Prologue
Owen Jenkins was torn like he’d never been before. In the Fairbanks airport, waiting for his plane, he clutched the new cell phone tight in his hand. He wanted desperately to make the call, to tell his daughter what he’d done.
He’d set things in motion that would turn her life upside down. Granted, it was for a very good reason, but she wouldn’t see it that way. He loved his daughter more than life and only wanted her to be happy. But she was stubborn. Got that from him. Which was why he’d come up with this idea. Why he was forcing her hand.
He had to hold onto the hope that she’d eventually forgive him.
Owen scrubbed at his clean shaven jaw, still wondering if he should call and tell her. He’d never lied to her before. Somewhere in her life, she’d come to hate lies and he’d honored that.
Technically, he wasn’t lying now. But she would probably not see it that way. He pulled up her number on the phone, staring at it as his flight was announced.
He wouldn’t call her. He couldn’t. He’d promised. Owen joined the throng waiting to board, still torn. Once in his seat, he fought his sense of right one more time before shutting the phone down and stuffing it in his backpack. He couldn’t stop things now anyhow.
And she’d find out soon enough what he’d done.
Chapter One
Jess Jenkins dealt with complications on a regular basis. When home was a truck stop in Nowhere, Alaska, they came with the territory. Today, however, those complications seemed bent on finding the breaking point of her patience. It was as if the machinery had gone on strike. First, the coffeemaker sprang a leak, then the commercial dryer conked out. With a busload of tourists due in—she glanced at her watch—less than an hour, she had no time left for fixing broken equipment. And her computer seemed to sense her mood. It wouldn’t bring up the latest weather forecast. The satellite must be in cantankerous mode...again.
She smacked the side of the monitor and leaned her elbows on a desk overrun with paperwork and equipment manuals and rubbed her forehead. Just one more problem. That’s all it would take for her to scream.
“Uh, boss?”
Jess’s straight, dark hair, a gift from her Alaskan mother, swung as she turned to glare at the young man standing in the doorway of her office. Rocky Thompson was her junior by only a couple years. Being lanky and long-limbed, coupled with sandy blond hair cut in some eye-covering modern style, made him appear much younger than twenty-two. He’d been working for them for a couple years now and had quickly become a pseudo-brother to her.
“What?” She recognized the terseness in her voice and made an effort to regroup. “Sorry. Bad day. What’s up?”
“Well, uh, I kind of hate to mention this, but...”
An urge to pummel something grew until Jess hid her clenched hands under the desk. “Spit it out, Rocky.”
“The plumbing’s gone south again.”
“Over at the inn?”
“Yep.”
He looked as if he would split and run if she so much as twitched. Did she really appear that menacing? Forcing herself to relax, Jess tried to smile at the absurdity of her day. The change in her attitude worked on Rocky. He relaxed against the door jam, shoving his hands into the pockets of jeans with more holes than the current trends allowed as acceptable. Jess reached for her to-do list and wrote down order jeans-Rocky, rolling her eyes. He wouldn’t think to buy them on his own.
“Did you shut the water off?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“Has John taken a look at it?” Now that they’d let the seasonal help go, John and Mary Martin, along with Rocky, helped maintain the place, although John was getting up in years, as his wife reminded everyone on a regular basis.
Rocky nodded. “Said it was beyond him and needed the boss’s talents, since you designed the system.”
“Okay. I’ll be over there in a bit. Is everything else done? Are the rooms ready?”
“Close. Another load out of the dryer and the last of the beds will be made up.”
Jess sent a quick prayer skyward that her jury-rigged fix would keep the dryer working. They were so close to the end of the adventuring-tourist season. If they could just make it through a few more days, she’d have time to fix things properly over the long, dark winter.
“Okay,” she answered Rocky. “Thanks. Tell John I’ll check on the plumbing, then you can go see if Mary needs help with food prep.”
The salute he tossed her way as he left made her smile. Offering Rocky a job and bringing him to Last Chance Camp had been a good idea. A spontaneous one, but he’d proven himself a hard worker again and again, and was an integral part of their Last Chance family.
A family missing it’s patriarch. Jess glanced over at the photo close to being shoved off her desk by paperwork. She steadied it, and her fingers lingered on the image of her father. A tourist had emailed it to her last year. Owen Jenkins stood on the restaurant’s porch, greeting a new batch of guests. That was the part of owning the camp he loved...socializing. It showed in the wide smile and sea-blue eyes that sparkled with pleasure.
Where are you, Dad? He had picked the worst possible time to go on one of his walkabouts. This place, both their livelihood and their home, needed him. Jess pushed off the desk and headed in search of her plumbing supplies.
