Spooning Daisy (43 page)

Passing a second
No Trespassing
sign, Ian spread the zipper on his fleece jacket and stepped up the pace. Breathing in the chilly May morning air, he exhaled wisps.

The sun had been shining for two hours, but with formidable mountains to conquer, it was only now showing its face to Otter Bite. In Alaska, however, the summer sun was rarely below the horizon.

Mist rose off the calm bays and vanished into crystal air seasoned with salt and flavored with fish. Waves softly lapped the beach, retreating into a low tide that, in another hour, would expose clams and mussels on the muddy sea bottom. Bald eagles reigned from the tops of spruce that pierced the sky like castle spires. Below, like peasants, squawking seagulls scavenged in the wet sand, their footprints disappearing behind them.

Everything in this moment reminded Ian of the seaside village on Scotland’s west coast where his maternal grandparents had a summer estate.

“Dad!”

Well,
almost
everything.

Looking back, Emily stamped her foot. “Hurry! Up!”

“I should’ve given y’ to Granny when I had the chance,” Ian mumbled, passing a third, hand-painted warning. He’d underestimated the toll of this trek when he rented the house. Hiking one mile through nature was a lot tougher than jogging three miles on a treadmill.

Pausing to enjoy the view, he spotted the Kachemak Princess. Sailing from Homer—where access by road ended—the 150-passenger ferry coursed through open water toward the rocky promontory known as Mermaid Point. Behind that landmark, tucked into Sedna Bay, was Otter Bite and the catamaran’s first port; from there it would dock at Halibut Cove, Seldovia, Nanwalek, and, finally, Port Graham before reversing the route and returning to Homer in the evening. Last winter he and Em had taken that ferry and visited those coastal villages, all originally Alutiiq settlements. On every sailing, she had pressed the rail.

Emily loved the ocean, but any water would do. As a toddler, she’d kicked and screamed when he lifted her from the bath.
Though she be but little, she is fierce,
his mum liked to say of Emily. She’d be swimming in the bay right now if it weren’t a heart-stopping forty degrees. And she was fast,
really
fast. One day his little mermaid would be sporting Olympic gold.

“Dad! Orcas!”

The black and white bodies with the tall dorsal fins were unmistakable. As they cruised past, Ian counted five. A little too close for
his
comfort, but surrounded by postcard-perfect scenery, he sometimes forgot that Alaska was wild down to her knickers.

“Good eye, Pup!” Ian called back. Emily glowed. When the pod turned for open water, he sensed her yearning to be swimming with the whales.

Emily’s aquatic gene hadn’t come from him. Sure, he lounged poolside in Monte Carlo and enjoyed the knee-high surf at Waikoloa; he’d even barreled down Disney World’s Summit Plummet water slide. Nonetheless, when it came to the deep, he was chicken of the sea.

But he’d found a way to give Emily the ocean without setting foot in it. Suddenly he was as impatient as she to reach their beach house. However rocky their morning had been—and this trail in particular—no more obstacles lay in their path. This was the first day of a summer they would remember for the rest of their lives.

“There it is!” Emily pointed to a stone cottage topped with blue shakes that peeked between towering spruce trees. “Look!”

Ian
was
looking, but that was not it. The cottage was quaint, as far as he could see, and cozy, but it was definitely not the home he’d paid $2,800 to rent for the summer. Where was the modern, two-story cedar house with expansive decks and eight-person hot tub he’d seen on the internet? All these two properties shared were the views.

Had he gotten the directions wrong? How many Bobrovie spits could there be?

“Emily, wait!” Ian shouted as she abandoned the path and waded into spears of tall grass. Three
No Trespassing
signs weren’t exactly an invitation to visit. Who knew who lived here or how welcoming they’d be? Alaska wasn’t called The Last Frontier for nothing.

But Emily ran toward that cottage as if the Seven Dwarfs were inside to greet her.

Ian chased her, cursing his Gucci loafers when sand and pebbles got inside and assaulted his feet.

It’s not the mountain in front of you; it’s the pebble in your shoe.

Not now, Mum.

“Emily!” Losing sight of her, Ian hopped with one shoe while emptying the other. A pair of ravens swooped low, flapping and screeching. “Bloody hell!” Shooing them away, he cast his loafer at them; an eagle snatched it mid-air and flew off. “What the—” But he didn’t have time to dwell; the ravens were back, diving and soaring like Spitfires. He dropped to his knees and ducked, arms up, to protect his face and head.

“Oy! Leave those ravens alone!”

It took a moment, then Ian looked up and peered around. The birds were gone, as if he’d imagined them. Cautiously relaxing his arms, he stood and tried to regain his dignity. He felt like a real poindexter.

It didn’t help that the woman chastising him looked like an airbrushed centerfold.

In a gauzy, mid-calf nightgown, with her waist-length blond braid draped over one shoulder, Felicity Arhnaq considered the expensively attired urbanite who had defied her three
No Trespassing
signs. If not for the dark-haired, light-eyed sweetie with him, he’d be facing the double barrels of her 20-gauge shotgun—the first defense in The Last Frontier.

“You should be ashamed, harassing helpless birds.”

“Helpless? Those bloody corbies attacked
me
!”

Buckshot unnecessary. She could chase this Scot off with a flyswatter.

“Then an eagle stole my shoe!”

Felicity lodged hands on her hips. “How? At gunpoint?”

Ian started to say he had thrown it at the ravens, but considering her sarcasm . . . His eye caught the splatters on his shoulder and arm. With growling disgust, he tugged off his soiled fleece jacket.

Reaching out, she huffed. “Give it here.”

Instead, Ian gingerly rolled his jacket inside out and draped it over his elbow. “It’s a
Patagonia
.”

