Chapter Twelve

 

 

LONG AFTER COLBY’S soft snoring told Rose he’d fallen asleep, she lay awake, cursing him yet again for being right.

Was he reading her mind?

Yes, she had been trying to forget.

Trying to forget she’d ever met Colby Davis.

Meeting him had been akin to catching a most pleasant virus, one she hadn’t been able to cure. He was noble and caring and funny and a good listener and cook. And now she was carrying his son. And he wanted to marry her, but she couldn’t marry him because she refused to give herself up. She refused to abandon her career. Most important of all, she was terrified he may someday, somehow turn into her abusive father. Highly unlikely, but it was in the news all the time. How veterans snapped from PTSD, only to need months—if not years—of treatment.

Guilt consumed her. She wasn’t being fair.

Colby had never given her the slightest reason to believe he’d ever be violent with her or their son. The truth? Maybe she was most scared of herself. Losing herself in him the way her mother had in her men.

Rose had spent most of her adult life preparing for where she now was in her career. How did she give that up? There was no law stating parents had to marry. Why couldn’t they remain status quo? They’d forever be friends. Best friends who held their son’s best interests at heart.

Sounded great in theory, but the more time she spent with Colby, the more she feared that maybe, just maybe, there was a part of her that did want to marry him.

What did that mean?

She’d only been back in his arms for a couple of days, yet felt as though they’d never been apart. With a few well-aimed verbal arrows, he had the uncanny knack of slicing straight through her every defense. Yet his words, however naked they left her feeling, were meant to be thought-provoking rather than cruel.

Why didn’t he thunder and rage? Why was he always such a gentleman? Why did he always have to be the perfect embodiment of the kind of man she’d only believed existed in dreams?

If I’m a bad guy, then you’re the good guy by default. You’re not only right in keeping me away from my son, but noble. You’re taking the high road, while I’m thousands of miles away where you can forget all about me.

Was that what she wanted? To forget him?

Did she never want to see his easy smile again? Or remember the way he smelled of sun and sweat and leather and the faintest trace of airplane fuel? Did she want her son growing up in the city, or learning to live off the land like his dad had done at such a tender age?

When Rose was ten, she’d spent a lot of time worrying about her mom’s newest husband, but she’d also played with Barbie dolls and friends. She was at last fundamentally safe. She’d have had no more thought of running away than of flying to the moon.

For all her grousing about how tough it had been when her dad went to prison, with him gone, she’d finally managed to have a pretty normal childhood, all things considered. Colby, on the other hand, felt he’d been forced to become a man at the age of six.

Maybe that was why she was so devastatingly attracted to him? Because he was truly a man in every sense of the word? He provided not only for her physical needs, but her emotional ones. She was tired. And a part of her selfishly wanted someone else to help with life’s daily grind.

In its purest sense, maybe that’s what marriage truly was? A melding of emotions and lives and responsibilities that, if done right, could be a wonderful thing? But countless case studies—as well as her own mother—proved that making marriage a partnership instead of a dictatorship was a near impossible task.

Armed with that knowledge, why would Rose want to try?

Maybe because being married to a great guy like Colby might be worth the effort?

 

 

DETERMINED TO GIVE her brain, fogged by too many questions, a much-deserved day off, Rose woke bright and early the next morning vowing that today she’d show Mr. Perfect a thing or two about cooking—namely, that she was every bit as good as he was.

Although to see him now, one leg hiked over the sofa back, one leg on the floor, covers askew, snoring loud enough to wake a hibernating bear, one-upmanship took a back seat to guilt over not having insisted he share the bed. Then there was that other pesky something making her chest tight with an achy yearning for something she couldn’t even identify.

Not wanting to wake him, she straightened Colby’s covers, covering his poor cold toes.

After struggling to dress herself in a fresh maternity jogging suit, then waddling on out to the so-called bathroom, she was back. Standing in front of the kitchen stove, wondering what to do next.

Time to break this down. She had watched Survivor and Game of Thrones. If they cooked with no modern-day appliances, then so could she. After further analysis, clearly the first step toward breakfast was building a fire in this iron beast’s belly.

Colby, being the efficiency guru that he was, already had a galvanized aluminum bucket standing by with twigs she assumed he used for kindling. Also readily available were extra-long kitchen matches and small logs.

With all the necessary equipment in place, now all she had to do was use it.

Easier said than done.