She needed him.
Jess sighed, trying to slough off of the sixth sense that told her ill winds were about to blow in. If they were, there was nothing she could do about it until it happened. She settled her tool belt around her waist and glanced at her nails, rubbing the cuticles. They were in dire need of a manicure, which, as usual, would have to wait.
She paused on her way across the gravel lot to frown as a sleek black SUV with tinted windows drove into the camp. No rigs were due in today other than the tour bus. Last Chance was pretty much the only way station between Fairbanks and the oil fields, and no one drove here without a plan. Not this time of year. She looked up at a sky that had the smell of snow. The first of the season would be here soon, and she still had a lot to do before it hit. With another glance at the parking area, Jess headed for the inn. If the folks in that SUV had driven up here on a whim, they didn’t have much sense, and she had no time to knock it into them.
“My mother must be out of her mind.” Standing outside his car, Renzo Gallini turned a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees. “What the devil could she possibly see in a place like this?”
Last Chance Camp, the newest property his mother seemed bent on acquiring, lay spread out around him. A few buildings plunked down in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the color of dull with a splash of yellow.
He turned again, a critical eye scanning the wide stretch of gravel that served as both an informal parking lot and building access. One structure stood out on the opposite side. As near as he could tell, it was a building. It looked like five or six generic white cargo containers had been laid end-to-end, with a porch added to the front for effect. A sign hung from the railing that indicated it was an inn of some sort.
Someone marched across the compound wearing a tool belt. The jeans, work boots, flannel shirt, and ball cap all said male. Hips that swayed in a distinctly un-masculine way said something quite different, and Ren paused a moment to appreciate the movement. Whoever the woman was, she walked with an assurance and grace that, even from this distance, stirred a long-suppressed need inside him.
She disappeared inside the inn and Ren wondered for a moment what she looked like. Shaking his head, he re-focused on his mother’s foolish errand. He had firsthand knowledge of the aggravation involved when business got mixed up with pleasure. Hence the lengthy, self-imposed celibacy.
Turning away, Ren leaned a hand on his rented GMC Yukon, then brushed his hand off. Over two hundred miles of dirt and grit covered the SUV. His mother insisted this backwater camp was salvageable. Since he was in charge of acquisitions for the family business, she’d tasked him with personally checking it out.
He should have flown. He’d intended to, if only to gain some distance from the women in his life. Between his mother’s pointed remarks about wanting grandchildren and Kathryn, his company’s human resource director and sometimes date, indicating her willingness to fulfill his mother’s desire, Ren spent most of his time dodging the decision they were both bent on pushing him into. So Ren had hopped a plane from New York with more speed than normal. In Fairbanks, where he’d intended to charter a plane to get to Last Chance Camp. Instead, he’d given into an unusual restlessness and headed north by car. Six hours and a whole lot of dirt later, he was well inside the Arctic Circle and wondering what the hell he’d signed up for.
Pulling his leather jacket closed to ward off the cold, Ren glanced around again. This had to be some sort of colossal joke, but he didn’t feel much like laughing. Nothing he saw seemed worth salvaging. He cocked his head from side to side, stretching neck muscles tight from too many hours behind the wheel. Tomorrow, he’d call and give Mother his assessment and she’d see the error of her ways. For tonight, he needed a stiff drink and a comfortable bed, something he doubted he could find in a truck stop in the middle of nowhere.
Ren headed for the nearest building, pulling up short as he passed a truck well beyond its prime with what appeared to be a dead caribou casually laid across the hood. He stared at the lifeless eyes and wondered what episode of The Twilight Zone his mother had thrust him into. Shaking his head, he climbed the few steps to a porch that, like everything else here, had seen better days, and opened the door.
Inside the restaurant, mouth-watering aromas assailed him, and his stomach did a very un-gentlemanly grumble. Ren sniffed and realized it wasn’t just food he smelled. There was coffee. Even if it was drip-brewed, the caffeine would be the jolt his body needed to dispel the nightmare he’d driven into.
A portly woman walked by with a tray of dirty dishes, her salt and pepper braid trailing all the way down her back. She glanced his way, curiosity peeking out from behind warm eyes, but didn’t stop.
“Excuse me,” Ren said.
Without breaking stride, she spoke over her shoulder. “Grab whatever grub you want, then pay on the way out.”
