylan turned around as though looking for her and from across the dock she saw his frown. The man could scowl like nobody’s business.

“Wait a second. Alex, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about something lately and—Why don’t I fly out there and join you? We could travel together and have some fun. See how things go? You know, with us.”

The undercurrent in David’s voice made her squash a moan of unease. Her family wasn’t the only reason she’d come to Alaska. Her feelings would be a lot easier to express on the phone rather than in person. “David, I don’t think that’s a good idea. We make great friends. I
like
you, but—”

“But I should take that as a not interested and never will be?”

Bingo
. “We’re too different. I mean, come on, you just bought a house with a
real
picket fence.”

“And you travel so much you gave up your apartment,” he said with a sigh that carried across the miles between them and revealed his disappointment.

“What can I say, I’m a couch-crasher,” she quipped, referring to her penchant for sleeping on friends’ couches or her childhood bedroom at her parents’ house when she wasn’t on the road, and trying to keep things light. “I know of at least three women who’d love to help you paint that fence every year, too.” That was no lie. David really was a nice guy, he simply wasn’t the guy for her. “You know it would never work. I’d drive you crazy.” When he didn’t respond, she winced. “So…are we okay?”

“Yeah,
we
are okay. Can’t blame a guy for trying, right?”

“Right.” If only she could like him as more than a friend. Doing so would certainly make him and her parents happy. “I have to go. Everyone’s boarded but me.”

“Stay safe.”

“Always. See you in three weeks.”

She flipped the phone closed and gathered up her things, her thoughts on David. The wind picked up and sent her lipstick and other items rolling across the dock toward the edge. Before she had a chance to scramble after them, Dylan snatched them up.

He’d donned aviator glasses since coming outside and combined with the dark brown coat and boots, his sex appeal was off the charts. The deep secret
zing
of instant attraction she felt for him was what she wished she felt for David.

“Problem at home?”

“Nope, just clearing the air.” She grabbed her tampon case before Dylan could reach for it.

Silent, they picked up the remaining items, shoved them into her purse and stood in unison.

“Alexandra, are you sure there’s nothing I can say or
do to change your mind? I wasn’t going to mention it but I saw your expression when you signed the form in there.”

Great, he’d noticed. Alex inhaled and stared at the mountains in the distance. To a lot of people, Alaska was considered the last frontier. She hadn’t made it out of Anchorage yet but she could feel the rawness of the air and she couldn’t wait to explore, despite her fear of small planes.

But it was more than that. There was also a sense of urgency, because if she didn’t board that plane, if she went home to David and her mother and her family and all their fuss over babies and marriages and she spent her vacation
there
, she knew she’d feel inadequate.

Suffocated.

Trapped.

She loved them all so much but she’d found herself resenting them of late. She had a great life, so why were they so worried about her? And if she was having fun and enjoying herself, why settle for boring and monotonous?

When she married—
if
she married—she wanted someone with her same sense of adventure, who’d travel with her to places she had yet to see. But her parents didn’t understand and refused to consider her desire as a legitimate requirement. To get what she wanted she had to get on that plane and keep going, continue traveling. Live her life her way.

With that thought in mind, Alex rearranged the multiple straps and bags on her shoulder and forced a smile into her pilot’s unhappy face. “I’m ready when you are.”

“G
ET OUT OF MY WAY
!” Ninety minutes later Alexandra ignored the hand Dylan extended to help her out of the
plane and jumped to the dock instead, running as fast as she could away from the men so she wouldn’t embarrass herself any more than she already had. She dropped to her knees at the edge and promptly lost her lunch.

“Better now?” Ansel asked seconds later, the former cardiologist’s hand was gentle on her back as he patted.

She nodded, wished she could toss herself
over
the side of the dock and end her mortification, but instead was forced to accept the hanky Ansel waved in front of her face. “Thanks.”

“It’s Dylan’s. He said to give it to you.”