Thirty minutes later, after dozens of false starts, she had a fire all right—a raging inferno that had turned her sunny-side-up eggs into charcoal briquettes!

Coughing and blinded by smoke, Rose reached for the cast-iron frying pan, but forgot to use a pot holder and jumped back in pain. By the time she’d grabbed one of the oven mitts hanging from a rack on the wall, the toast she’d thought was browning burst into flame.

“Colby!”

In seconds, he leapt from the sofa to run to her aid. “What the—”

“Help! Breakfast is on fire!”

“You think?” He calmly reached beside the stove for a fire extinguisher, then put out her meal. That done, he opened the cabin’s windows, using a cookie sheet to fan the smoke. “You should get out of here. It’s not good for you or the baby to breathe this smoke.”

“But, Colby, I—”

“Out,” he said, hands over her shoulders as he marched her out of the kitchen to the bedroom. “Shit. It’s smoky in here, too. Time for Plan B.”

“What’s that?”

He snatched his blanket off the sofa, wrapped her in it, then gave her a gentle push toward the paned door leading out to the screened porch. “Go. I’ll bring you some tea.”

“But I wanted to cook a nice, hot meal for you this morning.”

“How about you settle for eating a nice, hot meal with me?”

“Not funny.”

He pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead, then opened the door and nudged her outside.

Rose huffed her way into a comfy chair, put her feet up on the porch rail and glared at the breathtaking view.

Brilliant blue sky, sparkling blue water, woodpecker at it again, yadda, yadda, yadda.

The place was gorgeous.

She got it.

What she also got was that never in her whole life had she felt like more of a klutz.

How was it that for twenty-five years she’d managed to take care of herself just fine—better than fine, judging by her latest raise—yet out in the woods she couldn’t survive ten minutes on her own? Talk about an ego blow.

Even worse? Under fifteen minutes later, her resident mountain man carried out a tray loaded with two plates of steaming hotcakes and sausage!

“O-M-G that smells good.” How had he prepared such an incredible feast in such a short time? “Where’d you get the meat?”

“Nugget packed a bunch of perishables on dry ice. I stashed them around back in a bear safe—basically an iron cage with a padlock.”

“Good thinking,” Rose said through her first sinfully delicious bite. “You’re a cooking god.”

He grinned. “Thank you—and yes, I am.”

“Is there nothing you can’t do?”

“What can I say? Around here, unless a guy wants to be at Nugget’s mercy for food, he’s got to fend for himself.”

“Or find a wife.”

“Nah.” He winked. “In my case anyway, I figure why burden myself with a ball and chain when I can already do everything on my own?”

“Everything except bearing a son?” The syrupy taste in her mouth turned sour. Here, all along, she’d been under the assumption that like the men who’d married her mother, Colby would expect her to conform to his every wish and command. Maybe he truly did want just her son. Once he legally had him, Colby wouldn’t care whether she stayed or left.

“I’m teasing.” There was nothing the least bit funny about his tone. “You know that, right? Even after you damn near burned down my cabin, I’m not going anywhere, Rose. I want the three of us to be a package deal.”

The three of them. It did have a nice ring to it.

Of course, he’d been joking. What was wrong with her? Even to herself she was starting to sound out of her mind. Colby was a wonderful man—of that she was sure. He wanted his son near him because, even though the baby wasn’t even born yet, he already felt a bond.

As for her marrying Colby, it may not be the best solution for sharing their son, but it was good. Logical in a weird sort of way. Sort of. Except for the fact that she’d be living thousands of miles away in Chicago. But it would save a small fortune in legal custody bills. But then came the truly insane question of what might happen were she to actually not just marry Colby in name, but heart and soul?

The mere thought of how she’d recover if things turned ugly welled instant tears.

“Aw, man…” He set his plate on the porch rail, then did the same with hers. “Please, don’t cry.” When he hugged her, tears seriously flowed. “I wasn’t going to let on I knew this, but when I was up at Global the other day, Dot—”

“No. Don’t tell me she told you about my mom.”

“She did, but look, I see where watching your parent go through so many failed marriages would be enough to spook anyone. But you’ve got to understand that if we were to do this thing—get hitched—” He went down on one knee in front of her chair, clasping her hands. “I’d want to do it right. And I’m not just talking about the ceremony, but our lives. I don’t want a forced marriage, but a real one. I’m not looking for a housekeeper or nanny, but a companion. A best friend. Not a woman I share chores with, but a woman I love.”