“I’d like a cup—”
He was too late. She’d disappeared into what must be the kitchen. Ren investigated and found the commercial coffeemaker. He picked up an ivory mug that had a network of cracks covering its surface and was gratified to find the inside clean, at least in appearance. The coffee he poured was dark and aromatic. With an appreciative sniff, Ren smiled. He could tell this brew packed a caffeine punch he would appreciate. He sniffed again. Nothing beat the strong scent of good coffee.
Cradling the cup in both hands, he searched out the woman he’d seen earlier. He found her in the kitchen, brandishing a spatula like some sort of weapon.
“Employees only back here. Food’s out that way.” She waved at the doorway he’d just come through. Ren imagined the gravel in her voice and that brusque manner fit in well with life here.
“I’m looking for the proprietor.”
“The...what?” She stared at him.
He sighed. “The owner?”
“I know what a proprietor is, mister.” She waved the spatula again. “Don’t get smart with me. I just haven’t heard that word around these parts in, well—” She shrugged. “Heck, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that word used here.”
Starting to lose patience, Ren drew a breath and tried the smile that usually got him what he wanted. Only it didn’t disarm the woman. In fact, she raised the spatula even higher.
The absurdity of Ren’s day caught up with him, and he chuckled. When the cook’s lips quirked up, his chuckle turned into a full-on, long, hard laugh. He damn near had to wipe his eyes dry.
“My apologies, ma’am,” he said. “I can only claim that it’s been a very long day. I’d dearly love to complete my business and be done with it, but I’m looking for the owner of this camp. Would you know where I can find him?”
She set the spatula down, and he could see the effort she made to keep the grin off her face. “That would be Owen Jenkins.”
Ren waited for more information, but none was forthcoming. Apparently, no one here liked to talk. He shook his head. “And I can find him where?”
She shrugged. “He’s not in camp at the moment.”
As his humor faded, Ren vowed to have a long talk with his mother about wild goose chases. “All right. Who takes charge in his absence?”
The woman stared him down for a long moment. “That would be Jess.”
“Fine. And where might I find him?”
“Since a busload of sky-watchers are about to show up, I’m guessing Jess will be makin’ sure everything’s ready over at the inn.”
“The inn, which is...on the other side of the lot?” Ren could hold eye contact longer than anyone he knew. He refused to flinch first.
Finally, she looked down briefly, then waved the spatula, indicating the door behind him. “Yes.”
“Thank you—” Ren let the question intentionally hang until the woman responded.
“Mary.”
He grinned. “Thank you, Mary. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
When the spatula in her hand started tapping on the counter, Ren decided retreat was the best option. With a stop to refill his coffee, he headed outside. The blast of cold momentarily stripped the breath from his lungs. Leather clearly was not warm enough for this climate. He pulled the jacket tighter in a futile effort to ward off the chill.
The walk across to the “inn” seemed to take forever. It was probably only a couple hundred yards, but felt like a mile in the mid-October weather. White puffs of breath led the way as he clutched both jacket and mug in an effort to hoard as much warmth as possible.
He tromped up stairs that didn’t budge or creak. Once inside, he shut the door against the cold, looked around, and saw little in the way of welcoming. Things looked no better than on the outside. Indoor-outdoor carpet, in a shade he expected was called something akin to beaver-skin brown, looked a little threadbare. Paneling straight out of the seventies covered the walls. There were no tables or chairs, just a small mantle along one side that sported a steno notebook with “Lights/Wake Up” written at the top. Underneath were a few names and what he surmised were room numbers. Good grief. Was this their wake-up call system?
Ren shook his head and set his mug on the mantle, after one last sip. So far, the only thing he’d found of any merit here was the coffee. He needed to find this guy, Jess, say what he’d come to say, and get the hell out of here.
“Damn it all to hell. Budge, you crotchety old bucket of bolts!”
He couldn’t quite tell if the voice was male or female, but since it was the only sound he’d heard since entering, Ren followed it down one of the long corridors. Used to upscale hotels with expansive hallways, this one made him feel almost claustrophobic.
At the end, he turned to an open doorway and froze. The first thing he saw were the hips he’d admired earlier. They were encased in jeans molding a backside that teased his imagination more than any had in quite a while. When he saw the wisp of material that could only be a thong, he started to sweat as a long-denied libido struggled for dominance. A will not entirely his own nudged him forward for a better look. If the strap he saw was any indication, the thong was hot pink...and almost hidden underneath lumberjack’s clothing.
Would her bra match?
That was the moment the pipe burst, spewing water in every direction. The perfectly shaped ass in front of him backed out of what appeared to be a plumbing room in a hurry, and straight into his arms. He grabbed hold as they were both propelled backward.
“Oof!”
