Wild At Heart (Wild 2)

“I stopped at her village on my way home. Wanted to see how they survived the winter.”

“What the hell, Jonah!” Ethel and her family live a subsistence lifestyle in a village up the Kuskokwim River. I’m not sure how far they are up the river from Bangor, but I know it’s not anywhere near Crooked Creek. “Remember the itinerary?” He arrived home a half hour later than expected but I was so distracted by the ordeal with the dog, I didn’t think much of it.

“I’m here and I’m fine, okay? Come on, relax.”

My hackles rise instantly. “Don’t tell me to relax!” I hate being told to relax.

He gives me a look and then juts his chin forward. “Come on, open it.”

I sigh. “This conversation is not over.” But I’m too tired and hungry to argue with him. I pick at the twine that holds the wrapping together. “How is she? Still threatening to chop off her son’s limbs?”

Jonah smirks. “He still has both hands. For now.”

“And her grandson?”

Mention of the boy who’s alive today because of Jonah’s bravery—or insanity, depending on who you speak to—brings a wide smile that instantly melts my irritation. “Huge and running around.”

“Must be all that muskrat his grandma feeds him. What is this?” I break through one layer of newsprint, only to find another beneath. It’s something hard, that much I can tell

. Hopefully not something morbid. That woman has an odd sense of humor.

Jonah pulls out a long, brown strip of jerky from the brown bag and offers it to me.

I shake my head. I already learned the hard way that it is most certainly not beef.

“Can’t be that hungry, then,” he teases, ripping off a chunk between his teeth.

“You’re not kissing me again until you brush your teeth.” I unravel the last of the paper to find a sculpture inside. It takes me two hands and a moment of rolling it this way and that, taking in all the angles, to identify the two coiled birds. “Wow. Is this handmade?” I ask, sliding my thumb over the surface. It’s smooth.

“Yeah. Ethel carved it over the winter,” he says between chewing. “It’s ivory.”

“Ivory?” I feel the apprehension fill my face.

“Walrus ivory,” Jonah corrects. “Alaska Natives are allowed to hunt them. And don’t worry, every last part of that animal would have been used to help Ethel’s family survive the winter.”

“I don’t doubt that.” I study the two birds. They’ve been shaped to perfection. “The raven and his goose wife.” I smile softly as I hold it up for us to admire.

Jonah shakes his head. “That woman loves her stories.”

“She got this one wrong.” I am not Jonah’s goose wife. Or perhaps I am, but I’m a goose wife who survived to see the spring thaw, and who is determined to thrive alongside her raven. “It’s beautiful.” I already know where I’m putting it—on the top shelf of the rustic curio cabinet that I ordered last week. That Jonah doesn’t know about yet.

Jonah’s gaze isn’t on the sculpture, though. It’s on me, and his face is a grim mask.

My stomach sinks. “What’s wrong?” With that look, something is definitely wrong.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Calla, but …” He hesitates for a few beats, long enough that my anxiety spikes. “You really need to take a shower. I’ve never seen you so filthy.” A grin splits his face.

“Shut up!” I smack his chest, equal parts relief and outrage slamming into me. “Believe me, I’m trying to, but no one will let me go home! First Muriel, now you!”

“You have dirt all over your face.” He rubs the pad of his thumb across my jaw and pulls back to show me the smear of brown sludge. “It looks like you were trying to avoid enemy fire out there.”

Great. I went to Roy’s looking like I was playing war games? “Do you have any idea what my day has been like?”

“Did it involve rolling around in a pile of mud?” he asks with mock innocence, reaching up to pick a twig from my topknot. “What were you trying to do? Blend into the forest?”

“Okay, you know what, smart-ass? I’m leaving.” I stroll past him, housewarming gift in hand. “If you want a ride on the ATV, you better get moving.”

“I’d rather walk, thanks.”