Giving his big, warm hands a squeeze, Rose dared to raise her gaze to his, and what she saw took her breath away.

Beyond Colby’s rugged good looks was a burning intensity telling her that not only did he fully intend to fight for what was his, but that he also intended to win.

She dared ask, “That woman you just described. That friend you want to call a wife. You think you might’ve found her in me?”

When he bit his lower lip and looked away, her heart sank. Of course, he didn’t love her. He’d only said that with time, he could.

“If you don’t love me,” she said, her voice small against the breeze whispering through the spruce, “why do you keep asking me to marry you?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Holding on to him for dear life, she asked, “But just because something is morally right in the eyes of society, how do you know it’s right in here? Where it counts?” Releasing him, she pressed her palms to her chest.

He shrugged, molded his hands to her stomach. “For whatever reason, fate brought us together all those months ago. And now, because of the life we’ve created, we might be meant to come together again. I guess there are some things you have to take on faith.”

Faith.

Now there was something she hadn’t had in a while—if ever.

If she were raising her son alone, faith could come in handy. Faith in a lot of things. Faith in his teachers to do a good job. Faith in his friends not to lead him astray. Faith in him to always do the right thing.

Raising her son alone.

The thought was daunting. But after Rose’s father had left, her mother had refused to do anything on her own, even raise her daughter. That lack of fundamental belief in herself, faith in herself to make good decisions, was what led her straight into seven unhappy marriages.

 

 

“I DON’T KNOW about this, Colby. Are you sure it’s safe to hike right up to them?” Though it was only mid-morning, the sun shone as if it were high noon. Rose’s every wobbly step had Colby on high alert, but he wanted—needed—her to see more of what made Alaska the most awe-inspiring place on earth. The perfect place for them to raise their son. She cast a worried glance over her shoulder, not seeing that she was close to tripping over an exposed root.

“Of course, it’s safe,” he said, guiding her past the obstacle, then shooing a mosquito from her back. “And this isn’t really a hike, but a scenic stroll.” Colby took her hand, slowing her down so he could watch where she was going as their footsteps fell silent on the thick layer of spongy spruce needles interspersed with moss.

This trail with its pungent conifer smell and tunnel feel had long been one of his favorites. Sun slanted at lazy angles through the trees’ enormous branches, spotlighting giant ferns at their feet. As a kid, it’d been easy to imagine himself roaming among dinosaurs in this place. This far inland, it was a natural oddity, and as an adult, he’d learned to appreciate how special it truly was.

“Believe me,” he said, “once we get there, you won’t be sorry. I’ve been watching bear families here since I was a little kid, and I’m still alive to tell the tale, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but I read on the flight up that, statistically, people are more likely to be killed by a bear in Alaska than by a taxi in New York City.”

He stopped her in the middle of the trail to kneel in front of her baby bump. “Did you hear that?” he said to his son. “You’re not even out of there yet, and already she’s trying to squash our fun.”

“Hey, someone has to be the grown-up here.”

“And who was the grown-up this morning who set the toast on fire?”

“Oops.” She shot him a sheepish grin. “That was different.”

“Right. Meaning, if you mess up, all is forgiven, but if I do—”

“Whoa,” she said, palms flat against his chest. “Does that mean you’re admitting you messed up by bringing me here? ’Cause if so, I’ll be happy to get back in the boat. All that rowing was nice and peaceful, but—”

He put his fingers to his lips. “Shh... Look.”

A good twenty yards off the trail, in a grassy clearing, a momma black bear fished for dinner from a gurgling stream, while her two cubs frolicked in tall grasses.

“Listen to their little growls,” Rose whispered, eyes wide and shimmering. “Oh—and look at their mom, turning back to give them a scolding.”

Guiding Rose a few yards further down the trail, he gestured for her to sit on the rough-hewn log bench he’d constructed when he’d been a teen. He sat beside her. Speaking softly, he said, “Black bears rarely stray more than five miles from where they were born, so I probably watched that momma play when she was a cub.”

Rose wrapped her arms around Colby in a hug.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“For bringing me here. At first,” she whispered, “I thought this was crazy. I mean, who actually goes looking for bears? But this is incredible—way better than seeing them in a zoo. You were right. It was definitely worth the walk.”