His arms tightened around her midsection as the momentum slammed them into the wall and the breath whooshed out of him. Before he had a chance to regain his equilibrium, the woman was squirming.
“Let go of me!”
Ren released her and she yanked off the flannel shirt, then crawled back into the spray. He couldn’t tell what she was doing, but it couldn’t be easy, the way she was grunting and groaning.
“Hand me a wrench,” she yelled.
He grabbed the wrench from the tool belt sitting on the floor and thrust it into the disembodied hand that snaked out from the spray of water.
After some more indistinguishable sounds, the spray lessened and then, finally, stopped. Ren swiped water off his face as she backed out of the room shaking her head and mumbling. “What a messed up day.” She threw the wrench at the tool belt and glanced up.
Cocoa-brown eyes stared at Ren. She looked young, mid-twenties at the most. With skin that hinted at some native Alaskan heritage, a heart-shaped face, and hair the color of gleaming wet obsidian, she gave off wholesome beauty in waves.
When she sank down to sit with her back against the wall, Ren’s mouth went dry. Years of honing skills for boardroom negotiations threatened to desert him as his jaw went slack. Her white t-shirt, soaked through, clung to curves that were only outdone by perfect round breasts encased in that hot pink bra he’d been thinking about. Nipples protesting the wet-cold held him spellbound. It took everything he had to yank his forgotten manners out of his back pocket and stop staring.
When he looked up, fire had replaced the warm cocoa in her eyes. She clutched her arms in front of her, and her face took on the contortions of a storm cloud as she gnashed her teeth.
Even her obvious anger couldn’t completely quell the spark of need inside him. What the hell was happening that some wisp of a girl could affect him like this? More off-kilter than he’d ever been before, he cleared his throat, trying to dig up some saliva—and some intelligence—so he could speak.
He failed at both.
Jess Jenkins glared at the stranger in front of her and felt a cold permeate her that had nothing to do with being soaked. She’d seen that hungry look in men’s eyes before and all it meant was trouble. She didn’t care how handsome the guy was...and he was smokin’ hot, with those hypnotic amber eyes, the neatly-styled dark hair, and a day’s stubble.
She steeled herself to go beyond the physical, because the expression on his face told her everything she needed to know. Even that last glimpse—confusion, maybe—had to be contrived. She’d lived in this camp her entire life and had seen a lot of comings and goings. Most of the regulars were good folk. It was the transients, some single, some not so much, that tried to push the limits. Those were the ones who would say anything to get what they wanted. This guy was no different. Ever since she’d grown boobs, she’d been hit on. Her frown deepened.
Well, she had no need for any guy ruled by his junk.
Jess struggled to get up using one arm. There was no way she’d pull the one that covered her chest. Where was her flannel? When she saw it, piled in a sodden heap on the floor, she swore. Now what was she going to do? Her trailer was back behind the restaurant and she couldn’t cross the camp wet. She’d freeze before she reached it.
Sensing movement, she jerked back from the man who now stood with a leather jacket held out in front of him.
“If you live across the way, you’ll never make it to dry clothes.”
Jess eyed the jacket. “It’s wet.”
He shrugged. “It’s better than nothing.”
Searching for the ulterior motive in his gesture, she couldn’t find one. So Jess reached for the jacket. “What about you? How will you get across the way?”
He spread his arms. “I’m open to suggestions.”
Jess found herself momentarily speechless as the wet Henley-style shirt clung to pecs that screamed regular workouts. When he smiled, any remaining chill switched to instant heat. Damn. Even the man’s teeth were perfect. That smile could melt glaciers, and Jess tightened her arms over her chest. No matter how good looking he was, or how warm her body had begun to feel, she knew nothing about him. She needed to remember that.
His grin took on a bit of a cockeyed lift to it and she realized she’d been caught staring, so she yanked the jacket around her shoulders with one hand, feeling his lingering warmth.
“Have a little care with my coat, beautiful.” His voice, low and inviting, warmed her further, damn it.
“I’ll try to find you something to wear,” she mumbled.
“No need. You can bring my jacket back to me or grab the duffle out of that filthy Yukon. I’ve got a change of clothes in there.”
Good thing. She didn’t think anyone who worked here wore a size that would cover those shoulders. He reached for her hand and a tingle slid up her arm and wound its way around her spinal column. He turned her palm up, placed keys in it, then folded her fingers over the keys. Was it her imagination or did it seem like he took his time at the task? She looked up and saw the smoldering smile still on his face. Her own face flamed red in response, and Jess did the only thing she could think of.
She ran.
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