Refuge Cove (New Americana 2)

“That sounds reasonable enough.” They walked back along the boardwalk toward Dolly’s House, a former brothel, now a museum and tourist attraction. John lapsed back into the role of guide, trying to ignore the tension that hung between them. They needed a break from each other, some time apart to breathe and think.

“You’re a teacher,” he said. “Does that mean you like to read?”

She gave him a strained smile. “Not necessarily. But yes, I love to read. I browsed through your bookshelf while you left me to go to town, but I didn’t see much to catch my interest.”

“We can fix that,” he said. “Ketchikan has a first-rate bookstore. I’ll treat you to a couple of paperbacks, your choice.”

“Thanks. I’ll take you up on that.” She seemed genuinely pleased, he thought as they walked the short distance downhill to the bookstore. He was finding that he enjoyed pleasing her. But if the woman had any common sense, she’d allow him to fly her to Sitka. She’d be out of danger and out of his life. Wasn’t that what he really wanted?

* * *

In the bookstore, Emma chose a couple of juicy-looking bestsellers by women authors. John paid for them at the checkout counter. She might not have accepted even this small gift, but she knew he was buying her books to ensure himself some peace in the cabin. She meant to give him just that. The long day had worn her out. Curling up by the fire with a good book sounded like a delicious idea.

They walked back to the Jeep and took the road out of town. The sun was already low in the sky. Boone had mentioned to her that, in Alaska, darkness moved in early. In midwinter, he’d said, the daylight was so brief and the nights so long that people tended to get blue and surly from so much darkness. But for lovers, he’d said with a smile, the nights were never too long.

Boone.

Heaven help her, she’d been so love starved that she’d clung to his every word. He’d fed her a line of pretty words. She’d swallowed it whole and nearly paid a terrible price.

She’d been a naïve, gullible fool. But she’d learned her lesson. Men lied to get what they wanted—and when they thought they had it, they could change without warning. Never again, for as long as she lived, would she put blind trust in any man, including the dark, intriguing pilot who sat beside her now.

This afternoon John Wolf had revealed a part of his past—not an easy thing for such a private man. What he’d told her, she sensed, was true. But what had he left out? How many dangerous secrets was he still hiding?

Right now, she had no choice except to trust him with her safety. But she would keep her guard up. She would never let need make her vulnerable.

They stopped for a few groceries in Ward Cove. Emma waited in the locked Jeep while John went into the store and came out with a tall paper bag. He had asked her if she wanted anything special, but she’d answered with a shake of her head. She’d had a long, emotional twenty-four hours. Thinking about groceries was more than her wearied brain could manage.

But she didn’t like the idea of being dead weight. It was time she started helping out around the cabin. She would start by offering to make supper tonight, even if it turned out to be warmed-over chili.

By the time they arrived at the cabin, it was almost dark. Emma stayed locked in the Jeep while John, with a flashlight in one hand and his pistol in the other, circled the cabin. Only after he’d checked inside and turned on the porch light, did he come back for the groceries and Emma. Given how well he knew Boone, his caution confirmed that the danger was worth taking seriously.

The cabin was cold. While John made the fire, Emma unpacked the groceries—mostly basics like coffee, bacon, eggs, milk, and bread. No fresh vegetables. Didn’t the man eat salad?

The only surprise was a half gallon of double-fudge chocolate ice cream and a plastic squeeze bottle of chocolate syrup in the bottom of the bag. She stared at it, shaking her head.

“What?” With the fire flickering to a blaze, John had wandered into the kitchen area. “Is something wrong?”

“What were you thinking?” She shook her head again. “This junk food will give you a heart attack by the time you’re fifty!”

He raised one black eyebrow. “Maybe I won’t live that long. And tonight, it isn’t junk food, it’s supper. Join me.”

“I was about to warm up the last of the chili. At least it’s nourishing.”

“Come on.” He lifted two good-sized bowls off the shelf and began scooping chocolate ice cream into them. “You haven’t lived until you’ve spent an evening in a forest cabin, eating chocolate ice cream and reading a good book in front of a crackling fire. Live a little, Emma Hunter.”

“Oh, all right.” She watched as he stowed the carton in the freezer, drenched the mounds of ice cream in chocolate syrup, added spoons, and handed her one bowl to carry.

She followed him toward the overstuffed love seat that faced the fire. John was right, she told herself. An evening of relaxing self-indulgence might be just what she needed. But something, she sensed, was off. He was too artificially cheerful, too set on getting her to do what he wanted.

Should she confront him and demand to know what was going on? But no, that would only raise the tension between them. They both needed a break tonight.

The paperbacks she’d chosen were stacked on the side table. Emma settled on the love seat where she’d slept last night, kicked off her new sneakers, and rested her stocking-clad feet on the hearth. The fire was deliciously warm, the chocolate ice cream a decadent treat. She spooned it slowly into her mouth, savoring the cold, creamy sweetness.

She could tell that John didn’t want to talk. Resolving to leave him in peace, she finished the ice cream, set the bowl and spoon on the side table, and opened one of the books. The story was well-written, but Emma was worn-out. She’d barely made it through fifty pages before she began to nod off.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” John’s touch on her shoulder startled her awake. “You’re not spending another night out here,” he said. “I’d say it’s about your bedtime.”

Emma yawned, put the book on the table, and staggered to her feet. “Can I wear your thermals again tonight? I didn’t buy pajamas.”