The size of her smile toppled his heart, making the thought of her returning to Chicago in just a few short days incomprehensible. She and baby Nick had to stay here. They just had to. His son needed to see bear cubs play every summer weekend. He needed to know this trail as well as he knew the route to school. And to know that rose hips were delicious, but baneberries—like the ones within reach from this bench—were poison.

“Watching them eat is making me hungry,” she said.

“We just had breakfast.”

“Like an hour ago.”

He fished a granola bar from his jacket pocket. “Here. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

“Thank you.” Sweetly, she pressed her lips to his, coaxing his mouth open with her tongue, skimming her fingers up his neck and into his hair.

When she groaned, he hefted her onto his lap, pressing his hand to the back of her head to draw her still closer.

Why couldn’t she see that here, now, what they shared was perfection? Life didn’t get any better than this, especially with their son growing between them.

When she eventually pulled back, lips parted in a breathy reach for air, eyes dazed, they looked up just in time to see the momma bear watching them from midstream, ears perked. A few seconds later, she gathered her troops, chasing them into thick woods.

“Oops.” Colby tucked flyaway strands of Rose’s long, dark hair behind her ears. “Guess she only wants her cubs watching G-rated tourists.”

“Hey,” she said, swatting his chest. “Who are you calling a tourist? I’ve got half a local growing in here.” She patted their baby.

Feeling high on entirely too much fresh air and sunshine and kisses, Colby tossed out, “You know, it wouldn’t be too hard to make you a local, too.”

“I know.”

“Does that mean you’re at least thinking about staying?”

The tremulous look she cast his way gave him cause to hope. “Raising our son amongst all this nature would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

The mere thought had Colby swallowing tears. Since his emotions had swelled to the point that he feared he’d be unable to speak, he nodded.

“Hey…” She brushed his too-long hair back from his forehead. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You tell me.”

“Okay, then, I’ll come right out and say it. I want my son to have all of this as his back-yard—not just as his once-a-year, week-long vacation.”

“I don’t blame you,” she said. “This place, it’s gorgeous, but—”

“Wait. If I’m going to be one hundred percent truthful with you, Rose, you need to know I want you here, too. Until now, I didn’t realize how much I want to share… With both of you.”

When she raised her hand to his cheek, he leaned into her touch.

“I’m not even sure how it happened,” he said, “but I like you—a lot. I want to be with you. All the time. You’ve become like…a pet I want constantly by my side.”

“Gee, thanks.” She rolled her eyes.

“Lord…” He conked himself on the forehead. “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean that you were like a dog or cat, I meant—”

“Hush.” She put her fingers to his lips. “When I was a little girl, I had a Yorkie. His name was Samson, and he went everywhere with me. He was my very best friend, and to this day, sometimes when I’m lonely or confused, I wish I had him around. You know, as an impartial ear to bounce off my nuttier thoughts and ideas.” She took a deep breath, wiping at a few stray tears with the backs of her hands. “Jeez, what is it about you, always making me cry?”

“I don’t know, but I guess if a guy told me I looked like a dog, I wouldn’t be all that happy.” He grinned, and she kissed him again.

“I loved Samson—a lot.” Still on his lap, she was close enough that the heat of her words fanned his lips. “So when you compare me to a favorite pet, believe me, far from taking it as an insult, I took it in the true spirit in which I suspect you meant it—as a high compliment. Thanks.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re welcome.”

Taking her hands, he helped her off his lap and onto her feet. Once he’d stood as well, he took her right hand in his, then led her back down the trail.

“You like spaghetti?” he asked once they’d almost returned to the boat.

“Sure. Why?”

“Nugget put Italian sausage in our supply pack, along with a big tub of red gunk I’m guessing is his famous sauce.”

“Yum.”

“I’ll even let you cook the pasta.”

She glanced over her shoulder to stick out her tongue.

They’d walked a little while longer in companionable silence when she said, “Um, Colby…”

“Yes?”

“Remember when you showed me how to tie that super fancy SEAL knot for the boat?”

“Yes?” His stomach sank as he saw sun flash off the rowboat’s aluminum hull.

The hull that, instead of resting on shore as it had been earlier, now bobbed merrily in the dead center of the lake.

A stiff breeze had come up since they’d left. Whitecaps now dotted the once glassy water. Just beyond Frazier’s Peak, the snowcapped mountain in front of the cabin, storm clouds loomed.

“Sorry.” Rose nibbled her lower lip. “Looks like I might need another knot-tying lesson.”

Lightning cracked. Thunder rumbled in agreement.

Colby remained silent.