A two-second stare. “Suit yourself.”

With as much dignity as his shoeless foot allowed, Ian marched to the thirty-something stunner who stood on the deck. Glancing at her bare feet, he momentarily drew a blank, then he looked up at the woman who was looking down on him—in more ways than one, he suspected. “What’ve you done with my daughter?”

Felicity jerked back. “What have I
done
with her? I lured her into my gingerbread cottage and stuffed her in my oven, what else?”

“How is that funny?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, she’s using the bathroom. And by the way, you’re
trespassing
, so lose the attitude.”

“I’m
not
trespassing. I rented this place for the summer.”

She snorted. “I don’t think so.”

“Is this Bobrovie Spit?”

“Anyone who
rented this place for the summer
would know that it is.”

“I have a lease.”

Her brows jumped. “Show me.”

“Actually . . .” The document was in his briefcase safe in his Cessna along with their luggage. “It’s in my plane.”

“Sure it is.”

“I didn’t think I’d need it.”

“Because I’m too stupid to know who I rent my cabin to?”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull—”

“What
I’m
trying to pull?”

The melancholy blast of a ship’s horn drifted across Kachemak Bay; the ferry was arriving in Otter Bite. Pulling her eyes from Ian, Felicity gazed past him toward Mermaid Point. After a disappointed sigh, she looked expectantly at him. “You were about to say?”

Usually Ian could wield words like a Samurai wielded swords, but he’d been rendered dumb . . . and felt even dumber. First, the ravens and eagle, now this cheeky chick. Thankfully Emily hadn’t witnessed his fowl encounters.

“Dad!” Emily raced around the corner, footsteps pattering the weathered planks. Her sneakers squealed when she slammed on the brakes. “Come see the otters! They’re
cramazing
!”

“We’re leaving.” He targeted Felicity.
“For now.”

“We just got here!”

“And now we’re going.” Face-to-face with four-foot-three Emily, who stood on the two-foot-high deck. “Don’t argue.”

Pleading eyes shot to Felicity.

“It’s okay,” Felicity said. “You can visit another day, after your dad has found his shoe”—she focused on Ian—“and lost his attitude.”

“My attitude is appropriate to this situation.” Grabbing Emily from the deck, he set her on the ground. “And don’t be tellin’ my daughter what she can do.”

“Where’s your shoe?” Emily asked, staring at his feet.

“Never you mind. Let’s go.”

“But we live here—”

“That’s right—” He whipped his finger at Felicity, who flinched. “I want my money back.”

“
What
money?”

“The twenty-eight hundred I paid for summer rent.”

Felicity’s luscious lips parted and her jaw dropped.

“Not only is this place like a chapter out of
Zoo,
it’s completely different than the house you advertised! Where’s the second story and the hot tub? I’m of a mind to sue you for false advertising!” Ian spun around and steered his daughter into the tall grass toward the path.

“Hold on,” Felicity said.

Feeling smug, Ian stopped. Turning, he aimed his fully-loaded. 45-caliber expression at Felicity. She appeared unimpressed; if anything, she seemed . . .
sympathetic
?

“I don’t know who you gave money to—”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I handed a check to your father, Dr. Bricker.”

“I don’t know any Dr. Bricker;
my
father is an attorney. Either this is all a terrible mistake—”

“And you, miss, are the one making it. You have no clue with whom you’re dealing. Are you returning my money?” He carefully unrolled his soiled jacket and pulled his cellphone from an inside pocket. “Or am I calling the authorities?”

“Doubtful. No local
authorities
or cell service.”

Ian inflated at yet another lie. “Your ad promised phone and internet.”

“The same ad for the two-story house with the hot tub?” She took a deep, calming breath. “You can use my satellite phone to call the state troopers
.
Fourteen dollars a minute. Cash up front. While you’re at it, feel free to report the eagle. Maybe provide a description? Height, weight, feather color?” She bobbed her head. “Tattoos?”

Ian felt like a firecracker with a faulty fuse. “Oh, for the love of—” He stuffed his phone back into its pocket and gruffly re-rolled his jacket.

Felicity glanced at Emily, whose eyes were wide and frightened. With her forefinger, she beckoned Ian to come closer.

Ian warily looked around. “What?”

“We’re scaring your daughter. Holster your bravado and come here . . .
please
.” That took effort. But his shoulders sagged just enough to inspire Felicity’s compassion.

Ian stepped tentatively toward the deck. When he was near enough to whiff Felicity’s fresh, breezy scent, she bent over. Suddenly he was facing unfettered breasts as formidable as the Alaska Range.

You’re wrong, Mum; it’s the peaks not the pebbles.

Pulling his eyes away from Felicity’s distracting cleavage, he stepped back for perspective.

“I’m sorry, little girl’s dad, but—”

“I don’t want your apology. I want my money or the house you advertised.” He stared into irises the color of his mother’s favorite aquamarine broach. “I’m not some
cheechako,
fresh off the ferry for you to scam.”

“Hate to tell you,” she said softly. “But I think you sorta are.”

Photo credit: Portrait Park by J

Golden Heart
nominee Maggie McConnell spent her childhood overseas as the daughter of US diplomats. Attending college in Illinois, she earned a BA in art and an MBA while working at the local animal shelter. At twenty-six, she packed her dog and cat into a Ford truck and drove the Alcan Highway to Alaska, where she spent twenty-three years exploring the Last Frontier in single-engine Cessnas. An animal-rights advocate and vegan, Maggie provides a sanctuary on her Arizona ranch for all creatures great and small. Every year, like the gray whale, she returns to Alaska. Readers can visit her website at
www.MaggieMcConnellRomance.com

To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

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Copyright © 2016 by Margaret Shelton McConnell

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