Dylan’s.
Great.

Her best friend, Shelby, had told Alex a story not long ago about how Shelby had upchucked in the rose garden of the country club. Alex’s brother Luke had found Shelby and also offered a hanky. At the time Alex had found Shelby’s resistance to accepting Luke’s handkerchief childish and immature but now she totally understood the sentiment
behind
the gesture.

At least it’s not white.
That would be way too similar to waving the white flag.

“Maybe you’ll feel better after you lie down in your room.”

She sat back on her heels. “I’m sure I will.” Alex dabbed her eyes, tucked the hair that had escaped the confines of her hat behind her ear, and hoped she didn’t look as bad as she felt. The whole world weaved—or was it the dock? “I’m fine now. Really. I just didn’t—All that water coming up at us so fast and that
landing
.”

Alex heard a heavy footfall behind her and turned in time to see Dylan’s unhappy countenance as he leaned over and grasped her elbow in a firm grip.

“That was a damn fine landing.”

She opened her mouth to argue the claim but decided she didn’t have the energy. If that was a good landing, she’d sure hate to experience a bad one.

With Dylan on one side and Ansel on the other, Alex found herself on her feet and headed toward shore. Sheer will made her shake loose from both men and tug at her coat, flip up her collar and march toward the ugly green truck loaded with luggage. Putting one foot in front of the other should have been easy but more than once she wobbled when the tips of her high-heeled boots slipped between the spaces between the boards.

Alex glared at the plane as she passed it, noting it was now tied wing and tail to anchors. Thank God that was over. For one full week she wouldn’t have to get on the darn thing. She’d made it, and while she felt like death warmed over, at least she was alive. Lesson of the day?

Size
did
matter.

“Zeke got a new toy while we were gone,” Ansel said from behind her. “Would you look at that. A Super Cub?”

Almost to solid ground, Alex looked in the same direction the men now stared and saw the object in question. Calling it a super
any
thing was a joke, calling it a
plane
was a joke. She had shoe boxes bigger than that. “How many seats does it have?”

“Two.”

Her expression must have revealed her thoughts because all three men laughed.

Ansel and Walter gave her the passenger seat in the truck beside Dylan, and two minutes later they were parked in front of the lodge. Everyone piled out to retrieve
their bags but before she could grab her camera bag and computer, Dylan shouldered them as well as her duffels.

“Ansel, Walt, you two are in your usual rooms. If you want to leave your stuff, I’ll get it after Alexandra is settled.”

Walter harrumphed. “We can carry our own luggage, son. Just get her in a room so she can rest.”

Dylan charged up the porch steps and opened the door, and she tried to keep up but couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. By the time she made it to the top of the stairs, Dylan was watching her from within the entrance.

With a heavy sigh she took to mean he was still irked with her comment about the landing, he headed right and led the way down a hall. Instead of taking stock of the common living room, she followed numbly, hugging herself to combat the cold. The equator was sounding really good right now.

“Here you go. I could put you in one of the rooms upstairs if you like, but this is the warmest. You seem…cold.”

Yeah, well, there is a reason polar bears have fur coats
.

The bedroom was plain but held a few surprising touches like a cream-colored dresser and a gold framed mirror above it, a beautiful braided rug on the floor at the base of the old-fashioned bed. “Thanks. This is nice.” She dropped her purse, the only thing Dylan had left for her to carry, atop the mattress. “Look, Dylan, I’m sorry about, you know, getting sick. And my comment about the landing,” she added wryly. “I’m used to larger planes so if you say the landing was a good one, I’ll take your word for it.”

Dylan set her luggage by the door and lowered her
computer case into the rocking chair positioned in a corner. “No problem.”

Yeah, like he meant that?

He indicated the TV atop a small table on the far wall with a swipe of his hand. “The generator runs from 5:30 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. If you need to charge your equipment, do laundry or want to watch a movie, you have to do it within that time frame. No exceptions.”